"Good morning, mithroth." Elayeen said softly. "Egrith miheth."
Gawain stared at her, and then cast a critical eye from her boots to the top of her head. The boots were Threllandmade, and strong, reaching above the knee to midway up her thighs. A thick leather skirt, split for riding, and a rich warm cloak, over which her silver-blonde hair spilled like a shimmering waterfall. A long, broad-bladed knife was slung over her right shoulder, and she carried a longbow, slung over her back.
"It means," Elayeen said, mistaking his silence, "I greet my heart."
"Good morning, my Lady," Gawain replied, "Egrith miheth. When we approach the Barak-nor, you must either cut your hair, or blacken it, or wear darkcloth. You shine like a beacon, and will make a fine target for Morloch watchmen."
Elayeen's eyes flicked down, and she fiddled with the reins.
"Traveller." Rak announced, and Gawain could not tell if it was a greeting or a reproach, so he simply nodded.
"Captain Sarek. Well met, and honour to you."
"Longsword. Honour to you, and my thanks for choosing me for this mission."
"No thanks necessary. If the wizard isn't here by the time I finish this sentence, you may commence your duties by going up there and killing the idle…"
"My apologies!” Allazar gasped, stumbling through the inn's door, fumbling with a pack and trying to secure his cloak's clasp at the same time. "Longsword, you did not wake me when you left!"
"I am not your nursemaid, whitebeard. On the lowlands by the farak gorin, if you cannot wake at the slightest sound, you will not wake at all. Mount, and hurry. I would be off the slopes before daybreak."
With that, Gwyn moved off, leading the way out of Tarn to the downland road where, before winter, Gawain had met Martan, and begun their journey to the Teeth…
"Captain Sarek, I should like you in the van with me. The thalangard should take the rear."
"Traveller," Rak said quietly as the cobbles of the square gave way onto the track, "We are yet in Tarn, and all the way to the Barak-nor we are in Threlland. I do not believe we are in imminent danger."
"True." Gawain replied coldly, "But at the Barak-nor we shall be. On the journey there you will need to acquire new skills, the first of which is accepting my instructions without question."
"That you command on this adventure is obvious, Traveller." Rak countered. "We do not need reminding."
Gawain sighed as Sarek pulled his horse alongside Gwyn. "By my estimation, Morloch would need a thousand men ranged across the farak gorin to hold the line against the breach. Which means five hundred at the Barak-nor, and five hundred in the Gorian wasteland. The only way we may approach such a host is with stealth and cunning, arts which few of you yet possess. These are not vacuous Ramoths we approach. These are Morloch's advance guard, and they will be taking extraordinary measures to safeguard their secrecy and security."
"Five hundred men would not survive a week in the Barak-nor." Rak asserted. "For one thing, there is no food there, unless they have found a way to eat spikeweed and ore-slag."
"Perhaps they have." Gawain mumbled, as Gwyn splashed through the mud on the winding track.
The rains had washed away the snow, but in their wake had left the tracks awash with mud and, in dips in the track, great puddles. From time to time both Gawain and Sarek cast a glance up the slopes, fearful of mudslides. But the trees lining the slopes bound the earth with their roots, and no major obstacles barred their progress down to the flatland at the edge of the farak gorin.
Dawn broke as Gwyn picked her way along the narrow stretch of land that separated Threlland's slopes from the spiteful bitchrock of the river of nothing. Gawain paused, and closed his eyes as weak sunshine shimmered on the farak gorin's glazed and wicked surface, now washed clean of snow.
Elayeen gasped. "You crossed that mithroth? On foot?"
Gawain opened his eyes, and flicked a glance at the spiteful wasteland. "Yes." he said simply, and moved off again.
Sunshine was short-lived, and about an hour after daybreak it began to rain again, a persistent drizzle that hung like a fine mist, billowing in occasional northerly breezes. Gawain drew his cloak tighter about him, and popped a strip of frak into his mouth. It was a frugal breakfast, but to him at least, it was satisfying. Behind him, he heard Rak explaining to Elayeen and the thalangard what frak was, and when Gawain glanced over his shoulder he could see that the elves were far from impressed at both taste and texture of the miner's staple.
Sarek chewed happily enough, long used to subsisting on the stuff on lengthy patrols.
"You know this land, Captain?" Gawain asked quietly.
"Aye Serre. All guardsmen do. In the first months of duty all must patrol this route, from Mallak Spur in the east all the way to Tarn's slopes in the west. It is good training. The north-facing hills of Threlland are bleak and unpopulated, the winds howling down from the Teeth are inhospitable. All soldiers on patrol must therefore rely on themselves and their comrades."
Gawain nodded appreciatively. "Have you seen the Barak-nor?"
"No, Serre. Our patrols do not pass east of Mallak Spur, since it is well known that the Barak-nor is a barren and shameful place. No Threllander goes there, and who else is there would do so?"
"Who else indeed." Allazar grumbled. "Especially in such vile weather. In truth, Longsword, with the terrain, and the snows, and now the rains, I must confess I would be greatly surprised to learn that anything but Black Riders could survive in a place as harsh as that which Lord Rak described."
"Let us hope then," Gawain said darkly, "That it will not be five hundred of those monsters we find there."
Gawain set a fast pace, though not so fast as to risk injury to the horses. The ground beneath them was a mix of soft Threlland earth, rocks, and outcrops of bitchrock, and Gawain knew only too well what effect the latter would have should a hoof stumble upon it. The incessant drizzle dampened clothes and spirits, though no-one complained. Doubtless, he thought, they still feared his dark ire.
At lunchtime, he brought Gwyn to a halt, and dismounted. "We shall walk the horses for an hour," he announced, "They need the rest and you need to feel the terrain beneath your boots. Take care not to step on the bitchrock where it lays exposed, it is vicious."
"And we, Longsword, do we eat?" Allazar asked innocently.
"You have frak, wizard, you may eat it whenever you feel hungry."
"I saw a rabbit in the trees on the slopes. I thought perhaps we might rest also, and prepare something hot against this chill rain."
Gawain stared at the wizard for a moment.
"It was just a thought." Allazar mumbled, as Gawain turned his back.
After a few moments, Gawain handed Gwyn's reins to Sarek and turned to face them all. "I shall go on ahead, around that bluff. Somewhere up there I shall lay in wait for you. If you see me, fire an arrow in my direction."
"An arrow?" Elayeen queried, "Is that not dangerous, mithroth?"
"It might be, my Lady, if you see me. Though if elven archers indeed possess the skills for which they are famed, it should not be beyond you and the thalangard to place a shaft short or wide of the mark."
"What does this game serve?" Rak asked quietly.
"It is a lesson, friend Rak." Gawain said, his eyes flickering. "For if I see you before you see me, then you may expect my shaft by way of greeting. Morloch's watchmen will, I assure you, welcome you likewise."
With that, Gawain turned, and loped off at a steady pace. Once he'd rounded the bluff out of sight of the rest of the party, he grinned, and increased his pace. He was sorely tempted to double back, up on the slopes, moving from tree to tree to take a position behind them. But Morloch's men would not do that. They would have fixed sentries, hidden, laying watchful and in ambush, and that was what Gawain must do if this lesson were to be of value.