Gawain eyed them all for a few moments more, and then left the warmth of the house for the rain-washed chill outdoors, Allazar scuttling behind him. Rain, blown in on the teeth of a gale, lashed the streets and stang their faces as they hurried to the inn.
"Well met my lords!" an enthusiastic Derrik beamed. "A bitter night out! Sit you by the fire, and I'll bring ale."
"No, thank you, goodman Derrik. But if you've a horse and don't mind seeing it dead beneath this useless whitebeard's backside, I'd see it, and hire it."
"Aye, we've a number in the stables." Derrik grinned. "But if it's likely not to return, then the rule is: them's that's a-sitting on 'em when they pass, is them's that'll pay for their replacement."
"I do not kill all horses I ride." Allazar protested, shaking the rain from his robes.
"Oh! More good news, my lords," Derrick grinned at Gawain. "We have rooms vacant, now the roads are clearing fast. Which would you have, a southern view or a northern?"
"Neither, Derrik. I am content to share with the wizard for this one more night."
Allazar looked as surprised as the landlord, but said nothing.
"Come," Gawain nodded at Allazar, "Let's see these horses and then retire."
Allazar followed Gawain and Derrik out the back and to the stables, receiving a drenching even in so short a dash. The horse selected, and instructions given to the stableman, they returned to the inn, and their room.
"I'm surprised, Longsword." Allazar admitted, shaking his robes again. "When you spoke to your Lady, your words were hard. And tonight, to spend it here at the inn? This is the last night you and she might have spent in privacy, alone with each other. Yet not only do you forsake her, but you insist on sharing my room."
"Elayeen and the thalangard need their rest, Allazar. And I have already been blinded too long by that disease you call 'love'. My vision must needs be clear for the coming journey, and not clouded by yearning, or tenderness, or sweet words."
"That was cruelly said too."
"Perhaps. But it in truth, at this moment, I would she were not throth. The journey will be difficult enough with the likes of you along."
"The likes of me?" Allazar protested.
"Yes. The likes of you. 'We may not harm the races of Man'? It is easier for me to approach an enemy without detection if I am alone. But tomorrow I shall be in company with a wizard who carries no weapons, an elfin who is chained to me by some curse and who has not set foot on rock before let alone a battlefield, and a diplomat. For all his enthusiasm and skill with a battle-axe, Rak is a gentle man. On this journey, the only military assistance I can realistically count upon comes from Sarek and the thalangard, and I do not trust the latter with my life."
Gawain slipped the longsword from his shoulder and propped it against the wall by his bed, and then took off his cloak and shook the rain from it.
Allazar sat on his bed, staring long and hard at the young warrior. At length, he spoke.
"And you do not trust me. That is why you accept the discomfort of this small room."
"True."
"Ah."
"Do not feel too hurt, Allazar. I have not killed you yet."
"You came close, this morning." Allazar whispered.
"I may yet again. I am still not persuaded that you aid my cause."
"How then may I prove it? Just as you doubt me, can you not see why we, your friends, must doubt you and your prophecy of imminent doom?"
"You will never prove it, Allazar. You are a wizard. I have never trusted a whitebeard, and never shall."
Allazar nodded sadly. "We do what we are able, to aid the races of Man. Yet we are almost reviled, not respected."
Gawain sighed and laid on the bed. "What gives you the right, wizard, to advise kings? What gives you the right to sit behind thrones, and sway a crown this way or that? You can pull a twig from a bough, and with a chant and a mumble and a wave of a hand, drive the tints of autumn from the edge of a leaf. You can chant and mumble, and make signs in the air, and cloud men's vision so you may pass unseen. And with aquamire, you can blast an entire land from existence, leaving nothing but ash in your wake. In the between, you meddle with nature.
"Yet before Morloch, and before aquamire, what did you and your brethren do, that so aided the races of Man, that you might command respect, and expect admiration? Nothing. Party tricks, and all of them with a price paid for by us, and our blood. Yet your kind sits behind every throne in the land, and whispers. What is it, Allazar, that your brethren whisper to Brock of Callodon, or Thal-Hak of Elvendere, or Eryk of Threlland?"
"We advise…"
"Do you?" Gawain whispered. "Or do you lie, and bewitch, and mumble and chant and thus bend a king's will to your own dark ends?"
Allazar gasped. "You cannot believe that!"
"Why not? You know who I am. You know what happened to my land. Morloch did that. And Morloch is a wizard. The single difference between Morloch and your brethren is aquamire."
"That is not true!" Allazar was aghast, his eyes wide and pained.
"Is it not? I asked myself, upon the Point early this morning: Were I a wizard with aquamire, I could control all the lands with but one small demonstration of my dread power. Just as Morloch did, from afar. But were I a wizard without aquamire, how then might I control anything? Why, by using my meagre powers on but one man…and who else should that one man be, but a king?"
"Longsword!"
"You protest too much, whitebeard. Perhaps that is why you claim your brethren hold you in such low regard. Yet, I will concede my argument flawed if you can name but one thing your brethren have done in the last two years that has aided the races of Man. One tangible, measurable, visible thing."
Allazar drew in a breath and made as if to speak, and then paused. And paused again.
"Is it so difficult a task, wizard?"
"You cannot know what we do."
"Cannot, wizard, or must not?"
Allazar fell silent.
"Ah." Gawain exclaimed, and closed his eyes.
"It matters not if you doubt me, Longsword. I shall do all in my power to aid your cause. This I have sworn to Brock of Callodon, and to myself."
"You cannot know what that means to me." Gawain yawned, his eyes still closed.
"You have changed, Longsword. When first I met you, you were a young longsword warrior burning with a passion for vengeance, and justice. When I left you upon the Point yesterday, you were a man burning with passion, with love beating in his chest and compassion shining from his eyes. Now, you are…"
"I am what?"
"Cold. And cruel, I think."
A knock interrupted Gawain's reply, and he stood to open the door. A messenger stood there, drenched and bedraggled.
"Yes?" Gawain asked.
"Serre," the youth answered nervously, "A reply, from Martan of Tellek. Lord Rak bade me bring it you."
"Aye?"
"His reply was one word, Serre: 'Aye.' And he smiled. That is all."
"Thank you." Gawain smiled grimly, and the youth nodded, and hurried off down the hall.
Gawain closed the door, and laid down on the bed again.
"Martan of Tellek?" Allazar asked, hopefully. "Is he well? I did not have a chance to ask."
"Aye." Gawain replied. "He's undertaken a task for me."
"Would you have us cross to the Teeth then?" Allazar shuddered as another blast of wind drove rain into the rattling panes.
"No. I have asked Martan to travel to all Threlland's inns and taverns, and recount his tale of what we saw beneath the Teeth to all who will listen. Hopefully, when the call to arms finally comes, the Threllanders will have a better understanding of the enemy we face."
Allazar nodded. "If he is believed. But it is a good thing you have done, Longsword, to give an old man such a purpose. It is worthy of the man I last saw on the Point."