by GJ Kelly
Book 8
Prologue
Never trust a whitebeard. Not even a dead one.
Gawain, Son of Davyd, King of Raheen
Toorsen Grey-Elf! I saw him fly beyond the dragon of the north… I saw it!
Master Benithet of Sek, D’ith Vaticinator, Source Unimpeachable
Abandon hope, my brothers, for there is none.
Durminenn Meritus, Master of Sek,
North Sardorian of D’ith Hallencloister
1. Disturbances
Gawain sighed, standing on the watchtower atop Crown Peak, leaning heavily on the balustrade and idly watching the dwarves in the distance hard at work at the western promontory. He was lost in thought. Lost again in the stirrings of strange aquamire. The dwarves had been labouring furiously, levelling the top of the rocky headland, hacking channels and foundations for the walls to come much later. Their industry, and their rate of progress, frequently left Gawain speechless on the occasions when he’d shared a pint with Martan and the others at The Orb’s Ending.
“G’wain?”
“Hmm?”
“I said, if I am disturbing you, I shall return to the hall.”
Coming back to the watchtower almost with a bump, he turned to see Elayeen gazing up at him with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. It had been him, after all, who’d invited her to walk with him, in plain sight of all and hand in hand, up the hill, here to the watchtower.
“I’m sorry, E. I was miles away. Forgive me.”
He smiled at her, and slid his arm around her back, drawing her in front of him so she stood facing the west, his arms wrapped around her and his hands resting on the slight bulge of her abdomen. Elayeen had been carrying their unborn child for four months now, and though the term for ladies of elfkind was a full twelve months, was beginning to show, much to the excitement of all the ladies in the growing settlement that was Last Ridings.
“It has been two weeks since our homecoming from Urgenenn’s Tower, miheth. And still you are distracted.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind of late, it’s true. I’m sorry.”
“And you have been even more distant since the arrival of the flame-haired lady of Callodon, and her family.”
“Lyssa? I’ve told you all about her. She and her father Allyn were the very first good people I met on the road to Jarn, when first I was banished.”
“Yet you have spent a great deal of time in her company, since their arrival here. Should I be concerned?”
“Only for your head if you ask such a daft question again, my queen.”
Gawain hugged her gently.
“It is difficult for me to know you, sometimes. I miss the throth between us. Especially since Maeve has told me so much about the horse-kings of old. And especially with this,” and her Elayeen laid her hands upon Gawain’s and lightly rubbed the bulge beneath her red and gold tunic.
He kissed her head. “Silly. This is the soon-to-be Prince of Raheen. If anything, it makes you even more appealing.”
“More of an appealing target, you mean.”
“Well, yes, that too. So you’ve noticed the subtle changes in watchfulness I’ve ordered then?”
“There is little of anything subtle about the new guardhouse at the quay, nor Ranger Foden patrolling mid-range around the way-station on the south bank of the river. Neither is there subtlety in Ranger Yago’s patrolling of the lands east of our forest, nor Ranger Kiran roaming to the north. And, miheth, the less said about your plans for a roundtower yonder at the headland, the better, at least where subtlety is concerned.”
“I am merely taking the kind of kingly precautions for my queen’s safety that my loyal subjects expect of me. They’re your loyal subjects too, you know. In fact they love you far more than they do me. Quite rightly, too.”
“And they are growing in number almost daily.”
“True,” Gawain admitted, “But that’s all the more reason for precautions. The Toorsencreed know we are here, thanks to Hellin’s new friends in Juria, and when those new friends of hers in the west are able to make a new Graken, will doubtless launch another assault upon us from the air. And this,” he rubbed her tummy again, “Would likely slow you down a little should any more of the scum you encountered at Tarn Point dream of venturing this way.”
“Allazar believes us reasonably safe from that particular threat,” she sighed. “But yes, as the weeks progress I admit the growing encumbrance is likely to lessen my ability to defend myself. Already shooting a bow is a risky business. I am becoming larger in other places, too.”
