The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  Almost instantly, Gwyn leapt around and charged forward towards the two brigands who'd blocked their retreat. One instantly dropped his sword and began running down the road, but the other remained rooted to the spot until Gwyn's hooves smashed him to the ground. A brief thundering of hooves, and Gawain was leaning out of the saddle, his sword flashing in the afternoon sunshine, and the last brigand lay dead in the middle of the track.

  Gwyn came to a skittering halt, and turned, her head bobbing and blood-spattered forelegs pawing at the dusty track. She let out a triumphant whinny; her chosen mount and his friends were safe. All was well.

  But it wasn't. Gawain sheathed his sword, surveyed the carnage in front of him, and the realisation of what he'd done gripped his insides like an iron fist. This had been no Raheen training session. This had been real combat, and real death.

  He shot a glance towards Allyn and his family, standing huddled behind the cart, their eyes wide with shock and terror. But worst of all, the look of unutterable horror that shone from Lyssa's eyes as she stared at Gawain made his heart seem to freeze within him. It was the same expression he'd seen on her face when the brigands stepped out in front of them, their crude and deadly intent obvious for all to see. Now she was regarding Gawain with the same horror.

  Gwyn sensed Gawain's confusion and strife, and she took two paces forward, hesitantly. Then stopped when Gawain saw the family hug each other closer.

  He sighed, and closed his eyes, the sun warming his face. Seven men had fallen, he knew, at his hands. Seven men, who would no longer see the dawn, or feel the first rays of morning sunshine upon their faces.

  Gwyn snorted and whinnied, and Gawain's eyes snapped open. Serves them right, he thought coldly. Were it not for Gawain, then Allyn would be laying in the dust, and Karin and Lyssa would have suffered a fate far worse than death at the hands of those vile and despicable brigands.

  He steeled himself, stiffened his back, and remembered who he was. He was Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen, and no common lowlander bandit would draw steel against him and live. His father had said "My son. Remember who you are. Honour is as important as duty. Let no-one offend you twice."

  Gawain nodded, and Gwyn strode regally to the cart, completely careless of the bodies in the road.

  "Are you hurt, friend Allyn?"

  "No Serre…"

  "And your family?"

  "No Serre."

  "Very well. I shall escort you to Jarn. There may be more brigandry in this forest, and I would see you safe to your destination."

  Allyn simply nodded, and with a great deal of clumsy hesitation, the family clambered into the cart once more. None of them would meet Gawain's eyes, and the remainder of the journey passed in silence.

  When they reached the outskirts of Jarn the road widened, and became cobbled, and busy with people coming and going. Gawain glanced down at the farmers, noting the rigid set of their expressions and the way they started straight ahead, and he sighed.

  "Well, friend Allyn, you and yours are safe now in Jarn. I shall bid you farewell, and hope that your journey home is safe and speedy."

  Allyn cleared his throat and looked up at the young man. "Thank you, friend Traveller. Speed your journey, too."

  Gawain nodded his head respectfully at the two ladies, but neither would look at him. So he brought Gwyn to a halt on the busy cobbled street, and watched the cart and the girl with the flame-red hair until they were lost in the throng.

  Lowlanders. Strange people, Gawain thought. His brother Kevyn had said so often enough when he'd returned from his Banishment.

  "They call you 'friend' all the time," Kevyn had said, "Even though you've only just met. At first, I thought it was because they were friendly people! Then I realised that it was more of a prayer than anything else. Like, if they say it enough, you won't turn out to be an enemy. Strange people."

  Strange indeed, Gawain acknowledged silently. For one thing, how could there be brigandry in Callodon? There had been no war betwixt the kingdoms since before Gawain was born. It was true that the Gorian Empire to the west was continuously testing the strength of its borders, but not even the empire would seriously risk conflict with the combined might of the seven kingdoms.

  There were no brigands in Raheen. And so there shouldn't be any anywhere else, except perhaps in the empire. Everyone knew that the Emperor was a cruel tyrant, and taxed his people into early graves. Brigandry was understandable in the empire. But not in the lowlands, surely?

