The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "There is much turmoil without."

  "What care I?"

  "It is you who are the cause of this turmoil."

  "For bringing life to Elayeen?"

  Gan nodded. "And for setting foot in Elvenheth."

  "I would walk fire for her, and cross the farak gorin barefoot. I care not for your customs or superstitions, and if it's whitebeards at the heart of it, then pity them, for I shall not stay my blade against them if it be so."

  Gan looked pained. "The people are divided. Some praise you, and say you must indeed be elf, and throth, to have trespassed Elvenheth and crossed the faranthroth for Elayeen. Others say you are Morloch-cursed, filled with darkness, and must be put out of the land forever. They say you have violated Elvenheth, and that Elayeen must yet endure the judgement passed on her."

  "I live. She is athroth no longer. Tell them, friend Gan, I do not suffer fools gladly, nor am I to be offended."

  "It matters not what I tell them..." Gan's voice had risen in desperation, and Elayeen stirred, but did not wake. Gan dropped to a whisper again. "It matters not what I tell them! Half already side against Thal-Hak!"

  "Your father."

  "My father."

  "Who abandoned Elayeen to the faranthroth."

  "It was his duty! Elves do not kill elves! We thought you dead, and could not bear Elayeen's suffering!"

  "She shall suffer no more."

  "She shall, if you remain here."

  Gawain's eyes blinked aquamire. "By whose hand?"

  Gan shrugged, and looked down. "We must leave this place, friend Traveller. In my province, we should be safe. Here, with so much division, I do not know. Powerful nobles already challenge my father for the breaking of his judgement, for your trespass..."

  "Politics!" Gawain hissed. "I have no interest in Elvendere or its crown. My only interest lays here with me, upon my heart."

  "You do not understand!" Gan whispered urgently. "Already it is said that Elayeen is no longer thalin! That she should be shunned as faranthroth! There are those who would kill you rather than see a human throth to Elvendere's royal line! Do you not see? Elves do not kill elves my friend, but they are not so squeamish with human blood! And if they succeed, then what of Elayeen?"

  Gawain's eyes darkened further. "Then I shall take her to the safety of Threlland, and these fools have looked their last upon her."

  "The Black Hills? The dwarves will kill her!"

  "Kill her? What stupidity is this?"

  "Everyone knows the dwarves hate us with a vengeance, Traveller, and always have!"

  "Who told you this?"

  "It is history! The wizards..."

  "The wizards are lying whitebeard bastard scum, Gan, and you are a fool to listen to them!" Gawain hissed. "As soon as Elayeen is able, I shall take her to Threlland. Your father's precious throne will be safe."

  Gan looked crestfallen. "Your words are cruel as your eyes, Traveller. It is Elayeen we think of, nothing more."

  "Then tell me what more I must do to revive her, and I shall take her to safety."

  "There is no more I can tell you. No-one has ever returned from faranthroth. All you can do is hold her close, and hope."

  "Then tend to Gwyn. Bring food for her and for us. And warm clothing for Elayeen. I leave this whitebeard-cursed forest at dawn tomorrow."

  Gan nodded, his shoulders slumped. "I shall do as you ask. Thalangard will escort you, as shall I."

  "Good."

  Gan looked up, his eyes filled with sadness. "In truth, Traveller? Is Threlland safe for Elayeen?"

  "Safer by far than Elvendere, it seems."

  In the early hours of the morning, Meeya softly entered Elayeen's room, laden with warm clothing, and heavily armed. With her help, Gawain dressed the still-sleeping Elayeen in fresh warm clothing against the winter waiting on the plains to the east. When all was prepared, Gawain glanced at the tearful thalangard.

  "Thank you, Meeya." Gawain whispered, and on seeing the puzzlement in the elfin's eyes, added "For your friendship to my beloved."

  "I will come with you, to Threlland.” Meeya whispered.

  "No.” Gawain reached out, and touched the braid in Meeya's short brown hair. "You have a husband, and Gan has need of a loyal thalangard."

  "But..."

  "No. Elayeen is thalin of Elvendere no more. Later, you will understand. Your duty is to Gan-thal, and Thal-Hak. I am now thalangard to Elayeen. It is my life, and my blade, that shall keep her safe."

  Meeya nodded, and sniffed, and then hurried from the room. A few moments later she returned, and beckoned Gawain forward.

