The wizard frowned. “Then perhaps you were right, and danger awaits us at the Downland Pass.”
“Indeed.”
“Should we wait for Elayeen, Longsword, before continuing on?”
Gawain glanced back to the north, his eyes following the track where it swung slightly west through the forest. He remembered the first time he took that path, his fateful meeting with Allyn, honest farmer of Callodon, and Lyssa, his red-haired daughter, and wife Karin. His first encounter with lowlanders, and with brigands, and the Ramoth at Jarn…
“No,” he answered at length, moving off down the track, towards his mountain homeland looming in the distance. “She’s much closer now I think. Besides, if Morloch’s minions do await us ahead, I’d rather face them knowing she’s safe and protecting our rear.”
Allazar was clearly unconvinced, but Gawain politely ignored him, concentrating instead on Gwyn, and the track ahead. It would be Gwyn, he knew, who would most likely be aware of any threat before he himself recognised it, and certainly before the wizard knew anything of it.
Their progress was steady but cautious, Raheen looming higher above them with every step. Then the forest ahead thinned and gave way to the more rocky terrain that marked the boundary between the lowlands of Callodon and the highlands of Raheen. Above them, they could clearly see the grooved path that was the upper end of the Downland Pass, ending its winding journey at the summit. Gawain paused.
“Around that bend ahead are all that remains of the Callodon outpost, the inns and stables and hostelries.”
“And still neither sight nor sound of danger, Longsword. Do you suspect ambush?”
Gawain shrugged. “It would be easier for them to wait at the top of the Pass and simply drop rocks on our heads if that was their intent. But those are the fresh marks of wagons, and horses.”
Allazar agreed. Someone, or rather some people, were ahead of them, and likely at the outpost.
“Well,” Gawain sighed, checking his weapons and stringing an arrow, “We won’t find out just sitting here.”
“Do you propose to charge the outpost then?”
Gawain chuckled quietly. “Dwarfspit, Allazar, even in the darkest days of my assaults upon those cursed Ramoth towers I wasn’t that reckless!” Then a sudden doubt tweaked at him. “Was I?”
Allazar shrugged. “Reckless compared to whom?”
Gawain smiled and dismounted. “There’s open ground all around the outpost and beyond to the sea. No chance of approaching unseen from the flank or rear. We’ll head for the outcrop at the base of the cliff, inch our way around until we have them in sight.”
“And then?”
Gawain eyed the wizard, his face set grim. “And then we’ll deal with whatever we find there.”
“A sensible course of action,” Allazar mumbled, joining him on foot, and then added hopefully, “Perhaps it is Elayeen, who has stolen a march on us and awaits us with ale and roast boar and news of Morloch’s sudden yet welcome demise.”
“Is it eating rabbit that makes you such an optimist, wizard?”
“Hope for the best, Longsword, but be prepared for the worst. Then your only surprises will be pleasant ones.”
They left the track and moved quietly westward, away from the road and its signs of recent activity. Ahead of them, soaring almost vertically, the cliffs of Raheen. But also a hundred yards or more of open, rock-strewn ground before the safety of the bluff.
Gwyn snorted from behind them, and Gawain smelled burnt wood, and tensed.
“No sign of lookouts above.” He muttered quietly. “And none in sight at the bend in the road.”
“Odd,” Allazar agreed. “Surely even Morlochmen would not be so incautious if ambush is their aim.”
“Agreed. Or we’re here much sooner than they expected.”
They squatted beside a bramble at the edge of the tree-line, the horses behind and to their right. If there’d been a watch on duty on the far side of the track or in the uneven and open land on the approaches to the outpost, the animals would be spotted immediately.
There they waited, minutes passing slowly, watching for any sign of movement which would give away a look-out’s position. None came. Finally, it was Allazar who broke the silence, whispering:
“Is that the smell of beef roasting?”
“Let us hope so, wizard, and not the unspeakable evil we saw in the Barak-nor.”
Allazar shuddered in spite of the warmth of the afternoon. “Aye.”
“Wait here with the horses. I’ll cross to the bluff. Give me a signal if you see any alarm being raised. Then I’ll work my way along the base of the cliff until I can survey the outpost. If all’s well, I’ll give you a sign. If and when I do, follow my route and bring the horses, first to the bluff, then along the cliff.”
“I understand.”
Gawain nodded, and with a final look up, and all around, he sprinted for the bluff. Allazar scanned the distant track and beyond, but saw and heard nothing, no sign of any movement or activity to suggest Gawain had been seen. It took a good twenty minutes for Gawain to pick his way through the rocky terrain to a point far enough east that he could see the first out-building, and then he dropped to the ground and eased his way further around the cliff.
Allazar watched the young man intently for what seemed an age, before Gawain moved back, stood, and waved in the wizard’s direction. Twenty minutes later the two met halfway between the bluff and the point where Gawain had signalled.
“It’s not Elayeen.” Gawain said, mounting Gwyn.
“Ah.” Allazar exclaimed, climbing up on his horse. “And from your demeanour I’d say it’s also not Morloch, nor Dark Riders.”
“No, indeed it isn’t.” Gawain announced, keeping his arrow strung in his hand. “Stay close, to my left and behind, and be ready to ride hard straight to the Sea of Hope if anything untoward should occur.” And with that, Gawain led the way back to the tree line, onto the track, and then at a gentle canter, along the road and around the bend.
Ahead of them, the flag of Callodon fluttered on a pole atop the inn where a year earlier Gawain had found the Pellarnian scabbard in which the Sword of Justice now reposed. Then, the inn had been deserted, abandoned in the aftermath of Morloch’s Breath, as had all the other buildings. Now, there were people on the stoops, and horses in the corral. Gwyn whinnied, the other horses seemed to reply, and the men, all clad in Callodon’s colours, rushed to arms.
“Too late,” Gawain sighed to himself as much as to Allazar, “You’re all dead.”
“Hold in the name of the King!” a deep voice boomed at them from a tented area by the wells opposite the inns and their outbuildings.
“What King?” Gawain called back, reining in.
“Callodon’s king, who else? Advance with care, strangers, and identify yourselves.”
They were well within range of the guardsmen’s crossbows when a shout from the inn to their left announced: “There’s a wizard there, Serre!”
“Halt!” the commander declared, and Gawain and Allazar obeyed promptly.
“This is the wizard Allazar, once in service to Brock, King of Callodon, and now in service to Gawain, King of Raheen.”
“I don’t care who he is, my lord, if Raheen indeed you be, if he doesn’t open his robes by the time I’ve finished this sentence he’ll be a…”
But Allazar unselfconsciously threw open his robes to expose his torso, in clear view of all those holding crossbows trained upon him.
“…Ah, thank you, Serre wizard.” the commander announced. “And if you gentlemen wouldn’t mind dismounting and if you Serre wouldn’t mind putting up your arrow?”
“And if you, Serre, wouldn’t mind telling us who in Brock’s name you are and what you’re doing here before I finish this sentence I might not nail your head to that tent-pole with this arrow…”
“I am Captain Tyrane of the King’s Own Guard, and if you gentlemen are indeed who you claim to be, I was ordered here to hold the Pass for your arrival weeks ago.”
Allazar drew in a sharp breath and Gawain’s eyes narrowed. “Ordered how? When last we saw Callodon’s crown, he was at Ferdan, and no-one could have overtaken us on our journey here.”