by GJ Kelly
“Then in trespassing Elvenheth, killing one of their brethren and taking you from Faranthroth, Longsword offended the ToorsenViell greatly, and when Thal-Hak did nothing to prevent your being taken out of Elvendere, it was they who commanded this odious fellow, Yonas, to take both your lives.”
Elayeen nodded, and took a sip of wine. There was a long silence, broken only by the sizzling of the logs in the grate.
“Yet,” Rak quietly announced, “At Ferdan and at Shiyanath, Thal-Hak remained sympathetic to the cause of Union, and to the support of the kindred lands. It was only the Thallanhall’s intervention, doubtless at the urging of those loyal to this Toorseneth faction, which sealed Elvendere’s borders once more.”
“My father is of the family Varan, who have held the crown for many generations. His strength and support comes mostly from the north-eastern provinces. In marrying my mother, he also gained the support of Minyorn, and so he was able to restrain the Thallanhall when G’wain gave me back my life by taking me from Faranthroth’s maw. All of us, elves included, have my mother to thank for that, and my father’s love for her.”
“And now?” Gawain asked. “What will happen now?”
“I don’t understand your question, G’wain.”
“With Morloch defeated in the north and the threat to these lands destroyed, what will happen in Elvendere now? Will your father be able to regain control of the Thallanhall, and open the borders again?”
Elayeen shook her head and stared into the fire. “Did you not hear the words of the traitor before I killed him? It was the Thallanhall that ordered my destruction, and they who passed a sentence of death upon the one-twelve should they ever return to Elvendere. Such a command could not be issued without unanimous consent.
“That it was the one who wielded the sceptre of Toorsen himself who came to carry out the sentence imposed upon me proves beyond all doubt that it’s the ToorsenViell who rule the Thallanhall now, and with it, all Elvendere. There is nothing my father can do. And with my brother Gan removed from his province on pretext of commanding forces in the southwest, there is nothing he can do either. It will take a long time to win back sufficient support from the provinces to give my father the authority in the Thallanhall he needs to overrule the Toorseneth.”
“It is indeed a complex system of governance,” Rak sighed. “Will not the allied victory over Morloch sway the provinces in your father’s favour?”
“News will have spread quickly, it is true. The prompt arrival of the Toorsengard at Far-gor after the battle is proof of that. The northguard would have seen the dwarves of the beacon-watch depart, and would have seen the rent in the farak gorin.
“Doubtless the ToorsenViell was still at Shiyanath with the rest of the Thallanhall when word of victory arrived. It would have worked in the Toorseneth’s favour to keep the crown and Thallanhall from their provinces after the kindred crowns were ejected and returned to Ferdan. So far removed from the support of their provincial councils and advisors, it would have been easier to obtain from the council the unanimous decision in respect of the one-twelve, and of me.”
“Then there is no hope that any of us might now influence Elvendere?” Rak asked, “None at all that we may communicate with them, and commence a new dialogue?”
“None at all, lord Rak,” Elayeen sighed, “And it would be foolish to make such an attempt. If Morloch’s forces are indeed attacking in the west, then the Eastguard will be depleted and given orders simply to shoot anyone approaching the tree line. They will not risk admitting an enemy, being few in number. Most will already have been sent to support the western borders. Elvendere is elvish once more. Not until word arrives from the Thallanhall to the contrary can it ever be considered otherwise.”
“And they will not ask these eastern lands for aid in their fight against the west?”
“No. You must understand, for all those born in Elvendere in modern times, the ToorsenViell and their influence is normal. It’s only in Minyorn and where there are those who adhere to the old ways that anyone has reason to understand and believe that it was not always so. Much of my own understanding of them came from Raheen, though my mother taught me as much as she could, and almost all in Minyorn despise the Toorseneth. Most of the one-twelve who left Elvendere to serve at Far-gor are either of that province, or have other reasons for their loyalty to me.”
