The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  Slowly, the blade reached out and down, and carefully, deliberately, Gawain drew in two parallel tracks, running the length of the virgin snow which represented the scree. Running from west to east, like a wagon's ruts...

  Anger, cold and dark, washed through him, and he knew he was seeing the world through the dark tint of aquamire eyes. Anger at his own stupidity. Anger at the love which had blinded him, distracted him, which had kept him from the dread realisation that stiffened his frame and made the point of the longsword tremble as it drew the final lines.

  "Hai Gwyn." He whispered, his voice chill.

  The horse padded closer. With a swish, the longsword was sheathed, and with a scrape of his boot, Gawain erased the map in the snow. Then he bundled together his bedroll, and saddled Gwyn, and with a final glance at the Teeth, he mounted.

  Gwyn set off down the track towards Tarn, Gawain's expression set grim with determination. He rode straight for Rak's house, unhesitating, straight past the stables, dismounting and leaving Gwyn waiting by the back door as he waved a confused Lyas away. "I am not staying, Lyas, and neither is Gwyn."

  "Serre." the lad replied, grateful to hurry away from the black-eyed warrior.

  Gawain pushed open the back door and marched in. At table, Rak and Merrin gasped at his sudden entrance. His glowering eyes flicked around the room. Elayeen was there, radiant, but shocked at his appearance. Meeya, and Valin, looking well-rested and comfortable. And Allazar, gaping, and looking from Gawain to Elayeen.

  "My brother..." Rak exclaimed, rising from the table.

  "You have a map, Rak, of the southlands?" Gawain demanded, his voice hard as glass.

  Rak hesitated, and Gawain turned his cold dark gaze full upon him.

  "I do," Rak gasped. "It is this way..."

  Rak left the table and hurried out of the kitchen, Gawain sweeping past them all without a second glance, in spite of Elayeen's gasp.

  "It is here," Rak said nervously, leading Gawain into a small study. "What has happened, Traveller? What ails you? To come here so, unannounced..."

  "Nothing ails me. The map, Rak. Please."

  "Longsword..." Allazar announced, striding in and closing the door. "Have you taken leave of your senses? To charge in so, with your Lady unprepared..."

  "Silence, whitebeard. I am thinking."

  Rak flinched, and Allazar froze.

  "What has happened, brother, to fill you with such darkness? What did you see upon the Point?" Rak almost pleaded, as Gawain spread out the map on the floor, staring at it.

  "I saw the truth, Rak. And would have seen it sooner but for the weakness that has blinded me of late."

  Allazar gasped. "Weakness? Longsword, by the Teeth..."

  "I have told you, wizard. Hold your tongue." Then Gawain pointed a finger at the map on the floor. "This, Rak, what is it?"

  "That is eastern Threlland."

  Gawain sighed and drew his longsword. Both Rak and Allazar took a pace backwards. Gawain stabbed the map with the tip of his blade, in the centre of a shaded part, between Threlland's north-eastern hills and the coastline. "This! What is this?"

  Rak leaned forward. "That is Barak-nor."

  "What is it?"

  Rak looked dazed. "It is nothing. A wasteland."

  Gawain sighed. "What sort of wasteland?"

  "Wasteland. Nothing. The remains of a great open mine. Centuries ago, rich ore was unearthed there. It was stripped clean. Nothing remains now but...wasteland. Barak-nor means 'gaping wound' in our tongue. It is a legacy of more...voracious times. We are not proud of it. Why? Why is it important? There is nothing there, nothing grows but tufts of spikeweed."

  "And here?" Gawain's blade swung to the northwest, beyond the tip of northern Elvendere.

  Rak shrugged. "I know not."

  "Allazar?" Gawain commanded.

  The wizard stepped forward, stared at the tip of Gawain's blade. "Nothing. A barren wasteland, frozen in winter, baked in summer. An arid and rocky nothingland that runs clear to frozen plains of north-western Goria. That is Empire land you mark, it has no name that I know of."

  "Rak. I would have you send a private message to Martan of Tellek."

  "Very well...if that is what you wish."

  "It is. Now. The message is simple: as soon as possible."

  "It shall be done."

  "Good. Then make ready. We leave for Castle Town as soon as your horse is saddled."

