"In truth, Longsword. His bones may be old, but his mind is sharp as a blade."
"Good."
"And what of me, Longsword. You will not take me. I trust it is because my services are truly required elsewhere, and that it is not through friendship you deny me this quest?"
"Your services are needed, friend. Though I'll admit I'm glad of it, for if they weren't I might be forced to deny you from some gentler reasons, both of which await you at home."
Rak smiled. "Then what must I do?"
Gawain grinned. "Something to keep the Ramoths occupied whilst I am busy at the Teeth."
"Longsword, I have a duty to my king…I may not…"
"You need not. That is not my intent. You have friends at Court in Juria. Know you an officer there by the name of Jerryn?"
"A captain, of the Royal Jurian Guard. His name is familiar."
"Good. I should like you to send word to him. He will know you?"
"I believe all at Juria will know me, at Court."
"Good. There is a soldier in the Guard. Tall, with fair hair. Much like myself."
Allazar rose to his feet. "A decoy?"
"Captain Jerryn has no love of the Ramoths. Neither does Juria's crown. If Jerryn can persuade this unknown soldier to go about with a long sword strapped to his back, to harry the Ramoths by night…"
"Then the Ramoths, and perhaps even Morloch himself, will believe you at large in Juria. A clever plan. But," Rak frowned, "I do not see why this simple task falls to me, and not to the wizard."
"Allazar does not command much respect in Juria. Or anywhere else for that matter, it seems. And Captain Jerryn is an honourable man. It will take great tact and diplomacy to persuade Juria's crown to permit this ruse, not to mention persuading the tall fair-haired soldier into playing his part. It must be convincing."
"You may rely on me, my friend. I shall send a fast rider to Juria immediately, and when you leave for the Teeth tomorrow, I shall leave myself for Juria."
"Good.” Gawain eyed them both critically. "It may be that I do not return from the Teeth. But perhaps by means of such impostors, you may yet keep the beacon of hope alight for ordinary men. If I can cross the farak gorin knowing that the responsibility thrust upon me has been well-tended, I can face the perils awaiting me with conscience clear."
"The work you have started, we shall finish." Rak said solemnly. "And my hand on it."
"And mine, if you'll take the hand of a wizard."
"I shall, though it's a novelty for it still to be attached to an arm when I do so."
There were few preparations to be made after that. Gwyn was severely unimpressed that she was to be left behind in Tarn when Gawain visited her in the early evening for a final grooming. But the dreadful sharp cinders of the farak gorin would cripple the horse. The coloured threads and ribbons braided into Gwyn's mane and tail were a lingering reminder of Elvendere, and Gawain left them in place. If Allazar and Morloch were right, perhaps Gwyn would choose to return to the forest of her own accord. Rak agreed, though with great reluctance, that should his friend not return before winter's cruel grip, then Gwyn would be turned free, to go or stay as she pleased.
Allazar remained quiet, torn between his desire to aid Gawain, and his dread of the Teeth, and aquamire. Merrin prepared a pack filled with food and blankets and warm clothing, and with tears in her eyes, presented him with a gift. It was a long black cloak, lined with fur, with an ornate clasp at the neck.
"It will keep you warm in the mountains." she said, as Gawain admired it. It had clearly been made by hand, and he had no doubt that it was Merrin's that had stitched it so patiently.
"Thank you." Gawain said, and then frowned at its weight when he slipped it around his shoulders. Though lined with fur, it should not have weighed so much. "It is heavy?" he remarked.
Rak grinned. "You noticed. Beneath the fur it is of Arrunwove arrowsilk."
"By my sword!" Gawain gasped, "This is too expensive a gift, I cannot accept…"
"You have no choice." Merrin smiled.
Arrowsilk, woven by Arrun craftsmen, was a prized fabric, taking a full year of painstaking work to produce sufficient for a cloak of this size. It would stop even a crossbow bolt fired from ten paces.
"It must cost a king's crown for such a gift." Gawain announced, drawing the cloak tighter around him.
"The silk was a gift from my uncle," Merrin announced. "To express his gratitude to the Traveller who led us safely home, that Travak might greet the world. My uncle wanted to ensure that Travak's namesake should enjoy the same protection as we did that night so long ago. I was going to make a doublet of it, but Rak suggested a cloak might be more appropriate, given your journeys."
"Then please tell your uncle I am grateful. And please accept my thanks for this gift."
"You may tell my uncle yourself, when you return from the Teeth."
"I shall, if I am able."
Then Merrin bade Gawain an early goodnight. She would not say goodbye, and would not rise with the sun to do so either.
Before she left to shut herself away in her room with Travak, Gawain took her and Rak to one side.
"Do you still have the gift I left for Travak?" he asked softly.
Merrin's eyes widened. "Of course! It is kept safe as we promised it would."
"Then," Gawain paused a moment, "If I do not return, I shall not hold you to that promise. If I am not returned by midwinter's day, open the letter. It will explain much that I cannot now."
Puzzled, and tearful, Merrin said that she would, and then left.
Rak, Gawain, and Allazar sat quietly, sipping wine by the empty fireplace. Gawain's new cloak lay neatly folded beside him, and the longsword stood propped against the hearth.
"I hope that Martan gets a good night's sleep tonight." Gawain muttered.
"He will." Rak replied softly. "And you?"
Gawain shrugged.
"I shall not." Allazar mumbled.
"Will you stay long in Threlland?" Rak asked the wizard.
"I had thought to accompany you to Juria. But I think I shall remain a while longer."
Gawain eyed the wizard. Sometimes, he thought, this whitebeard could be both bane and salve. Whitebeards. But for them, the land would be at peace. There would be no Morloch, and there would still be a Raheen. But from time to time, a small part of Gawain recognised something honourable in this wizard, nursing a goblet of wine, staring at an empty fireplace as if seeing flames.
"Later, though," Allazar sighed, "I may return to Callodon. Brock is his own man, and a good one. A good king. He will see the value of Longsword's plan to create likenesses of himself. I can hear Brock's laughter now."
"Well." Gawain sighed, "I must rise early. I think I shall retire."
He stood, and gathered his cloak and sword. "Good dreams."
"Aye. And good journey, in the morning." Allazar sighed, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"I shall bid you farewell now, my friend." Rak announced, "I shall leave for Juria with first light, and it lies in the opposite direction to your path."
"Then farewell, Rak of Tarn. Peace to you and your house. Good journey tomorrow."
They clasped hands, firmly, as if each were reluctant to let go. "Farewell, friend. Wear the cloak tomorrow. If you stumble on the farak gorin, it will spare you many cuts."
"I shall."
Allazar rose, and headed for the door to return to his room at the inn. "I shall watch for you from the point, in the morning."
Gawain nodded. "I shall watch for you too, on my return."
Allazar nodded, but there was despair, and loss, in his eyes. Then he turned, and was gone into the night.
"A strange one, that wizard."
"Of all them, the one that least offends. Sometimes I even feel for him."
Rak let go of Gawain's hand. "Do not judge all men by the actions of a few. He is unlike any wizard I have ever met. I truly believe he would follow you into fire."