by GJ Kelly
"The wound is deep, mithroth," he sighed, and began unwinding the bandages. "It must be stitched."
Elayeen nodded, and grimaced as the wound was exposed, blood streaming afresh.
"How came you here, Gan?" Gawain asked, hoping to distract Elayeen's attention from the pain while he bathed the wound in Jurian brandy.
Gan sighed, watching his people, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "You were seen, breth-hoth, as I think you knew you must be, by our patrols. Word was sent to me, and so I and the thalangard tracked your progress."
"Is all well, in Elvendere?" Gawain asked again, threading a curved needle with horse-hair dipped in Jurian brandy.
"All is confusion."
"Then Meeya and Valin, and the Threllandmen, arrived safely?"
"They did. There was an...incident. One of the dwarves was injured. But he is recovered."
Elayeen choked back a sob as Gawain began working the needle. Allazar knelt behind her.
"By your leave, Longsword?" The wizard asked.
"Aye." Gawain replied, and Allazar rested his hands gently on each side of Elayeen's head, and began a gentle muttering, stilling her pain as best he could while Gawain concentrated through strange aquamire and stitched the wound.
"Will Thal-Hak come to Ferdan?" Gawain asked.
"If he does not, I shall. By now, word will already have reached him of my trespass onto Jurian soil, and of the battle. Even the wizards in Elvenheth cannot now refute the enemy that Meeya and Valin speak of."
"You spoke of confusion?"
"All is confusion. We are told that all Threllanders hate us, yet Threllanders are in Elvendere, and are frith, and gentle people. We are told mishith is faranthroth, yet Meeya and Valin say she lives, and is Thalin-Raheen, and thrives in Threlland. We are told you are Morloch-cursed and must be destroyed, yet we learn you are Raheen, and now I see you are truly throth, and hoth, to mishith Elayeen. And we are told the enemy lays waiting to the northwest of our land, preparing for war."
"How could they have evaded our Rangers, mithroth?" Elayeen gasped as Gawain tied the final knot, and cut the thread.
"They did not. The enemy we met today came from the Gorian wasteland, not the Barak-nor. They were the closer force. How long they have lain in wait on the plains I do not know. Most likely ever since Joyen sent word of our plans when he first learned them from Eryk."
Gawain gently wiped the stitched wound with a cloth soaked in brandy, and set about winding a fresh bandage around her leg. When he'd done, Allazar ceased his mumbling, and withdrew his hands.
"Mibreth," Elayeen sighed, "Our father must come to Ferdan. Juria and Callodon will soon arrive."
Gan nodded. "I shall try. But...all is confusion. I cannot stay any longer," Gan turned around to gaze down at his sister, "Our people are ready to return our fallen home."
Elayeen nodded, her eyes brimming, and Gawain helped her to her feet. She took a hesitant step forward, but Gan took a pace backward. Pain and confusion filled Elayeen's eyes.
"I cannot embrace you, Elayeen. Mishith is yet faranthroth, and it is unseemly for me to embrace the queen of Raheen."
"Gan..." Elayeen pleaded, and the expressions of both elf and elfin were of such anguish that the strange aquamire drained away from Gawain's eyes.
"We will travel with you, Gan-thal am Elvendere, at least as far as we may."
Gan nodded, and bowed, and then turned to walk back to his people. It took a little time to transfer Elayeen's saddle and her packs to one of the Morlochmen's horses, and Gawain held Elayeen tightly to him while it was being done.
"It took much for your brother to trespass thus, and his thalangard." Gawain said softly. "Do not be so downhearted, mithroth. In truth, with the eyes of the thalangard and the Jurian patrol upon him, he had no choice but to refuse your embrace."
She sniffed, and wiped her eyes. "I know. Yet it breaks my heart. To see elves fallen thus, and know that it was for me they died."
Gawain hugged her, as Allazar brought the horse forward. "I know. But many more may fall before Morloch is truly defeated. We must be strong, for their sake, and remember them always."
He helped her into the saddle, and then mounted Gwyn, and they waited quietly while the mournful procession of thalangard, led of course by Gan, began their slow and sorrowful procession back towards the distant trees.
