The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "I cannot believe all the brethren in Elvendere are Morloch's." Allazar protested meekly.

  "I can." Gawain replied, harshly, and Elayeen squeezed his arm.

  "Even so." Rak announced hurriedly. "If I may be permitted to play the part of Threlland's Crown, I must yet say, where is your proof? Ruts in the scree signify nothing but the passage of wagons. Where is this imminent danger? Why would these armies in the Barak-nor and the Gorian wastelands suddenly attack? The breach may yet be years from now. They could not survive so long a time undetected, and in such harsh conditions."

  "No, they could not." Gawain said quietly. "Which is why the breach must be imminent."

  There was a small silence, until Rak sighed. "Still, Eryk would demand proof."

  "Then we must go there, and bring him the proof." Gawain sighed irritably.

  "Later, mithroth, first you must rest. Come, I will watch over you while you sleep."

  "Yes, rest," Rak agreed. "And then we shall make our plans with clearer minds."

  "Send the message to Martan of Tellek. And you, Allazar, if Brock indeed be your friend, send word to him and to Juria. Tell them to prepare to mobilize, and to make haste to Ferdan."

  "I shall." Allazar nodded.

  Gawain stood, and in truth he felt drained. Elayeen rose with him, holding his arm while he bent and retrieved the longsword, and then guided him to a familiar room, with a familiar fire blazing in the grate.

  "Rest, mithroth. You should not have spent all night beneath the stars in such weather."

  "I have spent many such." Gawain muttered, slipping off his damp clothes and climbing under the blankets and skins.

  "I know."

  Gawain sighed and closed his eyes, while Elayeen sat on the floor beside the bed, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "They doubt me."

  "No. They worry for you, as do I. You cannot take the weight of the world on your shoulders alone."

  "Who else is there?"

  "I am here, now, mithroth."

  "Yet you remain distant, Elayeen. Am I so dread? Am I so terrible that even in throth you would have me leave you?"

  Elayeen caught her breath, and then laid her head upon his shoulder. "Forgive me, mithroth. I was afraid. I thought all was nothing more than a faranthroth dream. That you could not truly love me. You are not elf...and now, I am become as nothing. You cannot know the pain of banishment, to be thought of as dead by your own family, and friends, and people. You are Traveller, and have no home. All my life, I have known only Elvendere, until you came."

  Gawain sighed as tears fought with aquamire for control of his emotions. "You speak to me of banishment and exile, as if I could not comprehend your loss. Did not the Lady Merrin tell you who I am?"

  "She told me you loved me, mithroth. That you crossed the plains in midwinter for me, and would have felled every tree in Elvendere to find me."

  "I did. And would have. I know your pain, Elayeen." Gawain drew in a shuddering breath. "I am Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen."

  Elayeen gasped, and lifted her head to gaze at him. He opened his eyes, tears and aquamire swimming together in them, just as tears filled hers. "That is why I must take the weight of the world on my shoulders. I could not bear to see another land laid waste like my own."

  Tears streaked Elayeen's cheeks, and she laid her head upon his chest. He reached out from the under the blankets, and his arm slid around her, and with a sigh, he slept.

  oOo

  30. Doubt

  "So," Gawain announced, staring into the fire in Rak's main room. It was evening, and still his friends seemed nervous in his presence in spite of his sleeping through most of the day. "You doubt me still."

  "I play the part of Threlland, Traveller," Rak said softly. "As I have said before, it is he who would demand proof before arming the people and preparing for battle."

  "Do not forget, Longsword," Allazar offered, "There has been peace in the seven kingdoms since the Pellarn war. Such armies as there are in the southlands are small."

  "Do not forget, wizard," Gawain muttered darkly, "There are but five kingdoms now, and if those are not united soon, and a line drawn across the farak gorin, those five will be none within a year."

  "So say you," Allazar countered, earning a flicker of aquamire in Gawain's eyes but pressing on regardless. "But as Rak says, where is your proof? Agreed, what you have described as Morloch's intent is a plan worthy of any general, but you have deduced it from little more than marks in the scree, and shades seen through aquamire beneath the Teeth."

