G. J. Kelly
King of Ashes
Prologue
"I am called by many names. To some, I am simply "Traveller.” To others, "Longsword,” or "DarkSlayer,” or both. Some even call me friend, but they are few in number and decreasing as the years pass.
"I have another name, one which my father gave me and by which my family, and my people, knew me. But they are all dead now, and have been these many long years. This name I will tell you now, for it no longer matters, though there was a time when I kept it secret even from friends, and for a time, even from the one I came to love…
"I am Traveller. I am Longsword, DarkSlayer. I am Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen, and this is my story."
The DarkSlayer, as told to the Bard-Chronicler Lyssa of Callodon.
1. Traveller
The kingdom of Raheen rests atop a plateau overlooking the Sea of Hope, at the southernmost tip of the land. Famed for its horses, which have graced many a fine cavalry, and famed for its impregnability, for it has never been invaded. Of all the seven kingdoms, Raheen has endured longest, and in relative tranquillity. The less said about the Gorian Empire in the west, and its lamentable history, the better.
Gawain, second son of King Davyd of Raheen, was tending to his own horse Gwyn when a page approached in great excitement, and informed the prince that the King requested his presence in the Great Hall at once.
"Please tell my father I'll be there shortly,” Gawain answered softly, brushing tangles from Gwyn's fine blonde mane.
The page nodded, and departed. King Davyd would understand the delay, for there is no duty more solemnly undertaken than caring for one's horse in Raheen. The bond between horse and rider is formed at such an early age, and is a mystical thing.
Gwyn herself was gangling colt when she had chosen Gawain. The young prince had been sitting on the banks of a sluggish stream, being taught how to fish by an old man, when he'd almost been bowled into the water by a sudden and unexpected shove in the back. He'd stumbled, regained his balance, and turned to find himself staring into the blazing blue eyes of the colt, and thus the bond was formed.
"You've been chosen, your Highness." the old fisherman had smiled. "Honour to you."
"Aye,” Gawain had replied, almost struck dumb with awe, "Honour indeed!"
That was two years ago. Now, at just over eighteen years of age, Gawain possessed complete understanding of Gwyn, and she of him. Reins were virtually superfluous to the Raheen, a bonded horse knew its rider's intentions long before a rein could be tugged this way or that, or heels kicked or knees pressed.
Gawain finished brushing Gwyn's lustrous mane and stepped back admiringly. The horse whinnied approvingly.
"Elve's Blood and Dwarfspit, you're ugly.” Gawain said softly, shaking his head in mock sorrow.
Gwyn turned her blue-eyed gaze to him, and snorted before walking slowly, head held high, back to her stall.
"I mean it!" Gawain laughed. "Ugly as a sack full of worms. Hideous. I don't know why I deign to ride such a grotesque beast."
Gwyn ignored him, as usual, and with a final chuckle Gawain left the stables and strode across the cobbled courtyard to the castle Keep. Now that his duty was complete, it would not do to keep his father waiting.
The Great Hall was cavernous, even when filled with people, which it wasn't now. It was early evening, court business was over, and even the ceremonial guards on duty beside the massive oaken doors had gone off duty, leaving the mighty iron-braced portals ajar.
Gawain's boots echoed eerily as he strode towards the thrones, past rows of benches and low tables, all unoccupied. Clearly whatever was about to transpire was a matter of considerable gravitas, in spite ofthe absence of courtiers or ambassadors or subjects of any station. Just his father, his mother, and his older brother, seated in their rightful places, and Cordell, the Lord High Chamberlain. None of them were smiling at Gawain's approach.
In fact, he thought, they looked really rather serious. He stiffened his back, and studied Cordell's eyes for any hint of what was to come. It was no good trying the same with his family, they'd long since learned the secret of regal inscrutability, as had he himself.
Was that the slightest hint of anxiety in the crow's feet around old Cordell's eyes, Gawain wondered, and then started desperately trying to remember if he'd done anything to warrant a punishment…
But it was too late. Already the benches and tables gave way to the Circle of Justice, wherein stood the sword. Accused and accuser, in disputes brought before the king, would stand to each side of the longsword which stood in the exact centre of the polished marble floor, its tip buried a full two hand-spans in the cold and lustrous stone. Petitioners took station before it, so that this potent symbol stood betwixt them and the ultimate power that the throne represented. Gawain, a prince of the realm, stood likewise, encircled by the strange symbols etched in the floor, some ancient wizard language laid down long ago in history, so long ago that not even today's whitebeard wizards understood their meaning.
"You summoned me, your Majesty."
"I did. Is your duty complete?"
"It is."
"Good."
There was a pause. No-one's eyes would meet Gawain's, it seemed, even though he stood six feet and two inches tall, the pommel of the longsword between him and the thrones barely reached his breastbone.
King Davyd shifted. The thrones, of inlaid marble, were not the most comfortable of seats, in spite of their luxurious velvet cushions.
"Lord Chamberlain," he announced, "If you would."
Cordell cleared his throat, and Gawain directed his gaze firmly at the elderly statesman.
"Your Highness," he began, his sonorous voice resonating through the hall. "You have reached the age of majority these two weeks past. And now has come the time which must be endured by all sons of the Royal House of Raheen."
Gawain was stunned. He was second in line to the throne, surely the ancient traditions did not apply? He hadn't given it a first thought, let alone a second one!
"Father?" he asked, softly.
But King Davyd simply drew in a breath, and let it out in a sigh as Cordell continued.
"Thus it has been, thus it is, and thus ever shall. By Royal Decree, Prince Gawain, son of Davyd, you are henceforth banished from the Kingdom of Raheen, not to set foot on its most treasured soil until a period of one year and one day has passed. This, in the King's name, this, in sight of the sword, this is judgement."
"Be it so ordered.” King Davyd announced, though his voice was tinged with sadness.
"Can this truly be so?" Gawain asked. "Is my brother ill?"
"No brother, I am not.” Kevyn answered firmly.
"Then am I not entitled to know the reason for this judgement?"
"Gawain," his mother said quietly. "It is custom. Your brother shall be king…"
"Not for some considerable time I hope." Kevyn mumbled sincerely. None could imagine a day so dread as the death of their father.
"Thus, on his majority, he was banished for a year and a day, to learn the world, and its ways. So too must you be."
"As you well knew.” Davyd grumbled.
"I knew it not, father.” Gawain stepped forward around the sword. "Or I would have cherished these two weeks past. If I had known…” he trailed off. How could he have known? Kevyn was four years his senior. Gawain remembered, could it have been four years ago? He remembered his brother's departure, seated proud upon Jakar, a magnificent black stallion, riding off towards the sole route out of Raheen and down onto the plains of Callodon below.
"When the sun rises tomorrow, Gawain of Raheen, it must not find you in our land.” Cordell announced, and with a bow, and a final sad smile, turned, and left the Great Hall by way of the king's door.