Gawain, Elayeen and Allazar followed at a respectful distance, and the Jurian cavalry, still maintaining their warrior's salute, moved to flank the procession. Thus they left the battlefield behind them, in silence, the first victory of the coming conflict won, the price paid clear before them.
A hundred paces from the tree line, the Jurian escort, yet in funereal salute, halted, as did the rearguard. The elves continued on without hesitation, and bushes rustled as elves appeared in the trees to welcome the mournful party home. Gan drew his horse to one side, and bowed as the fallen were borne past him into Elvendere. Then, when all were safe beyond the trees, he turned, and under the watchful eye of dozens of elves, he rode slowly back and drew his horse alongside Elayeen's.
Without a word he handed her his longbow, and his quiver, and then he rode back to the tree line. He gave a brief command, and the watching elves stepped forward into clear view as Gan turned his horse, placed his hand on his heart, and returned the salute to the Jurian cavalry patrol. Then, moments later, they were gone, leaving just the breezes sighing in the boughs as if in gentle eulogy.
"Your Majesty," Byrne announced as his men sheathed their weapons. "It will be our honour to escort you to Ferdan."
"And ours to be escorted thus." Gawain replied. "Honour to you, Captain, and to your men. You have done a noble service this day, it shall not be forgotten."
"Thank you, your Majesty." Byrne replied softly, and with a last lingering glance at the trees, they moved off, heading south.
In truth, it was a quiet journey, spent mostly in reflection. When they rested to eat, Gawain tended to Elayeen's wound, taking great care to keep it clean and the bandages fresh. She bore the discomfort well, and all around admired her for it. The deep gash was awkwardly placed where riding was concerned, yet she did not protest nor slow their steady progress.
The battering Gawain had received stiffened his muscles, and his shoulder in particular protested much until Allazar persuaded him to allow him near it.
"I don't want some whitebeard mumbling in my ear." Gawain muttered darkly.
"Yet you permitted me to mumble in your Lady's." Allazar pointed out.
"That was different."
"How so, mithroth?"
Gawain mumbled something about chickens, which drew strange looks from the Jurians in the camp.
"Chickens?" Allazar protested, "I do not understand. What has this to do with the bruising to your shoulder?"
"Never mind. It is a long story."
"Mithroth, I am hurt that you would allow Allazar to aid me, yet you trust him not to aid you." Elayeen said with mock severity. "Do you value me so low?"
"No!" Gawain protested, "You were sorely wounded and I would not see you in such pain! This bruising is a trifle."
"Which impairs your judgement as well as your aim with arrow and blade." Elayeen chided. "On which we may yet depend."
"Then do what you think you must, wizard. But I warn you, if I hear the word 'chicken' I shall cut off your arm and beat you to death with your own hand."
"Thank you, Longsword." Allazar grumbled, and rested his fingertips on Gawain's shoulder.
There were no recognisable words in the wizard's chanting, and certainly not the word which seemed to so worry Gawain. But next morning when he awoke, the pain in his shoulder had eased considerably, and by lunchtime had faded almost to a memory.
A day from Ferdan, Captain Byrne drew his horse alongside Gawain's.
"Your Majesty?" the officer began.
"Aye, Captain?"
"We have but a small force at Ferdan. The Foresters, such as they are, and but four
troops of cavalry. Our commander expects more when their Majesties arrive with their honour-guards, of course. But..."
"You are concerned that the enemy might attack the town, if it hasn't already."
"Aye."
"You are right to be concerned," Gawain said, his voice hard. "I too am worried. If Eryk of Threlland approaches, as by now he surely must, his guard may not be enough to meet an enemy of the strength we encountered. Likewise Arrun and Mornland, should they elect to attend."
"I believe their ambassadors are already en route. Two troops were dispatched to escort them, as we were to escort you."
"Ambassadors?" Gawain sighed, "Do they not send crowns?"
"I know not. Ambassadors was the information imparted to me. Do you think they are in danger?"
Gawain nodded. "It would be sensible to assume the worst, Captain. Perhaps you would inform your commander of that, when we arrive tomorrow."
