by GJ Kelly
“Some say… some said…that the attack upon Raheen by the Goth-lord Armun Tal of Goria counted as an invasion,” Gawain shrugged, “and also may technically have counted as Raheen being conquered. For about ten minutes. But that’s why most of us would add ‘not without dark magic’ when discussing our history.”
A breeze, long and welcome, sighed across grasses and gorse from the west, as if the Gorian Empire itself was remembering the time of the Goth-lords, and the dread power they wielded, and was relieved that those times were long gone. Elayeen shivered suddenly, and then followed Allazar’s lead, laying down on her bedding, her saddle for a pillow, drawing a blanket over herself.
“In those days,” Gawain continued, “Pellarn was free, and Callodon strong. The Empire knew it couldn’t hope to violate the one without facing the might and fury of the other, and Raheen cavalry to sweep away any invader foolish enough to offend either.
“Scholars and historians taught that the Armun Tal had it in mind to hold the Downland Pass closed against our forces as a prelude to an invasion of Pellarn, to stop us giving military support to Callodon and Pellarn, even all those years ago.”
“What was a Goth-lord?” Elayeen asked softly.
Gawain looked down at her and smiled sadly before sliding gently off his saddle and lying back against it, gazing up at the stars.
“Dark wizards, of a kind. Perhaps Allazar knows more about them?”
But the wizard made no reply, so Gawain continued: “We were taught that the Goth-lords were once noblemen of the Empire who had joined together with a powerful wizard, with the intention of using such powers as they might gain in order to advance their ambitions, even to usurp the Emperor himself. But the powers they learned to wield corrupted them, and they ultimately turned upon each other, through ambition and jealousy.
“The one called Armun Tal is said to have ruled a dominion to the southwest of Pellarn, and knowing that Raheen could bring the might of its cavalry to the field within a matter of days, he sought to bottle us up by blocking the Pass, and with the cavalry thus checked, to launch an invasion of Pellarn. That was…” Gawain paused again, briefly, and drew a blanket around his shoulders. “That was three hundred and eighty seven years ago. The Gorian Emperor apparently gave his tacit blessing to the venture, and quietly moved two of his prized praetorian legions to within bowshot of the Eramak River on Pellarn’s western border. This was in order to claim Pellarn for the Emperor once the invasion began, they said, rather than permit the Goth-lord to claim it for himself.
“It was summer, four years into the reign of Edwyn the Third of Raheen. He was a young king, barely ten years old when the crown passed to him on the sudden death of his father. Those were different times. Callodon and Juria were practically at each other’s throats in those days, so most of the steel in both those lands was pointed at each other not too far south of here, at the border, near Jarn. I told you about my time in Jarn? And my first meeting with the Ramoth there?”
“Hmm-hmm.” Elayeen affirmed quickly, not wanting to spoil the flow of Gawain’s story.
“So. In Raheen the standing army was around five thousand riders, but many more in reserve. Of course, they were spread around the land, though the One Thousand were stationed in barracks at the Pass, always in readiness, always watchful.”
Gawain sighed in disgust. “But we were looking the wrong way. The Downland Pass is on the eastern side of the plateau, and closely watched. With only the one way up or down we didn’t want anyone sneaking in and closing the bottom of the Pass against us.
“We had outposts on the western flank too, of course, but the watchtowers mostly looked north, and northwest, looking for the beacons which would be lit if Callodon or Pellarn needed our aid.
“By the time Edwyn received word in the Great Hall of The Keep in castletown that a ‘strange cloud’ was rising from the south-western lowlands and travelling against the wind towards our homeland, the Goth had already crested the plateau at the western falls of the river Styris. He rode on the back of a great winged beast, a Graken they called it, a creature dark wizard-made, and the ‘strange cloud’ that the watchmen had sent word about was in fact a host of grotesque flying insects, bred through the Goth-lord’s foul magic: Clawflies.
