The Longsword Chronicles: Book 02 - Sword and Circle

by GJ Kelly

  “Freedom and Justice for All.” Gawain said softly, the words seeming to fill the vast space of the great hall.

  “Yes.” Allazar agreed. “And in the staff’s curved reflection I could identify some of the runes in the outer circles, confirming my suspicions as to their etymology, though I maintain that translating them is not ultimately important. And now comes the moment of my doom, I fear, for I must now take a leap of faith based upon nothing more substantial than insight, or intuition.”

  Gawain nodded, and drew Elayeen closer.

  “I spoke earlier of Lord Rak’s diplomacy in persuading Council to move to Shiyanath and I said Is it too simple to see? And while mighty minds are busy searching for hidden agendas and traps and wheels within wheels, they fail to see the obvious answer. Before Salaman Goth’s attack I had an inkling as to the simple answer, but after seeing the reflection of the home-stone runes in the staff obtained from that battle, that inkling has become more, a conviction, as much a conviction Longsword as your desire to bring us here in the aftermath of Ferdan.

  “The three groups of runes at the home-stone, in a later tongue than the outer circles, give the clue to the answer. The runes change each time someone steps into the circle as the wheels of a merchant’s barrel lock. The circle is like a mighty lock, waiting to be opened, and for that to happen, all three circles, of elfkind, of humankind, and of wizardkind, must be aligned.”

  Gawain and Elayeen looked at the circles, and at the wizard, with a mixture of astonishment, hope, and immense doubt.

  “And then what?” Gawain asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Allazar replied immediately.

  “Freedom and justice for all.” Elayeen repeated.

  “I did say it was simply an intuition.” Allazar said, beginning to sound doubtful himself now. “But it cannot be coincidence that the runes, like the wheels of a barrel lock, spin each time someone enters. It is as though the circle is waiting for someone, or some people of each of the kindred races, to come together here, in common purpose.”

  Gawain sniffed. “I grant that the explanation is certainly a simple one. Simple enough to defy the mystic minds of the many down through the ages of Raheen.”

  Allazar drew the notebook from his bag. “I tested my idea last night, Longsword, and yesterday. Whenever I enter the circle, all the runes in all three circles change their form. But the centre ring, bearing the ancient Cerneform of wizardkind always contains the same symbols in the same order, merely in a different position about the circle. The other two rings change completely, but they are the rings for elfkind and humankind.”

  “But if that is so, Allazar, then why has the lock not opened before? Since the circle was created in a time before all memory surely there have been many instances when wizards, elves, and men found themselves crossing the circle, or standing in it, together? My father’s dream was Union. Lord Rak himself remembers a great meeting here after Pellarn fell, ambassadors of all lands attended, including Elvendere.”

  “True,” Allazar agreed quickly, but the smile did not slip. “I have no doubt there were many occasions when elves and men and wizards stood here together, or idly crossed the circle during feasts and other occasions such that all three would be within the circumferences at the same time.”

  “And nothing happened.”

  “And nothing happened, Longsword. For though my knowledge of ancient writings is, I confess, limited, this I do know from my studies and from studying the runes in the reflection of this curved staff: All the symbols are adjectives.”

  “Adjectives.” Gawain repeated, his voice now rich with scepticism.

  “Describing words,” Allazar confirmed, and on seeing Gawain tense added quickly: “Thus, the runes change according to the characteristics of he or she who enters the circle, and according to their race!”

  “Then the circle awaits people with certain attributes.” Elayeen said quietly, almost sadly.

  “Yes,” Allazar confirmed, “Which is why in the past, on the doubtless many occasions when people of the three kindred races were within the circle contemporaneously, nothing happened. They did not possess the characteristics necessary for the runes to disengage the lock.”

  Gawain sighed. “There is only one way to find out if your simple solution to this enigma is correct, Allazar. If it is, it would seem fortunate indeed that my lady paid no heed to the letter advising her to remain below.”

