by GJ Kelly
“Perhaps we still might, if all goes well with you and Allazar, though it will be summer by the time you return.”
“Yes,” Gawain realised, and the aching in his heart seemed to balloon again. “Yes, I suppose it will be.”
Rain began falling heavily outside, lashing against the windows behind them in occasional gusts, and spitting on the embers in the fire.
“Sometimes,” Elayeen whispered, “I lay awake at night, wondering if this is all just a faranthroth dream. Wondering if I am still lying on that cold ground, the trees reaching for me…”
“E…”
She lifted her head a little, and glanced at him, offering a weak smile, though her eyes were swimming in sadness, an ocean of hazel-green which held him for a moment in their depths, before she turned again to stare down at her hands and the kerchief she still clutched before her on the table. Gawain knew he would gladly have made a deep and watery grave for himself in those eyes, such was the love he’d seen shining there.
“It is almost a year now since you violated the law of Elvenheth, and took me from Faranthroth, and gave me back my life. Meeya still speaks with awe of that day, of how your eyes blazed like black fire, and your words made the trees tremble. Every time I have been angry with you, when she has been with me, she speaks the words you uttered at the border of Elvenheth. She puts on a deep voice and says: Take me there now or I will hack down every tree and every elf until I find her myself! She knows it always makes my heart sing. Meeya said she and the ‘gard knew those words to be true.”
“I was angry…” Gawain whispered, a little sheepishly, remembering the cold, and the snow, and Gwyn’s desperate push across the plains last winter. “It seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened.”
“No elf would have fought for me the way you did. I was doomed to be hoth to the son of some provincial lord or governor, to strengthen allegiances or gain advantage in Thallanhall. I used to flee Elvenheth and stay with my brother in his province as often as I could, because of that. When first I saw you, making camp in the moonlight on the plains, I envied you your freedom so much. I tried to get closer to you in the hope of somehow sharing, even for a moment, that freedom.”
“And stepped into that old trap, and got a stake through your foot for your trouble. Instead of freedom, all I’ve ever brought you is pain.”
“That isn’t true, G’wain!” Elayeen turned her head to stare at him, wide-eyed. “You surely cannot believe that?”
He sighed, and tore his eyes from hers to stare at the table. “Because of me you endured the agony of athroth, you almost died. Because of me, you were blinded and the throth ripped from us in my father’s hall, my home. You were enslaved by the power of some dread creature long-dead, cast from your homeland, dragged into battle to watch friends die, and sentenced to death by your own Thallanhall. Worse than all this, now you are bound to some duty which makes a farak gorin of the inches now between us, an unbridgeable chasm between my hand and yours, my lips and yours, my arms and you. What have I ever done that could possibly outweigh all these things in the scales of your judgement of me? What possible joy could I have given you that could make you ever forget or forgive all you have been forced to endure because of me?”
Fresh tears slid down Elayeen’s cheeks, and Gawain looked up into her eyes once more, seeing the anguish in them.
“I love you, G’wain.” she whispered. “I am nothing without you, an outcast, homeless and alone. I have nothing, but you. Promise me, you will be careful, when you leave? Promise me you will come back to me?”
Tears suddenly blurred Gawain’s vision, and the moon seemed closer to him than the inches that separated the two of them.
“I’ll never abandon you, E… I never have and I never shall. I love you, you are my queen.”
oOo
18. Comings and Goings
“That’s Ognorm of Ruttmark,” Gawain announced, nodding towards the cloaked dwarf riding into Tarn Square from the south road.
“Ah yes, I remember him now,” Allazar nodded, the pair of them standing with Rak outside the Traveller’s Rest, all three wrapped against the cold.
It was, thankfully, a dry afternoon. Elayeen was still at the Rangers’ Barracks east of the town, and a messenger had said she was waiting with Meeya and Valin for the return of an elven patrol and might remain there the night before returning to town.
It had been one of the town guard who’d alerted Rak to the imminent arrival of Ognorm, and hence the welcome party outside the inn.
“He’s a big bloke too,” Gawain muttered, noting the almost square figure the rider cut, so broad were the dwarf’s shoulders his cloak hung like a sail. “And it seems he can sit saddle rather comfortably, too.”
