by GJ Kelly
“Thanks to me?”
Rak smiled, his features grim. “Did you not hear all of Tarn take up the cry of Vex, and see Morloch start as though slapped in the face by all who dwell here? Did you not see even the inn’s portly landlord, armed with nothing more than a breadknife, dare to defy the apparition?
“A year ago such a sight in the air above our town would have cowed the world. No more. Morloch now is become a parody of himself, his bile and venom mere bluster, his insults little more than hollow words spat into the wind, childish, tedious, and repetitive. We know, all of us, the stories of his previous appearances and what was said, even those of us who were not there when he appeared on the Jarn Road, or the plains of Juria, or any other place he chose to spew bile upon Gawain.
“Morloch is trapped beyond the mountains, impotent, his army destroyed, his power and influence waning, reliant now on flapping servants in the far northwest to do his bidding. I have seen such startled expressions as his before. It is the same expression worn by school bullies when punched on the nose by their former victims, just before the tears begin to flow. It is the realisation that one is no longer feared, no longer a force or power to be reckoned with. He is becoming again what he was before the Ramoth were sent out from the Teeth, a story to frighten children into good behaviour.”
“A story with dreadful weapons,” Elayeen reminded them all.
“Creatures like the Graken and its rider we can deal with, and others we must learn to defend ourselves against should any come. Catapults and grappinbows can be manufactured, and will be. But we are no longer afraid of the dark, as once we were, and the sound of your gentle voice made a whip and lashing Morloch’s apparition will linger far longer in the memory of Tarn than anything he has ever said.”
oOo
7. The Path Less Travelled
The days that followed were frenetic. Rak’s home became something of a temporary headquarters for the planning of Tarn’s defences against aerial attacks by Graken-riders and infiltration by spies and assassins. New Year’s celebrations, if any were in fact held anywhere in Tarn, were conspicuous by their absence, and outdoors the air was filled with the sounds of construction. Work began on rebuilding homes destroyed by the dark wizard, and on the construction of a squat, stone-built watch-tower and warning beacon on the Point near Arramin’s Cabin.
Elayeen felt completely at a loss in all the comings and goings, and took to her room with maps and books, and Meeya for company; Valin was occupied selecting a Kindred Ranger to serve as senior officer in his stead, and working with Major Sarek on Tarn’s defences.
Late on the third day of January, in the midst of all manner of comings and goings at Rak’s house, riders arrived from Crownmount, bearing messages from King Eryk. Elayeen was sitting quietly in the kitchen, a book open on the table and Meeya studying a map beside her, when Rak strode in carrying a small scroll.
“Lady Elayeen, word from Crownmount. It is as I expected, his Majesty extends a warm invitation to you and as many Rangers as I think fit for your escort to the Hall of Threlland’s Fathers.”
Elayeen felt her stomach sink. She had no desire to offend anyone in Threlland, least of all the Lord of Tarn, nor his lady’s uncle, the Crown.
“I know,” Rak announced softly, sitting at the table and reading her expression. “I understand. Eryk is not yet aware of recent events here, and I am sure different arrangements would be made if he were. Speedy communications have never been characteristic of life here in the Black Hills. Obdurate we may be, thanks to our geography and principle occupation, but that same geography militates against haste. It’ll be another day or two before Crownmount learns of Morloch’s attack here.”
Elayeen sighed, and nodded. Booted feet strode up the hallway and the front door opened and closed; officers coming and going about the business of Tarn’s defence. Rak glanced over his shoulder, and then stood to close the kitchen door before returning to his seat.
“Lady Elayeen, the couriers who arrived from Crownmount will leave tomorrow, early. They’ll take despatches to Eryk, reports on the situation here and requests for military supplies, and so forth. They will not be expecting you to travel with them; they’ll be riding hard along the quicker and more southerly paths which are suitable only for the most experienced at this time of year.
