by GJ Kelly
“I don’t think the wisest of wizards have the faintest idea how much the course of the world has been changed by Gawain of Raheen.”
“No. Though I have no doubt that Morloch does,” Elayeen shivered and drew her cloak tighter, eyeing the distant mountains in the north with a sense of deep foreboding. “He thought himself safe, once Raheen had been destroyed. Safe and invincible. He will never forgive G’wain for vexing him so.”
Merrin turned a little to study Elayeen’s face, expecting perhaps to see concern for Gawain in those hazel-green eyes, and perhaps fear for his safety etched on that gentle face. Instead she saw fierce pride, and intense determination, as though the young elfin possessed a powerful weapon and was waiting for the perfect moment to unleash it. Then the expression was gone, and Merrin saw sorrow and love framed by silver-blonde hair and the hood of Elayeen’s cloak.
“You do know he’ll come back to you, don’t you, Elayeen?”
She nodded. “He promised. If he is able.”
“Of course he will be. To consider for a moment anything else is just our own cruel imagination. At night, whenever Rak is away from home, my mind reels, and often conjures all kinds of terrible fates, torturing me with appalling visions of the death of those I love. I’ve always been too frightened to speak of it to Rak, lest he believe me mad, or worse. There are still some people who believe dreams a kind of prophecy, foretelling but one of many possible futures. Do you have such dread imaginings, in the twilight moments before sleep?”
Elayeen nodded again. “He has only been gone a week now, and already it feels like a lifetime. But I need no cruel imagination to fuel night-terrors, I know what awaits him at Calhaneth. I was there, the first time, and though shielded from the worst of it, still I recall the horror of the place. Wizard Arramin’s discovery in the vaults beneath Crownmount has done nothing to ease my mind.”
“A week already? Time is racing by. You see? He’ll be back before you know it.”
“They’ll not yet have reached Juria’s Hall,” Elayeen sighed, shaking her head and trying to smile. Then a noise from outside the cabin, from the path behind it, drew her attention, and her pupils snapped shut, summoning the Sight.
Two dull gingerbread men, glowing with a dim light, walking up the well-trodden path to the cabin. She didn’t recognise either of them from their shapes or from their gait, and they were men, not dwarves of Threlland. Merrin sensed Elayeen’s alarm, and stepped slightly away from her, fingers unconsciously finding and thus confirming the presence of the jewelled dagger Rak insisted she carry always, ever since that night on the plains when first they’d met Gawain.
Elayeen too shifted a little further away from the rear wall of the cabin, and slipped her right hand behind her back under her cloak to find reassurance in the leather-bound hilt of the elven huntsman’s blade she carried there. Merrin gave a quiet snort of a nervous giggle, and grinned at their foolishness as booted heels crunched along the path to their right. Then two cloaked men, unremarkable of clothing and appearance, stepped forward into sight in front of the cabin, gazing at the spectacle to the north, neither of them noticing the two young ladies now standing quietly in the cabin behind them.
“There it is!” the shorter gasped, “The great gorge, just as they described at the inn!”
“It is immense!”
“It’s as though the weight of the Dragon’s Teeth has cracked the world, and all things north shall break off and fall!”
Merrin relaxed, and with a smile for Elayeen, announced, “Good morning.”
The two men turned as one, abruptly.
“My ladies!” The taller exclaimed, “You startled us, caught up as we were in the reverie of our sight-seeing! Forgive us for disturbing you both, and good morning to you!”
“Aye, good morning!” The shorter bowed politely. “We are merchants out of Juria, come to Tarn hoping to take advantage of early trade now that war is thankfully but a memory. The innkeeper and his friends spoke of this place and the spectacle to be had from the heights here, and so we came.”
All the while, the two men eased nearer, until they were almost within the cabin. And all the while, beneath her cloak, Elayeen gripped the hilt of her knife, thumb pressing against the cross-guard. Whether through instinct or her promise to Gawain always to remain watchful, she could not say, but the two strangers seemed far removed from other merchants who’d visited Tarn the previous winter. And they seemed far too tense and excited for simple sightseers.
