The Longsword Chronicles: Book 02 - Sword and Circle

by GJ Kelly

  “I hope that’s a journey we don’t have to make, Tyrane. I’ve been there.”

  “Aye, my lord, we’ve heard some of the tales.”

  Gawain nodded, momentarily lost in memory, stooping in the damp tunnels, following Martan’s cheerful and surefooted progress… “Sorry, Captain. Your men, how many do you have now? I counted eighteen not including yourself when I and Allazar first arrived.

  Tyrane looked impressed. “You’ve a good eye, m’lord. Eighteen there were. Twenty six now, with the guard from Jarn, including the whitesleeves. He was stationed at Jarn lest your party needed his attentions after crossing the plains.”

  “Horses?”

  “Thirty, not including your own party’s. I beg your pardon, m’lord, do you anticipate more action? I’ve assumed the Pass is no longer our objective and deployed the men in general defensive positions protecting the outpost, with a mounted patrol an hour along the road to Jarn and lookouts at the bluff to watch the western approaches.”

  It was Gawain’s turn to be impressed, and then he remembered Tyrane describing how Elayeen had raced up the Pass, and the effect it had had upon the men. She had that effect on all those they’d encountered, from Threlland all the way to the Sea of Hope.

  “No, no I’m not expecting any fresh assault. But it’s wise to be prepared. There is a dark army in the north, and traitors within. I’m grateful for the care you’ve taken, Captain, I’m afraid my own thinking has been somewhat addled since we faced Salaman Goth.”

  “Salaman Goth, m’lord?” Tyrane asked.

  “Aye, the name of the dark wizard who attacked us, and so nearly defeated us.”

  Gawain walked with the Captain to the tents by the wells, drew fresh water from a bucket and under the watchful eyes of the sergeant at arms and a burly guardsman, sat on a low bench and leaned back against the wall of the well, and told Tyrane of their encounter with Salaman Goth of Goria. The Callodonian guards listened intently, eyes wide, sighing audibly when Gawain described Elayeen thundering in on her horse, and how her shot had taken Salaman Goth, clean through.

  Some strange intuition prevented Gawain from speaking of the circle though, and the events which occurred within it. Instead, he simply implied that the injuries Elayeen and Allazar had sustained were got in the battle with the dark wizard and his Graken. Nor was he questioned, of course. One thing was clear to Gawain as he finished his tale, the warmth of the morning sun and his lack of sleep making him drowsy: If the men of the Callodon guard had loved Elayeen for her headlong charge up the Pass, they loved her more on hearing of her rescue of the King of Raheen and his wizard.

  He remembered it too, his eyes closing, seeing her again, her magnificent charge at full gallop through the ghosts of the north gate, feeling the love of her and the pride in her spreading through his chest anew.

  When he awoke, stiff-necked from sleeping sat on the bench with his head on the edge of the well, it was mid-afternoon. Someone, probably Tyrane, had draped a loose cloth over him like a cloak, a sure sign to all of a sleeping man so he wouldn’t be disturbed. The cloth, it turned out, was a Callodon flag.

  Gawain glanced about the outpost, and spied Tyrane standing on the decking in the shade outside the inn, and he nodded when he caught his eye, folding the flag respectfully and leaving it on the bench by the well.

  “You let me sleep a long while, Captain.” Gawain asserted quietly, joining the captain on the boardwalk.

  “You were tired, my lord. And no surprises there. Last I heard from Healer Turlock about an hour ago was that your lady was awake, but there was no change in her condition. The wizard still sleeps soundly.”

  “Thank you. Has my lady eaten, do you know? Perhaps I should take her something.”

  “Alas, my lord, I know not. I would imagine such details would not be overlooked by the healer though.”

  “Ah.” Gawain agreed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. “I think I shall visit her, I don’t believe I’m prohibited from doing so?”

  “I sincerely doubt it, my lord.”

  “Ah. Well then… ‘til later.”

  “Aye, my lord. All’s quiet.”

