The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "Why?"

  Gawain gave no answer, and together they bound and gagged their prisoner. Within minutes, the emissary was hanging by his wrists from one of the roof-beams that criss-crossed the tower's ceiling.

  "Good. Now, look for a phial of green liquid."

  "Green liquid?" Allazar asked, puzzled.

  "That's why you're here, wizard. To do something slightly more useful than killing your own horse or taking down curtains. This vermin claims to be 'curing' Juria with his green medicine."

  "Perhaps he is."

  "And perhaps you'll be able to fly when I throw you out the window. Is it not convenient that Juria fell mysteriously ill when news was received that the tower in Callodon's castletown had been fired? And is it not convenient that only this scum can administer the cure? Or that no whitebeard has been able to examine the medicine?"

  "You suspect poison?"

  "Don't you?"

  Allazar simply gazed, and then began searching the room with Gawain. From underneath the black altar-table, Allazar drew a large wooden box. His fingers trembled a little as he reached to open it. But Gawain reached down and threw open the lid, fearlessly.

  Nestling inside the box was a large glass flask of green liquid that seemed to glow in the dim light from the sconces around the walls.

  "Now do something useful for a change." Gawain said softly. "Tell me if that's poison, or if it's a cure for some unheard-of affliction."

  "What are the signs of the illness?"

  "Convulsions, followed by severe weakness and insensibility. Which are miraculously held at bay for seven days after this is administered."

  There was an empty phial in the box, and Allazar uncorked it, and poured a small measure of the stuff from the flask into the phial. Then he sniffed it, and frowned.

  Behind them, the emissary groaned.

  "Hurry, whitebeard. He wakens sooner than expected. Is it poison or cure? In truth, for I'd prefer not to leave this vile scum alive after going to this much trouble to get in."

  "There is dreadbane in this. And Elve's Blood, though not much of it. The green is arrowmint. But there is more. Another ingredient I cannot name yet."

  "Poison or cure?"

  "It could be either, Longsword! In small doses, even Elve's Blood can be medicine and not poison! Likewise the sap of the Dwarfspit tree!"

  The emissary groaned again.

  "Time runs short!" Gawain urged.

  "I do not know! The odour is strangely familiar but I cannot name it!"

  Then the emissary began struggling.

  "Remain silent." Gawain sighed to Allazar. "He must not know you are here."

  Allazar nodded, and went back to sniffing the phial.

  The emissary's eyes were open when Gawain stepped around in front of him. They opened wider when they focussed and Gawain slipped the blackening cloths from his head.

  "Yes, it is indeed I. You were expecting me, of course.” Gawain hissed.

  The emissary's eyes narrowed, and then sparkled darkly in the lamplight.

  "Ah. You wish to impart a secret, perhaps?" Gawain asked, straight-faced.

  The Ramoth nodded, and were it not for the gag, the lips would doubtless be curled in a sneer.

  "I see. Something about Juria, no doubt, and how you stand between the Crown and a terrible death? Something like that?"

  The emissary's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he nodded once, slowly.

  "Not interested." Gawain leaned close, staring hard into the man's eyes. "Not even remotely interested. What do I care for the life of Juria? Do I look like a Jurian?"

  The emissary's eyes widened, and sweat began to form on his brow.

  "Besides," Gawain continued, "I doubt Juria would thank me for slaughtering his guards outside. I suppose I might be able to pacify the Crown if I could say, 'I have the cure', but it doesn't really matter. I came for you, you stinking Ramoth, just as I said I would."

  The man's eyes widened further, and he began shaking his head violently as Gawain drew his knife. Over the emissary's shoulder, Gawain saw Allazar shaking his head. He still hadn't identified the remaining ingredient.

  "You worship Ramoth?” Gawain asked menacingly.

  The man nodded.

  "I keep seeing the snake-symbol. This Ramoth of yours, a snake, is he?"

  Again a slight nod.

  "And you and your followers would like to be like Ramoth, make way for him in your heart."

  Another nod.

