by GJ Kelly
“Yes,” Elayeen blinked at the smiling old man, not quite certain where to begin or what to make of the fellow. “An enemy ship was wrecked on the coast of Arrun. It bore a Goth-lord and a small army of wildmen from the north of Goria. Are you familiar with the Meggen?”
“Oh my word… no, lady Ranger, I am not familiar with them. Though we did all hear tales of them from those who survived the battle in the north and took shelter here on the way to their homes in southern Callodon. Indeed, one of the Rangers was in their number, a pleasant fellow by the name of Kern?”
Elayeen nodded.
“A shipwreck you say, with a Goth-lord? Please, please continue.”
And so Elayeen gave the curator of Dun Meven a concise account of events from Fallowmead to the present day, though she glossed over details of the battle in the small Arrun village.
Dannis sat back in his chair, fingers templed under his chin, listening intently, and when Elayeen had finished her account, sighed, and considered what he had heard. He seemed about to speak when a loud banging on the door startled all of them.
It swung open, revealing Bede carrying a large pitcher of steaming spiced wine and an armful of tankards, and a middle-aged and rather stout lady followed by a wiry young man carrying trays of plates, loaves, and a steaming cauldron of stew and another of vegetables.
The aromas were glorious, the simple fare the finest food the elves had seen since Fallowmead, and all conversation in the command post ceased while they ate, Dannis waiting until Bede and the others had left before politely leaving the room himself while they did.
oOo
37. Sandals
“D’you think he’s a wizard, Leeny?” Meeya sighed, mopping the last of the stew from her plate with a hunk of bread.
“Who? The curator?”
“Yes. He has white hair, after all.”
“So do most men of his long years,” Elayeen smiled. “No, he’s not a wizard. The little stick he carries is for reading, and is nothing mystic.”
Valin said nothing, and when he’d finished his meal, sat back in his chair and reached for his tankard of spiced wine, a picture of contentment.
And there was contentment of a kind in that large and military room. Not only were they warm and well-fed, their horses were likewise well-tended, and they no longer bore the weight of their knowledge of the enemy alone. Elayeen, though, could not shed the sense of urgency which still plagued her.
“We must be circumspect,” she announced quietly, in elvish. “And we must not be lulled by comforts into a false sense of security. We may be among friends, but the enemy is without, and word must still be carried to Brock.”
Meeya lifted her tankard, and drank a long draught from it. When she finished, she smacked her lips and banged the tankard on the table beside her empty plate. “We’ve been here half an hour, Leeny, may we not rest a little while before tearing south across the plains of Callodon?”
“A little while,” Elayeen muttered, and took a sip of her own wine. It was good spiced wine, after all.
There was a light tapping on the door to the curator’s apartments, and it swung open to reveal Dannis wearing an inquisitive look on his wizened face. Elayeen nodded, and the old man beamed, closing the door behind him and retaking his seat at the table.
“Well, I do hope the meal was enjoyable? I can only imagine the privations you must all have suffered on your long journey from the coast. We do have a room, there, behind you, with camp beds and curtains, and there are facilities for bathing also, through that door, yonder. I hope you will avail yourself of them.”
“Thank you, Serre Curator,” Elayeen acknowledged. “We are most grateful for the hospitality of Dun Meven. We are also keenly aware of how offensive we must be to civilised eyes and nostrils after so long in the wild.”
Dannis smiled disarmingly, and waved away Elayeen’s apologies. “We are a long way from anywhere, here atop our hill, and so, as you may well imagine, all visitors arriving here do so with little remaining of a hot bath and soap but the fondest of memories.”
“Yet we must soon leave, our knowledge must be conveyed to king Brock and any friendly wizards yet in service to the crown.”
“In a day or two, the matter of the Graken will be passed into the very capable hands of the Captain of the Hearthwatch. Splendid fellow by the name of Iven. Oh dear, perhaps I should have said ‘very capable hand’, since that very capable officer lost an arm in the battle for Pellarn. From there, it’s but four days on a swift horse to Callodon Castletown.”
