Two days south of the castletown the land was broken by the vineyards that produced the famed Jurian brandy so warming in winter. Gawain had made his decision, and drawn up his plans. He would have to leave Gwyn outside the walled town, and enter by stealth in darkness. If he were seen by any guardsmen, it would not go well for any on both sides.
What he did not expect to see coming towards him on the rutted track that ran between the vineyards was the familiar figure of a robed and near shaven-headed wizard, riding a tired horse far too quickly for the heat of the day. Gawain's hand reached up, and brushed the hilt of the longsword, as if to ensure that it was still there. It was, as ever.
"Longsword!" Allazar announced, reining in.
"Whitebeard. Do you detest horses so much you would kill them thus?"
Allazar looked puzzled for a moment, and then took in the sweat that teemed from his steed. He quickly dismounted, and Gawain did likewise.
"There is a stream through the vines, take it there." Gawain commanded, all his Raheen senses recoiling in disgust at the poor treatment the animal had received.
"I had to find you." Allazar said, as if defending his own poor judgement, "And one horse is small price to pay for finding you so quickly."
"I have no time for whitebeard mumblings and warnings. And if this warning concerns Juria's Crown, and what might ensue when I slay the Ramoth emissary in Castle Town, you have half killed this once-fine beast for nothing."
Allazar frowned. "I know nothing of Juria. All was well when last I visited the court."
"So," Gawain said, pushing Allazar aside to unsaddle the poor animal at the edge of the stream, "It was you the princess Hellin spoke of when she told of a wizard who spoke persuasively some time past."
"I have spoken thus, and was travelling on to Mornland, and Threlland, and would have journeyed to Arrun also."
"Kind of you to prepare the way for my coming." Gawain sneered, "Since now every kingdom guard is on the alert for one of my description."
"You need not fear guardsmen, Longsword. It is Morloch you must fear from this day forth."
"Morloch!" Gawain laughed, mirthlessly. "I go to him willingly. All he has to do is wait a while and he can greet me personally. And I him."
"He does not wait. Nor does he intend to greet you, nor allow you to set foot on the farak gorin or the Dragon's Teeth beyond."
Allazar spoke with a curious command and such earnest severity that Gawain paused from rubbing down the near-exhausted animal, and looked up.
"He told you this, I suppose."
"In a manner of speaking. Morloch is weak, his powers at a low ebb after smiting Raheen with his foul Breath. But weak though he may be, he still has power. Your relentless destruction of the Ramoth emissaries, and your relentless journey north, threaten Morloch. The more Ramoths you destroy, the more hope you bring to ordinary people. They become stronger, when they see how weak the Ramoth are against a single warrior."
"Good. Then I may speed my journey to the Teeth and leave these vile towers to ordinary men-at-arms."
"No. Stronger the people may be. Warriors they are not. I am but one man too, and few will pay me any heed when so many of my brethren gainsay me at court."
"Whitebeard politics do not concern me, Allazar. I have no sympathy for you, or any of your kind."
"I require no sympathy. I suspect you do not, too. But the paths we both walk have a similar purpose. Friends we may never be, Longsword, but we both hope to see the end of this Ramoth curse, and that makes us allies, however reluctant."
"I require allies as much as I require your sympathy, wizard. If that's all you've come to tell me, then by rights I should cut you down for this poor horse's needless suffering."
"Morloch is sending Black Riders against you."
"Let them come, and save your sympathy and warnings for the mercenaries foolish enough to take coin in order to face my blade. They will not live to spend it."
"They are not mercenaries, Longsword. These creatures are born of Morloch. Black Riders, once men, now filled with dark wizardry. They are men no more, but relentless creatures of death. And they have but one purpose. Your destruction. He is loosing them like dogs upon you, and already they come."
"If they were once men, then they can die like men. Dark wizardry or not, nothing is immortal."
"True. But like you, Longsword, they do not fear death. Nor do they live. They have no need of life, and exist for one purpose, and one purpose only. And they will not stop coming."
"Then by Dwarfspit and Elve's Blood, let them come. With luck they'll fight better than the living do. I grow tired of testing my blade against inferior skill."
"Bluster. You know your skill, and have no need to test it."
Gawain let Allazar's horse go, cooling in the breeze and drinking its fill. "And what of your skill, Allazar? What of the whitebeards? You say we share a purpose to rid the land of the Ramoths, yet what do you and your lacklustre do-nothing brethren actually do, to this end?"
"We are forbidden to use our powers against the races of man. We may not kill by such means."
"Then curse you all. If the Ramoths offend you as much as you claim, then pick up a sword and start hacking, and by your example lead other men to do likewise!"
Allazar stepped back a pace away from the anger that flared so suddenly in the young man, as Gawain continued to rage:
"You sicken me, all of you. You come from who knows where, mumbling in your beards, reading your great books of prophecy, gazing at the stars and painting strange symbols on the ground around you. You slither like snakes into all the kingdoms, and with soft words and obscure rites you connive your way to Kings' Councils…yet what do you do for men? Nothing.
"What did you do for Raheen? Nothing. So many of you, so many mumbling whitebeards. And when one of your own, from his nest of vipers beyond the Teeth, raises his hand against the races of man, what do you do? Nothing.
"You may be forbidden to kill men, whitebeard, but where was all your magic when wizardry was called down upon Raheen? Morloch kills by the thousands, yet you sit idly by, and mumble, and advise Kings to do nothing."
Gawain turned on his heel, and gazed away across the vineyards.
"You do not know, you cannot know, what we do." Allazar said softly.
"I have eyes. I see you do nothing.” He turned, and glowered at the wizard. "From where I stand, from what my eyes have seen, for all the whitebeard robes and chanting and ritual, it is only the lack of bells and snakes that separates you from the Ramoths. At least they are honest in their intent."
Allazar looked stunned. "You think this? In truth?"
Gawain stared back, no need of a reply.
"Are we truly regarded thus?" Allazar gasped aloud, though the question was not intended for Gawain. His answer had already been given.
"Prove me wrong, whitebeard. Go to Juria's Castle Town. Wait for me there. You know my destination as well as I."
With that, Gawain mounted Gwyn, and with a final disparaging look at the wizard, whose anguish was clear to see, they ambled back to the track, and began their slow progress north.
A short distance from the town's high walls, Gawain took a room at an inn, and waited for nightfall. Gwyn was safely stabled, though she clearly did not appreciate being abandoned by her mount in such rude surroundings.
When darkness fell, Gawain took his darkcloths from his pack, and dressed quickly and deliberately, and standing in front of a polished mirror in the lamplight, he smiled to himself. Only his eyes were visible, peeping through a slit in the cloth wound around his head. The rest was blackness. He blew out the lamp, and looked to the mirror again. Nothing, even after waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark.