Magic of Ruyn

by RG Long

  “That looks like an inn,” he said, glancing over at the other establishment with a light.

  A sign above the door showcased a bed. But the lettering was far from legible after years of decay.

  “Or perhaps, another type of business,” Wisym offered.

  True. But there didn't seem to be any other option. If the man had walked further down the road, they would have seen him.

  “Let's go inside,” Ealrin said.

  “And what?” Bertrom argued. “Buy a bed for the night?”

  “I have some coins,” Wisym offered. “Let me buy you two a drink.”

  INSIDE THE INN, IT was musty and dank. Ealrin was at least glad the place really was an inn, though shady business was sure to be done behind closed doors.

  The dining area was no larger than the three of them holding hands. Two tables and a bar were the only surfaces on which to eat.

  A man was passed out drunk on the bar, so they took to the table.

  No one else, save for a young, shrewd looking woman who took their drink orders, was around.

  Bertrom leaned forward, clutching his arms.

  “Wish they'd light another candle,” he complained in a low voice. “I can barely see the floor.”

  “You probably don't want to know what’s down there,” Ealrin said as he rubbed his boot over the wooden boards. More than one solid object rolled under his sole.

  Their drinks were served and Wisym paid for them.

  After a sip, she sighed.

  “No hooded man,” she said. “I wonder if he really came in here.”

  Ealrin wasn't sure. There were several places he could have ducked in along the street. Maybe he didn't come in here at all.

  “Ma’am,” Bertrom asked from their table. “Could you spare a towel?”

  He had bumped his mug and made a spill.

  The hostess looked at Bertrom like he had grown another head for a moment. She shook her own and threw a rag to him from behind the counter.

  It looked dirtier than the floor.

  Bertrom held it in his fingers.

  “On second thought,” he said, placing the rag beside him on the table. “I don't think that will help.”

  Then the sound of several pairs of feet came down the stairs. Ealrin looked up at them, and then quickly back down to his drink. Bertrom and Wisym did the same.

  The hooded man was among them.

  “It was fortunate that you came here, general,” a female voice Ealrin didn't recognize said.

  One he did know answered it.

  “Fortunate for both of us,” General Verde of the Southern Republic answered. It was he who wore the cloak and the hood. “I will continue on my way in the morning. I must return to the north. I trust that what we have spoken about will be put into action?”

  “Indeed,” the first voice replied. “I will see to the arrangements, as well as forming the new allegiance.”

  They approached the counter and Ealrin stole a glance over his shoulder. Verde was still wearing his hood. The woman who accompanied him had black hair. It was cut short in the back, but in the front it came down to her chin. Her garments weren't spectacular. A blue blouse and black pants, along with shin high boots and a cloak she collected from behind the bar and slung over her shoulders. She wore a single dagger on her belt.

  “Be leaving soon then?” the hostess asked Verde.

  He dropped a bag of coins on the counter. The drunk stirred at the noise, but went back to sleep quickly.

  “I was never here,” he said, as he continued with the other person he spoke with.

  They walked out of the inn without even a glance at the table where Ealrin, Wisym and Bertrom sat.

  When the door closed, Ealrin leaned in to his comrades.

  “I'm going to follow him in the morning,” he said.

  Bertrom spilled his whole mug onto the floor.

  BACK AT THE MANSION, Ealrin had his ear full of dissent.

  Folke wanted to know where he thought Verde might be headed.

  Alric was concerned about what this mysterious woman was referring to.

  Bertrom thought the whole thing was ridiculous and that Ealrin should stay in Beaton and continue to try to convince the governor and the Red Guard to go to war like they had originally planned.

  Only Wisym seem to at least partially agree with him.

  "We haven't made much ground in Beaton during the last few months," she reasoned. "Who's to say a few more days will change their mind?"

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked at Ealrin.

  "Maybe this is what the stars have in store for you," she said as she looked into his eyes.

  Ealrin had his mind made up back at the dinghy inn.

  Now, at least, he was glad to have someone on his side.

  "I'm going to finish packing my bag and I'm going to follow him," he said with as much finality in his voice as he could muster.

  "Bertrom you can speak for Thoran as well as anyone. You lost friends and family. Show them what heartache awaits them if they don't do anything," he continued.

  "Once Thoran falls, there's nothing stopping Androlion from marching north." He stuffed another package of necessities into his bag and closed it.

  "I'm going to the northern wall to wait for Verde. I want to find out what he's up to."

  Those gathered in the bedroom no longer tried to argue with him.

  Bertrom looked down at his feet awkwardly.

  Ealrin clapped him on the shoulder.

  "You can do this," he told him.

  He looked up to meet his gaze.

  "If there's anything I've learned in my journey thus far, it's that the one who might surprise you the most is yourself."

  And with those words, he walked out into the night.

  34: The General's Surprise

  Life aboard the Pride of Men was tolerable at best.

  The four cabin attendants had been worked to the bone. They were roused before dawn to set out the soldiers and sailors' breakfast.

