Magic of Ruyn

by RG Long

  All the way to the river to the west the ground was black. On the eastern horizon they could see the remnants of green. But not much.

  “Strange,” Jurgon said.

  The halfling was right.

  But that wasn't all that was puzzling.

  One thing felt very odd to Ealrin, and he finally voiced his thoughts after spending most of the afternoon thinking.

  "Has anyone else felt like we should have seen more...people?" he asked.

  Jurrin was the first to answer.

  "I agree, sir," he replied. “Save for that man with his cart, we've only seen a few people working the farm. But even they have been sparse. I wonder why that is, sir?”

  “I'm not sure, little Master,” Gaflion said. “But it warrants caution from us.”

  Ealrin thought so, too.

  As they continued to walk, they did indeed see more people outside the city gates.

  All of them wore red uniforms and metal breastplates with the insignia of the Red Guard. Each carried a spear in his hand and a sword at his belt. And not a single female was amongst their ranks.

  A troop of soldiers marched by them, heading east on the dusty road. They marched in rows of four and forced the companions to stand in the grass for a moment. They were prevented from going into the fields, however. The small fence had continued to grow into more and more defensive structure on both sides of the road now. Ever since lunch it had looked more and more intimidating.

  “Is that for keeping the cows in or us out?” Tory asked, knocking on the wood that made up the fence. It was slated and head high, but only left a finger width in-between the boards.

  “Maybe both,” Ealrin answered.

  The fences only left enough room for the company to walk eight wide. It was all their number was, but after roaming open fields for so long, it felt very cramped. It bothered some more than others.

  “Why do you walk so close?” Tory asked Gorplin.

  “Because you keep edging closer to me. Dwarves walk in straight lines,” he replied.

  “Move over,” Tory said as he shoved Gorplin aside.

  “Move yourself!” he replied as he made a tackle maneuver at him.

  They both hit the ground and landed at Lote's feet.

  “If you two don't quiet down and learn to walk without fighting,” she said. “I'll bring you both with me to the elves up north and make you march in silence. Get up.”

  “You oughtn't bother the lady, Gorplin, sir,” Jurrin said as he helped him to his feet.

  Ealrin grabbed Tory and set him right.

  “I'd listen to the halfling,” he said with a smile to them both.

  It wasn't long after that when the party found themselves at the gates of the glorious city.

  Several of the Red Guard eyed them suspiciously as they approached.

  Lote looked back at the group, glaring at Gorplin for a moment, and then said, "Let me do the talking."

  The huge wall around the city was at least four stories high. From the road they walked on they could see how the gate opened up to allow ships to come in and dock inside the city.

  This particular door that they were in front of had large wooden panels that were reinforced with iron. They remained shut tight.

  "Welcome travelers," a guard with a red feather in his helmet said to them as they approached. "It's been sometime since we have had visitors to the city."

  It was very clear that this man regarded Gaflion as the leader of the party. He looked him in the eye as he spoke.

  "We have traveled far and are glad to have made it to your fair city. I will speak as the leader of this party," Lote replied giving him a salute.

  Gaflion nodded toward Lote and motioned with his hand, agreeing with her words without speaking himself.

  This threw the guard off a moment. He shook his head and then addressed Lote.

  "I don't believe I have ever seen a lady elf in armor, let alone leading a group of men."

  Ealrin had only known Lote for a short while. But he knew her well enough to feel insulted for her.

  Not only was she the highest-ranking soldier among them, she was also the most experienced and skilled.

  "Perhaps you have not met many delegations from Thoran," she said with a hint of bitterness and her voice.

  "Thoran? What business does a company from our faraway neighbor have here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

  "We have been sent with the blessing of our queen to speak with the rulers of Beaton about an urgent issue. We request immediate entrance into your city and an escort to show us to your leaders."

  "Hmm," said the guard as he scratched his neck. "This is indeed no small request you make. The leaders of our city have many important issues to see to on a daily basis."

  "Then we shall not waste your time and allow them to weigh how urgent our particular matter is. Will you grant us entrance?"

  The guard looked at their company for a moment.

  Ealrin knew they must look quite suspicious. Especially if he wasn't used to seeing a female elf in armor.

  Four humans of various ages with an elf, a dwarf, and two halflings must seem like an odd delegation indeed.

  After looking them up and down the guard shook his head and went inside a small gatehouse. He came back with a board, a feather quill, and several pieces of parchment.

  "Let's take care of first things first," he said.

  Ealrin noted for the first time a bag attached to the man's belt that jingled when he walked.

  "Entry into the city is fifteen coins a person. Um," he paused as he looked down at Jurgon and Jurrin, considering the halflings.

  "I believe fifteen will cover both of your little companions," he said as he pointed to them with his quill.

  They stood speechless for a moment.

  Then, forgetting Lote's previous command, they all began talking at once.

  “Fifteen a piece!?”

  “That's robbery!”

  “Just to walk inside this ridiculous city!?”

  “You mean one hundred and five coins!?”

  “Wait!” he shouted back at them.

