by RG Long
This would be their new home.
EVER SINCE THAT MOMENT, Wisym had been trying her best to make the city of Beaton a place of refuge for herself and her companions.
The old, abandoned part of the city they had been granted had to be repaired and made livable again. This was no small task, but at least it gave the elves something to do and think about. The alternative was to ponder on all that they had lost.
Finwe and Celdor were in charge of the restoration. Wisym, after several talks with the governor, had learned more about the ruling of Beaton and had decided she would try to help the governor gain more power so that the elves could benefit.
Beaton was officially run by the governor's office. Many generations ago, however, a particularly corrupt leader had shown that too much power could be detrimental to the welfare of Beaton's people. So, in a cunning ploy, the Red Guard had promised to help him, if he agreed to the military becoming part of his own offices.
The idea had pleased the governor at the time. Unbeknownst to him, however, with adding the military to his own leadership, he unwittingly put several checks on many of his powers.
Thus, the corrupt ruler was unable to enforce his policies and lost much of his power. The people were thankful and the Red Guard flourished.
Now, however, for the current governor of Beaton, the pendulum had swung in the opposite direction.
“I can hardly decide what I want for breakfast without someone asking the Red Guard if eggs are a viable option,” he had lamented to Wisym.
From her perspective, it seemed true.
Every important decision had to be weighed, measured, and approved by the Red Guard. While this meant the governor's office would never abuse its power, it also meant that it was limited in just about every capacity.
But that didn't mean there weren't ways to work around the system.
Wisym was explaining this to the guests of the governor's mansion as they ate voraciously.
"The Red Guard doesn't want the governor to have too much power," Wisym was explaining. "But to keep things balanced, the governor has some checks on the military as well."
Most of the guests were eating and listening at the same time.
Only Lote and Ealrin were giving her their undivided attention.
For some reason, Wisym kept finding her eyes drifting back to Ealrin and being very comfortable held in his gaze.
"So to send any of the army south to help your country, it would require the willingness of the Red Guard as well as the approval of the governor."
"How willing do you think they would be?" Lote asked. "The members of the Red Guard we spoke with at the Mountain Gate didn't seem to be willing to do anything that put them in harm’s way."
"I don't think you'll have a problem with that here," Wisym replied. She had seen the Red Guard at the capital city throw themselves in danger without so much as a second thought. Mostly in the direction of the Suns.
"So getting the army to come won't be our challenge?" Ealrin asked inquisitively.
"Unfortunately not," she replied, wondering why her face felt hot. "The governor rarely approves any action on the Red Guards part without them granting him some of the powers he thinks should come to him."
"Which is why this whole governing system is broken," came a voice from the hall.
Everyone at the table turned to see who was speaking.
Two men walked into the dining hall followed by a few of the mansion's attendants.
Lote, Tory, and Gaflion all stood and bowed to the newcomers.
Wisym stood to introduce them to those around the table who were unfamiliar with their faces.
"After a brief absence, we welcome back the princes of Thoran to the governor's table."
"We're glad to be back," said the older looking one. "But we had best get out to see what's happening in the streets right now."
"What's happening outside?"
The younger one strapped his sword to his side.
"The Silver Suns are out in force."
"SO THE RED GUARD IS your army. The governor's office leads the people, or at least they try to," Tory was recapping as they walked briskly down the street of the richer section of town. "Who in the world are the Silver Suns you keep talking about? And why do you people have to keep naming things?"
"The Silver Suns are a gang of thieves and troublemakers," Folke, the oldest living member of the royal family of Thoran replied. "And for your own information, they named themselves."
Folke was agitated and Wisym could tell. He and his brother, Alric, had been on a hunt for a troll in the north.
They had come back empty handed.
Alric chimed in next.
"The problem is that a lot of people in Beaton are tired of the Red Guard and politicians always fighting. So they turn to the Silver Suns for help when they don't get it elsewhere."
"Bah! What can crooks do to help?" Gorplin managed through his quickened pace.
"Make more trouble," Folke replied.
"Not always," Alric countered with a glance at his brother. "Sometimes they get food for the hungry. Other times they've been able to track down people who owed debts and gotten them to pay up. That's more than the Guard has been able to do in some circumstances."
Folke snorted.
"My brother, the all too interested," he said offhandedly. "You think the Suns are worthwhile sometimes, don't you?"
He shook his head at the younger prince.
"They’re just a gang trying to make themselves look good. We need haste," he said as he began to quicken his pace.
The group ran, following Folke's example. Wisym had quickly explained that the Silver Suns typically don't do any physical damage. At least not to people. The gang of vigilantes was more concerned with getting high value items for the black market they ran in Beaton.
And, most of the time, these raids were really only cover-ups for some other operation happening on a different side of town. Something more important that tradable goods.