“Oh!” Gawain suddenly exclaimed, “The elves on the canal! The ones illuminated by that Aaron’s Candle light that Allazar launched!”
Elayeen turned her head to gaze at Gawain, her head canted to one side while she waited for him to continue.
“What of them?” Allazar frowned.
“They were of Minyorn, the one who dived in and swam across the canal to the eastern side to take a message! To your cousin there, you said, E.”
“Yes. And from Minyorn, to my father.”
Realisation dawned like the warm glow from Jurian brandy. “Then, you passed the Sight to them, and from them, to all in Minyorn, and with the messenger, to Elvenheth and your father…”
Elayeen smiled, though still her eyes were filled with sorrow. “Sometimes, G’wain, you are not quite the stumbling buffoon described by that putrid whitebeard.”
“Putrid dead whitebeard,” Allazar mumbled, earning a surprised look from Gawain. “Is what I’m sure you would have said yourself had I not interrupted, your Majesty.”
“There’s hope for you yet, Allazar,” Gawain smiled, and, like Elayeen, turned his attention back to the fire.
At length, Allazar sighed, and the air of warm if sad companionship which had pervaded the small living-room after Elayeen’s exposition was gently broken.
“I must return to the inn,” the wizard announced, “It has been a long day, and an interesting one. Thank you, lady Merrin, lord Rak, for your hospitality.”
“I’ll send word tomorrow when the room is ready for you,” Merrin smiled, “Though I fear there’s no room in our stables for your horse.”
“Bah,” Allazar smiled, rising to his feet, pushing himself up with the ever-present Dymendin staff. “My poor horse is probably enjoying a well-earned rest in the comfort of the inn’s stables, and I shan’t disturb the unfortunate beast. I’ll make the necessary arrangements for her care with Derrik the landlord. Good night, my ladies, my lords. I’ll see myself out.”
There was a brief chorus of ‘good nights’, and a slight draft of cold air when the wizard opened the door and took his leave. They heard his steps and the tapping of the staff in the hallway, and then the opening and closing of the front door.
“I think we too shall retire,” Rak said softly, “And leave you both in peace. The fire in your room has been lit.”
Gawain stood while Rak helped Merrin to her feet, and bade them both a good night, waiting until the door was closed once more before taking his seat again. Elayeen remained seated on the floor, legs drawn up and her chin resting on her knees while she watched the drafts making patterns in glowing logs, the fire slowly dying down.
“I’m sorry about the nights I spent at the inn,” Gawain spoke quietly, “I couldn’t really refuse Eryk’s hospitality.”
“It would have been churlish for you not to have joined him in the festivities.”
Gawain nodded, and there was an uncomfortable silence. Wind whipped across the chimney, drawing clouds of sparks from the logs and making the embers sizzle in the grate.
“Are we broken, Elayeen?” Gawain asked softly, dreading the answer.
“We are not who we were.”
“That wasn’t really my question.”
“I know.”
“Are you angry with me? For taking you to Raheen? For breaking our throth in the circles there?”
Elayeen, eyes fixed upon the glowing embers, gave a single slight shake of her head, before whispering her reply. “I’m not angry with you, G’wain.”
“Except when I try to touch you,” Gawain muttered, and in the warmth of the small room his words sounded p
etulant even to him, though he hadn’t intended them to be.
“Sometimes,” Elayeen sighed, “Sometimes, Gawain, you really are a stumbling buffoon.”
“Thank you so much for reminding me of that whitebeard bastard’s insults, I’m sure. I’m doing the best I can, Elayeen. And sometimes you’re no help at all. All I want is to rebuild our lives together, now that the fighting is over. Now that we have time.”
“What time do you think we have? The west belongs to Morloch.”
“In name only. The Empire is in the clutches of dark wizards and whatever spawn they create. Besides, the Thallanhall chose to abandon us all, they can hold their own line.”
