by GJ Kelly
“Never have I been more serious, Ranger Venderrian. Allazar I trust with this task, but not the nameless rage within him. I will not risk all Juria and the rest of these lands falling into chaos because the wizard cannot contain himself! If he should strike out and the Crown be harmed, all will be lost. This cannot be allowed to happen. Do you understand?”
“I do, miThal.”
“Allazar?”
“I understand, Longsword.”
“Good. Much will depend on cool heads, well-chosen words, and thoughtful deeds, none of which may we expect from blind fury and vengeance.”
“I do understand, Longsword,” Allazar repeated, his voice flat and emotionless, which was even more worrying than the teeth-grinding anger Gawain had expected.
“Very well. Ognorm and I will lead. Give us perhaps five yards before following under your Cloak. Clear?”
“Melord?”
“Ognorm.”
“What do we do, when we get there? You and me, I mean?”
“We’ll honour our friend’s last wishes, and when that’s done, and when we know Allazar and Ven are well-hid in Hellin’s apartments, we’ll pay her and her dinner-guests a visit.”
Ognorm sniffed. “Arr. Well, just so I knows what’s what an’ all.”
Gawain stood up straight, and pulled the darkcloth from his head and face, removed his gloves, dumped the rope and adjusted his clothing, nodding at Ognorm to do the same. Thus revealed, and with a final glance at Allazar and Venderrian, man and dwarf strode out from the shadows of the alley, and quietly, but purposefully, walked across the courtyard and passed between the new Embassy and the old Keep. Their own footfalls masked all other sounds, and they simply had to hope that Allazar and Venderrian were where they should be, striding quietly and unseen behind them.
oOo
19. Five Blows
The single honour-guard standing at ease to the side of the main portal gasped and gaped in recognition, and after a frantic glance around, hissed a warning. “By the Teeth! Lord Vex! You cannot be here!”
“Honour to you, and to the Crown,” Gawain announced softly, noting the vacant circle of stitches on the fellow’s cloak. “You served with us at Far-gor?”
“I did my lord! Under General Bek! Mahk is my name, my lord, once Rider of the Greys, now Corporal of the Guards. You cannot be here, Lord Vex! Orders have been given!”
“I know. I recently met with Riders Cherris and Dirs, and I know well your orders. To them I gave my word that I would present myself to the Crown, and so it was said, so it shall be done. But not before we honour the final wishes of a noble, honoured, and fallen friend. Jerryn, Major of the Guard, who fell with honour at Calhaneth.”
“Aye, we heard of the loss. But my lord! Elves are here, the Crown will order you taken in chains to the forest realm!”
“Peace, Corporal Mahk of the Guards. I shall if you require it give you my word and my arm, once I and Ognorm of the Ruttmark here have done our duty to Major Jerryn, we shall go up to see the Crown, and whatever fate awaits us there.”
The guardsman gaped at Ognorm, clearly recognising the name, and then gazed back at Gawain. The fear and concern in the man’s eyes was not for himself, but for the man and the dwarf before him now.
“What be your duty to the Major, my lord?”
“His last wish was that he not be named upon the wall.”
“Alas, my lord Vex, he is… but the entire cadre rests in the hall now, and not all served in the north and know you, my lord, nor do they know Ognorm o’ the ‘Mark, called to nail the flying bastard on the rocks of the farak gorin!”
“You speak of that?” Ognorm gasped, astonished, “Here in Juria?”
“We do, Serre Ognorm. My lord, you cannot be here!”
“Corporal Mahk,” Gawain spoke softly but urgently, “If you served at Far-gor then you know honour. Ognorm and I must strike our friend’s name from the wall. But we know the wall not, and if as you say there are those within the Guards’ Hall who might not regard us as kindly as you and others, perhaps it would serve your duty and ours both if you were to escort us in, and tell the officer of the watch why we are here?”
“My lord, such would surely mean your doom! I cannot speak for the fate of Serre Ognorm, but they’ll be duty bound within to arrest you!”
“As are you. Come, Corporal, take us in to the Guards’ Hall and to your captain there. Then you may, I am sure, return to your post, and with my respect for your duty and your honest warnings. Come.”
