The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "Why?" Merrin asked softly. "Why such a device?"

  "To keep the kingdoms divided. To cow the people. Break their spirit. My old allies against the Ramoths, fear and terror. While all the while, his army massed beyond the Teeth, attacking the wall that is all that remains twixt them and us. That," Gawain sighed, and closed his eyes against the memory, "That is why he destroyed Raheen."

  "I do not understand." Rak said quietly, they were all keenly aware of Gawain's pain at mention of his devastated homeland now his heart beat once more.

  Gawain sighed again. "When the dam breaks, the black flood will sweep down like a tidal wave. Only Raheen, high atop the plateau, could withstand such a flood. It would be a bastion, a rallying-point for all the lands to muster, and re-group, and strike back. It would stand as a beacon of hope against the black tide."

  "As you did, my friend."

  "As I did. That is why Morloch destroyed Raheen. That, and to feed his fermenting lake of aquamire. Threlland would have cost him less. As would Elevendere with its rich forests, brimming with living energy. Or Juria, or Mornland, or Arrun. But Raheen alone could withstand his army, and so Raheen it was he destroyed, at such great cost to himself."

  "I must inform the brethren." Allazar said with conviction. "We must form council, and bind Morloch forever while we can."

  "Even if you could, even if they believed you, or I, friend Allazar, his plans are laid. His army relentless. His generals instructed. They feed on aquamire, all of them. All the lands north of the Teeth are gone. Destroyed. They do not seek conquest of the southlands. They seek food."

  oOo

  24. Throth.

  Winter's grip was growing stronger by the day and cruel too, a chill fist which grasped the lands and held them fast in blankets of snow and ice. There was little Gawain could do but while away the days in the company of his friends, and in spite of his utter distrust of all wizards, he counted Allazar in that number.

  In truth, the wizard's own opinions of his brethren were not too far separated from Gawain's, though of course Allazar seldom spoke of his own kind or their history. It was some time after their reunion that Gawain found himself alone in Rak's main room, seated by the fire, when Allazar strode in.

  "Well met, Longsword." the wizard announced, proceeding to stand in front of the burning logs. "It is bitter out there."

  "Well met, and aye. Midwinter's day fast approaches, and we've yet to hear if Threlland's king will grant us audience, let alone the others."

  Allazar shrugged. "Eryk of Threlland is a noble king, for all his lack of physical stature. He knows his own lands, and will doubtless wait until spring before admitting us. He knows the journey from Tarn to the castle town would be a miserable one in these conditions. As for the rest of the southland kingdoms, I doubt Rak's messengers have so much as arrived, let alone delivered your dread tidings."

  Gawain sighed. "We have so little time to prepare for what must surely come."

  Allazar smiled sadly, the harrowed and gaunt expression already a memory thanks to good food and rest in Tarn. "Longsword, you are young. Five years or eight years, that is almost a lifetime. A few days, or weeks, or even months if needs be, will not much affect the final outcome."

  Gawain frowned. "Yet there is much to do. All the crowns must gather, and listen. And then act. Each day brings us closer to the time when the Teeth shall fall and the black tide rushes in to devour us."

  Allazar's smile faded, and he moved away from the fire. "Something else troubles you, I suspect?"

  Gawain looked up, puzzled. "I do not believe so."

  The wizard nodded. "You have a faraway look in your eyes of late, Longsword. And it is not to Morloch, nor the Teeth, that your mind wanders. Nor to another place, which I shall not name."

  Gawain settled back in his chair. "Sometimes I think of Elvendere."

  "Ah.” Allazar's eyes sparkled, and he sat opposite the young man. "Rak has told me of some of your adventures there."

  Gawain nodded, absently. In the fire, flames danced and swirled, and in their fiery heart he saw shining eyes, hazel-green, and silver-blonde hair...

  "Elvendere?" Allazar prompted.

  "Eh?"

  "Your thoughts, you said, sometimes turn to Elvendere?"

  "Yes." Gawain replied, and turned his gaze back to the flames.

  "What was her name?" Allazar asked, shrewdly.

  "Elayeen."

  "A pretty name."

  Gawain sighed. "It does not do justice enough.”

  "But?"

  "But I fear she is married."

