Dragon of ruyn, p.1
Dragon of Ruyn, page 1
part #3 of Legends of Gilia Series
Dragon of Ruyn
Legends of Gilia, Volume 3
RG Long
Published by Retrovert Books, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
DRAGON OF RUYN
First edition. February 22, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 RG Long.
Written by RG Long.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Maps and More!
1: Wake Up
2: The Man and the Wolf
3: The Council of Seven
4: Alric's Decision
5: Retreat
6: The Shining Suns
7: Generals and Governors
8: Friendly Places
9: A Rift in the Trees
10: Invaders
11: King Thuda's Throne
12: Dwarven Halls
13: Frostbitten Plans
14: Anders Sureloft
15: Gifts Refused
16: Deliberation
17: Against One's Will
18: Thuda's Pride
19: For Jurgon
20: Gorplin's Fight
21: The Savior of Men
22: For Thoran
23: Flames and Ladders
24: The Traitor
25: Quick Council
26: Ruin Come Down
27: Courage
28: Dwarf and Elf
29: A Daughter's Revenge
30: Conviction
31: Close Combat
32: The Brother's War
33: The Last Sunrise
34: Complaints and Cowards
35: A Kingly Refusal
36: Where Allegiances Lie
37: Reinforcements
38: Saving the World
39: The Speaker's Power
40: Aftermath
41: A Princess' Rest
42: Stinkrunt at Sea
43: Sad Reunion
44: Spring's Joy
45: The Rusty Hook
46: Family
More exciting adventures
The Story Continues
Maps and More!
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1: Wake Up
The man entered the room slowly, still dreading the sight that would greet his eyes in the dim light of the dying fireplace.
He steeled himself for what he knew waited for him. The sight of the petite girl, bedridden and ashen faced, made him pause from pushing the door open to allow him entrance.
For the last three months, he had walked into the room and seen the same thing. Every time, he prayed to whoever might be listening to wake the girl from her slumber.
Every time, she still slept.
The steaming hot drink in his hands did little to warm him.
Pushing open the door, he was greeted with the painfully familiar sight. A girl who ought to be running through fields or chatting with friends lay motionless, save for the nearly imperceptible rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.
He sat down in the chair next to her bed. The fabric had long molded itself to his frame. With one hand, he placed the tray he had carried into the room on the tiny table next to the bed.
With the other, he took another sip from his drink.
It was dark outside. The lonely window showed a beautiful starry night out.
He couldn't find it within himself to enjoy it.
His sole concern was for the health of the girl.
From his pocket, he produced a small spoon and began the slow process of feeding her broth. With great care, he lifted up her head just enough to allow her mouth to open. He took a spoonful of soup and nursed it into her mouth.
And then he held his breath.
The first time he had tried to give her something to eat, she had gagged it up and nearly choked. Since that time, he hadn't felt comfortable giving her anything other than broth.
She swallowed the spoonful reflexively, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"There now," he says as she swallows. "That's what you need. Some food."
Talking to her helped him, but only a little. He wasn't sure whether or not she could hear him.
Still.
He remembered times when they talked before. It calmed him a bit to speak to her like she was awake and could be listening.
"You were supposed to stay behind, you know," he said. A single tear came to his eye. He brushed it away, and went back to feeding her.
For the moment, he was silent.
He carefully fed her the rest of the soup, and then sat back in his chair to sip his drink.
The cup had cooled considerably.
So absorbed was he in his task, that he didn't realize he was no longer alone with her.
Behind him stood another man, one whom he respected greatly and was glad for his mentorship, but one whom he hadn't seen in some time. They had been reunited only two nights previous. He felt his strong hand on his shoulder.
“You gonna stay up all night again?” he asked in his gruff tone. “You've got to get some rest, too, or you'll wear yourself out.”
It was true. He was exhausted. The last two nights he had spent half resting, half watching over his sleeping ward.
He took another sip of his drink.
“I'll watch her tonight,” his friend said. “You rest.”
Reluctantly and wearily, he stood. With every movement, he felt the aches and pains in his body of little rest and less food in his belly.
He had to take care of himself if he was going to take care of someone else.
Slowly, he walked back to the door with his mug and his tray, the spoon and bowl resting on top.
At the door frame, he turned and watched his friend settle himself into the chair, a mug in his own hands. From the smell of it, he was drinking something much stronger than tea.
He glanced at the girl one last time. The slow and steady movement of her chest was the only indicator of the life inside her when she wasn't eating.
For months she hadn't spoken.
She hadn't moved.
She hadn't done anything.
