Gawain remembered all too well. Morloch was hideous to behold.
"That is why I cannot go to the Teeth. Seeing the aquamire shimmering thus…you have no idea of the pain it brings."
A small suspicion, barely a germ of a thought at first, began to grow within Gawain, and he studied the wizard's bowed head. "How then can Morloch be so drained of energy, when we see it clearly from here, shimmering and flickering from time to time above the Teeth?"
"You do not understand. It would take a lifetime of education to impart such knowledge."
"You are not much older than I, I think."
"You cannot possibly know how old I truly am. Suffice to say, that everything Morloch does requires aquamire. All his plans, whatever they might be. Even his very life is dependent on it. You have seen those who become too acquainted with strong spirits? How they yearn for it, how the desire for it consumes them?"
Gawain nodded.
"Aquamire is worse. It becomes life itself. The black riders live only through the aquamire coursing through them. It is through that, and by its magical energies, that Morloch controls them. Those down there? Everything they see, Morloch sees, if he wishes it. When they fight, they do so at his command. That is why Threlland's patrols may pass close by unhindered. That is why the Ramoth can pass freely."
"And Ramoth, this ancient god they proclaim? What of his power?"
"I know not. I do not know even if this Ramoth exists beyond the prattling of his followers. But if he does, then aquamire is the source of his power too."
"Tell me, wizard. What is it?"
Allazar sighed. "It is a black oily liquid, much like molasses in appearance. That is all I will tell you."
"How is it made?"
"I will not speak of that. Can you not guess? Will you press me to voice what you have already glimpsed?"
"You said that all living things possess some magical energy."
"I did."
"Then this aquamire…"
Allazar drew in a long shuddering breath. "Jurian brandy begins with the grape, ripened by the sun."
Gawain's eyes widened in horror. "Then aquamire has been distilled from…"
"Do not say it, Longsword, I beg you. Do you know how many grapes must be pressed for a single glass of Jurian brandy…Do you know how long it takes for the brandy to mature…Look yonder, at the Teeth. See the occasional shimmering of it, and you begin to grasp the full horror of what Morloch has done to Raheen."
Gawain stood, his legs unsteady, tears flooding unbidden. Tears of horror, tears of rage, streaming down his face, as he walked several paces towards the Teeth, his back to the wizard.
"I have pleaded with my brethren to strike at Morloch now, before that vile brew has time to ferment, while Morloch gasps for breath, so much of his old power spent. When I saw Raheen, I knew we must strike. But they will not listen to me. I am young, by their reckoning. They tell me I do not have their wisdom."
Allazar sighed, sorrow making his voice quaver as he continued.
"For so long, the brethren have been quietly working, trying to keep these lands safe. They thought Morloch all but powerless, trapped as he is beyond the Teeth. The mountains, you see, are rich in minerals which disperse and refract a wizard's energies. Morloch cannot cross them, and his power cannot penetrate them. So I was taught. So the brethren believed. How could they know, how could we know, that the dark one would find a way to penetrate the wall that has protected the southlands for so long?
"When Raheen was blasted, the brethren recoiled in terror. Too late they realised Morloch's reach, and now they are afraid. When you came, Longsword, when you lit the fires of hope in men’s hearts, you lit the fire of hope in my own. I cannot harm the races of man, and my powers are as nothing compared to Morloch. But you, with nothing more than a warrior's skill, have done more harm to Morloch than all the brethren have achieved in more than three centuries."
"How do I destroy a creature of such power?" Gawain asked softly, wiping his eyes, still gazing at the Teeth.
"You cannot. He is beyond the reach even of your long sword. What lays between you and the Teeth is as nothing compared with what lays between the Teeth and Morloch. That is why I urge you not to go. You are needed here, Longsword. By all the races of man. And by me."
Gawain shook his head slowly. "If a bloodfly stings you, you may kill the bloodfly. But the nest, and its queen, remains. There is the nest. There is where I must go, with or without you."
"Longsword…" Allazar sighed, "I would follow you anywhere but there. You do not understand. What powers I have are useless there. Morloch would sense my presence immediately, and I do not believe I could resist him, and aquamire…In the blink of an eye, you would find an enemy at your side, not a friend."
"Then tell me how this aquamire can be destroyed."
"It cannot be. Just as you cannot destroy sunlight. It can only be liberated, or transmuted."
"I will find a way. Just as I will find a way through or over the teeth. I shall rid this land of the Ramoth. I shall rid the world of Morloch. If I am able."
"You will not be able."
Gawain turned and stared down at the wizard. "Then I at least shall die trying. Better that than see the world thus."
Allazar's blood ran chill, and he was about to speak when movement caught Gawain's eye, and he looked over the wizard's head. Rak, and an elderly dwarf were approaching.
"Well met, friend." Rak called as they approached. "This is Martan, of Tellek, a village but a short ride from Tarn."
"Well met, and honour to you." Gawain nodded at the old man. He must have been well into his sixtieth year, and was considerably shorter even than Rak.
"Honour to you, Serre." Martan grunted, his voice strong and belying his advanced years. "You have need of an old miner, I am told?"
Gawain nodded. "One who knows the Teeth."
"Then I'm yer man, Serre. There's none living as know 'em like I do. Were, but they're long gone now."
"Perhaps with this wizard's aid, you can draw me a map? I should like to know where any old workings might be found."
"A map, is it? Don't know much about maps. I'll take you there, Serre, seen as it'll be much easier that way."
"I must travel alone, Martan. The way ahead of me is dangerous."
Martan looked crestfallen, and then ruffled like a proud old rooster. "I'll take you there, Serre. These bones ain't so old as they'll slow you down none. Not on the farak gorin, and not at the blasted Teeth."
Gawain eyed the old man, and then glanced at Rak, who, to Gawain's surprise, nodded solemnly.
"Very well. But death likely awaits us there."
"My age, Serre, death likely awaits at every turn. When do we leave?"
"At dawn."
"So soon!" Allazar gasped.
"Unless there is anything else of use you are able to tell me that'll take days in the telling?"
Allazar thought desperately for a few moments. Then he sadly shook his head.
Martan beamed. "I'll be off to the inn then, Serre. I have my belongings below, such as they are. Until dawn then. Wrap up warm an' all Serre, it gets cold at night on them blasted rocks."
"Until dawn."
Martan bowed to Rak, and then hurried off down the track to the town below the point, a spring in his step that hadn't been evident before. Gawain looked at Rak, who shrugged his shoulders.
"He is an old miner, Longsword. They will not let him work at the mines any more, and since the death of his wife, his only family is a brother and nephew with whom he lives. That someone should need him at all, even for a perilous quest, has given him new life, and respect."
"He knows the Teeth, in truth?"