The Longsword Chronicles: Book 06 - Elayeen

by GJ Kelly

  They had to let it cool a little, before picking at the seared meat with their fingers.

  “I do not believe this is as wonderful as the wizard Allazar frequently declares,” Valin sighed.

  “Compared to the alternative, mihoth, it is.”

  “Ah.”

  Later, as the sun began to dip behind the rolling hills, the last embers of the Goth-lord’s staff glowing faintly, they sat quietly. The horses had been tended, and well too, given the hard miles they had run in pursuit of the dark wizard. The gathering gloom brought with it an air of melancholy, and a sense of anti-climax.

  Meeya suddenly sighed, and let her head fall back onto Valin’s shoulder. “It feels as though I’ve failed them. Failed Kistin and the other children slain by that iron-faced bastard.”

  “You failed no-one, Meemee,” Elayeen asserted. “We did the best that we could. How could we have known the creature would have access to such support here in these lands? G’wain might have been able to see signs we missed, perhaps. Perhaps not. We would not have been here at all but for events in Tarn. Had Morloch not appeared there, we might still be in Threlland preparing to leave.”

  “And all Fallowmead destroyed,” Valin added. “And the Goth and his army of Meggen at liberty in these lands. Serendipity indeed.”

  “Or the coming to pass of plans laid long ago,” Meeya yawned.

  “Bah.”

  “You can’t know that the Shitheen did not intend us to be in the right place at the right time to prevent the scourging of Arrun by that horde, Leeny.”

  “Nor can you know that they did. You were never superstitious in Elvenheth, miMeeya, I hope you do not become so now just because we have encountered simple folk and their ways.”

  “No. But you can’t deny the Shitheen are Seers, though.”

  “No, I cannot. But I can suggest they were not looking in this direction when they set their spike in the tunnel beneath the farak gorin and then washed their hands of it. Ultimately, it is Morloch at the root of all things evil in this land. To start believing our paths were chosen centuries ago simply because certain events have occurred with an outcome which favours us rather than him is nonsense. Do you share this superstition, Valin?”

  “I prefer to spend my time here in the present, miThalin, and to deal with whatever arises in the immediate future. The past is gone, and the future depends entirely upon what we and others do, or decide to do, here in the present.”

  “Did you overhear a wizard saying such things, Vali?” Meeya asked, her tone slightly surprised.

  “No. The words are my own.”

  “Then you are very clever, miheth,” and Meeya twisted slightly to kiss him on the cheek, an act which, in clear sight of Elayeen, made the very proper officer blush a little.

  “Would you like me to go for a walk?” Elayeen smiled, teasing them, hoping to dispel the air of failure and doubt that seemed to be growing stronger.

  “No, miThalin, thank you,” Valin managed.

  Meeya rolled her eyes, and offered Elayeen a weak smile.

  “Did either of you notice the shield the Graken-rider raised against our arrows?”

  “It was hard not to, since it was all that spared his Dwarfspit head from my shot,” Meeya grimaced, closing her eyes.

  “It was grey,” Elayeen frowned, “All the others I have seen, from Raheen to Far-gor, have been black.”

  “It was,” Valin agreed.

  “And the rider? And the Graken?”

  “Alas, miThalin,” he apologised, “My eyes were my own, the better to aim.”

  “Mine too,” Meeya agreed, “I did not use my eldeneyes from the moment we began rushing down the hillside.”

  “Nor I,” Elayeen concurred, shuffling on her bedroll.

  “Is it important, d’you think, Leeny?”

  “It might be.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I wish G’wain were here. He would know.”

  “I wish the wizard Allazar had been here,” Meeya grumbled, “He’d have fried the Goth and the Graken and we could have asked its rider any number of questions.”

  “True,” Elayeen sighed. “But he’d have eaten all the rabbit.”

  “D’you think it will come back?”

  “The rabbit?”

  “The Graken.”

  “Why would it?”

  “I don’t know. To collect the Goth-lord’s staff and boots? To strike at us?”

