by GJ Kelly
Prologue
“There are still those who, even to this day, hold me responsible for everything which came to pass after Ferdan. The wisest of them hold their tongues when I’m within earshot though, I’ve split more than one wizard in two for lesser offences against the Crown of Raheen and I won’t have Morloch’s foul deeds laid at my door by anyone, least of all a whitebeard.
“The one question which still, on occasion, haunts my dreams is this: Would I have done the same, had I known the outcome, and did I have a choice? Those I love are kind, and tell me, ‘of course,’ but in the darkest hours of night, sometimes I lay awake, and I do not know... The pain of those days haunts me still, and that which is broken, even though it be repaired, is never the same as it was.”
The DarkSlayer, as told to the Bard-Chronicler Lyssa of Callodon
1. Aftermath
Three weeks had passed since the first full Council of Kings within living memory had ended in near catastrophe, and still the shock of those events was clear to behold in the aspect of Allazar, once wizard to King Brock of Callodon, now wizard to Gawain, royal crown of Raheen, King of Ashes.
Gawain stared at the wizard across Gwyn’s back as he currycombed the faithful Raheen steed. Allazar was helping Elayeen lay out their evening camp. As was usual of late, a flicker of a smile warmed Gawain’s insides whenever he glanced at his throth-bound beloved elfin queen. She moved with such grace…
Gwyn shifted her weight a little and Gawain snapped his attention back to his duty to his horse. Ever since Morloch had utterly destroyed Raheen, it had been these simple duties and customs which kept the memory of his homeland alive in Gawain’s heart, kept him Raheen. Besides, he knew if he gazed at his lady too often or too long his yearning for her would surely make itself known through their binding, and this was their third week of nights out of Ferdan. Three weeks apart after their nights alone together in that ill-starred and inhospitable Jurian town was, to Gawain at least, a very long time. Worse, there were at least as many weeks ahead of them, even at the remarkable pace they were keeping.
“I suppose spit-roasted rabbit is out of the question? The nights are cooler of late.” Allazar grumbled, and Gawain realised with some small surprise that it was probably the longest sentence the wizard had uttered since the three of them had ridden out of Ferdan’s gates.
“You suppose correctly,” Gawain replied cheerfully, “It’s summer, we’re on the plains of Juria, the only possible kindling for a fire, should we be stupid enough to light one, is that clump of gorse yonder, and it’s still green. An enemy would see the smoke for miles, not to mention smell it.”
“I was thinking as much of your lady’s stomach as my own, Longsword. The haste with which we departed Ferdan meant we had no time to gather provisions beyond water and the cakes of spiced Threlland frak you insist we keep in our saddle-bags just in case. Though in case of what I’m sure I cannot say.”
Gawain was about to offer a curt reply but was robbed of the chance by his queen.
“Why, in case we should find ourselves charging south across the plains of Juria to Callodon and beyond, with nothing but green gorse for kindling and enemies all about.” Elayeen announced, the humour in her soft and lilting voice seeming to tickle Gawain’s ears.
“Ah,” said Allazar, “Now that you’ve explained it to me, my lady, it is obvious. Poke me in the eye for being a dullard whitebeard.”
“I’m hardly likely to do that…” Elayeen chuckled, happy that the wizard seemed to be returning to his old self.
Gawain listened to their banter as he continued tending to Gwyn. That Elayeen held Allazar as a trusted friend and advisor was plain for all to see, and completely understandable given all that had come to pass since the two of them had first met in Tarn, in Threlland. It seemed so long ago now, but in truth it had been perhaps six months since Gawain had reclaimed Elayeen from the circle of faranthroth and Gwyn had carried them both across the northern plains in bleakest midwinter.
And in truth Gawain knew there was little else, if anything, the wizard could do to prove his loyalty and friendship. He had fought alongside them both, defended Elayeen against Morlochmen, Black Riders, and against the treachery of the D’ith Sek and D’ith Met wizards who served Morloch at the Council in Ferdan. And yet Gawain knew he could never truly be trusted. Not by the King of Raheen, who had seen across the Dragon’s Teeth and thus knew what awaited these gentle and utterly unprepared southlands.