The group had insisted on coming to see what was going on. If for no other reason, because it would help them see a bit more of what Beaton has to deal with.
And perhaps gain some leverage on either the Red Guard or the governor.
As they ran towards the gate that led to the business district, Wisym noted several others fleeing the same area. Wealthy merchants, aristocrats, and Red Guard officials who had nothing to do with actual fighting, all ran to their homes.
Several slammed their doors behind them, while others simply found relief in jumping through their own windows.
“Are they that scared?” the soldier named Bertrom asked.
“Mostly they just don't want to get in the way when the army comes through,” Wisym answered. “That or become a target for the next raid.”
When they reached the gate, a small contingent of Red Guard troops stood guarding it.
“We can't let you pass,” one of the taller ones shouted to the group as they approached. “This area has been designated as dangerous.”
A few in the group slowed down. Not Wisym.
She ran past the guards and into the next district, knocking one or two fleeing merchants aside at the same time.
As she looked behind her, she saw several in the group doing the same but wearing looks of confusion.
With a blush, she noticed that Ealrin was right beside her, matching her pace step for step.
“Sometimes forgiveness is better than permission,” Wisym said.
He smiled and she had to face forward again, before allowing her face to go much redder.
Which would have been difficult.
It wasn't difficult to find out where the raid was taking place. Wisym just had to run in the opposite direction of any normal citizen and towards most of the Red Guard soldiers.
Soon, the target of the raid came into view: an army storehouse.
Smoke billowed up from the side of the once beautiful building. White stone pillars were knocked a
side like toothpicks and the large facade on the side of the building was almost completely destroyed. A large hole was made in the east side of it, and many boxes, barrels, and other storage containers lay smashed alongside the rubble.
This was a weapons storehouse. From the looks of it, most of the contents were taken away easily.
A Red Guard captain pushed his way by Wisym.
“Out of the way! Red Guard coming through!” he bellowed as a troop of soldiers came behind him.
A crowd of people was now gathering around the building. Those who weren't smart enough to run came to see what all the commotion was about.
Wisym noticed that some of them wore smug expressions on their faces: either Silver Suns sympathizers or actual members themselves.
Unlike the army, this organization wore no uniform or identifying feature. They blended in naturally among the citizens of Beaton.
Many soldiers were now riffling through the debris.
What they were looking for, Wisym didn't know.
She had seen raids like this before. The Silver Suns sought to cause as much commotion as they could, make the army and governor respond, and then hope they make a mess of things. In the end, the Silver Suns look like the winners twice over.
There were several loud cracks and pops that echoed throughout the area.
“Look out! It's coming down!” yelled someone from the front of the building.
On cue, the building began to collapse in on itself. Soldiers ran this way and that. Several escaped from the building with only moments to spare.
The large roof caved in and the entire building came down with a resounding crash.
Whatever the Suns had meant to take was gone. Whatever the Red Guard had hoped to salvage was, too.
As the dust cloud settled, Wisym began to walk closer to the wreckage, only to be stopped by a strong hand that grabbed her arm.
“You! You're on the governor's council!” said a scruff voice. “Look at this mess! This could have been avoided!”
Following the arm that held her, Wisym found the eyes of someone she had begun to loathe due to meetings such as these.
“Hello, General Jamond,” she said, taking his hand away from her and stepping back a step. “I'm surprised to see you here so soon. Didn't the Silver Suns just run away?”
She despised the man.
He was the head of the Red Guard and the most outspoken about what he perceived to be unfair checks the governor placed on his army. Everything about him irritated Wisym. From his too large, brown handlebar mustache to his too well trimmed short haircut. Not a strand seemed out of place.
He was nearly as tall as she was, which was a giant to some men. His broad frame betrayed his devotion to keeping himself the prime example of physical fitness to his men.
If only his brain were as well taken care of, Wisym thought with an inward chuckle.
"It seems like another one of your precious store houses has had an incident," she said.
Her comment had the intended effect.
Jamond was explosive with his outburst.
"If the governor would approve of having more guards, I could have adequately protected the valuables inside!"
The crowds that had gathered to see the raid now began to shift their attention to the screaming general.
"I'm sure the governor would be willing to increase your troops if you allowed him a say in how you use them," she retorted.
"Oh that the Suns would save us from foreigners who think they know about our affairs!" Jamond said as he stormed off in the direction of the rubble.
Wisym turned to the group that had followed her from the governor’s mansion.
"You can see how the politicians and the army don't really get along," she said with a smile.
Folke and Alric exchanged glances.
"I'm thankful we don't have this insanity in Thoran!" Folke said.
For a moment, Ealrin thought he saw an odd expression on Alric's face. But as quickly as he had seen it, the look was gone.
Did Folke and Alric agree on the evils of the Suns?
