“They don’t know that the Teeth have been kicked, and Morloch’s plans for invasion thwarted. Dwarfspit, Allazar, everything has changed since Ferdan. Everything.”
“I know. Yet something was happening in the north before the circle was unleashed, hence Morloch’s desperate attempt with the Kraal to divert attention here.”
Gawain chewed thoughtfully, following Allazar’s gaze as wood was loaded onto the brazier and set alight, a large black iron pot hanging from the tripod above the infant flames as they flickered first from dried grass kindling and began to grow as the wood was slowly fed in.
“Why does the word ‘urgent’ bother you so much?”
Allazar sighed. “It stands alone, and comes at the end of the message. Come at once to Shiyanath conveys the need for haste and as direct a route as possible to that northern province of Elvendere. But the ‘urgent’ nailed to the end speaks of a certain desperation on Brock’s part. It was he who crafted the message, Longsword, and I know him of old and his messages.”
Gawain frowned. “Then surely it would’ve been the first word of the message, if it were so desperate? Urgent, come at once, you are he, the chosen one who will smite our enemies.”
“The chosen one?”
“Sorry. Other thoughts have a habit of intruding lately.” Gawain dragged his eyes away from the fire in the brazier and swung his gaze towards his lady, standing with her bow resting on her boot, her back to them both where they sat, but within earshot.
Allazar nodded and glanced again at his notebook before closing it with a sigh and stuffing it into his bag. “Yet, I fear Brock has elected to give the good news first and save the bad for last. That you have been nominated by the Kings’ Council to lead this ‘Army of the North’ is no surprise, neither to me and nor, I suspect, even to you.
“Come at once to Shiyanath is a little surprising. The news we had from Arramin’s escort spoke of two hundred volunteers riding to Ferdan, so we must assume it’s there the army is mustering. Brock knows of your lady’s status within Elvendere, Thal-Hak and the Council could easily have requested that you go direct to Ferdan. But no, Shiyanath is the destination.
“And then, that one word, standing alone: Urgent. It implies so much more than ordinary haste. It implies circumstances which only you, and perhaps your lady, have the power to address.”
Again, Gawain glanced at Elayeen, but she didn’t move. There was a clinking of chains as the brazier, its fuel now well alight, was raised a little closer to the base of the cauldron, and Gawain and Allazar watched as pieces of fresh-butchered hare and rabbit were added to the water within it. Away to their right, Arramin of the D’ith Sek was in quiet conversation with Tyrane. Out of courtesy if nothing else, Gawain had agreed to allow Allazar to reveal the content of the message to Tyrane and to the wizard whose hands Queen Elspeth of Callodon had trusted for its safe delivery. They deserved to know the reason why, in the morning, the three of Raheen would be abandoning the column.
“Tyrane would much prefer to escort us to Elvendere, Longsword.”
“I know. He even suggested leaving the Gorians in the care of Erik, the sergeant who escorted the wizard from Callodon Castle, so he could do just that.”
“Do you believe there is more danger between here and Jarn, then?”
“All is clear.” Eldengaze rasped, clearly listening.
“Perhaps not,” Gawain conceded, ignoring Eldengaze, “But as I explained to Tyrane, I feel a duty to the Gorian refugees. They escaped slavery and endured many hardships, even the loss of loved ones, to seek sanctuary in Raheen.”
“Ah. And you are Raheen.”
“Yes.”
“But leave them in the care of Callodon you must, Longsword. With them on foot and with the wagons, our progress is slowed far below the pace we three maintained on the plains during our journey south. It was mid-summer when we left Ferdan. Already the nights are cooler, the dog-days are upon us, storms are on the plains and leaves are turning early. Morloch’s armies in the wastelands will not wait for winter.”
“I know. And each day they are permitted to continue to live, another unspeakable horror occurs in the Barak-nor, and the wastelands to the west.”
“My lord, Serre wizard,” Tyrane said quietly, and indicated Arramin, “By your leave, the wizard would like to speak with you concerning the message from our crown.”
“Of course,” Gawain nodded, and indicated the ground before him. Tyrane and Arramin sat, the elderly wizard using his sapling staff to ease himself to the ground.
“My lord,” Arramin began once he was settled, “I have given some thought to the urgency of the message from his Majesty, King Brock. Our good Captain here has told me of your flight across the plains from Ferdan, in Juria, and that the three of Raheen were able to accomplish this journey within a day or two of six weeks?”
“Thereabouts,” Gawain conceded.
Arramin nodded and leaning forward a little over his crossed legs, lowered his voice a little.
“Alas, my lord, while I marvelled at the astonishing feat and wondered what manner of urgent quest demanded it of you all, it suddenly occurred to me that your return journey might be hampered a little?”
Gawain caught the slightest tilt of the old wizard’s head, and flashed a glance at Elayeen, still standing, still swinging her sight slowly from west to north.
“Ah.” Allazar sighed, understanding at once. It was one thing for Elayeen to sit up on a horse trotting comfortably along a well-marked track with others around to guide her horse. It would likely be quite another for her to gallop hard across the plains as they had done during their flight south.
“Quite so,” Arramin remarked, but his old eyes seemed to sparkle, “Yet I believe there may be a way for you to arrive in Elvendere in good time, perhaps even faster than a dash across the plains on horseback.”
“In truth?” Gawain asked, sudden suspicion tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.
“It was while I was considering your earlier haste across the plains to Raheen, and of course that led me to think of your encounter with the dark wizard, this Salaman Goth, and your battle with him. It is a favourite tale among the men-at-arms here and they were glad to share it with us when we joined the caravan bearing the message from his Majesty. However, this in turn brought me to think of the destruction of that beast upon the road, and that, in turn, made me think of Pellarn, the old kingdom, before it was seized by Goria.”
“Pellarn?”
“Yes, my lord. As you know, the forest which lies to the south of Elvendere is, technically, Gorian territory now.”
“Yes, I remember.” Gawain did. The memory was etched deep within him. His arrival at Ferdan, not long after his banishment, and the indolent Jurian guardsman on duty there, the day he met Elayeen for the first time:
"What town is this? I am a traveller, recently out of Callodon, and know not this place."
The guard snorted. "This is Ferdan. You're in Ferdan, fortress town, barracks to the Royal Jurian Foresters of his majesty's army."
"Royal Jurian Foresters?"
"Aye. Hard to believe isn't it, friend traveller recently out of Callodon? Seeing as how most of Juria is flat open plains. But west lies the border with the Gorian empire, which is marked by forestland. And we, the Royal Jurian Foresters, are charged with keeping that part of the border safe. Our glorious mounted cavalry take care of the rest of the border, where there are no trees. Answer your question?"
"After a fashion, Serre, yes it does. I thought the forest in the distance was Elvendere."