The Longsword Chronicles: Book 01 - King of Ashes

by GJ Kelly

  "Elayeen..."

  She sighed, and kissed his head. "But you did love me. And you came back for me, and brought me out of Faranthroth. If you hate me now for making you throth, I will understand."

  "I do not hate you." Gawain whispered, desperate to stem the bubble that threatened to burst in his throat. "My heart beats in your chest, Elayeen. I can hear it."

  General Karn and his staff arrived midway between noon and dusk, and promptly commandeered the inn, much to Derrik the landlord's delight and his regular customers' dismay. By the time a runner had been dispatched to Rak's house requesting the presence of all those who had travelled to the Barak-nor, the inn had been transformed into an impressive military headquarters, resplendent with large maps of Threlland, a full-sized copy of the map Sarek had drawn, and a surprisingly detailed map of all the southlands.

  When Gawain, with Elayeen at his side, followed Rak and the Lady Merrin into the inn, he paused only briefly when he saw that on the southland map Raheen had been shaded in a cruel black and the name erased. It vaguely troubled him that he should be angry, and was not.

  Karn was resplendent in his staff uniform of red, white, and gold, and bowed stiffly at their entrance. All did, though it was not until Elayeen politely nodded an acknowledgement that he dimly realised they were saluting him, and his queen, as well as Rak and Merrin. There were three wizards standing to one side, a short distance from the General and his staff officers. None seemed at all pleased to see Gawain, nor the longsword strapped over his shoulder.

  "Your royal Majesties," Karn announced, and cleared his throat. His voice was gruff and harsh, and his appearance hard. Short-cropped hair and beard, both as white as snow, stood in stark contrast to the weather-tanned and leathery complexion, and hard blue eyes, rarely blinking, sparkled intelligently. "I am Karn, General to his Majesty's Royal Army. These are my staff officers, Majors Trak, Fellek, and Brant."

  Gawain tried hard to study them critically, but the effort seemed greater than the reward. All he saw was red, white, and gold uniforms, stiff backs, polite bows, and beards and hair of various shades of gray.

  Elayeen smiled regally. "Well met, General, and honour to you and your crown."

  "Honour to you, and to the crown." Karn grunted self-consciously, suddenly keenly aware of the vast black region at the south of his largest map.

  They sat at a long bench table facing the maps, and when they had settled, Karn stepped forward, and with a gold-handled swagger-stick, pointed at the Barak-nor on the north-east reaches of Threlland.

  "The Barak-nor." He barked. "Wherein lies the enemy. In total, six hundred, as you yourselves know..."

  Gawain tried hard to listen and comprehend, but the harsh voice seemed suddenly to fade, and become incoherent. He was aware that Sarek spoke, probably in answer to questions, and he also heard Rak's gentle tones. But it was hard to concentrate, and much easier simply to stare at his hands on the table. Someone, doubtless one of Derrik's regular customers, had carved the name "Tallbot" into the oaken tabletop, and it seemed suddenly important. More important than the voices around him, and he tried desperately to discover its significance.

  Someone else spoke. Allazar. It was Allazar's voice. Then a memory flashed into Gawain's befuddled mind...

  "Jarn." he suddenly said loudly, and a deathly hush fell over the assembly.

  "Your Majesty?" Karn inquired, confused.

  "Tallbot of Jarn. An honourable officer. Dead now."

  "Mithroth..." Elayeen whispered, as Gawain's finger traced the name carved into the tabletop.

  "Killed by the Ramoths. Why are those wizards still robed?"

  "I beg your pardon, your Majesty..." Karn choked.

  "Those wizards. Why are they still robed."

  "Forgive us, General," Rak's voice said solicitously. "Our friend is not himself..."

  "Ah..."

  "Tell them to open their robes, Allazar."

  Allazar glanced nervously at Elayeen, and then stood. "My brethren, Longsword commands you expose your breast, that we may be sure of your...allegiance."

  "Madness!" a strange voice protested. "He is Morloch-cursed!"

  Gawain fingered the carving in the wood, and was suddenly aware of a strange tingling in his left hand, the hand held so tightly by Elayeen...