  Rak gasped. "But King Eryk has yet to reply..."

  "We cannot wait. And neither can Threlland..."

  The door creaked open, and a worried-looking group sidled in. Merrin, clutching a sleepy-eyed Travak. Elayeen, flanked by Meeya and Valin, all staring wide-eyed, anxious. Gawain noted them from the periphery of his dark-tinted vision, but did not look up. Instead, his terrifying black eyes flicked across the map, and down, and up again, noting the borders, the features, the names. At the bottom, in the southwest, someone, quite possibly Rak himself, had shaded in the high plateau, eradicating the name "Raheen" which had once adorned the region.

  "I do not understand, Longsword." Allazar said quietly, fearfully. "What drives you with such urgency?"

  Gawain stabbed at the Teeth. "They do."

  "But we have time, my friend..."

  "No. We do not. We do not have eight years, or five, or three, or one. They are already here."

  oOo

  29. Ire

  "You have seen them?" Rak asked quietly.

  "I do not have to. I know Morloch, and what he has set in motion. We must mobilize now."

  "With respect, my brother, Eryk of Threlland will need much greater persuasion than your dark ire and intuition."

  Gawain turned his black gaze upon his friend. "You will not come?"

  Rak held up a pacifying hand. "I did not say so. But consider. He knows you not. To the Crown, you are but a fearsome warrior charged with bloodlust against Morloch and the Ramoths. The latter are destroyed. The former, the wizards say, powerless. Victory celebrations are over, and the people go about their business happy and relieved. And you would stride into Threlland's Great Hall and say 'mobilize your army, Eryk, for the enemy are already upon us.' Without proof, what is the king to think?"

  "None would listen to me," Allazar announced, "Even though I spoke truth. Longsword, if you cannot persuade us of this new threat, then how can you hope to sway Threlland's Crown? Or any of the others?"

  Gawain glowered. "You doubt me?"

  Allazar shuddered.

  "We do not doubt you, my brother," Rak soothed. "But you must try to see through our eyes, and not through the black rage of your own."

  "Then saddle your horse, Rak of Tarn. I shall take you to the Barak-nor, and show you the fate that awaits your people. Then I shall take you west, into this imperial nothingland that has no name, and show you the rest.” Gawain stabbed at the map with his sword.

  Elayeen gasped. "You would leave, Traveller? And go so far?"

  Gawain's head swung slowly around, his dreadful stare piercing and cold. "When last you spoke to me, my Lady, you called me by a different name, and bade me leave you alone."

  Elayeen blinked, her lips trembling, and her hand reached out to hold Meeya's.

  "Longsword, by the Teeth!" Allazar protested.

  Gawain eyed the wizard, and the longsword's blade twitched.

  "Cut me down if you wish!" Allazar pointed his finger accusingly, "But this rage of yours must be calmed! To speak to your Lady thus! Have you lost your senses?"

  "I have regained them, wizard. Have a care. I know you, and whence you and your kind came. I have killed wizards, and could easily acquire a taste for it."

  Merrin gasped, and clutched Travak closer to her.

  Rak stepped forward. "Traveller. This does no good. There should be no fear between friends, yet you present a terrifying aspect. What has brought this to pass?"

  Gawain drew in a deep breath. "There." He stabbed the map, at the Barak-nor. "And there." he stabbed the wasteland region nor
thwest of Elvendere. "And," he raised the sword, and swung its tip slowly around to point directly at Allazar. "And there. Three reasons for the ire you dread so much."

  "I?" Allazar gasped, stunned, "Longsword, what have I done?"

  "Nothing!" Gawain hissed. "As you and your kind have for so long! While the Ramoths crept slowly south, spreading their vile cult, you and your kind sat, and whimpered, and advocated nothing! Raheen destroyed. Still you advocated nothing, but with desperate fervour! And all the while, the lands held apart, subjugated, oppressed, distracted by this great chanting decoy, Morloch's armies stole in!"

  "Traveller..." Elayeen whispered.

  Gawain ignored her, directing his rage along his blade, poised now at Allazar's throat. "And your 'brethren', Allazar? What of them? 'We have brethren in Elvendere' you said to me. The same brethren who kept the knowledge of throth from me. The same brethren who have poisoned the minds of elves for so long, keeping them shut up within their forest, spreading lies, that to meet a Threllander is to meet death. That no human may set foot in Elvenheth...or be suffered to enter the forest...why? Why, Allazar?"