  Gwyn ambled along the cobbled street, used to going her own way while her mount was lost in thought, but at a fork in the main road she stopped, and waited patiently.

  Gawain awoke from his reverie and glanced around at his surroundings. There were people everywhere, it seemed, all going about their business quietly. No rushing, no bustling, no cries from the merchants advertising their wares. Just a muted sense of purpose as the lowlanders went about their way.

  Which road to take? The left fork seemed to lead straight to a market square, and that was where most of the traffic was going to and fro. The right led off towards rows of buildings; inns, dwellings, and the more expensive shops.

  "Make way!" a distant voice called above the general hubbub, and Gawain turned his head. Approaching the market from the other side of town, visible above the heads of pedestrians and riders and carts and wagons, a small symbol, atop a slender pole.

  Gawain's face set, and Gwyn set off down the left fork.

  "Make way!" he heard again, and as he entered the market square he noticed that the crowds of shoppers were indeed parting, giving way to a small procession striding towards them. Ramoths.

  Gawain brought Gwyn to a halt to the side of a fruit stall, and watched, quietly.

  There was no sedan chair in this procession. Just a group of white-robed shaven-headed Ramoths, the pole-bearer at the front. They were flanked, though, by six armed men, openly carrying curved swords which they used to shove animals and people further back from the procession.

  In the distance, through the parted crowd, Gawain saw a wooden tower rising high above the trees from a clearing at the northern outskirts of the town…

  The Ramoth procession came to a halt in the centre of the square, the pole-bearer planting the slender standard with an audible rap on the cobbles. The robed followers formed a circle around it, facing outwards, and began ringing tiny bells and chanting while the armed guards eyed the crowd with disdain, keeping their swords at the ready.

  Gawain stared, eyes full of wonder at the strange spectacle. As people passed by, one or two of the robed followers would step forward, and accost them, speaking quietly and urgently. He couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, and was just deciding to dismount and move closer when a voice from behind him said:

  "Curse them all."

  Gawain looked around and down at the man who'd spoken. It was a Callodon guardsman, the king's crest emblazoned in black and gold on his tunic.

  "The Ramoths?"

  "Aye."

  Gawain dismounted, and moved closer to the guardsman. "I am a traveller, and have only seen these Ramoths once before, on the road this morning."

  "Then you must have come from afar, traveller, not to have seen this scum more than once."

  "A long way, in truth."

  "You're lucky. Look at 'em. Tinkling their bells and accosting good folk in the streets with their ravings."

  "Does Callodon permit this then?” Gawain asked, his eyes on the Ramoths.

  "His majesty despises them, as all good men do. But the wizards at court, pox on their white beards, say that it is wisest not to offend."

  "Why?"

  The guard shrugged. "Who knows with wizards? I wouldn't give a dwarf's spit for any of 'em, but you know what they're like."

  Gawain did. Wizards were practically a law unto themselves, even in Raheen. "Surely there's a reason why they'd advise such a strange course?"

  "I'm just a guardsman in the protectorate of Jarn, fr
iend traveller. I'm not privy to decisions of court at Callodon castle. But," the guard sighed and shook his head as more passers-by were interrupted by the Ramoths, "It's said that Morloch himself is involved with this lot."

  "Morloch?"

  "Aye. The dark wizard himself. I had it from a nobleman merchant some months ago. There was a meeting of the wizard's council, at which his majesty was present. The whitebeards say that Morloch yet lives, and that it is he controls this Ramoth creature these vermin adore so much."

  Gawain shook his head sadly. "I heard that this Ramoth is an ancient god from beyond the Dragon's Teeth."

  "The lies and rumours abound, and spread like disease. For myself, I believe the world is gone mad. All this talk of gods, and Morloch, and whitebeards advocating 'do nothing' while good people are accosted and assaulted. Look you there!"

  Gawain had seen. An old man carrying a basket of cabbages on his back had attempted to pass by the Ramoths, and two of the robed acolytes had taken him by the arms and began talking at him. He was clearly alarmed, and wanted nothing but to be on his way, and began struggling. But he was too weak to break free of their grip, and ceased his struggles altogether when a Ramoth soldier approached and glared at him.