And yet, again, Gawain had called him ‘friend’ in the aftermath of Morloch’s onslaught in the council chamber. Yes, thought Gawain, as he glanced again at the wizard, Allazar probably was a friend, now. But what kind of friend is he who by his own admission could be tempted by the evil power of Morloch’s aquamire?
“It consumes!” Allazar had said, so long ago at Tarn, looking towards the evil blackness shimmering beyond the Teeth, “It consumes your very soul! Do you not realise how hard it is for me not to rush across the farak gorin? To ally myself with Morloch just for one taste of that power?”
Gawain did realise, only too well. Allazar was D’ith pat, low down the ladder of power scaled by his brethren, and the D’ith Sek, allegedly the most powerful and wisest of wizards, had betrayed the races of Man. Some of them had, anyway. If those deemed to be very wise and powerful could not resist the lure of aquamire evil, what chance those of lower order? What kind of friend is he that one might yet have to kill?
And yet…, in the fresh-built long-room of the council hall in Ferdan, the air filled with the scent of new-sawn pine and wizards’ crackling fire, Allazar had been driven to his knees by the power of a D’ith Sek wizard who had been attempting to destroy Elayeen and thus, through the strange elven throth-binding, Gawain himself. Yet Allazar’s defence of Elayeen had held, at least long enough for trusted honour-guards to slay the traitor.
The sound of Elayeen’s quiet laughter at some remark Gawain had missed drew the young warrior from his reverie. Again he glanced at the wizard. Allazar was a few inches shorter than Gawain, but at six feet two inches Gawain was considered tall even for a Raheen. The wizard’s short clipped white hair was always neatly cropped, and the slightly square-jawed face always clean-shaven in spite of the brethren’s preference for the long beards which earned them the derogatory soubriquet ‘whitebeard.’
The wizard wasn’t ugly by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact usually had about him an air of quiet confidence. Except on those occasions when Gawain had crushed that confidence with a withering look or a terse word. And except of course now, here on the plains, in the aftermath of Ferdan.
In fact, Gawain thought, but for the traditional garb of the wizard, robes now worn loose in the lingering heat of the summer’s evening, he’d probably be just an average fellow, slightly tall perhaps, but not remarkable. A man few would notice.
“You’re still ugly though, Ugly,” Gawain said softly to his horse at the final stroke of the brush. Gwyn simply swung her hindquarters a little as she moved off, nudging Gawain unceremoniously out of the way as she went in search of greener grass. “Don’t wander too far now, nag!” Gawain chuckled, but got no reply.
“So,” Gawain sighed, settling on the blanket Elayeen had laid out on the grass beside their saddles, “What do you two find so amusing this late in the day in the middle of nowhere?”
“We were talking about you, mithroth, not to you.” Elayeen smiled disarmingly. Allazar merely grunted as he sat heavily a polite distance across from them.
Gawain studied the wizard closely. “Are you still weak from the fight at Ferdan?”
Allazar shrugged. “It is passing,
Longsword, thank you for asking. Probably nothing that good hot food, cool ale, and a soft bed in the comfort of some rustic inn wouldn’t cure. We could have availed ourselves of any number on our journey here.”
“Ah. And here was me thinking old age was creeping up on you.”
That remark earned him a reproachful nudge from Elayeen as she settled against him, cautiously cutting a strip of frak from a small lump of the pressed meat with her dagger.
“I think I have a few more years left in me yet,” Allazar replied, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Unless of course you should decide to kill me in the morning.”
“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today,” Gawain countered, noting not for the first time the dark circles around the wizard’s eyes, and realising that he really didn’t know how old Allazar was. He looked no more than thirty, perhaps forty, which was certainly old enough from the perspective of his own twenty years. But there really was no telling with wizards.
