2. Jarn
It was about an hour after the passing of the Ramoths on that forest track that events unfolded which would separate the travellers without Allyn making good his promise to buy Gawain a mug of Callodon's finest ale.
The trees were thinning, and they were still discussing the Ramoths.
"I still do not understand why so many people would simply give up everything they have and follow after these Ramoths."
"Well, Traveller, they do. As you'll see when we reach Jarn, and as you'll see wherever your journeys take you."
Gawain shook his head sadly, and foolishly ignored the swishing of Gwyn's tail and her pricked ears. He was simply too engrossed in thought, too unfamiliar with the lowlanders and their ways to imagine such things as Ramoths, or even people that believed in old gods, might actually exist.
"I see nothing at all attractive about them whatsoever." He announced, with conviction.
"I see a lot that's attractive!" a harsh voice called, and men appeared from the trees and bushes each side of the track.
They stepped into the road in front of the cart, and when Gawain glanced over his shoulder he saw two more. Gwyn was snorting derisively, and he knew that his steed was chastising him for not paying attention to her warnings.
"And I takes what I like!" the speaker announced, leering at Lyssa.
Gawain's eyes flicked this way and that, while his right hand rested on his quiver of arrows…
The leader, or at least the one that was doing the most talking, stood in the middle of the road now, flanked by two men on each side. He was the tallest of them, bearded as they all were, and wearing his long unkempt hair tied back with a leather thong. All save one carried broadswords, either with their blades resting casually on shoulders, or points resting idly on the hard and dusty track. All except the one who carried a cocked crossbow.
"What's in the cart?” the leader demanded, and spat in the dirt. "And I don't mean the two beauties."
The crossbowman was the biggest threat, Gawain knew, given the distance between the brigands and the cart.
Gawain's fingers seemed to fiddle idly, and Lyssa couldn't understand what the tall and golden-haired traveller was doing. She saw for the first time a slender thong wrapped around Gawain's wrist, and stared wide-eyed as the young man's fingers deftly wrapped the free end of the cord around a shaft, just in front of the fletching.
"Grain for market. We are lowly farmers, that's all. You'll find nothing of value.” Allyn called, anger and fear edging his voice, though it trembled when he spoke.
"Oh I see plenty of value, humble farmer. I see much that I like! Step down! And you, boy," he called to Gawain, "Down from that beast."
Gawain smiled. The Raheen bowstring was secure around the shaft. It would take but the blink of an eye to withdraw the shaft from its quiver and hurl it with deadly effect. Surely even these dullard lowlander brigands knew of Raheen arrow-throwers and their prowess?
"Are you deaf or simple-minded?" the leader called, slipping the broadsword off his shoulders and waving it threateningly. "I said down from that beast!"
Gawain grinned. From the corner of his eye he could see Allyn, Karin, and Lyssa clambering down from the cart, on the far side. The great workhorse and the cart now stood between the family and the crossbowman…
"I'm neither, brigand. I'm simply amazed to find in Callodon not one, but seven simpletons so careless of their lives."
The leader hesitated a fraction of a second, staring up at Gawain from fifteen paces away. Smiles were frozen on unwashed faces, and confused glances were exchanged. Then the leader laughed, a barking sound possessing no mirth.
"Kill him, Edvard. And the farmer. Take the two women back to camp, the young one's mine,” he said, and the crossbowman grinned and began to bring up his weapon.
Gawain's right arm was a blur, moving backwards and forwards too fast for the eye to follow. There was a snapping sound, followed by a whizz, and then a solid thunk!
And then a click and a twang as the crossbow fired harmlessly, the steel bolt whizzing off into the forest. All eyes snapped to Edvard, standing agog, staring down at the yard-long shaft sticking half a yard from his chest as his crossbow fell from his limp fingers.
Eyes flicked back to Gawain, noted the string dangling from his right wrist, and then flicked back at the sound of Edvard's body crumpling into the dust.
What happened next happened with such speed and ferocity that Allyn would struggle to find words to describe it for years to come. Gwyn, like a mighty battle-charger, sprang forward, forelegs flailing and hooves smashing into the men standing to the leader's right. Gawain's sword flashed, and the brigand leader was cleaved practically in two.
Gawain's horse seemed to dance, high-kneed, bringing him easily to striking distance of the two remaining men and trampling carelessly on the fallen remains of their leader. Two strokes of Gawain's blade and they fell where they stood.
Almost instantly, Gwyn leapt around and charged forward towards the two brigands who'd blocked their retreat. One instantly dropped his sword and began running down the road, but the other remained rooted to the spot until Gwyn's hooves smashed him to the ground. A brief thundering of hooves, and Gawain was leaning out of the saddle, his sword flashing in the afternoon sunshine, and the last brigand lay dead in the middle of the track.
Gwyn came to a skittering halt, and turned, her head bobbing and blood-spattered forelegs pawing at the dusty track. She let out a triumphant whinny; her chosen mount and his friends were safe. All was well.
But it wasn't. Gawain sheathed his sword, surveyed the carnage in front of him, and the realisation of what he'd done gripped his insides like an iron fist. This had been no Raheen training session. This had been real combat, and real death.
He shot a glance towards Allyn and his family, standing huddled behind the cart, their eyes wide with shock and terror. But worst of all, the look of unutterable horror that shone from Lyssa's eyes as she stared at Gawain made his heart seem to freeze within him. It was the same expression he'd seen on her face when the brigands stepped out in front of them, their crude and deadly intent obvious for all to see. Now she was regarding Gawain with the same horror.
Gwyn sensed Gawain's confusion and strife, and she took two paces forward, hesitantly. Then stopped when Gawain saw the family hug each other closer.
He sighed, and closed his eyes, the sun warming his face. Seven men had fallen, he knew, at his hands. Seven men, who would no longer see the dawn, or feel the first rays of morning sunshine upon their faces.
Gwyn snorted and whinnied, and Gawain's eyes snapped open. Serves them right, he thought coldly. Were it not for Gawain, then Allyn would be laying in the dust, and Karin and Lyssa would have suffered a fate far worse than death at the hands of those vile and despicable brigands.
He steeled himself, stiffened his back, and remembered who he was. He was Gawain, son of Davyd, King of Raheen, and no common lowlander bandit would draw steel against him and live. His father had said "My son. Remember who you are. Honour is as important as duty. Let no-one offend you twice."
Gawain nodded, and Gwyn strode regally to the cart, completely careless of the bodies in the road.
"Are you hurt, friend Allyn?"
"No Serre…"
"And your family?"
"No Serre."
"Very well. I shall escort you to Jarn. There may be more brigandry in this forest, and I would see you safe to your destination."
Allyn simply nodded, and with a great deal of clumsy hesitation, the family clambered into the cart once more. None of them would meet Gawain's eyes, and the remainder of the journey passed in silence.
When they reached the outskirts of Jarn the road widened, and became cobbled, and busy with people coming and going. Gawain glanced down at the farmers, noting the rigid set of their expressions and the way they started straight ahead, and he sighed.