“If you wish, I can draft a confidential letter to his Majesty explaining the reasons for your departure and have them carry it tomorrow. If I do not, it may be another five days or so before the next couriers arrive bearing Crownmount’s response to Morloch’s visitation, and doubtless a more urgent invitation from Eryk.”
Elayeen felt her heart beating faster, and tried to smother the fluttering of doubts and fears in her stomach again. Friendly eyes were upon her, and her decision was awaited. In truth, there was only so much preparation which could be made before taking to the wilds, and only so much reading and studying of maps to lessen any surprises in terrain which may await them in the weeks and months ahead. So much depended on her decisions now, and the full weight of a duty imposed upon her in ancient times was beginning to press more heavily upon her.
She drew a breath. “Thank you, lord Rak. Please send the letter tomorrow. I and my friends will leave on Saturday, a day after the couriers have departed.”
Rak suddenly looked tired, though he managed a smile. “Very well, lady Elayeen. It shall be as you say.”
“Please impress upon his Majesty our gratitude for the hospitality of Threlland, and the steadfast loyalty these lands have shown to the alliance new-forged with my husband since Kings’ Council at Ferdan. I... I would not have anyone here think less of my king because of my duty.”
“None shall, you may be assured of that. Is there anything else you require? I have ensured that Serre Valin has copies of the maps you requested, and everything else he specified for your journey.”
Elayeen felt a sudden, strange calmness wash over her. Her decision had been made and announced, and now, had finally been accepted by Gawain’s friend, the quiet and renowned diplomat seated before her. “I do not think so, lord Rak.”
“Very well, lady Elayeen. Should you think of anything, please let us know. I fear Merrin will take your parting hard, when the time comes.”
The time came, and Merrin did indeed take the parting hard, clinging to Elayeen as though to a beloved sister leaving on a voyage to fabled lands. There was a deal of activity around the square on that Saturday morning, the fifth day of January, and many there were who witnessed Elayeen’s departure with Meeya, Valin, and a laden packhorse. It was bitterly cold, but dry, and Elayeen had to fight hard against the tears which threatened her dignity on seeing the extent of Merrin and Rak’s love for her, and their sorrow at her leaving.
But depart they did, escorted to the northern way by Sarek and a handful of Rangers, both dwarves and elves. Word had spread of her leaving, as she hoped it would, and here and there dwarves proudly wearing the emblem of the Kindred Army snapped salutes at her passing, fists pounding the emblem before hands were held aloft with a gentle call of ‘Vex!’ by way of farewell. The sight of so many dwarves leaving their work and their homes to salute her released great bubbles of emotion in Elayeen’s throat, and only imagining Gawain riding proudly beside her with all his strength and regal dignity helped stave off the wracking sobs which she knew would otherwise overcome her.
Nor were there any farewells when their horses clopped to the Tarn end of the road at the northern path down to the plains of Juria. Sarek and the Rangers simply slowed to a halt, saluting, as Elayeen, Meeya and Valin continued on through them with the packhorse, making the descent along the winding road under the watchful eye of Sarek and the men until they were gone from view.
Not until they reached the plains did Elayeen look back over her shoulder, using the Sight to ensure that they were not being followed, and were not being observed. Far to the west, a small and angular prominence stood proud of the horizon, the cairn built to honour The Fallen
of the Battle of Far-gor, and Elayeen drew her horse to a halt and eyed it sadly for a few moments.
“Leeny?”
“I am well, Meeya. I am merely paying my respects, as G’wain might do.”
Meeya nodded, and fell silent. They had all lost friends in that that battle, friends whose names were etched now upon that cairn. After a few moments more, Elayeen nodded, and astonished her companions by turning her horse to the north.
“MiThalin?” Valin drew alongside, clutching the trailing rein of the pack-horse. “Is there something at the farak gorin you wish to see?”
“Not really, Valin,” Elayeen announced to the surprised officer. “We are not taking the southerly route to the Mornland border crossing. That would be our expected path. We shall take the northern route around Mallak Spur, pass around the Barak-nor, and continue east to the coast before turning south into Mornland.”
