The Longsword Chronicles: Book 02 - Sword and Circle

by GJ Kelly

  “That swing took the Goth-lord’s left arm clean off on its way through ribs and heart to spine. There is… there was a small monument on the spot where Armun Tal fell, slain by King and Forester. The clawflies, creatures of the dark magic wielded by the Goth, died with their master, falling from the walls to twitch and smoulder and smoke and then fade to ash in the sunlight…”

  Gawain sighed, and paused a moment while Raheen pride and great sadness threatened to break his voice. But when he continued, his voice wavered not.

  “When Gillyan’s broken leg had mended and her other wounds healed, Edwyn asked her to teach him the trick she had learned from her grandfather in her childhood, how to throw an arrow with the power and accuracy of a bow, using only a knotted cord. When he had learned, and seen how effective it was, and how practical, he ordered all in the service of Raheen to learn its use. Thus did Gillyan Treen change life in Raheen, forever, setting in motion the change from shortbow to the famed Raheen arrow-throwing.

  “They even made a song for her, a favourite of the bards. It told the tale of Gillyan and her part in the destruction of the Goth-lord. And it went on for many verses and I’m not much for songs, so don’t ask me what the words are or to sing it! I don’t mind music on flutes and harps and lyres but usually when someone stands up to sing a song that’s when I find nature calls or that I suddenly need fresh air.”

  “Spoilsport.” Elayeen sighed, hugging her knees beneath her blanket, and Gawain smiled.

  “But I do remember some of the words. I told you the story because I think it has to do with why I need to take Allazar to Raheen. It went:

  “something something blah, and shadow swept across the land, and something something something, then sword from circle Edwyn drew, and in the sunlight shadow slew, where Gillyan Treen an arrow threw, and something something blah. Sorry. Maybe somewhere in Callodon there might be someone who remembers the whole thing, not that I think it’s important.”

  “What do you think is important, Longsword?” Allazar asked quietly.

  “The sword. And the circle. And the shadows. Edwyn was only fourteen years old and the sword was probably bigger than him at the time he drew it and cut that Goth-lord practically in two. You’ve seen me wield it too. And you saw the look on Morloch’s face when he found out who I am.”

  After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Gawain announced he’d take first watch, and his companions lay down to sleep. Gawain drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders, then rubbed his hands, feeling the softness of the new-healed skin of his palms, bringing the memory of Ferdan flooding to the forefront of his thoughts once more:

  Gawain flipped the blade in a lazy arc as Morloch extended his hands, and then he plunged the longsword deep into the floor, through the planking at the centre of the circle, and down into the soft rich earth of Juria beneath.

  The beam of black light linking the Sword of Justice to the dying wizard suddenly surged, blasting through the wizard's body and back again, to reflect off the weapon's hilt still clutched by Gawain, now on his knees, staring at Morloch.

  "Gawain!" Elayeen cried again, Jerryn and Sarek clinging to her, holding her back, while Allazar continued to chant, raising a protective glow around the centre of the circle.

  There was a sudden stillness as Gawain closed his eyes, and then he opened them, and the trapped energy of strange aquamire held within the blade and himself blasted from the hilt of the longsword and ripped into the shimmering cloud, smashing into Morloch, blasting him back into the wall of his stone tower far beyond the Teeth.

  Gawain sighed as the shimmering image rippled, watching as Morloch, like himself, now on his knees, stared back at him in shock, and pain, and fear...

  "Impossible..." Morloch gasped, a black liquid oozing from his mouth. "...It cannot be! You cannot be Raheen!"

  The image faded, and was gone, and all was silent, the air filled with the smell of oceans.

  Oh yes, Gawain thought grimly, turning his gaze to the darkness in the north, I am Raheen.

  oOo

  3. Not Much of Substance

  As the crowns of Raheen and their wizard continued their haste south in the general direction of the once-thriving market town of Jarn, familiar territory for Gawain, they were cautious also to continue avoiding all habitation. But as they neared the vicinity of the Callodon town where Gawain had once stood side by side with Tallbot, guardsman of the protectorate of Jarn, Allazar became not only his old dignified and wizardly self, but also increasingly fretful. It was while they were walking their horses through a sparse copse of spindly trees and eating lunch on the move that the wizard finally gave vent to his discomfort.