“Yet the Graken-rider is a lesser threat than the Goth-lord, and the seeding of foul plants of the Pangoricon in this region must be made known,” Elayeen insisted gently.
“Ah yes, the Flagellweed, and if I am not very much mistaken, Spikebulbs of Tansee, at least so I have deduced from your description of the trap-plants you mentioned.”
“Spikebulbs of Tansee?” Elayeen’s eyes narrowed. “You know the name of those trap-plants?”
Dannis looked puzzled. “Of course, I simply made reference to a copy of Serre wizard Allazar’s excellent if very disturbing book.”
“You have a copy of wizard Allazar’s book?” Meeya gasped.
Dannis was about to answer when loud banging on the street door made them all jump, again. The door opened, and smiling staff from the tavern cleared away the remains of the meal, bringing fresh mulled wine, a plate of small apple pies, and a bowl of clotted cream. When they had gone, Dannis gave his reply.
“Yes, lady Ranger. Last month, riders from Threlland passed this way and took shelter from a rather nasty storm. The gales blew three days, as I recall. They were taking copies of Serre wizard Allazar’s book to Castletown, having already gifted some to Juria. One copy they left here, wait… I’ll fetch it for you…”
And with that, the curator rose from his chair and disappeared into his apartment.
“Would you pass the pies, please, Leeny?”
“No. They are bad for you.”
Elayeen took one of the small pies, smothered it in cream, and took a bite. Her eyes widened in panic as steam rose from the half she held in her hand, and she almost spilled the wine in her tankard trying to quench the burning of hot apple sauce in her mouth. She was still recovering her composure when Dannis returned, and seeing her eating, handed the book to Valin.
It was plainly bound in simple brown leather, the title embossed in black on the front cover: A Concise Guide To The Creatures of Morloch’s Pangoricon And The Means By Which They May Be Destroyed, by Allazar, First Wizard of Raheen.
Elayeen thought she heard Gawain’s voice, laughing… Trust a wizard to use eighteen words when two would do!
“Alas, Serre Curator,” Valin declared artfully, “We left our headquarters shortly after the Battle of Far-gor, and so have not seen the full work Serre wizard Allazar produced.”
“Ah. It has proven invaluable already. There has been some trouble in the north. Flagellweed has sprung up in the vineyards to the south of Juria, so we were told by the riders of Threlland. And they also encountered more of that weed on their journey through the hills north of here. A Graken was sighted in the vicinity of Juria Castletown some time ago… let me see… near the beginning of the year, I had a letter from Callodon about it.”
Elayeen slid the plate of pies towards Meeya and leaned forward. “A Graken? And Flagellweed in the north?”
“Yes, lady Ranger. Thus my adjuring you to rest awhile. His Majesty is already aware of events in Juria, and the seeding of Flagellweed there and in the hills to the north of us. Last I heard, arrangements were being made for a patrol to be raised and a wizard of the D’ith from Castletown to be despatched to clear such weeds in accordance with instructions set out in this book. I believe that when Devun arrives at Harks Hearth and advises the ‘Watch of the Graken’s interest in our neighbourhood, that news will add some urgency to the earlier reports by the men of Threlland, and speed Callodon’s response.”
“And news of
the Goth-lord, would not that add greater urgency to the need for support here and in southern Arrun?”
“Indeed it would. But for all we know, the patrol from Castletown with its wizard has already been despatched and is even now making its way here. Did you not say that the Goth-lord was wounded?”
“Yes…”
“And did you also not say that the Rangers knew not where the Goth-lord and the Graken-rider’s lair is to be found?”
“Yes.”
“And the Flagellweed and Spikebulb are seeded in the wilds, far from habitations?”
“Yes.”
A look of great sympathy washed over Dannis’ face, and he leaned forward, folding his arms over Allazar’s book.
“Dear lady Ranger, I do agree that the news you bring is important, but not so important that you should kill your poor horses and yourselves for wont of rest and nourishment. Rest, I beg you. Avail yourselves of the facilities here. Eat well, sleep well, enjoy a long and well-earned soak in a hot bath, and fresh, clean clothes.