  "But snakes don't have ears.” Gawain said quietly, toying with the knife. "And you do. Perhaps I should help you in your quest to be more like your ancient god? What do you think, shall I remove your ears?"

  The emissary shook his head violently.

  "No? Strange. I would've thought you'd welcome the chance to look more like the thing you worship. They say imitation is true flattery. Come to think of it," Gawain sheathed the knife, to the man's obvious relief, "Snakes don't have legs, either. Do they?"

  And Gawain slowly unsheathed the longsword.

  The emissary began weeping, and struggling against his bonds as Gawain flourished the mighty weapon casually.

  "Or arms, for that matter." He whispered in the man's ear, eyeing Allazar, who again shook his head, his expression frantic.

  Gawain stepped back from the emissary, and eyed the man's legs while he took a firm two-handed grip on the sword. He made a play of testing the clearance around him, checking that his strike would be unimpeded by walls and beams…

  When the blade touched the emissary lightly on the thigh during this practise swing, he immediately began screaming through the gag in his mouth, and struggling violently.

  "Oh, something to say?" Gawain paused expectantly, mockingly.

  The emissary nodded his head frantically, and Gawain stepped forward again.

  "But snakes can't speak. Maybe I should cut out your tongue first? Let's hear what the scum of Ramoth has to say for himself first, though. And try not to scream, vermin, you don't want the last thing your tongue articulates to be nothing but meaningless noise, do you?"

  Gawain prised the gag roughly from the emissary's mouth.

  "Under the table!" he gasped, terrified, "Under the table! The medicine! For the king!"

  "Medicine? For the king?"

  "My life for it! My life for the secret! You can command a king's ransom with it!"

  "Really? Go on."

  "It's under the table! It is yours for my life!"

  "What good is it to me, Ramoth filth? When the medicine runs out, how then can I command this king's ransom?"

  The Ramoth nearly choked so anxious was he to spit out the words. They came in a flurry, unbroken by breath or pause.

  "It is simple! So simple! Dreadbane and Elve's Blood in the mixture of one part to one half part, and arrowmint to disguise the taste of one part of aquamire!"

  "Aquamire!" Allazar gasped, his face a vision of revulsion, and he cast the phial from him aghast.

  The emissary gasped too, and his eyes widened again, and he began weeping, realising he had been deceived.

  "Kill him, Longsword!” Allazar cried, "In the name of all the races of man, kill this monster now!"

  Gawain shrugged, and slammed his fist into the emissary's face, knocking him senseless again.

  "So. Is it poison, or cure?"

  "Kill him, I beg you." Allazar pleaded.

  "Here he is. Helpless and at your mercy, Allazar. If you would see him dead, here is my knife. Or if you prefer to distance yourself from the slaughter as your kind always do, why then borrow my longsword. It lets you stand so much further away from the deed."

  "Kill him.” Allazar said again, but with less conviction, the horror still plain on his face.

  "What is aquamire?"

  "I will not say. It is vile. Evil. The vilest of all substances made with dark wizardry and I cannot bear to speak of it or how it comes to be."

  Gawain studied the wizard, and was surprised to see what appeared to be tears in
the man's eyes. Whatever this aquamire was, it was clearly distressing.

  "So. Is it poison or cure?"

  "Poison. Of a most insidious kind."

  "Can you rid the king of it?"

  "Now I know the nature of this green filth, yes, easily."

  With that, Allazar kicked the box and its flask across the room. Glass smashed, and green fluid seeped out to stain the floorboards.

  "For the last time, I beg you Longsword, despatch that fiend."

  Gawain drew his sword and with a single flowing motion sliced through the bonds that held the emissary suspended from the ceiling beams.

  "I told a princess today, no-one commands my blade but my own arm. And no-one commands me, wizard. You want him dead, you do it."

  With that, Gawain strode to the doorway, and paused. Allazar hesitated, eyeing the shattered flask and the unconscious man on the floor, and then his shoulders slumped.

  "I cannot." he sighed, and turned, and followed Gawain down the stairs.

  Outside the tower, all was quiet. But there was a group of men in the shadows by one of the long huts, and they stepped forward into the light from the blazing oil-barrels when Gawain and Allazar emerged.