  "I care not for this, nor for whitebeards and their advocation to turn a blind eye. I must do my duty by this good man, even if it cost my life.” The guardsman straightened his tunic, loosened his sword in its scabbard, and took a deep breath.

  Gawain was touched by the honest officer's honour, and offended by the treatment of the old man he was witnessing. The world may indeed be going mad, but Gawain would never forget his father's instructions.

  "I shall be glad to watch over your back, guardsman."

  "Thank you, friend traveller! But I warn you, expect no help from these good people if it comes to a fight. Those Ramoths are vicious, and renowned for it."

  With that, the guard stepped forward into the square, striding purposefully and with great authority towards the Ramoths and the old man they harried.

  The Ramoth guards spotted the uniformed officer instantly, and Gawain saw their lips move, giving a quiet alert to the others.

  "And you," Gawain patted Gwyn on the neck, "Watch my back too." and strode off after the guard.

  By the time the guard reached the Ramoths, Gawain was a mere five paces behind him and the robed figures had dragged the old man into the midst of the circle of soldiers.

  "Release that man," the guard ordered. "In the name of the king!"

  A hush fell over the square, and two Ramoth soldiers advanced a pace. Gawain advanced two, making it clear that his arm and his weapons were ready to support the Callodon officer. His movement, and his smile, earned a curious stare from the Ramoths.

  "There is no king but Ramoth, friend.” A shaven-headed woman announced, "You should make way for him in your heart."

  "Release that man," the guard said again, louder, himself taking a pace forward, "Or make way for my blade in yours. This is Callodon. I serve Callodon's King, and in his name I say no-one shall treat the king's loyal subjects so villainously. Let him go."

  "We do not fear death, friend. We mean no harm here, we are spreading the word and the will of Ramoth." the woman replied, smiling, bells on her bracelets tinkling as she waved a slender hand to encompass everyone in the square.

  "Release him."

  "Be at peace, brother, let Ramoth speak to you."

  The guard drew his sword, and Gawain's hand shifted to rest on the grip of his own. He was pleased to see that the point of the officer's weapon trembled not once, but hovered, poised threateningly, as steady as a rock.

  The four other Ramoth soldiers eased forward through the robed acolytes, forming a protective line between them and the guard.

  "Release that man now or by this sword I swear I shall free him myself."

  A deathly hush fell across the square, broken only by sounds of animals and livestock. There was a rustling, and Gawain knew instinctively that the crowds were easing further away from the conflict brewing in the middle of the market.

  Gawain studied the soldiers before him, and noted the resolve in their expressions and the tightness of their grip on their weapons. They would not easily back down. Everything seemed to hinge on the bald woman with the jangling bracelets and bells.

  She smiled, a sickly smile that did not reach her blank and lifeless eyes, and was about to speak when Gawain took yet another pace forward.

  His movement worked. All eyes swung in his direction, including the empty gaze of the Ramoth woman.

  "I'd do as he says, were I you.” Gawain said quietly. "I know him of old. He is relentless."

  "We must all face the world and endure, brother." The woman announced, "It is the will of Ramoth."

  "Indeed? I would have thought that Ramoth would prefer his followers alive to spread his word, rather than spreading their blood all over the cobbles.” Gawain sighed dramatically. Then he drew his sword. "But have it your own way."

  The six Ramoth guards took an involuntary step backwards, and raised their blades as Gawain advanced to stand side-by-side with the Callodon guardsman. Then they looked to the woman, waiting for her response.

  Moments ticked by as hearts beat rapidly and steel faced steel.

  "Beware you Ramoths!" a familiar voice shouted from the crowd. It was Allyn, the farmer, unseen among the throng. "That warrior slew seven single-handed but a few hours ago!"

  The Ramoth soldiers stared at Gawain's blade, and at the tall young man standing so casually before them. But Allyn's words galvanised the old man in the centre of the Ramoth circle.

