Of the three kindred races of Man, Elves, Humans and Wizards, dwarves of course being close cousins of men, it was with Wizards and Elves that the mystic powers resided. Few men ever learned to wield such powers and those who did invariably had some elven or wizardly forebears and bore the mark of it in their white hair. After all, wizards are born, not made. So long did Morloch labour and in such secrecy that when he broke from Zaine, taking with him a cabal of corrupt and power-hungry wizards, the world was stunned. So stunned, it was said Morloch even had time to raise an army of men in what is now the Gorian Empire, and the war which ensued was long and bloody.
But the combined might of the kindred races drove Morloch ever north, until he crossed the Teeth, and finding neither Elves nor Wizards there, conquered all those lands. There, distracted by the strength of his power and dominion over all he surveyed, he paused to revel in the fruits of his conquest, and thus gave time for the kindred races in the south to gather, and unite, and bind him there, trapped behind the great mountain range for all time.
Thus bound, people forgot the truth of Morloch and his betrayal of all the kindred, and he passed out of memory and into myth. Until, that is, Gawain vexed the dark lord of the north and discovered his intent. Morloch doubtless knew the hidden secret of Raheen, safe and secure atop the mountain in the south, farthest kingdom from his dark influence. Raheen had been chosen by the elder magi to be a bastion against Morloch, an unconquerable symbol of hope, isolated, aloof, its people constantly enjoying peace yet always making ready for war. Morloch was of those elder magi. He knew them all, the extents and limits of their powers, for had they not taught Morloch all they knew?
And that was why Morloch had destroyed Raheen. To destroy Hope, yes, and to remove the one great natural fortress to which all survivors of the dark armies flooding from the Teeth would flee. But also to destroy the sole remaining power able to oppose him in southlands.
Morloch had only partly succeeded, and that was why he feared Gawain, the longsword warrior, the DarkSlayer, on learning the true identity of the King of Raheen, and thus, obviously, the identity of the great sword he carried. The Sword of Justice, the last key needed to unleash the great wave.
Gawain studied his handiwork, admiring the sheen in Gwyn’s coat, then patted her gently on the neck. “Thank you, Gwyn,” he said again, and this time there was less of the young man feeling sorry for himself in his voice, and more the warrior king.
So, what have I done? He asked himself once more.
What indeed. He knew that all the labour of countless thousands of Morloch’s subjects hammering away at the north face of the Teeth to create a breach was now all for naught. When the wave had struck the range, all the workings were blown away in the spalls of rock blasted from the north face, reshaping the mountain range anew on that side.
Yesterday, casting a final look at the ghosts gathered in the ruined Keep, Gawain had called to them silently:
There will be no breach at the Teeth, not for at least another thousand years. Morloch is bound again. Yet there is no joy in this victory. There is only pain, and loss, and no justice for any of us here.
Now, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and hearing the sound of gulls wheeling overhead, Gawain modified his opinion somewhat. Morloch’s resources were dwindling, much was lost when he blasted Raheen and more was lost when Gawain liberated the lake of fermenting aquamire beyond the Teeth. Gawain remembered telling Allazar what he’d seen in the lens, when he’d looked beyond the Teeth: They feed on aquamire, all of them. All the lands north of the Teeth are gone. Destroyed. They do not seek conquest of the southlands. They seek food.
It took Morloch millennia to bring his planned invasion of the southlands to the brink of fruition, only to be thwarted at the eleventh hour. Gawain smiled grimly to himself, but felt suddenly uneasy. He does not have the luxury of time. With the Teeth now closed against him once more, what now awaits the south?
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Good morning, Captain.”
“Healer Turlock advises me that both your lady and the wizard are sleeping once again. It seems the wizard is exhausted from a disturbed night, and doubtless the battle with your dark enemy.”
“Yes. I’m glad. His cries in the night were pitiful. I’d be surprised if anyone slept.”
“Really? I didn’t hear him, my lord, I and the sergeant have our accommodation there.”
“Odd.” Gawain sighed. “I was concerned he would wake my lady. I’m glad he’s sleeping now though. Did the healer say anything else?”
“No. Which I take to be a good sign.”
“And no news from outside?”
“None, my lord, and alas, none expected. When the guard from Jarn escorted your lady here, they brought with them the last of the supplies we can now expect. We have enough for ten days, should you need them. We are, as I said, entirely at your disposal.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Gawain acknowledged with a weak smile, but genuine appreciation. “As you can imagine I’m in no hurry to risk my lady’s health by rushing north and west across the plains just yet. Not until the healer is sure it’s safe to move either of them would I dare to do so.”
“We could send a rider, my lord, if you wish? To the castletown? Word could be sent thence to Juria by bird, and it’s but a short ride from Ferdan to Elvendere. We could have the elven healers Turlock spoke of meet us halfway?”
But Gawain knew it would be futile. The see-eelan would not leave the security of their great forest for one who was declared faranthroth. “No, Captain, thank you. I have every confidence that the condition is temporary, and we’ll be heading for Elvendere anyway as soon as it’s safe to do so. The Council of Kings is there, and I need to bring them news of what has happened here.”
“Of course. I’ve taken the liberty of not sending word of our current circumstances to my superiors. I know my King my lord, and he’s always made a point of expressing how much he values initiative in his officers. When I say my men and I are at your disposal, my lord, I mean it. We’ll escort you to the Teeth, if you ask it of us.”
“I hope that’s a journey we don’t have to make, Tyrane. I’ve been there.”
“Aye, my lord, we’ve heard some of the tales.”
Gawain nodded, momentarily lost in memory, stooping in the damp tunnels, following Martan’s cheerful and surefooted progress… “Sorry, Captain. Your men, how many do you have now? I counted eighteen not including yourself when I and Allazar first arrived.
Tyrane looked impressed. “You’ve a good eye, m’lord. Eighteen there were. Twenty six now, with the guard from Jarn, including the whitesleeves. He was stationed at Jarn lest your party needed his attentions after crossing the plains.”
“Horses?”
“Thirty, not including your own party’s. I beg your pardon, m’lord, do you anticipate more action? I’ve assumed the Pass is no longer our objective and deployed the men in general defensive positions protecting the outpost, with a mounted patrol an hour along the road to Jarn and lookouts at the bluff to watch the western approaches.”
It was Gawain’s turn to be impressed, and then he remembered Tyrane describing how Elayeen had raced up the Pass, and the effect it had had upon the men. She had that effect on all those they’d encountered, from Threlland all the way to the Sea of Hope.
“No, no I’m not expecting any fresh assault. But it’s wise to be prepared. There is a dark army in the north, and traitors within. I’m grateful for the care you’ve taken, Captain, I’m afraid my own thinking has been somewhat addled since we faced Salaman Goth.”