  “And if your lady had remained at the foot of the pass we would be dead, and unconcerned with ancient mysteries. This also explains why the traitors among the brethren in Elvendere worked so hard to keep you and Elayeen apart, Longsword. It was not simply a Union of the lands in the coming war Morloch feared, though that to him is doubtless dread enough, but a union between men and elves and the day when both would stand here, together.”

  “I do not like it.” Elayeen announced, firmly, surprising them both.

  “Miheth?”

  Elayeen shrugged, and eased herself loose from Gawain’s embrace. She walked tentatively down the steps to stand at the edge of the circle, and looked down as though she were standing at the very edge of the cliffs towering above the Sea of Hope.

  “There is ancient magic here far beyond our understanding,” she whispered. “For Morloch to fear it so much, there must be a fearful reason,” and with a long hard look over her shoulder at her beloved, and an even harder look at the wizard, added, “We are far, far removed from the minds of those who made this place, and the world in which they lived. Who are we to meddle thus, with neither knowledge nor wisdom of their intent to guide us?”

  Gawain stepped slowly down to stand beside her, but kept a gentle distance between them.

  “Two years ago, slightly more, I stood where Allazar now stands, my family sat upon the thrones behind us, and my father banished me from this land in accordance with a tradition I believed only applied to the first-born, my brother Kevyn. We are all here, together now, as a result of that tradition.

  “A year and a day later I drew the Sword of Justice from the home-stone which lies yonder, and without knowing its power or its true origin, raised it, and swore an oath. It’s been enough for me to know that this sword upon my back has wrought vengeance upon the Ramoth and vexed Morloch since that day.

  “But it hasn’t brought justice for all. It hasn’t brought justice for those slain by the Ramoth in Morloch’s name, it hasn’t brought justice for those slain by wizards since Ferdan, and it hasn’t brought justice for those we saw in the hands of Morloch’s spawn at the Barak-nor. Nor can it ever bring justice for the ruin of my land, of my home and of my people, the ruin which you have now seen, miheth.

  “If the wizard is correct, and if our stepping into this circle should unleash some wild and dread power which annihilates utterly the evil yet lurking beyond the Dragon’s Teeth, I would do so in an instant. But even if our stepping into this circle now does nothing more than slightly irritate Morloch, still I would do so in an instant.

  “I can feel your apprehension, mithroth, and I know you would leave here, and make haste for Elvendere and Shiyanath. I will not ask you to do this, nor would I command it, even in sight of the cracked and broken thrones above us and the ghosts of all the great kings who once sat there.

  “But the very fact that Morloch would rather see me dead than stand in this circle is all I need to know to make me do so, and gladly.”

  And Gawain stepped into the circle. The runes shifted, as they always did, just as they had every time he and Allazar had stood within the graven rings together these past two days. Nothing happened, also just as it had these past two days.

  Elayeen let out a long and shuddering sigh, her arms by her side, staring down at her boots. Once, twice she breathed deeply, and then looked up at Gawain, her beautiful eyes damp with apprehension and some strange sense of elvish impropriety holding her back. Then she tore her eyes away from Gawain’s, and looked once more around the ruins of the Great Hall of Raheen, the ren
ts in the walls, the gulls wheeling overhead. Then she fixed her gaze upon Gawain once more. “Eem ithroth, miheth,” she whispered, and stepped into the circle, and as the runes at once began to change, ran to bury her face in Gawain’s chest.

  The runes shifted. First, the outer ring, then the centre, then the inner, and then all three seemed to lock together, and began rotating slowly around them, the pattern fixed.

  “Behold!” Allazar gasped, clutching his staff as if letting go would see him flung out of the circle. “The circles have locked!”

  They waited, Elayeen with her eyes screwed tight shut and clinging to Gawain as though the world would end at any moment; Gawain staring first at the wizard and then at the rune-circles as they revolved in the floor around them.

  “What now, Allazar?” Gawain gasped, holding Elayeen tightly, feeling her apprehension trying to take hold of him through their binding.

