by RG Long
37: A Coup Begins
"Bertrom!" Wisym shouted as she pounded on the door of his room. "Bertrom! Get up!"
She heard several things crash to the floor and a few curses before the door opened.
Bertrom stood there in his pants and shirt, though the latter was disheveled and hardly buttoned. His feet were bare.
"It's the middle of the night!" he protested. "What is it?"
Wisym barged into his quarters, found his boots, and handed them to him.
"Put these on," she commanded. "Now! Meet me at the main door. Bring your sword."
Before waiting to hear any more questions, she flew out of the room and down the stairs.
After hearing the commotion outside, she had woken up from her sleep and dressed quickly. She said a prayer of thanks to her elders that she had decided to stay at the mansion tonight.
Many more prayers would be said before the night was over.
Wisym armed herself with her two trusty blades that she had stored here in the mansion, not having need of them in the elf settlement.
When she arrived at the door to the mansion, she only had to wait a moment before Bertrom came bumbling down the stairs.
"Would you care to explain why you've got me dressed and armed in the middle of the night?" he asked as he yawned and rubbed one of his eyes.
In answer, she opened the door.
Red light spilled into the mansion as fires burned throughout the city. Some of the houses in the upper district burned. Notably, Wisym acknowledged, those belonging to the Red Guard officers.
People in masks ran up and down the streets, carrying torches and weapons. A group of them were marching towards the governor's mansion. In response, a column of Red Guard soldiers marched towards them, spears drawn and officer's ordering their men to "Charge!"
Wisym grabbed Bertrom’s wrist and dragged him out into the night.
"Come on," she said. "The Silver Suns are making a coup."
38: Reunited
Tory rubbed his eyes several times just to make sure he hadn't seen a ghost.
Holve walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"You can get rid of the stupid expression," he said roughly. "There's a lot we have to discuss. On your feet."
Tory stood and glanced around him. They were in a large room. Or at least, Tory thought it was a room. The floors were tiled and smooth, but the ceiling and walls were all natural rock. Stalactites hung from the ceiling. Some held glowing orbs that lit the room. It smelled of earth. So different was this room than the hall they had just been in.
Holve walked past them and out onto a balcony that overlooked the snowy fields before them. Tory and Lote followed.
Tory assumed that this was the way they had come. Looking around he saw nothing but a mountainous terrain and rough rock.
"Where are we?" He asked, trying to make sense of at least one part of the situation.
Lote answered him.
"This is the castle of Shiv," she said bitterly. "Cleverly disguised to blend into the mountainside. They hide like the cowards they are."
"Watch your tongue, spawn of Yulian filth," a voice said from a few paces behind them.
Tory recognized it as the same voice that had threatened him earlier.
He looked back and saw her standing in black robes. The cloth was wound tightly around her body. All that shown was her face and her hair. Even her hands were gloved in black. She wore a look of pure hatred and all of it was aimed at Lote. The most striking thing about her, though, was her near white blonde hair that contrasted starkly against her clothes of night.
Lote made to advance on this female elf. Holve stepped in between them.
"It's time to put your differences aside," he told the both of them, though his gaze lingered on Lote.
"Now tell me, why would two of the King’s Swords be so far north? And why would they not be in the company of any of the Royal members of the House of Thoran?"
Tory looked at Holve incredulously.
"And how can a man I saw cause an explosion so large that there was nothing left but a crater stand here and ask about our motives?" He blurted out.
Tory could recall that battle. Many of his fellow soldiers had fallen to the demon Holve fought. Many more fell to Androlion's men. Holve was dead to Tory. They had buried him in memory in Thoran. What dark magic was at work here? Why had Holve returned when so many others, like Gray, hadn't?
Tory was in near tears, both of rage at the loss of so many friends and a stifled joy that Holve might actually be alive and before him.
"How is it that you live?" he asked.
Holve looked back from Lote to Tory. His eyes held anger and fear, hope and life.
"Fine," he said. "My story first. Then yours."
He looked up and pointed towards the dark comet that still hovered in the sky.
"That abomination," he said. "Is no ordinary star."
"It is a plane of existence all its own. A realm trapped within an inferno of flame. On it dwell the most hideous and violent of demons."
"One of them broke free, for the thing is a prison as much as it is a place, and attacked us. The demons there are free from their bonds when battles rage down here."
"So that's why one of them crashed into the battle in Thoran?" Lote asked.
Tory saw that she, like him, was trying to piece together what Holve was telling them.
A plane? A realm? A place of existence?
It sounded as if it were a planet of demons.
"They are drawn to bloodshed and violence. There are more demons we can expect to see released onto our own world."
"But how do you know this?" Tory asked, still confused.
Holve looked at him. His expression was battle hardened and cold.
"Because I was there," he said.
"I attempted a spell to send the beast back where it came from. In a manner of speaking, I succeeded. The demon was hurled back to the dark comet in the midst of what I'm sure was an enormous explosion. Unfortunately, it took me with it."