“But we’re disturbing your morning, my ladies,” the taller man smiled, eyes narrowing, “And can return later this afternoon.”
“Yes, we shall leave you to the peace of the morning,” the shorter of the two beamed, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“There is really no need,” Merrin began, taking a step towards them, and as she did, the short man lunged forward, catching hold of her by the shoulders and jerking her around, a powerful arm sliding around her neck, pinning her head back against a broad and stocky chest.
Elayeen’s cloak billowed open, the double-edged hollow-ground knife with its wicked trailing point clutched firmly in her right hand, her left releasing the clasp of the heavy garment and flinging it aside as the tall man stepped forward drawing his own long knife. Its blade glistened bright in the morning sunshine, the steel well-oiled.
The short man dragged Merrin back, out of the cabin towards the Razorwing fence and its halberds, leaving the area clear for his comrade to do his work.
“Greetings from your friends in the tower, and farewell, or so I’m told to say,” the tall man grinned, crouching and waving his knife this way and that, and though Elayeen summoned the Sight, he kept his gaze low, staring at her neck or chest while they circled each other, each waiting for an opening.
The Sight would not avail her, she knew, unless the would-be assassin looked her in the eye. Worse, using the Sight meant she couldn’t see his eyes or the long knife he held with practiced ease. Her pupils snapped open, and she studied her attacker, her knife held motionless before her, arm crooked at the elbow, ready to stab with a lunge, or to slash in any direction. Elayeen had the advantage of the Sight of the Eldenelves, and clearly her attacker knew it. He’d obviously been instructed to avoid eye contact, and that had put him on the defensive as soon as he’d seen the weapon in her hand. He obviously hadn’t been expecting resistance of any kind.
Watch the eyes, Elayeen, always, and you will know when and you will know where the attack will come.
Is that what the Luminar of the ‘Hethgard told you, Gan?
It is what the Luminar of the ‘Hethgard taught Reesen, who taught me while you were out paddling your feet in the fountain with Meeya...
Outside, the short man rasped a warning in Merrin’s ear. “Don’t struggle, dwarflady, we’re not here for you. Hold yer peace and you won’t be harmed!”
“You’re choking me!” Merrin gasped, gazing at the spectacle unfolding before her in the cabin, and with her left hand, she heaved on the powerful arm across her neck.
With her right, though, she drew the bejewelled dagger, and thrust it down and behind her, plunging it deep into the man’s right thigh. At the very moment he cried out, she slammed her head backwards into his face, once, twice, three times, driving back with her booted heels thrusting into the stony ground beneath them.
Tall man heard his comrade cry out in pain, and twitched. Instantly, Elayeen’s right arm shot forward like a snake striking, and elven steel sliced the thin and delicate skin on the inside of his right wrist. Tall man lunged forward, thrusting with the long knife, but Elayeen parried it easily and danced back two paces…
Outside, Short man, his nose and front teeth broken and right thigh burning, relaxed his grip on Merrin, who broke free and whirled, enraged, to watch as he staggered backwards, lost his footing and fell. Merrin glared down at him, all anger.
“Dwarfbitch!” Short man cried, spitting blood and a broken tooth, and drew an evil-looking double-e
dged billhook from under his cloak…
In the cabin, Tall man grimaced and hastily transferred his long knife to his left hand, noting the blood pulsing from his gaping right wrist where Elayeen’s stop-cut had neatly sliced it open. He felt no pain, and that drew his gaze to her blade, and its well-honed edges.
“Sharp, isn’t it,” Elayeen announced, softly, eyes still fixed on her attacker’s and noting the direction of his gaze. “Little boys shouldn’t play with sharp things.”
“I’ll bleed you, bitch-elf! I’ll bleed you out here and now!”
But the fool in his shock and rising anger forgot the warning he’d been given, and the snarled threat and grimace that twisted his features brought his eyes up. Few there are who can utter a threat without a stare into their enemy’s eyes, unless that threat is hollow and made over a shoulder while running low and fast away. Elayeen pinned him with the Sight in an instant, and held him there…
“Now ye’ve done it!” Short man shouted, “Now ye’ve done it, dwarfbitch! It was the she-elf we come for, now it’s your blood Billblade will taste!”
