by GJ Kelly
“Good morning, Ugly,” he said softly, “At least I can count on you to wake me at a reasonable hour. Or not.”
Gwyn grunted, and nudged him in the head before whinnying happily and trotting off up the road.
Everything ached when he moved, but he pushed himself up on the blankets until he was sitting with his back against the water butts. He glanced around the wagon, and seeing everyone busying themselves with the morning and obviously preparing to travel made him feel guilty and a trifle vexed at the same time. There was simply no way he was going to ride along the Jarn road in a wagon while refugees walked and his saddle sat empty upon Gwyn’s back.
In spite of the aches and pains, and his knees and elbows were, he admitted, in fairly rough shape, he clambered out of the wagon, and buckled on his shortsword. He bent at the waist to slip his boot knife into its rightful place, not daring to raise his knee as he normally did lest the fresh scabs break and the blood from the heavy grazing start to flow once more. On examination it appeared that someone, presumably Allazar, had cleaned the black blood of the Kraal from the longsword and its scabbard, and he slung over his shoulder before strapping the quiver of arrows into place.
Elayeen stood in almost exactly same spot he’d left her the day before, and seemed content just to sweep the area with her eldengaze from time to time. It was clear from the space around her that everyone else was finding her blank stare uncomfortable now, except perhaps, he noted, for the Gorian refugees, and especially the ladies in their number. Gawain sighed, admiring her beauty but at the same knowing it was no longer his love standing there quietly in the middle of the passing-place.
Allazar sat on a mound of gravel some twelve feet from Elayeen, the Dymendin staff leaning on his right shoulder as he studied the open notebook in his hands. From time to time, he angled the book to catch the early morning sun and get a better look at something he held in it with his thumb, before scribbling on the page with a pencil. Doubtless, Gawain thought, the message from Brock.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Good morning, Captain. You let me sleep far too long.”
“Hero’s privilege, my lord. Almost a tradition in the King’s Own.”
“Dwarfspit.”
Tyrane smiled. “The area set aside for gentlemen is yonder, my lord. I’m afraid the stew didn’t stretch too far last night so it’s back to rations for breakfast.”
“Thank you, I have plenty of frak. That must be the wizard Arramin?” Gawain nodded towards an old man standing alone, further up the north road, leaning on a staff made from a simple sapling stripped of branches but not of bark. He had his short, pointed nose buried in a book, the wisps of his straggly beard blowing from under it in the swirling morning breezes. Bushy white eyebrows, and a light dusting of snow-white hair around the sides of an otherwise bald pate.
“Yes, that is he. I know he doesn’t look much, my lord, and in truth he probably isn’t, but he’s a good teacher, and there’s none in Callodon knows our history better than he. And he stood to the fore, my lord.”
“Yes,” Gawain acknowledged, though in truth his memories of the charge were little more than snatched glimpses, and mostly of Eldengaze aiming at him. “Well…” and with that, Gawain walked extremely stiffly towards the area of the woods the captain had indicated.
“There is a stream, my lord, should you wish to take a change of clothing and a towel?” Tyrane added discreetly.
Gawain looked momentarily surprised, and then glanced down at himself. He hadn’t washed since they’d all wallowed in the mire, heaving the wagons through the mud. Camouflage it may have been on the hunt, but with the danger now past for the moment, he looked like a cave-dweller from a children’s storybook, caked in cracked mud and blood.
“Ah. Thank you again, Captain.”
It was a far more presentable King of Raheen who, half an hour later, walked back to the wagon to hang his wet and stream-washed clothes on a rope running along the side of the vehicle. The blankets that had served as his bed had been folded, and some of the Gorian men were topping up the water butts. They simply gazed at him in awe when he bade them a ‘good morning,’ and he wandered over towards Allazar.
But the wizard was still working, Gawain had seen the look of intense concentration on Allazar’s face, and he decided to leave him in peace to finish deciphering the message from Brock. Instead, Gawain stepped forward, behind Elayeen’s back, and gently rested his hands upon her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
Nothing seemed to have changed, her pupils were still barely visible pinpoints of blackness, and she gazed through his chest.