  "I...do not know, Longsword, I have not spoken with my elven brethren in so long..."

  "You have not spoken?" Gawain's sword eased forward a hair's breadth. "The whitebeard I slew there wore a lens about his neck, Allazar, his body painted with dark symbols. Morloch's symbols. How many more of your 'brethren' follow Morloch, Allazar? How many whitebeard bastard spies sit behind kings and gloat, and tell their master Morloch all?"

  Allazar stood fast, though his breathing was rapid and there was great fear in his eyes. "I know not of these symbols, or this lens you speak of! I was not there, Longsword, when you slew the wizard at Faranthroth!"

  "I was." Meeya whispered. "I saw these things."

  "Why, Allazar?" Gawain's voice was chill, and flat. "Why would your brethren wish to hold Elvendere and Threlland apart? Why would they wish no humans in Elvendere, much less Elvenheth? Why would they wish a royal crown of Elvendere dead rather than joined to a human?"

  "In truth, Longsword...I do not know."

  "I do.” Gawain whispered. "I do.” His eyes narrowed, and the tip of his sword slid forward a little more.

  "Traveller..." Elayeen said quietly, her voice quavering.

  Gawain's eyes remained locked on the wizard's. "Why would so many of them, these 'brothers' of yours, advocate nothing, knowing what lies behind the Teeth?"

  "I know not..."

  "Traveller..." Elayeen gasped as the blade touched Allazar's throat.

  "Why are you so alone, Allazar, so alone, when all of your 'brothers' stand united? Why are you, of all wizards, the only one who would profess to aid my cause?"

  Allazar swallowed. Travak began crying, the tension in the room tangible.

  "I am young, Longsword." Allazar whispered hoarsely. "In the eyes of my brethren, I have not acquired their wisdom."

  A trickle of blood suddenly sprung at the tip of the blade, and Gawain's arm tensed.

  "Mithroth!" Elayeen cried, and tore her hand from Meeya's to rush forward, her hands on Gawain's chest, pushing him backwards a pace. "No!"

  Gawain stared down at her, saw the pleading in her eyes, but still the dark rage held him fast, the sword raised, pointing still at Allazar.

  "No, mithroth, please! You cannot do this!"

  "Why not?" Gawain hissed, staring at the wizard.

  Elayeen reached out, her hand trembling, and gently gripped Gawain's forearm, pressing down, trying to lower his blade. "These are your friends! Mithroth, these are your friends and this is not right!"

  "No wizard has ever been a friend to the races of man." Gawain snarled, his arm rock-steady, his gaze fixed on Allazar. "They would have you dead, weeks ago, in Faranthroth, and you defend them?"

  "Not them, mithroth, not them!" Elayeen pleaded, softly, "But him. He is your friend...but for him, I would be dead. Was it not Allazar who told you of throth? Was it not your friend who watched over you? But for him, mithroth, could I touch you thus?” She reached up, her slender fingers in his hair, tenderly drawing his head down so that his dread gaze fell on her.

  Strange black aquamire swam in his eyes, yet she did not draw away. Gawain stared deep into the hazel-green eyes, and he saw his own reflection in them. A tiny jolt of something seemed to flow from her fingertips into his cheek, and ran through him like Jurian brandy on a cold winter's day. Still he held the sword high, pointing at the motionless wizard.

  "Do not do this, mithroth, I beg you." Elayeen whispered.

  The sword dipped an inch.

  "Please..." She whispered again.

  The sword fell, and pointed at the map. Gawain looked at Allazar, then at Rak. "They are here."

  "I am here, mithroth," Elayeen whispered. "I am here." And she drew his head down, and kissed him as his sword clattered to the floor.

  For Gawain, the world seemed to float in a black mist which clouded his vision, while gentle hands guided him to a chair, and caressed his brow. He heard his heart beating in his ears, crying out for blood, but the cries grew fainter, and he thought he heard a distant familiar laughter at the windows and in the chimney, wafting in on northern breezes. Then, like waking from a dream, he found himself in Rak's study, Elayeen kneeling beside him, stroking his hair and gazing at him with profound love and yearning. The sword lay on the floor, on the map, still pointing towards Allazar.