The corporal blinked, his face a picture of complete dismay. But he nodded, and made as if to speak, but then changed his mind, and led the way inside.
It was gloomy, the paved atrium outside the halls lit by glowstone lamps struggling against the vaulted expanse. To their immediate right stood the narrow archway which gave access to the spiral staircase leading up to the Crown’s apartments and beyond. In an alcove beside that slender arch stood another guardsman, and Mahk waved him forward.
“Corporal?” the fellow began, and then his eyes bulged. “By the Teeth!”
“Quiet, Clem! We have a duty, and Lord Vex is about his! Take my post at the gate while I report to Captain Ector.”
“Aye, Corp. But… my Lord Vex…”
“Never mind, Clem, go!” the corporal insisted, and as he went, Gawain caught sight of the curtain hanging by the spiral stairs twitching a little, as if someone had brushed it in passing.
There was a wicket door set into the left leaf of the Guards’ Hall portals, closed now for the night as were the main doors to the Great Hall. The corporal gave an apologetic nod and stepped forward in front of Gawain to turn an iron handle and push the wicket open. It swung silently on its well-greased and well-used hinges, and the guardsman stepped through.
Gawain took a breath, tipped a wink to Ognorm, and stooped to pass through the low doorway, the wicket held open by the guardsman from the other side. When both Gawain and Ognorm were within, Corporal Mahk quietly shut the door, straightened his tunic, and strode to a desk where the Captain of the Guard sat reading by a glowstone lamp, the officer turning his head at the disturbance, frowning at the unexpected intrusion.
The corporal stooped, and whispered urgently, gesticulating as he did so towards Gawain and Ognorm, and then to the long wall which had stood perhaps since the Keep had been built, dividing the Great Hall from the lesser where they now stood. Gawain’s heart sank a little. There were many, many names engraved on that vast memorial.
Beyond the desk were rows of long tables, and then rows of curtains behind which sleepers reposed. But it was still early, two hours yet until midnight, and a goodly number of Hellin’s honour-guards sat the tables, playing cards or board-games, reading, or simply quietly talking with one another. All activity had ceased the moment Gawain and Ognorm had entered the hall.
The captain stood, adjusted his uniform, and strode towards them. Gawain did not recognise the fellow, who on drawing closer appeared to be in his early fifties. Grey now tinted once-black hair, the man sharp of eye, and his neatly trimmed beard looked almost silver in the gloomy light.
“My Lord Vex,” the officer saluted smartly, speaking quietly for the benefit of the sleepers. “I am Captain Ector of Her Royal Majesty’s Guards. Corporal Mahk has told me something of your intentions here. You are sworn, he says, to strike off Major Jerryn’s name from the Wall of Honour, and then to present yourself above to our Crown?”
“Honour to you Captain Ector, and yes, I am so sworn. Major Jerryn was a good and noble friend, and we shared many hardships together. It was his wish that his name never appear on the wall, and we, his friends, gave our word to him that his wishes would be honoured.”
“Major Jerryn was a friend to many here, my lord, including myself. He spoke of you often, and held you in high esteem. I am also familiar with his concern that one day his name would be inscribed there, though he made no formal request of me before he left upon the quest which saw his ending. I do not think he expected to leave this
world in such noble company as yours, my lord, and so in his modesty never imagined his name might earn a place there.”
“His name ranks with Willam and Bek in my esteem, Captain,” Gawain said softly. “If there be a yonderlife for honourable men as some say, then our friend Jerryn shall know good company.”
Ector nodded, a double sadness in his dark eyes. “That I should see a night as this,” he sighed. “Bringing as it does the honour of meeting you, the observing of the sad duty you must perform, and the sorrow of my own sworn duty to my Crown.”
“I shall gladly allow you perform your duty and escort me to the Crown, Captain Ector, if you will allow Ognorm of the Ruttmark to perform ours, and lead us to the place where our friend’s name is graven contrary to his dying wish.”
The captain nodded, and took half a pace back before saluting again. He dismissed the corporal back to his post, and turned to walk quietly and with great dignity down the hall to the right of the immense memorial wall. As they went, those awake and sitting at the long tables stood, and a brief murmur of recognition preceded the trio as they made their way, their stride respectful.