  Elayeen did not stir when Gawain lifted her from the bed, and carried her from the room and down to the clearing where Gwyn waited patiently, laden with supplies and draped in winter blankets. Gan nodded to a contingent of thalangard, and quietly they moved off, leaving the sleeping heartland province of Elvenheth behind them in the darkness.

  It was cold, but stars in the pre-dawn sky spoke of a clear day and sunshine to come. Elayeen, cradled in Gawain's arms, stirred restlessly, until her slender hand found a way through his tunic and shirt to his skin beneath, and then she seemed to sleep more soundly. When dawn broke, Gawain had no time to pause for remembrance. Instead, he nodded briefly at the sun, his face set grim. It would be bitter cold on the plains of Juria, and he doubted that the journey back to Threlland would be any easier than it had been to Elvendere.

  Birdsong suddenly stilled, there was a thrumming twang, a whizz, and something slammed into Gawain's back. He staggered forward to his knees, instinctively bending low to shield Elayeen. Thalangard hissed orders, bows creaked as strings were drawn, commands were given...Gawain did not understand any of them. But he knew what had happened. The cloak Merrin had given him had saved his life yet again.

  Gan strode forward, his face clouded with agony. "Traveller...do you live...?"

  Gawain looked up, his eyes flaming black. "I live. Who did this?"

  Gan closed is eyes in relief, and then glanced angrily over Gawain's head as the thalangard brought a prisoner forward. Gawain stood, and turned his terrible gaze towards the tall and slender elf who had sought to take his life. And with it, Elayeen's.

  "Yonas." Gan spat the name. "On whose orders do you act so treacherously?"

  "On the orders of my conscience, Gan-thal, as all loyal subjects do!"

  "You are a fool. Had you succeeded, you would surely have killed Elayeen-thalin!" Gan raged.

  "There is no thalin! She is faranthroth! Dead! No human shall set foot in Elvenheth, no human shall be throth to the royal line!"

  Gawain stared at the elf, every muscle longing to draw the longsword and put an end to his miserable life. 'Suffer no man to draw steel against a crown of Raheen' rang in his mind. But Elayeen stirred in his arms.

  "What becomes of this assassin, by your law?" Gawain growled.

  "I would see him dead." Gan hissed. "But elves do not kill elves."

  "I have no such compunctions." Gawain replied coldly.

  Yonas stiffened, and his eyes widened with fear. He had seen his shaft fly straight and true, thirty paces through the trees, and strike exactly where aimed. Yet the longsword warrior lived, and now his own life was forfeit.

  "I cannot stay your arm." Gan said, chillingly, regally, and Yonas knew his life was over.

  "Let him go, when I am gone." Gawain said. "I would have this one live. For one day, we shall meet again, and Elayeen shall decide his fate."

  Gan nodded at the thalangard, and Yonas was led away into the forest.

  "I would not have shown such mercy." Gan said, as they moved off again.

  "My arms were full. I could not draw my sword." Gawain lied. He had seen the black braid in Yonas' hair, and knew what it meant now.

  By the time they reached the tree line the sun was higher in the sky, though there were yet a few hours until noon. The thalangard fanned out, forming a protective semi-circle around Gan, Gawain, and Elayeen.

  "Fare well
, Traveller. Send word of Elayeen when you can?"

  Gawain nodded. "When you return to your home, Gan, watch the town of Ferdan. In the first days of summer, you may see something important. If you do, bring your father there. That is where you will next see your sister, in my company."

  "In Ferdan? In summer?"

  "Aye."

  Gwyn bowed her head low, and Gawain mounted, careful not to wake Elayeen.

  "Never trust the whitebeards, Gan-thal. Never."

  Gan nodded, uncertain. "I shall remember. I will send word, somehow, when it is safe for Elayeen to return."

  "I shall not hold my breath against that day, friend Gan, not while a single whitebeard draws breath beneath the trees of Elvendere to guide the thoughts of men like Yonas. Fare well."

  "Speed your journey."

  Gwyn stepped out from the trees, and with a snort, set off across the plains of Juria once more, this time heading east. Gawain neither looked back nor forward. Instead, he looked down at the pale and unconscious form in his arms, and bent a little to kiss her on the forehead. Then he tenderly covered her face with his cloak, shielding her against the spiteful cold breezes wafting down from the far-distant Teeth.