  It was a good question, Elayeen knew it, and she thought for a while before answering.

  “No,” she finally decided. “The Goth-lord was wounded, and such wounds as he received were not trivial. He will need care for some time. The Graken-rider may even have been wounded himself, though I do think it was the saddle that was struck. And his attention was fixed upon the rescue of the Goth and his own defence. As far as the Graken-rider is concerned, we are perhaps just three horse-warriors, not worth the risk of further pursuit.”

  “Where do you think they have gone, Leeny?”

  “I don’t know. They headed towards the southeast. There is nothing that way but the River Sudenstem and our own destination at the fork in the river there. Beyond that lies south-eastern Callodon, and the Eastbinding mountains.”

  “We cannot know it did not turn once it was beyond our view,” Valin’s voice was stern, and alarming.

  “Meaning what?”

  “I do not wish to trouble all our sleep with my own doubts.”

  Meeya sat up, and Elayeen leaned forward.

  “What doubts? What trouble?” Meeya demanded.

  Valin sighed. “What if there was more than one ship. What if other ships found a safe landing at Sudshear. What if the Graken came from there, and the southern capital of Arrun has fallen?”

  “Dwarfspit…” Meeya gasped.

  Elayeen blinked.

  oOo

  33. The F in Trouble

  “It doesn’t bear thinking about,” Meeya insisted, grimacing at the strip of frak she held before her as though it were a live slug she were about to eat.

  “The frak? Or the thought of the enemy having invaded this land?” Valin asked.

  “Both.”

  They were on horseback, ambling towards the northeast, the general direction of the camp in which their belongings had been stowed. Elayeen had remained adamant about recovering her red and gold doublet, together with the rest of the provisions supplied in sealed jars by the folk of Fallowmead. There’d been no breakfast, and with no kindling nearby after burning the Goth-lord’s staff and cloak, no other choice but frak on the move for a meal. And they were still troubled by the possibilities Valin had raised the night before.

  “What do you think, Leeny? Tell him he’s wrong.”

  Elayeen pondered the question. “I cannot gainsay Valin, Meemee, you know that. We have been far from any source of news ever since we left Tarn. Sudshear could have fallen, and we would not know it, either out here in the Southshearings of Arrun or back in Fallowmead. The Graken came from somewhere.”

  “Id vame frob de sowveath,” Meeya mumbled, chewing the frak open-mouthed, attempting not to taste it, and failing if her expression were anything to go by.

  “It could have turned in any direction once beyond our sight,” Valin asserted, “As my ill-mannered spouse knows perfectly well.”

  “Bleh,” the ill-mannered spouse managed, though whether in reply to her husband or voicing her opinion of her meal, they couldn’t say and she didn’t elaborate.

  “G’wain was worried about a second front opening in the south,” Elayeen frowned, “But he believed the threat would come from the west, through the Jarn Gap and into Callodon from the Old Kingdom of Pellarn.”

  “Perhaps it has,” Valin shrugged, and again reminded them: “The Graken could have turned in any direction.”

  “Such speculation does us more harm than good,” Elayeen sighed, deciding to stifle the worms of wriggling doubts and concentrate instead on travelling and being kinder than they
had been of late to their horses while so doing. “We cannot know what is happening in the world, and can do nothing about events far beyond our range.”

  “If we’d killed that Dwarfspit bastard Goth when we had the chance, we might have been able to bring down the Graken too. Then we might have been able to interrogate the rider. When we finally reach our destination, I mean to turn my hand to fletching. The Rangers can’t hope to serve effectively with these dwarf-made pointy sticks.”

  “They did their best for us, Meeya. Had we been crossbowmen the steel bolts they would have furnished would doubtless have been the finest in all these eastern lands.”

  “And,” Valin added, “Sarek ensured that all our arrows were as closely weight-matched as possible.”

  “It’s not the weight, Vali,” Meeya sighed, “As you well know. The response is horrible and could only be made worse by shooting with a wet string.”

