The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "To market," Allyn announced, draining his cup and handing it back to Lyssa. "In the town of Jarn, which lies at the other end of this forest."

  "And you, friend Traveller, where are you bound?" Lyssa asked quietly, earning a reproachful glance from her father.

  "North,” Gawain said, likewise surrendering his cup, and wishing he could reveal his given name. But it was forbidden. He was not permitted to reveal his identity whilst in the Banishment, nor even to say or possess anything that would declare him to be Raheen. "I've heard Elvendere lies in that direction, and I've a yearning to see the elves with my own eyes."

  "Elves!” Allyn exclaimed. "You'll not see them, but you might see their arrows all right, if you set foot in Elvendere! Never was a land so jealously guarded."

  "In truth?"

  "In truth. I saw dwarves once, at Callodon castle, years ago when his majesty ascended the throne. But no elves came."

  "Everyone knows that to set foot in Elvendere is never to return.” Lyssa said, her soft voice rich with concern.

  Gawain shrugged. "Well. Perhaps I'll head north-east then, and find a warmer welcome in the Black Hills."

  "Dwarves.” Allyn grunted, hammering in the kingpin with his fist. "They're not so bad. Suspicious lot though. And they're not as small as you might think, Traveller."

  "No?"

  "No. Smaller than most men, but I've seen other humans smaller than dwarves too, during the fair at the castle. These days though, I don't know. Seems people everywhere are becoming elvish. When I was your age, Traveller…"

  "Allyn, don't carry on so! Friend Traveller doesn't want to hear all your stories about the castle."

  "Yes dear," Allyn sighed to his wife, and winked at Gawain as he turned back to the kingpin.

  "Here, let me." Gawain offered, and drew his sword.

  It slipped from its scabbard with an ominous and unmistakable swish, and Allyn stepped back a pace. The sword was heavy, and its twin edges glistened wickedly in the morning sunshine. Gawain flipped it deftly so the blade stood erect, and set about hammering the kingpin with the pommel.

  Three stout blows and the tapered kingpin that held the wheel to the axle was not only wedged firmly in place, but its uppermost end splayed like a tent-peg too often struck with a mallet.

  "That shouldn't break free in a hurry.” Gawain smiled, slipping the blade back into its sheath with practised ease.

  "No indeed.” Allyn muttered.

  Gwyn snorted once, and Gawain looked up the track, his eyes narrowing.

  "What is it, friend Traveller?” Lyssa asked, sidling closer to her mother and father.

  Gawain shrugged. "Someone approaches. Far off."

  "Well, we'd best be off to market ourselves, if we're to sell our grain.” Allyn announced.

  "I'll accompany you, if you have no objection friend Allyn? We go in the same direction, and I would be glad of the company."

  Lyssa blushed.

  "Aye! I have no objection, friend Traveller, if you're sure we won't slow you down any?"

  "I'm sure. I have plenty of time, and I doubt the elves and dwarves will disappear for wont of an hour or two on my journey."

  "We'll be off then."

  Allyn and his family clambered aboard the wagon, and with a snap of the reins the great workhorse pulled the cart onto the road and into the ruts, and with Gawain riding on Allyn's side of the track they set off northward.

  "Here come the someones you spoke of." Allyn said softly as they crested a slight rise a few minutes later. Then the farmer's face turned dark, and he spat.

  "Ramoths!"

  "Who?” Gawain asked, eyeing the distant party approaching them.

  "Vermin, if you ask me. Or any decent folk that're left in Callodon. And the rest of the land, come to that."

  "What are Ramoths?” Gawain frowned, desperately trying to recall if his brother Kevyn had mentioned them so many years ago.

  "Not what. Who…"

  "Hush husband!” Karin protested, nudging him sharply with her elbow, and he fell silent.

  But Gawain could see from his expression that the approaching Ramoths, whatever or whoever they might be, would never find a warm welcome at Allyn's farm.

  As the group approached, Gwyn's tail swished restlessly, sensing the tension rising in her mount. Lyssa noticed the young man's hands too, as they flitted unconsciously, checking sword, and knife, and arrows. She frowned at the latter, for in spite of the quiver of yard-long shafts that hung, with their goose-feather fletching behind Gawain's right hip, he had no bow.