  They all stopped talking and stood quite still. Ealrin was fuming. They only had 63 pieces of a gold between them. Someone was going to have to wait outside. If the Red Guard even allowed that to happen.

  “I thought you said you had urgent news! Surely you would have come prepared for the city tax?” he asked once he had their attention once again.

  “The capital of Thoran is a thriving city with a castle and school and wall to protect it, yet there's no charge for simply walking through the gates! We had no idea!” Lote said furiously. “Why ask for fifteen pieces for just one soul to walk into your city?!”

  “Well there's the Defense Tax, the Road Preservation Tax, the Army Draft Tax...” he rattled off.

  Lote stopped him with a stare.

  “Give us a moment,” she said, and stormed off.

  The others followed.

  When they were a few paces away they talked in low whispers.

  “What kind of thievery is this? The very idea!” Gaflion asked, outraged.

  “It doesn't seem like we can convince him otherwise,” Ealrin said.

  “But how are we all going to get in?” Gorplin interjected, red faced and angry.

  “I can sleep outside, ma'am,” Jurrin offered.

  Lote gave him a rare smile.

  “Thank you for that, Jurrin. But it shouldn't be necessary. I don't want to tell a common gate guard our purpose just yet. It seemed to scare Fray half to death to even consider us asking Beaton for their army.”

  She sighed.

  “I suppose we just...”

  Her ears perked up and she looked up from the group. Lote stood completely still for a moment. Her eyes seemed to stare far off.

  Then she nodded.

  “Come on,” she said.

  She turned and walked diligently back to the gate guard with the group behind her. Ealrin was puzzled.
What was she going to do?

  “I need to speak with Wisym of Talgel,” she declared to the guard. “It is of the utmost importance.”

  The guard stood still, shocked for a moment.

  “W... Wisym?" he choked. "Of Talgel? How do you know of her?”

  “Does it matter? As a matter of Elf Preservation, I demand to speak to her immediately. She has been waiting for me and you are hindering our meeting,” she said with even more authority.

  Ealrin was lost.

  Wisym? Talgel? Elf Preservation?

  What in the world was Lote talking about?

  At that very moment, the gate cracked open and out stepped a female elf, dressed in red robes with the symbol of Beaton embroidered on the left side of her chest.

  The symbol lacked the shield of the Red Guard.

  “Ah! There you are!” she said as she looked at the group. “You're late!”

  Ealrin looked at Bertrom, who shrugged his shoulders. Tory tapped Ealrin on the shoulder as well.

  Gorplin spoke.

  “And who are...”

  Lote stepped on his toe, hard.

  “Wisym! Thank the suns you came! This guard was bound to keep us standing outside all night!”

  The female elf, which Ealrin could only guess was Wisym, gave the guard a stern look.

  “You weren't trying to get the tax out of this group were you?”

  The guard stammered.

  “Uh. Well. They didn't mention the Elf Preservation act, Miss Wisym,” he said.

  “They have an elf in their party,” Wisym pointed out. “I think you can put it together after that.”

  She then turned to group with a smile.

  “Follow me,” she said. “I'll take you to the governor of Beaton straight away.”

  The group walked past the open-mouthed guard and through the gate of Beaton.

  “What just happened?” Tory asked Ealrin.

  Ealrin shook his head as he looked back on the guard, scratching his neck again.

  He had no idea.

  BEATON WAS HUGE.

  Even as night began to set in, people were everywhere. It was difficult to navigate the crowded streets at times. Shops lined every corner and down every street that Ealrin could see. The roads were stone paved and, at times, wide enough for twenty to walk across without being hindered. If the streets were empty that is.

  Beaton's population seemed to be all sorts. Light and dark skinned men and women moved about, peddling their wares. Those who weren't selling their own trinkets were buying the ones offered in the market. Many carried heavy looking packages or bags filled with various goods.

  A group of dwarves walked out of an armory with satisfied faces. Gorplin saluted them and they returned the gesture.

  Elves, who wore different colors than the red and black of Beaton, also walked about. Their attire was green and silver. Many of them acknowledged Wisym and regarded Lote with curious eyes.

  There were no single story buildings. Everything was built high. Ealrin assumed shop owners lived above their places of business and at least two inns they passed were five stories tall.

  It was a bustling city there was no doubt.

  And everywhere they walked, someone emblazoned in the symbol of the Red Guard was there, spear in hand and sword strapped on.

  They had walked far enough to cross the capital of Thoran twice before they came to another wall, just as tall as the outer defenses.

  "The city is divided up into sections," Wisym said. "We just walked through the business and financial sector. Once we cross the gate, we will be in the upper-class area. Only the rich and powerful live and can get in here."

  Ealrin must have made a questioning look at her.

  She winked at him.

  "Don't worry," she said with a smile. "You're with me."

  Wisym knocked on the gate and a small slat opened up. Two eyes. Out from the hole.

  "It's me, Coriander. And I have..."

  Wisym turned to count everyone who was in the party. "Eight guests with me. Please let us in."