  Gawain found it cool inside the inn, helped himself to a mug of ale, and then filled another to take in to Elayeen. In truth she didn’t much like the stuff but if nothing else it gave him a pretext for entering and for quenching his own thirst, having slept through the noon sun.

  She was sitting up in bed, wearing a plain white shirt, the linen sheet drawn up around her waist, silver hair tumbling about her shoulders and arms. She stared blankly towards the sound of the door closing and even from across the room Gawain could see the pinpoints of her pupils almost drowned in the sea of hazel green.

  “It’s me, miheth. I’ve brought a mug of ale, in case you were thirsty?”

  She shook her head, hands clasped in her lap, favouring her bound and broken fingers. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you hungry? I could get some food…”

  “No, thank you, G’wain, I’ve eaten.”

  “Oh. Anything good? I missed lunch, I fell asleep outside.” Gawain sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and reached out to take her hand.

  She shrugged. “A sandwich. Beef I think. Convenient for one who cannot see a plate or its contents.”

  “E…”

  “I know. Turlock has said the effect might be temporary, but I hear the doubt in his voice. You have not told them, about the circle? They speak only of the battle with Salaman Goth, and Turlock believes my wounds dark wizard-made.”

  Gawain nodded, and then realised the futility of such a gesture. “Yes. I told them of the battle, but not of the circle. I was about to, but I found when I came to speak of it, some intuition seemed to silence me.”

  “I did not speak of it either. How is Allazar? Last I heard from the healer, he was sleeping.”

  “Yes, I believe he still is. I’m glad, he had a very disturbed night.”

  “I am worried for him.” Elayeen said softly. “And I fear for him.”

  “You fear for him?” Gawain gasped, “Why?”

  Her head dropped, hair tumbling to cover her eyes. “I fear the world has become a very dangerous place for wizards, and he has ever been a friend.”

  Gawain said nothing, and turned on the bed to face her, brushing back her hair and tilting up her chin. She reached up, and held his hand to her face, gazing sightlessly at his chest.

  “I am so sorry, miheth.” She sighed, the words carrying with them a pain so profound Gawain did not understand.

  “Sorry?” He gasped, drawing closer, “Sorry for what?”

  “Sorry I failed you. Sorry I was not worthy of the Great Circle in the hall of your fathers. Sorry for the harm I have done to Allazar because of it.”

  “What are you saying, Elayeen, I don’t understand? What do you mean?”

  She turned her face towards him, anguish making the tears flow. “I am faranthroth, I should not have trespassed there! If I had not been faranthroth, the wave would not have stopped, it would have raced on and destroyed all to the north, it would not have returned to smite the hall of your fathers, and Allazar would not have been harmed!”

  “Dwarfspit and Elve’s Blood, Elayeen you cannot believe this is true! Tell me you cannot believe this!”

  But Elayeen was inconsolable. “Why else would the circle cast me from you, G’wain? Why else would it rob me of the sight of you, and take from us the throth that bound our lives together? The circle judged me, G’wain, and has removed me from your destiny. Because of me, Morloch is not destroyed, because of me, I can no longer give you my strength to aid you in the coming war.”

  Gawain stared at her, her precious, beautiful and tear-streaked face in his hands, and then like the blinding light of the circle, realisation dawned upon him at last.

  “Oh miheth! No!” he gasped and gathered her into his arms. “No, no no… don’t you remember? Don’t you remember my love what Allazar said to us before we entered the
circle?”

  She shuddered in his arms, and he felt his own tears coursing. “He said each of the circles was waiting, waiting for one person possessed of all the qualities needed to unlock it. The circle was waiting for you, my love, just as you were, just as you were. Just as you were, for you, and for no other. If you had not been faranthroth, if I had not taken you out of Elvendere… the circle would not have opened.”

  She seemed to melt then, and the floodgates of her tears opened, and he held her, repeating her name, and ‘for you, and for no other.’

  After night fell and Elayeen had slept some more and the healer had checked on her again and told Gawain that the wizard still slept, they were given peace. Gawain lay on top of the bed, Elayeen beneath the sheet and wrapped in his arms, he stroking her hair and she his arm. For a long time they spoke not, content to be close, and yearning for something to fill the aching void of the throth that the circle had ripped from them.