“I know,” Gawain beamed.
“G’wain! That is most unkingly of you.”
“Bah, we are alone. And now our son is an encumbrance rather than a this?”
“Did Valin or Meeya not warn you concerning the oftentimes poor humour and dangerous changes of mood suffered by the expectant elfin, mihoth?”
“Ah. Yes, they did, actually. Are you in poor humour now then?”
“Not yet, G’wain, but you have been sailing close to the wind of late.”
“Hmm. Such nautical terms always make me think of the Melusine, and my stomach needs no such reminders.”
“I am sorry. In spending time with Maeve and baby Kamryn I have also learned some colloquial phrases from her and her husband, Ryan.”
“The boat-builder.”
“The Master boat-builder.”
“I know,” Gawain kissed her head again, “I meant no offence in omitting his title, you know that.”
“I do. But I am feeling sensitive today. Especially where the flame-haired lady newly arrived from Callodon is concerned.”
“Miheth, your hair is growing soft and lush and long, and all trace of that brown muck you splodged all over it after leaving Tarn is long, long gone.”
“Long? It has grown but a few inches since Dun Meven. It is still much shorter than you like. I know it is.”
“Bah. Long enough for me to run my fingers through. I am happy, miheth. Fret not about Lyssa of Callodon, nor the length of her hair. She is a bard, and tells a good tale in the hall of an evening as you well know. Besides, she has asked, through Allazar, if she might serve in our hall as a chronicler.”
“And you have agreed?”
“I have,” Gawain sighed, and felt the tug of strange aquamire again. “I can’t explain it, E, but lately I’ve thought it might be a good idea to make a record of all the events we have endured, together and apart. Allazar keeps saying the world is changing, and though it pains me to say it, he’s right.”
“Perhaps it is the ancient book in the down-below I asked you to inscribe in honour of Curator Dannis which has disturbed you, and made you contemplate the making of such records?”
There was a short pause, Gawain gazing over the top of Elayeen’s head towards the west. Then he answered.
“Perhaps.”
“It is quite probably a very bad thing to lie so brazenly with your hands resting upon our unborn son, mihoth.”
Gawain smiled, and squeezed her gently. “I’m sorry. Again. But it’s possible that the very existence of the vault…”
“Down-below.”
“It’s possible that the very existence of the down-below has added to the unsettling eddies which have disturbed my calm of late, and yes, also the ancient tome and its hundreds of blank pages. How was that? D’you think this encumbrance heard me?”
“It was eloquent and kingly, and yes, he probably did.”
“Has Allazar made anything of the few pages which have been marked in that book? Or Corax?”
“No. The book is very old, the ink faded in spite of t
heir insistence that the rock of the cavern is somehow charmed to prevent rot or decay in the stores secreted there.”
Gawain shrugged. “Perhaps the spells or whatever they are don’t work on ink. I’m not entirely sure it matters. Whoever it was made those earlier inscriptions is long gone. If your friend Dannis was correct, and the vaults… down-belows… were made by Aemon himself, they pre-date even Morloch and the Eldenelves.”
“Time has a habit of catching up with us, G’wain. We cannot run from it. We cannot fight it.”
“No, we can’t. Is that why you wanted the three of us to try to open the Morgmetal casket together the day after the feast? Because you feel time has caught up with us?”
Elayeen shrugged. “It occurred to me that the three circles girdling the triskele keyhole might require all three of us to turn the key, or to be present when the lock was opened.”
“Alas.”
“I am not sorry for the failure. I said so then, and I meant it. Likewise now. I knew that both you and Allazar were disturbed by the hasty and possibly shallow description I gave to you at Urgenenn’s Tower of my earlier attempt. So then, I sought to ease both your minds, and my own, by making the joint attempt when we returned.”
“You still believe the box is for our son to open?”
“Yes.”