  “All the more reason to celebrate inflicting such wounds upon the enemy as we did, here and at Fallowmead. Meemee, you have to let go of your anger and disappointment at the Goth’s escape. If you do not, it will consume you, and distract you.”

  “I’m sorry, Leeny. But I wanted that bastard dead, and I still do. I would eat frak the rest of my days if I could shoot that vicious child-murderer in the head, right here and now. That is how much he has offended me.”

  “Now perhaps you understand a little more of G’wain’s feelings in the matter of Morloch. And mine, at Fallowmead.”

  “There is a difference, though,” Meeya pouted. “It’s one thing for warriors to fight warriors, quite another for them to bring their horrors to bear upon defenceless children.”

  “As they did at Raheen. And as they would have done at Fallowmead had they not been utterly and ruthlessly exterminated before they had a chance to set foot in the village. You keep making the same mistake, miMeeya. You keep gifting the enemy with your civilised sensibilities, your honour, your compassion, and your understanding of the Luminar’s teachings. They possess none of these things. They do not think as you do, do not feel as you do, and do not believe as you do.

  “They have been raised for centuries for one thing and one thing only: the complete and utter destruction of all lands south of the Teeth. It matters not to them be it pig, cattle, goat, ass, sheep, horse, child, man or woman, if they see it, they can kill it, and that is what they will do. You did not see the Meggen held captive in Ferdan. I did. So ingrained is their lust for blood, the prisoner even threw himself at the Grimmand sent to kill him, even though he might have remained safe from it behind the bars of his cell.”

  “I saw enough of them at Far-gor,” Meeya protested. “I know the enemy is vile beyond our ability to describe. I can’t help my feelings, Leeny. I’ll do my best not to let them interfere with my duty, but I feel what I feel.”

  “Then when we are settled with the last riders of Raheen, I look forward to a goodly supply of well-made arrows from the hand of Master Fletcher Meeya.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “Not so. I agree with you, the Rangers cannot hope to perform to the high standards expected of former thalangard officers using poor quality arrows.”

  “Let us hope then,” Valin announced, deadpan, “That the last riders of Raheen chose their new home wisely, and with many suitable trees, and geese for a supply of feathers.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m allowed.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  Valin, wisely perhaps, declined to answer the question, and they rode on, easing the pace up to the canter.

  Elayeen, though, was worried. Valin’s suggestion that a large enemy force had found a safe harbour on the eastern coast was within the realms of possibility; if one ship had been sent, why not more? Most of the safe harbours in the south were in Callodon, her studies in lord Rak’s house had confirmed that, but Callodon was the most militarily capable kingdom south of Juria. The enemy would much prefer a landing on the east coast than the south.

  But for the tactics employed against the Meggen at Fallowmead, the enemy would have swept through the village unhindered and unharmed, and likely continued south wreaking havoc all the way to the capital. The tactics she had employed against them may have been unsavoury, but they had been necessary to protect all Arrun from exactly the same fate which would have befallen them had the Battle of Far-gor been lost last year.

  She missed Gawain more than ever, and his insight, and his military training. What Elayeen knew of fighting she had learned from her brother, Gan. The military was not her place, and never had been, unless for the sake of politics or the Toorseneth’s own agenda her place was to have been at the side of some high-ranking officer or lordling. Her ‘creativity’ at Fallowmead had been learned from books and from Gawain, and born more from desperation than sound military strategy.

  Now, riding back for their belongings, she was confused, and filled with doubts once again. Her best and oldest friend still seemed to believe her choices and actions at Fallowmead had been wrong, even though the only alternative to using traps, fire, caustic powders and liquids had been flight and the complete destruction of the village and its inhabitants. That same friend seemed gripped by her own personal dilemma, lost in swirling emotions born of attempting to reconcile her hatred of the escaped Goth-lord with her distaste for the methods Elayeen had employed against his army. Valin, ever the professional, had buried his feelings deep, becoming something of a detached observer, but that merely seemed to distance him from Elayeen and Meeya when both would have preferred his strong and quiet support.