“Egrith miheth,” he said softly, but received no reply. “I know Elayeen is within you, Eldengaze, I know my lady hears me. I know she saw me on the road yesterday. And I know it was she who stayed the arrow you drew against me. I know, too, she would have allowed you to loose it, had I not slain the beast in time, rather than allow the Kraal to destroy those in our protection.
“I want my Elayeen back, Eldengaze, and I shall have her back. Until you release her, I would have her know that I love her, and would have forgiven her the shot you aimed at my heart, had she allowed you to loose it.”
“I am she.” Eldengaze spoke, but though the words were spoken quietly, the voice still rasped and seemed to echo from within her, horribly.
“No, you are not.”
“I am she, who bound herself to you. I am she, whom you took from faranthroth. I am she, whom you held in the night. But I am become the Sight. He is the Word. And you are the Deed. The Sight, to watch over you and warn of the darkness; the Word, to add knowledge, power and give meaning to the Deed. Friyenheth Ceartus Omniumde.”
“I want Elayeen back!” Gawain hissed, squeezing her shoulders.
Elayeen’s head slowly tilted up, until her awful eyes met his. A chill ran the length of Gawain’s spine and seemed to spread through his very blood, but he gripped her shoulders all the harder for it, and refused to look away though every sense seemed to beg him to do so.
“I am she. I am the Sight, and thus shall I remain until I and I alone see that the Word and the Deed require me not!”
“I shall have her back!” Gawain managed, though how, he could not say.
Eldengaze pinned him a moment longer, and then she turned her back to him, and took a pace away, casting her gaze north once more.
He looked to his left, and his eyes met Allazar’s. The wizard had seen all, and heard all, the dampness in the older man’s eyes speaking volumes. Gawain sighed, and turned his face to the sun, feeling its warmth, choking back the emotion for the sake of the Fallen, for the sake of all Raheen. Then he turned and strode over to the wizard, who rose to his feet.
“Have you finished the message from Brock, Allazar?”
“Alas, no, Longsword,” Allazar whispered, casting another sad look towards Elayeen. “Brock has applied the cipher more than once. Thus, on deciphering the first time, I must decipher the result, and so on, until finally the content of the message becomes clear. It is a tedious business and one mistake can cost hours.”
“Then I suppose I should leave you to your work. The column is making ready to leave, can you work on the road?”
“I can, as long as the horse is content to do nothing but walk steadily and allow me to think.”
Gawain nodded, and then hesitated as though hoping for something, but finally turned away to walk past Elayeen and north along the road towards the wizard Arramin.
On his way, he spotted a face he recognised among a small group of Callodon guardsmen and he paused. The men looked up, and the object of Gawain’s attention looked distinctly nervous as Gawain approached and briefly pointed at him.
“I know you…”
“Serre…”
“No, wait, don’t tell me.” Gawain studied the young man a moment longer. “Your name is Erik. Corporal of the King’s Guard, we met a year ago, after I fired the tower at Jarn.”
The officer gaped,
and then beamed. “Aye, my lord! Though it’s sergeant now, Serre, his Majesty promoted me himself, not long after.”
“Congratulations, Sergeant,” Gawain did his best to smile, but was sure he could feel the eyes of Eldengaze upon him. “You served as escort for the wizard?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Duty is sometimes a harsh taskmaster.”
Erik smiled broadly. “Aye, though begging your pardon, my lord, I’d rather escort a dozen wizards hard across the plains than face the Longsword Warrior again as we did that night.”
“You kept your word to me that night, and there are many that wouldn’t have. Honour to you, Erik, Sergeant of Callodon.”
“Thank you, Serre,” the sergeant managed, he and his men swelling with pride, but Gawain was already walking away towards the wizard.
Gawain paused to the side of the old man, and studied him briefly. Thin, skin and bones mostly, age robbing him of bulk, and countless hours spent poring over old books and manuscripts giving his back a permanent stoop. But there was a brightness in the eyes even now scanning the lines of his book, which spoke of a keen intelligence.