Her eyes were shut tight.
He couldn't bare the sight any longer. He pulled the door closed and stepped into the lonely hallway.
“Wake up, Blume,” he said in a near whisper as he walked to the kitchen to return his dishes, his eyes beginning to mist and obscure his vision.
2: The Man and the Wolf
A wintry powder settled on the northern lands of Ruyn. Autumn had brought with it colder than normal weather and now snow was beginning to fall. Several birds who had been late to fly south now began their journey to warmer climates. The plains that surrounded the northern city of Beaton were quiet and still.
The only figures that could be seen for miles were a man and woman, both heading in the same direction.
Towards Beaton at a breakneck speed.
A brown haired man, with a sword that had no point, carried a traveling pack on his shoulders. It was not as full as it had been when he traveled from Thoran to The Glorious City. He had only packed the essentials when he set off to track an enemy through the cold and frozen Northern Wastes.
For the most part, he was a moderately good looking man who might have been in his early twenties. Though how old he really was, he didn't know.
There were many things about himself he didn't remember. All he knew was that several months ago, he had washed up on the shores of an island called Good Harbor with few possessions and fewer memories. That hadn't stopped him from getting swept up into a conflict that was beginning to consume the entire continent.
He was on a mission with several others to request aid for the country of Thoran from the northern countries: Beaton, Yule, Shiv, and Grandun-Krator. Of the people who had come on the original journey, however, he alone had wandered off by himself to track Verde, a general for the Southern Republic.
It was the Southern Republic and the mercenary army called The Mercs that had begun this war. They claimed that a catastrophic apocalypse was on its way and that the only way to prevent the doom foreseen was to rid the land of every race that was not human.
Many battles had been hard fought based on those mad claims made by one man, Androlion Fellgate. He was an expert tactician, a mastermind of the battlefield, and a crazed lunatic who desired power above all else.
At least, that's what Ealrin thought of him.
And it was Ealrin's thought, as well, that if the man who could turn a nation on its head and drive it to madness could be dealt with, then the whole conflict would come to a halt and sanity could be restored.
Thus explained his traveling companion.
The woman who ran beside him had several swords and daggers on her back and several more hidden in her clothes. A single braid of strikingly white hair ran down her back. If the wolf head cloak she wore had fallen away, men would clamor to call her beautiful and beg for a moment of her time.
And as the stories go, she'd give it them in the form of a knife to the throat.
Silverwolf, the only name she ever gave to those who asked, was a deadly assa ssin. Ealrin had met her just after she had killed her most recent bounty.
He had asked for her help then.
She had yet to promise it.
But they both traveled to Beaton. She was to claim her coins and entertain the idea of retirement. He was to meet up with his friends who had hopefully swayed the governor of Beaton and the Red Guard, Beaton's military and police force, to help Thoran.
Both plans might be in jeopardy.
Before them on the horizon, the city of Beaton was alight with flames.
They both ran as quickly as they could.
Forgetting, for a moment, how strange it was that he was now partnered with a professional assassin, Ealrin was worried about the fate of his friends.
Wisym, an elf from the now ruined elven city of Talgel in the Southern Republic, Bertrom, a soldier from Thoran, and the two princes of the same kingdom had stayed behind.
Fire and ash from the city rose above the northern walls. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air as the cold wind blew it away from Beaton and towards them.
Ealrin hoped that they had weathered whatever storm was taking place.
They were still a stone's throw from the walls. From this point, he could see that the northern city gate was cracked and an orange glow escaped through the opening.
Considering how closely the Red Guard protected the city, it was strange to see the door devoid of any soldiers.
It didn't bode well.
They arrived at the door and forced it open. This was no easy task, as it was at least twice as tall as he was and made of solid wood. Whoever was supposed to be working the gears and pulleys that operated the door was no longer manning his post.
When he left Beaton almost two weeks ago, he had left from this same gate in pursuit of the general from the Southern Republic. Then, along with the sound of levers and cranks and the grunting of a few men, the door had easily swung open.
The Red Guard had asked him a slew of questions about his origins, his reason for leaving, and if he had planned to return.
A few of the answers he had given had been a stretch of the truth. He was glad not to have to explain himself as he reentered the city. Almost equally so, he was glad not to have to produce the necessary coins to pay for his and Silverwolf's passage either.
The section that this gate led to was the large residential district of the city. Small buildings two and three stories tall held three or four families each. Thoran's capital was built of stone buildings and wooden tiled roofs with thirty thousand to its name. Beaton was a huge metropolis with hundreds of thousands of residents living in clay houses with flat roofs, mostly made of clay tiles.