"I don't know how differently time passes on the comet, but it feels as if I have been gone for years, battling that monstrosity for decades."
He shuddered.
"Don't ask me to describe that hellish place. Your worst nightmares would not do it justice."
Lote and Tory exchanged glances.
"Though what may have been the most favorable hand fate has ever dealt me, I was drawn back to this place. They tell me the fighting between Yule and Shiv has been getting worse recently. The bloodshed drew me here."
Tory had more questions than Holve was giving him answers for. None of them could be easily put into words at the moment, so he left well enough alone.
Holve walked back inside the door, into the large chamber that housed three thrones atop a natural rock stair. Even the throne looked to be as untouched by tools as necessary.
"A day ago," Holve continued. "Shivian elves said they saw you leave the inn below the wastes. I sent them to retrieve you. Under a condition we will speak of in time."
He turned to face them.
"Your turn. Why are you here?"
Tory looked at Lote, who began to relate all that had happened in the last month.
The attack on Thoran by goblins. The absence of an attack from Androlion. The plan to find allies in the north and how they had recently split in order to visit the three northern kingdoms of men, dwarves, and elves.
The three of them stood at the base of the grand, natural thrones for the extent of the tale.
He simply nodded to acknowledge he heard them. When she finished talking, he looked off and sighed deeply.
"Then your purpose and the conditions I gave the elves of Shiv are aligned. If they can gain the upper hand in their struggle with Yule and arrange a peaceable coexistence, then Thoran may benefit from their aid."
"A peaceable existence might only be found once every Yule elf is dead," the female said, breaking her previous sile
nce.
"Those were not the terms you and I agreed to, Pella," Holve said plainly. "And you know why you need me here to aid you. I would not forget it."
The elf scowled, but did not argue Holve's words. She bowed her head and stepped backward.
Holve folded his arms and looked at Tory and Lote sternly.
"However," he said with a look of deep thought. "We will soon find ourselves in a position to worry about more than Shiv, Thoran and Androlion. Or Ruyn, for that matter."
Tory was done being silent.
"I'm completely lost now. I thought ridding ourselves of Androlion was the thing we were most concerned about! What do you mean we need to worry about something different?"
Holve looked at Tory, then to Lote.
"All will be explained in time," he said cryptically.
Why can't he just come out and say it? Tory wondered.
"For now I have another question for you that is the utmost importance," Holve said with a gruff. Several elves in black came into the chamber and summoned Pella away. She went with a backwards glance at Lote. Hate was still in her eyes. The three watched them leave the chamber. Holve turned back to Lote and sighed.
"Where's Blume?" he asked.
39: Outside Grandun-Krator
Gorplin should have been glad to see the mountains rising up before him. It had been many months since he last walked in the halls of dwarfs. Though he knew his homeland was a proud one, the tales of these dwarven holds were the things of legend.
But he could find no excitement inside of him.
He mourned for the loss of Gaflion, as did the halflings.
They trotted along rockier paths than before. The stones beneath their feet would cause them to stumble every so often. It could only be a matter of time before they began to walk the more civilized roads of the dwarves.
He sighed.
Gorplin didn't know he had respected the old silent warrior as much as he did. He was always charging in while Gaflion was being strategic. Gaflion listened to the other side of an argument while Gorplin shouted until his opponent backed down.
The dwarf knew he had much to learn from the old man.
If he were still alive.
What struck Gorplin more than anything, though, was how much the halflings mourned Gaflion's death.
They had only known him a few short weeks, yet they kept bringing up things he had done for them or said to them. More than little things, though, they were torn up most about how he had saved their lives.
"Threw us right out of danger, he did, sir," Jurrin said, after he blew his nose for the third time since bringing it up. "A good man, sir. He was a good man."
"Yup," Jurgon said through his own snivels.
It made losing him worse, knowing how he had impacted such little people in so little a time.
Gorplin tried to tell a story or two in order to lift all of their spirits, but he found that he had lost the spark of excitement he had before. In its place was a longing to just be in the company of those famed dwarves from Grandun-Krator.
On the third day after losing Gaflion to the demon hound, the stones beneath their feet finally began to smooth out. Paving stones, marked with the intricate patterns of dwarven runes, began to show them the roads leading to the dwarven mountains.
By midday, they arrived at a crossroads. Gorplin studied the stones for a moment, and then pointed west with his weapon.
"We'll need to take this road if we're to see the dwarven king," he said. The runes indicated that the capital lay in the direction of his axe.
Since they had been attacked, Gorplin had not let his axe rest in its holder. Instead, he had carried it at every opportunity. If it were to be his sole responsibility to protect Jurrin and Jurgon, he would do it well.
The trio walked down the path.
Gorplin sniffed the air and a familiar scent filled his nose.
"Forge fires!" he said out loud, letting a smile cross his face for the first time in days. "Ah! The smell of dwarves hard at work!"
