The Longsword Chronicles: Book 06 - Elayeen

by GJ Kelly

  Rak sighed, and slumped back in his chair, letting go of his professional detachment. Sorrow, and a great deal of worry, washed over his features, and he looked suddenly tired.

  “I am sorry, lord Rak,” Elayeen announced softly. “I know Gawain is like a brother to you, and you would do all you can to keep me safe for his sake. But you also know a little of the origin of the duty which compels me to leave. I cannot now linger so close to the great evil which lurks beyond the Dragon’s Teeth, and which even now draws its plans against us. I cannot.”

  Rak nodded, and leaned forward again. “Where do you intend to go, and what provisions and support will you need?”

  Elayeen stared into her cup, the dregs of breakfast wine now cold and unappealing. “I have no fixed destination in mind as yet,” she lied convincingly, “But intend simply to roam the wilderness, avoiding as best I can any of the larger settlements where Toorsencreed might have spies.”

  Rak templed his fingers and rested his chin upon them, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Have you considered Mornland, or Arrun? The climate there is far milder than here in the north, and certainly milder than the open plains of Juria or Callodon.”

  “No, in truth, I hadn’t.”

  “I may be entirely wrong, of course,” Rak admitted, “But while I can readily imagine spies in the courts of Callodon and Juria, I cannot envisage the gentler principalities along the eastern coast being of much interest to the elfwizards you’ve described to us.”

  “The plains are familiar to me, from my journey to Raheen with G’wain and the wizard Allazar.”

  “And doubtless your enemies know this,” Rak suggested. “There is no need for you to make any decision here and now, lady Elayeen. I have maps and books in the study which might help you decide. Mornland is all lakes and woodlands, rolling hills and verdant grasslands, until, closer to the coast, the soil changes, and orchards and groves proliferate.

  “Further south, in Arrun, there is rather more pasture and a lot more sheep. I myself once saw Lake Arrunmere there, and the mighty River Sudenstem which marks Arrun’s southern border down near the Eastbinding Range of mountains in Callodon. There is no shortage of wilderness in both lands. They also have the advantage of being much further from Elvendere than either Juria or Callodon.”

  “I fear yesterday’s events prove that distance from the Toorseneth is no measure of safety.”

  Rak nodded. Elayeen felt genuine sorrow for his obvious distress. He was a friend, and ever had been since Gawain had brought her, cold and weak and three quarters dead from Faranthroth, to the warmth and safety of this house. And Merrin too, who had taken such care of her, and become almost like a sister; Merrin would doubtless not understand Elayeen’s need to flee the only home she’d had since leaving Elvendere.

  As if seeing into her mind and following her train of thought, Rak said softly: “Merrin will not take this news well. She had such plans for the winter, for the two of you.”

  “I am sorry…”

  But Rak held up a hand. “I will do my best to prepare her, but while the shock of yesterday’s assault is still fresh and foremost in her mind, I would ask you, for her sake, not to mention your departure until I myself have broached the matter with her. Perhaps in the meantime you will avail yourself of the books in the study, and at least form some sort of plan for your departure and subsequent sojourn rather than trusting to chance with aimless wandering?”

  Elayeen nodded her agreement, and fiddled with her cup for a few moments while Rak studied her.

  “Perhaps it would also be best if you did not leave the house without being accompanied? You may be sure that none shall be permitted within the grounds or these walls that do not possess our absolute trust.”

  Again, Elayeen nodded her agreement. Then the dwarf stood, and with a sigh, took his leave to attend to his lady.

  “Lord Rak’s suggestion regarding the far eastern lands makes sense, miThalin,” Valin whispered, in elvish.

  “Yes, it does. I hadn’t considered Mornland at all.”

  “Woodlands, and lakes, and rolling hills,” Meeya sighed. “It would be much more interesting than endless plains and grasses.”

  “And such woodlands as there may be might provide shelter, and would serve us well for our defence should the need arise,” Valin agreed.