  Between them, at the centre of the circle, the small ring of runes encircling the home-stone seemed to pulse slightly, glowing a little and then fading, as though keeping time with the rotation of the outer rings. Allazar eyed the vacant slot in the stone.

  “I think, Longsword, something is missing.”

  “E miheth, I must replace the sword,” he said softly, easing her away a little and drawing the great blade over his shoulder.

  Elayeen opened her eyes at the sound and drew back enough to gaze up into his eyes. “I am afraid,” she said simply. “I am faranthroth, I should not be here…”

  “Hush, E, mithroth, we are bound together you and I.” he whispered back, and heedless of Allazar leaning on his staff not two feet away, kissed her, and then stepped back a little, still holding her hand so the three of them formed a small triangle about the home-stone.

  Gawain took a deep breath, deftly flipping the great blade, holding the pommel high above his head, the point down above the slot in the home-stone. “Then let us unlock this ancient power, if there be any, and vex Morloch to the end of his miserable days. May there truly be freedom and justice for all.”

  He plunged the sword into the slot, and there was a loud, echoing click. At once the runes began rotating at incredible speed, glowing brighter. Then there came a sound, deep, deep as the very earth itself, as though some mighty giant had lifted the entire mountain of Raheen an inch off the ground, and dropped it again.

  The sound, which was felt more than heard, rushed outward like a tidal wave, north, radiating out through the great U of the lands, passing through villages and towns and hamlets and farms, through the greatest of castletowns and through the humblest of hovels, and as it passed, people paused a moment, and looked about them, and shivered, as though someone had walked upon their graves, and then went about their business.

  North sped the wave, washing over all, great and small, and in the winter palace of Shiyanath the great Council of Kings paused a moment in their debating, and shivered, and marvelled as motes of dust fell from the vaulted ceiling above them, glistening, a shower of spangles in the sunlight.

  North, to the farak gorin, through the frozen rock-glass of that terrible boundary between the plains and the Teeth and the elderly gang of Threllandmen beneath it, dwarves quietly tunnelling through hard rock and pain, and they too froze, and gazed about them as if expecting a cave-in, before they turned as one and fled the workings as fast as their legs would carry them.

  And then the wave smashed into the Dragon’s Teeth, and northward racing still until it met the great rip in the world, that bottomless crevasse of the great divide where Gawain and Martan of Tellek had watched Morloch’s minions crossing that dread subterranean chasm. There, unable to proceed any further, the great wave boiled up upon itself, rushing up through the rock of the Teeth, following the southern slope to slam into the peaks and ridges…

  Such was the mighty force of this ancient power, the aged miners fleeing into the fresh air of the plains south of the farak gorin would swear they saw the Teeth jolt as if some great invisible giant of a dwarf had given them a sharp rap with a hammer. Such was the power of that hammer-blow, peaks and ridges cracked, and on the far side, the northern side, Morloch’s side of the Teeth, countless and immeasurable tons of rock spall suddenly blew outward, as though the whole range of mountains were one great volcano belching rock to north.

  And mingled with the millions of tons of rock spalls blasted from the northern slopes of the Teeth by the impact of that mystic tsunami of ancient power, countless mindless labouring minions of Morloch, rent asunder, destroyed in an instant, and their countless years of toil and hammering at the Teeth destroyed with them.

  The ground in the north shook, and Martan of Tellek and his old friends, counting heads lest any of their number were still below when that giant hammer tapped the Teeth, felt it beneath their feet, and eyed the farak gorin with alarm, and shivered… for that great wave had done the task it was made to do, and having struck the Teeth, rebounded, and was now racing back across the plains, towards the bottom of that great U of the lands, and towards Raheen, whence it came.