Merrin glowered at Short man, the blood smearing his face and pumping from his nose removing all trace of humanity from the assassin, while the glittering hilt of her dagger jutting from his thigh reminded her who she was and the unbelievable enormity of his offence against a niece of the Crown. She took two paces to her left, wrenched a halberd from the Razorwing fence with sudden and improbable strength, turned, and without hesitation drove it clean through Short man’s chest as he struggled, wide-eyed, to get to his feet.
In the cabin, Elayeen stepped forward, closing the gap between her and her paralysed attacker. Tall man’s features were frozen in horror, a dark stain spreading at the front of his trousers.
“Greetings to you and your friends in the tower,” she said quietly, “And farewell.” And with that, she drove the tip of her knife up through his stomach and into his heart, watching with the Sight as the dim light of his life faded, and was gone.
As Tall man’s body fell backwards to the ground, she snapped her eyes wide, and swivelled her head to look at Merrin, seeing the gentle dwarven lady driving Short man flat onto his back and thrusting the point of the halberd through and deep into the ground beneath him with all her weight. Then Merrin seemed to convulse, thrusting harder and harder on the halberd’s pole.
“Merrin, he’s dead.”
“Not until I say he is!” Merrin cried with rage and triumph, almost jumping off her feet to add more weight and power to the halberd, once, twice, three times…
Elayeen wiped her blade on Tall man’s tunic, and sheathed it, and hurried to her friend’s side.
“Merrin, he’s dead.”
“Then I’ll make him thrukken deader!”
oOo
3. Judgement
Three hours after the attempt on Elayeen’s life at the Point, Rak’s house was a hive of activity. Those of Sarek’s Rangers not on patrol were stationed around the house, elves of the Kindred Rangers likewise, though others had been sent to examine the bona fides of any and all recent arrivals to the town and its hostelries. Even the Tarn Volunteers had turned out, and stood guard at strategic points about the main square, more as a gesture of support for Elayeen than anything else, armed as they were with simple rock-hammers. Valin and Meeya were within, both angry, though Valin was quietly but obviously fuming.
“It is not your fault, Valin,” Elayeen said softly, again. “None of us could have foreseen this, not so soon, not in this season.”
“It would not have been possible at all had you heeded my advice, miThalin.”
“True. Yet we are unharmed.”
“And for that,” Rak announced, gazing with undisguised awe at Merrin, “We could not be more grateful.”
Merrin was still far too outraged by the attack so close to hearth and home to do much of anything except glower fiercely from her seat near the fire, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched, Travak sitting quietly on her lap and staring wide-eyed at his mother.
Major Sarek knocked politely on the open door, and at a nod from Rak, entered.
“My lord, my ladies,” he announced, his features stern. “We’ve conducted a detailed examination of the corpses. Cloaks were Arrunwove, boots and trousers Jurian, tunics and undershirts from Mornland. Horses and saddles from Callodon, and the weapons bear forge-markings from both Callodon and Juria. Apart from a change of clothing and some food, they possessed little else but these…” Sarek offered two small pouches to Rak, who shook his head.
“Money?”
“Aye, my lord. Twelve inchbars of silver in the one, ten in the other. They bear guildmarks of assay from Juria, Callodon, and here in Threlland.”
Sarek tipped a couple out into the palm of his hand. The inchbars were little ingots of pure silver, an inch long and a quarter of an inch square.
“Inchbars are common currency for well-travelled traders or merchants,” Rak grimaced. “Twenty-two is a goodly sum.”
“Aye, my lord. A good price for a life and a risky venture. They did have some coin too, but only a small amount, of various lands, in various denominations. Their horses were saddled and ready for the off outside the inn. They told Derrik at the Traveller’s Rest they were heading for Crownmount, but wished to see the gorge first.”
“Nonsense, obviously.”
