Gwyn, seeing her chosen mount wounded and limping towards the black creature trapped under the horse, felt rage and anguish boil in her blood, and charged forwards. Gawain watched as she pounded across the sun-baked earth, whinnying a dreadful battle-cry of her own, and began trampling on the trapped thing.
It didn't take long before another death-screech and a blast of black light mingled with Gwyn's furious whinnying. Gawain vaguely remembered that he'd been lacking in his duty to his horse; there must be stones in her shoes to penetrate that black armour.
Gwyn screamed again, this time in warning. Gawain looked around, and saw a black shape looming towards him. The dismounted rider, who had so relentlessly walked from his dead steed so far away to the east.
"Come then, you sack of black Dwarfspit Morloch pus, I'll not die alone!"
Gawain, ignoring the burning pain in his leg that seemed to creep up from the wound, blocked the straight thrust his adversary aimed at his heart. Anger robbed Gawain of all finesse. To have come so close, and to be defeated by these creatures! Things of dark wizardry, not even men. Whitebeards made these! Rage ballooned and burst within him at that, and he smashed at the thing remorselessly. Blow after reeling blow, hammering it back towards the trees, smashing it time and again, shattering the thing's sword, yet still it tried to advance.
Gawain smashed it once, twice, three times on the shoulder, massive pounding blows that drove the creature to its knees.
"Enough!" Gawain cried, and with a mighty swing, cleaved its head clean from its shoulders even as shattered black gauntlets reached out towards him.
The jolt and the blast of black light hit Gawain in the face and lifted him clean off his feet, flinging him backwards. Still he kept hold of the sword. As he lay staring up at the sky, blinking, he heard Gwyn's whinny, and from the sound of her footfalls on the hard ground, slowly moving towards him, she was lame in one leg.
Gawain felt a wave of sorrow wash over him. Poor old Gwyn, who would care for her now, here in these lowlands? Who but a Raheen knew how to tend a horse, down here?
She whinnied, long and low. Gawain felt tired, so tired, and it was a struggle to raise himself. He dug the point of the longsword into the ground, and heaved himself to his knees, desperately looking around for Gwyn.
Dark shapes were coming towards him in the gloom, yet he could feel the sun's warmth on his face.
"Ahhhh!" he gasped, disgusted, and shouted at the advancing figures "Is there no end to you Dwarfspit bastards? Come then, see how a warrior dies!"
Gwyn whinnied again, behind him as he struggled but failed to stand, still leaning heavily on the longsword.
"Peace, friend." A lilting voice called. "We mean you no harm."
Gawain tried to peer through the gloom, trying to focus on the dozen or more shadowy shapes. They were carrying things that were long, curved, and finally his fogged brain recognised them as longbows.
"Eem frith am Gan-thal." Gawain heard himself say, and then mumbled again "Eem frith am Gan-thal." before he gave up the struggle to stand, and finally released his grasp on the sword.
He thought he heard a high voice calling "See-eelan! See-eelan!" before hands reached for him and darkness closed all around.
14. Ithroth
The world was darkness and light. Fire and ice. Pain and beauty. Flashes of light, in which Gawain felt fire coursing through his veins, before a bright-eyed beauty poured liquid ice into his mouth and stole away the pain before darkness closed again.
Occasional sounds, and occasional voices, during those brief moments of awareness. Strange, lilting voices, talking softly and speaking in a language he could not fathom.
If this was the kingdom of death, it wasn't so bad.
But there came a time when the flashes of light were more prolonged, and he almost remembered who he was before the liquid ice trickled into his mouth again, and the last thing he saw before consciousness faded were sparkling hazel-green eyes, wide with concern and sadness.
Finally, a greyness crept upon him like a false dawn, and sounds, and warmth. He remembered who he was, and lay with his eyes closed, breathing softly, not daring to move or open his eyes lest the cool fingers brushing his forehead ceased their tender ministrations. Lest he open his eyes, and find yet more fire and ice, more pain and beauty, and more darkness enveloping.
While he lay there, listening to birdsong and muted laughter and snatches of soft music, Gawain remembered, and the cool fingers continued to caress his brow.
"Elayeen?" he whispered, his voice cracked, throat sore.
"Hush, Traveller," a high soft voice replied, and even the words were cooling, and seemed to caress his aching head.
"Elayeen." he whispered once more.
"Yes." the sweet voice said.
Gawain smiled, and slept.
When he awoke, some time later, Elayeen was there, sitting beside him, stroking his brow.
"Eem frith am Gan-thal." Gawain tried to say, but his voice was still cracked and hoarse, and he smiled at the feeble sounds.
Elayeen smiled down at him, her long silver-blonde hair inches from his face. "Yes, Traveller, you are friend to my brother. And to me."
Gawain tried to reach up, but his hands would not move. A brief surge of panic flooded through him and he struggled to move, any part of his body, but he could not.
"Peace, Traveller," Elayeen urged, "You have been ill. It will take time to recover."
The gentleness in her voice and the sincerity in her eyes reassured Gawain, and he ceased his vain struggle against paralysis. The elfin smile he received when the tension and fear drained from his eyes was like a cool breeze on a summer's day, and Gawain smiled back.
"How long?" he croaked.
"Many days and nights. Now hush, and rest."
Gawain closed his eyes, and Elayeen began humming, a soft and strange tune, like a mother crooning to her child as she stroked his brow. Gawain felt peace wash over him, and slept once more.
When next he awoke he felt stronger, his mind clearer. There was dull yellow light in the room, seeming to come from nowhere, and he could see no lamps. But Elayeen was there, sitting beside the bed of soft skins and furs upon which he lay.
Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing softly, one slender hand upon the bed next to his. Gawain flexed his fingers, and found they could move. It was an effort, and his arm felt heavy when he eased it across the top of the blanket so that his fingers brushed hers.
Elayeen's eyes flicked open, and she smiled, and took his hand in hers.
"Welcome, Traveller." she whispered.
"Elayeen." he said, his voice quiet, but familiar now that his throat seemed to have recovered.
"I…we thought you lost."
"I should be dead. Elve's Blood, on the point which struck me…"
"You are strong," she smiled, "Stronger than our healers imagined. They thought you would not survive the first night. Our wizards say you have a powerful purpose indeed, to keep you in this world."
Flashes of memory, of a white ashen wasteland, pressed in on Gawain, but he dismissed them. This was not the time, nor the place, to recall such horrors.
"How long have I been here?"
"It is seven and twenty nights since your battle at the edge of our forest."
Gawain's eyes widened in shock. "So long?"
Elayeen nodded, her glorious eyes never leaving his.
Gawain studied her in the strange light, and saw the tiredness in her.
"You have stayed with me," he gasped, "All this time."
The elfin smiled. "I could not leave you, it might have been a long time before your friends came for you. The least I could for your not stabbing me that day was bring you back to the world."