Curtains were drawn back as word was passed and shoulders shaken, men half-dressed and bleary-eyed gaping with astonishment, many saluting a man they recognised and thought never again to see. Many perhaps hoped that this was but a dream, and that the King of Raheen was not here, walking the Wall and solemnly regarding the names etched there, that famed longsword strapped across his back. But he was, and in a flurry and with a great rustling of fabrics, men began to dress, knowing this night would be like no other the Guards’ Hall had witnessed.
Perhaps three quarters of the way along the Wall of Honour, Ector stopped. He turned smartly to face Gawain, and still with sorrow in his eyes, tilted his head to where Gawain read:
Jerryn, of Westquarter, Major of the Guards, Defender of Juria, killed in service on a quest for his Crown. Honour to him who served well his Queen.
There came the sound of quiet shuffling, and when Gawain turned from facing the wall, he saw the Guards, standing quietly, astonished and in some cases, confused. It was Ector who turned to address them.
“’Ten-shun!” he commanded softly, his voice sombre, and low.
The men responded at once to the familiar command from a familiar officer.
“This is Lord Vex, His Royal Majesty Gawain, King of Raheen. And with him Serre Ognorm of Ruttmark, a Threllander whose name we also know. They are here in answer to a solemn oath, a sworn duty, and an honourable one. They are here, in full knowledge of the peril which awaits them above, to honour their friend, a friend we all knew, too. They are here to honour the last wishes of Major Jerryn, Defender of Juria, who once stood with us, and stood with them, and fell with honour.
“You will stand-to, men of the Guard. And you shall not interfere. And when this duty is done, you shall stand down, and return to your rest, in peace, and quietly.”
Blinking in the gloom, the men stood in total silence, one or two moving only to do up buttons or smarten their tunics, and perhaps to avail themselves of a better view of those named by their captain.
Gawain nodded at Ognorm, the dwarf’s eyes suddenly damp beneath those bushy eyebrows. Ognorm sighed, and drew his hammer from the belt-loop next to Nadcracker, and then pulled the borrowed chisel from inside his tunic. He eyed the wall, and sniffed. And then turned to face the men of the Guard.
“Jerryn was me mate,” he said, his deep dwarvish voice filling the hall, “We rode many a mile together, we did. Walked a lot too, and ran, sometimes away from things you wouldn’t dream were real, an’ sometimes towards ‘em too. We drank ‘ot soup in the rain together, ‘ot soup he made for us all, us on the quest for the Orb’s ending, and glad we was of it too. We drank good beer and bad together an’ all, in the warm down there in Callodon, and laughed and told tales.”
Ognorm paused, and regarded them all, standing there at attention in their crisp and splendid Guards’ uniforms.
“I never imagined, when I were at home in the ‘Mark, I never imagined one day I’d do all these things with a bloke who shone so bright in such dark places as we went. Get the Orb to the sea, he said at the end, brung down by a Morloch-made spike, and take this, my friend, and when you throw the Orb into the sea, cast this in with it, too, so I can be there with you all at the end! Gave me a pebble he’d took like all of us did, from a stream in that dark forest. Gave ‘im my word I did, swore it on the Hall of the Fathers, and I did it, when we ended the Orb, sent it into the deep with me mate Jerryn’s pebble atop the casket… Now I’m ‘ere, to do one last thing for me mate…”
Ognorm sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Now I’m ‘ere, to do as me mate asked of us all that were there with ‘im when he fell. Do not let my name be carved upon that dread wall in the Guards’ Hall, I beg you! That’s what he said. But there it be, and we’re sorry, Jerryn mate, we’re sorry we couldn’t stop it, but we’re ‘ere now, to put it right, and do what we promised.”
And with that, Ognorm let out a shuddering sigh, and watched by Jerryn’s former command, some with tears in their eyes, all with lumps in their throats, the dwarf turned to the Wall, and set the chisel, and raised the hammer. Its five blows echoed through the hall, steel ringing on steel on stone, chips flew and sparks with them, and then Ognorm stepped back to allow the light from the hall to illuminate his solemn handiwork. The name, Jerryn, had been neatly obliterated. Which was, all of them knew and silently agreed, as it should be.
