A large black table, topped by black candles and a familiar snake-like symbol stood at the foot of the bed, facing the doorway in which Gawain stood.
There were shapes writhing on the bed, dark silhouettes and shadows dancing on the lace curtains. Gawain drew his longsword, and advanced slowly.
A floorboard groaned under his weight, and he paused, noting the sudden stillness from the bed…a curtain was flung back, and a shaven-headed woman appeared, naked, eyes dull and lifeless, vacant. Another curtain swished open, and a second woman appeared, almost identical to the first. And then a third…
Gawain advanced, oblivious to the disgust which tried vainly to compete with his cold rage. A fourth figure then rose up. A man, dressed in a short white robe, and wearing a strange amulet on a chain around his neck.
All four pushed through the curtains, to stand facing Gawain. Of them all, only the man's eyes held any life, any emotion. The women gazed vacuously, without fear, without any trace of feeling or awareness of danger.
"Who dares disturb the emissary of Ramoth?" the man's lilting voice lisped.
"I do." Gawain glowered.
"Foolish. Make way for Ramoth, and he shall spare you."
"Tell him to make way for me. I shall spare none of you."
"He sees all, and hears all." The emissary replied, and glanced down at his amulet.
Gawain, longsword poised ready to strike, watched, fascinated. The front of the amulet was crusted over like the bark of a tree, but as he watched, a crack appeared in the middle of the amulet, and then opened, the two halves peeling back like eyelids, to reveal a glistening dark eye within.
"He sees all, and hears all. What he sees, my brothers see. What he hears, my brothers hear." the emissary repeated, leering arrogantly.
"Good. They have offended me. Tell them all I'm coming." And with that, Gawain struck, the longsword whistling over the top of the female's heads as it severed the emissary's. Another stroke felled the blood spattered wenches, who died without a sound, seemingly careless of their fate and their master's.
Gawain stepped forward over the headless corpse of the emissary, and gazed down into the black eye-amulet.
"I am coming for you next." He said, his voice flat and utterly unperturbed. And then he thrust the point of his longsword into the eye-amulet, bursting it and impaling the corpse's lifeless heart.
On his way out of the tower, he placed his booted foot against a barrel of blazing oil, and overturned it, the flaming liquid gushing forth into the base of the vile wooden tower. Then he strode to the long huts, and kicked over the oil-barrels blazing outside of them. Within moments, the tower and the huts were ablaze, and Gawain was striding towards the gates, and to Gwyn, whose blue eyes sparkled with the light from the conflagrations behind him.
He mounted, cast a satisfied eye around the blazing camp, and turned, and rode off into the night, heading north. There was another tower, he knew, at Jarn…
10. Longsword
If the eye of Ramoth had indeed seen all and heard all, then it was a poor messenger. Or merely an amulet, blind and deaf, some trick of wizardry intended to impress simpletons.
By the time Gawain had retraced his steps to Jarn he had expected to find a Ramoth army laying in wait outside the town. Instead he found a handful of mounted Ramoth guardsmen ambling along the familiar rutted track.
They barely had time to offer an arrogant "you there!" before Gwyn charged into them, and Gawain's longsword reaped another crop of justice and vengeance on the long road north.
It was evening as Gawain rode away leaving the mercenaries lifeless in his dust, and he had determined to wait until full darkness before destroying the Jarn Tower. Gwyn veered off the track some distance later, and they settled in the trees to eat and rest.
In the weeks since leaving the plateau, Gawain had ridden Gwyn through every river and stream they had come across, and groomed his horse and himself to remove all traces of ash and dust from them. In the silent hours before sleep, he had brooded, and drawn up his simple plans of attack upon the Ramoth. It was not a military campaign of which his tutors would be particularly impressed. He would simply ride in, destroy, and ride out. If he died in the attempt, so be it. All of Raheen was gone. He and Gwyn, and the longsword, were all that was left of his homeland.
The ghosts of his people cried out for justice and vengeance, but also cried out for Gawain, too. He did not wish to keep them waiting too long.
And if word spread of Gawain's advance upon the Ramoth, perhaps other men would take up arms against them too?
While he chewed on stale bread and dried beef, Gawain knew that he could count on no support. The seven kingdoms had been made five. Pellarn had fallen to the Gorian Empire, and Raheen had been wiped from the face of the land in a single moment. Which of the five remaining kingdoms would take a stand with such a terrible fate hanging over them? None.
Gawain was alone. And ever would be.
When it was time to go, he mounted Gwyn, and turned her north-west through the trees. The thirst for vengeance and justice that drove him hadn't completely addled his brains; he would not blindly attack the tower without first sighting its defences.
The Ramoths were fools. An hour or more later, as he gazed motionless from the trees at the tower and the blazing oil-barrels in the Ramoth enclosure, he quietly acknowledged their stupidity. For reasons known only to themselves, the towers were built near copses, woods, or forests. He presumed it was a vanity, building the tower taller than the tallest tree, and in a place where such comparisons could easily be made. Or it might have been simple practicality, for the structures were of wood, and building close to the source spared the transporting of materials.
It didn't matter, and it aided Gawain's surveillance.
There was no army, no fortress. Just more guards than at Stoon. No matter.
He'd remembered the attack on the dwarven caravan so long ago, far away on the Jurian plains. He'd been impressed by how difficult it had been to spot the attackers, thanks to their black attire. It was a cowardly thing, not the act of an honourable foe. But Gawain dismounted, and from the packs on his saddle he pulled the black cloths and garments he'd made.
The large cloth he draped over Gwyn, covering the shining blonde main and tail. The black hood and gloves were for himself, and he drew the coal-black cloak tighter around him.
Quietly, and thus hidden from view on this moonless night, they stole across the open ground to the Ramoth encampment…
Why the Ramoth mercenaries patrolled outside of their palisade wall he neither knew nor cared. Perhaps the interior of the encampment was purely for devotees of the vile cult, or perhaps the guards were simply loath to be near the long huts and the tower, and wished to distance themselves from whatever foul practices were alleged to take place in there.
But it made Gawain's task of gaining entry unannounced that much easier. Only one of the half-dozen patrolling guards actually saw the shadowy figure that killed him, or the shadowy horse behind it, and even he fell silently.
Inside the compound, the Ramoths had made one slight change. When Gawain pressed his ear to the low door, he heard, after a few moments, a slight shuffling of feet. He grinned cruelly, and slipped his shortsword from its sheath, held it above his head, and stepping to the side of the doorway, rapped on it three times.
Sure enough, the door swung quietly open, and a shaven head, stooping low, emerged…only to be parted from its accompanying shoulders a heartbeat later.
Gawain stepped over the body, sheathed his blade, and crept up the spiral stairs…