The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "Peace,” Gawain said softly again, and reached down, picking up the dagger by its slender blade, and then he held it out to her, so that the weapon's grip was within her easy reach.

  She stared at it, and then back at Gawain. He nodded, and offered it to her again. Her fingers trembled when they touched the handle, and then closed around it, and Gawain released his hold.

  She was still staring at him, still holding the knife with its point trembling towards his heart, when he moved her bow so that it lay close to her.

  "Peace.” He said again, and carefully moved towards her trapped leg.

  The elf sat up, clutching the knife, and Gawain knew he must move carefully. It would be a simple matter for her to thrust the dagger into his heart. Slowly, he moved the undergrowth and fallen leaves, exposing the rim of the pit into which she'd stepped. He glanced up at her, and she met his stare. He couldn't tell whether her eyes were brown, or black, or hazel, the moonlight was deceptive.

  He thought she must be about the same age as himself, or a year either side. He didn't know. For all he knew, elves lived to be hundreds of years old and this one could be thrice his age. But he didn't think so. Finally, she glanced down at her leg, and then back into Gawain's eyes.

  "This will hurt you, my lady." He said softly, gently, and she nodded.

  Gawain reached into the hole. One of the sharpened sticks had pierced the elf's foot, and come clean through the top of her boot. He looked up at her, and again she nodded.

  As gently as he could, Gawain supported her foot with one hand, and grasped the bloody stick with the other, trying to lift both at the same time, to spare her pain. If her gasps and sighs were anything to go by, it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped, and she gave a choking cry when finally the trap released her.

  Gawain lifted her leg gently, and without thinking reached for the knife in his belt to cut away her blood-drenched boot. The moment his hand touched the hilt though, he saw the flash of moonlight on metal, and her point was inches from his face.

  "Peace," he said, as calmly as he could. It was all well and good remembering ancient decrees to "suffer no man to draw steel against a crown of Raheen", but this was certainly no man, and he couldn't blame her for her fear and mistrust.

  He did his best to ignore her blade as he slowly drew his own. When he slipped its point into the leg of her boot at her knee, understanding replaced fear, and she sat back.

  The boot was soft and cut easily, and in no time at all Gawain was holding the slender elven foot in his hand. Blood oozed from both sides of the wound, and since he was no healer, he thought it best not to attempt to remove the spiteful stake. Instead, he carefully ran his fingers over her ankle and shin, feeling for any sign of broken bones as he'd been taught. Broken bones were something that Raheen horsemen did understand.

  It was only when he noticed the goose-flesh on her calf and thigh that Gawain suddenly realised that her blade trembled not through fear, but doubtless through shock and cold.

  He cocked his head over his shoulder and hissed "Hai, Gwyn!" prompting another bout of alarm from his patient until the horse padded into view.

  Gwyn picked her way through the exposed traps, and Gawain stood and retrieved a pack from her saddle. From it he took the small bottle of Jurian brandy, and offered it to the wounded girl.

  "Brandy," he explained, "Jurian brandy. It'll warm you."

  She took the bottle with her free hand, and sniffed at the cork as Gawain took a blanket from his saddle-roll, and spread it gently over her legs. She drew it up under her chin gratefully, and finally relinquished her hold on the dagger.

  Gawain smiled as she sipped from the bottle and grimaced. Then her glorious eyes seemed to widen in wonder as the brandy took effect.

  Gawain bandaged her foot as best he could, and then gazed at her.

  "I can't leave you here.” He said softly. "It could be hours before your friends come looking for you. And whoever made these traps could come this way too."

  She cocked her head, and blinked.

  "Well." Gawain announced, smiling. "I always wanted to meet an elf, and see Elvendere. The least I can do for your not stabbing me is to take you home."

  She said nothing, but simply gazed at him. Gwyn snorted, and Gawain surveyed their surroundings. The branches were too low for them to ride.

  "I hope you can understand me, my lady,” Gawain smiled, stowing his pack back in the saddle. "Because if you don't, I might not see my home again, nor you yours."