  “Longsword. Jarn is less than a day’s ride now. We could be there shortly before dark, few would see us arrive and the hour would yet be respectable enough to acquire bed and board at an inn of good repute.”

  “True,” Gawain agreed pleasantly enough. “But last time I passed through there, the inn was closed and boarded up, the people cowed, the market deserted. Besides, the sooner we get to Raheen, the better. We don’t know what spies Morloch may have lurking there in Jarn, looking for us. It was held by the Ramoth for a long time before I fired their tower.”

  “Spies?” Elayeen asked, surprised, “Looking for us?”

  Gawain blinked, taken aback by her question. “Yes, mithroth, looking for us.”

  “Why would they be looking for us?”

  “Indeed,” Allazar interjected, “Especially since you told everyone at the King’s Council in Ferdan where we are bound. Our destination was hardly a secret when we left.”

  “Knowing where we are going is one thing, knowing which route we are taking quite another.”

  Elayeen seemed unconvinced. “But since the Council at Ferdan saw all, saw Morloch himself and the treachery of wizards, and knows the truth of the impending assault from the north, why should spies be searching for us?”

  “You think me over-cautious?”

  Elayeen stopped and eyed her husband as if gauging his mood. “I had thought,” she said quietly, “That we had been avoiding habitation for the sake of speed alone. Not through fear of some kind of reprisals, miheth.”

  “It’d be wisest to assume that since Morloch fears me so, he has a reason to continue his efforts to destroy me. It wasn’t the crowned heads and ambassadors of five kingdoms that the traitors at Ferdan were attempting to kill. It was you, which would achieve my death just as surely had they struck me down.”

  “We know this,” Elayeen persisted, “Yet we prevailed. They sought your life to prevent you persuading Council to unite against Morloch’s armies lurking in the wilderness of the farak gorin. But that reason is no more, since all in the hall at Ferdan saw the truth for themselves. As you have said yourself, mithroth, it falls now to Rak of Tarn to forge a union between the kingdoms. If anyone is a threat to Morloch now, it is surely he, and he is safely surrounded by the honour guards of all those noble heads yet at Ferdan. Union, you said, is what Morloch fears most.”

  “It is,” Gawain conceded, though feeling his frustration rising. “But he fears the Union because it will set back his plans, and prevent his armies spilling across the farak gorin to consume the southlands. Me, he fears for reasons I don’t understand, and that’s why I must take Allazar to Raheen.”

  “And yet,” Allazar insisted, “We know nothing of events which may have transpired since we left Ferdan in such haste almost two months ago now. It may be that Lord Rak has already succeeded in forging a union, or it may be that catastrophe has struck and disaster is hard upon our heels. ”

  “There were many wizards in Elvendere, Gawain.” Elayeen announced.

  “We have come this far unscathed and unnoticed. We’ve even endured the plains with nothing but the sky for a roof and the ground beneath us for a bed and you’d cast that aside for what? A night at an inn which may yet be shuttered up and the risk of attack, all for what, some news of events we cannot possibly influence?”

/>   “Or news of events which may reduce the need for such haste, G’wain.”

  But Gawain was unmoved. “Dwarfspit and Elve’s Blood, do either of you seriously believe that in a few short weeks Rak even with all his diplomacy could bind the five kingdoms together in common purpose and raise forces enough to hold the farak gorin, never mind destroy the Morlochmen encamped in the Barak-nor? You two know the politics of these lowlands far better than I, tell me that it’s possible Rak has already succeeded. As for catastrophe and disaster hard upon our heels, it’s for a means of ending that possibility we must reach Raheen as soon as we can.”

  “A means of ending that possibility?” Elayeen stood with her hands upon her hips, gazing up into his steel-grey eyes, “It’s not so long ago that Allazar and I learned our headlong rush across the plains was in answer to a vague feeling brought on by the strange aquamire which once darkened your eyes. Now you tell us it is for a means of ending catastrophe?”