  Once she woke, and stiffened a little, but her hand moved a little over his chest, and she fell quiet again, content that he was near, and she touching him. When he said her name, he received no reply; she had fallen asleep again.

  Gawain was filled with anguish for her. In the days and nights in her room at Elvenheth, she had eaten only once, and then very little. They stopped briefly, that first night on the plains, and Gawain laid her gently on the ground, propping her upright with his knee while he trickled a rich broth into her lips. She drank a little, and for an hour Gawain remained there, until the small flask of broth was empty. Then he lifted her, mounted Gwyn, and they set off once more.

  Elayeen woke the next day, in the late afternoon, and nestled closer to him.

  "Mithroth? Is this the yonderlife?"

  "No. This is Juria. You are safe, mithroth, safe with me."

  "Do we travel to the yonderlife together then?"

  "No. We travel to Threlland."

  "Then we do travel to the yonderlife. The dwarves will kill us."

  Gawain chuckled tenderly, and hugged her reassuringly. "No. They are my friends. They will love you almost as dearly as I do."

  "I think I shall sleep some more..." she sighed.

  "No, mithroth, not yet. First you must eat."

  "I am not hungry."

  Gawain reached into one of the sacks, and drew out another flask of broth. "For me, mithroth, I beg you...please."

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him. "For you?"

  "For me." he said tenderly, "Please."

  "For you, mithroth." She smiled weakly, and drank the broth without protest, until the flask was drained.

  Gawain tossed it aside into the snow as Gwyn pushed on, and Elayeen smiled as he caressed her cheek, and then she slept again.

  For the first time, Gawain found himself wishing that Allazar was with him. The wizard, curse all whitebeards, might know something, anything, that might speed Elayeen's recovery. She seemed so dreadfully gaunt, so painfully vacant. When she spoke, she spoke almost as a child, unaware of herself or the world around her, aware only that Gawain was there, that her palm was pressed against his flesh beneath his tunic.

  For days they travelled slowly, Gwyn forcing a path through the drifts carefully, as though she would not jolt her mount or his sleeping charge. Whenever Elayeen awoke, Gawain had to beg her to eat, but all she would accept was the broth that Meeya had prepared. Gawain hoped that it was enough to keep her strong. He kept searching her face for signs of colour, but she remained pale and wan.

  When they reached the river crossing into Mornland, guardsmen at first waved and cheered, and then fell into a concerned hush when they realised that the longsword warrior bore a Lady, and that she was sick. They urged him to take rest inside their hut, and lit a great brazier for warmth, and prepared a fresh cot bed.

  Gawain accepted reluctantly. It would delay his journey a while longer, but it was warm, and dry, and Gwyn needed rest. Word reached the guardsmen on the Mornland side of the crossing, and they rushed across the sluggish ford, bearing blankets and food, and soon a small crowd was huddled in the Jurian hut, gazing with worried expressions while the famed Longsword tended his Lady, who was an elf, and dreadful sick. Gwyn was led away to a stable, with a promise to Gawain that she would be well-tended. Someone produced a bottle of Jurian brandy, and Gawain, desperate to try anything to revive Elayeen, carefully poured a little between her lips. Moments later, the faintest flush of colour tinged her cheeks, and she smiled in her sleep, perhaps at the distant memory of their first meeting.

  Gawain sat on the floor by the cot, leaning over her, his hand in her hair, and fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun was shining weakly, and it was morning. The hut was warm and quiet, and he and Elayeen were alone. The guards had stoked the brazier and left the sleeping couple in peace. Later, when a timid Jurian had peeped around the door and found Gawain awake, they had returned, and spoke softly.

  The way across Mornland to Threlland was clear, they said, but deep snow had drifted at the bottom of the western slopes. The Mornland guard commander had guessed Gawain's destination, and had sent a rider ahead to Threlland in the hope that a path could be cleared through the snow for the Longsword warrior and his Lady.

  Gawain was moved by their honest concern for him and for Elayeen. He barely knew them, scarcely recognised any of them, yet their kindness was remarkable. But time was pressing, and one of the Jurians opined that a big snowfall was likely, if the chill in his bones was anything to go by. Long years serving on this northern border were not to be argued with, and now that Gwyn was rested, Gawain felt it wiser to move on for Threlland.