Elayeen noted the glances Valin and Meeya shared, and smiled to herself as she set off. If her friends were surprised by her decision, then her enemies should also be. Gawain had taught her much, and now that her decision was made, it was time to put his lessons into practice.
“We should make better time than when last we made this journey,” she announced. “Then, G’wain took time to teach us how to be stealthy in this terrain, and there was snow on the ground.”
“It is a journey none of us shall ever forget, miThalin,” Valin replied.
“Does Major Sarek have patrols in the region now?”
“No, miThalin. He does have men stationed at the Cloven Hill watchtower overlooking the Barak-nor, though. Since the gorge opened in the farak gorin, he has been able to divert his meagre forces to Threlland’s western borders. He and what passes for the army of Threlland use the route to Mallak Spur for training, but no such training has been planned since the Graken’s attack on Tarn.”
“Still, we must keep good watch. I’d rather no-one knew our route or our destination. We need to be cautious once we round the Spur, and travel at night thereafter to avoid being sighted by the watchmen.”
“What is our destination, Leeny?”
Elayeen smiled. “South, once we’ve reached the coast. I mean to go to the one place where I know I may rely completely on the people for my safety, and where I know mihoth G’wain will seek to find me.”
There was a long silence while Meeya and Valin pondered the words, and then Elayeen sighed in mock frustration.
“We go to Arrun, of course, where dwell the last riders of Raheen.”
“Oh,” Meeya exclaimed, and frowned.
“Oh?”
“I hadn’t really thought of Arrun. I thought you were intending to roam the wilds of Mornland near southern Threlland.”
“Why?”
Meeya shrugged, and flicked a glance to her husband, perhaps seeking his support. But Valin’s expression remained deadpan, scanning the northern horizon with professional detachment.
“I don’t know why, Leeny, I just thought you intended to lose yourself in the wilds and then wait for Thal-Gawain to come and find us.”
Elayeen was suddenly filled with a profound sense of uncertainty and doubt, and not a little concern. “No. He may not be able to come and find us. I have to follow my own path now, and in his absence, I must do what is best for myself, and for the Merionell. There are few people in the world we may truly rely upon now, and the last riders of Raheen are to be trusted as any of the ninety-five. Come, we need to make the most of the daylight and put some miles behind us.”
They rode at a pace comfortable for the pack-horse and for their own horses, hugging the rugged terrain at the foot of the tree-lined slopes of Threlland’s northern hills. The ground beneath them was a mix of soft Threlland earth, rocks, and outcrops of bitchrock spilling up from the shores of the farak gorin, and they took great care where such vicious outcrops threatened hooves. When they themselves dismounted and walked to rest their horses, they too were cautious with their footing, and the going was occasionally difficult where softer Threlland earth had become a squelching morass in the winter rains.
At length, when it became too dark to risk the safety of their horses, Elayeen led them upslope into a stand of weathered pines and dismounted to make their first night camp. It was the moment all three had regarded with a degree of apprehension, for it meant deciding what their evening meal would be. A light drizzle made the decision for them, though, and their proximity to Tarn and habitation reinforced the selection of prepared sandwiches for their dinner.
With the horses fed and attended to, the three elves sat on their saddles, wrapped tightly in their cloaks, eating the frugal meal Merrin had freshly made for them that morning. They relished the simple fare, knowing full well that from breakfast the following morning, their diet would be, to their palates at least, far less enjoyable.
Finally, the meal finished, Elayeen sighed, and drew a small cloth-bound bundle from a saddle-bag and unrolled it. She eyed the contents, and swallowed the sorrowful lump forming in her throat.
“It’s time, Meeya,” she said softly, twilight beginning to fade to night.
“Oh Leeny, are you sure? You don’t have to, you can use the darkening cloth like the last time…”
“No, it must be done now. Darkening cloths won’t hide my hair in daylight, and the Toorsencreed’s agents will be looking for me as I am.”