  "Ah." Allazar nodded briefly, and then he too turned his gaze to the flames.

  After a few moments, the silence broken only by the crackling logs, Gawain suddenly asked:

  "Do you know much of elves, and their ways?"

  "Some," Allazar acknowledged. "We have brethren there. But elves have long guarded their privacy jealously."

  "A black braid in their hair, Allazar, this signifies marriage?"

  "A braid does, yes. A black braid signifies far more."

  Gawain looked crushed. "More?"

  "It signifies throth."

  "Elayeen mentioned the word. I took it to mean marriage."

  "No, it means far more than marriage, my friend."

  Gawain sighed again. "Must I hold a knife to your throat to prise the words out, Allazar? Can you not see I would know the meaning of this word 'throth'?"

  "Forgive me, Longsword. It has been a long time and the memories come slowly on bleak mornings such as this."

  "Hurry them."

  "Throth is more than a word. It is a...condition. It is difficult to describe, there is no race other than elves who...experience this."

  "What? Experience what? By my sword, Allazar, speak me a speech or I swear I'll cut off your leg and kick the information from you with your own foot!"

  Allazar chuckled, for Gawain's eyes remained steel-gray in the firelight, no hint of flashing aquamire black anger. "Very well. But have you tried describing 'love', or 'hate', or 'need'? It is not easy."

  Allazar settled back, and Gawain sighed aloud, staring into the flames.

  "Throth," Allazar said quietly, "Is love, but more than love. It is desire, and yearning, but more than both. It is need, but more than want. It is at once revered, and pitied, by all elves, and is neither commonplace, nor rare.

  "Many elves fall in love, and are married, and live their lives together, but never become throth. Some elves become throth at their first meeting."

  "I do not understand." Gawain protested, his mind filled with elfin eyes...

  "It is elfin, in origin. When an elfin becomes throth to an elf, it is she who begins the binding. Binding, a good word. I shall use it henceforth. The elfin becomes bound, throth, to an elf. This is signified by black strands of hair, which become visible within days. Later, when the elfin and elf have...spent much time in each other's company, the elf too becomes throth, bound, to the elfin.

  "This binding is a wondrous thing. But at the same time, a dreadful thing. A throth pair are completely bound to each other, dependent upon each other. Just as we depend on food, and on water and air, the throth pair must be near one another, always. Separation becomes painful, an agony."

  "Painful?"

  "Indeed. Therein lies the dread. For whilst no two human lovers may know the depths of union enjoyed in throth, no two human lovers may know the agony of a throth pair unbound. If one of the pair should die, the other surely will, later, and such a terrible death..." Allazar trailed off, but felt Gawain's gaze upon him.

  "In such cases," Allazar sighed, "the survivor of the throth pair becomes...dull. Listless. Disinterested in their surroundings, uncaring of themselves. In time, they cease even to feed themselves, and simply waste away. It is a living death, filled with emptiness and loss, and an unparalleled agony of grief."

  "Such feelings I know well." Gawain muttered.

  "Perhaps. But yet you live. A throth elf or elfin, robbe
d of or parted from their mate, that is different. It would be kinder to kill the survivor, and spare them the inevitable agony. But elves do not kill elves, so instead, in such circumstances, a ceremony is held, a judgement made, and the poor survivor taken deep into the forest..."

  Gawain waited, but Allazar was staring into the fire again. "And?"

  "Oh. And there, the athroth, for that is how they are known when the pair is sundered, is placed in a rune-circle, and abandoned. It is called 'Faranthroth'. There they remain, uncaring, closed about by trees, until in time the forest of Elvendere reclaims them."

  "Until they die, you mean."

  "Yes. Until they die. They are unable to fend for themselves, they do not care. Why should they? Their heart beats in another's breast, and when that other is gone, they have no life. Truly, it is a wondrous blessing, but when accident or war or illness sunders a throth pair, then the blessing is a curse. Throth is a binding that creates a dependency just as powerful as Morloch's dependency on aquamire. A pair will die without each other."

  Gawain sighed again, and closed his eyes. "Then I am foolish to think of Elayeen at all."

  "Love is always foolish, Longsword, and the heart seldom obeys the head."