  Gawain stared at Elayeen, lost for words in the face of her unexpected challenge.

  “And,” she continued, leaning forward a little, “What if the catastrophe lies in wait ahead of us? What if news awaits us in Jarn, news from friends and allies warning that Morloch’s forces have gathered at the foot of the Downland Pass and await our arrival? This threat you imagine may not know which route to Raheen we are taking, but since there’s only one way up to the plateau our route to it matters not a jot.”

  “Your lady has a point, Longsword.” Allazar announced softly.

  “Yes thank you whitebeard you’ve made your opinion on the matter very clear.”

  “And I hope my opinion carries a little more weight than you give to our friend, miheth, or do you propose to silence me with a casual insult too?”

  Gawain seemed to feel Elayeen’s anger swelling, like embers flaring within his chest fanned into life by their binding, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his own rising ire and nothing at all to do with their throth-bound dependency.

  “We are scarce eight days hard ride from the foot of the Pass.” Gawain asserted, taking a step forward, “And have achieved this feat thus far entirely unopposed. I intend that we should continue to Raheen without pause or delay.”

  “And then what, G’wain? Charge headlong up the Pass to the ruin that was your homeland, on horses already tired from their weeks of flight across the plains from Ferdan? And with what supplies? What are we and the horses to eat and drink once upon the desolate plateau you have described? And for what, when we get there? What if Allazar can make nothing of your ‘vague feeling of something important’?”

  “This confrontation does no good…” Allazar began, only for Gawain to cut him off with a wave of his hand…

  “It’s the wizard I need to take to Raheen, Elayeen, not you!” Gawain asserted, quietly, the softness of his voice almost menacing, the rage and frustration in his chest making his heart pound as he stooped a little to bring his eyes closer to Elayeen’s.

  “Then take him there!” she spat, jabbing a slender finger into his chest, driving him back a pace. “We have followed you with blind trust and hope in our hearts all these weeks driven by the conviction that some mighty and noble reason lay at the core of our headlong dash only to find that reason has nothing to do with it at all! And that the sole motivation for this sprint across the plains is nothing more than a wisp of intuition brought about by a dark-made power! A dream would have more substance!”

  Another jab of her finger, and another pace forward, pushing Gawain further back, anger colouring both their features now.

  “I am no dwarf-maid of Threlland, G’wain, I do not thrive on cold-pressed frak! I am no plains-maid of Juria at home in a featureless expanse with horizons broken by nothing bigger than wild gorse! And I am no horse-maid of Raheen born to the saddle and yearning to spend great tracts of her life galloping aimlessly about the place! I am Elayeen Rhiannon Seraneth ní Varan, daughter of Elvendere, and though you be my bounden heart and I be faranthroth and banished from my homeland forever, I still have family, and friends, and yes a homeland I love, and I would have news of them before I greet the horror of what was once your homeland, your friends, and your family!”

  “Then go!” Gawain cried as their conjoined anger reached breaking-point, “Go seek your news in Jarn! Go! And risk all for nothing!”

  “Nothing?” Elayeen gasped, “News of my family and friends and homeland is nothing to you? You should need no reminding that the greatest nothingness of all is your destination!”

  “Enough!” Allazar cried, clapping his hands together in a futile attempt at diverting their attention from each other, but such was the enthralling nature of the rage that bound them they heard him not.

  “Your homeland and family and friends will be as nothing if Morloch isn’t stopped!”

  “And you believe a night’s delay will make the slightest Dwarfspit of difference!”

  “Enough!” Allazar cried again, though this time when he clapped his hands the sound was like the breaking of an oak, and accompanied by flash of light far brighter than the late summer sunshine.

  Elayeen and Gawain staggered back from him, instinctively covering their eyes and turning their heads. It was enough to break the fury that had held them in thrall.

  “That’s better.” Allazar sighed. “I am sorry, but such confrontation between you does no-one any good.”