“Aye. A ruse. They had a room at the front of the inn, overlooking the square and this house. And they could also see the path up to the Point. From what we’ve been able to glean so far, they had their horses saddled in a hurry, at about the time the ladies took the morning air.”
“How long have they been in Tarn, Major?” Valin asked, arms folded.
“Three days at the inn. They arrived in the night, and via the south road, it seems. We’re sending word to ascertain whether they crossed into our lands from Mornland, or were already in southern Threlland.”
“Three days,” Valin glowered. “And the Mornland border crossing at the river, is it still flooded?”
“It’s swollen, but not entirely impassable. Though only a fool or one driven by urgent need would attempt it in this season.”
“Then,” Rak sighed, “There is no way of knowing who they were, or from whence they came.”
“No, my lord. No documents, nothing at all to suggest their origin. Very professional.”
“No marks on the bodies?” Valin asked.
“None. Once we’d managed to unpin the short one from where he’d been nailed to the ground, stripping them to examine the clothing and the bodies was the first thing we did.”
“Then,” Valin announced, “It would seem that the Toorseneth counts paid assassins as well as spies in its numbers east of Elvendere.”
“So it would seem,” Sarek agreed.
“You need have no fear, lady Elayeen,” Rak soothed, “Threlland shall henceforth take every precaution for your safety, even to the point of closing Tarn to all non-residents, should the need arise.”
Elayeen looked up, dragging her eyes from the fire, sitting opposite Merrin in the chair Gawain had so often occupied. She eyed them one by one, calmly, her expression almost serene in spite of the violence which had shattered the morning’s peace.
“No, lord Rak. I cannot now allow Threlland to be responsible for my care, though I do thank you and the Major for all your support and kindness. But my enemies are powerful, and have proven today they mean to destroy me, and will go to great lengths so to do. I cannot put you, or lady Merrin, or anyone else at risk. Nor should any in Threlland suffer the slightest guilt on my account should I remain and my enemies succeed.”
“We are allies,” Rak insisted quietly, “And friends, and have stood together often. Just as you stood by us at the battle of Far-gor, we shall stand by you here.”
Again, and this time a little sadly, Elayeen shook her head. “My enemies know I am here, and they will make other attempts. More, it is likely that Morloch too knows I am here, and in seeking vengeance ag
ainst Gawain may well strike at me, and indirectly, the good people of Tarn. I cannot remain.”
“Elayeen!” Merrin chided, “Where else will you go? And in the middle of winter? Leaving is out of the question. My uncle would not permit it, and nor can I.”
“No, Merrin, it makes perfect sense. Lord Rak knows this, but he is too noble to admit it.”
“It is not a matter of nobility, lady Elayeen. I simply do not think that decisions with such profound implications should be made in haste, nor so soon after the shock of an assault.”
“You are wise, husband. You should listen to Rak, Elayeen, and delay any decision until common sense and cool heads have had a chance to prevail. My hands are still shaking, and I’m still outraged by the attack upon us here. I don’t doubt my own judgement is seriously impaired, and when my anger has finally subsided, I fear I’ll be useless to all.”
Elayeen sighed, and tried to quell the emotions bubbling and simmering within her. Righteous anger, pride in herself, the yearning for Gawain’s reassuring presence and approval, fear for herself and her friends, the horror of personal violence so soon after the battle of Far-gor, and beneath it all, like a powerful undercurrent, the insistent tug of the duty imposed upon her in the Hall of Raheen.
She turned her gaze to the fire once more, and drew in a breath, steadying herself.
“I must leave. Not even in the vaults of Crownmount would I be safe, and nor would my friends and allies. You must understand, it is not simply my life which is threatened. Lord Rak knows this. Should any catastrophe befall Threlland and its people because of me, it would not be long before the respect and honour shown by all peoples to the Kindred Rangers turned to anger, distrust, and fear. Morloch and his agents will understand the threat we pose to them, seeing as we do so clearly the creatures they are able to send against these lands. It is not simply for my own sake I must leave, but also for the sake of all Kindred Rangers, and thus for all the lands where they serve.”