  "Make way!" came a call from ahead.

  "…who the Dwarfspit do they think they are…” Gawain heard Allyn mumble angrily.

  "Make way for the emissary of Ramoth!" came another shout.

  Gawain's right hand rested lightly on the pommel of the heavy shortsword that hung from his left side. To any casual observer, it was a casual pose. A warrior would know different.

  As the Ramoths drew nearer their cries of "Make way!" grew more frequent, and intensely more irritating. The road was rutted, and the cart wheels were in the ruts. There was plenty of room for the Ramoths to pass down the left side of the wagon, but still they called out.

  Gawain noted their number with a military eye. Six riders on horseback, two at the rear of the procession, two at the flanks, and two, who were doing the shouting, in the vanguard. In the middle, a group of eight men carried a covered sedan chair upon their shoulders, and at the very front of them all, a man (or at least it looked like a man) with a shaven head, dressed in long white robes, carrying a pole at the top of which was a strange symbol in iron.

  It looked like a coiled snake, but with a grotesquely large head, in which were set two black stones for eyes.

  "Make way! Make way there! The emissary of Ramoth approaches!"

  "What does he expect me to do, drive into the trees?" Allyn grumbled, and spat, and with a stubbornness born of years waiting for crops to grow and for the turning of the seasons, he drew his cart to a halt.

  "Leave this to me." Gawain said softly, but the quiet command left the family in no doubt that friend Traveller was not one whose orders were to be questioned, for all his youth.

  "Make way! Make…"

  "You make way.” Gawain called back, and the approaching party came to an abrupt halt some thirty paces from the cart, the shaven-headed pole-carrier a mere ten from Gwyn's flaring nostrils.

  "Make way for the emissary of Ramoth.” A mounted guard said, clearly amazed that anyone would challenge their right of way.

  "There's room for both of us on this road. The wagon is in the ruts. If you wish to pass peacefully, then do so. But do so quietly. Your constant shouting is irritating my horse. And me."

  The guard advanced his horse, and eyed Gawain. "Who refuses to make way for Ramoth?" he growled.

  "I.” Gawain replied, smiling. Gwyn snorted, and nodded her head. "And my horse.” Gawain added, the smile broadening into a grin.

  A hand appeared through the curtains on the sedan chair, and seemed to motion forwards impatiently.

  "It looks to me," Gawain nodded towards the gesticulation, "That your employer is anxious to move on. Pass in peace, Serre, or you pass away."

  The guard's eyes narrowed, and his horse fidgeted. "Move on," he said after another hesitant look into Gawain's eyes.

  And so they passed, in silence, on the other side of the track, the mounted guards eyeing Gawain suspiciously until they had gone by, and even then they cast the occasional glance over their shoulders until they were out of sight.

  Allyn let out a huge sigh. "Remind me, wife, when we reach Jarn, to buy friend Traveller a mug of the finest ale money can buy in all Callodon."

  Gawain grinned. "There was no danger, Allyn. For all their bluster, they are empty casks that make most sound."

  "Nevertheless my friend, there are few enough these days that will stand up to them. Vermin, I say. And you stop elbowing me, woman, I am a free man like friend Traveller here, an
d entitled to my opinion!"

  They set off again, and Gawain felt himself rather enjoying his new role of protector to such honest folk, and the admiring glances he earned from one of them in particular.

  "You still haven't told me who they are." Gawain remarked.

  "They're a bane. A curse that's sweeping the land. That one? In the chair?"

  "The emissary?"

  "Aye. So they call themselves. Emissaries!” Allyn spat towards the trees. "There's one in every big town and some of the smaller ones too. That one just gone will be on his way south, perhaps even as far as Raheen. Or to Raheen itself, may the gods protect them."

  On hearing the name of his homeland, and Allyn's earnest plea on behalf of his countrymen, he felt his hackles rise.

  "But who are they? Dwarfspit, Allyn, tell me before I go mad!"

  "They claim to do the will of an ancient god named Ramoth," Lyssa explained as the cart rumbled on. Her soft voice carried a lilting charm, which seemed to command an audience. Even Gwyn appeared to take care lest her clopping footfalls interrupt the girl as she spoke. "Who, they say, was powerful and feared even in the time of the giants.