  They weren't the only ones waiting on the ship. It turned out that the entire bottom portion of the ship held similar rooms to theirs with other young boys and girls who obeyed every order that Cory Greenwall could give.

  Decks had to be mopped. Food had to be cleaned up and scrapped for the next meal. Then ropes needed tying, buckets needed emptying, and other endless tasks needed completing.

  Androlion's own flagship was just beyond their vessel, sailing north.

  Blume could see the large banner that flew from it when she cleaned the railings. Messages were received from the boat by flag signals at least twice a day. Adjusting course or giving new orders to be carried out in preparation for what Blume could only guess was a full on assault of Thoran.

  Things aboard that ship couldn't have been worse than theirs, Blume thought.

  Cory's orders were to be followed to the letter.

  And she hated him for it.

  She, of course, had several reasons to hate him already.

  Ealrin had told her of Cory's betrayal. How he had killed two of his dwarven friends right in front of him. Then he defected to Androlion's side. It had ruined many of Thoran's loyal soldiers. None so terribly as Tory, his twin brother.

  Blume had seen him after the battle. He was a wreck.

  Apparently, however, the betrayal was working well for Cory.

  Men, soldiers and sailors alike, were at his command. No matter where he walked, men saluted him and gave him the right of way. He was the most powerful man aboard the ship.

  He must have done something more gruesome and terrible to earn this title in such a short time, Blume thought. Or several things.

  How many other dwarves had he killed? What about elves?

  Blume shook her head as she thought about it.

  She hated the man.

  And he deserved to be hated.

  The work here made the Home for the Helpless seem like a casual hobby. Blume was exhausted to her core. Poor Abigail
was doing her best just to stay upright.

  She had suffered on her journey to the shore more than she talked about.

  But still she talked, and that at least drove fears of her slow demise out of Blume's mind.

  Jeremy seemed to handle being on a ship well. In fact, he was the most inquisitive of the bunch. He asked whoever would tell him the names of things and the purpose of others. Very few spared him any words at all, but the few that did were at least begrudgingly helping Jeremy survive the hard labor by feeding his mind.

  "Port is the left. Starboard is the right. Aft means the front and stern means the back," he repeated to himself over and over again.

  "Why don't they just call it front, back, left and right?" Abigail wondered out loud. "I really don't understand why they have to make this so difficult. What's wrong with calling it left?"

  Blume would have found it more annoying, but she could never remember the difference between the nautical terms. She was glad for the reminder every once and awhile.

  One night, after they had cleaned the dishes away from the evening meal and done all of their prep for the next morning, the four of them slumped back to their tiny room in the bottom of the ship, weary and ready for whatever sleep they could get.

  Blume, particularly, was having a hard time sleeping while her hammock constantly rocked back and forth.

  The first week had witnessed her throwing up at least once in the night.

  As they walked into their room, however, they found it occupied.

  The commander of the vessel stood beside their meager table.

  Cory stood and looked down at them each in turn, before letting his gaze fall on Blume.

  "Follow me," he ordered.

  Then he marched out of the room, brushing past them all. He turned and waited at the bottom of the stairs they had just descended.

  For a moment, Blume just looked back and forth from Jeremy, Abigail, and Rose. Jeremy shook his head. Abigail squeaked. Rose just looked at the floor.

  Blume began to walk towards the general, hating him for everything he had done.

  Then a hand grabbed her own.

  She looked back at Abigail, who was near shaking. There was terror in her eyes. Pain was mixed in alongside it.

  "Be safe," she whispered.

  "Now," Cory said when he saw Blume delaying. His voice was sharper this time.

  Blume gave Abigail's hand a squeeze, and then followed Cory up the stairs.

  As they climbed the stairs Blume saw that most of the sailors and soldiers had bunked down for the night. A few soldiers, who must be the night’s watch, saluted when Cory past them and gave Blume a quick glance before tending their post.

  They emerged from the center of the ship and out onto the deck. A chill ran down Blume's spine. It was a cloudless and cold night. The stars above were on a brilliant display. Blume wished she could have appreciated them more.

  A rather intimidating looking sailor manned the helm that controlled the direction of the ship. A set of stairs on both the left and right led up to the wheel. Underneath it, light came through a paneled double door towards the rear of the ship.

  Aft, Blume reminded herself.

  Cory walked to the door and held it open for Blume.

  He looked back at her, his eyes staring hard.

  She saw no emotion there. There was nothing on his face that told her what was happening inside his mind.

  It made her blood go colder than the air around her.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, Blume walked through the door. Cory closed it shut behind her.

  He led the way down a simple, yet elegant hallway.

  Unlike the leaky room they had just left, the surroundings they found themselves in, this hallway was clean and bright.

  Cory turned right down the hall, and then left. Blume followed, but all the while she looked for something sharp.

  She felt the overwhelming need to arm herself. There was no way to know what danger lay in wait for her.

  No such object presented itself to her, however.

  He stopped in front of one door and opened it, motioning for her to go in ahead of him.

