by GJ Kelly
Prologue
“I have travelled far. Once, Traveller was my name, before Ferdan, before everyone learned the name given to me by my father. In all my travels through the lowlands, I have seen and heard many things. Some wondrous, some so fair they would make a heart of stone weep tears of joy; some dread, some so awful the memory of the terror must be buried deep and even the faintest shadow of recall conjures a grimace, a shudder, and a churning of the stomach.
“There are many reasons for people to travel the lands, not the least of which is to seek out the wonders which are to be found in this world, and if those travellers journey in peace and with joy in their hearts I for one would never bar their way.
“But one thing I will tell you. In the Old Kingdom, they say no-one ever goes to Calhaneth, and in Elvendere, they say there are none who would journey to Calhaneth since its destruction. There’s a reason why they say that. Don’t go there. Never go there.”
The DarkSlayer, as told to the Bard-Chronicler Lyssa of Callodon
1. Jarn
Gawain had hoped that a quiet room overlooking a barrel-strewn courtyard at the inn of The Horse’s Head in Jarn would allow Elayeen to relinquish the dread power of eldengaze and return to him. He had hoped that the bright lights of life all around in the Callodon market town would banish the sight of the Eldenelves until next it was needed; and well might it be, and soon, on their journey northwest into Gorian occupied territory in search of the ancient elven city of Calhaneth.
He had hoped that the wide-eyed wonder and gasps of delight from the Gorian refugees on seeing the town and market square, a sight none of the former slaves had witnessed before, might jolt Elayeen back to her senses. And that the hot bath, with the help of one of those former slaves, Simayen Kahla, and the comforts of such civilisation as the inn could provide, would consign the blood-numbing and paralysing eldengaze to the realms of memory and return his beloved elfin queen to him.
They had journeyed far together, the two of them, Gawain and Elayeen. So very far, from the Circle of Faranthroth, in Elvenheth, across the plains and snow of Juria in deep mid-winter, to Tarn, in Threlland, where Gawain had drawn his love back from the brink of death, and where, later, they were wed, and he became throth-bound to her. Thence to Ferdan, in Juria, in mid-summer, battling Morloch’s forces along the way, in order to attend the first Council of Kings in living memory. And thence to Raheen, and Elayeen’s magnificent charge through the devastated castletown to rescue Gawain and Allazar, destroying the dark wizard Salaman Goth of Goria.
Raheen, where sword and circle had unleashed an ancient power against Morloch, slapping him back beyond the Dragon’s Teeth in the far north, demolishing his plans for invasion of the southlands, plans centuries in the making. Raheen, where they had unwittingly loosed ancient powers upon the wizard Allazar, and upon Elayeen, blinding her, and endowing her with the dread gaze of the Eldenelves of myth.
And from Raheen to Jarn, in Callodon, near the south-western tip of the plains of Juria, south of a broad expanse of forest once a part of elvendom, then once a part of the Old Kingdom, Pellarn, now occupied by the Gorian Empire. It had been on the road to Jarn, escorting a small group of eighteen Gorian refugees fleeing the darkness of the Empire, where the eldengaze had slowly percolated to its full potency, allowing Elayeen to ‘see’ the Kraal-beast that had been tracking them, over a mile away through the forest of southern Callodon. It had been on the road to Jarn that Elayeen lost herself to the power of that ancient sight, and had become Eldengaze, Gawain’s name for the dread and empty elfin beauty who was so far removed from the vivacious and breathtaking queen who owned his heart, at one time quite literally as well as figuratively.
“I don’t know what to do, Allazar. I don’t know what to do,” Gawain sighed, trying to throttle the bubble of a sob that threatened to burst in his throat.
Allazar reached across the table and patted the young man’s arm. They were sitting in the long and narrow public room at the inn, in a corner by a staircase leading up to the bedrooms. The inn had been commandeered by the Callodon Guard, and not for the first time in recent weeks, though in truth the landlord had given no hint of protest. At least business was guaranteed and the King’s Guard always paid their debts. The late evening rush was over, a few off-duty guardsmen relaxed in the seats by the windows overlooking the street, and noises from the unseen kitchen behind the long bar testified to the ebb in the tide of hungry men and women, dish-washing well under way.