  Again, Elayeen nodded her agreement. Butterflies stirred again, and she found herself wondering if Gawain ever felt so nervous on the brink of a decision. Probably not, she decided. He probably just knew exactly what to do, either by instinct, or through years of training. He made leadership seem so easy. Catastrophe might be approaching from all directions, everyone would be staring at him waiting for his orders, and he would simply give a command, and all would be well.

  Now, it was she who had to lead. It was true the distant and echoing voices from the far reaches of Raheen’s circles had long faded back into the misty realm of myth from whence they’d come, but it was also true that lingering compulsions remained.

  It was those compulsions which forbad her speaking of her duty to anyone, though of course Meeya and Valin had guessed, as had many of the ninety-five; most of them were of Minyorn, after all. It was those compulsions which had denied Gawain and kept him at bay, preventing all possibility of throth binding them together again. And it was those compulsions which now demanded she leave Tarn, and put safe distance between herself and Morloch’s realm beyond the Teeth. Lingering compulsions, and lingering insights, the legacy of the ‘gift’ which Sword and Circle had bestowed upon her in Raheen’s broken Keep.

  Vakin eldenbeards! She cursed them in her mind, though it was always in Gawain’s voice whenever she did. Sometimes she envied the darkness in Gawain and the strength it gave him to shout back through the ages as he had so often since last summer, loud enough to disturb the dust in those ancient crypts…

  “Leeny?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You were miles away. Valin asked if there were orders for our Rangers today.”

  “Oh… no, I don’t think so. Except remember what I told you yesterday, their oaths are to Gawain, they are not my personal bodyguard.”

  “Then by your leave, miThalin, I shall attend to duties,” Valin announced, and Elayeen nodded her assent.

  When he’d left, Meeya reached out and laid a gentle hand on Elayeen’s arm. “What is it, really? You had such a distant look in your eyes, and not a kindly one.”

  “I’m sorry, I was deep in thought.”

  “Gawain?”

  “No. In truth, I was starting to feel a little sorry for myself. I mustn’t do that. So much depends on me being strong now. I have to stop being the silly girl paddling her feet in the fountain and dreaming of bold and gallant princes, and become what others keep calling me.”

  “Oh! I haven’t thought of paddling in the Mirith Fountain in such a long time!” Meeya smiled, beaming happily at the sudden rush of memories, but her eyes were clouded with melancholy. “D’you remember how we’d wiggle our toes in the water to try to attract the fish, and then scream if one actually came close and touched us!”

  Elayeen felt the warmth of an Elvenheth summer flooding through her, and remembered the laughter, and the fish, and the splashing in the cool waters of the immense fountain.

  “Yes, I remember it all. I try so hard to remember the words wizard Allazar spoke to me after G’wain brought me here from Faranthroth. It seems so long ago, now. But though his words were wise, still the tears prick my eyes when I remember home...”

  “What were his words?” Meeya whispered, eyes wide.

  Elayeen shared a sad smile with her childhood friend. “He said: Do not be saddened by the memories of a home and times now denied to you; rather be happy for the home and the times you had, for they cannot be taken from you. Try not to mourn the ending of something wonderful, but celebrate instead the happy fact that it happened at all.”

  “He is very wise, isn’t he?”

  “G’wain would say Bah! Trust
a wizard to use fifty words when two would do: buck up!”

  Meeya giggled. “Yes, yes he would at that.”

  “Come then, let’s look at lord Rak’s books, and learn a little of Mornland and Arrun.”

  oOo

  5. Bells and Horns

  The days that followed were strained, at least within the walls of lord Rak’s home. Merrin had finally been told of Elayeen’s intention to depart the safety of Tarn, though events at the Point had called that security into question and had affected Merrin in surprising ways. She seemed to have grown in stature and self-assurance, yet remained close to Elayeen during the day and would tense at the sound of approaching footfalls. And she now carried two jewelled daggers, one in her belt and one in her boot.

  Meeya, too, spent much of her time with Elayeen, while Valin attended to duties and made quiet arrangements for supplies, though this was far from as simple a task as it sounded; in Threlland, ‘supplies for a journey’ seemed to mean very little beyond frak and warm clothing, at least to Sarek’s men.

