Gawain’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper, yet carried a fierce pride and strength. Both Allazar and Elayeen sat up now, transfixed.
“Edwyn, King of Raheen, fourteen years old and barely as tall as the great sword that sat in its home-stone in the centre of that great circle, striding forward to meet the Goth-lord Armun Tal of Goria seated upon a Graken at the head of a filthy horde of dark-made horror. They say Edwyn paused only long enough to draw the longsword from its resting place, and that he drew it with one hand.
“Out of the circle then, through the rows of tables and benches towards the sunshine streaming in through the mighty iron-braced oaken portals, and towards the evil invader beyond, without a missed step, without a hint of fear or doubt. Into the sunlight, a walk of thirty yards across the flagstones and greensward to where the Graken waited, foul breath reeking.
“On seeing Edwyn thus, the Goth-lord laughed again, and the black walls shuddered. What’s this? A fool who would challenge me on foot with a horseman’s blade, and I, Armun Tal of the Goth-lords of Goria!
“History didn’t record Edwyn’s reply because apparently he didn’t make one. For at that moment, Gillyan Treen came thundering through the north gate on her steed, swinging her horse-friend to the right to try to make the northwest corner of the Keep to the Goth-lord’s right flank. They said that Armun Tal was so surprised by an attack from the rear, a direction he thought well and truly disabled by the swarm which had followed him, he simply sat atop the Graken and watched agog as the Forester charged down his right flank and loosed a shaft from her shortbow.”
Gawain paused again, and took another drink of water. His companions, wide-eyed in the starlight, hugged their wraps about them, caught up in the tension of the story.
“Remember, Gillyan was a Forester, not a Rider. Yes, she had been chosen by her horse-friend as I was chosen by Gwyn, but she was by no means a cavalrywoman. The woodlands were her domain. So, when she loosed her shaft, she did not take into account the speed and motion of her horse. To her eye, the shaft should have passed clean through the head of the astonished Goth-lord atop the Graken, but to her horror it missed completely, and slammed instead into the throat of the winged beast whose head had reared up and turned away from Edwyn to see what had startled its master so.
“The creature let out a deafening shriek as the stone-tipped shaft ripped through the soft flesh below its jaws to bury itself deep into the neck-bone beneath. Armun Tal seemed to throw his hand towards Gillyan Treen and a black ball of smoke shot towards her, but because the Graken reared up so violently the black wizardry also missed its target, striking instead the left flank and hindquarters of her horse-friend. The horse fell, as did the rider, but while the rider got up again, the horse did not.
“The Goth-lord fell too, toppled from his saddle atop the thrashing Graken. Edwyn stepped forward, swung the longsword in a mighty arc, cleaving the mortally-wounded creature’s head open, killing it instantly. Then he began advancing upon the Goth-lord.
“Armun Tal, on his hands and knees, looked first towards his dead Graken, then Edwyn striding towards him, then towards Gillyan Treen. She was covered in grime, clothes still wet from the river, her nose was bleeding and her right leg looked to be broken, but she knelt on her good left knee and was nocking another shaft to her shortbow. The Goth-lord, probably slightly dazed from his fall, possibly judged her to be the most dangerous threat to him, and was certainly going to strike her down with another ball of black wizardry, but those who were there said they heard him give a bark of a laugh when Gillyan tried to draw the bow, and it promptly broke. It had been damaged when her poor horse-friend had been blown from beneath her, casting her onto the flagstones in the fall.
“Instead, the Goth-lord turned his attention to Edwyn, who in three more strides was now within range of his quarry and was swinging the Sword of Justice again. But Armun Tal simply grinned, and placing both his hands before him, made a shimmering black disk like a shield appear before him. The great blade struck the disk, and there was much crackling and streamers of dark magical fire, before Armun Tal stood and using the shield, thrust against Edwyn, sending him stumbling backwards.
“And now the crown is mine he said, and the black shield faded as he raised his right hand and conjured a black ball of smoke, the same as had killed Gillyan’s horse-friend. And that was when Gillyan’s second shaft sang across the courtyard with the crack of a string, slamming into the Goth-lord’s ribs just below his exposed armpit. At once, Edwyn danced forward, swinging the longsword in a flat arc with all the power his boyish yet kingly frame could muster.
“That swing took the Goth-lord’s left arm clean off on its way through ribs and heart to spine. There is… there was a small monument on the spot where Armun Tal fell, slain by King and Forester. The clawflies, creatures of the dark magic wielded by the Goth, died with their master, falling from the walls to twitch and smoulder and smoke and then fade to ash in the sunlight…”
Gawain sighed, and paused a moment while Raheen pride and great sadness threatened to break his voice. But when he continued, his voice wavered not.
“When Gillyan’s broken leg had mended and her other wounds healed, Edwyn asked her to teach him the trick she had learned from her grandfather in her childhood, how to throw an arrow with the power and accuracy of a bow, using only a knotted cord. When he had learned, and seen how effective it was, and how practical, he ordered all in the service of Raheen to learn its use. Thus did Gillyan Treen change life in Raheen, forever, setting in motion the change from shortbow to the famed Raheen arrow-throwing.
“They even made a song for her, a favourite of the bards. It told the tale of Gillyan and her part in the destruction of the Goth-lord. And it went on for many verses and I’m not much for songs, so don’t ask me what the words are or to sing it! I don’t mind music on flutes and harps and lyres but usually when someone stands up to sing a song that’s when I find nature calls or that I suddenly need fresh air.”
“Spoilsport.” Elayeen sighed, hugging her knees beneath her blanket, and Gawain smiled.
“But I do remember some of the words. I told you the story because I think it has to do with why I need to take Allazar to Raheen. It went:
“something something blah, and shadow swept across the land, and something something something, then sword from circle Edwyn drew, and in the sunlight shadow slew, where Gillyan Treen an arrow threw, and something something blah. Sorry. Maybe somewhere in Callodon there might be someone who remembers the whole thing, not that I think it’s important.”
“What do you think is important, Longsword?” Allazar asked quietly.
“The sword. And the circle. And the shadows. Edwyn was only fourteen years old and the sword was probably bigger than him at the time he drew it and cut that Goth-lord practically in two. You’ve seen me wield it too. And you saw the look on Morloch’s face when he found out who I am.”
After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Gawain announced he’d take first watch, and his companions lay down to sleep. Gawain drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders, then rubbed his hands, feeling the softness of the new-healed skin of his palms, bringing the memory of Ferdan flooding to the forefront of his thoughts once more:
Gawain flipped the blade in a lazy arc as Morloch extended his hands, and then he plunged the longsword deep into the floor, through the planking at the centre of the circle, and down into the soft rich earth of Juria beneath.
The beam of black light linking the Sword of Justice to the dying wizard suddenly surged, blasting through the wizard's body and back again, to reflect off the weapon's hilt still clutched by Gawain, now on his knees, staring at Morloch.