“Good morning, Serre wizard.” Gawain announced himself.
“Eh? Oh!” Arramin appeared genuinely startled, and then incredibly embarrassed. He stooped a little lower, the book held tightly to his chest, trapping his wispy white beard as he bowed. “Good morning, your Majesty. I… I am Arramin, of the D’ith Sek, at your service.”
“I understand from Captain Tyrane that you stood to the fore yesterday, when the Kraal-beast charged.”
“I did my duty, my lord, or rather… rather I would have tried…”
Gawain tried to imagine the old man standing in front of the charging beast, nothing but a faintly comical stick and a few chants between himself and his doom.
“So I’ve heard. And you would have had my lady shoot me from the back of the beast.”
Arramin let out a shaky sigh, and gazed down at his feet. “I could not loose the white fire…”
“I know. You may not harm the races of Man, and I was in the way.”
Arramin gave a single curt nod, his face flushed with shame and embarrassment before the tall warrior-king whose life the wizard had called for less than twelve hours before.
“I did not know you were here, Arramin of the D’ith Sek. If I had, I might not have been as reckless as I was. I acted in desperation, for the sake of those I hold dear, and for the sake of those in our protection on the road. You too, it seems, acted for their sake,” Gawain took a deep breath himself, as though coming to a decision, and in a way, he was. “I did not come here to berate or insult you, Serre wizard, for your actions yesterday. I came here to thank you for them. In truth I say this, I did not know if my desperation would succeed.”
The old wizard looked up into Gawain’s eyes, and blinked, and his lip quivered a little before he spoke: “In truth, my lord, I do not know that mine would have succeeded either. It has been a very long time since last I called upon Aemon’s Fire.”
“Sometimes, the trying is all that matters.” Gawain said softly.
The old wizard nodded, a little sadly it seemed, but for a moment Gawain thought he saw profound understanding, and gratitude, in those bright and intelligent eyes.
“It seems, my lord,” the wizard’s voice cracked, “It seems the good captain is preparing to leave. We are to journey with you to Jarn?”
Gawain was a little surprised by the question but didn’t allow it to show. “In the absence of any other orders from your crown…?”
“There are none, my lord, only to deliver the message or die in the attempt.”
“Then yes, I’m sure the Captain Tyrane will be glad to have additional arms and foragers at his disposal.”
Arramin stooped a little more in an arthritic bow, and Gawain strode as best he could with his own pains back down the road to advise Tyrane of his decision in respect of the party from Callodon Castle.
“Excellent, my lord,” Tyrane agreed promptly, and sent for Erik, the sergeant of the escort. “They can strengthen the van and flanks, and nip up ahead beyond your lady’s range.”
“Will our supplies support all of us now?”
“No, there are fifty four of us on the road now, my lord, but with the darkness destroyed we can afford to send out foragers when we rest. It’s only an hour or so ‘til the open plains, and another two days travel before we encounter the forest again, south of Jarn.”
“I remember that part of the road well,” Gawain gazed north, “I fought my first combat there.”
“Ramoths?”
“No, brigands. Though in truth that section of the road was also where I met Morloch’s vermin for the first time, too.”
“Then let’s hope neither are stupid enough to put in an appearance this time, if by some miracle any are left. Will you excuse me, my lord?”
“Aye Captain, to your duties.”
Tyrane strode off to give instructions to the sergeant Gawain had remembered from a year ago. It seemed so long now, so far in the past. Gawain took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he looked around for Gwyn. He didn’t have to look far, she was standing in a clearing behind the half of the passing-place where Allazar sat deep in thought and Elayeen stood with her bow resting on her boot.
Gawain gave a mental grimace, flexing his legs and his back. Climbing into the saddle was going to take a deal more effort than he was used to.
“It’s time to move out,” Gawain announced to them both as he crunched across the gravel and Gwyn jumped the ditch, bobbing her head happily.