  "But there is no hope for me. She wears the black braid."

  "No hope indeed. But do not slay the love in your heart. It is fresh, and the pain is better than that which lived there before, these dark months past."

  "Aye. Perhaps."

  They took to watching the flames again, and oddly, Gawain felt grateful that Allazar was there to share this newfound loneliness. Of late, his thoughts had turned to Elayeen more and more, now that Ramoth had been destroyed, and there was time for a youth to live.

  "I still don't know why those cursed elven whitebeards wouldn't let her explain it to me. If she had, it would have been kinder to us both, I think."

  Allazar looked surprised. "They forbade it?"

  "Whenever she or her brother Gan mentioned the word. Gan is thal of his province. I took that to mean he is some sort of Governor."

  Allazar chuckled. "Some sort indeed. Was he introduced as Gan-thal, or Thal-Gan?"

  "Gan-thal."

  Again Allazar chuckled. "Then in our language, he is prince Gan, royal crown of Elvendere. Had the 'Thal' preceded his name, he would be Elvendere. King. Your Elayeen, who I presume you knew as Elayeen-thalin and not Thalin-Elayeen, is the daughter of Elvendere."

  Gawain looked stunned.

  "I presume," Allazar said softly, "It was Elayeen-thalin? Longsword?"

  "Yes." Gawain muttered.

  Allazar breathed a sigh of relief. "At least you lost your heart to a princess, and not the queen herself. The king would not have been pleased. It is no wonder the brethren wished you not to know elven ways and throth, where the royal family are concerned. Especially if the young lady in question is become ethroth to a powerful lord or nobleman."

  "I don't know who it was. All I know is that I found the whitebeards' constant interruptions and admonishments irritating, every time either Elayeen or her brother mentioned her becoming ithroth."

  "Ethroth." Allazar corrected. "The noun is treated as every other, hence, mithroth, my bounden-love, ithroth, your bounden-love, ethroth, his bounden-love."

  Gawain paled, and sat bolt upright, startling the wizard.

  "What is it Longsword...?"

  Gawain swallowed hard. "How long?"

  "How long what?"

  "How long can she survive? Separated from her...throth?"

  Allazar began to look worried too. "Weeks, perhaps months if she is strong...but the elves rarely permit such dreadful suffering. Longsword, what ails you?"

  "Allazar! She said to me 'I am become ithroth.' Her brother said 'She is become ithroth'...do you not see?"

  "By the Teeth!" Allazar called as Gawain leapt to his feet and rushed to his room, the wizard hard on his heels. "What are you doing?"

  "I must go to her!" Gawain cried, rushing to fill a pack.

  "It is near midwinter's day! Longsword! It is too late!"

  Gawain spun on his heel, eyes flaming black. He grabbed Allazar by his robes and thrust him up against the wall. "It is not too late, whitebeard. Say it is not too late!"

  "In truth, Longsword," Allazar choked, "I fear it may be!"

  Gawain trembled with dread. "I cannot let her die !I cannot let her die! By the Teeth, Allazar, if she is harmed..."

  "Longsword.” Allazar said softly, as Gawain released his grip, "You have been gone a long time from her. If she is ithroth...was ithroth..." Allazar could not finish the sentence.

  "I must go to her." Gawain announced, with the same dread conviction he'd uttered weeks before, when speaking of his journey to the Teeth.

  "It is midwinter." Allazar said, vainly, as Gawain threw on his cloak and strapped on the longsword.

  "I care not what season it is. Tell Rak and Merrin all. I shall return before spring. Earlier, if I am able. You and Rak must advise Eryk of Threlland should I fail to return before he grants audience."

  "Longsword..." Allazar pleaded, but it was hopeless.

  "She shall not die because of me." Gawain said, his awful aquamire gaze fixed on the wizard, "And this I swear by my sword, Allazar, if she be dead? Why then I shall cut down every tree in Elvendere to find the whitebeard bastards who denied me the knowledge you have too late imparted."

  Gwyn did her best, but even she could not thunder down Threlland's hills and across Juria's plains while they lay beneath drifting snow banks that came sometimes to her chest. She could sense Gawain's anguish, and shared it, and pushed through the drifts valiantly, and pressed on with as much speed as could be mustered in the dreadful conditions.