Stone was for the extremely wealthy or, at times, buildings constructed by the Red Guard.
Busy streets ran north, south, east and west and intersected every ten or so buildings. It was easy to get lost in the Glorious City. Each clay building looked like the next. Street names blurred together until they all sounded alike.
Ealrin was prepared to wind his way through the city with Silverwolf, hoping that she knew the landscape better than he did.
He did not, however, prepare himself for the sight that met his eyes as they shoved the giant door open enough to allow them to squeeze through.
The city was in chaos.
Entire blocks of houses burned with violent flames. Rows of troops marched down streets to meet a rioting crowd of armed and masked attackers. Families with small children fled, while other youths, who could be no older than fourteen, ran headlong into ranks of the Red Guard to engage them.
It was terrible.
“Come on,” Silverwolf said as she sped along the inside wall, towards the west.
Beaton sat upon an enormous sea that provided a great deal of fish to be consumed by the population, as well as a means to evade the scrutiny of the Red Guard if you wished.
The best place to be outside of the watchful eye of the guard was down by the Lower Docks.
Silverwolf ran in that direction, not stopping to watch the carnage that played out around them.
Ealrin was still trying to formulate the best way to ensure the tall and beautiful assassin took up his job. It was his idea to pay her to kill off the general and, in essence, leader of the Southern Republic, Androlion Fellgate. A terrible genocide had been the result of his prophesying of an apocalypse that can only be stopped by the extermination of every race on the continent of Ruyn, save for the humans.
For all Ealrin knew, there was not a single dwarf or elf alive in the southern peninsula.
His plan was to have the madman killed and hope that, without the leader to unite them under a banner of hate, the war that had been sparked would end.
It was a desperate hope.
But, as the flames of Beaton reminded him as he ran to follow Silverwolf to the Lower Docks, these were desperate times.
Ealrin had found her after she had made her most recent kill: Verde.
He was apparently sent by Androlion to the north. For what purpose, Ealrin was still unaware.
The one who paid for the kill obviously knew something very important about his quest.
Silverwolf was sure that her payment would land her an early retirement.
Unfortunately, she had been silent about who her client was and why they had paid her to kill him.
The only thing Ealrin knew about them was that they were from Beaton.
And that was a dangerous place to be at the moment.
They ran for what felt like the entire morning. Past skirmishes and full out battles of masked instigators and neatly uniformed defenders they flew.
At last, they reached the Lower Docks gate and found that the closer they got to the docks, the quieter the battle became.
Fewer fires raged here.
The streets were nearly deserted.
“Where is everyone?” Ealrin asked, stunned to see the place almost empty.
It wasn't somewhere one would go to casually stroll. The area was known for its black market and less than desirable inhabitants.
Most of them a part of the gang called “The Silver Suns.”
“Man,” Silverwolf said as she huffed and stopped walking long enough to catch her breath. “You must be really thick.”
"Everyone knows that the Suns own the Lower Docks," she said to him as they made their way through the winding streets. The cobblestones under his feet felt much different than the smooth walkway they had just left in the main city.
"Guess they finally got fed up with the Guard and got enough people on their side to do something about it."
Ealrin agreed that the way the Guard and the governor tried to run the city was ineffective at best. But was a violent uprising really the solution?
Now was not the time for getting the answer to that question.
It was all Ealrin could do to keep up with Silverwolf as she maneuvered through small streets and back alleys.
Eventually, he found himself on a street that looked familiar.
"I've been here before," he said, recognizing the pipe and smoke weed store to his right.
Silverwolf gave him a look of surprise.
"What brought you so close to Silver Sun territory?" she asked inquisitively.
Ealrin looked around at the seemingly abandoned street with its two occupied businesses.
"What's so special about this place?" he asked.
Silverwolf shook her head at him.
"You are thick," she said. "This is the middle of their base of operations. What do you want them to do? Put up a sign?"
She turned and walked into the very same inn Ealrin had found himself sharing a drink with Bertrom and Wisym only a few short weeks ago.
Instinctively, he put his hand to his sword as they crossed over the threshold.
3: The Council of Seven
The air smelled of ale and pipe smoke.
Pretty standard fare for the Inn of the Masked Witch.
Not that anyone read the name on the weathered sign outside. That thing had long faded in the sea breeze and hot summer sun.
Only those who had real business there knew the moniker and could name the Silver Suns’ meeting place.
And since the headquarters of the Council of Seven could be up and moved on any given cloudy night, Silverwolf was glad to see that the place hadn't changed since she last walked through the door.