  Karn's voice cut through the protests like a blade. "If his royal Majesty the King of Raheen commands you to open your robes, then you'll damn' well open your robes."

  "King of ashes, and nothing! We have nought but his word that he is Raheen, and he is Morloch-cursed!" the strange voice spat back.

  "Enough," Rak's voice, firm and commanding. "You shame Threlland. Here sits Raheen, and his queen, and you will obey."

  "You would command us, Rak of Tarn?" another voice demanded.

  The tingling in Gawain's left hand grew stronger, and like Jurian brandy filling a goblet, a sudden peace seemed to flow into him, filling him.

  "You protest too much, brethren. I am happy to prove I am free of n'iman sett runes." There was rustling of fabric as Allazar parted his robes, exposing his chest for all to see.

  "You are D'ith pat! A nothing! Lowest of the brethren, without master! You do not command us, brother! We will not shame ourselves thus!"

  The tingling burst to a crescendo in Gawain's hand, and he smiled, and stopped tracing the name gouged into the wood. He let go of Elayeen's hand, and turned his gaze to her, smiling into hazel-green eyes filled with a concern that knew no limits. Then he looked away, and into the eyes of the wizard who had stepped forward, and was pointing at Allazar.

  "Morloch-cursed!" the wizard spat.

  "Open your robes!" Allazar commanded, pointing at the wizard, and a crackling thread of silver light snaked from Allazar's finger, striking the wizard between the eyes.

  "D'ith pat vak!" the wizard sneered, and began mumbling. A thick rope of dazzling yellow shot from the wizard's hand, and struck Allazar in the centre of his bared chest, and he gasped and staggered backwards.

  Gawain stood, calmly, and drew his longsword, and there was sudden crackling of aquamire energy. Strange aquamire filled his eyes, and he smiled as he casually overturned the table that stood between himself and the wizard.

  "You will open your robes or I will open you, whitebeard, and you will do it now."

  "Morloch-cursed!" another wizard gasped, yet when Gawain's cold black eyes locked onto his, he frantically ripped open his robes to reveal his unmarked chest.

  The second wizard promptly did likewise. But the senior of the trio stood defiant. Gawain raised his blade, holding it level with the wizard's chest, two paces separating its tip from the whitebeard's heart, aquamire swimming and crackling deep within the steel.

  "You do not command me, King of Ashes. I am Joyen, of the D'ith Sek, first order of the brethren!"

  There was a gentle swish as steel was drawn around the room. Rak, and Merrin, and Elayeen stepped forward beside Gawain, blades held at the ready.

  "And you are a dead man unless you do as he commands." Karn growled, placing the tip of his own long knife at the wizard's throat.

  Sarek stepped forward, the tip of his crossbow's bolt almost touching the wizard's left temple.

  Joyen's breathing came in short gasps through clenched teeth, and he stared defiantly at Gawain for a moment longer. Then the tip of Sarek's bolt touched skin, and the Threlland officer whispered:

  "Say the word, Longsword."

  Joyen began mumbling through his clenched teeth, and Allazar drew in a breath to call a warning, but Karn simply twisted the long knife so that its razor edge tilted the wizard's chin high up, silencing the whitebeard.

  "None of that, my friend." Karn growled.

  Joyen's breath hissed through his nostrils, and his hands slowly crept up, spider-like, to grasp the robes covering his chest. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the fabric, and his breath whistled as he slowly parted the robes an inch...two.

  Allazar sighed and grips on blades began to relax,
and Joyen's lips curled in a sneer of utter contempt.

  "All the way." Gawain smiled calmly, his blade unwavering.

  "There are no runes, Longsword...." Allazar said quietly.

  "True," Gawain said, his voice soft and completely without malice. "Yet this is Joyen, of the D'ith Sek, first order of the brethren. What need has he of painted symbols to dull the wits of lesser wizards?"

  The sneer on Joyen's lips froze, and a bead of sweat formed beneath the steel point still pressed at his temple.

  "All the way." Sarek hissed cruelly.

  Joyen suddenly ripped open the robes, knocking Sarek's crossbow aside and triggering the sear so that the bolt flew, gouging a wound in the back of the wizard's head as it streaked harmlessly across the inn to slam into the oak door. The wizard took a step backwards, Karn's blade raking the skin beneath his chin and drawing blood.