The wizard’s eyes were damp with sorrow, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “Alas, my friend, I do not know either. I can only extend the hope that time will return our queen to us.”
Gawain stared into his tankard of warm Callodon ale, watching the tiny bubbles within the red-amber liquid clinging to the sides of the pewter mug, as though they were fighting to delay their inevitable rush to the surface and the oblivion that waited there.
“When the lady Kahla brought Elayeen back to our room from the bath I thought… I hoped… She stood there so beautiful in the evening light from the window, her hair shining and damp, her face and arms glowing, her clothes like new. She looked like early summer, Allazar, fresh and clean and sparkling with life,” Gawain took a long pull on the tankard, hoping that the bubble clinging to the walls of his throat would be washed away in the sudden deluge.
“Miheth, I said, when Kahla had left us alone. Miheth and mihoth, we are safe now in Jarn. Give me back my heart, give me back my Elayeen. I stood in front of her, and put my hands on her arms, hoping she would reach for me too. She didn’t move. She didn’t say anything…”
Another mouthful of ale to wash away the fresh bubble that threatened to burst within him.
“She smelled so sweet, and felt so warm. We are safe in Jarn, miheth, with friends all about us. We are safe, Elayeen, I said. She didn’t move, Allazar, so I stepped close to her, wrapped her in my arms and held her tight. I… I kissed her head and caressed her hair and whispered her name…”
There was nothing Allazar could say or do. Gawain knew it, and the wizard knew it too.
“Then she took a deep breath and I thought… I hoped…” Gawain sighed again, and this time the bubble broke loose, and rushed to the surface, and broke in a single, juddering sob. “She didn’t speak, Allazar, but Eldengaze did. I held her in my arms, Allazar, we two alone together for the first time since leaving the foot of Raheen… and it was Eldengaze who spoke.”
There was a long silence, Allazar’s hand resting lightly on Gawain’s left arm while the young man drained the tankard and then waved it at the barmaid. When the tankard had been refilled from a pitcher and the maid had retreated behind the bar once more, Gawain sighed again.
“She put her hands on my chest and pushed me away, and Eldengaze said: I am the Sight, sent to watch over the Word and the Deed. Touch me not, nor block my vision of your surrounds with your light.”
Allazar closed his eyes, struggling to maintain his own composure for the sake of his king.
“I want my lady back! I demanded. I held my beloved’s face in my hands and in my desperation I kissed her… but… it was like kissing a corpse fresh loosed from this life. I want my lady back! I demanded again. Must I beg you to release her, Eldengaze, must I beg you?”
Gawain screwed his eyes tight shut against the memory, but the shudder that gripped his spine broke free of his attempts to hold it in check, and shook him.
“Aaaah she turned her gaze on me, Allazar,” Gawain whispered, his voice breaking. “She pinned me with that dread gaze. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. She pushed me back against the wall of our room and held me
there and said: I am the Sight, sent to watch over the Word and the Deed. Touch me not, nor block my vision of your surrounds with your light! And there was nothing, Allazar, nothing of Elayeen in her face. Only dread, and a hint of anger. Like the anger of a parent scolding a naughty child.”
“We can only hope, my friend. There must come a time, and soon, when we are truly safe. In Elvendere, perhaps…”
But Gawain shook his head, and drew back from the table, leaning back in his chair. “No. Not even there. There were elfwizards there, Allazar, who fought for Morloch’s cause. I killed one of them, in Elvenheth, where no man is supposed to trespass. I cleaved the Dwarfspit bastard in two and they saw, Allazar, Thal-Hak and the others, they all saw the dark runes and Morloch’s Eye on the carcass. Not even in Elvendere will Elayeen come back to me. I know it.”
The doors to the main street creaked on their hinges and after a moment banged shut again. Boots clumped a measured pace across the wooden floorboards, and then a familiar voice drew their attention.