  "Then tell me. Who would Eryk of Threlland believe? You, Allazar? Captain Sarek of the Tarn guard? Martan of Tellek? Even the inhabitants of that village refused to believe the truth of Martan's account until I myself confirmed it."

  "He would believe me." Rak sighed, and Merrin glanced nervously at her husband.

  "And who would Callodon believe?" Gawain pressed, staring at the wizard.

  "Me, I suppose." Allazar conceded.

  "And Thal-Hak?" Gawain said pointedly, eyeing Elayeen.

  "I am dead to him." Elayeen said meekly, "But he would listen to the thalangard."

  Meeya and Valin nodded.

  "And Mornland's Crown? And Arrun's? Whose word would they take, or would they sit and wait until Morloch's army marched across the Black Hills and the plains of Juria?"

  "Traveller," Rak announced, as rain began lashing the windows and wind sucked sparks up the chimney, "You believe you have the measure of Morloch's intent. That much is clear in your eyes. But surely you must know the difficulty we face? Uniting the kingdoms has long been my dream, as you know, but the history of such dreams is rife with failure..."

  "Politics." Gawain interrupted. "Politics, and in the same breath, whitebeards. The two go hand in glove. It is clear that none will believe my words alone. So we must go, and you must see with your own eyes what I know in my bones to be truth. Morloch's armies are already here, quietly awaiting reinforcements."

  "Then you would have us travel to the Barak-nor." Rak sighed again.

  "Yes. You, and Allazar, and the thalangard. And Sarek of the guard. I would that captain Jerryn of Juria were here too."

  "And I." Elayeen said firmly.

  "It is too perilous." Gawain replied, without emotion.

  "It is a long journey, Traveller." Merrin spoke for the first time. "On the map it is simple, but in truth you must go the long way around, following the farak gorin east almost to the coast."

  Gawain looked to Rak for confirmation.

  "My Lady speaks truth, Traveller. The Barak-nor, it is...it cannot be approached across Threlland directly. You will see why when you see it."

  "How long to get there?"

  "With the snow, two weeks perhaps. And two weeks to return."

  Gawain glanced at Elayeen. "The rain is welcome then, for it washes away the worst of our obstacles. Without the snow, we should be back within three weeks."

  "I shall go with you." Elayeen announced, and looked up into Gawain's eyes.

  He was about to speak, but then held his breath, considering. Three weeks might be a long time, for a throth elfin.

  "I am...was...a royal crown of Elvendere, mithroth. I shall not hinder you."

  "Very well. Then best make ready. When the sun rises tomorrow, it shall find us mounted and on the route to the Barak-nor."

  "Then I shall leave for the inn, and a good night's rest." Allazar exclaimed, standing and stretching.

  "I shall join you." Gawain announced, standing too and slipping the longsword over his shoulder. Surprised looks were turned his way, and one was hurt and confused. "You'll need a horse, and I would speak with you Allazar." Gawain explained.

  "You...you shall return, mithroth?" Elayeen asked, suddenly timid in spite of her earlier conviction.

  "No. Lord Rak has but the one room, and both you and the thalangard need your rest. I shall sleep at the inn. Sleep well, all of you. We shall not loiter on our journey. We no longer have the luxury of ti
me."

  Gawain eyed them all for a few moments more, and then left the warmth of the house for the rain-washed chill outdoors, Allazar scuttling behind him. Rain, blown in on the teeth of a gale, lashed the streets and stang their faces as they hurried to the inn.

  "Well met my lords!" an enthusiastic Derrik beamed. "A bitter night out! Sit you by the fire, and I'll bring ale."

  "No, thank you, goodman Derrik. But if you've a horse and don't mind seeing it dead beneath this useless whitebeard's backside, I'd see it, and hire it."

  "Aye, we've a number in the stables." Derrik grinned. "But if it's likely not to return, then the rule is: them's that's a-sitting on 'em when they pass, is them's that'll pay for their replacement."

  "I do not kill all horses I ride." Allazar protested, shaking the rain from his robes.

  "Oh! More good news, my lords," Derrick grinned at Gawain. "We have rooms vacant, now the roads are clearing fast. Which would you have, a southern view or a northern?"

  "Neither, Derrik. I am content to share with the wizard for this one more night."

