"Longsword.” Allazar said softly, as Gawain released his grip, "You have been gone a long time from her. If she is ithroth…was ithroth…" Allazar could not finish the sentence.
"I must go to her." Gawain announced, with the same dread conviction he'd uttered weeks before, when speaking of his journey to the Teeth.
"It is midwinter." Allazar said, vainly, as Gawain threw on his cloak and strapped on the longsword.
"I care not what season it is. Tell Rak and Merrin all. I shall return before spring. Earlier, if I am able. You and Rak must advise Eryk of Threlland should I fail to return before he grants audience."
"Longsword…" Allazar pleaded, but it was hopeless.
"She shall not die because of me." Gawain said, his awful aquamire gaze fixed on the wizard, "And this I swear by my sword, Allazar, if she be dead? Why then I shall cut down every tree in Elvendere to find the whitebeard bastards who denied me the knowledge you have too late imparted."
Gwyn did her best, but even she could not thunder down Threlland's hills and across Juria's plains while they lay beneath drifting snow banks that came sometimes to her chest. She could sense Gawain's anguish, and shared it, and pushed through the drifts valiantly, and pressed on with as much speed as could be mustered in the dreadful conditions.
Gawain slept in the saddle, and ate frak in the saddle when hunger stole upon him. Gwyn practically walked in her sleep, and the sack of oats from which Gawain refilled her nosebag soon diminished, and she had to make do with tufts of frozen grass poking through the snow and ice when they reached the plains of Juria.
Gawain headed due west, deciding to take the shortest route to Elvendere's forest instead of taking the more southerly route to Gan's province near Ferdan. The sooner they were beneath the canopy of trees, the quicker he could reach Elayeen's side. That she still lived, he never questioned. To contemplate otherwise reduced the world to black tints seen through aquamire rage which took hours to dissipate.
They pushed on, relentlessly, and when a blizzard blew up, the wind northerly and blasting cruel sleet and snow upon them, Gawain simply adjusted Gwyn's blankets and his own cloak, and kept the wind to his right side, using it to guide his route ever westward. It was like being in those dark tunnels beneath the Teeth; time had no meaning, neither sun nor moon nor stars to tell time by.
At length, chilled to the bone in spite of Jurian brandy, dark shapes loomed out of the driving snow before them. Trees. Elvendere. Gawain dismounted and led Gwyn into the shelter they afforded from both wind and snow, and set about rubbing her down as best his own frozen hands would permit. Ice clung to her, and she shivered violently, but her eyes were blue fire, her anguish driving her through cold and hunger. She knew where she was, remembered the children, knew that Gawain feared for someone here, and here she had brought him.
In truth, it was warmer in the forest than on the plains. The shield the trees provided against the bitter wind and the snow made it feel like spring in Elvendere, though snow still covered the ground in patches and their breath plumed before them.
Some hours later, deep in the gloom within the forest, elves stepped from behind trees to bar their path. They were unknown to Gawain, and he to them it seemed, for arrows were nocked in their bows, and held at the ready.
"Eem frith am Gan-thal," Gawain announced. And then added, "Eem throth am Elayeen-thalin."
At this, the elves looked stunned, and shared uneasy glances.
"Where is Elayeen?" Gawain asked softly, but received no reply.
He stepped forward. "Where is Elayeen?" he asked again, and the black tints began to edge his field of vision.
The elves stood agog, until Gawain unsheathed the longsword. Its blade seemed to hum and crackle as it swept a lazy arc through the chill air.
"I have no time!" Gawain threatened, "Where is Elayeen?"
Bows were lowered, fear replaced shock, and an elfin pointed away behind her, to the southwest.
"Elayeen-thalin…awaits faranthroth…" the elfin stammered. "Are you truly the one called Traveller? You are dead in Juria."
"I am Traveller. I am not dead. Where is Elayeen?"
"I will take you…we must hurry."
Gawain sheathed his blade and nodded. The other elves shared a curious glance with the elfin, who was clearly their patrol leader, and then Gawain advanced.
"Lead the way. Quickly."
The elfin nodded, and set off, Gawain hard on her heels as he swept past the remainder of the patrol, Gwyn snorting as she threaded through the trees after him.
After a few minutes, the elfin realised that the tall dark-eyed warrior was easily keeping pace, and she broke into a trot, and then began running, setting a wolf-like loping pace which made barely a sound as she weaved through the trees.
"How far?" Gawain said, breathing steadily, matching her pace and stride.
"Far." the elfin replied. "Hurry."
They did. After so long chilled in the saddle, Gawain was glad of the exercise. After so long pushing through banks of snow, Gwyn seemed pleased to be able to trot lazily on ground that she could see and trust. Both felt blood coursing through their veins, driving out the chill, and save for the gloom and the air that seared their lungs, winter seemed a distant memory.
About an hour later, the elfin slowed, breathing deeply, and then she stopped, hands on her hips.
"Where is she?" Gawain asked, breath pluming.
"Soon. Wait."
A few moments later, another elven patrol appeared, melting through the gloom and from the trees around them. The elfin spoke in a rush, in her own language, and Gawain caught only snatches of her hasty conversation. The glances that were fired his way, and the fear which suddenly blanched elven faces, told him that his guide had explained everything in moments.
The patrol parted, and another elfin stepped forward from the gloom. Gawain recognised her immediately.
"Traveller. You know me?" she said, eyes wide with fear and worry.
"I do. I saw you with Elayeen when last I was here."
"I am…thalangard?"
"A royal honour-guard." Gawain said.
"Yes. I am Meeya, thalangard, eem frith am Elayeen-thalin."
"Where is she?"
Anxiety seemed to flood over the honour-guard's face. "Elayeen-thalin awaits faranthroth… judgement is being passed."
"Take me there now."
Again she looked pained, and seemed to be struggling for the words. She glanced around helplessly, and the others offered words that Gawain did not recognise. "This is…we call this province…Elvenheth…it is our heart? Where our king lives?"
"Castle town." Gawain mumbled, "Your capitol, your heartland?"
"Yes! Thal-Hak is here, and Thalin-Reeyan."
"Meeya. I don't care about Elvendere or his queen. Take me to Elayeen. Now."
"I cannot! Humans are not permitted."
Gawain's eyes flashed in an instant. "Take me there now or I will hack down every tree and every elf until I find her myself!"
The first elfin patrol officer fired off a short burst of impassioned speech, and there was a chorus of "Aye's" from the others. None, it seemed, were prepared to do battle with the warrior that had slain six of Morloch's black riders, and certainly not now with his terrifying eyes glowing black, turning his threat into a visible promise.
Meeya nodded once, and began running. Less than a heartbeat later Gawain was racing after her.
He caught glimpses of startled faces, and it grew brighter. Above them, the sky was clearing, revealing weak blue through rents in the puffy dark clouds. It was afternoon, and here and there weak shafts of sunshine lanced through the leafy canopy.
They were running through what was obviously the central province of Elvendere. Above them, elven dwellings woven into the trees. Around them, elves stepping back, gasping at the sight of the black-eyed warrior and the battle-horse trotting behind him as they raced after a royal honour-guard. A few even shouted in alarm.