“Mmm? I’m sorry Longsword?”
Gawain frowned. “Come, Allazar, you’ve barely said a word since we left Ferdan. My lady’s best efforts have earned little more than a heartless chuckle from you and my best efforts are poor even at the best of times. And these are not the best of times. I need you hale and hearty when we reach Raheen.”
Allazar sighed, and nodded sadly. He sat on his blanket with his legs crossed under his robes, his face turned slightly toward the faint breezes swirling up from the south. But it was Elayeen who broke the silence.
“Gawain, why must we go to Raheen? You have told me of the horror that greeted you when you returned there from your banishment a year ago, of the ruin of your land. I have felt the pain within you when you look to the south.”
“A year?” Gawain asked softly, looking over the top of Elayeen’s silver-blonde head towards the unseen shores of the Sea of Hope far to the south. “It seems so much longer.”
He took the strip of frak she offered him with a weak smile and began to chew. The leathery spiced meat brought back memories of his time beneath the Dragon’s Teeth with Martan of Tellek, who perhaps even now was hammering his tortuous way through hard rock and pain.
Then he took a deep breath and turned his gaze sternly back to the wizard, who seemed to Gawain to be as crumpled as the robes of his calling.
“So. Allazar.”
“Eh? Oh. It will pass,” Allazar repeated, “It will pass.”
“It took only a week for the burns on my hands to heal, thanks to the see-eelan healers in Thal-Hak’s entourage.” And it was true, the unguent given him to soothe the burns he’d received when the strange aquamire had burst forth from the Sword of Justice, and himself, were all but a memory, just a slight discolouration on his palms now remained.
“My wounds cannot be seen.” Allazar said quietly, smiling again as if to reassure his companions.
“Dwarfspit. They’re as plain as the nose on your face.” Gawain pressed.
“I do not know what to say, Longsword. Words seem… evasive of late.”
“Your world has come crashing down around your ears, all you once held sacred lies like ash around your feet, those you trusted and respected have betrayed you, together with all of us, to the darkest of enemies. Again.”
Gawain felt Elayeen stiffen beside him and even to his own ears, the words sounded harsh.
Allazar simply turned his gaze away to the north, towards Ferdan, and nodded.
“Then you must do as I did, wizard. Set yourself a new course. Make for yourself a new target for the rage and confusion and loss you feel, and make that target Morloch. Gather your wits, Allazar, and your strength. I need them.” And then Gawain surprised himself as well Allazar with a word: “Please.”
The long silence that followed was broken only by the quiet chewing of frak and the occasional buzzing of insects.
“We have no way of knowing how far and how deep the rot goes.” Allazar announced quietly, as if talking to himself. “Nor any idea how much damage is even now being done throughout the kingdoms. Word of Morloch’s appearance at the Council will have spread, word of the treachery. On receipt of that word,” Allazar sighed and fiddled with a crease in his robes, “On receipt of that word it is entirely possible that open warfare commenced within the ranks of the brethren. There is no telling what carnage may have been wrought upon the unsuspecting, by wizards of power allied to Morloch’s vile cause.”
Sudden alarm gripped Elayeen’s slender frame and she sat bolt upright. “There are many wizards in Elvendere,” she gasped.
“Yes, my lady,” Allazar said softly. “There are many of the brethren in all lands.”
“Yet as we saw at Ferdan,” Gawain announced, mostly for Elayeen’s sake, “Not all are traitors. Yet.”
Allazar nodded, but took no reassurance from Gawain’s assertion. “But they will be the weaker, for they will be unsuspecting, and thus easy prey. It is the attacker who has the advantage of surprise in an ambush, not the innocent defender.”
Elayeen cast an imploring look at Gawain, but all he could do was nod in agreement with the wizard, who continued:
“In the aftermath of Ferdan, they will all have looked for a leader. You should have remained, Longsword, it was to you they would have turned.”
