Finally, with Allazar gazing stunned and disbelieving at the ruin all about them, they came to the great cobbled courtyard, and here the horses stopped, and Gwyn let out a low whinny towards the empty space where once the stables stood.
Ahead of them, warped and twisted, the remains of the massive iron gates once bound and riveted to the mighty oaken portals that gave way to the Great Hall. Allazar, slack jawed, gazed up at the gaping rents in the scorched and blackened walls of what was once the mighty Keep of Raheen, Gawain’s home, home of the Kings of Raheen.
Gawain dismounted, and held Gwyn’s majestic head, rubbing her ears and speaking softly. Tears filled his eyes, and Allazar’s too, and the wizard dismounted quickly, anxious to place his own horse between himself and the Longsword warrior, so that the younger man would not see the sorrow and pity streaming freely down his cheeks. The wizard sniffed, and wiped his eyes and his nose on the sleeve of his robes, muttering a quiet chant for strength and calm to quell the great turmoil of tears he knew had been but moments away. Small wonder the young man despised wizards so; it was Morloch who had done all this, and Morloch was a wizard.
“Come Allazar, this is what I would have you see.”
The wizard took another deep breath, sniffed again, and stepped out from behind his horse with a small bag slung over his shoulder. “Coming, Longsword, just fetching a few things.”
Gawain walked ahead, picking his way through the wreckage about the arched entrance to the great hall. A year of weather had done the work of many hands, the southerly winds whistling through the rents in the walls sweeping away dust and ash and debris, the rains of all four seasons washing them clean.
Allazar gazed around the scorched and broken walls, noting here and there a twisted sconce or a cracked socket where once a torch or proud banner had hung. Ahead lay the thrones upon their great marble pedestals, cracked and blackened like the walls all around them. Sea breezes whistled through the ruin from time to time, and but for the echoing of their booted heels upon the stone floor, a cavernous silence demanded respect, and awe.
“This is what I brought you all this way to see.” Gawain said softly, and came to a stop.
Behind them, the sudden clopping of hooves made them wheel in alarm, reaching for weapons, but it was Gwyn, of course, and the other horses following behind. There was nothing without the broken Keep, and the loneliness outside had been too much for Gwyn to bear. Gawain nodded sadly, and turned back to face the thrones.
“There,” he said. “There on the floor.”
Allazar stepped forward and stood alongside his king, for standing there, before the broken thrones and within those broken walls the wizard knew beyond all doubt that that is what Gawain had become, and not just in name. Before he had seen Raheen, Allazar had bound himself by oath to the Longsword warrior he instinctively knew possessed a destiny, and before that of course by order of Brock of Callodon. But now Allazar had seen Raheen. Now he understood a measure of the forces which had moulded the dreadful warrior who had wrought such vengeance upon the Ramoth. Now he understood what power had driven the young man on his quest into the Dragon’s Teeth, and why, after a year of wreaking vengeance and justice upon those who had done this, why Morloch was right to be afraid.
Looking down, Allazar saw the slotted home-stone in which the mighty blade upon Gawain’s back had spent so long in repose, undisturbed. And all around, within that Circle of Justice, where petitioners and accused alike had stood awaiting the King’s judgement, strange runes etched in the highly polished marble which bore no sign of any damage at all.
Allazar wiped his eyes and looked again. No, he thought, not etched in the marble, but within the stone itself!
“May I?” He asked tentatively, indicating the circle.
Gawain simply shrugged, and while the wizard gaped up at the sky at the sound of gulls wheeling, walked across the circle to sit upon the polished steps in front of the thrones. He took a lump of frak from his pocket, studied it for a moment before looking around the hall as if he expected Cordell, the Lord Chamberlain, to chide him for eating thus, then pared a slice and began to chew, lost in memories.
Allazar, still gazing up and about the Keep, turning this way and that, stepped into the circle, and then walked its circumference, gazing at the runes below the polished surface. He had not seen the like, either in reality or in books during his studies at the D’ith Hallencloister. He reached into his shoulder bag, took out a pencil and notebook ‘liberated’ from the Callodon outpost at the foot of the Pass, and with the King’s throne as a point of reference, he began making copies of the runes, moving slowly from each to the next as he worked.
In no time at all the wizard forgot where he was, forgot Gawain sitting on the steps which formed the raised platform upon which the thrones of Raheen had reposed for countless centuries. There was only the work, the floor, the circle, and the runes.
There were three concentric circles of runes and one hundred and twenty runes in each circle. Then an expanse of polished marble floor in or upon which Allazar could see nothing except his reflection gazing back up at him. And at last, in the centre of the floor, encircling the slotted home-stone, another circle of runes containing only twelve symbols. When he was certain he had transcribed all of them, in their correct relationship and orientation, he hurried to sit beside Gawain to display his handiwork.
“You were right Longsword, this is surely unique! See, see here, the three circles, then the fourth around the home-stone…” Allazar, engrossed and completely enthralled turned the pages of his notebook, enthusing over each one.
Gawain simply stared at the wizard, chewing silently on his frak.
“… and here, the number and alignment of symbols. I know not what to make of it yet. These are old, Longsword, very, very old, and I confess I know not the meaning. At first, I thought this outer row was simply Old Elvish of some kind, see how the cursive is similar to modern Elvish script? But the verticals are wrong…” Allazar put the notebook on step between them where they sat, and fished a brown paper package from his bag, untying it and peeling back the wrapper to reveal a thick steak sandwich from which he took a huge bite before picking up the notebook with his free hand.
“Nyummf,” He mumbled, his mouth full and chewing furiously, “Nyummf a thiff…” before swallowing and then “Look at this, this circle has a hint of the stylistic runes which adorn the illustrated Book of Thangar, one of the earliest tomes still legible in the library at the Hallencloister!” He jabbed a corner of his immense sandwich towards the notebook, turning a page clumsily with the thumb of the hand holding the book. “And this third, it has the outward appearance of primina runiform, the earliest of human mystic writings, but there are no serifs! See?”
Gawain stared, and blinked slowly, and then, to Allazar’s utter astonishment, burst out laughing.
“What? What have I said?” Allazar gaped, notebook in one hand, a doorstep of a steak sandwich in the other, as Gawain’s hysterical laughter echoed around the shattered walls of the Keep. Then the laughter turned to great wracking sobs, and Gawain drew up his knees, burying his face in his arms, and wept.
Allazar’s stomach sank, as his surroundings crashed back through the enthusiasm of his wizardly work. He reached out a hesitant hand to pat Gawain on the shoulder, but felt the hard cold scabbard of the longsword beneath his palm instead. He hastily put aside his sandwich, and sidled closer along the step.
“Oh my dear young friend… forgive me.” He whispered, and sat quietly, until Gawain’s shoulders ceased their heaving, and silence reigned once more in the shattered halls of Raheen.
When Gawain at last looked up and wiped his face on his sleeve, he found the wizard gazing at him with such profound sorrow and guilt that for a moment a wave of pity for the older man washed over he, and to the surprise of both, Gawain patted Allazar on the back.