  "It is done?" Jerryn asked.

  "Yes," Gawain replied. "We have what we came for."

  "Then my men will fire the huts and the tower."

  "The emissary yet lives up there." Allazar hissed, disgusted, though whether with himself or with Gawain, they could not say.

  "In truth?"

  "In truth."

  Jerryn smiled. "Thank you, Longsword." And with that, the officer strode forward, and kicked over the oil-barrel so that its blazing contents lapped against the base of the wooden structure.

  His men followed suit, setting fire to the long huts while Jerryn strode away, leading Gawain and Allazar towards the Keep.

  Within, they found a small party of honour-guards, who flanked them and marched smartly through the corridors and up several flights of stairs, until they came to a guarded chamber. Jerryn strode forward, and opened the door, and stepped in.

  A few moments later he beckoned Gawain and Allazar forward, and into the room.

  King Willam of Juria lay in a huge bed, tended by healers and whitebeards, his wife seated in a chair nearby. Hellin stood by the window, watching the flames leap and crackle from the tower.

  "You lied to me, warrior," she said over her shoulder, the bright yellow light from the flames flickering in her lustrous black hair. "You said you would spare the tower, and thus Juria."

  "I did not lie, your highness.” Gawain replied, trying to keep his voice soft too, for her sake and that of her ailing father. "The emissary was alive and only slightly hurt when last I saw him. And I did not fire the tower, nor the long huts."

  "Not by your own hand, perhaps, but you set in motion this night's events. I cannot command you, warrior, and it seems I cannot even command my own men."

  Jerryn's head sank.

  "Highness." Allazar spoke, and she turned.

  There were tears in her eyes and streaking her face, and for a moment she looked like a child, vulnerable and confused and in need of strong arms and kind words. Gawain could give neither, and a part of him was surprised at that. A very small and distant part, like a buried memory echoing...

  "I know you." Hellin said, "You spoke to the court, of Morloch."

  "I did. I am ally to this warrior. I have the cure which will restore Juria, and this I swear. That is why Longsword brought me here this night."

  "You know the cure? You can make the green medicine?"

  Allazar grimaced. "Highness, that was no medicine, but the vilest of poisons. If I might consult with my brethren?"

  Hellin nodded, and Allazar bowed low before beckoning the whitebeards to join him in a corner. Gawain watched them, and noted their expressions of shock and horror while Allazar spoke. Their brief conference over, the Jurian wizards then consulted with the healers. Herbs and bottles were produced from bags and boxes, there was much grinding of pestles, and then the antidote was administered to the king.

  All the while, Hellin stood proud and silent, and Jerryn stood in silent anguish. Then a healer approached, and announced that the king was already showing the first signs of recovery, and that it was hoped he would be restored to full health by the week's end.

  At this, Hellin of Juria wept openly, and alone. Again, a distant memory called to Gawain, and he stepped forward.

  "Your highness. What was done this night was done not only for justice, and vengeance, but for all Juria. This officer, this Captain, has served you well, and the Crown. But for him, and but for his honour to you and your father, another royal crown would decorate the court in Death's kingdom. Do not judge him harshly who serves you so well."

  The words, softly spoken but with such power, drew the princess up, and stemmed the tears. She wiped her eyes, and looked up at the black-clad warrior standing so close to her.

  "Thank you, Longsword. For Juria."

  Gawain bowed, and stepped back.

  "And thank you, Captain Jerryn," she said, "For the Crown. Please forgive a foolish daughter's love, and the fear which prompted unworthy words. Honour to you, Captain."

  Jerryn bowed low, and then with his back ramrod straight, he turned and opened the door for Gawain and Allazar.

  Outside, they walked from the Keep in silence towards to the high walls surrounding the town. Then Gawain spoke.

  "You should increase the guard on your walls and at the Keep, Captain. It was too simple for me to gain entry."

  "I had already thought the same thing, moments after you dragged me into the shadows."

  The fires at the Ramoth compound had died down to a red glow, but ash still fell.

