To Paxaria: part 8.0

Review: Ruelle and Altha prepare to leave the little village where they were detained by a medical emergency. Before leaving, Ruelle dared to attempt an apology to Idylette, the daughter of the woman who was injured. Her apology was not received well, and the resolution was less than perfect. At the end of the last part, Altha had an important talk with Ruelle and the village women, Elfrida, Mysie, and Idylette. She went over everything they knew about the mysterious attack on Mysie, putting together the pieces as best as she could. She concluded the attack had been a botched attempt by an orc scout to eliminate anyone who knew of his presence. Altha showed everyone the map given to her by the King's Stray, which was marked with certain locations where orc sightings had been reported. Her last remark is one of concern, saying orcs have been banished from Paxaria for more than 100 years, and no one knows how they are getting in.

TW: violence (pretty lowkey tho)

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The heaviness of the night’s discussion weighted down everyone’s moods, and no one talked much thereafter until morning came and Altha and Ruelle took their leave.

They said their goodbyes before the sun was up. Ruelle was not exactly sorry to leave Elfrida’s house and this tiny little village with its reminders of her failures and disappointments. She was glad to commit Mysie to the hands of Elfrida and Idylette as Altha reminded the women of the care instructions she was leaving them and encouraged them to defer to the local healer in any questions or concerns.

And then, with just as much urgent solemnity, Altha reiterated her request that everything concerning theories about Orcs and dangers both near and far be kept quiet as much as possible.

“An uproar among people in small villages like this would probably be more disturbing than helpful right now,” she advised. “No doubt any actions taken to heighten security here will be noticed with curiosity, but there is no need to fuel fires with incomplete facts, however fearful they may be.”

This was met with nods and affirmations of agreement, followed by many profuse thanks, especially from Elfrida, for all the help Altha and Ruelle had proven to be. Idylette was more reserved in her expressions of gratitude, and she pointedly directed them only toward Altha. Ruelle was sure she caught a cold glance from the young woman at least once. It crept under her skin as they finally drove away, and she was not able to shake it off until the warm sun was well risen.

At least now I’m headed for Eldgamel, she reminded herself. The thought of the capital city felt like a promise, an exciting possibility. After all, Eldgamel is where all the most important people are. Maybe I can get my apprenticeship changed yet!

So it was that, clinging to this secret thread of hope, she first laid eyes on the gates of Eldgamel as the day drew towards evening.

For many miles up to this point, multiple roads had converged with the main one on which Ruelle and Altha traveled, bringing a lively traffic of people from the settlements of various sizes along the way, or from some other distant location. Of these, a good crowd was also headed to Eldgamel. By the time Ruelle sighted the city’s entrance in the distance, the pace of the travelers had slowed enough to grant her a proper moment to take in the grand gates.

Tall and strong, and adorned with the stately figures of peacocks intricately wrought into the iron, they stood as double doors flung wide open. The swooping tail feathers of the peacocks depicted there featured loops and curls and patterns which created an image of striking beauty as much like the real birds as could be replicated in metal. When closed, the high gates stood like solemn but majestic sentinels; but to Ruelle they were an alluring portal into an ancient kingdom of grand legends and captivating tales. 

Solid stone walls stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, encompassing the capital city. And, the crown of it all, a pair of Paxarian flags fluttered proudly atop the walls, one on each side of the gates. The glorious blue banners displayed a tree with flowering branches beneath a single star, encircled by a laurel wreath of peacock feathers in green and teal and indigo.

Ruelle gazed in amazement. A tingle of excitement coursed through her.

“This is really it!” she breathed.

She was so enthralled she barely noticed they had practically come to a halt. Ahead of them, the crowd of travelers formed a semi-organized line, and they all seemed to be waiting for something.

“What are we stopped for?” Ruelle asked.

“This is a checkpoint for security,” Altha explained. “There are guards at the gate who will approve or deny entry after they make sure they know who you are and perform a quick evaluation or inspection of belongings. It’s all just protocol.”

Sure enough, now that she knew what she was looking for, Ruelle could see guards flanking the gates. They were tall and clad in armor which gleamed in the sunlight. Ruelle thought they looked very official. In fact, they almost looked like they were all ready to go to war right away. If their aim was to present a superbly striking first impression of Eldgamel, they certainly had succeeded. This was no scene of threat or battle, at any rate.

From what Ruelle could see this far back, it appeared the security protocols were being carried out in a smooth, orderly manner. It was the picture of a city in an era of long-standing peace, one where guards had little need to examine critically everything and everyone that entered the city’s boundaries.

But the sense of peace was not long-lived.

Somewhere behind Ruelle and Altha, a commotion struck up. Ruelle knew it would be rude to turn around and stare, but her curiosity was too strong to resist at least taking a peek.

Three dwarves surrounded a fourth, very elderly-looking dwarf with stooped shoulders. The anger on the faces of the first was as thick and dark as their long beards.