  Perhaps, she thought, it was the sudden anti-climax of failure following the intensity of battle at Fallowmead and the frenetic pursuit of the running Goth which had so drastically modified their moods and outlook. Before discovering the remains of Kistin Fallowmead, they had been relaxed but alert, enjoying peace and good humour and quietly looking forward to arriving at their destination without ceremony or trouble of any kind.

  But since that night on the plains more than two weeks ago now, they had enjoyed no peace at all, and good humour had been in short supply, and strained at best. A sudden thought struck her, and she gave voice to it.

  “Today is the twenty-first day of March. The rider, Steffen, we despatched from Fallowmead on the packhorse will have arrived in Sudshear four or five days ago.”

  “Then let’s hope Valin is entirely wrong, and there was only one ship!” Meeya called back over the sound of cantering hooves.

  Yes indeed, Elayeen thought. For his sake, as well as for all Arrun’s.

  Later that afternoon they paused here and there to collect gnarled wood from outcrops of gorse, and Meeya tested her aim by shooting two hares. That night when they made camp they cooked the hares and enjoyed the meal, entirely unconcerned by the smoke and odours from the cooking-fire. Afterwards, Elayeen announced she needed to walk and think upon the portents of the past weeks, leaving Meeya and Valin alone for two hours while she patrolled a long loop around their camp. Walking and thinking did nothing to relieve Elayeen’s fears, and in the end she had to accept the advice she had given earlier; there was nothing they could do about events far beyond their range.

  They were in the wilds, which is where they wished to be, far from people, which had been their object, and if they wished to be unkind to their horses and themselves, they were perhaps only eight days from their destination. But Elayeen had learned much from Gawain, and had no intention of being cruel either to her horse or to herself for the sake of haste. They were in no rush, and if Sudshear had fallen to the enemy, trouble would find them soon enough.

  Trouble found them the following afternoon, or at least threatened to. All three of them saw the unmistakeable grey hyphen in the sky to the northeast at the same time, and reined in, eldeneyes locked on the Graken as it swept a long line from north to south across their path and then turned slightly to disappear in the southeast.

  “It is searchin
g for us,” Valin opined, “If we had not ambled yesterday and again today, we might have found ourselves beneath the Graken’s line of flight.”

  “True,” Meeya agreed. “But why would it be looking for us at all? The rider must know from his last encounter with us, we’re not to be trifled with.”

  Valin’s eyebrows shot up. “Not to be trifled with? It could rain black fire upon us from the air, as at Far-gor. We have no wizard to bring it down.”

  “We have my bow and my righteous outrage drawing the string. If it has any kind of sense at all, it will know from last time it’s best to avoid both.”

  There was only a trace of humour in Meeya’s tone, and more than a hint of the outrage she spoke of. Elayeen had hoped a few hours spent in gentle company with Valin alone the previous night might have calmed her friend, but clearly the hope had been futile, or Meeya’s anger more powerful than any calming influence her husband might have been able to exert.

  “It has gone. Come, we’ll move on. At least there is more cover available to us ahead, from the Graken as well any weather which might blow in.”

  “In with a wail, out with a whisper,” Meeya muttered, repeating the old elven proverb for the month of March.

  It wasn’t until the west began taking on a red-orange hue towards sunset when they reined in again, and sat quietly in the saddle, blinking and surveying the gently undulating land before them with eldeneyes. Plants grew where none had been the last time they’d passed this way. Dark-made plants with spiked leaves at their base, long, slender stems, and bulbous heads upon them, like very large thistles. They had seen these plants before, but only in the pages of Allazar’s notebook at Ferdan.

  “Flagellweed,” Elayeen gasped. “The Graken-rider has sown a crop of Flagellweed across our path!”

  “How could they have grown so quickly!” Meeya cried in disgust, “How is this possible?”

  “How are the Yarken possible, or the Razorwing, or the Aknid that Valin saw near the cliffs?” Elayeen sighed. “We are cut off from our supplies.”

  “We can go around,” Valin asserted calmly. “North or south, this barrier cannot extend far.”