  "Let me go!" the old man pleaded, struggling anew against the two followers who still held his feeble arms in a tight grip.

  The woman turned and regarded him for a few moments. "There is no room in this one's heart for our Master," she sighed, "He is unworthy and cannot make way. Release him, and chant for him against the day when Ramoth comes."

  The two robed figures immediately released their grip, and as the old man scurried away into the crowd as fast as his ancient legs and his heavy basket would allow, the Ramoths began humming, and jangling their bells, eyes closed.

  The officer took a pace backwards, and sheathed his sword, keeping his eyes on the soldiers all the while. Gawain sheathed his own blade, and together the two men withdrew, back to the fruit-stall where Gwyn swished her tail and twitched her ears, blue eyes ever watchful.

  "Thank you, friend traveller." The guard sighed. "That was a perilous moment."

  "It was. But honour and duty are sometimes hard taskmasters."

  "Indeed.” The guard studied Gawain with a professional eye as the Ramoths began marching away towards their tower, still chanting and ringing their bells.

  He saw the bloodstains on Gawain's tunic, and the blood spatters on Gwyn's forelegs and chest.

  "Tell me, friend traveller, and friend indeed you be by your honourable actions. The voice calling from the crowd, did the unknown man speak truth?"

  "He did.” Gawain acknowledged.

  "Then duty binds me again. I must ask you, who were these men you killed, and why were they slain?"

  "I know not who they were. Brigands, by speech and deed. They meant to slay an honest family in my company. I prevailed."

  "Brigands, you say? Describe them."

  "I heard one name. Edvard. The leader was a tall man, bearded, with long grey hair tied back with a leathern thong."

  "Stanyck, by the sounds of it, and his band of cut-throats. As much a bane in these parts as are the Ramoth. Where did this take place?"

  "In the forest, less than an hour's ride on a horse with good wind."

  "I have such a horse. In the name of the king, friend traveller, I command you to remain in Jarn until my return from the scene."

  "Am I then in custody?” Gawain asked, arms folded.

  "No. There is an inn of good repute, you may remain there in comfort if I have your promise that you shall remain there, and
your arm on it."

  "Then here's my promise and my arm.” Gawain clasped the guardsman's forearm, and he his, and allowed himself and Gwyn to be led to the inn, describing in detail the attack earlier in the day.

  The officer left them at the inn and went off to his duty, and Gawain set about his. Gwyn needed a good washing and rub-down, and he needed time to reflect on all that had transpired in so short a time since his Banishment.

  When Kevyn had returned after his year and a day in the downlands, his stories of adventure and fighting and the strange ways of lowlanders had seemed almost too impossible to believe. Kevyn had travelled north, almost as far as the Dragon's Teeth, and had even ventured west, to the border with the Gorian empire. That was four years ago. But in none of his stories had he made mention of Ramoths, or old gods.

  There were brigands, and ruffians, and bandits who would attack and rob a defenceless victim on some lonely road or backstreet. The downland kingdoms simply did not enjoy the tranquillity and order that Raheen and its subjects took for granted. According to Kevyn, he'd been attacked on numerous occasions, and obliged to kill the foolish ruffians that so offended him and his honour.

  Now Gawain knew what it was to kill. It was not pleasant, far from it. As he wiped and brushed the gore from Gwyn's forelegs, it is true that he felt a certain pride; pride in his horse, in his training, and skill, and how it had come to the fore in such critical circumstances. Proud too, that a family of lowland farmers would see the sunrise another day thanks to him.

  But there was sorrow too, and disgust which threatened tears when he remembered the look of horror Lyssa had bestowed on him. In his mind's eye, it had seemed to Gawain that the young girl, she could be no more than a year younger than he, might have preferred to have died at the hands of those brigands rather than witness such efficient and ruthless slaying from a young man to whom she'd just served with her father's ale…

  What would his father say? He would probably place a hand on Gawain's shoulder, and nod sternly, and remind his son of duty, and honour, and the ancient law that no man should be suffered to draw steel against a crown of Raheen.