“Even if the line of Elvendere holds, Gawain, there are holes in the north and in the south. The Meggen aren’t dark wizard-made, their blood is red and won’t become sluggish when winter’s grip tightens its grasp upon the southlands.”
“Callodon will hold the Jarn Gap, and geography will do the rest. Besides, I’m just one man, and I’m tired. One more sword at the South-halt won’t make any difference one way or the other. It’d take us two months hard riding to reach Jarn, longer given the weather now. I mean to rest, at least until the spring. We have that much time at least. Morloch’s not going anywhere and neither am I.”
Elayeen said nothing, and simply stared into the fire.
“Don’t you want to rest, E? It was you who asked to come here, after all.”
“Yes I did, and of course I do.”
“Then why, when I speak of resting and rebuilding our lives together, do you throw the ToorsenViell’s insults in my face and speak of Morloch? Don’t you want us to be together again as we once were?”
“We can never be together again as we were, G’wain, don’t you understand that?”
“No, I don’t. And if you do, if you do understand, then please explain it to me. Explain why even an attempt at holding your hand sees me pinned by Eldengaze, when the last time we shared a room together here in Rak’s home you stunned me with your passion and enthusiasm. I could understand it if you were still angry at me for the circles breaking us apart, but…”
“Now I am becoming angry with you, G’wain,” Elayeen turned her gaze from the fireplace, and he could see the warning signs of her rising ire in her expression. “How dare you throw that in my face!”
“I’m sorry…”
“You really don’t understand, do you? You really do stumble around the lands with no understanding of your deeds or their consequences. Don’t you see? In all the centuries of planning Morloch had at his disposal, never once did he plan for you. Never once did he think for a moment that a man of Raheen would survive his Breath, much less a royal crown able to wield the sword! Never did it enter his wildest imaginings and nor could he ever have supposed that there was the slightest chance one would survive who could unleash the circles and send their ancient power against him. Why else do you think he was so terrified on learning your identity at Kings’ Council in Ferdan?”
Gawain blinked, but was too astonished by the passion in Elayeen’s eyes and the ire in her voice to say anything.
“Has it never occurred to you that the one thing Morloch never took into account, in all his long history of drawing up his plans against these lands, was you?”
“I thought…”
“No, G’wain, you didn’t think. The sword and circles were created to prevent Morloch’s return. The Sight, the Word and the Deed were created to hold Morloch’s forces in check, together, and to bring about the new age. That age is almost upon us. Until it is, you, and I, and Allazar, still have our duties to perform.”
“Very well, if all you say is true, if the insights those eldenbeards have given you tells you we still have work to do, what in sight of the sun has all this got to do with my not touching you?”
“Are men so weak, then? Are you such slaves to your desires you cannot survive without sating them? Can you not love another without pawing them constantly?”
“There was a time when your very life depended on my touch…”
“I cannot be throth to you!” Elayeen spat, quietly for the sake of the household, but with anguish and anger in her voice. “Don’t you think after all we’ve endured I would not be in your embrace? Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to keep my hand from yours? Do you think I could have endured so much these past months were it not for my love for you? You may think your duty ended at the Battle of Far-gor, but mine most certainly has not. I cannot be throth-bound to you! And that is why you may not touch me, Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen!”
And for good measure, Elayeen’s eyes snapped, and she pinned him a moment while she rose, and then she released him and strode angrily to the room they shared. A room which suddenly seemed to hold no comfort for Gawain as the embers in the hearth gave a final glow, and died.
When, finally, he rose from the chair and went to their room, Gawain found the lamps dimmed, a dull yellow light flickering from the fire behind its mesh guard. Elayeen was in bed, though whether her eyes were open or not he couldn’t tell.
“Tomorrow, when Allazar leaves the inn to take his room here, I’ll move my belongings there and take his place.”
“Would you shame me thus, before our friends?”
“That’s not my intention, Elayeen.”
“Then what is your intention, Gawain?”