  Gawain slept in the saddle, and ate frak in the saddle when hunger stole upon him. Gwyn practically walked in her sleep, and the sack of oats from which Gawain refilled her nosebag soon diminished, and she had to make do with tufts of frozen grass poking through the snow and ice when they reached the plains of Juria.

  Gawain headed due west, deciding to take the shortest route to Elvendere's forest instead of taking the more southerly route to Gan's province near Ferdan. The sooner they were beneath the canopy of trees, the quicker he could reach Elayeen's side. That she still lived, he never questioned. To contemplate otherwise reduced the world to black tints seen through aquamire rage which took hours to dissipate.

  They pushed on, relentlessly, and when a blizzard blew up, the wind northerly and blasting cruel sleet and snow upon them, Gawain simply adjusted Gwyn's blankets and his own cloak, and kept the wind to his right side, using it to guide his route ever westward. It was like being in those dark tunnels beneath the Teeth; time had no meaning, neither sun nor moon nor stars to tell time by.

  At length, chilled to the bone in spite of Jurian brandy, dark shapes loomed out of the driving snow before them. Trees. Elvendere. Gawain dismounted and led Gwyn into the shelter they afforded from both wind and snow, and set about rubbing her down as best his own frozen hands would permit. Ice clung to her, and she shivered violently, but her eyes were blue fire, her anguish driving her through cold and hunger. She knew where she was, remembered the children, knew that Gawain feared for someone here, and here she had brought him.

  In truth, it was warmer in the forest than on the plains. The shield the trees provided against the bitter wind and the snow made it feel like spring in Elvendere, though snow still covered the ground in patches and their breath plumed before them.

  Some hours later, deep in the gloom within the forest, elves stepped from behind trees to bar their path. They were unknown to Gawain, and he to them it seemed, for arrows were nocked in their bows, and held at the ready.

  "Eem frith am Gan-thal," Gawain announced. And then added, "Eem throth am Elayeen-thalin."

  At this, the elves looked stunned, and shared uneasy glances.

  "Where is Elayeen?" Gawain asked softly, but received no reply.

  He stepped forward. "Where is Elayeen?" he asked
again, and the black tints began to edge his field of vision.

  The elves stood agog, until Gawain unsheathed the longsword. Its blade seemed to hum and crackle as it swept a lazy arc through the chill air.

  "I have no time!" Gawain threatened, "Where is Elayeen?"

  Bows were lowered, fear replaced shock, and an elfin pointed away behind her, to the southwest.

  "Elayeen-thalin...awaits faranthroth..." the elfin stammered. "Are you truly the one called Traveller? You are dead in Juria."

  "I am Traveller. I am not dead. Where is Elayeen?"

  "I will take you...we must hurry."

  Gawain sheathed his blade and nodded. The other elves shared a curious glance with the elfin, who was clearly their patrol leader, and then Gawain advanced.

  "Lead the way. Quickly."

  The elfin nodded, and set off, Gawain hard on her heels as he swept past the remainder of the patrol, Gwyn snorting as she threaded through the trees after him.

  After a few minutes, the elfin realised that the tall dark-eyed warrior was easily keeping pace, and she broke into a trot, and then began running, setting a wolf-like loping pace which made barely a sound as she weaved through the trees.

  "How far?" Gawain said, breathing steadily, matching her pace and stride.

  "Far." the elfin replied. "Hurry."

  They did. After so long chilled in the saddle, Gawain was glad of the exercise. After so long pushing through banks of snow, Gwyn seemed pleased to be able to trot lazily on ground that she could see and trust. Both felt blood coursing through their veins, driving out the chill, and save for the gloom and the air that seared their lungs, winter seemed a distant memory.

  About an hour later, the elfin slowed, breathing deeply, and then she stopped, hands on her hips.

  "Where is she?" Gawain asked, breath pluming.

  "Soon. Wait."

  A few moments later, another elven patrol appeared, melting through the gloom and from the trees around them. The elfin spoke in a rush, in her own language, and Gawain caught only snatches of her hasty conversation. The glances that were fired his way, and the fear which suddenly blanched elven faces, told him that his guide had explained everything in moments.