  Allazar looked as surprised as the landlord, but said nothing.

  "Come," Gawain nodded at Allazar, "Let's see these horses and then retire."

  Allazar followed Gawain and Derrik out the back and to the stables, receiving a drenching even in so short a dash. The horse selected, and instructions given to the stableman, they returned to the inn, and their room.

  "I'm surprised, Longsword." Allazar admitted, shaking his robes again. "When you spoke to your Lady, your words were hard. And tonight, to spend it here at the inn? This is the last night you and she might have spent in privacy, alone with each other. Yet not only do you forsake her, but you insist on sharing my room."

  "Elayeen and the thalangard need their rest, Allazar. And I have already been blinded too long by that disease you call 'love'. My vision must needs be clear for the coming journey, and not clouded by yearning, or tenderness, or sweet words."

  "That was cruelly said too."

  "Perhaps. But it in truth, at this moment, I would she were not throth. The journey will be difficult enough with the likes of you along."

  "The likes of me?" Allazar protested.

  "Yes. The likes of you. 'We may not harm the races of Man'? It is easier for me to approach an enemy without detection if I am alone. But tomorrow I shall be in company with a wizard who carries no weapons, an elfin who is chained to me by some curse and who has not set foot on rock before let alone a battlefield, and a diplomat. For all his enthusiasm and skill with a battle-axe, Rak is a gentle man. On this journey, the only military assistance I can realistically count upon comes from Sarek and the thalangard, and I do not trust the latter with my life."

  Gawain slipped the longsword from his shoulder and propped it against the wall by his bed, and then took off his cloak and shook the rain from it.

  Allazar sat on his bed, staring long and hard at the young warrior. At length, he spoke.

  "And you do not trust me. That is why you accept the discomfort of this small room."

  "True."

  "Ah."

  "Do not feel too hurt, Allazar. I have not killed you yet."

  "You came close, this morning." Allazar whispered.

  "I may yet again. I am still not persuaded that you aid my cause."

  "How then may I prove it? Just as you doubt me, can you not see why we, your friends, must doubt you and your prophecy of imminent doom?"

  "You will never prove it, Allazar. You are a wizard. I have never trusted a whitebeard, and never shall."

  Allazar nodded sadly. "We do what we are able, to aid the races of Man. Yet we are almost reviled, not respected."

  Gawain sighed and laid on the bed. "What gives you the right, wizard, to advise kings? What gives you the right to sit behind thrones, and sway a crown this way or that? You can pull a twig from a bough, and with a chant and a mumble and a wave of a hand, drive the tints of autumn from the edge of a leaf. You can chant and mumble, and make signs in the air, and cloud men's vision so you may pass unseen. And with aquamire, you can blast an entire land from existence, leaving nothing but ash in your wake. In the between, you meddle with nature.

  "Yet before Morloch, and before aquamire, what did you and your brethren do, that so aided the races of Man, that you might command respect, and expect admiration? Nothing. Party tricks, and all of them with a price paid for by us, and our blood. Yet your kind sits behind every throne in the land, and whispers. What is it, Allazar, that your brethren whisper to Brock of Callodon, or Thal-Hak of Elvendere, or Eryk of Threlland?"

  "We advise..."

  "Do you?" Gawain whispered. "Or do you lie, and bewitch, and mumble and chant and thus bend a king's will to your own dark ends?"

  Allazar gasped. "You cannot believe that!"

  "Why not? You know who I am. You know what happened to my land. Morloch did that. And Morloch is a wizard. The single difference between Morloch and your brethren is aquamire."

  "That is not true!" Allazar was aghast, his eyes wide and pained.

  "Is it not? I asked myself, upon the Point early this morning: Were I a wizard with aquamire, I could control all the lands with but one small demonstration of my dread power. Just as Morloch did, from afar. But were I a wizard without aquamire, how then might I control anything? Why, by using my meagre powers on but one man...and who else should that one man be, but a king?"

  "Longsword!"

  "You protest too much, whitebeard. Perhaps that is why you claim your brethren hold you in such low regard. Yet, I will concede my argument flawed if you can name but one thing your brethren have done in the last two years that has aided the races of Man. One tangible, measurable, visible thing."