  "Va takan thul!" Joyen cried, and then choked as Elayeen's slender dagger flashed through the air and buried itself deep in his throat. Another blade seemed to spring as if by magic from the wizard's heart, and then Karn's long knife slipped between ribs and found the same organ as Rak's blade had penetrated.

  The body fell backwards to slam onto the sawdust-strewn floorboards, sightless eyes gazing up at the ceiling. The two surviving wizards gasped in horror, but Gawain could not tell whether it was the horror of violent death, or of the black crystal lens that hung low on a gold chain belted around the corpse's abdomen.

  Gawain sheathed the longsword, and glanced around the room. Hard eyes, and grim expressions, all around. Even the Lady Merrin was sheathing her ornamental dagger with an expression of intense satisfaction. An enemy had invaded Threlland, and Threllanders, aided by Elvendere and Raheen, had claimed the first victory in the battle that must surely come.

  "What was that he said?" Karn demanded, gazing in admiration as Elayeen stepped over the corpse and retrieved her dagger, wiping it on the dead wizard's robes before sheathing it behind her back. "Some sort of curse or spell?"

  "No." Allazar said softly, rubbing the red blotch on his chest. "Va takan thul. In the wizard's tongue, that means 'he will consume you all'."

  "Not while I can wield a blade." Karn grunted, cleaning his own knife and eyeing Elayeen as she returned to stand beside Gawain. "Take a message, Brant. From, Karn, General Commanding, to, all His Majesty's men-at-arms. Any wizard found inside His Royal Majesty's borders is to expose their torso on demand, on pain of death. Any wizard found bearing strange symbols or a dark crystal upon their person is to be summarily executed. Message ends."

  Brant finished scribbling, and then paused. "They won't like it, Serre.”

  "They'll like good Threlland steel between the ribs even less. Send the message, and copy a brief report to His Majesty."

  "Serre."

  Gawain smiled grimly, and took Elayeen's arm. "General, I do not believe you require my Lady or I for the remainder of this briefing. Lord Rak and Captain Sarek are eminently qualified to assist you, now that you may do so without fear of spying."

  "Very well, your Majesty." Karn bowed, and then gazed at Elayeen. "My compliments, your Majesty." And bowed again.

  Outside in the clear air of Tarn, Gawain walked quietly with Elayeen towards Rak's gardens.

  "They admire you, my Lady." he said softly.

  Elayeen blushed in the late afternoon sunshine. "Thank you, mithroth."

  Gawain shrugged, and smiled. "There is much to admire. I did not know you were so capable with that pretty dagger of yours."

  Elayeen nodded. "It came close enough to your throat, miheth, when first we met."

  "I remember. I thought it pretty then, though not as pretty as the hand that held it."

  She paused, and looked up into his eyes. "Are you yourself? Does the throth still ail you?"

  Gawain smiled warmly. "No, it does not trouble me. I believe I can say that I'm now once again able to understand the things that people say when they say things."

  "Indeed?" Elayeen beamed.

  "Indeed." Gawain chuckled.

  "Then, mithroth, should we not attend the General's briefing, and not dally thus in the gardens?"

  "No. They have met the enemy on their own soil. And in Rak's own town at that. The death of Joyen will vex Morloch greatly, and will serve to forge a greater strength of duty between all our Threlland friends. This is their land, their home. They do not need us to assist in their plans for its defence while we await the council of kings, and greater alliances."

  "Then shall we sit, mithroth, and talk of our alliance?"

  "Aye," Gawain smiled. "Allazar said to me this very morning, 'soon enough, there will be little time for such gentle moments.' For the second time today I find I agree with him, cursed whitebeard. Spring is almost upon us, and we must soon ride to Ferdan."

  oOo

  40. Garrison Town.

  General Karn elected to remain in Tarn, to oversee personally the arrival and disposition of the combined Threlland forces. Word soon spread, as word will, and the three hundred and fifty men that Eryk of Threlland lamented were his all, soon found its ranks swollen by enthusiastic volunteers. Most were politely turned away, though at a masterstroke the General issued them with coloured armbands and instructions to form local militias which might, in time of crisis, be called upon to reinforce the regular army.