“The Goth really had no need of evil wizardry with such a host at his command. Each of the creatures was the length of man’s hand, and its claws spiteful sharp, like the saw tooth edges of razor-grass. Armun Tal atop his Graken simply soared high across the land, while the great flying host, truly like a vast cloud, swept low above the ground, following the master’s shadow, inflicting great pain and misery on beast and men alike. Clawfly wounds were not fatal in themselves, but so many small cuts, hundreds in some cases, were an agony which drove men and animals to the brink of madness, and neither fur nor hair nor hide nor clothing was proof against the swarm.”
Again Gawain paused, drawing the blanket tighter around him. Nightfall seemed suddenly to draw the heat from the air around them just as aquamire had drawn the sunlight from beyond the Teeth.
“Armun Tal had intended to cross Raheen west to east, to follow the river Styris as far as the Farin Bridge, then head arrow-straight for the market town of Downland, the barracks, and the Pass, and there let his vile host feast on The Thousand. He himself would use his magic to ward off any attempts at liberation the wizards of Raheen might make upon him, so they said.
“But the fact is, when the Goth-lord saw the effect his passing was having on people and horses and livestock, the panic and chaos left in the wake of his swarm, his ambition like that of all his vile brethren got the better of him, and he turned south. South, following the river Styris, heading for the castletown itself.”
Gawain popped the stopper from a water skin and took a long drink before continuing. Even the horses seemed to be listening, and the buzzing of insects, so noticeable earlier in the evening while he was brushing Gwyn, had faded.
“Now, it just so happens that as the Goth-lord approached the Farin Bridge from the west, a young Forester by the name of Gillyan Treen was about to cross the bridge from the east. She was returning from the Downland market to her post in the woodlands of Bernside, on the shores of Lough Rea in the midlands when she saw the Goth-lord’s dark shadow sweeping towards her, and saw and heard the agony of merchants and travellers on that busy road as the swarm overcame them.”
Gawain smiled grimly, remembering the indolent guardsman at Ferdan on his first visit there a year ago…
"You're a Royal Jurian Forester, and never seen an elf?"
"No, I'm a Royal Jurian Forester who's spent the last two years guarding these offices and answering every simpleton's question that comes through that gate. Anything else I can do for you, traveller recently out of Callodon, or may I return to my duty?"
“What happened? What did she do?” Elayeen demanded, though her voice was soft as nightfall.
“Sorry. I was just remembering… You’ve not heard her name before?”
“No.”
“Ah. Well, now you have. Gillyan Treen was a Forester in the service of the King and though she knew it not that summer’s morning, she was to change life in Raheen, forever. It’s important to know that while the woodlands in Raheen were nothing like the great forest of Elvendere, we did have woodlands, and copses, and yes, what we called a forest. And Foresters, too. Quite often the Foresters would train in the lowlands alongside those of Pellarn and Callodon, and… well… one or two might’ve crossed the Eramak for a quiet poke around in the woodlands of Goria now and then, just to keep an eye on things.”
Elayeen smiled in the starlight, and Gawain thought he heard Allazar’s stifled chuckle.
“Anyway,” Gawain smiled too, “It’s also important to know that two years earlier, Gillyan Treen had come face to face with a particularly unfriendly wildcat in the woods and in the ensuing commotion, not only did she receive a nasty mauling but her shortbow cracked when its string was broken and the sudden shock
of the bow being released broke it. The wildcat too was injured, by Gillyan’s blade, enough to encourage it to flee.
“As soon as Gillyan had stitched the worst of her wounds and bound up the others she set out to find the wildcat. It was wounded and had been mad enough as it was without pain adding to its misery and so Gillyan sought to end its suffering. In short, she tracked the beast, and when she found it, having no bow, she remembered a trick she had learned from her grandfather as a child, and using her spare bowstring in the manner of a spear-throwing stick, threw an arrow at the wild creature and, with great good fortune, knocked it from its perch in the boughs of a tree and eased its passing with her knife.
“From that point on she practiced the throwing of arrows daily, so that should her bow ever be broken again she would not be defenceless at range. The shortbow was the Raheen weapon of choice back then, much better suited for horsemen than any other.