“But in all the years we’ve known each other, your hair has never been shorter than it is now.”
“I know. But it must be done. It must be as short as your own, and then stained with the dye Lady Merrin gave me. The stain must be applied while my hair is damp, but do it quickly, in case the drizzle turns to rain and ruins it.”
Elayeen handed the scissors to her friend, and saw the sorrow dampening Meeya’s eyes through the mist that sprang up to obscure her own vision. Valin moved away, standing watch, using the Sight to scan the hilltops above them.
“Oh Leeny…” Meeya whispered again, and took the scissors with a trembling hand.
“Hurry, Meemee,” Elayeen urged softly, “Before I change my mind…”
Meeya sniffed, and took a handful of fine silver-blonde hair, letting it flow through her fingers. Then she took a deep breath, gathered a handful of locks, and began cutting.
“Be careful with my braid,” Elayeen whispered urgently, “G’wain tied it last summer when we left Raheen.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise… I’ll leave it longer, too.”
Meeya worked quickly, the sound of the scissors seeming loud in the gathering dark, but in truth drowned by the dripping of water from the trees about them and the gurgling of a nearby stream. At length, the cutting was done, and hanks of silver-blonde hair lay neatly in the bundle on the ground where Elayeen sat with her legs tucked beneath her.
She eyed the sad cuttings, remembering how often Gawain had filled his hands with her tresses, how he had delighted in brushing errant locks from her eyes, how he had nervously re-tied her marriage-braid, concentrating furiously on the task so it would hang as straight and as neatly as it did when Elayeen herself had tied it. Almost its entire length now lay on the cloth by her knees, together with the rest of her crowning glory.
But now Meeya was daubing the remains of her hair with a rag moistened by the stain from the plain brown bottle Merrin had given her. Merrin had understood, handing her the dye and the scissors without comment, but then she’d swept Elayeen into her arms and given her a long hug that had spoken volumes.
There was a curious odour which lingered until breezes swept it away, only for it to return with the next dab of the rag, Meeya working the dye into the rough page-boy cut. Finally, when Meeya was done, rain began falling heavily, and Elayeen hastily tied a cloth over her head and raised the hood of her cloak.
Sleep that night was difficult, and not simply for the discomfort of hard and unforgiving ground or the weather. This morning, they had all risen from warm and comfortable beds. Tomorrow would be their first full day in the wild,
the first full day of Elayeen’s sojourn. Doubts plagued her, and taunted her with dark imaginings long into the night.
But there was something else lurking beneath the nervousness and the worry, something that was as alarming as it was comforting. She was excited. Thrilled, even. For all the times in the years before Gawain, when she had gazed out through the trees of the forest of Elvendere and yearned for the freedom of the wide open spaces, now she was here, and tomorrow would see her first full day on a path she herself had chosen. She had good friends with her, and her destiny now lay in her own hands. It might be a destiny decreed in ancient times and imposed upon her by ancient vakin eldenbeards, but the path was one of her own choosing, and hers the will that had set her boots upon it.
oOo
8. Hot Soup
When that first morning arrived, cold and bleak and with the bitter surface of the farak gorin sparkling in the daylight, all trace of Elayeen’s former excitement evaporated the instant she saw her own reflection in the polished steel of her boot knife. She had expected to see her own features crowned by a bob of chestnut hair neatly trimmed and styled, the match of Meeya’s. Instead, the image looking back at her would have made the street urchins in Ferdan or Jarn flinch and stare.
Her once long and flowing tresses looked as though they’d been hacked away by a butcher’s knife, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a bucket of mud dumped on the remains. The dye, inexpertly applied in twilight and drizzling rain, was blotched, heavy and dark in places but light and pale in others, and with silver-blonde roots showing through here and there. It was heartbreaking. Meeya looked close to tears, and Valin wouldn’t look at her at all.
