by GJ Kelly
Elayeen drew in another breath, and let it out in a shuddering sob as she sat on the hard wooden chair before the curator’s desk, tears squeezing past all her defences. She nodded, and sniffed. Under no circumstances could she allow herself to be taken by the Toorseneth. It was why she could not risk Calhaneth, the site of Toorsencreed’s worst atrocity. She could never take the risk of falling into their hands. She would take her own life before she would allow the Toorseneth to claim the Merionell.
“Please, Serre Curator,” she said quietly, “Add one word to the beginning of your message.”
“Dear lady Ranger… dear lady… what word shall I add?”
Elayeen drew a handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped her eyes, sniffing, and blew her nose. Then she drew a shuddering breath, her resolve crumbled entirely, and she said “Raheen” before covering her face with her hands and weeping.
The curator’s apartment was neat, and comfortably furnished, paintings of landscapes on the walls, and small portraits on the sideboard and the mantelpiece over a fireplace now set with logs but unlit. Elayeen sat curled in the corner of a two-seat sofa, her legs folded underneath her, bare feet tucked out of sight. In her left hand, a fresh handkerchief given her by Dannis, and in her right, a plain goblet of some herbal infusion tasting not unpleasantly of blackberries.
She sniffed, her eyes red and puffy, and wiped her nose. Dannis had been gone some time, and it had been several hours since she had broken down in the office. Her breath still shuddered when she inhaled deeply, and the sound of it almost triggered more tears. But she fought them, and won.
There was a slight tapping on the door behind her, and a glance with eldeneyes saw the bright light of Dannis without, just before the door swung open to admit the elderly man, struggling with a tray of cakes, which he set carefully on the table by Elayeen’s arm.
“There,” he exclaimed softly, and closed the door before taking his seat in a battered but clearly well-loved armchair opposite her. “I do apologise for my lengthy absence, your Majesty…”
“Please, Serre Curator, do not name me thus. I feel far from majestic and in truth, I do not wish the others to know who I am…” Elayeen sighed. “I should not have revealed myself at all…” she tailed off, and sighed.
Dannis nodded. “I understand, Ranger Leeny. Though the reasons for your travelling incognito are quite beyond my comprehension. You should know, the message has been sent. I released the bird myself, from the watchtower on the summit above us, well out of sight of our enemies below. Knowing nothing of Dun Meven as they appear to do, I doubt our ability to send for aid has occurred to them, and now it is too late for them to prevent that word from arriving.”
“It was partly to avoid the enemy below, and their agents, that I left the comfort and safety of Threlland for the anonymity of the wilds,” she whispered, “And now I have betrayed myself.”
“Your simple admission of your identity is hardly a betrayal, dear lady. No-one here yet knows who you are, save for this old man, your humble servant. The bird will soon find its way home to Callodon, and the message will be taken direct to Brock. However, I believe the enemy at the foot of the path already know you are here, or suspect it so strongly they have dared to risk the fury of Callodon with this siege. It would seem you were betrayed long before your arrival in Dun Meven.”
Elayeen nodded, and drew in a breath. “It would seem so, though I know not how.”
“They have a wizard. This fellow Oze. And if as you suspect these followers of Toorsen’s creed are in league with Morloch, then it might not have been difficult for your enemies to deduce who it was who almost destroyed the Goth-lord in the Southshearings.”
She smiled, though weakly, and sipped at the beverage. “We were supposed to have remained unseen and undiscovered. Yet events conspired against us in Mornland and in Arrun. And now here, too, in Callodon.”
“And clearly, your enemies are prepared to risk a great deal, perhaps even war, to return you to the forest realm in the west.”
“They would not hesitate to destroy Dun Meven if it would mean my capture.”
Dannis frowned, and templed his fingers. “They spoke of events at Far-gor, which we learned from those returning to their homes in the south. The old wizard sent to kill you must have been important indeed?”
“He was the Sceptre of Toorsen. It fell to him and his servants to enforce the will of the tower upon any who transgressed against their decrees. They claimed to be the guardians of elven morality, protectors of our heritage and culture, watchkeepers to safeguard all against the rise of a new age of reason, claiming falsely that it was reason which caused the destruction of the great city of Calhaneth.”