“The Ruttmark is a long, broad and tree-lined valley, with many tunnels dug into the base of peaks each side,” Rak explained, “A lot of ore emerges there, and must be transported to Smeltmount. This fellow, Ognorm, is probably a topsider, used to riding with the ore-wagons.”
“We’ll soon find out. As long as he can ride, that’s the main thing. I doubt we’ll need his strength until we get to where we’re going. It’s a fine-looking horse, too. Eryk said he’d provide a decent one, and he has.”
Ognorm of Ruttmark brought that decent horse to a halt near the stable doors, and dismounted easily. At first, he smiled inquisitively at the three cloaked figures apparently waiting for him, and then he caught sight of Allazar’s white staff, and his eyes widened, and widened even further when he recognised Gawain.
“Melord Vex!” Ognorm gasped, and flung open his cloak to slap his hand to the emblem of the Kindred embroidered over his left breast.
Gawain returned the salute. “Well met and Vex, Ognorm of Ruttmark, holder of the Ferdan Record. You seem comfortable in the saddle at the trot, how are you at the gallop?”
Ognorm shrugged his broad and powerful shoulders, and grinned. “Ain’t fell off much, melord, but to be fair, us lifters and shifters don’t get to do much galloping in the valley.”
“Lifters and shifters?”
“Arr, we lifts and shifts the ore from the mine-mouths to the smelts.”
“I see,” Gawain smiled, and studied the dwarf as he introduced Rak and Allazar.
Ognorm was perhaps five feet five inches tall, and looked almost as broad at the shoulder as he was tall, though of course that was an illusion given by his cloak and narrow waist. Powerful muscles bulged beneath the sleeves of his tunic, and from his belt hung the traditional Threlland rock-hammer, and, a little alarmingly, a three-foot long Meggen iron mace. Immense thighs bulged beneath heavy waterproof trousers, and good stout miners’ boots left a print on the flagstones that almost two of Gawain’s would occupy. An explosion of curly black hair crowned a square-jawed and smiling face, dark brown eyes beaming with pride.
“Have you been told the nature of your duty?” Rak asked quietly.
“Narr, melord,” Ognorm sniffed in the cold wind and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, “Just got told melord Vex needed Ognorm o’ the ‘Mark again, got given a good ‘orse, and here I be.”
Rak nodded. “Then we’ll get your horse comfortable in stables, and I’ll take you to your room here at the inn. I’ll explain briefly why you’re needed, and where you’ll be going. It might be another day or two before you leave.”
“Arr, right-oh melord, long as it’s not too complicated, I’m yer man,” Ognorm grinned.
“That’s a Meggen mace, isn’t it?” Gawain nodded towards the weapon hanging at the dwarf’s right hip.
“Arr. Goit I took it from dint need it no more. Relieved a few of his mates o’ the need for theirs with it an’ all. Some o’ the boys in the line, they had sword an’ ‘ammer. Me, I’m not much for swords, so swapped mine with a Meggen, left it sticking in the bastard’s ‘ead and bin carrying this ever since. Give it a name, too: Nadcracker. On account of it does a cracking good job of it. I can leave it behind if you want, melord?”
“N
o, that’s fine,” Gawain smiled at the grim humour. “I was just curious. I’ll leave you with lord Rak and the wizard, I have a few things of my own to attend to before we leave.”
“Arr,” Ognorm nodded, and tapped his chest in salute again, “Melord? Thanks for calling Ognorm o’ the ‘Mark. I won’t let you down.”
Gawain paused, and eyed the honest pride shining from that powerful face. Pride that Gawain knew would be sorely dented when the dwarf learned from Rak the part Threlland had played in the destruction of Calhaneth.
“Vex,” Gawain returned the salute, and set off across the square to attend to Gwyn.
Later in the evening, sitting by the fire in Rak’s living-room, Gawain announced that they were ready to leave. All that remained now was Elayeen’s return with one of the Kindred Rangers to represent elves on the journey back to Calhaneth. Packs and saddle-bags had been packed and re-packed, clothing and provisions checked and re-checked, and now it was simply a matter of waiting.