  At length, he told her of the guilt he felt at unleashing the circle and she gently gave him back his own words, attesting to the fact that the circle had been waiting only for him too. They pledged their love to one another anew with quiet words and the gentlest of touches, and forgave each other for the guilt and pain the other felt. And much later, when soft rain fell outside and the gulls were silent, Elayeen reached for him in the darkness, and drew him to her, and they clung to each other with frightening desperation.

  oOo

  11. Adjectives

  It was the following afternoon when the whitesleeves finally and somewhat grudgingly gave his consent to allow Elayeen to rise from the bed, with the stern instruction that she was to venture no further from the inn than the wells across the broad cobbled area that was the southern terminus of the road to Jarn. Her clothes had been cleaned, apparently with great care, and after much clumsy fumbling on Gawain’s behalf, Elayeen was finally dressed and standing in the middle of the room.

  “Am I presentable?” she asked softly, eyes downcast.

  “You are beautiful miheth, you could wear an old potato-sack and still be presentable.”

  “I do not feel beautiful, G’wain. I feel broken.”

  Gawain took her hands in his and pressed them to his chest before wrapping his arms about her and gently touching his forehead against hers. “They are the prettiest potato-sacks we could find,” he whispered, “Stop complaining.”

  Elayeen could not help the sudden smile that tugged away her embarrassment at being unable to dress herself. “Noooo it is not sack-cloth, G’wain,” she whined quietly, like a little girl, “They’re my own clothes, don’t laugh at me.”

  They kissed, and then Gawain cradled her face in his hands. “Never.”

  Elayeen smiled sadly, and then frowned, prompting a hasty “Is something wrong?” from Gawain.

  “No,” she said tilting her head this way and that. “Am I standing in sunlight? It seems… brighter.”

  Gawain’s heart sank a little. “No, E, the window is behind you, and the curtains are still drawn against the day.”

  “Oh.” Elayeen looked crestfallen.

  “Perhaps it is a good sign,” Gawain smiled, “A sign that your sight will return. Perhaps all you need is more rest, maybe some fresh air…”

  “Yes,” she agreed quickly, “I should like to feel the sun on my face, G’wain.”

  With that, he turned, his left arm about her shoulders, her right tightly about his waist, and her left hand, broken fingers bound together, resting lightly on his chest.

  “I am frightened.” She whispered. “I am so frightened, Gawain.”

  “I will never let you fall, miheth,” Gawain replied, trying hard to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

  He led her to the door and through it, across the empty public room, and out through the wide open doors of the inn to the boardwalk beyond.

  “Do you want to walk all the way to the wells, or are you comfortable here?”

  “It’s not far, G’wain, I was here before, remember? I won’t slip on the cobbles. But do not let go.”

  “Then we shall cross to the wells,” Gawain agreed, “Where Captain Tyrane and his sergeant are waiting, and watching.”

  “Oh. You are sure I am presentable? My hair…”

  “…Is captivating, if their expressions are anything to go by. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with twenty seven men of Callodon all besotted with you. You are my queen, after all.”

  “I can feel the sun. It’s quite warm today.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. You’re as bad as Allazar.”

  “Is he awake yet?”

  “Yes, though still mumbling in a strange tongue. He is much quieter though, according to the healer.”

  “I am worried for him.”

  “I am too. Don’t tell him that though.”

  Another few paces, and Gawain brought them to a halt.

  “Good afternoon, your Majesties,” Tyrane beamed, and bowed slightly.

  “The good Captain is of course addressing you, my lady,” Gawain smiled and nodded a polite greeting at the officer.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Tyrane,” Elayeen smiled, glorious in the sunshine. “My husband has told me of the care and attention you and your men have given to our protection. I hope you will add my compliments to his and pass them on to your men.”

  For a fleeting moment, hope seemed to flare in the officer’s eyes, but then he noticed that Elayeen was in fact looking slightly to his left, and past him, and that her sight had not yet returned.