“My lord, Serre wizard.”
It was Tyrane, Captain of the Callodon Guards, the officer who had held the Downland Pass open for Gawain, on King Brock’s orders, and escorted them to Jarn.
“Ah. Captain,” Allazar smiled weakly, leaning back in his chair and indicating the vacant one between himself and Gawain. “What news?”
Tyrane sat with a nod to Gawain, who took another draught of ale while he struggled to regain something of his regal composure.
“Our friends from Goria are settled, the Mayor has found lodgings for all of them and already it seems there may be offers of employment on farms to the west. It’s a busy season it seems, and the refugees have valuable skills. I’ve sent word to the Castle, and detailed one of the sergeants and his men to remain in Jarn to reassure both the locals and the Gorians. The rest of the men will return to our headquarters and bear dispatches to the Court.”
“Excellent,” Allazar nodded appreciatively, “Then once we and our horses are rested, we can begin our journey north knowing that our new friends and their futures are in good hands.”
Tyrane noted the tension around Gawain’s eyes, and the way he fiddled with his tankard of ale on the table, and turned ever so slightly, discreetly addressing his remarks to Allazar. “Aye, Serre wizard. There is one matter which Simayen Jaxon brought to my attention though, one which needs to be addressed as soon as possible, I think.”
“What might that be, Captain?”
“It concerns our journey to this ruined city of Calhaneth and beyond. Those of us who will be accompanying you are of course aware of her Majesty’s situation and the circumstances surrounding it. Naturally, everyone hopes that the mystic healers in Elvendere will be able to provide a remedy. In the meantime, my lord, Serre wizard, the Gorian lady Kahla has asked Simayen Jaxon if she may accompany her Majesty in the capacity of an assistant, to help with the more mundane aspects of life in the wilderness. Jaxon himself has no objection, insisting of course that they are all free now, and able to make such decisions for themselves.”
“Ah.”
“Good idea, Tyrane,” Gawain asserted, his voice suddenly hard. “Please thank Simayen Kahla for me, and Jaxon too. Allazar, since our journey from the Downland Pass was made at a pedestrian pace, I’d prefer to leave sooner rather than later. The horses are hardly over-worked and won’t require the rest you mentioned. Besides, most of our journey will be through the forest, and on foot, at least until we find the canal that the wizard Arramin spoke of. Do you agree, Captain?”
“Aye, my lord. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for packhorses and ordering dry provisions for men and beast alike. The provisions will be delivered at dawn tomorrow. I’m afraid there’s no Threlland frak to be had here in Jarn, though. My apologies for that.”
Gawain shrugged. “There’s enough in the wizard’s saddlebags to keep me going for weeks if needs be. Will we be ready to leave by mid-morning?”
“Aye, my lord, I believe so. The wizard Arramin has already retired so he’ll be fresh for the morning. The two lads, Rollaf and Terryn, are bedding down in the stables. They’ve asked permission to dispense with their heavy equipment in favour of forager’s kit?”
Gawain nodded. Where they were going, chain mail, plate, and the heavy leather tabards of the Callodon Guard would be far more of a burden than a boon.
“Then by your leave, my lord, I’ll make arrangements with Jaxon regarding the lady Kahla, and take care of final preparations. Do we assemble here or at stables tomorrow morning?”
“Here, I think?” Allazar suggested quietly. “It’ll give us all a last chance to review our preparations before beginning our journey. We can breakfast together, too?”
Gawain simply nodded, and turned his attention to his tankard once again. Tyrane took the hint, and with a courteous nod and a scrape of the chair on the straw-covered floor as he stood, took his leave.
“You have decided not to remain in Jarn a while longer,” Allazar sighed when they heard the doors bang shut behind the Callodonian captain.
“There’ll be no comfort for me here, Allazar. I almost asked Tyrane to fetch Kahla and have her sleep in Elayeen’s room in my stead.”