  Sarek found himself promoted, and threw himself into the task of training the regulars in Gawain's nefarious arts of stealth and brigandry. The enthusiasm with which Threlland regulars undertook this dishonourable training was alarming, but not as alarming as the Lady Merrin's insistence that she be permitted to undergo the basic training herself.

  Sarek protested, and so did Lord Rak, but Merrin prevailed. She had a son, she said, and would see him a man even if it meant sacrificing the gentler pastimes associated with her role as a diplomat's wife and the niece of a king. That she had asked Elayeen to teach her how to throw a dagger was evidence enough of her sincerity and the reasons for it, and Rak's long years of diplomatic training had taught him that where his lady was concerned, concession was the better part of valour.

  Gawain simply smiled, and left them all at their various activities while he walked up to the Point to overlook the enemy as he did every day. To his surprise, Allazar was there, sitting on the boulder, gazing off into the distance, shoulders slumped.

  "Has your favourite dog died, Allazar?" Gawain asked cheerfully.

  "In a manner of speaking, Longsword, yes."

  "My condolences."

  "Joyen was Morloch's. One of the D'ith Sek, yet a traitor and a Morloch spy. Can you know what this means?"

  Gawain shrugged, and remained standing. "Aye. It means I am right to distrust all wizards everywhere."

  "How did you know? That he was Morloch's."

  "I didn't. As the throth mists cleared, I simply voiced my earlier convictions about having them all expose themselves. It was you, after all, that suspected."

  "I?"

  "Was it not you who asserted that Joyen protested too much?"

  "He had a right to protest. As a member of the first order, to be confronted by an upstart D'ith pat such as I would be like...would be like a common soldier demanding his king disrobe."

  "Yet you stood against him, and beside me, and even fought with him."

  "Fought!" Allazar choked, "Fought? I barely tickled him."

  "Yet you stood when he struck at you."

  "I stood because the blow he dealt was nothing more than a contemptuous slap in the face for my impertinence. He was D'ith Sek, he could've burned a hole clean through me had he wished. I wonder he did not."

  "To have done so would have meant his own death a heartbeat later."

  "Perhaps. Perhaps."

  "Allazar, soon we must travel to Ferdan. With luck, Brock will come with Willam of Juria. With more luck, Eryk of Threlland will join us there. And if luck is indeed with us, then Thal-Hak might be persuaded from his trees. There will be more wizards in Ferdan than flie
s on horse dung, and of all wizards, you are the one I distrust the least. I would have you less morose and more alert."

  Allazar sighed. "When first I saw you, Longsword, you stood like death facing Callodon guardsmen, your sword drawn, and ready to die. I remember thinking: 'there is a youth for whom death holds no meaning, and may even be a blessing.' Later, in Juria, when I warned you of the Black Riders and their charmed armour, you cried out 'my arrows are tipped with stone, and my blade is far from ordinary.' It occurred to me later as I made my way east, that only one land's foresters tipped their shafts with stone."

  "Raheen. I was taught it as a youth by an old man who took me fishing from time to time."

  "I knew then why you were so careless of your own life against the Ramoths. I wondered, how would I feel, were I to discover my world in ashes? What would I do? Well, now my world is shattered, Longsword. The D'ith Sek, the first order of my brethren, is tainted with Morloch's stinking lust for aquamire. All I held true, and noble, all that gave me strength and purpose, is swept asunder in an instant. It never ceased to hurt me deeply when you railed against all wizards, and when ordinary men held me in such low regard. I could not understand why the races of Man would treat us with such contempt, we who have worked so long and hard for you all. Yet now I know. The thalangard Meeya was right, that day in the Barak-nor. Only wizards could have made so vile a thing as we saw. And I am a wizard."

  Gawain shrugged. "That rather depends on your point of view. According to Joyen, you're not a wizard at all, if I understood him correctly."

  Allazar choked back a chuckle that bordered on a sob. "What would he know, the cursed whitebeard bastard."

  "Cursed dead whitebeard bastard." Gawain said gently. "And speaking of which, about all I can offer by way of comfort is this: Just because you're not dead yet, means you aren't my enemy."