“Which is precisely why we had to leave. Once the heat of battle and recriminations had died down, they would’ve looked to Rak for guidance. He will keep alive the dream of union, and his diplomacy will win the battle for hearts and for minds. In such a battle my sword could only fail.”
“You underestimate yourself.”
“So do you, whitebeard.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I meant you underestimate me too.”
“Ah.”
But again Allazar’s eyes remained empty of any spark of humour. Gawain wondered if he himself had looked so distant and hollow a year ago, roaming the lowlands, wreaking terror and vengeance upon the Ramoth. He conceded he probably had.
Then the old Allazar seemed to press up from the depths of the wizard’s despair. “Do you really believe what you said, at the Council, words so strong they provoked the traitors to reveal themselves?”
Gawain frowned. “What did I say?”
“You don’t remember?”
“A lot happened, wizard, in a short space of time.” Gawain lied.
“You said: Brothers of Morloch, were you not sent out centuries ago, when first your kind realised the devastation wrought by you on your own lands was irreversible? Are you not here to prepare the way for his coming?”
Gawain sighed. “That insight was born of the strange aquamire within me, and within my blade.”
“If it is true, then the same blood courses through my veins as theirs.”
“It’s not blood but brains determines actions, Allazar. A one-eyed old soldier told me that when I was a boy.”
“And yet the weakness for aquamire may have been bred into all of us, all of the brethren.”
“True enough. But you’ve had plenty of opportunities to avail yourself of Morloch’s good will, and taken none of them. So have others.”
“Yes,” Elayeen announced firmly, perhaps more for her own peace of mind than for anyone else’s, “The wizard Pahak stood firm by my father at Ferdan. There were others too who fought against Morloch’s evil.”
But Allazar was far from convinced. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there are fewer in Morloch’s service than we know. Perhaps the brethren who truly serve the races of Man have already prevailed, and I am fretting needlessly.”
Gawain doubted it too. He remembered all too clearly the many visions he had seen swimming in the darkness of the great aquamire lens beneath the Teeth, images which could only have come from the eye-amulets worn by Morloch’s minions.
With a great drawing in of breath Allazar straightened his back, seeming to uncrumple before their very eyes. “Well, Longsword. We have pressed hard across the plains almost to the border with Callodon and you s
till haven’t told us why we are making such unseemly haste for Raheen.”
Gawain frowned again, and silently chewed his frak. At length he swallowed, and then looked a little sheepish.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “It was another insight, or rather more of a feeling… something that came to me as that strange aquamire drained from me and leapt across the void to strike Morloch beyond the Teeth. I can’t explain it.”
“So we have abandoned kings in their hour of need to pursue a feeling?” Elayeen stared at him. “G’wain there must be more than that, surely?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, and he meant it. “I only know that it’s important.”
“What is?” Allazar asked, as though the answer were a straw to be clutched and he a drowning man.
“Raheen. And the reason why Morloch fears me so, now that he knows who I am.”
oOo
2. Of Songs and Shadows
When their frugal yet filling meal was finished and bedding laid out for the night, Gawain placed his weapons within easy reach and was about to announce that he’d take first watch when suddenly he paused, the breath caught in his throat.
Elayeen and Allazar instinctively began to reach for their own weapons, but Gawain let the breath out in a long sigh.
“Raheen’s never been invaded.” He announced, frowning and sitting cross-legged on his saddle at the head of his bedding. “Nor was it ever conquered, not for centuries. Not without dark magic.”
Elayeen shot a quizzical glance at Allazar and received one in return. Gawain looked up at them both, and then off into the distance as dusk turned from steel grey to burnt charcoal peppered with an endless ocean of stars.
“I say centuries, because no-one knows for sure. There’s only one way up to the top of the plateau, and the same way back down.”
Elayeen settled on her blankets an arm’s length away from Gawain, and drew her knees up and her tunic closer about her. Allazar, on the other hand, quietly lay down, pulling a thin cloak over himself and folding his arms over his chest as he listened.