  “New Year’s Eve,” Merrin sighed, sitting by the window and peering out at the empty town square. It was raining, again, and blustery, as usual.

  Elayeen, seated by the fire, glanced up from reading a rather ponderous tome she’d borrowed from Rak’s library, a detailed examination of Mornland’s economic strengths and weaknesses. She cared little for the price of oranges and olives, but the book did contain useful information on geography and the largest of the towns and villages. “G’wain will likely have left Juria’s Hall by now. I don’t think he intended to linger there any longer than his duty demanded.”

  “Yes,” Merrin agreed, “Poor Hellin. It cannot be easy for her, now.”

  Elayeen remembered the raven-haired young woman who, in company with her father, King Willam of Juria, had attended the fateful Council at Ferdan. “She has good men around her. Major Jerryn was most attentive and gallant, I remember. He will protect his Crown, I am sure.”

  “I hope so. Rak has said he hopes Hellin and her Major will be married soon. It would be best, he says, for Juria’s stability. If not, there are matters of protocol which might complicate Hellin’s life even more than the wearing of the crown. Rak knows so much more about these things than I do.”

  Elayeen watched Meeya and Travak, both sitting on the floor in front of the guarded fire, playing with wooden blocks. The sight of her first and best friend beaming happily and helping the gurgling infant build a colourful house tugged at her heartstrings. Family was something both Valin and Meeya had denied themselves, in the name of duty. Leaving Elvendere, surviving the battle, and taking new oaths, these things were supposed to have given the ninety-five hope for a new life.

  “Will there be no celebrations tonight, lady Merrin, to bid farewell to the old year?” Meeya asked.

  Merrin smiled and shook her head, sitting on the window-seat. “No, there’ve been enough public celebrations since the battle ended. It will be quiet this year, most people staying indoors with family and friends, heaving a heartfelt sigh of relief that this awful year is behind us, and looking forward with hope to a much kinder year ahead.”

  “At home…” Meeya began, then hurriedly corrected herself, “In Elvendere, we celebrated on New Year’s Day. But never in public. It was a time for family and friends to look ahead, together, and to make mid-summer pledges.”

  “Pledges?”

  “Yes,” Meeya smiled, and glanced at Elayeen for help. “Small promises?”

  “We would announce to friends or family, or both, things which we intended to do or tasks we wished to complete by mid-summer’s day,” Elayeen explained, “And on mid-summer’s morning we would all gather for breakfast, and declare whether or not the pledges had been fulfilled.”

  “And if not,” Meeya beamed, “We would all then pledge ourselves to help the one in default achieve their goal before midwinter’s day.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful custom,” Merrin looked genuinely delighted. “I wonder if I can persuade Rak to adopt it. He keeps meaning to have all the tiles on the roof replaced, and the stables completely rebuilt. Events, alas, frequently overtake him.”

  Elayeen’s mind drifted back to Elvenheth, to her family, all of them gathered around the table, back in the early years of her life when aunts, uncles, and cousins made the journey to Elvenheth from the provinces. Back to the time when a mid-summer pledge might be something as childishly simple as keeping her room tidy, or paying more attention to her archery practice. In retrospect, those years seemed to pass far too quickly, and later still, the aunts and uncles and cousins found more and more excuses not to make the journey…

  Someone had addressed her by name, and she broke free of her reverie. “Eem siennes…?”

  “Lady Merrin asked if there was anything special you might like for breakfast tomorrow,” Meeya announced.

  “Oh… no, I’m sorry, Merrin, I was miles away.”

  “And will soon be even further than that,” Merrin muttered, gazing wistfully out of the window. Movement over by the Traveller’s Rest caught her eye.

  “Yes…”

  “Something seems to be happening outside,” Merrin announced, cutting Elayeen off, and standing, eyeing the Kindred Ranger near the inn pointing over the rooftops slightly west of north.

  At once, Meeya stood, sweeping Travak into her arms and passing him to his mother, Elayeen joining them at the window. Without, in the billowing clouds of misty drizzle being whipped this way and that, the elf had been joined by two of Sarek’s men and a couple of the local volunteers.