  "Allazar tells me that there are new enemies in the southlands to beware of."

  "In truth?" Jerryn asked.

  Allazar simply nodded.

  "Black riders, sent by Morloch to hunt me down."

  "Then they shall find no welcome in Juria if they come." Jerryn announced firmly. Then, as they reached the gates and they were swung open by the nightwatch, he added, "Where do you go now, friend Longsword?"

  Gawain paused. "To the inn for my horse and my belongings. And then I think to Threlland."

  "Then speed your journey. Would that I could accompany you."

  Gawain smiled sadly. "You are too honourable a Jurian officer to partake of the deeds I must do, friend Jerryn. You have done enough this night by way of vengeance. Be at peace, and serve the Crown. They will have need of men such as yourself, and soon, I fear.”

  They shook hands, and Gawain suddenly added "But thank you. I had thought not to find a single ally on my journeys. To find two strengthens my resolve, and my arm."

  "All Juria owes you a debt. You know where to find me, if a need arises. Look yonder, to the east."

  Gawain followed Jerryn's gaze, and saw a bloom of light on the far horizon.

  "Could that be dawn come early?" he asked.

  "In a manner of speaking, it is dawn come too late." Jerryn replied. "That comes from the town of Vardon. They have seen the light of our fire here, and have taken heart and courage from it, and have lit their own."

  "Then farewell, Jerryn. Honour to you."

  "And to you friend. You too, wizard, for all Juria this day."

  They left Jerryn at the gates and made their way to the inn to collect Gwyn and Gawain's packs.

  "It was kind of that officer to thank me." Allazar mumbled.

  "It was indeed." Gawain muttered in response, and the ironic tone in his voice was not lost on the wizard.

  "Are we held in such low regard by all?" Allazar persisted.

  "What reason is there for you not to be?"

  Allazar sighed.

  "What is aquamire?" Gawain prompted again.

  "You will see for yourself, if you make it as far as you hope. Sooner, if you encounter Black Riders and manage to kill them. It is the stuff which empowers them. Do no
t ask me to describe how it is made. I do not have your strength, and cannot speak of it."

  "Yet Juria will recover?"

  "He will. He was fortunate. Another month or two, and who can say."

  Gawain fetched his pack from his room, shed his blackening cloths, and in the stables set about saddling Gwyn while Allazar looked on.

  "Do you truly intend going to the Teeth?” Allazar asked.

  "I do."

  "I had hoped you might venture east."

  "Why?"

  "The Arrun and the Mornlanders suffer under the Ramoths. Both are a gentle people, and would welcome a warrior to fight for them."

  "I go north."

  Allazar sighed. "Then I shall come with you."

  "No." Gawain said firmly.

  "Are we no longer allies then?"

  Gawain paused, checking his gear and the saddle. "These emissaries and their amulets, they can communicate with each other."

  "True."

  "Then here our paths diverge. They know I go north. I've told them often enough. They do not know you, unless you say otherwise?"

  "They do not know me."

  "Then you must go east. To Arrun, and to Mornland, and then on to Threlland. If this aquamire poison was being used in Juria, who's to say it's not being used in the eastern kingdoms?"

  Allazar nodded, a little taken aback. He clearly hadn't considered the possibility.

  "Besides," Gawain added, though without his usual conviction, "I would soon grow tired of your mumbling, and gazing at the stars, and useless advice. I'd probably end up killing you within the week. And for some strange reason known only to himself, Brock of Callodon seemed to set some store by you."

  "In truth, it was he who ordered me ahead of you, to reassure the kingdoms against your coming."

  "And here you are." Gawain sighed, climbing into the saddle. "A whitebeard, taking orders from a king. Wonders will never cease."

  Allazar grinned in spite of himself.

  "Speed your journey, Longsword."

  "And yours, Allazar. Perhaps we'll meet again when I get back from cutting Ramoth's dwarfspit head off."

  "Perhaps." Allazar said sadly.

  Gawain was on the track and about to give Gwyn free rein when Allazar suddenly called out from the stable door.