“There is no place for you in Eldgamel!” one of them accused hotly. “We do not forget how those of Arnas Mountainkin’s line abandoned us at the Battle of Pitmedden.”

The gray-haired dwarf pounded his walking staff on the ground indignantly, stirring up a puff of dust.

“I had no more part in that than you did!” he returned.

By now, more heads than just Ruelle’s had turned to see what the disturbance was about. Some of the people who were closest watched with an undisguised curiosity, making Ruelle feel less guilty about her own.

“And what? We are just supposed to believe you on that?” one of the younger dwarves spat. He eyed the old dwarf up and down. “No doubt you were living among them back then, though you may have been but young.”

“But don’t think your old age can protect you now,” another of them warned. “Those of Arnas Mountainkin’s line have no excuse, not then and not now! Only the lowest of the low would stoop to betrayal on that level!”

“Doubly guilty, too” the third angry dwarf glowered. “Abandonment and robbery. We do not forget, and we do not forgive!”

A murmur of shock rippled through the onlookers. Swift glances passed between them. It was evident an old scandal of some sort had just been exhumed. Several people shifted uncomfortably and avoided eye contact, while others practically leaned in to savor the gossip.

The old dwarf snorted with disdain. “Hold your grudge, then! There are no current bans keeping me out of Eldgamel, so I will enter this city no matter what you think.”

He turned and made to walk away, but the other dwarves closed in on him.

“You aren’t the only one with a say in the matter,” the largest of his opponents growled. His hand came down heavily on the older dwarf’s shoulder, and Ruelle saw his other hand go to a smith’s hammer he carried at his side. She had little doubt it could be used as a weapon. Whatever the old dwarf’s relatives had done, this did not seem fair, Ruelle thought. At the very least, it was unjust for him to receive this kind of treatment, especially from his own kind.

“We do what we must to keep traitors out of our city,” added the black-bearded dwarf who wore the fiercest scowl. He, too, reached for a tool or weapon he carried, though Ruelle could not see what it was. “You resist us, and we use force.”

Ruelle’s mouth went dry. She glanced back ahead to see if the gate guards had noticed any of this drama going on, but they were still too far away, and the crowd moving that direction was still proceeding slowly, except for those who had clustered around to watch the disruption play out. These last were keeping everyone in the immediate area from moving forward at all.

“This is nasty,” Altha remarked, shaking her head. She tried to urge her horse to move forward, probably hoping to break up the crowd and get people moving again, but the people around them were nosy and loathe to make way, and the horse did not want to cooperate.

“I shouldn’t have to resist you, because I am not a traitor,” the old dwarf’s voice rose again. “I have a right into this city, so move out of the way and let me go!” This demand was delivered with much disdain, but a sliver of intimidation lurked in his flashing eyes.

“Not a traitor, you say?” the tallest dwarf cried in mock shock. His hand still firmly grasping the elder dwarf’s shoulder, he turned to the crowd of onlookers. “A right into this city, he says! But what do you say?”

Again, the bystanders seemed to shift uncomfortably or even draw back, murmuring among themselves, unsure who to defend. Ruelle thought she heard snatches of, “Just let him go,” mingled with “Maybe the tall one’s right.”

But the accusing dwarf took advantage of their indecision and raised his voice above theirs.

“Arnas Mountainkin’s people abandoned us in battle, just to return home and make off with the greater part of all our possessions!” His voice boiled with evident anger. “Do you call that ‘not a traitor’? Would you let one of your betrayer’s people back into your city? Our people,” he gestured to himself and his comrades, “fought for Paxaria, for Eldgamel! They fought and died, while Arnas of the Mountainkin’s people abandoned and robbed us! Whose side would you take? Are you loyal to this kingdom and its capital?”

The cacophony of deliberation and debate started up again, with a few attempts at protests thrown in, but these were mostly just ordinary civilians who knew little to nothing of this ugly rift’s origin. A good many of the people just seemed eager to distance themselves from the mess.

“You see!” the mean-faced dwarf cried gleefully. “No one is taking up with you, traitor!”

“No one is taking up with you either,” the accused returned. “Now be off and let me mind my own business - and I hope your beards wither as a reward for your bigotry!” He waved his staff around vehemently as if to shoo them all away.

Evidently the other dwarves took this as a threat, because it sparked a bunch of shouting among them, and the next thing Ruelle knew, they were all descending upon the elderly dwarf in fury. For all his bold verbal resistance, he was quite easily knocked to the ground by his younger opponents.

Frantically, Ruelle glanced around again. This was unfair! The crowd was dissipating quickly except for a few people who remained, simply gawking as if this were a performance for their entertainment. Ruelle’s blood boiled. How could they just stand there and let this happen?

She felt a sudden lurch, and she realized the cart was moving. Even Altha was making another attempt to break away from the scene.