  Gwyn looked almost fresh when the Mornland and Jurian border guards brought her from the stables. Her blankets were new and dry, she'd been rubbed down and curry-combed, and well fed. She bobbed her head happily when Gawain mounted, Elayeen cradled in his arms as ever.

  "Thank you, my friends." Gawain said quietly, eyeing the guardsmen.

  One of them grinned, and Gawain remembered him from so long ago. "For nothing, Serre. It's not every day we get such honoured company, and not every day we sees a man thrice dead, yet looking so hale."

  Gawain smiled. "You might mention that to the next lying whitebeard bastard that passes this way."

  "Oh we shall, Serre, for there won't be no Ramoths to tell it to, not no more there won't."

  Gwyn eased forward into the sluggish river, picking her way carefully, and then broke into a trot up the slope into Mornland, leaving the waving guardsmen behind them.

  In truth, Gwyn's progress towards Threlland was remarkable. Instead of forcing her way through chest-high drifts, she was able to trot at a comfortable pace. Gawain couldn't help noticing boot-prints in the snow, and fresh heaps of it to the sides of a track that seemed to have been marked out before him.

  The reason soon became clear, when he approached a small hamlet and saw Mornlanders bundled in warm clothing, shovelling away the worst of a drift with boards and shovels. They dug even more furiously at his approach, and then stepped to one side, breathing heavily and grinning broadly.

  Gawain eased Gwyn to a halt, and looked down at them.

  "Well met friends," he said softly, "Honour to Mornland."

  "Honour to you Serre, and to your Lady." one of the crowd announced quietly, respectfully. "The way is clear, Serre, all the way to the slopes!"

  "Clear?" Gawain gasped. "Clear how?"

  "Rider come through late yesterday, Serre, telling as how the Longsword was bound for Threlland in haste, with his Lady, who is sick."

  "You have worked all night at this?" Gawain was stunned.

  "Not just us, Serre, others all along the route. The way is clear, Serre, best not tarry, for there's big snow a-coming afore long."
/>
  "Thank you..." Gawain whispered, almost dumbstruck by the kindness of these honest, smiling folk.

  "No need nor time for thanks, Serre, if you're to be in Tarn before the big snow comes. Best not tarry now!"

  Gawain nodded, smiling at each of them, a lump forming in his throat as they grinned up at him. And then Gwyn moved forward, and picked up her pace, trotting sure-footed along the track that stretched before them, clear all the way to Threlland's western slopes.

  As night fell, Gwyn slowed, and then up ahead, gleaming lights shone in the distance. Elayeen stirred restlessly, and immediately Gwyn stepped out. More lights appeared, seeming to rise upward into the gloom, until Gawain realised that the lights were following the rise of Threlland's western slopes. As they neared the flaming torches, Gawain could make out dark figures labouring, and closer still he caught his breath.

  In the darkness, with heavy clouds boiling over the Teeth, bringing the 'big snow' that the Jurian border guard had predicted, dwarves shovelled snow with grim determination. Gwyn whinnied, knowing that their destination was close, and for a moment all labour stopped as heads swivelled. Then a cry went up, and backs bent to their tasks with renewed effort.

  A patrol of six dwarves pressed down the track, their torches blazing and crackling, illuminating wide eyes and smiling teeth.

  "Well met, Traveller! The worst is cleared, and not too soon. By dawn there'll be another six feet of this white bane over all Threlland. How is your Lady?"

  "She sleeps fitfully...how did you know of my approach?"

  "Mornlander guardsmen rode up early this morning. Lord Rak and his Lady await you anxiously, Traveller, and the way is clear. Time for talk when your Lady is safe a-bed and warm. We will lead, by your leave?"

  Gawain simply nodded, and the patrol wheeled, and began pressing on up the slope. But for them, and for the sweat of Threllandmen's brows, Gawain doubted that Gwyn could have pushed through the deep and wretched drifts that otherwise would have barred their progress. As it was, fresh tears pricked at Gawain's eyes with each dwarf and torch he passed up the slope. Behind him, he heard the dwarves abandoning their work, their task complete the moment he passed, and when he looked over his shoulder he could see torches meandering up the slope, homeward bound...