  He picked up her bow, and she watched as he hung it on the saddle. Perhaps she had understood, he didn't know for certain. But when he stooped, and gently took her in his arms, and lifted her from the cold forest floor, the dagger she had so desperately sought earlier remained on the ground.

  To Gawain, she felt as light as a feather, and he knew as he carried her through the forest, north and away from the Ferdan track, that if she were able to stand, the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder.

  She didn't seem to mind being carried, perhaps because the brandy she had sipped was unknown to her and left her feeling warm and safe. But after only a few dozen paces her arm slipped up from under her blanket and wrapped around his neck, and when Gawain looked down, her eyes were closed.

  He walked for two hours, Gwyn threading her way through the trees behind him. And when the sun came up, and raucous birdsong filled the air, he turned to face east, his eyes closed, remembering The Fallen for a few moments. When he opened them and started walking again, he glanced down and was sure he saw her eyelids close, and that she'd been watching him.

  An hour after dawn Gwyn gave a warning snort, but Gawain carried on walking. He had no doubt that his progress through the trees was now under the watchful eye of unseen elves, but there was nothing he could do about it. Until they emerged from hiding, and until he could hand the girl back into the care of her own people, he was honour-bound to continue.

  He never heard them, nor saw them, but like Gwyn, he knew they were there. Not until the trees began to thin, and a clearing became visible ahead, did he see any sign of Elvendere's residents.

  But there, ahead in the clearing, a small group of elves, male and female, stood quietly, their hands resting on their longbows, obviously waiting for him. The girl was still asleep, or feigning sleep, when he glanced down at her. No matter. A few more strides, and he was in the clearing, standing face to face with a dozen heavily-armed elves.

  "Peace," Gawain said, "Your friend is hurt, and is in need of a healer."

  One of the elves handed his bow to a comrade, and stepped forward, and Gawain handed the girl into his care.

  "See-eelan!" the man called, and Gawain was amazed when ropes dropped from the branches above and around him, and elves slid down to the ground. They paid no attention to him at all, but hurried to tend the injured elf.

  "Well.” Gawain announced. "I am glad your friend is safe. I hope she recovers soon.”

  Receiving nothing but curious stares by way of reply, Gawain turned, shrugged at Gwyn, and began to walk away.

  "Wait!” a voice called. It was a woman's voice, clear and high and sweet.

  Gawain turned, and was surprised to see the elf he had tended sitting up, holding on to the healers attending her.

  "My lady?"

  "My name is Elayeen."

  Gawain smiled. Her eyes were hazel-green in the sunshine, and her hair more silver than gold. "I am called Traveller, my lady Elayeen. Well met, and honour to you."

  "Well met, Traveller, and…thank you.” Elayeen smiled, but Gawain thought he detected a hint of sadness about her expression.

  With that, the healers lifted her, and carried her away into the trees. Gawain nodded at the others and turned again, only to find his way blocked by more elves.

  One of them pointed east, and Gawain decided it might be best to take that direction. He had no desire to offend these strange people who, apart from their fair looks and the slight points to their ears, were no different t
o any other men and women he'd seen.

  Six of them, three men and three women, silently escorted him as he moved through the forest. Within an hour the trees began to thin, and to his surprise Gawain could see open green plains in the distance.

  A seventh elf appeared just as he reached the tree line. He was tall for an elf, or so it seemed to Gawain, and had about him an almost regal air. The other elves certainly seemed to defer to him, and to afford him great respect.

  "You are called 'Traveller'?" the elf asked in a lilting voice.

  "Yes."

  "Then well met, Traveller. I thank you for helping my sister."

  "I hope she will soon recover."

  "I am told that the wound looks worse than it truly is. She was careless."

  "The traps were well-made."

  "And old. There are many such in the region, set long ago by Jurians to forestall Gorian intruders. Elayeen was careless, and has told me so."

  "You have spoken to her?"

  "I have. We move quicker through the forest than you humans, though you move well."

  "Thank you."

  "Elayeen is precious to me. To all my family. We are in your debt."

