"Bits of it is."
"Bits of it?"
"Follow the track that runs past the gates you just came in. It'll take you to the forest. The road then swings due west, straight towards the empire. All the bits of forest south of the road are Jurian territory. All the bits to the north are Elvendere territory."
“Before the Gorian Occupation,” Arramin continued, “The forest to the north of Jarn marked a natural border with Pellarn and the plains of northern Callodon and southern Juria. Since the forest is vast it remained undisputed, neither Callodon nor Pellarn, nor Juria, choosing to press any claim on it, nor indeed did Elvendere to the north of that region. Both Pellarn and Callodon made use of the forest’s resources, unhindered. Nor do I believe I have ever seen any documentary evidence that Goria actually advanced through that forest to the borders of Callodon or Juria, though I know that measures were taken to slow any such advance should it occur.”
Gawain nodded. Elayeen had stepped into one of those ‘measures’ at the border with Juria, and that was how he had found her. It was only after their marriage in Threlland, snuggled in a warm bed on a bleak winter’s night at Rak’s house in Tarn, that she had sleepily confessed to Gawain her carelessness had been his fault; she had stepped into the trap after watching and admiring the tall and handsome man making camp close to the tree line.
“But,” Arramin smiled, “It was not always considered Pellarn’s domain. Indeed, for a greater part of the histories which I have read, it was always considered a part of Elvendom, for it is in those woodlands, my lord, wherein dwelled the Eldenelves of yore, of which we have spoken.”
“How does this help us?”
“It helps you, my lord, because while it may be true that the footprints in the sand of their passing are long since faded, my lord, those of their descendants are not only documented, but survive. It is in those woodlands, my lord Raheen, you will find perhaps the greatest wonder of engineering created by Elfkind, the great water road which runs from Ostinath and its fabled tower of Toorseneth, to the long-abandoned ruin which was once Calhaneth, lost in fire a thousand years ago.”
If the names meant anything to Eldengaze, she gave no sign, not so much as a twitch of her head. Gawain looked instead to Allazar.
“I am sorry, Longsword, I fear I must defer in matters of history to Arramin of the D’ith Sek. My studies are in no wise as comprehensive or as broad-ranging as his. The name ‘Calhaneth’ rings a bell, but I cannot put my finger on why it does.”
Arramin smiled. “The First of Raheen is kind, my lord, though I do agree I have the advantage of a great many years of study. Calhaneth was a stone-built city, one of very few created by Elfkind in which to welcome representatives from the kindred races, built to give a degree of comfort and provide familiar surroundings to all those here in the south, scholars and wizards, who wished to learn from the elves there. It was a centre of learning and of culture, and also gave Elfkind a long reach into the southern world of men.”
“And this water road you spoke of? Whatever it is, it’s hardly likely to have survived a thousand years or more since this fire you mentioned.”
“And yet, my lord, lesser feats of Elfkind still survive, including the Toorseneth itself.”
“My lady told us that this Great Round Tower has lost much of its former glory.”
“And I of course defer to your lady, for I have never seen the Toorseneth save for illustrations in the pages of books.”
“What is this great water road?” Gawain asked, scepticism replacing all his former suspicion.
“It runs arrow-straight, so it is said, from Calhaneth to Ostinath, it carries the waters of Avongard, and it is formally known as the Canal of Thal-Marrahan. If the waters still flow, and I do not doubt that they do, and if the great lifts still function, and I have no reason to believe they will not, you could be in Ostinath in two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Allazar gaped, astonished.
“And thence to Shiyanath, in perhaps ten days, if your lady’s people permit to you pass via the Threnderrin Way.”
“What is the Threnderrin Way?” Gawain asked quietly, noting that Elayeen had still shown no signs of interest in talk of her homeland.
When Allazar said nothing, Arramin supplied the answer. “It is a broad road, broad enough for twelve horses to ride abreast in comfort. It was called the Spine of Elvendere, long ago. The road runs south to north, from slightly east of Ostinath, which is in the south-western reaches of the great forest, to slightly west of Shiyanath, the winter palace in the northeast. It was constructed to permit the rapid passage of warriors, in whichever direction was needed. Though in truth, again, my lord, I have not seen it save for…”
“The pages of books, yes, I know. It’s been a long time since anyone has who isn’t an elf. Does this road pass through Elvenheth, do you know?”
“No, my lord, that sacred place lies to the east of the Threnderrin Way.”
“You realise, Serre wizard,” Gawain said quietly, “You are telling us our journey to Shiyanath could be made in less than half the time it took us to ride from Ferdan.”
“Yes. Though, my lord, if there are obstacles blocking the canal or if the great lifts no longer function, it may take a little longer.”
“And if my lady’s people bar this great road against us, this Threnderrin Way.”
“We shall pass.” Eldengaze rasped, and Gawain winced. Arramin didn’t so much as bat an eyelid, and Gawain suddenly realised that the old wizard had never known Elayeen before meeting the Eldengaze on the road to Jarn. It was also entirely possible that the old bookworm had never met an elfin before, and took Elayeen’s current state to be perfectly normal for a lady of Elfkind.
“I know, my lord, that you have no reason to trust a wizard of the D’ith Sek, much less an old fool of a one such as I. But I declare, in the sight of the First of Raheen, that all I have spoken is true, and that if the Canal of Thal-Marrahan yet flows, there is no faster way to Shiyanath than I have described.”
“Hmm.” Gawain muttered, and gazed away at the preparations still underway for the evening meal. There was still perhaps an hour of proper daylight left before the dull gloom of late summer’s evening gave way to twilight.
“There is but one small matter, my lord,” Arramin said softly, suddenly looking sheepish and hopeful at the same time.
“Which is?” Gawain scowled, suddenly suspicious again.
“The operation of the great lifts. I have studied all the great works of the later Elven era, and am quite confident I can operate them. And I would very much like to see these works, to touch them, to… to set foot in the places I have known only in my mind’s eye…”
“You wish to come with us?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Dwarfspit. What are these great lifts? Can you not teach Allazar how to work them?”
“Alas, not in the time available, my lord. The great lifts are wonders in and of themselves. Travel upon that great water road is undertaken in long barges propelled, it is said, by wondrous and mystic means. The barges would carry troops, horses, supplies, and were said to be capacious indeed.
“But the lands between Calhaneth and Ostinath rise and fall, and while powerful means can be found to urge water to flow uphill, the difference in levels between the canal on higher ground and on lower was bridged by the great lifts. The barge enters the lift, and when operated, the great mechanism raises or lowers the barge to the next level for onward travelling.”
“Wondrous indeed,” Allazar muttered, looking suitably impressed.
“And not simple to command. The mechanism is simplicity itself, but obtaining all the necessary balances between weight and water, well… we would not have engineers to hand should something fail or become misaligned.”