by GJ Kelly
The tower had indeed been poorly defended. Perhaps the Ramoths thought they had no need of protection from the timid Mornlanders that lived and farmed in Jubek, or perhaps the mercenaries guarding the compound were simply the worst of a bad bunch.
Gawain attacked under cover of darkness, but only because night had fallen by the time he arrived at the outskirts of town. With so few guardsmen in the compound he had little need of stealth, but he practised it anyway; he needed the exercise and had been too long flat on his back recuperating.
The Ramoth Emissary was a woman, and she blanched when Gawain strode into her chamber and quickly despatched the two naked and vacuous women attending her.
"You are dead!" the emissary gasped, the eye-amulet between her naked and blood-spattered breasts opening.
"Hardly. I told you I was coming, and my word on it."
"This cannot be! It cannot be!" the woman screamed, and Gawain cut her down.
Riding away from the burning compound and into the night, he couldn't decide what had been in her eyes before she died. Fear, certainly. But there was shock there, too. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he understood. They believed him dead. Perhaps because someone they trusted had told them so. Perhaps that someone was Ramoth, or Morloch. To see proof of a god's lie standing before them would indeed be a shock to the Ramoths. A very great shock indeed. Maybe that was why Morloch was so vexed.
Gawain grinned mercilessly in the darkness as he rode for Threlland. What price his allies of fear and terror now? Now that the emissaries throughout the kingdoms knew the Longsword warrior was alive and well and as bloodthirsty as ever? Priceless.
At the bottom of the western slopes of Threlland, Gawain sat on his horse wrapped in his cloak, waiting for the approaching riders. There was a chill in the air and it had rained in the early hours. Autumn was upon them at last, and the heat was fading from the noon sun with each passing day.
When the dwarf patrol drew nearer a cry went up from one of them, and they raced forward, waving and cheering. Gawain recognised them.
"Traveller! Well met!" they cried, and leaned from saddles to shake his hand.
"Well met, my friends. Is all well in Tarn?"
"Aye, all is well! Shall we ride ahead, and spread news of your arrival?"
"No," Gawain smiled, "I think I should like to surprise my old friends. Is Rak still in Tarn?"
"He is, Traveller. Though now you go by another name, we hear?"
"I do."
"Then we shall call you Longsword also. There is one in Tarn who spoke highly of you."
"Spoke?"
"Speaks still. We heard you were dead, but none would believe it save for the wizard."
"Ah. Then Allazar is here?"
"He is. A strange one, that, even for a whitebeard. Were it not for his claim to be your ally, we'd have thrown him out on his ear days ago."
"I might yet myself." Gawain grunted.
"Well met, friend Longsword. It is good to see you again."
"Aye, and you, and Tarn. I have fond memories of my time here."
"And more to come. We'll leave you to make your own way. Rumour has it that someone fired the Ramoth Tower three days ride south, in Jubek. We're keeping an eye open for any fool Ramoths stupid enough to wish to cross our lands en route there."
Gawain grinned again. "Does the tower still stand on the far side of these hills?"
"It does," the dwarf guardsman winked, "But not for very much longer I suspect."
Gawain smiled cruelly, and eased Gwyn forward onto the track. When he crested the rise and the track became cobbles, he paused a moment longer. He had no wish to bring darkness into the lives of those who had welcomed him so openly before. But that was before Raheen, and Morloch. Now, he needed those friends, come what may. He hoped they would understand.
Gwyn's hooves clopped on the cobbles as they rode into the main square, and then the cries and calls went up around the town…
A familiar door was flung open in the stone house at the far side of the square, and a familiar figure stepped out into the street.
Gawain broke into a trot, and came to a halt in front of the smiling dwarf.
"Well met, friend Rak."
"Well met, brother," Rak smiled, "And welcome home."
oOo
18. Farak Gorin
"You have journeyed far?" Rak asked as Gawain settled into a chair, gratefully accepting a mug of mulled wine from a smiling Merrin.
"From Elvendere."