  "When giants ruled the world, and dwelt within the mountains we revere as the Dragon's Teeth, the god Ramoth lived in the dark and barren lands bounded in by the mountains. It is said that in those days all the gods lived north of the mountains, and it was a wondrous place.

  "The giants were jealous, so the gods made a pact with them, and gave them all the lands south of the Dragon's Teeth to rule, and all the races of men that lived there.

  "So the world was at peace. But in time, the gods fought amongst themselves for dominion of their lands. It was a terrible war. Ramoth, so it is said, sought out the giants, and begged them to help him, and in return promised to do their bidding for ever.

  "While the giants gathered to consider his offer, the other gods discovered Ramoth's plans, and brought their terrible powers down upon the giants and the Dragon's Teeth.

  "For hundreds of years the war raged. In the end, nothing was left. The gods and the giants were destroyed, though some say giants still slumber, healing their wounds, deep beneath the Dragon's Teeth."

  "And today?" Gawain prompted.

  "Today," Lyssa continued, looking off into the distance, towards the unseen mountains so far beyond the northern horizon, "Today the Ramoths say that the god survived, protected somehow by dark wizard magic. And that he lives still, and that they do his bidding. They say that the time is coming when Ramoth will be released from the Dragon's Teeth, and claim all this land as his own. It is their duty, they say, to prepare us for his coming."

  Gawain's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Is that why they keep shouting 'Make way! Make way!'?"

  Allyn laughed heartily. "Ah, friend Traveller, you've a rare sense for a jest!"

  Lyssa blushed, and Gawain instantly felt guilty. "But why are people so afraid of them? I didn't see much to be frightened of. I doubt that snake on the pole would frighten anyone other than a weakly child."

  "They say they do terrible things.” Lyssa looked down at her hands, and fell silent.

  "Aye.” Allyn agreed. "There's more and more fools join 'em every day. In every big town, in every kingdom, except perhaps Elvendere and Raheen. And maybe also the empire, but who's to know about that? They build towers, in which the emissary dwells, right at the top, or so they say. Soldiers guard the towers, and huts spring up all around them. What goes in on there is anybody's guess."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Strange ceremonies, so it's told. Things not fit for decent ears, friend Traveller, you'll catch my meaning."

  Gawain didn't, exactly. But given Lyssa and Karin's blushes, he imagined it was a subject not fit for discussion in their presence. He decided not to press the point.

  But a few moments later Allyn spoke up again. "I don't know what the attraction is. Everywhere they go, those vermin somehow attract once-decent folk to them. I've heard talk that rich folk's sons and daughters join up with 'em, and give away their riches and themselves, and once taken, can never be persuaded back to family.

  "I've heard that poor folk see their honest and decent children suddenly up, and a-hop and a-skip down the lane after these vile creatures, never to be seen again.

  "And for why? No-one knows. The Ramoths, they gather at their towers, behind closed doors. In the day, they go about the towns and villages, telling how we must all prepare for the day when their great snake-eyed master bursts forth from the mountains to claim his lands. By night, who knows?"

  "And this is permitted?" Gawain was agog.

  "Permitted? Who is to stop them? Everywhere they go, they go with their armed escorts. You've seen them for yourself, friend."

  "But the king…"

  "The king?” It was Allyn's turn to stare wide-eyed with surprise. "What king dare raise arms against them, when they count kings sons and daughters, and noblemen and high-born among their number?"

  Gawain fell silent, deep in thought. My father, he thought. My father is one king that would raise arms against them. If that emissary is indeed bound for Raheen, he'd best learn to fly in the weeks it takes to get there. For he'll be tossed off the cliffs into the Sea of Hope in the blink of my father's eye!

  oOo

  2. Jarn

  It was about an hour after the passing of the Ramoths on that forest track that events unfolded which would separate the travellers without Allyn making good his promise to buy Gawain a mug of Callodon's finest ale.

  The trees were thinning, and they were still discussing the Ramoths.

  "I still do not understand why so many people would simply give up everything they have and follow after these Ramoths."