Seeing that the screaming match was over and that the Silver Suns had dispersed, most of the crowd that had gathered began to whittle away. Ealrin was watching one man intently. He carried a rather ornate spear, but was not dressed in the garb of the army. The man was large by any measure, and stood a head above most of those around him. He wore a brown cloak over his clothing and kept it close to him.
The Red Guard busied themselves with the task of clearing away the rubble.
"So," Alric said. "If you all have been sent here from Thoran to find us, father must have important news."
The group became very still.
Wisym watched the expression on every face turn grave.
"Indeed, we have news," the man they called Gaflion said. "But we had best return to the mansion before we give it in full."
None of the newcomers met the gaze of the princes.
Wisym was sure that their tidings would not be pleasant.
28: The Next Step
Out of respect for the princes, most of the group stayed within the dining hall while Gaflion, their uncle, broke the news to them of their father's passing.
Though there were two heavy doors between them and the sad news being told, Ealrin could still hear the sobs resounding through the halls of the mansion.
“Bah. It's a dark day,” said Gorplin as he looked out of one of the windows of the hall. Ealrin sat at the table writing in the journal Elezar had given him in Good Harbor. He looked over to the dwarf. The suns were streaming into the hall, warming the chill autumn air.
Not even the brightness of the sun could warm their mood.
All around the table had loved King Thoran. Even Jurgon and Jurrin sniffed and wiped their noses on their sleeves. Having to tell the news of a loved one's passing was never easy to listen to or hear of.
“He must've been a good king, sir,” Jurrin said. “To be so admired by his sons.”
Jurgon blew his nose into what he thought was a napkin. It was actually the fancy tablecloth.
“Yup,” he answered.
Tory sat in a chair facing the wall; his sword lay against his lap. Lote held a glass of water, but didn't drink it. Bertrom ate a slice of bread from a loaf that had been brought out for them.
No one was in the mood for more than that.
A door opened at one end of the dining room and Wisym walked through it.
Ealrin gave a half smile in her direction, which she returned sheepishly.
He wasn't sure why he was so taken by the elf. Perhaps it was because of her demeanor.
The only female elf Ealrin had spent any time with was Lote. She wasn't much for smiles or conversations. Wisym, however, was different.
“I believe they're almost finished,” she said as she sat across from Ealrin.
“What's that?” she asked, pointing to the journal.
“This?” Ealrin said as he took up his pen from his sketch of the Mountain Gate. “It was a gift from a friend in Good Harbor. An innkeeper actually.”
Ealrin began to tell the story of how he and two others had run halfway across the island to retrieve an amulet for the old man. Before he could finish and tell about how he came to the service of Thoran, however, the doors on the other side of the hall swung open and the three rejoined the whole party.
Both Folke and Alric's eyes were bloodshot. Their cheeks were red. Even Gaflion had some color in his nose.
Ealrin was glad they could at least hear of their father's passing from family.
“The princes would like to join our discussion over the next part in our quest to aid Thoran,” Gaflion said as they sat at the table.
Everyone came to take a seat who was not already.
Folke cleared his throat and tried to speak normally, though his voice was strained.
“It seems,” he managed, “that we have a need to beg for unity on Ruyn.”
BY THAT EVENING, THEIR origina
l plan had been adapted as necessary, and the preparations to put it into action were underway.
Though the princes would have been useful in persuading the two nations to come to war, both felt it necessary they remain in Beaton.
"I have the feeling both of you will have an easier time convincing dwarves and elves to fight alongside us than we will have convincing the Red Guard and politicians here to get along," Folke said.
Alric was nodding his head solemnly. He hadn't said much since returning to the dining hall. He hadn't eaten any food either.
Ealrin couldn't blame him.
"Tomorrow morning each of us will set about the task that was given," Lote said. "From what I've been able to research on the area, it shouldn't take three weeks to travel there and back as well as spend time making your case."
"That gives us three weeks here," Bertrom said.
Judging by their previous experience, and what he had learned so far from being in the city for two days, Ealrin wasn't sure that that would be enough time.
BY MORNING, THE TWO groups, who would travel west and north respectively, were packed and gathered at the mansion doors they had entered only two nights ago.
Each would leave from a different gate than the one they entered when they first arrived.
Ealrin could tell both groups were anxious about their journeys.
"Try not to complain the entire way, Tory," Ealrin told him as he clasped him on the shoulder.
"Bah. Good luck with that," Gorplin said as he fastened the strips of this pack.
Tory knelt down till he was eye level with the dwarf.
"And you try not to eat all of your provisions before you arrive, greedy guts," he said as he poked him in the belly.
Gorplin took a swing at him, but Gaflion held him back.
"It's not too late to trade, Miss Lote," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to take this one?"
"I think I can handle the complaints just fine," she replied.