  She entered what looked like an office. A desk sat in the middle of the room. An ornate chair was placed behind it, while two plain wooden ones were arranged in front. Cory sat down behind the desk and pointed to one of the others for Blume to sit in.

  She hesitated for a moment, still unsure of his intentions.

  "If you care to stand, I'll continue without you having a seat," he said. "You have no need to fear."

  Before she knew what she was doing, Blume was shouting.

  "I don't need to be afraid!? Why say that!? You killed people who were your friends! You murdered them! I know! They told me who you are! They told me what you did! I'm not afraid of you! You're the coward! How dare you kill someone who trusted you! Don't you..."

  "Enough," Cory said as he held up his hand to her.

  For some reason, this small motion silenced her. The next words stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  A guard came into the room with his sword ready.

  "Sir!" he said as he opened the door and looked back and forth from Blume to Cory, bewildered.

  "I heard shouting, sir," he said, slightly confused at the spectacle of a young girl in the office of his commander.

  "Yes," Cory said. "Miss Dearcrest here was just expressing her opinion. That will do, soldier. Back to your post."

  The man saluted, glanced at Blume, and then exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Cory got up from his chair.

  Blume moved away, into a corner. He looked at her, then opened the door and looked out into the hallway.

  He stood there for a moment, then closed the door and locked it. As he returned to his chair, he spoke.

  "You speak the truth, but only in part."

  He seated himself in his chair again, but this time a new expression came over his face.

  It looked like sadness, but within it was something else.

  Was it...hope?

  Blume blinked, and the look was gone. In its place was the hard look of an officer. Nothing more.

  "And this time, Blume," he said as he again pointed to the open chair. "You had best keep your voice down."

  Hearing her name wasn't very comforting. Still, she moved to take her seat.

  The walls of the room were wooden, though painted. A chair railing ran along the middle of the wall. On her left, a map of Ruyn hung framed upon the wall. On the right, a banner of Androlion was held in place by a decorative rope.

  Behind Cory was a window that showed the night sky. In the corner, behind him, stood a small metal fire pot that warmed the room. Blume had yet to feel it. Her hands were still shaking.

  "Yes," Cory said. "I did kill two of my friends. Two dwarves to be exact. Their names were Frerin and Khali. They were good soldiers and better companions. Yet they knew what every good warrior does."

  He put his elbows on the table and sighed. His eyes wandered around the room for a moment.

  This time, there was no denying it.

  His face was covered with remorse.

  "Sacrifice and victory go hand and hand."

  Cory looked Blume in the eye.

  For once, she didn't hate him.

  She pitied him.

  "When we were captured, the three of us talked about our fate and what would become of the survivors. We knew that Androlion would put us all to death, starting with the dwarves and elves. They told me they didn't want to be disgraced and have their bodies wracked by torture, the playthings of drunks and fools. So we plotted together. When Androlion offered any of us the chance to defect, I took it."

  He sat back against the chair again, his hand against his chin.

  "I cannot tell you it was easy to do what I did. Now, knowing that they escaped all but unharmed was terrible for me. But I was in the position that none of them could have fathomed. I was in the favor of the enemy. I cou
ld now learn their motivation. Even attempt to thwart them when the opportunity came."

  Blume sat dumbfounded.

  It had been a trick? Cory wasn't truly the bad guy?

  "I don't believe you," she said softly.

  And it was true. Who could kill their friends just to spy? What kind of sacrifice was that?

  Cory gave a weak smile.

  "I didn't plan on you trusting me," he said. "At least not yet."

  He stood and walked over to a dresser.

  "I arranged for your friends to be placed on this ship," he said as he opened a drawer and took out a small wooden box. "I knew that if they were placed anywhere else, under the more hateful eye of a different commander, they wouldn't last a week."

  Returning to his seat, he placed the box on the table.

  "I didn't know they were from Thoran until later. I never bothered much with the school. I just knew that a dwarf and an elf would have little chance among the ranks of the Southern Republic."

  Blume was still trying to make sense of it all.

  Cory had killed his friends, but he had also tried to save hers.

  Could he be trusted?

  "My efforts in the south to disrupt Androlion have been stalled seeing as how we sail north," he continued. "But it appears that we are both in fate's good favors."

  He pulled out the contents of the box and placed it on the desk between himself and Blume.

  "Especially since we have the locket that Androlion seeks more than conquering the continent of Ruyn."

  Blume saw the green stone that lay within her necklace glow softly on the table, casting an eerie light around the room.

  "Now, Blume," Cory said as he looked into her eyes. "Let's discuss this piece of jewelry. For if I understand correctly, it'll be the thing that saves us all."

  35: Back At Fern's Rest

  Ealrin looked left at the mysterious woman sitting beside him at the bar of Fern's Nest. She brushed her silver hair away from her face as she took a swig of the mug in front of her.

  So far, she hadn't displayed the most civilized of qualities.

  Instead of being repulsed, however, Ealrin was intrigued.

  She looked at him after she set her mug down.