  “Thank you,” Tyrane said quietly, and with great pride. “I shall. If there is anything I and my men can do for your comfort…”

  Elayeen bowed her head a little, acknowledging the officer’s sincerity. “Thank you.”

  “If you’ll excuse us then, your Majesties, the sergeant and I have our duties…” And with a none too subtle jerk of the head at his sergeant, strode off towards the northern end of the outpost, leaving Gawain and Elayeen alone at the wells.

  “Captain Tyrane is gallant.” Elayeen said softly.

  “I’m standing right here, my lady, that’s my arm around you, you know.” Gawain grumbled.

  “I know.” Elayeen smiled bravely, but even without the throth to bind them, Gawain knew she was struggling against fresh tears.

  He turned her slightly, and stood before her again. “It is a wonder you are out of bed, Elayeen, never mind charming a Callodon Captain for the whole world to see.”

  She took a big shuddering sigh. “A few steps, miheth. It is hardly a triumph worthy of song. Though now I am sure the world is brighter, I can feel its warmth and yes, the darkness in my eyes is brighter.”

  “E…” Gawain’s voice almost cracked, “The sun is behind you.”

  “Oh… I think I should like to go back to the room now, G’wain, please.”

  “Of course,” he whispered, and led her back across the courtyard.

  “There is a step up here…” Gawain said softly when they reached the boardwalk outside the inn.

  “Longsword! Quo et dthu! Quo et dthu Longsword!” a familiar voice called from within.

  Gawain’s heart sank.

  When Elayeen was settled in their room, in a large chair made all the larger for her petite frame curled in it, she insisted Gawain go at once to Allazar. He left her sitting there, her knees drawn up, gazing towards the window, the curtains now flung wide open.

  “He certainly appears a little more rational and quieter today,” Turlock said softly outside Allazar’s door, “But still distracted. It’s getting more difficult to restrain him now, and I’m concerned about the concussion he’s suffered. Unlike your lady, my lord, the wizard really must lie still.”

  “I’ll try to persuade him. I suppose a second blow to the head would not be effective at restoring his senses? I’ve heard stories…”

  “No.” Turlock announced firmly. And then allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “Though I shan’t rule out the possibility as a last reso
rt if he continues to be troublesome.”

  Gawain opened the door to see the wizard in question laying in bed, the Dymendin staff under the covers with him, the top end resting on the plumped pillows beside Allazar’s head.

  “Aha! Longsword! By the Teeth, Eyem hatak a ver dthu!” the wizard struggled to prop himself up, only to find Gawain gently pushing him back.

  “Allazar, you have been hurt, and must rest, lie still.”

  Allazar groaned, and then seemed to twitch, staring into the far corner of the room as if straining his ears to listen to someone standing there. He blinked, before staring back at Gawain once more.

  “Longsword,” Allazar whispered urgently, as though fearful of eavesdroppers. “Mi scribendana!”

  “Your notebook?”

  Allazar’s eyes widened in rapture and his left hand shot out from under the bed-linen. “Dthu compindame! Mi scribendana!”

  “No, Allazar, I don’t compinda you, but I have your notebook, it is in your bag, in the other room with Elayeen. Do you want it? Is that what you’re saying?”

  The wizard looked on the point of tears, such was his frustration, and he nodded furiously, before sinking back into the pillows where his expression seemed to relax again, and he began mumbling quietly.

  Gawain self-consciously straightened the sheets, and then stood. “I’ll get your notebook, Allazar. Be still.” And with that he left the wizard’s bedside and returned to the room he shared with Elayeen, only to gasp with alarm.

  She was standing in the middle of the room, her hands outstretched before her, walking almost toe to toe towards the stone hearth and chimney set in the north wall.

  “Elayeen!” he gasped, and hurried forward.

  “No!” she cried, “Leave me alone!” and he froze, stunned.

  “Allazar… he wants his notebook…”

  “Then take it to him, G’wain, and leave me be.” And she kept walking slowly towards the unlit fireplace.