Gawain nodded, and did his best to ease even closer to support his wife without crushing her up against the balustrade.
“Allazar is disturbed too,” she announced softly. “I am concerned that both of you were affected by the tower more than you know.”
“In the wizard’s case, I’ll admit it’s certainly possible. That bastard Urgenenn was as mad as a bag of dog-bats. There was writing scratched on every brick, block, stone and surface in there. I suppose the traitor didn’t take much in the way of pencil and paper with him when he fled the Hallencloister and made his foul home there in the Eastbinding.”
“Do you think it was the writing in the tower which has so altered the wizard’s mood since we returned?”
Gawain pondered the question.
“No,” he finally declared, and with conviction. “No, it may have disturbed him at the time, or not, I don’t know. It was the battle with Kallaman Goth I think which disturbed him much more, and the brief but shocking appearance of Eldenbeard. He was terrifying, E. I stood face to face with Morloch’s power in the deep dark below the Teeth, and I’ve gone toe to toe with iron-masked lords of the Goth, and felt only rage and disgust and a powerful urge to destroy every last one of them. But seeing Allazar as I did in the tower, that was frightening. That was what I imagined all great wizards would be like, back when I was a boy. All power, all arrogance, and not a hint of humanity.”
Gawain sighed again, and then continued. “But all trace of it faded quickly and he was his normal beardy self when we left the Eastbinding, and all the way back here. And even up until a few days after our homecoming he was the usual useless goit on a stick we’ve come to expect. It was later he became so distracted, not long after he sent a couple of Harribek’s birds to Brock, after the feast, in fact.”
“And you are sure you have not berated him, or otherwise upset him?”
“Me? Why would I ever do something like that? When he’s not been teaching Corax, exploring the down-below, or striding about the place trying to look important, he’s had his nose stuck in his notebooks. I’ve hardly had cause to speak to him, much less berate him for anything.”
“No,” Elayeen agreed, “You’ve been very busy with the bard-chronicler from Callodon, or in the tavern drinking with dwarves.”
“I haven’t!” Gawain squeaked, “I’ve been about my kingly duties, and especially those concerning you, Ranger Leeny, Queen of Raheen!”
Elayeen smiled, and he knew it, even though he couldn’t see it standing behind her as he was. She always did when called her that, just as the new steward of the hall, Arbo, always did whenever Elayeen called him by name.
“Do not think you can ease yourself back into my affections with such blatant and glib stratagems, G’wain. Ranger Leeny your queen is far from easily impressed.”
“Bah.”
Elayeen leaned back into him, and folded his arms tighter about her.
“Why did you ask me to accompany you here, G’wain? It wasn’t to watch Martan and his friends levelling the top of the headland.”
He sighed. And paused, and pondered.
“There is a tension rising in the hall,” he finally declared. “And for good reason. Tomorrow is the day Brock plans to cross the River Ostern in force, to begin the long-awaited liberation of the Old Kingdom. At least it is if Brock hasn’t changed his mind or the date of his incursion. Tyrane is fretful, as are the men of the Black and Gold down there with him. In truth, I am fretful too. Allazar is distant and distracted, the men are tense and nervous, and even the horses in the fields behind the tavern have sensed it and they, too, are uneasy. I thought perhaps the sight of the two of us might reassure them all, and I thought also to remove you from the hubbub for an hour or two.”
There was another pause then, Elayeen stroking his forearm while she considered his words.
“There is more, though, G’wain. I can feel it through your embrace.”
“Yes.”
“You should know, if you hadn’t already guessed,” she whispered, and drew in a deep breath. “You should know we can see the darkness in you now, all of us of the ninety-five.”
“The darkness?”
“The darkness you brought back with you from Urgenenn’s Tower. We can see it with our eldeneyes, swimming deep in the heart of the steel, in the sword upon your back. And we can see it swimming deep in the heart of you.”