“How did Ognorm receive the details of our quest?” Gawain asked, basking in the warmth of the fire.
“Calmly enough,” Allazar asserted, “Though where once he felt genuine and obvious pride at being able to serve the Kindred again, he now also feels a profound sense of duty to his own people, too. The weight of history sits now upon those broad shoulders of his.”
“Yes,” Rak agreed. “I know you have suffered a degree of discomfort at singling out this fellow for service, my brother, but you must try to understand dwarves a little better than you do if you’re to appreciate why Ognorm is so proud to serve.”
“His was the first name that popped into my head, Rak. Who knows what suffering my announcing his name to Eryk may cause.”
Rak shook his head. “There’s a reason why the infantry strove so hard to win the record for arrow-throwing, and a reason why Ognorm is so determined to serve with honour on this quest to recover the Orb. Many dwarves live their lives in obscurity, many living much of those lives deep underground. Seldom does one ever excel or rise above any other, to the extent that their names become known beyond their own small communities. It’s why Martan’s pensioners wept tears of joy and pride, knowing he’d sent you their names and that you’d read them on the page.
“Not only the whole of the Ruttmark but all Threlland knows Ognorm’s name now, not just because of his record throw at Ferdan, but for you calling on him and his friends at Far-gor. In the Ruttmark, they’ll speak in hushed tones rich with awe and respect of the day Lord Vex cried out, in full hearing of the whole world gathered there, ‘Ognorm of Ruttmark! Nail that bastard!’ And that’s a tale they’ll tell for generations, come whatever may.”
Gawain blinked. “And yet in calling on him now I may have condemned him to death far from home.”
“Pish,” Allazar announced, and stretched his feet towards the fire. “I heard them talking at the inn today, of Niklas of Thurmount and his crew, with awe and respect bordering on reverence.”
“It’s true,” Rak agreed. “Though Niklas may never fully recover from the injuries he received, all Thurmount, and all Threlland, know his name, and those of Brek, Jok, and Rocknoggin, his crew. And they tell how you called on them to thread the needle that was the dark wizard on the wing, and loose the first telling shot of the battle. The story is well told, and often. Such honours live in the hearts and minds of families for generations.
“Don’t allow your conscience to be troubled on Ognorm’s account, my brother. The fact that you spoke his name in the Hall of Threlland’s Fathers is enough for him and all the Ruttmark to follow wherever you might lead. To sophisticated people, what might seem commonplace is often held extraordinary by simple folk. To you, what might seem only a word or two spoken in haste, is to them an honour which will live long after they’re gone.”
“And you, Longsword, have always failed to understand the great esteem in which you are held. And for this, I often think we should all be grateful. If you understood the weight your words and deeds carry, you might be tempted never to say or do anything again for fear of the effect you might have on others.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I lurch around like a buffoon with not even a worm’s understanding of the consequences?”
“No, it’s a polite way of saying carry on lurching, and let others worry about such consequences as there may be.”
Rak chuckled quietly, and there was a companionable silence while the fire crackled.
“You will watch over Elayeen for me, Rak?”
“Of course. If there is one thing you need not concern yourself with on your journey to that dread city, it is the safety and wellbeing of your lady.”
The lady in question returned to Rak’s house some two hours after dawn the following morning, and with her came Meeya, Valin, and the powerfully-built elf Gawain recognised as Reesen of ‘Heth. Gawain could only catch his breath and watch as she approached, her hair streaming about her in the blustery wind, cloak drawn tight but the hems snapping in the gusts, while all about them, swirling on the cobbles, fine and powdery grains of snow were driven this way and that.
It was bitterly cold, the wind cut like a knife, but the morning was as bright as the eyes locked on Gawain’s all the way across the town square. The last of the light-grey clouds responsible for the short-lived dusting of snow scudded towards the south, and when Elayeen was some twenty yards from the house, the sun shone brightly, making her hair seem to glow as she reined in to dismount.
“Egrith miheth,” Elayeen announced, smiling sadly, and tilting her head a little.