“It would seem to me then, that there is little to separate these Toorsengards from the mercenaries employed by the Ramoth, who raised towers in the lands to spread the creed of their dark master.”
“Yet in Elvendere, the Toorseneth was sanctioned by Thallanhall, and over time, accepted by almost all who dwell there now. In destroying the Sceptre, I have offended them greatly, and if word of my deed reached them in their tower, it may also have reached others in Elvendere. They have many reasons for taking me, not to Elvenheth and Thallanhall, but to Ostinath, and the tower there.”
“You are safe here, lady.”
But Elayeen drew in another shuddering breath, and shook her head, gazing into her goblet. “So said my friends in Tarn, but I brought death and destruction into their lives. Now I have done so again, here, in Dun Meven. I have tried, Serre Curator, I have tried so very hard to be a queen worthy of G’wain, but the weight of it all has been too much for me to bear alone, without my friends to help shoulder it. You must think me a girlish fool, and now, because of me, Toorsengard are here, and the lives of all your people threatened.”
“The lives of all our people were threatened last year, and you stood for us all before an enemy of ten thousand at Far-gor. The lives of those simple farmers in Mornland too were blighted, until you stood for them. So too the lives of all in Arrun, not just those in Fallowmead, until, once again, it was you who stood on their behalf against a Goth-lord and his army. And here, under threat of dark wizards, Graken and foul seed, you send your two trusted friends and guardians to Arrun and to Callodon carrying warnings, placing your protection in the hands of old men and strangers, for the sake of all these southern lands.
“Oh my dear Lady Elayeen, sitting here, in my tiny apartment atop Aemon’s Hill, which itself has stood for thousands of years against tyrants of many stripes, I find myself wondering what in sight of the sun Gawain, King of Raheen, could possibly have done to be worthy of you.”
oOo
44. Wonder
“Four days they been sat there,” Finn complained. “That freenmuck we found in their packs must be good stuff.”
“Freenmek,” Elayeen corrected him, smiling, and eyeing the neat ranks of Toorsengard at the foot of the hill. “And yes, it is much nicer than dwarf miners’ cake.”
Finn sniffed. “Never tried either. Them honey-bars are nice, though. Anyway, four days, and they’ve not moved. No fires, no cooking, not even a rabbit for the pot. No pot, either, from what I’ve seen. You think they’re using them bright steel stoves and that wotsit and brick stuff, Leeny?”
“Ellamas oil and pyre-brick? If they were, we would not see flames, and there would be no smoke. I do not think they will, though, not with so much freenmek available. They each had enough in their packs to last a month without rationing.”
“Clever little things though, them folding stoves. Probably bugger-all use once the oil’s run out, or the pyre-brick. Too small to put wood or anything else in for fuel.”
“Yes,” she sighed. Clever little things, from a proscribed and bygone age…
“Four days and not so much as an attempt to set foot on the road,” Finn muttered. “It makes no sense. I mean, they really think if they sit there like that, we’re just going to hand you over to ‘em? Really?”
“I do not know, Finn. They don’t know about the stores, or that Dannis has sent for aid. Perhaps they believe all they have to do is wait.”
“Aye. Makes no sense. Way they got settled like they did, wouldn’t take but a minute for ‘em all to be saddled up and on the move. Makes no sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Nor does the absence of your friend Devun, and my friends Meemee and Valdo.”
Finn sniffed again. It was a bright and warm afternoon, and the breezes carrying the acrid scent of Flagellweed often made the Callodon guardsman sneeze. Because of the enemy siege, Dannis had ordered all attempts at clearing the ‘weed abandoned, preferring to wait for the inevitable arrival of a wizard with the forces that surely must be coming from Castletown. The curator did not wish to give the impression to those below that Dun Meven was anything other than a terraced village, and for the Weedwalker to be seen cheerfully hacking through the Toorsengard’s main siege weapon would not help the cause.
