"I do not hate you." Gawain whispered, desperate to stem the bubble that threatened to burst in his throat. "My heart beats in your chest, Elayeen. I can hear it."
General Karn and his staff arrived midway between noon and dusk, and promptly commandeered the inn, much to Derrik the landlord's delight and his regular customers' dismay. By the time a runner had been dispatched to Rak's house requesting the presence of all those who had travelled to the Barak-nor, the inn had been transformed into an impressive military headquarters, resplendent with large maps of Threlland, a full-sized copy of the map Sarek had drawn, and a surprisingly detailed map of all the southlands.
When Gawain, with Elayeen at his side, followed Rak and the Lady Merrin into the inn, he paused only briefly when he saw that on the southland map Raheen had been shaded in a cruel black and the name erased. It vaguely troubled him that he should be angry, and was not.
Karn was resplendent in his staff uniform of red, white, and gold, and bowed stiffly at their entrance. All did, though it was not until Elayeen politely nodded an acknowledgement that he dimly realised they were saluting him, and his queen, as well as Rak and Merrin. There were three wizards standing to one side, a short distance from the General and his staff officers. None seemed at all pleased to see Gawain, nor the longsword strapped over his shoulder.
"Your royal Majesties," Karn announced, and cleared his throat. His voice was gruff and harsh, and his appearance hard. Short-cropped hair and beard, both as white as snow, stood in stark contrast to the weather-tanned and leathery complexion, and hard blue eyes, rarely blinking, sparkled intelligently. "I am Karn, General to his Majesty's Royal Army. These are my staff officers, Majors Trak, Fellek, and Brant."
Gawain tried hard to study them critically, but the effort seemed greater than the reward. All he saw was red, white, and gold uniforms, stiff backs, polite bows, and beards and hair of various shades of gray.
Elayeen smiled regally. "Well met, General, and honour to you and your crown."
"Honour to you, and to the crown." Karn grunted self-consciously, suddenly keenly aware of the vast black region at the south of his largest map.
They sat at a long bench table facing the maps, and when they had settled, Karn stepped forward, and with a gold-handled swagger-stick, pointed at the Barak-nor on the north-east reaches of Threlland.
"The Barak-nor." He barked. "Wherein lies the enemy. In total, six hundred, as you yourselves know…"
Gawain tried hard to listen and comprehend, but the harsh voice seemed suddenly to fade, and become incoherent. He was aware that Sarek spoke, probably in answer to questions, and he also heard Rak's gentle tones. But it was hard to concentrate, and much easier simply to stare at his hands on the table. Someone, doubtless one of Derrik's regular customers, had carved the name "Tallbot" into the oaken tabletop, and it seemed suddenly important. More important than the voices around him, and he tried desperately to discover its significance.
Someone else spoke. Allazar. It was Allazar's voice. Then a memory flashed into Gawain's befuddled mind…
"Jarn." he suddenly said loudly, and a deathly hush fell over the assembly.
"Your Majesty?" Karn inquired, confused.
"Tallbot of Jarn. An honourable officer. Dead now."
"Mithroth…" Elayeen whispered, as Gawain's finger traced the name carved into the tabletop.
"Killed by the Ramoths. Why are those wizards still robed?"
"I beg your pardon, your Majesty…" Karn choked.
"Those wizards. Why are they still robed."
"Forgive us, General," Rak's voice said solicitously. "Our friend is not himself…"
"Ah…"
"Tell them to open their robes, Allazar."
Allazar glanced nervously at Elayeen, and then stood. "My brethren, Longsword commands you expose your breast, that we may be sure of your…allegiance."
"Madness!" a strange voice protested. "He is Morloch-cursed!"
Gawain fingered the carving in the wood, and was suddenly aware of a strange tingling in his left hand, the hand held so tightly by Elayeen…
Karn's voice cut through the protests like a blade. "If his royal Majesty the King of Raheen commands you to open your robes, then you'll damn' well open your robes."
"King of ashes, and nothing! We have nought but his word that he is Raheen, and he is Morloch-cursed!" the strange voice spat back.
"Enough," Rak's voice, firm and commanding. "You shame Threlland. Here sits Raheen, and his queen, and you will obey."
"You would command us, Rak of Tarn?" another voice demanded.
The tingling in Gawain's left hand grew stronger, and like Jurian brandy filling a goblet, a sudden peace seemed to flow into him, filling him.
"You protest too much, brethren. I am happy to prove I am free of n'iman sett runes." There was rustling of fabric as Allazar parted his robes, exposing his chest for all to see.
"You are D'ith pat! A nothing! Lowest of the brethren, without master! You do not command us, brother! We will not shame ourselves thus!"
The tingling burst to a crescendo in Gawain's hand, and he smiled, and stopped tracing the name gouged into the wood. He let go of Elayeen's hand, and turned his gaze to her, smiling into hazel-green eyes filled with a concern that knew no limits. Then he looked away, and into the eyes of the wizard who had stepped forward, and was pointing at Allazar.
"Morloch-cursed!" the wizard spat.
"Open your robes!" Allazar commanded, pointing at the wizard, and a crackling thread of silver light snaked from Allazar's finger, striking the wizard between the eyes.
"D'ith pat vak!" the wizard sneered, and began mumbling. A thick rope of dazzling yellow shot from the wizard's hand, and struck Allazar in the centre of his bared chest, and he gasped and staggered backwards.
Gawain stood, calmly, and drew his longsword, and there was sudden crackling of aquamire energy. Strange aquamire filled his eyes, and he smiled as he casually overturned the table that stood between himself and the wizard.
"You will open your robes or I will open you, whitebeard, and you will do it now."
"Morloch-cursed!" another wizard gasped, yet when Gawain's cold black eyes locked onto his, he frantically ripped open his robes to reveal his unmarked chest.
The second wizard promptly did likewise. But the senior of the trio stood defiant. Gawain raised his blade, holding it level with the wizard's chest, two paces separating its tip from the whitebeard's heart, aquamire swimming and crackling deep within the steel.
"You do not command me, King of Ashes. I am Joyen, of the D'ith Sek, first order of the brethren!"
There was a gentle swish as steel was drawn around the room. Rak, and Merrin, and Elayeen stepped forward beside Gawain, blades held at the ready.
"And you are a dead man unless you do as he commands." Karn growled, placing the tip of his own long knife at the wizard's throat.
Sarek stepped forward, the tip of his crossbow's bolt almost touching the wizard's left temple.
Joyen's breathing came in short gasps through clenched teeth, and he stared defiantly at Gawain for a moment longer. Then the tip of Sarek's bolt touched skin, and the Threlland officer whispered:
"Say the word, Longsword."
Joyen began mumbling through his clenched teeth, and Allazar drew in a breath to call a warning, but Karn simply twisted the long knife so that its razor edge tilted the wizard's chin high up, silencing the whitebeard.
"None of that, my friend." Karn growled.
Joyen's breath hissed through his nostrils, and his hands slowly crept up, spider-like, to grasp the robes covering his chest. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the fabric, and his breath whistled as he slowly parted the robes an inch…two.
Allazar sighed and grips on blades began to relax, and Joyen's lips curled in a sneer of utter contempt.