Making a Point

"True-King!"

When he came to, he raised his head and attempted to get up reflexively, reaching for his weapon. But his body refused to move; the only thing he could manage was lifting his head and making a grunting noise.

His head fell onto the pillow. The nurse, with a clean bandage in her hands, carefully removed Esvor's bloody bandages and replaced them with fresh ones. The Rebel-King wanted to express his gratitude with a simple "thank you," but the words remained trapped in his throat, unable to find their way out. He was tired, staying awake was tiresome.

Assisted by the nurse, he positioned himself upright, placing a pillow behind his back, head resting on the unplastered white wall.

"Ugh… Gale." He managed to say between the deep breaths he took. "Where's she?"

"Tending to the wounded," the nurse replied, her voice tinged with admiration, "even though she isn't Dierman-blessed, she's doing such a good job."

"Yeah – that sounds like Gale."

She gently adjusted the pillows behind him, helping him find a more comfortable position. "How are you feeling, True-King?"

"Been better."

"Yeah – I'm sorry we can't transfer you to Redhaven, King. The roads are still dangerous, bandits are roaming."

"Bandits… they are trying to loot the Lindworm, right?" His smile turned wry, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Bastards."

"Yes, King. Its scales are quite expensive."

"Where are we? In a ship-house?" asked Esvor.

"Yes, sir."

In the cramped quarters of the ship's interior, the room provided little space to maneuver. With no windows, the atmosphere felt enclosed and dimly lit. The soft glow of the candles hung by the walls cast a gentle hue over the red carpeted floor. A handmade bedside table stood nearby, holding a few items like bandages, some herbs and a glass of water.

The door opened and a man with an impressive mustache entered. He appeared to be in his early thirties, maybe thirty-five at most.

"Esvor, the Betrayed," said the man, bowing his head respectfully, "thank you for helping us, King. Had I known you were awake, I'd have knocked on the door. I apologize."

"It's okay, man. No need to be so formal with me." He moved toward the edge of the bed, sliding his legs off and onto the floor. "Who are you?"

"Leon. I trade products with Redhaven's merchants," he stated confidently, "you should try our beer, King."

"On the house?" He asked with a playful grin.

"Of course, King. On the house," Leon replied, matching his tone with a light chuckle.

Holding his wounded and bandaged shoulder, he gestured for the man to leave the room, then followed him outside.

The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow across the landscape. Wounded men and women lay on the makeshift beds as nurses tended to them. Most of the ship-houses had either burned down or were in such bad shape that they couldn't be used.

Esvor clicked his tongue as he examined the Lindoworm's carcass ten feet in front of him. It lay dead, with a group of homeless people standing around, staring at it in curiosity.

"The King woke up!" someone in the crowd yelled.

"True King!"

"He's awake!"

"He killed the Lindworm! A damned Lindworm!"

As the cheers grew louder, Esvor raised his hand and greeted the people. He was adored throughout the country, especially since the fight with the high elves had begun. His aid to Gum'n and its people was widely recognized. He wasn't a real king, but people treated him like one.

A poet, impeccably dressed, bowed her head. Her hat was comically large, with an orange feather sticking out jauntily.

The cheering ceased, creating a space for the poet to read her poem.

"Esvor, the True-King, strong and bold," she began, her voice surprisingly comforting, "felled the Lindworm, the stories told. In Gum'n's aid, his sword was drawn, Betrayed yet triumphant, the Rebel-King shone!"

When the poet finished, a brief silence ensued -an almost sacred pause- as if the crowd needed a moment to absorb the weight of her words. Then, slowly at first but building with momentum, applause erupted, punctuated by cheers and shouts of approval.

"Esvor! Esvor!" they chanted, their voices rising in unison. The energy was infectious, spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

Esvor, who had remained composed during the reading, couldn't help but smile. He raised his hand again, acknowledging the crowd's adulation, and then gestured for the poet to come closer.

"Crap – lost my pouch fighting the Lindworm." Esvor muttered to himself. "Hey, Leon. Give a coin to our poet friend here."

"Right away, sir." Leon reached into his pouch, pulling out two gold coins and a silver one. "There you go."

"Thank you, King." The poet bent her knees in a curtsy, showing her appreciation.

"Men and women of Quarry!" Esvor shouted, pointing to the Lindworm's lifeless body. "We should drink to that fucking beast, aye?"

"Aye!"

"Yes!"

"Yeeeah!"

Within the crowd, Esvor saw a tall, pointy-eared woman in her twenties. Her narrow eyes were a reddish-brown, and her body was lean and athletic. Despite her striking features, she seemed shy, keeping her head low and her shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to blend into the crowd.

As the crowd cheered, she remained calm, observing Esvor with a curious expression. Her gaze seemed to hold a question, as if she was measuring him, assessing what kind of leader he truly was.

"Fucking hells." Esvor grabbed Leon's dagger from his belt and stormed toward the woman, his steps fast and aggressive. "Is that an elf? An elf!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the raucous noise of the crowd.

The pointy-eared woman froze, her eyes widening with shock as Esvor closed in on her. The people around her shifted and backed away, sensing the sudden shift in his demeanor. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they watched Esvor's anger manifest.