Rak smiled. "My friend, when first we met you were the only human I knew who could make that claim. Now we meet a second time, and a second time you have survived the forest."
"The elves are not so bad. Though some," Gawain remembered the wizard at the woodland's edge, "Some are worse than others."
"You look tired." Merrin said softly.
"I rode all night."
"Then I shall prepare your room for you, and leave you to talk."
"Thank you."
"For nothing. It is good to see you well. Travak will be delighted to know his uncle is here, when he awakens."
Gawain noted the glow in Merrin's eyes, and asked "My namesake is well?"
"Yes," she smiled, a little sadly, "But your namesake perhaps no longer. The wizard has told us much since his arrival in Tarn."
"My Lady," Rak chided softly, "Our brother is tired."
"Of course...” Merrin nodded, and left the room.
Gawain sat quietly sipping his wine, listening to the sounds from the square beyond the windows. It was still early, but already the traders were setting up their stalls.
"This wizard Allazar," Rak said suddenly, "He speaks of a great warrior, consumed by hatred for the Ramoths. At first we scarcely believed it could be the same Traveller we knew."
Gawain sighed. "It is I."
"What has come to pass, my friend? It is hard for me to conceive how so noble a man can become so consumed."
"Now is not the time, Rak. It may never be the time. But I am he. The Traveller you knew is long dead, and I am become Longsword."
Rak nodded slowly, sadly. "Then I mourn my old friend, and welcome my new friend also. But with misgiving, for I suspect your presence here has more to do with your new blade than your old love of Tarn."
Gawain sighed. "It does. And I must not stay long. Morloch stalks me, and his black riders may come at any time."
Rak's eyebrows arched. "His black riders guard the farak gorin, and have done these last weeks. When the wizard Allazar spoke of you, when we were told of your death, we took the whitebeard up to the point, and showed him the farak gorin. We showed him the three masked demons that stood at the edge of the river of nothing.
"'There,' we said, 'there are your black riders. Traveller is not dead, else why would they wait so patiently?' He could not answer. Still they await you. Some of our patrols have passed close by, and those vile creatures have moved not a muscle. They wait, my friend, for you alone."
"They will not have to wait long." Gawain replied, draining his mug.
Rak sighed. "As I suspected. You go to the Teeth."
"I must."
"Is there nothing will persuade you against this madness?"
"No. Forgive me, my friend."
"Then I shall send word of your arrival to the inn, although I suspect it is already known throughout all Threlland by now. Allazar is there. We would not let him leave."
Gawain glanced up as Rak rose, and shot him an inquisitive look. Rak smiled.
"Well, we couldn't have some whitebeard running around Threlland telling everyone you were dead, could we?"
Gawain smiled, and imagined the wizard's discomfort at being held captive in so friendly a place. The inn was perhaps the most accommodating prison in the land.
While Rak was away, Gawain closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax a little. Gwyn was well-tended in the stable at the rear of the house, he was surrounded by his friends. He was tired, and could easily sleep. But now was not t
he time. The Teeth loomed large in the distance, perhaps a day and a night's brisk walk across the harsh and spiteful cinders of the farak gorin wasteland. He was too close for the luxury of rest. And his friends were too close to him.
A short time later, Gawain heard the door open, and Rak stepped into the room, a wide-eyed Allazar close on his heels.
"Does he not look well for a dead man, wizard?" Rak grinned.
"Longsword!" Allazar gasped. "It is true! You live!"
"I do, whitebeard."
"But the black riders..."
"They do not."
Allazar sank into a chair, his face at once a mixture of joy and stunned amazement. Merrin looked in, and raised a questioning eyebrow at her husband, who simply smiled reassuringly. She closed the door, and moments later they heard noises from the kitchen as she began preparing breakfast.
"Here you sit, Longsword, but still I doubt my senses." Allazar sighed, and shook his head.
"But for the elves, I would have perished. But rumours of my death are premature."
"But for the elves?"
"I was struck by a shaft. Those cursed riders tip their weapons with Elve’s Blood."