  All this they saw, Allazar, and Gawain, and Elayeen, as if they themselves were riders upon that wave, though Gawain felt for a moment as though he were mounted upon the mightiest of Raheen chargers, guiding the great steed north to the Teeth, steering it towards his enemy. Now the wave was returning, its immense power barely diminished, rushing past Mornland and Arrun in the east and Elvendere and Callodon of the west, touching all who dwelt there a second time as it raced across the plains until…

  There was a sound, deep, deep as the very earth itself, as though some mighty giant had lifted the entire mountain of Raheen an inch off the ground, and dropped it again. Then a pause, but a heartbeat of total silence, as if the very world were holding its breath. In that timeless moment, Elayeen stared into Gawain’s eyes, and he into hers, then she looked to Allazar, and then back to Gawain, as the Keep filled with a sudden rushing, whistling, like steam rising in some immense kettle…

  “G’wain!” Elayeen called, and for the briefest moment, Gawain felt all her love, and all her fear, and all of it was for him.

  Then, in an instant, the three concentric circles of runes ceased their wild revolutions, and flared brightly, and then a cylinder of light burst forth from the small circle around the home-stone, brighter than the sun, enveloping the Sword, before at once expanding violently to the full diameter of the circle, blasting all three away from each other as it did. There the light shone like a beacon, blasting up through the clouds and to the heavens above, and just as suddenly, it faded, and was gone…

  In the great hall in the ruined Keep of Raheen, Gawain lay up on the cold stone floor, his ears ringing, his head aching, his eyes stinging, and when he moved, his everything protesting. He opened his eyes, and found himself laying on the top step of the pedestals, at the very foot of his father’s throne. He pushed himself to his knees and glanced hastily at the circle. The Sword stood silently in its home-stone, the pommel glowing brightly, the steel shining, and he thought he could see runes swimming in the steel for a moment, before the light dimmed a little, and he could see them no more.

  Allazar lay some twenty feet from the circle towards the great open entrance, where all four horses watched side by side in silent amazement. The wizard lay on his back, staring up through the ruin of the Keep at the sky, and seemed to be mumbling, still clutching the Dymendin staff, now bleached a silvery-white.

  “Elayeen!” Gawain cried, “E!”

  She lay face down on the flag-stones far to Gawain’s left, very far from where she had been standing at the centre of the circle until her hand had been ripped from his. He staggered down the steps, lurched across the marble circle and to the rougher floor beyond, and fell to his knees beside her. She looked for all the world as though she were asleep.

  “E…” Gawain murmured, and with a trembling hand, reached out to touch her head. Her hair seemed brighter somehow, all silver now, rather than silver-blonde. For the first time, he truly knew ter
ror, seeing her lying there, unmoving. At once he leaned forward, his heart pounding, placing his ear close to her face. He could hear nothing save the sound of his own terrified heart pounding.

  He drew his knife from his boot and held it close to his beloved’s lips, and almost cried out when he saw the faint bloom of misty condensation form upon it. She lived!

  “Cu...Cura ut valeanas!” Allazar croaked, on his hands and knees, holding out a hand in some kind of warning.

  At once Gawain understood. He struggled to contain his fears now the terror had subsided a little, but his hand still shook. He was Raheen, and if there was one thing a Raheen warrior understood, it was how to go about helping someone who’d fallen from a horse. He doubted being flung forty feet across a stone floor was too much unlike a fall at pace.

  His hands flitted here and there, feeling along Elayeen’s spine, her hips, thighs and shins and ankles, then gently around her neck and shoulders, and finally her arms.

  As satisfied as he could ever be in the circumstances, he gently lifted Elayeen, turning her over, cradling her in his arms. There was a bruise above her left eye, but no cuts or lacerations. But she looked pale, and as he caressed her hair away from her face, another shock struck Gawain. The black braid, outward physical symbol of the throth that bound them together, was a lustrous silver.

  “E, miheth,” he whispered, the single letter ‘e’ his pet name for her. He remembered when first he used it, it made her giggle, and earned him a shower of kisses, “It sounds as though you are saying ‘i’ in my language, which means ‘your’ or ‘yours’, and I am, and you are mine, mithroth”. “Wake up, E, please wake up…”