“I am glad you didn’t, Longsword. We do not know whether your lady is lost to the eldengaze or whether she is indeed truly Eldengaze. If she is lost deep within herself, then perhaps she hears you, and feels you near, and takes comfort from your words and proximity. The day will come when our queen returns to us, and on that day let her heart be filled with the memory of your constancy in the face of dread, rather than the sorrow of loss and abandonment.”
Gawain sighed, and took another draught from his tankard. “Whether a prisoner of Eldengaze, or indeed Eldengaze, there is no comfort for me here in Jarn. There never has been. Not since I first passed through here two years ago, and then again, twice, a year later, first on my way home and second on my way to burn the Ramoth tower in the woods.”
Gawain paused, and then glanced up at the wizard. “Though at least on that last occasion there was warmth to be had from the fire.”
Allazar nodded, desperately suppressing a grimace. He remembered his first meeting with the Longsword warrior who had fired the Ramoth towers at Stoon and here at Jarn a year ago. Looking at Gawain now, he could see something of that hollow and heartless DarkSlayer in the young man’s eyes, like an echo faint returned from a far distant wall.
“So much has happened since those darker days, Longsword,” Allazar said softly, hoping to exorcise the ghost of that dreadful warrior. “There are no more towers in these lands, no more Ramoths. There is hope now, and a purpose nobler than vengeance to give meaning to our actions.”
“Is there? Is there really, Allazar, or are we nothing more than pieces on a board laid out by players long since dust? I once told Hellin of Juria that no-one commands my blade but me. Is that true, or is some elder whitebeard, dust in a crypt when your Dymendin staff was a pip in the mud, even now directing my actions?”
“We are all of us masters of our own destinies, Longsword. Circumstances may limit the range of choices available to us, but it is our own character, and knowledge, and experience which guide each of us to the decisions we make, not some unseen force reaching down through the ages.”
“Yet here we are, victims of adjectives written in circles laid in stone thousands of years ago, our own qualities re-written by the ancient power left slumbering within them.”
“No, Longsword, not re-written. You are who you always were, Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen.”
“And Elayeen? Is she still who she was when first I found her, wounded and bleeding in the dark of an autumn night a year ago?”
The wizard paused, for he too had felt the dread of Eldengaze. “Yes. Yes, Longsword, I believe she is, though lost to us in the grip of the sight of Eldenelves. Perhaps that sight merely lies dormant within all elves, and in her it has simply been re-awakened. But I remain convinced that when her normal vis
ion returns, so too shall our queen. You and your forebears were given that great blade, and the power to wield it as no other can. It is still your arm that commands it, and it is still you that commands your arm.”
“And is it Elayeen who commands Eldengaze, then?”
Again Allazar paused. “Possibly. As means of aiding you, and in fear of being lost and worthless, blind and a burden to you now that the throth between you has been lost. Perhaps she herself has created this Eldengaze, just as an actor creates a character in a play. This is why, my friend, you should not abandon her, but remain constant.”
Gawain sighed again, and drained his tankard for a second time. “And here we sit, on the eve of a journey whose route was set by the words of others. Words read by an ancient bookworm wizard of the D’ith Sek, words written on the crumbling pages of dusty tomes, the authors long since dead. A journey to find the ruins of a city destroyed a thousand years ago, all in the hope of finding a working canal to take us swiftly to Elvendere and thence to war in the north. And you say we are masters of our own destinies.”
“You can always turn back, Longsword.”
“No,” Gawain said sadly, “No, I can’t, and you know it. No more than I could abandon Elayeen.”
The barmaid appeared by their table again, pitcher of ale in hand, only to receive a shake of the head from both of them.
“I should probably turn in,” Gawain announced, when they were alone once more. “I’d like to be up early to tend to Gwyn before breakfast.”
Allazar nodded, and drained his own tankard. “Aye, and I need to make some arrangements before I retire to bed. Try to remember, Longsword, in spite of Eldengaze, our queen shall return to us, sooner or later.”
“Perhaps a night sleeping in a chair will encourage her to return sooner, for Eldengaze or not, I mean to enjoy the comfort of a duck-down bed tonight. It’ll be the only comfort I’ve ever had in this ill-fated town. Good night, Allazar.”