  “You should remain inside, Merrin,” Elayeen said, softly but urgently, and hurried from the room to fetch her cloak, bow, and quiver. Rak heard the sudden and hurried footsteps and emerged from his study to see Elayeen and Meeya, cloaks donned and bows in hand, preparing to exit the house.

  “What is it? What is happening?” he demanded.

  “A disturbance of some kind, my lord,” Meeya replied, and Rak marvelled at how quickly the pretty young elfin seemed to be able to shift from a playful young lady evincing delighted giggles from Travak, to an icy and efficient warrior filled with lethal authority.

  “And you believe allowing your lady to rush outside to meet it is a course of action to be advised?” Rak strode down the hall to stand beside Merrin in the living-room doorway.

  “It is not my place to dictate miThalin’s actions, my lord,” Meeya replied, “My place is by her side.”

  “Ranger Anithen of Minyorn has seen something towards the northwest,” Elayeen interjected, “And that can mean only one thing.”

  “And you would leave the safety of this house?” Rak gasped in protest, but before he could finish, a hammering on the door made them all start.

  Without hesitation, Elayeen drew back the heavy bolt, and swung the door open to reveal a soaked but stern-looking Major Sarek.

  “My lord!” He saluted, “My ladies… above the town…”

  But then he too was silenced by a voice, loud, familiar, and entirely evil.

  “Grovel, nothings! Abase yourselves and know terror! For I see you all, weed-dwelling vermin, and you have earned my wrath!”

  Elayeen and Meeya pushed past the astonished Sarek, and strode out into the middle of Tarn Square. Rak followed in close pursuit, though Merrin did not leave the protection of the doorway and held Travak close, her hand shielding his eyes from the awful spectacle looming large above their home.

  Dwarves were pouring from their homes, from their shops and inns, and almost all of them armed at least with rock-hammers, and all stood gaping up at the vile and aquamire-blotched vision of Morloch peering down at them.

  Elayeen hurried to the centre of the square to stand beside Anithen of Minyorn, who nodded to a speck hovering high and distant to the northwest. Her pupils snapped, and at the extent of her Sight she saw what Anithen had spied, a Graken, far off, and a dark wizard upon its back, doubtless holding aloft a Jardember. A quick flick of her gaze upwards r
evealed nothing. Morloch’s apparition was not visible to the Sight of the Eldenelves. She snapped her eyes wide, and gazed up at the spectacle.

  “There! There! I see you now, bitch-elf! There in the weeds with those tiny, tiny nothings! Did you think I would not know you had been abandoned by your King of Nothing? Did you think I would not know and see all?”

  Something began bubbling and churning deep within her, and with a rising sense of astonishment she began to recognise it for what it was: a deep and billowing rage at the sight of an evil which offended all nature. No, it was more than that… an evil which offended Issilene herself…

  “Vex!” a slightly tremulous voice called from across the square, and she turned to see Derrik, the landlord of the inn, holding aloft a serrated breadknife taken hastily from a board on the bar.

  “Vex!” another took up the call, and it began to spread.

  But before the whole of Tarn could take up the defiant cry, waving hammers or swords or whatever had come to hand when the alarm had been raised, Morloch’s face appeared to swoop down a little closer, revealing more of its hideous details. Pockmarks like aged and crusted orange-peel, thread-veins blackened and twisted and pulsing with aquamire, unwavering ink-wet and black eyes, foam-flecked lips and the charred ruins of teeth.

  “Did you think you could prevail, Queen of No-one? Did you think yourself safe in the weeds so close to my domain? You are so close to me now I can smell the putrid reek of your snivelling forebears, clinging like fungus to their rotting trees, wallowing in the decay of a mouldering prophecy belched by decrepit hags!”

  A small crowd was gathering around Elayeen now, Rangers of the Kindred and of Threlland, bows and crossbows at the ready, glances being flicked towards the Graken and its rider, inching closer, but still at the extent of the Sight’s range.