He raised the dagger, his hand trembling with rage. "High elves," he growled, his voice harsh and filled with contempt, "you know them, men! They know no boundaries. They're merciless creatures. They come into our lands, take what they want, kill, rape whoever they please – dogs!"

The crowd's growl turned into a chorus of agreement, fueling Esvor's anger. The pointy-eared woman, who had tried to blend into the crowd, now stood out like a sore thumb, her escape routes cut off by the people of Quarry.

"Why would you open your homes to this creature, Quarry?" Asked Esvor.

"K – King, please." pleaded the high elf, voice trembling with fear. "I don't support what my kind is doing. I refuse them!"

"Refuse or not, dog, you deserve the most painful death possible… but I'm merciful."

"No, no, no! Ellen –" She turned her body toward an old woman. "Tell him how I looked after your kids when you were sick. I played with them, taught them how to bake a cake! I changed little Gusan's diapers!"

"Your race makes my skin itch, elf." Esvor pulled her by the hair and plunged his dagger into her throat.

The elf went down, clutching her throat. Blood seeped between her fingers, staining her hands and the front of her tunic. Her eyes, once keen and kind, twitched with pain and fear as she glanced at the people of Quarry surrounding her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from her wound. Each breath became more ragged, her chest heaving in desperate, shallow gulps.

"N… No." She cried. "I don't wanna die. Please… I still have much to… to –"

The crowd's fervor ebbed, replaced by a tense silence as they witnessed the elf's suffering. Some shifted uncomfortably, while others avoided her eyes. The anger that had fueled Esvor's words began to dissipate, replaced with a dawning realization of the violence they had unleashed.

Esvor stood over her, dagger in hand, his knuckles white from gripping the hilt. He could feel the weight of the moment – the turning point where anger and prejudice had led to a tragedy. The elf's tear-filled eyes seemed to plead with him, seeking mercy even as her life slipped away.

As the last of the cheers faded into uneasy murmurs, a sense of guilt crept through the crowd. What had seemed like a moment of triumph over an 'outsider' now felt like a senseless act of cruelty. The realization settled heavily, leaving everyone wondering how far their hatred could go and whether they had gone too far.

"I know it doesn't seem fair, people." assured Esvor. "But you don't know them like I do. Their true faces… If you knew what they did to our people – you wouldn't have second thoughts right now. I know – I know I'm not a king yet, Quarry. But one day I will sit on that throne. And I promise to every single one of you… I will make this land livable once again."

The crowd's reaction was mixed. Some cheered, fueled by their own grievances and desire for a strong leader. Others remained silent, their eyes on the dead elf, wondering what this promise of a better future truly entailed.

"Leon," Esvor said, his voice sharp, "set me up with a horse. I need to –"

He noticed that Leon wasn't paying attention. Instead, Leon's eyes were fixed on the high elf's lifeless body, his expression filled with shock and horror.

"Hey." Esvor stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "Don't be upset over a monster. Ya hear?"

Leon snapped back to reality, his eyes shifting to meet Esvor's. His lips trembled as he spoke, his voice unsteady. "Y – yes, King. You're right…"

"Good. Now, I need to reach Redhaven. Set me up with a horse, will you?" Esvor's tone was impatient, as if this was just another task to be completed.

Leon nodded, still visibly shaken. "Of course, I'll get it ready right away." He hurried off, casting one last glance at the elf's body before disappearing into the crowd.

Esvor watched him go, then turned his attention back to the people of Quarry. They were still absorbing the events that had just unfolded, their expressions a mixture of fear, confusion, and unease.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Esvor's mind was already on the journey ahead. He needed to get Redhaven fast. The sun was down, the golden hour was no more.

"Esvor," Gale said as she approached from behind. "You good?"

"Huh?" Esvor replied, sounding distracted. "Yeah, I'm good."

Gale leaned in closer. "Killed another high elf? Heard your speech about them."

Esvor smirked. "Was it good?"

Gale shrugged with a half-hearted smile. "I'd give it a four out of ten."

"Ah, c'mon." Esvor frowned, crossing his arms. "What was wrong with it?"

"It was a little over the top, don't you think?" Gale replied, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. "You don't want to rile them up too much. People of Gum'n, they listen to you because they trust you, not just because you're loud."

Esvor nodded, though his frown lingered. "Yeah, well, I needed to make a point."

"I get that," Gale said, lowering her voice, "but don't forget, some people take what you say and run with it. Last thing we need is a mob running through the streets, looking for high elves to lynch. We're trying to lead, not incite."

Esvor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay. I'll keep that in mind. But these elves –"

"I know, I know," Gale cut him off. "Just be careful, alright? We need you to stay in control, or things could get messy fast. If we kill the elves, it's justice. But if they kill 'em, it's murder."

Esvor nodded slowly, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Now, what's the plan? How do we get to Redhaven?"

"A man named Leon is arranging a horse for us," Esvor replied, "it should take about ten minutes on horseback."

"And what about the Lindworm?" Gale asked.

"They should take its scales," Esvor explained, "sell them in the market. The people need the funds to rebuild their homes after all the damage it caused."

"Okay – though, can I take just one? I know a blacksmith in Redhaven, he'd make 'the' best sword out of that thing's scales."

"Sure."

"King!" Leon shouted. "The horse is ready!"

"It's our que, Gale. Let's get out here."

"Yeah."