“And so to the Farin Bridge, two years later. Seeing the swarm approaching and the awful damage it inflicted on horse and rider, Gillyan at once urged her steed into the river. As the Goth-lord swung south, entirely heedless of the Forester, the swarm slowly did likewise, but not before it completely overshadowed the Styris and the bridge. Gillyan tried to pull her steed’s head under the water but even Raheen horses draw the line at trying to breathe submerged, so while Gillyan was safe from the clawflies’ attentions, her poor horse suffered deep and spiteful lacerations on the nose and ears before finally, to protect its eyes, it at last plunged its face deep below the surface.
“When the shadow had passed and both horse and chosen mount could hold their breath no longer, they emerged. Seeing the direction that the swarm and the Goth-lord had taken, Gillyan Treen immediately gave pursuit, but the speed of the Graken and clawflies outstripped horse and rider, though not by much.
“In the Great Hall there was consternation. Messages were arriving of an invasion by a ferocious winged horde led by a flying creature of enormous size, as well as messages of man-eating locusts and garbled news of tiny carnivorous birds wreaking havoc across the western reaches. Edwyn’s advisors, keenly aware of the king’s youth, advised closing the Pass and calling the Thousand to reinforce castletown.
“Others laughed off the reports as some kind of lunacy. Wizards alternately called for fires to be lit, that the smoke might deter any flying creatures from approaching the capitol, and for beasts, cattle and the like, to be slaughtered without the walls so that any voracious invaders might feast upon the carcasses and not upon his royal majesty and his loyal servants, meaning of course the wizards themselves.
“Instead, Edwyn ordered the guard to stand to the walls and instructed the rest of his ‘loyal servants’ to follow him up to the top of the Keep, probably so everyone would see the King in command of whatever might occur, be it bird, beast, locust or lunacy.
“What occurred of course was the Goth-lord, and the swarm. Armun Tal astride his Graken overflew the Keep, while the swarm sent the guardsmen screaming in bloody agony from the walls. Then, while the wounded lay writhing and sobbing and utterly incapable of action, at some unspoken command from the Goth-lord, the swarm settled on the stones of the walls. The walls weren’t high or strong-built, they were more symbolic than functional, a boundary declaring ‘here dwell the Crowns of Raheen’ rather than a real defence. Now they were black and heaving, alive with the Goth-lord’s creatures.
“Armun Tal’s Graken back-winged into the courtyard in front of the Keep itself, and while it was folding its immense wings one of the wizards atop the tower sent down streamers of fire. He might as well have sprinkled the Goth-lord with rose-petals. Armun Tal simply waved the streamers away and a small cloud of clawflies flew up from the wall behind him to swarm upon the offending wizard who ran, screaming in pain and panic, blinded, flailing, only to tumble over the parapet to his doom on the flagstones below.
“Where is the Crown? Armun Tal demanded from the Graken’s back. I am here, Goth! Edwyn replied. It is said the Goth-lord laughed, and when he did, the heaving black walls seemed to ripple and shudder as though the swarm really was a part of him. You will kneel before me, boy-king, Raheen is mine, or my army shall feast upon your people!”
Gawain sighed in the night and shook his head sadly. “I stood so many times atop the Keep, in the very spot Edwyn himself stood nearly four centuries ago. I looked down upon the courtyard as he did that day. Looked at the north walls as he must have done, and tried to imagine them all black and crawling… the walls aren’t there any more…”
Gawain sighed again, pushing away the memories of his devastated homeland.
“But there you are. Look down upon Armun Tal Edwyn did, and royal crown he was, part of a line unbroken since time immemorial, a line which stretches down to me. I shall come down, Goth! Edwyn said, and we shall discuss the matter. Again the Goth-lord laughed. There is nothing to discuss! Come down, boy-worm-king, and give me the crown, or I shall send my horde to fetch it!
“Come down Edwyn did. Down the spiral steps worn smooth from centuries of boots upon them. Down to the Great Hall, and the thrones therein, and the Circle of Justice wherein stood the Sword of Justice. This sword that I carry. The very same longsword with which I have wrought such vengeance upon the Ramoth and Morloch.”
Gawain’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper, yet carried a fierce pride and strength. Both Allazar and Elayeen sat up now, transfixed.