“Egrith miheth,” Gawain replied, keeping his hands thrust into his pockets beneath his cloak, the better to prevent them reaching out for her. “You must have left early to arrive so early.”
“We left at dawn. I know you are anxious to be on your way, the sooner to return.”
Gawain nodded, filled with pride and wonder at his queen’s courage and dignity, and the way she held herself before him.
“Meeya and Valin have returned with me as escort, and to bid you farewell. This, you may remember, is Reesen of Elvenheth, once of the thalangard, now of the Kindred Rangers. His Sight will watch over you in place of mine, on your journey, and in that place to which I cannot go.”
When Elayeen had finished speaking, Reesen took half a pace forward, saluted, and bowed.
“MiThal,” the elf announced, standing tall once more. “Vex.”
“Vex, Reesen am ’Heth,” Gawain acknowledged the salute, and Allazar stepped forward.
“With your permission, your Majesties, I’ll escort the Ranger to the inn to meet Ognorm of Ruttmark.”
“We’ll leave within the hour, Allazar,” Gawain announced, “We can make some distance on the plains before nightfall thanks to my lady’s early arrival.”
“Of course,” Allazar announced, and uttering a short stream of elvish, led the Ranger back across the square towards the inn.
“I’ll have your horse taken to the stables,” Rak announced to Elayeen. “Will you and your lady be staying for the night, Serre Valin?”
“No, by your leave, we shall return to our lodgings soon after Thal-Gawain departs.”
“Very well. You do both know you are welcome in my house, and with the wizard Allazar leaving for the south, the second guest room will be vacant once again?”
“Thank you,” Valin replied, but didn’t accept the offer.
“Let’s get inside out of the cold,” Gawain sighed, “At least while Allazar and Ognorm’s horses are being readied.”
In lady Merrin’s kitchen there was a happy and warm reunion with Merrin herself and Travak, but the infant knew something was amiss and his normal bubbly laughter was noticeably absent. Gawain stood in the doorway, watching Elayeen, feeling the weight of the sword strapped across his back for the first time he could remember. She caught his gaze, and smiled sadly. There would be no farewell embrace, no clinging to one another, no fond kisses or caresses or tightly-held hands when the time came
for Gawain to leave.
“Has Reesen learned the common tongue so quickly?” Gawain asked quietly.
“No,” Elayeen confirmed his doubts, “But you have a long journey ahead of you for him to learn.”
“And perhaps for me to learn elvish?” Gawain smiled, catching the unspoken hint in her eye and the tilt of her head.
“Perhaps.”
“May I know what orders you’ve given him, since I can’t question him myself.”
Again, Elayeen smiled sadly. “His instructions are simply to watch over you all, and to witness the disposal of the Orb on behalf of all of us who feel the shame of Calhaneth. You should trust him, G’wain, as you would trust me. The Sight cannot pass to those who are not worthy of it, and Reesen’s loyalty is beyond all doubt.”
“If he has your approval, E, there can be no doubt at all.”
“Valin has prepared a list of commands in elvish which you may find useful, though I hope you never have to use them.”
Gawain glanced with surprise at the elf, who took a folded leaf of paper from his tunic pocket, and stepped forward to hand it to the young man who, since Far-gor, had received the Rangers’ oaths of duty.
“Thank you, Valin,” Gawain acknowledged, and opened the paper. On it was a short list of military commands, in the common tongue with their elvish equivalent; stand to, stand down, alarm, ready, shoot, and others which a warrior might expect from an officer in battle.
Gawain nodded his gratitude, and slipped the paper into his tunic. “I should go and get Gwyn saddled and ready.”
“I will accompany you,” Elayeen said softly, “If you have no objection?”
“No, of course not. You can help by carrying the saddle-bags if you like, they’re not heavy.”
“Frak, and your small healer’s helper, with its bottle of Jurian brandy?”
Gawain smiled. “You know me well, my lady.”
Meeya and Valin stepped aside, and together, Gawain and Elayeen, both carrying packs and bags, passed through the back door Rak held open for them and walked to the stables. There, in the gloomy interior, Lyas the apprentice adjusted Gwyn’s blanket and held her bridle while Gawain lifted the saddle into position.