"Aye."
It was a worried-looking Captain that rode off to the van, and ordered his men to extend the radius of their escort and check every bush and thicket along the route before them.
"Do you truly think the town may fall under attack?" Allazar asked quietly.
Gawain shrugged. "Probably not. It would be a pointless assault, unless all the crowned heads were assembled there. I suspect the Morlochmen may have sent a number of their patrols, as we encountered, in an attempt to prevent a Council. I cannot believe they were intended solely for us alone. I'm only glad that Meeya and Valin left Threlland when they did, before that whitebeard bastard Joyen could send word to his master. Otherwise they might not have reached Elvendere at all."
"Yet they are safely home, miheth." Elayeen said. "And all Elvendere now knows Threlland is frith."
"Knowing it is one thing, my Lady, believing it is another. I can well imagine the confusion that must reign in your homeland. But it is well that the dreary town of Ferdan is to a degree fortified. Decent archers could hold it against a small force."
"Then," Elayeen said quietly, "I hope my brother can persuade Thal-Hak to attend. He would not leave the trees without a hundred thalangard around him. The nobles would insist."
"It would certainly be reassuring." Allazar grunted.
It was mid morning when they arrived at the fortress town of Ferdan, and in truth Gawain was relieved to see it still standing, and still spectacularly lacklustre. He half expected to see the same indolent guardsman slouched on his bench when they rode through the wide open gates, but he was pleasantly surprised.
Troops were resplendent in new uniforms, and artisans were hurriedly attempting to brighten up the buildings with fresh paint. The air was filled with the smell of it, and fresh-sawn wood, and new buildings had sprung up here and there. Barracks, Captain Byrne explained, and quarters suitable for royal visitors.
They were met by the officer commanding the town, a dour-looking cavalry General Officer called Bek, who grunted through the requisite pleasantries until Captain Byrne made his report. Then the swarthy General was suddenly on home territory, and began issuing orders to extend patrols and man the pallisades.
Gawain, Elayeen, and Allazar were shown to a new building, and though everything had about it the same fresh smell, the rooms they were given were comfortable and adequate. Allazar promptly sent for a healer to attend upon Elayeen.
"You doubt my needlework?" Gawain asked, archly.
"A second opinion is often wise." Allazar replied, and Elayeen smiled.
"I am sure you have done a fine job, mithroth, but I cannot spend the rest of this wound's life smelling like a Jurian tavern."
"The brandy is effective at keeping the wound free from infection." Gawain explained.
"And confers upon your Lady an unfortunate reputation if the odour is not soon removed." Allazar pointed out.
Gawain sighed, and helped Elayeen settle on their bed. He stared deep into her eyes, and she smiled, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him.
"You would benefit from bathing too, husband." She teased.
"Thank you. At least I reek of honest sweat, and not like a taverner."
A polite knock on the door admitted not one but three healers, who all bowed low and promptly but politely eased Gawain aside. Allazar grinned, and took Gawain's arm.
"We should take your Lady's advice, and bathe while these experts assess your skill with the needle."
With a final smile for Elayeen, Gawain and Allazar left the apartments for the baths.
"When do you expect Brock and Willam will arrive?" Gawain sighed, revelling in the hot water as he soaked.
"In a very few days. I believe that cavalry officer dispatched riders south with the news of your arrival."
"Good. I only hope another Morloch raiding party is not laying in wait for them."
"As do I."
Gawain paused, his eyes closed. Then he opened them, and stared at Allazar for a moment.
"What ails you, Longsword?" the wizard asked, soaping himself.
"You did well, Allazar. On the battlefield."
The wizard looked suddenly embarrassed. "I did what I could. I wish I could have done more. But Joyen was right. I am D'ith pat, and my powers are limited."
"They were enough, when called upon. Who could ask for more?"
"I could." Allazar sighed. "I would that I had the power to cast my own Breath upon Morloch's vile head. And all his kind."
"I hope that time never comes." Gawain scowled. "No wizard should have such power."
"I would gladly give it up, after the deed had been done."