The smell invigorated Gorplin. It reminded him why they had come. His own mountain had been put to the torch. It was time to go and seek revenge for what had been done. To make right the wrongs committed against them.
Surely his fellow dwarves would be able to understand that?
"But where are they?" he said out loud as they continued along the path.
"What, sir?" Jurrin asked him.
Gorplin looked around him, up and down the road they had walked all morning.
"The dwarves," he said. "I haven't seen a single soul since we found the road. There are several dwarven settlements here. Large ones. There should be some dwarves going from one to the other, don't you think? Have you seen anyone?"
"Nope," Jurgon answered, looking around.
He continued to scan the landscape. It was bare and desolate. Red rock and stone and road were all he could see. Save for the smell of fire, there was nothing else on the wind.
Except.
"Something smells funny now, sir" Jurrin said, turning up his nose. "Don't you think?"
"Yup," Jurgon replied.
Gorplin could smell it, too. Something not like the metal and sulfur he could smell on the wind that told him of fires and smelting and metal work.
Something foul was mixed with it.
As the mountain drew nearer, the bad smell grew stronger. They covered their noses and tried to breath through their mouths, but the scent persisted.
Then he saw it.
On the road before them, as they made a turn, the large entrance to the dwarven settlement rose. Statues of previous great kings of the mountains stood as sentinels, guarding the path to the mountain hold.
And littering the road after the bend, were broken helmets, shields, and weapons of various kinds. Some had been moved into piles, while others were still littering the road and surrounded country.
Gorplin stooped and picked up the first he saw.
"Not good," he breathed. He threw the thing into a nearby pile.
"Bah, come on you two. Keep up!" he said as he ran down the road, careful not to trip over the piles of broken armor and blades.
"And careful of the arrow heads," he said as he huffed along. "Goblins poison the tips."
40: The Defense of Castle Thoran
Teresa spurred her horse faster as the black smoke on the horizon grew closer.
Her companions did their best to keep up with her. Surprisingly, two of them were new to her company.
Urt and Felicia both had agreed to return with her to the castle and offer to help. Though Felicia had to be coerced more than Teresa had the patience for.
"I'd rather get back onto the ship and sail south," she had argued when Teresa had asked for them to come with her. "I just don't feel right when I'm not on the boat."
"It's no small miracle you made it to River Head without running into any Southern Republic boats, goblins, or pirates," Teresa replied. "At least for now, come with me to Thoran and we'll make preparations for whatever is heading this way. It's safer than River Head at any rate."
And that was true.
The city was surrounded by a wall and could withstand attack for a time. But Teresa didn't have in mind the type of attack that would be played out in a week. She was thinking of the type of siege that would see the defenders holed up for a month or more.
Castle Thoran could withstand that type of attack, and had supplies to face it.
As many people who could were following them to Thoran. The entire population of the city was emptying out and coming to the castle stronghold in hopes of surviving the coming army.
Teresa prayed those hopes weren't unfounded.
She and her company arrived first, with the refugees from River Head not far behind.
The castle gates opened. Standing just inside the gates to greet them, were a sergeant and a woman who looked windswept and weary.
Teresa dismounted her horse and faced the pair.
"Milady," the
female soldier said as she bowed down to her. "I have urgent news."
The sergeant next to her also bowed and spoke quickly. "We were about to send a small contingent of troops to River Head to retrieve you."
"If it has to do with the black smoke in the south, I'm aware. Have you already scouted out what it is?"
"That's what Rachel was reporting to me," the sergeant said motioning to the woman standing next to him.
She didn't look much older than seventeen.
"It's a goblin army, Lady Teresa. They've set the forest ablaze and are marching this way."
"Any sign of an army from the south coming to join them?" Teresa asked, knowing how they had been defeated last time by the efforts of two different armies.
The two soldiers shared a glance and both looked as if fear would soon overtake them.
"According to Rachel," the sergeant said. "They won't need a second army."
That did not bode well.
"How many goblins are there?" Teresa asked.
"Thousands, Lady Teresa," Rachel said with her eyes to the ground. "Perhaps, tens of thousands."
Refugees from River Head began shuffling past her and into the protective walls of the castle.
Just how long those walls could hold against such a force, Teresa didn't know.
ALL ABLE-BODIED MEN and women were armed with whatever could be found in the storage rooms and armories of the castle.
Those who were trained in combat were put in charge of groups of tens and twenties. Each group was assigned to a sergeant who oversaw them.
The inhabitants of the castle had pushed back the assault of the previous goblins, but their numbers had been far fewer. Teresa wondered if, even with the addition of more soldiers, they could repeat their previous success.
Large catapults were being wheeled into place. Their ammunition, barrels, rocks, and pieces of the wall that had broken off in the last conflict, were set beside them in piles. Carts of food were being taken further up towards the castle structure, to keep them safe from fire and destruction.
Teresa was doing her best to direct the efforts.