  But while the fury was gone, great billowing clouds of anger remained to dim judgement and senses. Elayeen turned on her heel, strode to her horse and mounted, staring down at them coldly. “I am riding for Jarn and for news of our world. If you choose to ride for Raheen then so be it. I shall join you there, if or when I feel like it!”

  Gawain simply glowered at her, breathing hard and saying nothing. After a moment’s silence save for the laboured breathing of all but the horses, Elayeen kicked her steed forward towards the woodland track that led to the ill-fated Callodon town.

  It was only once his queen was beyond sight that Gawain rounded on Allazar, fuming.

  “You expect me to charge after her, wizard, and thus be led by the nose at every turn hereafter, a slave to her stupidity and whimsy!”

  Allazar sighed. “No, Longsword. I expect you to remember who you are, and to try to calm yourself.”

  “I know who I am!” Gawain asserted, “It’s not I who needs reminding! I never need reminding!”

  “Yes, Longsword, it is and you do. You are throth-bound. The anger and frustration you feel is not your own. Nor is it entirely hers. Just as the tender feelings between you are heightened and strengthened beyond the ken of ordinary men and women when the two of you are together, so too are any ill feelings between you. Frustration becomes anger becomes rage becomes fury, it feeds upon itself within each of you and grows into a thing all its own.”

  “Dwarfspit! We are so close to Raheen now I can almost hear the cry of the gulls wheeling over the Sea of Hope, and all you and she are interested in is hot food, hot baths and warm beds!”

  “Perhaps if the two of you had been able to enjoy those comforts together at least once during these past long weeks this crisis would not have arisen. Your mind is not your own, Longsword. Nor will it be, I fear, until Elayeen is further along the road to Jarn and your frustrations become your own again.”

  “Then I’ll add to the distance by taking the easterly path and leave Jarn and whatever frugal comforts it may yet possess to Elayeen, and she’s welcome to them! You and I are bound for Raheen.”

  “Until your respective natures are restored, Longsword. At which point, both you and she will remember the dread of athroth and race headlong into each other’s embrace.”

  “Dwarfspit,” Gawain exclaimed, climbing into Gwyn’s saddle, “You mean she will remember the dread of athroth and race headlong to me halfway to Raheen. Mount up, whitebeard, we ride hard.”

  “We cannot simply leave her, Longsword, you know that.”

  “Yes we can! I’ve left her before, remember?”


  “And later found her three quarters dead in the circle of faranthroth.”

  Gawain stared at the wizard, and Gwyn shuffled nervously, entirely unused to being unsure of her chosen mount’s intentions. Vague and distant memories of Elvendere seemed briefly to poke holes in Gawain’s anger, but Elayeen was still too close and their twinned anger too strong.

  “We ride, wizard, for Raheen.” Gawain ordered, and the steely glint in his eyes brooked no dissent.

  “Very well, your Majesty.” Allazar sighed, and shook his head sadly, knowingly. The coin which is the reward of youthful passions has two sides, the one glorious, the other tragic, and until the wisdom of the aged is acquired, there’s not much of substance to hold the two apart.

  oOo

  4. Rabbits

  Sunset found Gawain and Allazar walking their horses through scrubland slightly to the east of ragged woodlands which formed a physical if not political border between Callodon and the south-western tip of Juria. Ahead of them, the woodlands swung in a lazy arc eastwards towards the far horizon, beyond which unseen they continued their arc until eventually they swung north, like the bottom of a giant letter U. And beyond the bottom of that great curve, still out of sight, rose the plateau which was once Raheen.

  Gawain still fumed, or rather simmered, for Allazar was convinced the distance between them and Elayeen was slowly diminishing the throth-born and irrational anger which had separated the two young lovers. But it was not diminished by much.

  More than a few times during their thundering passage through the scrub, trending a little further east of south all the while, they had been obliged to stop. Gawain had accused Allazar of deliberately slowing their progress, Allazar had protested of course, but the wizard soon exhausted his flimsy pretexts for delaying Gawain’s flight. There are only so many times in an afternoon one needs to answer a call of nature, especially when a diet of frak and water has been one’s staple for weeks on end.