As the patrol closed and the thundering of hooves could be felt through the soft Threlland earth beneath them, Sarek fired his bolt out towards the farak gorin, and rose from cover with a look of profound satisfaction on his features when the shaft flew breathtakingly close across the path of the sergeant leading the patrol.
The horse whinnied and reared, and terrified heads swung this way and that, while hands fumbled for slung weapons.
"You're all dead men." Sarek called, striding down the slope, leading his horse.
"Not before you, you brigand bastards!" the sergeant yelled back, heaving his crossbow from his saddle. But it was neither cocked nor bolted, and Sarek laughed cruelly.
"Peace, Sergeant Kole. We are friends."
"Captain Sarek?"
"Aye. And Lord Rak, and the Longsword, and others."
Gawain and the rest of them emerged from cover, and a look of self-disgust stole over the patrolmens' faces when they saw elven longbows, shafts still nocked to the strings, and how easy it would have been for an enemy to have brought them all down.
"We were dispatched to seek you out, Captain." the sergeant announced. "The Lady Merrin grew worried for you, and his Majesty too."
"His Majesty?" Rak called. "Is he then in Tarn?"
"Aye, my lord, and awaiting you with great impatience if his last orders to me were any indication."
"How so?"
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but his Majesty said to me: 'Get your arses out there and tell my niece's bloody husband I'm wanting to know what's so important she's dragged me halfway across the Kingdom.' That's his exact words, my lord."
"Then we'd best ride." Rak sighed, and mounted.
"And when we get back to Tarn, Sergeant," Sarek scowled as he climbed into the saddle, "You and I shall discuss the matter of your ambush."
"Serre."
When they camped that night, and a watch had been posted, Sarek studied the faces of the young men huddled in their cloaks. They eyed him nervously, unused to seeing such darkness in their commander's eyes.
"There is an enemy in Threlland." Sarek announced quietly, and a hush fell over the camp.
Elayeen sidled closer to Gawain, and he wrapped her in his cloak while Sarek gazed at the patrolmen, and recounted what he had seen. This time, his voice remained firm, and dark, and faltered not when he told of the horror he had seen. Few if any of the Threllanders slept that night.
When, finally, their horses swung south once more, and the Jurian plains stretched endlessly before them, and the gentle slopes of western Threlland were on their left, Rak drew his horse alongside Gwyn.
"Traveller, when we reach home, it would be best if I and Sarek spoke first with our king."
"As long as he listens, Rak. I only hope the other crowns will pay heed to the messages sent so long ago."
"Once Eryk knows what we know, he can add his authority to such messages. With the snows washed away from the farak gorin clear to Juria's castletown, I have no doubt Eryk will be able to persuade the other southland crowns to council."
"You have no doubt?" Gawain asked, "In truth? If it were that easy, my father would have done so years ago. Indeed, he tried."
Rak nodded earnestly. "But then, my friend, the enemy was Goria, and Pellarn a disputed territory. Now, the enemy we face is common to all, and all our lands are threatened."
"Then I trust your diplomacy is equal to the task, my friend, for if not…"
"I have faith in my skills, Traveller, just as you have faith in yours. I beg you, do not turn your dark ire upon Eryk. He is King of Threlland, and thus master of stubbornness. In the face of your ire, he will become as the very hills themselves."
Gawain nodded, thoughtfully, and then said softly. "Even the stubbornest of hills can be swept away, Rak, until nothing remains but another Barak-nor."
Rak winced. "Aye. I know."
The patrol turned onto the Tarn track, and began wending its way along the familiar hills until finally the trees gave way and the muddy track turned to cobbles. On the outskirts of the town, a rider wearing a bright uniform spotted them, and galloped away, presumably to spread word of their arrival.
"An honour-guard." Rak sighed. "Shining like a peacock in the afternoon sunshine. In your eyes, my brother, we must all seem so…amateur."
Gawain thought back to Raheen, and its cavalry. Resplendent in their livery of red and gold, helms glinting. "No." He sighed. "Just noble, and honourable. And unprepared for so vile an enemy."
When they entered the town square, hooves clattering on the stones, the guardsmen parted and allowed Gawain's small band of unwashed brigands to move to the fore. A large banner hung limply on a standard placed outside Rak's front door…the King's Colours, and flanking the door, two brightly-uniformed and sparkling clean honour-guards. On seeing the dishevelled and frankly disgraceful appearance of the seven riders approaching, the guards tensed, and eyed one another nervously.
Then the door was flung open, and Lady Merrin burst forth, clutching Travak and pointing at Rak delightedly. Then she hurried across the cobbles, and Rak dismounted to greet his wife and infant son with equal enthusiasm.
Gawain and the rest dismounted, and Elayeen turned to him.
"You have brought us safely back, mithroth, as you promised."
Gawain smiled. "I don't remember making such a promise."
Elayeen cocked her head, and blinked up at him in the sunshine, her eyes sparkling behind the mud camouflage that still stained her face. "Did you not? In truth?"
"I might have said something about not returning without you." Gawain mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.
Elayeen smiled, and took his hand, and was about to speak again when a deep voice boomed across the courtyard.
"Elve’s Blood and Dwarfspit, niece! You shame the crown by cavorting with vagabonds while your husband is out in the hills!"
Merrin giggled, and turned, beaming, to face Eryk, King of Threlland. "My husband is no longer in the hills, your Majesty, this vagabond is him, home, and safe."
"And a more pitiful sight I've never seen, Rak of Tarn." Eryk snorted. "What's that lot with you?"
Rak bowed low, as did all the others, except, noticeably, Gawain.
"Your Majesty. This is Sarek, Captain of your Majesty's Tarn Guard. Allazar the wizard I believe you already know…"
Eryk snorted again.
"…There stand Meeya and Valin, thalangard, royal honour-guard to her highness the princess Elayeen of Elvendere…"
At this Eryk's eyes widened and his chin dropped, as Elayeen curtseyed regally.
"…And this is my friend and brother, Traveller, also known as the Longsword."
Eryk flicked a glance at Gawain, nodded briefly, and the returned his gaze to Elayeen as he strode forward.
"Your highness," he announced, his voice rich, "All Threlland is proud and honoured to greet Elvendere. Honour to you, and to your crown."
Elayeen flushed beneath the mud-stains. "Honour to you, your Majesty, and to all Threlland. But I am faranthroth…"
"Her highness is tired, your Majesty," Rak interrupted, "and as you can see, in need of rest and bathing…"
"As are you all Rak," Eryk sniffed, and glanced up into Gawain's eyes. "But first I want to know why I wasn't informed that we had royal guests in our land, and from Elvendere, by the Teeth!"
"I shall be happy to explain…" Rak began apologetically.
"I should think so. But later. As you say, her highness is tired and in need of bathing. We'll speak later. An hour.” Then he studied their mud-caked faces and hair again. "Make that two hours."
With that, Eryk bowed low to Elayeen, and turned, and strode back into Rak's house.
Gawain stood there, completely at a loss. Eryk of Threlland stood no higher than his breastbone, was at least twice Gawain's age and more, yet looked for all the world like a younger and more vigorous version of Martan of Tellek, down to the bushy beard and eyebrows (though Eryk's were red and Martan's gray). Yet the king wore about him an air of absolute command, just as Davyd of Raheen had. Gawain wondered if he would ever acquire such regal command, but Elayeen had taken his hand again, and was leading him into Rak's house…