  Ealrin heard a gruff humph come from the other side of the gate before the little slat slammed shut.

  A moment later the large wooden gates that resembled the ones they had walked through earlier cracked open, just wide enough for them to squeeze through one at time.

  Once on the other side, Ealrin saw that Coriander was a rather fat old-looking member of the Red Guard. His uniform was bursting at the seams and his red-feathered helmet didn't sit correctly on his head.

  "Miss Wisym and eight guests," he said out loud as they passed him.

  A young boy sitting at a desk beside the gate took down notes in a leather bound volume.

  "Being protective is one thing," Tory said to Ealrin. "These people seem downright crazy."

  Wisym looked back at Tory and put a finger to her lips. She didn't look upset. In fact, her eyes still smiled at them.

  But Ealrin got the feeling that this was not the appropriate place to talk poorly about the Red Guard.

  The upper section of the city was indeed beautiful. Every home was a work of art. Columns and pillars lined the entryways to each. Unlike the business district, small yards of green grass took a prominent spot in front of each home.

  "I think I could live in a house like that," Bertrom said, pointing to one of the more luxurious looking homes.

  Wisym looked back and followed his finger.

  "That house belongs to one of the higher ups in the Red Guard. "

  Apparently being in the Red Guard came with a few perks, Ealrin thought.

  "Just wait to see the governor's mansion! "Wisym said as she motioned for them to follow her down another street.

  Even though it was almost dark, the grandeur of the governor’s mansion was not lost on the party.

  White pillars held up a beautifully carved portico. Intricately designed lanterns lit their path to the front door. All manner of flowers and bushes grew in the garden that lined the walkway.

  A three-story mansion rose up to meet them.

  "Ever fancy being a governor?" Bertrom asked Tory.

  "I've never been one for politics," he said. "But maybe I ought to give it a try."

  Once inside the beautifully carved oak doors, the party found themselves in what was easily the most beautiful dwelling any of them had ever been inside.

  Ealrin was stunned.

  Before them was an atrium with exquisite carvings and decorations. The dome was covered in a painting of the city of Beaton and the people it held. Four great pillars held the structure above them.

  Two half-circle staircases led to two large ornate doors on the second floor. Underneath the stairs, another hall opened up before them. The end of the corridor was not easily visible. Several smaller doors and halls led from the great foyer.

  An attendant dressed in similar red robes to Wisym came up from one of the smaller doors and greeted them.

  "Miss Wisym," a young woman said. "It's nice to see you back. Who are your..."

  She examined the group for the first time with a long stare before finishing her sentence.

  "...friends?"

  Wisym smiled.

  "That will be explained later. Please let the governor know I have returned and request an important meeting immediately."

  The attendant bowed and rushed up the stairs.

  With a deep breath, Wisym turned and faced the group.

  "Well, now that that's over, I suppose we should introduce ourselves before I bring you to the governor."

  "My name is Wisym. I am the leader of what is left of the elves of Talgel and diplomat to the Governor of Beaton," she said with a smile before asking her first question of them.

  "Who are you?"

  26: Carts Full of Slaves

  Blume woke up as the cart she was riding in bumped along the dusty road. It was still nighttime, judging by the very dim light that came from a small hole that served as their only window.

  It'd been a week si
nce most of the children at Miss Greer’s Home for the Helpless were rounded up. Most were thrown haphazardly into carts pulled by strong horses and driven by soldiers of the Southern Republic.

  The carts were little more than wooden boxes with a door on the back and a small window on the front. Comfort, nor ease of travel, had been considered in their construction. The sole purpose of the carts was to transport bodies.

  Blume had been thrown into a cart with eight other children. Two of them were her age. One was much older, but still looked like a child to the soldiers. The others with them were six or seven at best.

  There was no furniture in the cart. A solitary bucket collected their waste.

  Once a day a metal pitcher filled with water would be passed through the window so they could drink. Their food was whatever scraps the soldiers saw fit to give them.

  Because of this their bucket didn't collect much waste anyways.

  Blume had certainly been through a lot in the past year. The last week inside this cart, however, had been the worst experience of her young life.

  She sat huddled in a corner; Jeremy’s head lay up on her lap.

  Though he was twice her age, in dwarf years he was still considered a teenager.

  And for the last three days he had been extremely sick.

  When he had thrown up everything he had eaten over the course of their journey so far, he simply dry heaved until he wore himself out.

  Blume almost had to force water into his mouth to ensure he didn't dehydrate. His forehead was still burning hot to the touch.

  He was asleep with his mouth open. His lips were cracked and his breathing was ragged.

  Blume feared for his life.

  She had given up trying to get someone outside of their cart to have pity on them and give them medicine or even simply more water.

  Her pleas for help went unanswered.

  Without her Rimstone to perform healing magic, she felt helpless.

  So she did the only thing she knew.

  She sang.

  The fish they swim.

  The birds will fly.

  But I'll be walking by and by.

  By castles fair.

  By cities wide.

  There's nowhere that I can't hide.

  To friends who're near.

  And family far.

  I will walk to where they are.