  A goblet of steaming mulled wine appeared before him, and when he looked up, it was Rak holding it, his expression rich with concern.

  Elayeen took the wine, and lifted the goblet to Gawain's lips. He drank, and felt the warmth flood through him, and it was then he realised how cold he was, and how damp his clothes, and remembered the night spent at the Point, pacing and thinking...

  "Mithroth, are you hungry?" Elayeen whispered.

  "No. I am tired."

  "Then you shall rest." Rak smiled.

  "No. They are here. In truth."

  Elayeen glanced up at Rak and Allazar, worried.

  "Where are Merrin and the thalangard?" Gawain suddenly asked, taking the goblet from Elayeen's hand.

  "Meeya and Valin are taking care of Gwyn, mithroth."

  "And Merrin is preparing your room, Traveller." Rak announced. "You must rest, and the inn is noisy at this time of day."

  Gawain frowned. "It is early."

  "It is."

  "You still do not believe me." Gawain sighed. "We have no time for rest."

  He tried to stand, but Elayeen pressed him back into the chair. "Stay still, mithroth, a little while longer."

  "I am not struck down by some dread illness," Gawain protested, recalling his brother's words so long ago. "I need to show you the map."

  Allazar bent, and slid the map from under the shimmering black blade of the weapon held so recently against his throat. "Here, Longsword." He offered, his voice still strained.

  Gawain pointed to the Barak-nor, and to the wasteland in the Gorian Empire. "There. All the time that the Ramoths were trickling into the southlands, a flow of Morloch's men crossed the scree. I and Martan saw the ruts where their wagons passed."

  Rak frowned, and Allazar shook his head. Gawain laughed, prompting more concern from Elayeen still kneeling by his side. The door swung open to admit Merrin and the thalangard. They too seemed concerned by the longsword warrior's laughter.

  "Do you not see?" Gawain said, "It is priceless."

  "I do not see, my brother." Rak said quietly. "Perhaps later, when you are rested..."

  "His plan is brilliant. While his aquamire slaves smash away at the northern slopes of the Teeth, his troops trickle in across the great rip beneath the mountains. And possibly even from around the far western reaches of the Teeth, across the frozen northlands of the Gorian Empire. While we in the south quake in our boots, and hide from babbling Ramoths, and cower in dread of Morloch's Breath, his army trickles in."

  "Why? You say that the Ramoths were an elaborate deception, but why?
" Allazar asked, fearfully.

  "Of course they were. Why? So that the army could enter the southlands unseen and unsuspected. They gather and wait, at the Barak-nor and in the Gorian wasteland. Then, when the Teeth are breached, the two armies emerge from hiding. They advance across the farak gorin, and hold the line, while the flow of dark soldiers spilling through the breach pools on the scree, and musters, and draws ranks behind them. Then, the first wave opens at the middle, spreading east into Threlland and west into Elvendere, while the main body floods down the Jurian plains, and into Callodon."

  "A sound military tactic." Rak grudgingly agreed. "But how can you know this?"

  Gawain sighed. "A company of elven archers could hold the breach from the safety of the scree. Shoot down every dark soldier that ventured onto the south face of the mountain."

  "Agreed." Rak concurred, studying the map.

  "Which is why Morloch has worked so long to keep Elvendere in isolation. Would elven archers rush from the trees to aid Threlland?"

  Elayeen stared at the map, and then at Gawain. "No." She whispered. "They would not."

  "No. Would they aid Juria? By the time the main body of Morloch's army marched south onto the plains, it would be too late."

  Rak and Allazar gazed at the map studiously, almost unaware that Merrin and the thalangard had gathered and were sitting on the floor with them.

  "With the southern kingdoms oppressed and living in fear and dread, there would be no opposition. Only if Threlland and Elvendere were allies could the flow at the breach be stemmed. But they are not allies, and are still kept apart by lies and prejudice. That is why the whitebeards in Elvendere kept throth from me. Had I known the danger to Elayeen, I would never have left her side. In time, all elves would come to know of my journeys, and of my friends here in Threlland. If the throth of a royal crown of Elvendere declared Threlland peaceful, and friend to all elves, how would that sit with the lies spread by elvish whitebeards?"