“In the meantime, I shall give consideration to the information you have passed to me, and I shall consult my files and see if there are any supplies in the down-below which might suit the needs of the Rangers of the Kindred.”
Elayeen sighed. In truth, there was nothing they could do today. And so much was appealing in the list of simple comforts Dannis had offered. She felt her fears slipping away in the warmth of the old man’s smile.
“Very well,” she sighed. “Thank you again, Serre Curator, for the hospitality of Dun Meven. By your leave, we shall retire, and make ourselves more presentable for civilised company. But later, I would speak with you more concerning the news you have shared with us, of events in Juria and to the north.”
“Of course, come. I will show you the apartment which will be yours for the duration of your stay with us. You may take the pies and cream with you, lady Ranger,” Dannis smiled at Meeya, “I will carry the pitcher of wine, but alas you must carry your own tankards. My hands grow a little shakier with each year that passes.”
The apartment was well-appointed, with four curtained-off camp beds, comfortable chairs, a table, and access to the facilities Dannis had mentioned. Clean clothes were fetched for them, simple garb befitting simple hillside villagers, the masquerade maintained even by visitors, or so it seemed. Valin bathed first, insisting upon it, on the grounds that he would be clean, dressed, and ready should any alarm occur while the ladies would still be admiring the colour of the walls in the bathroom.
There were no pies left on the plate when he returned, a splendid looking peasant of Callodon in a plain white shirt and khaki trousers.
“You should have been quicker, Vali, and not wasted time admiring the colour of the walls in there,” Meeya smiled, using her finger to wipe the last of the cream from the bowl before following Elayeen into the bathroom.
The water was hot and heavenly, the soap plain but smelling all the cleaner for it, and they soaked for an hour, though the walls of the bathroom were so plain they warranted very little attention. By the time they returned to the apartment and found Valin sitting in a soft chair reading Allazar’s book borrowed from Dannis, dusk was falling.
“I took the liberty of collecting up our spare clothing from all our saddle-bags, miThalin,” Valin said quietly, “They too are being cleaned along with our other clothes and boots.”
“Thank you, Valin. Did they say when our clothes will be returned? I don’t miss them so much as I do my boots, these leather sandals are not to my taste.”
“Alas, I do not know, and did not think it polite to ask.”
Elayeen nodded, and sat opposite Valin and Meeya. She felt suddenly tired, drained of all energy, the hot bath and hot food and wine sapping her strength.
“Is the book well-made?” she managed, stifling a yawn.
“It has been comprehensively reproduced by the scribes of Threlland, miThalin, and though the illustrations are in places grotesque, very well drawn. It is a tome every Ranger should possess, and learn in its entirety, I think…”
But Valin’s voice faded, and Elayeen was surprised to find herself jerked awake when her head suddenly lolled forward. She smiled an apology, dragged herself out of her chair and collapsed on the nearest of the beds. The last thing she heard that day was someone drawing the curtain around her.
Elayeen awoke the following morning, and when she drew back the curtain from around her bed there was food on the table and warm breakfast wine in a jug. Crumbs on plates showed that both Valin and Meeya were already up, Allazar’s book left to the side of what must have been Valin’s plate. She read while she ate, starting with the introduction, which Allazar must have penned in the depths of the vaults of Crownmount.
This work I dedicate, on behalf of His Most Royal Majesty Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen, and Her Most Royal Majesty, Thalin-Elayeen Rhiannon Seraneth ní Varan Raheen, whom it is my most profound honour to love and to serve, to all the free peoples of the Kindred races of Man. May it serve to keep all safe from darkness. Friyenheth Ceartus Omniumde. Allazar, by the grace of His Most Royal Majesty Gawain, First Wizard of Raheen.
Gawain and Allazar… perhaps they were even now in Juria’s Castletown, aiding Hellin, providing what help they could against whatever Morloch-spawned trouble had befallen that land. She sighed, buttering another slice of bread and spooning a large gob of runny honey onto it.