  "No debt is owed. Your sister was the first elf I ever saw, and that is a memory I shall carry with me as long as I live. For that, I am grateful."

  "She was the first elfin you have ever seen. In our land, the female is elfin, the male, elf."

  "Forgive my ignorance."

  "There is nothing to forgive. How could you know? My name is Gan, and I have a gift for you. Should there come a time when you need my help, come to Elvendere. When you are challenged, say this: 'Eem frith am Gan-thal.' You will not be harmed, and I shall come. This I swear."

  "I thank you for your gift, friend Gan. But I know how precious your lands are to you. I shall not lightly return to trouble you."

  Gan studied Gawain, and then nodded. It was clear to Gawain that the whole business seemed distasteful to the elf, and so with a final slight bow, Gawain called Gwyn forward, and stepped out onto the plains of Juria. When he turned and looked back, the elves were gone.

  "Strange people.” Gawain sighed, climbing into the saddle. "Wonder what the dwarves are like?"

  oOo

  5. The Black Hills

  Suspicious, farmer Allyn had said. Suspicious indeed if the drawn steel and cocked crossbows were anything to go by as Gawain slowed his horse and approached the camp.

  Since leaving Elvendere four weeks ago, he'd travelled north-east across the lush plains of Juria, and was almost at the river which marked the border with the kingdom of Mornland when he'd spotted a campfire glowing in the distance.

  Winter was fast approaching, and a bitter northerly wind swept down from the distant Dragon's Teeth and cut through the cloak Gawain drew tightly about him, and if it hadn't been for the tantalising odours of roasting beef wafting from the camp, he'd have passed it by without a second thought. It was not wise to approach a camp in darkness, even in a land as friendly as Juria, and even so close to Mornland, renowned for its gentle people and their gentle ways.

  However, a diet of hare and rabbit had become tedious, and although Gwyn was certainly fond of the rich grass that covered the northern plains like a thick green blanket, Gawain's stomach overruled his head, and so he'd taken a bee-line course for the camp and its suggestion of warmth and hospitality…

  Only to find himself now confronted by a dozen heavily armed men, all eyeing him with the greatest of suspicion as wood crackled in the flames and meat sputtered on a crude spit.

  "Peace, and well met." Gawain called, thirty paces from the line of steel directed at him.

  "Who are you, stranger, and what mean you here?" a gruff voice called back through the gloom.

  Gawain knew why they were suspicious, and had their positions been reversed, he'd have felt likewise. From his vantage, high upon Gwyn's back and looking into the camp, he could clearly see the men silhouetted against the bright flames of their fire. Clear enough to make them out, and to see that most were of small stature though broadly built, two were females, and three were taller and more slender humans.

  From their point of view, though, they could see nothing but darkness stretching to infinity, and hear nothing but Gwyn's footfalls and Gawain's voice. For all they knew, there could be a hundred brigands out there.

  "I am Traveller, by name and nature. I am alone, and though armed, I mean you no harm."

  "Come closer then, Traveller, until we bid you stop. Have a care, though, there are bolts a-plenty strung and aimed at your heart!"

  Gawain smiled to himself. Aimed at his heart? From what he could see, the closest would pass him harmlessly by a good twenty paces. However, hungry and chilled though he was, he had no intention of offending the strangers at their camp, and for all he knew, they could be brigands themselves. It was for that reason an arrow was gripped, tightly strung and ready for throwing, in his right hand, and his sword was loose in its scabbard.

  As he drew nearer, he could see that these travellers were no brigands, and could see two other reasons why they were so suspicious. They were carrying large bundles of goods, which were neatly stacked by their horses, and one of the women was evidently with child.

  Gwyn walked slowly and cautiously, ears pricked and tail swishing. At the first offensive move from the campers, Gawain knew his horse would charge to the left and flail the tight knot of men with her hooves, leaving him free to use his right arm…

  "Stop there, Traveller!" the voice called again, and this time Gawain could see that it came from one of the dwarves, a thick-set and burly man of perhaps twenty years, curly black hair framing his square-jawed face. He was by no means a fearsome-looking man, but the battle-axe clenched casually in his right hand was handled with the same careless ease Gawain displayed with his own weapons.