“I hadn’t considered the possibility,” Gawain admitted softly.
“There has always been a darkness within you, G’wain, I have always known that, and when we were throth, I could see it even before I became the Sight and you the Deed. But the darkness our eldeneyes now can see is different, and tangible, and of the kind gathered by your blade which made all elves fear to touch the sword when first you were carried from the field of battle and to my care in my brother’s province.”
“Not all elves feared the sword, Elayeen. You didn’t.”
“I did. But I loved you more than I feared the black steel of that ancient weapon, and so I carried it, and cleaned it, and brought it to your bedside in the hope that it would aid you in the fight against the poison that coursed through your veins.”
“It seems so long ago, that day near the forest, when Black Riders charged me down, and I was struck by one of their bolts. Eem frith am Gan-thal, I said to the shadows gathered about me, and then I awoke to fire and ice, pain and beauty.”
Elayeen turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest, holding him in a fierce embrace.
“You are planning to leave me again,” she whispered, and the words were more statement than question.
“There is a question which must be answered, E, and, like Urgenenn’s Tower, it must be addressed. It plagues me, Elayeen. It vexes me. It drives me to the distraction you have noticed. Even here, alone with you, and holding you, it twists and writhes within me demanding to be heard, demanding to be asked, and demanding to be answered. I cannot hope to find any peace while that question remains. I don’t think any of us can.”
“And I am powerless to prevent you asking it. Though my heart screams for you to remain, never to leave my side, there is another voice which lurks as a ghost in a crypt, and I know, G’wain, I know that if I try to keep you here, it will rise up again, and speak.”
“Eldengaze?” Gawain gasped, fearing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Oh, E… I thought us free of that cursed bitchwizard! I thought us free of it!” And he held her closer and tighter still while she fought and lost the battle against a shuddering sob.
“Time is catching up with us, G’wain. We cannot run from it. We cannot fight it. Please don’t let go.”
oOo
2. Questions
“How is Corax progressing with Imzenn’s old staff?” Gawain asked, sitting on a long bench of rock carved into a wall of the down-below.
He and Allazar had been sitting there alone for some time, watching water gurgling from a curiously-shaped spout, wizard-made and cut into the far wall. The water was clear as crystal, and sparkled in the Aemon’s Light shining from Allazar’s staff, illuminating the otherwise invisible map etched above the gushing spring.
“Hmm?”
Gawain felt anger flaring. “Come on, wizard, for ‘spit’s sake! You’ve been like a child whose favourite toy was broken these last two weeks!”
“I am sorry, Longsword, I have been distracted…”
“You cannot afford to be! None of us can. Rak by now will have taken ship at Sudshear bound for Princetown Harbour, Brock by now will have sent word to Igorn to ready all his hopes for the crossing of the Ostern, and the Toorseneth by now will have doubtless learned of the destruction of Urgenenn’s Tower and are doubtless already plotting the course of their vengeance against Elayeen and I! Whatever work it is dragging your wits far from where they’re needed, abandon it!”
“Forgive me, Longsword. It…” then he tailed off, and sighed, and Gawain saw the wizard’s shoulders slump.
“What?”
“Hmm?”
“It. What it? It!”
Again Allazar sighed. “It seems I have acquired my own box of worms, as you so quaintly describe it. I am plagued by them. But these are ancient worms and of course you are quite right, it is in the here and now my full attention is needed.”
Gawain eyed the wizard, looking for signs of the dreadful light he’d seen burning in Allazar’s eyes in the black tower beyond the Eastbinding.
“What?” Allazar croaked, his expression becoming a trifle alarmed.
“Is it Eldenbeard?” Gawain asked bluntly.
Allazar blinked.
“Well, is it?”
“No, I don’t think so…”
“Good. Only I am plagued by my own worms, and said as much to E this morning at the watchtower. There was talk of Eldengaze returning, and frankly, it scared the both of us more than we’d care to admit to anyone else.”