“Edwyn, King of Raheen, fourteen years old and barely as tall as the great sword that sat in its home-stone in the centre of that great circle, striding forward to meet the Goth-lord Armun Tal of Goria seated upon a Graken at the head of a filthy horde of dark-made horror. They say Edwyn paused only long enough to draw the longsword from its resting place, and that he drew it with one hand.
“Out of the circle then, through the rows of tables and benches towards the sunshine streaming in through the mighty iron-braced oaken portals, and towards the evil invader beyond, without a missed step, without a hint of fear or doubt. Into the sunlight, a walk of thirty yards across the flagstones and greensward to where the Graken waited, foul breath reeking.
“On seeing Edwyn thus, the Goth-lord laughed again, and the black walls shuddered. What’s this? A fool who would challenge me on foot with a horseman’s blade, and I, Armun Tal of the Goth-lords of Goria!
“History didn’t record Edwyn’s reply because apparently he didn’t make one. For at that moment, Gillyan Treen came thundering through the north gate on her steed, swinging her horse-friend to the right to try to make the northwest corner of the Keep to the Goth-lord’s right flank. They said that Armun Tal was so surprised by an attack from the rear, a direction he thought well and truly disabled by the swarm which had followed him, he simply sat atop the Graken and watched agog as the Forester charged down his right flank and loosed a shaft from her shortbow.”
Gawain paused again, and took another drink of water. His companions, wide-eyed in the starlight, hugged their wraps about them, caught up in the tension of the story.
“Remember, Gillyan was a Forester, not a Rider. Yes, she had been chosen by her horse-friend as I was chosen by Gwyn, but she was by no means a cavalrywoman. The woodlands were her domain. So, when she loosed her shaft, she did not take into account the speed and motion of her horse. To her eye, the shaft should have passed clean through the head of the astonished Goth-lord atop the Graken, but to her horror it missed completely, and slammed instead into the throat of the winged beast whose head had reared up and turned away from Edwyn to see what had startled its master so.
“The creature let out a deafening shriek as the stone-tipped shaft ripped through the soft flesh below its jaws to bury itself deep into the neck-bone beneath. Armun Tal seemed to throw his hand towards Gillyan Treen and a black ball of smoke shot towards her, but because the Graken reared up so violently the black wizardry also missed its target, striking instead the left flank and hindquarters of her horse-friend. The horse fell, as did the rider, but
while the rider got up again, the horse did not.
“The Goth-lord fell too, toppled from his saddle atop the thrashing Graken. Edwyn stepped forward, swung the longsword in a mighty arc, cleaving the mortally-wounded creature’s head open, killing it instantly. Then he began advancing upon the Goth-lord.
“Armun Tal, on his hands and knees, looked first towards his dead Graken, then Edwyn striding towards him, then towards Gillyan Treen. She was covered in grime, clothes still wet from the river, her nose was bleeding and her right leg looked to be broken, but she knelt on her good left knee and was nocking another shaft to her shortbow. The Goth-lord, probably slightly dazed from his fall, possibly judged her to be the most dangerous threat to him, and was certainly going to strike her down with another ball of black wizardry, but those who were there said they heard him give a bark of a laugh when Gillyan tried to draw the bow, and it promptly broke. It had been damaged when her poor horse-friend had been blown from beneath her, casting her onto the flagstones in the fall.
“Instead, the Goth-lord turned his attention to Edwyn, who in three more strides was now within range of his quarry and was swinging the Sword of Justice again. But Armun Tal simply grinned, and placing both his hands before him, made a shimmering black disk like a shield appear before him. The great blade struck the disk, and there was much crackling and streamers of dark magical fire, before Armun Tal stood and using the shield, thrust against Edwyn, sending him stumbling backwards.
“And now the crown is mine he said, and the black shield faded as he raised his right hand and conjured a black ball of smoke, the same as had killed Gillyan’s horse-friend. And that was when Gillyan’s second shaft sang across the courtyard with the crack of a string, slamming into the Goth-lord’s ribs just below his exposed armpit. At once, Edwyn danced forward, swinging the longsword in a flat arc with all the power his boyish yet kingly frame could muster.