Rak grimaced.
"Evil is never honourable." Allazar announced.
"All violence is seldom honourable." Rak said softly, staring at Gawain, "Though sometimes it is necessary."
Gawain nodded. "That is why I am here. This tide of vile Ramoths must be turned. And it must be stemmed at its source."
"You will never survive the Teeth, my friend." Allazar asserted.
"Morloch said as much himself."
Rak gasped, eyes wide with shock. "You have seen Morloch?"
"I have."
Allazar folded his arms into the sleeves of his robes. "We have all had such dreams, Longsword. They seldom presage real events."
"This was no dream, Allazar. This was morning, on the Jurian Plains, but a short ride from the edge of Elvendere's southern province, and Gwyn saw him too. He spoke."
Allazar's arms shot out of his sleeves and he leapt to his feet, his words an excited torrent. "He appeared? In truth, Longsword, he appeared how? Spoke how? What did he say? What were his words, how did he look?"
Gawain described the visitation in detail. Allazar sank back into his chair.
"Astounding," the wizard almost whispered, "The power! Such a distance!"
"What does this mean?" Rak asked.
"Mean?" Allazar gasped, "It means a great deal! Do you not see? Morloch is all but spent, exhausted from the destruction of Raheen. Yet he casts himself clear across the Teeth to Juria, to Longsword! Can you imagine the energy that required? Oh how you must vex him, Longsword, how you must vex him! This is astounding. I had estimated him spent, yet he summons the energy to create the black riders! After that, I had thought him exhausted beyond recovery, but now this! His powers must be all but lost completely!"
"Or," Rak pointed out, "Considerably greater than you had first imagined."
Allazar stared at the dwarf for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, you cannot understand. You don't understand the energies involved." Then he turned to Longsword. "Oh how you must have vexed him!"
"I find that word increasingly irritating." Gawain sighed, unimpressed with whitebeard talk. "It matters not whether he is exhausted, or whether he possesses energy in abundance. I go to the Teeth. If I find him, I shall destroy him. And this so-called 'god' Ramoth."
"You may not need to, Longsword." Allazar looked suddenly excited, and there was hope in Rak's eyes. "If I can assemble the brethren, if I can persuade them to form council, we can bind Morloch forever..."
"If." Gawain interrupted. "I have no faith in whitebeards. And I shall not wait while you waste a lifetime attempting to persuade your kind to listen to you, and gather, and mumble, and gaze at the stars or whatever it is you do. You forget, Allazar, your brethren hold you in little regard."
Allazar stared at Gawain for a dozen heartbeats, and then sank back in his chair, defeated.
"Besides," Gawain said softly, "I have need of you."
"Of me?" The wizard sat up again, suddenly alarmed.
"Of you. And of my friends here in Tarn."
"We shall do all we can, if we are able." Rak responded without hesitation.
"Me?" Allazar said again, but was spared Gawain's reply by Merrin's appearance announcing that breakfast was ready.
While they were eating, Merrin fetched a sleepy-eyed Travak from his bed, and proudly presented him at table. Gawain smiled, and received a bashful grin in return from the infant who then giggled and buried his face in his mother's shoulder.
"He is strong," Rak said proudly, "And will grow into a fine man."
"How could he not, with such a fine father?" Merrin smiled.
Gawain studied the remains on his plate, trying to force memories of Raheen and Morloch to the back of his mind. There had been many strong infants in his homeland, and many proud parents. Doubtless they too had once voiced such convictions.
Allazar noted Gawain's reaction, and deftly steered the conversation to Threlland and its inhabitants.
"Do you know, Longsword," he said, "I fear I would have been held prisoner here in Tarn the rest of my days, had you not arrived. I fear my robes scarcely fit, so generous are my gaolers."
Gawain smiled, and finished his meal. "Had I known you were incarcerated on my account, I might have been tempted to stay away."
Rak laughed. "He does not like wizards."
