He did received a few strange looks from travellers and farmers he passed on the roads, and he assumed that word of his description had travelled ahead of him. In the middle of dense shrubland, he paused and drew out the map Callodon had given him. Perhaps he had time to light a beacon of hope along the way, and lift the spirits of Mornlanders a little.
He considered it. If word had indeed spread that Gawain was dead, the Ramoth would be complacent in their arrogance, their grip tighter about the throats of the people. Yet Morloch knew he was alive. Perhaps it was the Ramoths themselves who spread such morbid rumours, in an attempt to quell any rising spirit that might range against them.
On the other hand, if he slew a Ramoth Emissary, then his presence in Mornland would be known. Black riders might be sent against him here…
He snorted in derision. Dangerous thinking. What did he care for black riders, or the Ramoths? If Morloch could find him in all the land, what did it matter if he stood before an eye-amulet at the top of a dark tower? Morloch was trying to use the same tactics as Gawain himself had employed. Fear, and terror. Well. Gawain was not afraid, and the terror he'd felt in Juria was short-lived. It was time to vex the dark wizard again, for the Mornland town of Jubek was but half a day's fast ride east of this hill, and there was a tower there needed attention…
The tower had indeed been poorly defended. Perhaps the Ramoths thought they had no need of protection from the timid Mornlanders that lived and farmed in Jubek, or perhaps the mercenaries guarding the compound were simply the worst of a bad bunch.
Gawain attacked under cover of darkness, but only because night had fallen by the time he arrived at the outskirts of town. With so few guardsmen in the compound he had little need of stealth, but he practised it anyway; he needed the exercise and had been too long flat on his back recuperating.
The Ramoth Emissary was a woman, and she blanched when Gawain strode into her chamber and quickly despatched the two naked and vacuous women attending her.
"You are dead!" the emissary gasped, the eye-amulet between her naked and blood-spattered breasts opening.
"Hardly. I told you I was coming, and my word on it."
"This cannot be! It cannot be!" the woman screamed, and Gawain cut her down.
Riding away from the burning compound and into the night, he couldn't decide what had been in her eyes before she died. Fear, certainly. But there was shock there, too. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he understood. They believed him dead. Perhaps because someone they trusted had told them so. Perhaps that someone was Ramoth, or Morloch. To see proof of a god's lie standing before them would indeed be a shock to the Ramoths. A very great shock indeed. Maybe that was why Morloch was so vexed.
Gawain grinned mercilessly in the darkness as he rode for Threlland. What price his allies of fear and terror now? Now that the emissaries throughout the kingdoms knew the Longsword warrior was alive and well and as bloodthirsty as ever? Priceless.
At the bottom of the western slopes of Threlland, Gawain sat on his horse wrapped in his cloak, waiting for the approaching riders. There was a chill in the air and it had rained in the early hours. Autumn was upon them at last, and the heat was fading from the noon sun with each passing day.
When the dwarf patrol drew nearer a cry went up from one of them, and they raced forward, waving and cheering. Gawain recognised them.
"Traveller! Well met!" they cried, and leaned from saddles to shake his hand.
"Well met, my friends. Is all well in Tarn?"
"Aye, all is well! Shall we ride ahead, and spread news of your arrival?"
"No," Gawain smiled, "I think I should like to surprise my old friends. Is Rak still in Tarn?"
"He is, Traveller. Though now you go by another name, we hear?"
"I do."
"Then we shall call you Longsword also. There is one in Tarn who spoke highly of you."
"Spoke?"
"Speaks still. We heard you were dead, but none would believe it save for the wizard."
"Ah. Then Allazar is here?"
"He is. A strange one, that, even for a whitebeard. Were it not for his claim to be your ally, we'd have thrown him out on his ear days ago."
"I might yet myself." Gawain grunted.
"Well met, friend Longsword. It is good to see you again."
"Aye, and you, and Tarn. I have fond memories of my time here."
"And more to come. We'll leave you to make your own way. Rumour has it that someone fired the Ramoth Tower three days ride south, in Jubek. We're keeping an eye open for any fool Ramoths stupid enough to wish to cross our lands en route there."
Gawain grinned again. "Does the tower still stand on the far side of these hills?"
"It does," the dwarf guardsman winked, "But not for very much longer I suspect."
Gawain smiled cruelly, and eased Gwyn forward onto the track. When he crested the rise and the track became cobbles, he paused a moment longer. He had no wish to bring darkness into the lives of those who had welcomed him so openly before. But that was before Raheen, and Morloch. Now, he needed those friends, come what may. He hoped they would understand.
Gwyn's hooves clopped on the cobbles as they rode into the main square, and then the cries and calls went up around the town…
A familiar door was flung open in the stone house at the far side of the square, and a familiar figure stepped out into the street.
Gawain broke into a trot, and came to a halt in front of the smiling dwarf.
"Well met, friend Rak."
"Well met, brother," Rak smiled, "And welcome home."
18. Farak Gorin
"You have journeyed far?" Rak asked as Gawain settled into a chair, gratefully accepting a mug of mulled wine from a smiling Merrin.
"From Elvendere."
Rak smiled. "My friend, when first we met you were the only human I knew who could make that claim. Now we meet a second time, and a second time you have survived the forest."
"The elves are not so bad. Though some," Gawain remembered the wizard at the woodland's edge, "Some are worse than others."
"You look tired." Merrin said softly.
"I rode all night."
"Then I shall prepare your room for you, and leave you to talk."
"Thank you."
"For nothing. It is good to see you well. Travak will be delighted to know his uncle is here, when he awakens."
Gawain noted the glow in Merrin's eyes, and asked "My namesake is well?"
"Yes," she smiled, a little sadly, "But your namesake perhaps no longer. The wizard has told us much since his arrival in Tarn."
"My Lady," Rak chided softly, "Our brother is tired."
"Of course…” Merrin nodded, and left the room.
Gawain sat quietly sipping his wine, listening to the sounds from the square beyond the windows. It was still early, but already the traders were setting up their stalls.
"This wizard Allazar," Rak said suddenly, "He speaks of a great warrior, consumed by hatred for the Ramoths. At first we scarcely believed it could be the same Traveller we knew."
Gawain sighed. "It is I."
"What has come to pass, my friend? It is hard for me to conceive how so noble a man can become so consumed."
"Now is not the time, Rak. It may never be the time. But I am he. The Traveller you knew is long dead, and I am become Longsword."
Rak nodded slowly, sadly. "Then I mourn my old friend, and welcome my new friend also. But with misgiving, for I suspect your presence here has more to do with your new blade than your old love of Tarn."