Her feet felt suddenly cold, and she glanced at them under the table. The leather sandals might well be utilitarian here in Dun Meven, but there wasn’t much warmth in the flagstones underfoot, and worse, she could see the scar left by the old Jurian pit-trap on her instep where that cruel spike had burst through it. They were dainty feet, it was true, and Gawain had often said he liked them, but now they sat at the end of spindly legs hidden by the billowing cloth of her trousers. She sighed again, and added another spoonful of honey to the bread.
Flagellweed and Spikebulbs, the former sowed in the vineyards of Juria’s Castletown. And who knows where else. Perhaps, she thought, eyeing the detailed drawings Allazar had made and reading the text accompanying them, the Graken had been attempting to prevent the men of Threlland from distributing the book, and the seeding of foul plants and the Graken hovering around Hellin’s hall had nothing to do with Gawain’s quest for the Orb. Perhaps.
She needed to speak with Dannis, and to study the map on the wall behind his desk. She needed to know dates and places where the Graken had been seen and where the plants had been sighted. She needed to know Gawain was safe.
oOo
38. Decisions
Elayeen was finishing her breakfast of bread and honey when a smiling and slightly flushed Meeya and Valin entered from the direction of the bathroom. On seeing Elayeen seated at the table and reading Allazar’s book, Valin blushed, followed shortly by his wife.
“Oh,” Elayeen announced, feigning surprise, “I thought you might be with the curator, exploring Dun Meven.”
“Good morning, Leeny,” Meeya managed, sitting down. “Did you sleep well? You seemed dead to the world first thing this morning, we thought we’d let you rest.”
“I think I was more tired than even I knew,” she admitted, pushing back her chair and heading for the bathroom. “But I’m awake now. When I come back, I’d like to see Dannis. I’m worried about his reports of the Graken in Juria at the beginning of the year.”
When they entered the so-called command post, they expected to find the elderly curator seated behind his desk. They were disappointed, and when they knocked on his apartment door, politely at first and then rather more loudly, there was no answer. Elayeen walked behind the spacious desk and sat back upon it, arms folded, studying the map pinned to the wall. Meeya and Valin sat beside each other at the table where they’d shared a hearty lunch the day before, and together began studying Allazar’s work.
The map, Elayeen noted, was dotted with coloured pins, though what they signified she could not tell. The land to
the east of Dun Meven was fairly well detailed for perhaps thirty miles, but became mostly blank from that point on, only becoming more detailed again nearer the more densely populated areas of Arrun closer to the east coast. Lake Arrunmere was there to the south, and its trading-post town of Mereton perhaps no more than three or four days swift riding, and the River Sudenstem, winding its way east from the lake to the sea.
The land to the south and west, though, was detailed indeed. Harks Hearth, Callodon Castletown, Porthmorl, Porthmennen, Dunbere, she read the names and wondered whether Gawain had passed through any of the Callodon landmarks during his quest for the Orb. Perhaps not. Looking at the map, she could easily imagine Gawain turning south and slightly west from Hellin’s hall straight to Brock’s capital, and thence to Calhaneth.
A scuffling outside the main door drew their attention, and the door opened to reveal Dannis and Finn, the latter struggling to keep a grip on a tall and bulky wooden box.
“Ah! Good morning to you, friend Rangers!” Dannis beamed, holding the door open. “This way, Finn, carefully now, carefully!”
“I ain’t gonna drop it y’know, Serre Curator!” Finn called loudly from behind the crate.
“A little something from the down-below which might be of use to you,” Dannis smiled at Elayeen. “At least, that is if the contents are as described in my lists and have survived their long incarceration in the stores. Come come, Finn, lay it down, and let’s get the lid off it.”
“All right all right, give us a chance,” Finn mumbled quietly, manhandling the box onto the table.
“Eh?” Dannis held a hand to his left ear somewhat theatrically.
“I said it won’t take but a moment,” Finn called, and laid the box flat.
“We keep all manner of odds and ends in our stores, Ranger Leeny,” Dannis beamed. “The box is sealed with wax, and all being well, so too the contents. Let us see whether Dun Meven may aid the Kindred Rangers today, as it aided the Kindred Army last year.”