"With good reason, of late." Gawain scowled, but it was difficult to hold the expression with Travak gurgling and giggling.
"I must dress him for the day," Merrin announced, and rose from the table.
They watched her go, and as sunshine blazed through the window, Gawain stood, and suggested they take to the garden, to talk.
It was a glorious day, leaves on the trees edged with golden brown, and though the breezes were cool, there was yet no hint of the winter to come even in these high lands. But the Teeth loomed over them, to the north, and Gawain was filled with resolution when they sat on a bench out of earshot of the house.
"What do you intend?" Rak asked, his voice sombre.
"I must go there. I must find the source, and destroy it if I can."
"Madness." Allazar confirmed.
Rak nodded. "My friend, there is something I must tell you. News which you may not find welcome."
"Then tell me. The news may not be welcome, but the bearer of it always shall be."
Rak sighed. "We are bound by a duty, here in Threlland. In spite of this wizard's appeal to our king, in spite of his assurances of Morloch's weakness, all Threllanders are forbidden to impede the Ramoths, or to raise arms against them. It is the king's order, and we must obey."
Gawain shrugged. "It is the same in Juria, and Callodon. What of Mornland, and Arrun? How fare they?"
Allazar grimaced. "Of all, Threlland fares the best."
"Not true," Gawain said softly. "Elvendere remains untouched by this blight."
"In truth?"
"So it appeared to me. And I was there a goodly time. No vile black towers rise above their trees."
"They are fortunate, then." Rak said earnestly.
"Longsword, I did as you bade me. I have spoken to all the crowns south of the Teeth. But they are all resolved. None will openly defy the Ramoths, not since Raheen. But in secret, they hope."
"For what?"
"For you. That you will ride into their land, and sweep away this curse with one stroke of your blade."
"Then they hope in vain on that score." Gawain yawned. He was tired, it had been a long journey, and at a swift pace. "I go to the Teeth."
"You are a beacon to them," Rak asserted. "While they will not risk their lands, they know from Callodon and Juria that no retribution follows your deeds. That is why I think the Ramoths were at such pains to announce your death."
"Aye." Allazar agreed. "It was the Ramoth emissaries themselves began spreading such dark
news. I was in Mornland's castle town, in the square, when a Ramoth guard nailed the news to the protectorate's doors. All around, I saw faces fall, shoulders slump, hope fade and die. It is as Rak says, you are a beacon to them. Perhaps that is why you vex Morloch so."
"Nevertheless," Gawain said coldly, "I am but one man. I cannot spend my whole life travelling from tower to tower, slaying emissaries. Already I have no doubt that the sickening edifice in Juria's castle town has been rebuilt. And in Callodon, too. I am but one, and the Ramoths are legion. If the flow from the Teeth is not stemmed, I am doomed to failure. If no-one else will light their torch from my beacon, it is a hopeless quest."
Rak frowned. "But how will you find the source? The Teeth are impassable. We know, my friend. We have lived all our generations this close to them."
"There must be a breach. How else do the Ramoth emissaries come south?"
"You could spend a lifetime looking for it."
"No. Morloch himself has given me the clue. The darkness, that would draw down the very sun. That is the source."
Allazar shuddered, but it was not cold. Gawain noticed, as did Rak.
"I shall go with you." Rak said softly. "I know this land."
"No." Gawain said firmly, perhaps too firmly, for the dwarf flinched, and looked pained. "Besides, I have other tasks for you, my friend."
"Very well. If it is important to your cause."
"It is."
"Then I shall not go with you."
"Nor shall I, Longsword. I cannot." Allazar said, his voice ragged.
Gawain studied the wizard. "You and I shall talk privately. Later. But friend Rak, I think I shall avail myself of the room that Merrin has kindly prepared for me."
"Of course."
"In the meantime, I should like you to make inquiries?"
Rak looked up expectantly. "Of course."
"You once mentioned that miners had found nothing but hard stone and pain at the Teeth. Perhaps some yet live that remember?"
"If they do, I shall find them. May I ask why?"