  "Well, Traveller, they do. As you'll see when we reach Jarn, and as you'll see wherever your journeys take you."

  Gawain shook his head sadly, and foolishly ignored the swishing of Gwyn's tail and her pricked ears. He was simply too engrossed in thought, too unfamiliar with the lowlanders and their ways to imagine such things as Ramoths, or even people that believed in old gods, might actually exist.

  "I see nothing at all attractive about them whatsoever." He announced, with conviction.

  "I see a lot that's attractive!" a harsh voice called, and men appeared from the trees and bushes each side of the track.

  They stepped into the road in front of the cart, and when Gawain glanced over his shoulder he saw two more. Gwyn was snorting derisively, and he knew that his steed was chastising him for not paying attention to her warnings.

  "And I takes what I like!" the speaker announced, leering at Lyssa.

  Gawain's eyes flicked this way and that, while his right hand rested on his quiver of arrows…

  The leader, or at least the one that was doing the most talking, stood in the middle of the road now, flanked by two men on each side. He was the tallest of them, bearded as they all were, and wearing his long unkempt hair tied back with a leather thong. All save one carried broadswords, either with their blades resting casually on shoulders, or points resting idly on the hard and dusty track. All except the one who carried a cocked crossbow.

  "What's in the cart?” the leader demanded, and spat in the dirt. "And I don't mean the two beauties."

  The crossbowman was the biggest threat, Gawain knew, given the distance between the brigands and the cart.

  Gawain's fingers seemed to fiddle idly, and Lyssa couldn't understand what the tall and golden-haired traveller was doing. She saw for the first time a slender thong wrapped around Gawain's wrist, and stared wide-eyed as the young man's fingers deftly wrapped the free end of the cord around a shaft, just in front of the fletching.

  "Grain for market. We are lowly farmers, that's all. You'll find nothing of value.” Allyn called, anger and fear edging his voice, though it trembled when he spoke.

  "Oh I see plenty of value, humble farmer. I see much that I like! Step down! And you, boy," he called to Gawain, "Down from that beast."

  Gawai
n smiled. The Raheen bowstring was secure around the shaft. It would take but the blink of an eye to withdraw the shaft from its quiver and hurl it with deadly effect. Surely even these dullard lowlander brigands knew of Raheen arrow-throwers and their prowess?

  "Are you deaf or simple-minded?" the leader called, slipping the broadsword off his shoulders and waving it threateningly. "I said down from that beast!"

  Gawain grinned. From the corner of his eye he could see Allyn, Karin, and Lyssa clambering down from the cart, on the far side. The great workhorse and the cart now stood between the family and the crossbowman…

  "I'm neither, brigand. I'm simply amazed to find in Callodon not one, but seven simpletons so careless of their lives."

  The leader hesitated a fraction of a second, staring up at Gawain from fifteen paces away. Smiles were frozen on unwashed faces, and confused glances were exchanged. Then the leader laughed, a barking sound possessing no mirth.

  "Kill him, Edvard. And the farmer. Take the two women back to camp, the young one's mine,” he said, and the crossbowman grinned and began to bring up his weapon.

  Gawain's right arm was a blur, moving backwards and forwards too fast for the eye to follow. There was a snapping sound, followed by a whizz, and then a solid thunk!

  And then a click and a twang as the crossbow fired harmlessly, the steel bolt whizzing off into the forest. All eyes snapped to Edvard, standing agog, staring down at the yard-long shaft sticking half a yard from his chest as his crossbow fell from his limp fingers.

  Eyes flicked back to Gawain, noted the string dangling from his right wrist, and then flicked back at the sound of Edvard's body crumpling into the dust.

  What happened next happened with such speed and ferocity that Allyn would struggle to find words to describe it for years to come. Gwyn, like a mighty battle-charger, sprang forward, forelegs flailing and hooves smashing into the men standing to the leader's right. Gawain's sword flashed, and the brigand leader was cleaved practically in two.

  Gawain's horse seemed to dance, high-kneed, bringing him easily to striking distance of the two remaining men and trampling carelessly on the fallen remains of their leader. Two strokes of Gawain's blade and they fell where they stood.