“Well, I tell you, Leeny, Devun probably got ordered to Castletown by the Hearthwatch to report on the Graken in person. And as for your mates, well, they ain’t daft. I reckon they’d have seen them Toorsenspits down there and done the wise thing, and withdrawn. Might even have headed back to Harks Hearth or Mereton for more support. Don’t worry, lass, they’ll be fine. Last thing you want to see is your mates riding up that valley singing lah-di-dilly straight into that lot.”
“Yes,” Elayeen sighed, knowing Finn was right, “I know. But there’s been no word from Brock save for a simple acknowledgement that Dun Meven’s call was received.”
“Dint Dannis tell you to expect nothing less?”
“He did.”
“Aye, well. See, his Majesty can’t take the risk of the birds coming here being intercepted. He knows that we know what we sent, so by saying nought more’n ‘got it’, he gives nought to the enemy should the bird fall into their hands. If he put ‘blimey, you’re besieged by Toorsenspits we’re on our way!’ and that fell into their hands, they’d know he knows what we know, and then the cat’s out of the bag for sure.”
“True. But the message uses a cipher, does it not?”
“And,” Finn smiled, leaning against the blockhouse wall, “They got a medium veal with a stick might be able to decipher it. They’re on the way, Leeny, don’t you worry. Takes time, though. Even if they come straight from Castletown the moment they got the message, it’d take ‘em what, six, seven, eight days to get here unless they want to kill their poor ‘orses. Which they won’t. They’ll come steady, and with scouts to the fore, so they’re ready for a dust-up with that lot down there when they come thunderin’ down the valley.”
Elayeen nodded. It was all true, and she knew it. And knowing something of Brock and having seen something of the politics in these eastern lands, she doubted the Callodon Heavies would have been sat in full battle order just waiting for an excuse to go thundering into action. There would be delays, plans to be made, equipment, officers and men to be prepared, mustered, and finally, despatched. Callodon was not Raheen. Raheen had kept a thousand riders at the ready atop the Downland Pass…
She was more concerned for Meeya and Valin than for herself. For as long as the ToorsenViell and his ‘gards sat on their haunches at the foot of the road, Dun Meven was safe enough, and so was she. But Meeya and Valin should have returned long before now, and though they would have seen the threat, and the red flag hoisted atop the watchtower on the summit of the hill, knowing them as she did she wouldn’t put it past the two of them to make an attempt through the Flagellweed on the western slopes.
“Wish we had one of those dwarf grappinbow things,” Finn sighed. “I’d love to launch a bloody great bolt right down there into the middle of ‘em. Just to make ‘em jump, shake ‘em up a bit.”
“At Fallowmead, their master carpenter was able to construct catapults from agricultural machines.”
“Aye, but we’re not allowed. Seems a shame I know, but Dannis wants us nothing more than a simple village right up until the moment that lot down there decide to push their luck and come riding up that road. Wants us to be a surprise when they make the first move. It’s always been Dun Meven’s way. That’s why that lot, nor anybody else, don’t know anything about us.”
Eastlanders were strange. She’d heard the refrain so often from her friends since they’d stepped out from the Morrentill onto the plains of Juria. Standing here now, next to a middle-aged guardsman dressed in cheapcloth hillside farmer’s garb and looking down on thirty Toorsengard sitting quietly on their saddles in the valley below, she knew beyond all shadow of a doubt, Eastlanders were strange.
“You seen the down-below yet, Leeny?” Finn suddenly asked.
“No. Dannis offered to show me the day the siege first started. I think he meant to allay my fears for the safety of the people of Dun Meven.”
“You should go and take a look. Not that it harms my reputation any to be stood alongside a pretty young thing like you, especially in the eyes of my boy Ned. But you should go and take a look. Put your mind at ease.”
“I am not altogether fond of deep, dark places, Finn. At least, I think I am not. I have always avoided them.”
“Ah well, it’s not dark. Well, think the last passages are, but no-one goes that far down, not even Dannis these days. Go on, surprise yerself, Leeny. Go take a look at the secrets of Dun Meven. Bugger-all likely to happen up here today, I reckon. Oh, and take a cloak, or a good warm wrap, it’s cold down there.”