"Ah."
Allazar smiled sadly. "Perhaps you're right. Such power is indeed temptation. Yet, I would advise you, Longsword?"
"Aye?"
"Take care, when Council is formed. The wizards there will be D'ith Sek, as Joyen was. It would not be wise to anger them."
"You forget, Allazar. I vex Morloch himself. What is one of your D'ith Sek compared with him?"
Allazar sighed. "I am to the First Order what a Ramoth mercenary was to you. Feeble. If one of the high-order brethren turns his ire upon you, I do not think my futile powers could shield you for a moment."
"I think you underestimate yourself, wizard. And me. There are hearts that yet beat, and would not but for your intervention."
"Thank you."
"And my thanks, Allazar, for my Lady's life. Speaking of whom, I think I am clean enough not to offend her nose with my presence."
Allazar smiled. "A word of advice?"
"Of course." Gawain grunted, towelling himself dry.
"Do not be surprised should the floodgates of her tears burst open, later."
"Her tears?"
"Aye." Allazar said softly. "For you, the battle on the plains was but one of many episodes. For your Lady, it was her first. She has carried herself well for you, Longsword. But in private moments, alone and shielded from public gaze..."
Gawain nodded, remembering distant events. The look of horror in ladies' eyes, so long ago, before he wielded the sword of justice against the Ramoth.
Alone in their room, later, as Gawain held Elayeen and caressed her hair, she shuddered, and buried her head in his chest.
"We are alone, my love." Gawain said softly, and as Allazar had predicted, she wept.
oOo
44. Ferdan
Gawain stood on the decking outside the apartments they occupied, Elayeen by his side, and watched as honour-guards streamed through the main gates. Jurian, and Callodonian, their uniforms bright yet showing signs of travel.
Once the van had peeled away to flank the entrance to the courtyard, Gawain said softly:
"That is Brock of Callodon, with the beard and unruly hair. Beside him is Willam of Juria, though he looks considerably healthier than when last I saw him."
"And the Lady? She notices you."
"That is Juria's daughter, Hellin."
"She is pretty."
Gawain smiled in the sunshine. "I had not noticed. When last I saw her, she
was distraught. You recall my telling you?"
"I do. I am not teasing you, mihoth. I am simply saying that she is pretty, and that she has noticed you."
"I suspect it is you she notices, my Lady. It has been a long time, I think, since Jurian crowns have seen royal elves."
Then Gawain smiled broadly, and raised a hand in greeting.
"Who is that?" Elayeen asked softly.
"That is Jerryn, and it would seem that like Sarek he too has been promoted. He wears the insignia of Major in the Royal Jurian Guard."
"He is your friend?"
"He was. It was he who aided Allazar and Rak in the plan to fool the Ramoths into believing I was at large in Juria."
"When you were at the Teeth, and I thought you slain."
"Aye." Gawain agreed quietly, and slid his arm around her waist.
"All is well, mithroth, that pain is a far distant memory now."
"Ah. May I not hold you thus, then?"
Elayeen smiled, and brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes as she watched the procession. "In Elvendere, such public displays on occasions like these would be...discouraged."
"We're not in Elvendere."
"Oh!" Elayeen smiled, "It would seem that Major Jerryn is gallant as well as handsome. See how he helps the Lady Hellin from her horse."
Gawain smiled. "Odd how when a complete stranger helps a Lady from her horse, he is deemed gallant and handsome. I've helped you from yours a hundred times and never received such compliments."
"Never have I complimented you? Are you sure you wish to proceed, my lord, in spite of the wisdom friend Allazar imparted not so very long ago, regarding mouths and feet?"
Gawain grinned sheepishly. "Sometimes I wish you were possessed of strange aquamire, mithroth, so I would know when you are truly displeased with me."
"You would know, miheth, believe me. I would have no need of dark shining eyes to convey my displeasure should you ever offend me."
"Longsword! By the Teeth!" a deep voice boomed across the courtyard, and Brock of Callodon strode towards them, his unruly hair billowing in the breezes.
"Callodon." Gawain acknowledged. "Well met, and honour to the Crown."