Something in Ruelle snapped.

“No!”

The angry protest tore from her lips in a flash of time too short for thinking. Before she knew what she was doing, she jumped from the moving cart and made a dash back toward the scene of chaos.

“Stop!” she shouted, breaking in among the remaining bystanders. “Stop it now!”

All eyes turned to her. So unanticipated was this intrusion that speechlessness held everyone captive for a split second.

In that flash of time, the spiraling storm whirled to a standstill, Ruelle at its center, alone in the middle of the road, standing straight and tall as she could, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes blazed on the scuffle just in front of her, and for an instant everything seemed suspended in time. The angry dwarves, looming over their rival on the ground, straightened in seeming slow motion to see who was causing the disruption now. Confusion slid from their faces, followed by a parade of disbelief, disdain, then dark anger – all in an eternal moment of suspense in which Ruelle felt that she was watching from outside her own body inside the eye of the storm.

Reality splintered the illusion when the tall dwarf spoke again, and the storm was back in full fury.

“And who do you think you are, girl?” he demanded.

“That doesn’t matter,” Ruelle returned. “What matters is this,” she pointed emphatically to the old dwarf, who had managed to struggle to his knees, but remained firmly in the grip of the others. “This isn’t right! He doesn’t have a chance against you, and I don’t think you even knew each other before now. You’re just mad at him because of some old grudge!”

“Stay out of our business,” one of the dwarves growled in her direction. “This is between us.”

“Fine.” Ruelle crossed her arms. “But aren’t there proper ways to deal with your grievances? Surely you can’t just turn him into dwarf marmalade right here in the open without some sort of moderation between you to settle things.”

“I said-“ the mean-faced dwarf started, but the taller dwarf, who seemed to be the leader in some way, shushed him by shoving a hand in his face.

“No, wait,” he said. He glowered at Ruelle and took a step toward her. They stood eye-to-eye.

If height alone had been the determining factor, Ruelle would have no reason to fear a man the same height as a fifteen-year-old girl. But this was a broad-shouldered dwarf with thick, muscular limbs from years of manual labor and maybe even fighting. Ruelle did not break eye contact, but she swallowed hard. She was in deeper water than she had ever calculated, considering the time she had taken for calculation was none.

“What do you know of the rights we have or don’t have? You are not even from here.”

Ruelle stared. “What makes you say that?”

“Your accent gives you away.” He rolled his eyes, as if this were abundantly evident.

Ruelle was starting to feel cornered. She cast a quick glance around. No one was taking up for her any more than for the old dwarf being harassed in front of their eyes. But she was not ready to show intimidation yet.

“You’re right,” she said, standing taller and trying to look proud. “I’m not from here. I’m from the Island of Whispertide. They’re mostly a bunch of nobodies out there, but they still know better than to treat their people like this!” She nodded meaningfully toward their captive. “We have civilized ways of dealing with our grievances out there. This isn’t right.”

Grumbles and scoffs of dissent started up among the other dwarves again.

“Wait!” The elderly dwarf’s voice called out. “Just listen to the girl for a moment!”

“She knows nothing!” one of his opponents growled, kicking him hard in the side and leaving him gasping for breath.

The angry dwarves renewed their grip on him, ready to drag him away. Ruelle felt panic as she watched her moment for intervention slip farther from reach.

“Stop right there!” a new voice rang out above the chaos. Determined footsteps marched up behind Ruelle, and a hand fell on her shoulder. She jumped.

Everybody turned to look. What now?

Squirming away from the hand on her shoulder, Ruelle pivoted to see a dark-skinned young man with close cropped hair. His hand gripped the hilt of a sword at his side, threatening, prepared.

“I am part of Eldgamel’s defense forces, and right here is where this disturbance ends.”

He indicated an insignia, a silver cloak pin in the shape of the Paxarian crest beneath a caption of engraved words Ruelle couldn’t read, and announced himself as being from “The Garrison.” This made a couple of the dwarves exchange a wary look and slightly loosen their grip on their foe. But the tallest dwarf still stood straight and defiant with his arms crossed, scowling.

“This girl’s argument has some validity,” the young man said, bringing a flicker of life back to Ruelle’s pride. “There are indeed proper ways to deal with interpersonal grievances here. But,” he went on with emphasis, “that does not necessarily clear this elder dwarf in total innocence.”

Ruelle’s pride dissolved into perplexity as this new figure stepped forward and commanded the dwarves to unhand their fellow. They did so, though not without some angry muttering, and the young man helped him to his feet. Ruelle noticed that he kept a firm hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Are you the one called Bangrom Orebrand?” he questioned, crouching to look the elder in the eyes.

The gray-haired dwarf hesitated, then nodded in confirmation.

“Then I will be personally escorting you back into the city of Eldgamel,” the young man said. “You’re being sought on accusation of theft.”