“Understand this. As you’ve so often pointed out of late, I am Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen. I’ve had a long two years, the last three months of which have contained little to no comfort at all. If you don’t want to be shamed by my moving to the inn and you don’t want me anywhere near touching you, then you’d better get used to sleeping on the bloody floor, because I’m certain vakin sure this is the last night in Tarn that I do.”
oOo
5. The Worn Boot
The fire in the bedroom’s hearth was long dead when Gawain awoke well before dawn. He rose and dressed quietly, his back and neck stiff and aching, and his boots were distinctly cold when he pulled them on. A glance towards the soft and capacious bed revealed an indistinct mound beneath the blankets where Elayeen had buried herself in the night; Gawain mumbled an envious oath under his breath as he snatched up the longsword and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Sounds from the living-room suggested that a servant was up and about, clearing the grate and preparing another fire in the hearth, and the kitchen, when Gawain passed through it to the back door of the house, was warm, heat radiating from a wood-fired range on which a large kettle was quietly steaming.
A peek out of the window showed the morning to be dry but blustery, and after wrapping himself in his cloak and shouldering the sword, Gawain let himself out of the house to bid Gwyn a good morning. That done, and chewing a fresh-pared slice of frak, he stretched and tried to loosen aching muscles, and failing miserably to ease the discomfort, pondered what to do next. It was still dark. It was cold. It was windy. And there really was only one thing Gawain could do. Smiling grimly, he trudged along the path to the side of Rak’s house, across Tarn Square, and to the inn.
He paused a moment outside, his attention drawn by a metallic squeaking which accompanied a sudden gust of wind, and he glanced up. A fresh-painted wooden sign swung back and forth from a short pole fixed to the inn’s gable, proclaiming the name of the inn: Traveller’s Rest. Gawain couldn’t remember what the place had been called the first time he’d slept under its roof, the night Rak’s son was born. But he shrugged, opened the door, and with a nod for the surprised landlord Derrik on his knees before the great fireplace lighting the logs, took the stairs two at a time…
“Wake up, you idle bloody whitebeard!”
“Eh?” Allazar started beneath the covers, grabbing the sides of the bed which rocked violently under Gawain’s boot.
“Earthshake. Run for your lives,” Gawain announced, rocking the bed with his boot again.
“By the Teeth, Longsword, have you taken leave of y
our senses?”
Gawain sniffed and wiped his nose, and leaned back against the wall of the small room. “Probably. But I decided that as king it’s long past time I made some new rules, the first of which will be that if I’m up on a cold, dark and windy morning, you will be too.”
“And what has brought about this startling and unexpected turn of events, may I know?” Allazar heaved himself up into a sitting position, the ropes under the mattress creaking alarmingly every time his weight shifted.
Gawain sighed. “In truth? Elayeen.”
“Ah. For a moment I thought I had woken up several days ago, and you were still ‘tired and emotional’ from a night’s revelling with Eryk of Threlland.”
“A year ago I’d cheerfully have spent the day up at the Point muttering to myself. Or pointlessly brushing Gwyn’s coat, or otherwise wandering off somewhere on my own to try to understand my circumstances and all the events leading up to them.”
“And now?”
“Now I have a wizard all my own to torture, why should I torture myself?”
“There is a chair by the window, your Majesty, by all means make yourself comfortable while you continue afflicting me at this unearthly hour.”
Gawain propped the sword in the corner of the room and sat, suddenly gripping the arms of the chair as it tilted and groaned, its legs or the floor or possibly both alarmingly uneven.
“I pressed her last night, after everyone left. Pressed her for a reason why she prohibits my touching her.”
“Did she answer?” Allazar asked, reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table.
“After a fashion,” Gawain sighed, and looked suddenly sheepish. “She pointed out that my existence is probably the one thing Morloch never accounted for in all his planning, that I’m a buffoon, and that the circles have imposed a duty upon the three of us which isn’t yet done.”