“So it was said,” Gawain announced, saluting. And with a tremor in his voice which all of them who witnessed the deed heard, finished the formula, “So it has been done.”
Then Gawain turned to Captain Ector, and saluted him. “Thank you, Captain, for your forbearance, and for that of your men. I now have but one duty left to perform, in honour of my oath to Riders of the Grey, and to your corporal without. If you would be kind enough to escort me now to your Crown?”
At that, the men of the Guard seemed to surge forward, and gasps and mutterings of ‘no my lord!’ were heard in the sudden din.
“Stand still and stand to!” Ector commanded, “Remember who you are, and show some respect to the memory of him whose last wishes have now been honoured.” Then his voice dropped, his order obeyed instantly. “Don’t shame us all by forgetting duty now before those who came to honour the Guards.”
Gawain stood quietly while Ognorm replaced his hammer and the chisel, and then at an enquiring looked from Ector, nodded. The captain saluted and led the way again, this time stepping slowly with his back ramrod straight, delaying the inevitable and giving the Guards the opportunity to witness the departure of the King of Raheen and his noble dwarf friend Ognorm from their Hall, in honour, and with great dignity, and with the profound respect of all who watched them go.
At the wicket door, the Captain paused, opened it, and saluting, stepped back, allowing Gawain and Ognorm to pass out into the atrium before him. The signal was clear, not just to Gawain but also to the men: the King of Raheen was no prisoner of the Guard, and was, according to his word, honouring an oath made to one of their number. If the gesture was intended to have a desired effect, neither Gawain nor Ognorm witnessed what it was, for they were through the door and into the atrium, and already noting that the guardsman by the spiral staircase was back at his post.
“By your leave, my lord,” Ector announced softly, “I should precede you into her Majesty’s presence. She is in company with our new elvish friends, and protocol demands an introduction.”
Gawain smiled at the captain’s use of the world ‘elvish’; he was clearly an educated man and would of course know the difference between that adjective and ‘elven’.
“Of course, Captain. I trust the Crown won’t be too surprised when we are presented without additional escort?”
“My Lord Vex, I am not entirely certain that I am concerned for her Majesty’s feelings in the matter. It is the Crown I serve
, so too the Guards. Not the individual presently wearing it.”
“Then I fear for Hellin, for Juria is betrayed to an enemy which has destroyed the Hallencloister, and all wizards within it, and wedded the Crown you serve to that enemy, as you, and she, shall shortly learn.”
Stunned into silence, the captain led the way across the atrium to the staircase, and Gawain, though he couldn’t be certain, thought he saw the flash of a hand-signal or two to the sentry on duty in the alcove beside it.
oOo
20. Behold then…
“Your Majesty,” Ector announced, striding into the council chamber with which both Gawain and Ognorm behind him were familiar. The captain halted and saluted his Queen, Hellin seated at the far side of the broad and circular oak table around which a handful of nobles were placed according to their rank. Judging by the empty seats, this was certainly not the full Council of Juria.
Serat and his assistant soolen-Viell were sat opposite each other in respectable positions either side of the table, and the six Toorsengard were placed discreetly around the room, standing in the gloom by bookcases or in the shadow of doorways leading to other rooms.
“My lords,” Ector continued. “His Royal Majesty and Commander of the Kindred Army, Gawain, King of Raheen, and Serre Ognorm of the Ruttmark.”
A complete, stunned silence fell. Chins dropped, eyes bulged, food or wine held poised by paralysed lips as Gawain, with Ognorm behind and to his left, stepped forward, and Ector, lips compressed thin against a smile, took two paces back behind them.
“Honour to the Crown of Juria,” Gawain saluted. “I hope your Majesty and your dinner guests will forgive my intrusion, but uninvited and unexpected though I am, I feel certain one or two of you will welcome my presence here nonetheless. I would have waited until after breakfast tomorrow, but at the D’ith Hallencloister I gave my word to Riders of the Grey that I would present myself to you at the earliest opportunity, and this is it.”