  "Peace, and well met." Gawain responded, again.

  "That arrow you hold tells a different story."

  "Your axe is also eloquent, friend."

  "I am Rak, of Tarn, in the kingdom of Threlland. Which you call the Black Hills."

  "Well met then, Rak of Tarn. I am Traveller. I can claim no birthright, nor homeland, but am recently of Callodon, and Juria, and Elvendere. I ride north-east, to your homeland, by way of Mornland's northern way."

  "You go to Threlland? Why?"

  Gawain smiled, unstrung his arrow and slipped it back into its quiver. "To see dwarves. But you have spared me the journey, friend Rak."

  Weapons were lowered, though not abandoned, but Gawain and Gwyn were both relieved to see his smile returned.

  "Step down then, Traveller, and take a closer look at what you seek on such a cold winter's night."

  Gawain slipped from the saddle and walked the few paces to Rak, and then extended his arm. Rak paused a moment, staring hard up into Gawain's eyes, and then seemingly satisfied, extended his own.

  "Well met Traveller. If it's true you're recently of Elvendere, then you're the first human I've met able to make that claim."

  "It's true, though I was hardly a guest in their land."

  "Few are. They are a suspicious lot, those elves, and keep themselves to themselves."

  Gawain grinned in spite of himself. "I've heard much the same thing."

  Rak smiled, a brief flicker of humour, before stepping to one side and holding out his hand towards the fire. "Will you warm yourself, and eat with us?"

  "Thank you," Gawain sighed, "In truth I would not have disturbed your peace, but for the smell of roasting beef which I could not resist."

  More laughter, releasing the pent-up tension, and the whole group moved closer to the fire while one of the women fetched a plate, and cut a hunk from the roasting meat before offering it to Gawain.

  "Eat your fill, Traveller, we've already supped and there's more than enough."

  "I thank you. As hungry as I've been for such fare, I am but one man, and could not slaughter a steer simply for myself. Such waste would be crime."
r />   "Aye. They may travel light and fast who go alone, but there are advantages in company."

  While Gawain ate, Rak introduced his friends. They were merchants, mostly, though Gawain understood that Rak himself was something of an ambassador, or emissary, and therefore had some high standing in both Mornland and Juria. His wife, Merrin, was travelling with him, and it was she who was expecting their first-born.

  "For some time we have lived at court in Juria," Rak explained, "But my lady Merrin wishes our child to be born at home in Tarn, and thus we travel in caravan with these noble merchants."

  Gawain understood, and remembering his own home, shivered a little in spite of the warmth from the fire.

  "Have some Jurian brandy," Rak offered a familiar bottle, "It'll warm you better than any fire."

  Gawain accepted with thanks, and revelled in the sudden glow that coursed through his veins by the time he'd handed the bottle back. Then he smiled.

  "You've not had it before?" Rak looked surprised.

  "Oh yes," Gawain stared into the fire, "I was remembering my encounter with the elves. It was a cold night, though warmer than this…"

  And so he told them the story of his meeting with Elayeen, and Gan. They listened attentively and appreciatively, for although the night was pitch black it was still too early for sleep.

  When he'd finished, Rak shook his head in wonder. "I've seen elves twice before. Both times at court. Once in Juria, and once in Mornland. Both times we invited them to Threlland, but both times they declined. Now that the cursed Ramoths are wandering the land, I'd be surprised to see any more. Elves want nothing to do with the other races of man and if they know of the Ramoths, then they'll shut themselves in their forest and not venture out for a hundred years."

  "The Ramoths have made their way into the Black Hills?" Gawain asked.

  "Everywhere, it seems. Sometimes I wish we dwarves could be more elvish in our ways."

  "Are there many followers then, in your land?"

  "No!" Rak looked horrified. "We may not be as elvish as the elves, but we don't take too kindly to strangers strolling in and building high towers all over the place. A man such as yourself is about the highest we care to look up to, for the sake of our necks."