Elayeen made a sudden clicking sound, and her horse trotted along the road to stand obediently beside her. Both Allazar and Gawain moved forward to help her, but to their astonishment, she simply slung the bow over her back, felt for the stirrup, found it, and mounted unaided. A day ago Gawain’s aching heart would’ve burst with pride at the sight of her so independent, sitting proudly, waiting to move off, unaided.
A day ago, Gawain sighed to himself, could it only be a day ago? Yes. It was but one day since he had awoken, covered in mud from the quagmire, to see Elayeen gazing off to the southwest at the darkness of the Kraal. It had been the last time he’d watched her mounting her horse, Allazar assisting her. It had been the last time he had heard her true voice, and he, he had berated her for leaving her bow in the dirt.
This was only their fourth day on the road to Jarn.
oOo
27. Hurgo the Halfhanded
Tyrane’s estimate that the caravan would reach the end of the woodlands and emerge onto the open plains of Callodon within ‘an hour or so’ were quite correct, and Gawain’s stiff and aching muscles felt every bump, stone, rut, hollow, twig and cobble that Gwyn seemed to delight in stepping on. Of course, he realised, it was his own fault, she’d been saddled since yesterday morning, and while she’d been running up and down the road with the other horses yesterday, he’d been running around in the woods and then deigning to ride upon some foul wizard-made creature… He thought a silent apology to his horse-friend but it seemed to make no difference at all to his aches and pains.
Gawain glanced around him, pleased to be free of the woodlands now. True, the forest was still clearly visible to his left, slanting away sharply before them to the northwest, but everything east of north was now grasslands and gorse, though the summer sun had burned much of the green from it, and in spite of all the recent rains it looked drab and uninviting.
Eldengaze rode a little ahead of him to his left, Allazar to her left, as had become normal practice since leaving the foot of the mountain still visible in the haze above the trees in the south. The wizard Arramin, presumably in the absence of any orders to the contrary, rode with the rearguard, his nose still buried in his book and the odd-looking sapling-staff slung over his back with a makeshift fabric strap.
“Something wrong, my lord?” Tyrane asked quietly from behind Gawain’s left shoulder.
“No, Captain,
just having a look around. We’re making good time now.”
“Serre Jaxon insists on running. I think our Gorian friends would like to put as much distance between the darkness and themselves as they can.”
At that, the voice of Eldengaze announced “All is clear.”
If Tyrane found anything remotely uncomfortable about her pronouncements, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded at Elayeen’s back as if he were acknowledging a report from a scout.
Gawain looked away to the east, briefly, before easing Gwyn back a little alongside Tyrane’s horse. “I don’t blame them, it was grotesque.”
“Terrifying,” Tyrane asserted. “The prospect of more those creatures being released upon the lands… it doesn’t bear thinking about. Do you believe it likely, my lord?”
Gawain glanced first at Allazar, still working on the ciphers, and then nodded. “I think we have far more to worry about now than simply the armies in the north, and they are worrisome enough. From what Simayen Jaxon has told us, it’s clear these creatures have been deployed in the Empire for years now. It’s only an opinion, but I think if Morloch still controls the dark wizards in Goria, then poor Arramin of the D’ith Sek may find himself pressed into service with the Westguard sooner or later.”
The road followed a natural ridge of sorts, and though the ruts were clearly visible either side of a hump of grass that grew between them, its lack of use was evident to all. The plains were reclaiming it, slowly but surely. A mile or so after leaving the forest, the escorting guards eased their horses off the road and onto the slightly softer earth either side of it, leaving just the wagons to follow the ruts which wound away into the distance.
There were no more passing-places; none were needed here on the plains where wagons travelling in opposite directions could simply move aside with ease. No more makeshift shelters either, in fact the only signs of recent use were the faint traces Gawain spotted here and there, made by Elayeen’s escort when she’d travelled south to Raheen from Jarn a little over a week ago. She herself gave no hint of recognition, and simply swung her gaze around from time to time. Gawain wondered how the world must appear to her here, with just the grasses and gorse around them, and occasional birds above. His fervent hope was that here, on the plains, with no darkness visible either to naked eye or eldengaze, Elayeen would return to him.