  Allazar drew in a breath and made as if to speak, and then paused. And paused again.

  "Is it so difficult a task, wizard?"

  "You cannot know what we do."

  "Cannot, wizard, or must not?"

  Allazar fell silent.

  "Ah." Gawain exclaimed, and closed his eyes.

  "It matters not if you doubt me, Longsword. I shall do all in my power to aid your cause. This I have sworn to Brock of Callodon, and to myself."

  "You cannot know what that means to me." Gawain yawned, his eyes still closed.

  "You have changed, Longsword. When first I met you, you were a young longsword warrior burning with a passion for vengeance, and justice. When I left you upon the Point yesterday, you were a man burning with passion, with love beating in his chest and compassion shining from his eyes. Now, you are..."

  "I am what?"

  "Cold. And cruel, I think."

  A knock interrupted Gawain's reply, and he stood to open the door. A messenger stood there, drenched and bedraggled.

  "Yes?" Gawain asked.

  "Serre," the youth answered nervously, "A reply, from Martan of Tellek. Lord Rak bade me bring it you."

  "Aye?"

  "His reply was one word, Serre: 'Aye.' And he smiled. That is all."

  "Thank you." Gawain smiled grimly, and the youth nodded, and hurried off down the hall.

  Gawain closed the door, and laid down on the bed again.

  "Martan of Tellek?" Allazar asked, hopefully. "Is he well? I did not have a chance to ask."

  "Aye." Gawain replied. "He's undertaken a task for me."

  "Would you have us cross to the Teeth then?" Allazar shuddered as another blast of wind drove rain into the rattling panes.

  "No. I have asked Martan to travel to all Threlland's inns and taverns, and recount his tale of what we saw beneath the Teeth to all who will listen. Hopefully, when the call to arms finally comes, the Threllanders will have a better understanding of the enemy we face."

  Allazar nodded. "If he is believed. But it is a good thing you have done, Longsword, to give an old man such a purpose. It is worthy of the man I last saw on the Point."

  "Yes," Gawain smiled grimly to himself, "It is indeed worthy of the man you last saw on the Point."

&nb
sp; Gawain did not sleep at first, and instead lay with his eyes closed, listening to the rain and Allazar's deep breathing. For his part, the wizard slept deeply, and did not stir when rumblings of thunder late in the night rattled the panes and shook the roof. If Morloch were laughing still, the sound of it was drowned by the storm without.

  Gawain considered the wizard's earlier remarks. He did not like to be thought of as cruel, nor cold, but with detachment, he recognised that they were qualities which most suited his purpose for the time being. There was still a distance between himself and Elayeen, and her use of the name 'mithroth' instead of 'Traveller' had not yet bridged that gulf. Perhaps, with the luxury of time, he might court her again, and woo her as he had in Elvendere so long ago. But there was no time for courtship, no time for gentle wooing. Now, laying on the cot listening to the storm and the wizard sleeping, he regretted telling her his true name. He did not trust the thalangard, and because Elayeen did, she might reveal his royal heritage before it could be used to its full advantage.

  And he did not trust Allazar. He never would, as long as night followed day. Strange aquamire tinted his vision again. In truth, Gawain welcomed it. He had the measure of it now, now that he had conquered its constant whispering for blood. He had Elayeen to thank for that, in some part, and he was grateful that he had not slain Allazar. Yet. The strange aquamire gave him a clarity of thought that cut through his inhibitions and strengthened his resolve, like the first rush of warmth that Jurian brandy brought on a cold winter's night. But Gawain was master of it now, and with it, he remembered the shades floating in the Lens of Ramoth before his blade had shattered it.

  The strange lands he had seen, places and faces he did not recognise. The Gorian Empire, perhaps, for Morloch would not ignore such a vast repository of life for his aquamire lakes, and perhaps the Barak-nor, and the nothingland to the northwest of Elvendere. Other visions too, and understanding of them. Now, with the strange aquamire swimming in his eyes, he could imagine how the promise of such vast power could persuade a wizard to break his so-called 'sacred oath' to do no harm to the races of Man. With aquamire, and enough of it, a wizard could do anything. Anything at all.