She cast a gaze down to the Toorsengard, and seeing nothing new, sighed, and nodded, leaving Finn on duty by the blockhouse and making her way back to the command post. In truth, since the first day of the siege, she had regained something of her former self-confidence, thanks entirely to the elderly curator. Her secret was safe, but shared, and the load thus lessened a little. She was once again Ranger Leeny, and command of Dun Meven was not hers to usurp. Dannis had made that clear, too; Dun Meven was built to withstand sieges and could do so without the need to pile responsibility for their lives onto her slender frame.
“Ah, Ranger Leeny!” Dannis exclaimed from behind his desk when she entered the cottage. “I presume our uninvited guests continue to sit upon their backsides in the valley?”
“Yes, Serre Curator. There has been no movement from them at all.”
“Oh well. I expect they think they have all the time in the world, though I can’t think why they should. Perhaps all of us have done so well in the past at hiding our true nature, they believe not even an apprentice brigand would venture out this way. Ho-hum. May I pour you some wine?”
“No, thank you. I had some with my lunch. I think I was in danger of boring poor Finn, he suggested I accept your offer to visit the down-below.”
“Wonderful!” Dannis beamed, pushing back from his desk and standing. “And you have accepted?”
“Yes,” she announced after a slight pause, “Though I admit I am nervous. I have never regarded the prospect of venturing below ground with any great relish. Hearing G’wain tell of his time beneath the Dragon’s Teeth was enough to send chills the length of my spine.”
“We shall proceed slowly then, dear lady, and should you find the going oppressive or in any other way uncomfortable, we shall promptly return. You will need your cloak, I fear, unlike the welcome warmth of a bright spring day, it is quite chilly down there.”
On the way to the disguised portals cut into the southern cliff, Dannis handed Elayeen a folded calf-skin map, and offered a weak smile.
“What is it, Serre Curator?” she asked, wondering at the wave of melancholy that seemed to wash over the old man and then vanish an instant later.
“Open it, lady Ranger, please. It is a gift I hope one day might serve the kindred peoples of this world as Dun Meven serves us here this day.”
She paused, a few yards from the brambleweeds which hung down from the cliff obscuring the side door to the down-below. When she unfolded the map, she at first thought it a copy of the one Gaw
ain had been given by Allazar so long ago. But on this map, the black markers burned into the leather were not symbolic of Ramoth towers.
“It is a copy of the map upon the wall behind my desk,” Dannis explained, “And those marks indicate the hills which on my wall are tagged by coloured pins. My own son has gone, and I have no other hands to pass this to. It was always our family’s belief that those hills contain, like Dun Meven, resting-places, refuges, built by Aemon himself for his protection in elder days long past.”
Again, a sadness clouded the old man’s eyes. “It is perhaps nothing more but a foolish hope on our behalf, and they may of course be nothing more than hills. None of us have ever had the courage of our convictions and ventured out to test the theory. Now, I am old, and this,” he pointed to the map, “Would die with me, had not you come. These times are dark, dear lady, dark indeed, and who knows, perhaps one day, some brave and noble king, knight, or warrior, might have need of such a refuge as Dun Meven, and find it, in one of these hills.”
“I do not know what to say, Serre Dannis…”
But the old man smiled, and straightened, and became once again the commanding figure she had seen facing the Toorsengard at the line. “Then say nothing, lady Ranger, and perhaps when you are reunited with your king, you might give him the map, and put in a kind word for Dun Meven as you once suggested, and ask him to send us our very own Ranger of The Kindred Army. Come. Dun Meven awaits.”
And with that, he smiled, and brushed away the tendrils of brambleweed, and inserted a curious square of metal into a crack in the rock.
There was a sound, deep and heavy, and Elayeen’s heart quickened, the noise reminiscent of the deep and powerful unlocking of ancient mechanisms in the Hall of Raheen. The portal, of some thick and heavy stone, swung silently open, and Dannis held out his hand, waiting for her to enter.