“Perhaps, Captain, you and the wizard Arramin might give us some time to consider this new information?”
“Of course, my lord,” Tyrane stood, and after helping Arramin to his feet, the two wandered away, talking amongst themselves.
When they were out of earshot, Gawain turned to Allazar.
“What do you think? Have you heard of these things before? This canal, and the Threnderrin Way?”
Allazar frowned and shook his head. “None of these things are in the knowledge passed to me by the circles. But that is perhaps not surprising if you consider that the canal and likely the road too were built long after the elders bound Morloch behind the Teeth and created the circles in Raheen. So much time has passed since then.”
“Dwarfspit. If it’s all true, if we can truly reach Shiyanath in less than four weeks, then this bookish wizard of Callodon is probably the only thing to happen in our favour since Morloch appeared at Ferdan.”
“There is one who would likely know better than he, Longsword.” Allazar said sadly.
“Aye, there is.”
Gawain stood, grazed knees screaming yet again, and in three gentle strides stood behind Elayeen. He hesitated for only a moment, before placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her gently to face him.
Her eyes locked on his chest, no change in the pin-points of her pupils.
“You heard all that the wizard said?” Gawain asked quietly.
She nodded.
“Elayeen, I need to know, is it true? Does this canal exist? Is it passable? And the road, the Threnderrin Way, would your people allow us to pass that way?”
The cold and distant voice of Eldengaze scraped his nerves like a blunt saw. “The Canal of Thal-Marrahan exists. It may be passable. None shall deny us the Threnderrin Way.”
“Why did you not speak of this before? When we left Ferdan?”
Elayeen’s head tilted up a little, but still her dread gaze did not meet his eyes. “There are none who would journey to Calhaneth since its destruction.”
“Why not?”
“There are none who would journey to Calhaneth since its destruction.”
“Dwarfspit and Elve’s blood, Elayeen! Please, miheth, help me! We are called to Shiyanath to lead the coming battle at the Teeth and if this wizard’s route can get us there in half the time then I would take it, but I need to know, I need to know from the one I love the route will get us there as he said it would.”
In his desperation, Gawain cupped Elayeen’s face in his hands and tilted her head up to say “Please, miheth,” a second time.
It was a mistake. Her eyes locked on his, and in his mind, he heard the voice he had given Hurgo the Halfhanded scream. He could not move, he could not breathe, and within moments, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
“The Canal of Thal-Marrahan exists. It may be passable. None shall deny us the Threnderrin Way. There are none who would journey to Calhaneth since its destruction. Take what path you will, Gawain, Son of Davyd, King of Raheen. The Word will give The Deed power and meaning, and The Sight will watch over both.”
She held him, pinned, a few moments more, and then slowly, like the retreat of a glacier, turned away to face the north again.
Gawain felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Allazar standing beside him, shock clear in the wizard’s eyes as he led the younger man away from Eldengaze.
“Are you well, Longsword? Never have I seen a look of horror upon your face as I did then, even in the darkest moments at the Barak-nor.”
Gawain nodded, breathing hard, and dragged his sleeve across his brow. “You heard?”
“I did.”
“I have to make a decision, Allazar. North through to Jarn and then forest of the old kingdom, or northeast and out onto the plains.”
“I cannot help you make this decision, my friend. The knowledge of the elders is hidden and that means it likely knows nothing of all those places Arramin described. All I can tell you is this, a less offensive wizard of the D’ith Sek you will never find, nor a more erudite one in matters of lowland history.”
Gawain nodded, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. “It seems like an age, Allazar, it seems so long ago now that one glance from my lady could rob me of breath. Now one glance is all it takes to rob me of life, or so it feels.”
“It will pass, Longsword. It must pass. Perhaps in Calhaneth and in the domain of Elfkind, it will pass.”
“Let it be so,” Gawain’s voice trembled as he repeated the fervent prayer. “Let it be so.”
After a supper of stew, which Gawain sampled for the sake of the hares he had bagged for the pot, he gave Gwyn another light brushing, more by way of apology and to give himself time to think than because she needed it. Urgent the message from Brock had said. The word sounded very much like the name of an ill-starred mythical figure of Gawain’s recent acquaintance, a warrior of renown, missing half his left hand.
When he returned to his saddle and bedroll, Allazar stood. Eldengaze was returning from an area of scrubby gorse set aside for the ladies, and was being guided around the cooking area and its mess of pots and pans by Simayen Ameera, the Gorian lady who was with child. It occurred to Gawain that the refugees too had no knowledge of Elfkind before meeting Elayeen at the outpost at the foot of the Downland Pass. He took a deep breath, and nodded towards Tyrane and Arramin.
The captain and wizard strode purposefully to join Gawain and Allazar, arriving just before Elayeen and her guide. Gawain waited a moment, and then as Ameera was turning to leave called softly:
“Lady, would you ask Simayen Jaxon to join us please?”
“Of course,” Ameera smiled, and gave a brief but polite bow before hurrying off.
Gawain eyed those around him, all except Elayeen looking at him expectantly. Jaxon arrived, and noting the apparent seriousness of the meeting, bobbed his head politely too.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Gawain began, “I have made a decision. The three of Raheen must make haste to Shiyanath. There are urgent matters in the far north which demand our attention. We will take the route described to us by the wizard Arramin, making use of the Canal of Thal-Marrahan and then the Threnderrin Way. Serre wizard, your kind offer of assistance along that route is gratefully accepted.”
“Thank you, my lord!” Arramin bowed as low as his crooked back would allow.
“Captain, I couldn’t in all conscience deprive the column of both wizards, not here in the wilds. So, since the route we shall take will apparently have us at our destination considerably quicker than horseback across the plains, I intend to continue on to Jarn with the caravan. The two days or so it will take us to get there will be more than accounted for if the wizard Arramin’s estimates are correct.”
Tyrane smiled broadly. “Yes, my lord.”
“Simayen Jaxon. You have knowledge of the darkness and of Goria which the Kings’ Council in Shiyanath do not possess. I would be very grateful if, once your people are secure and settled at Jarn, you would accompany us on our journey north. It may be dangerous, though, so please consider the request carefully before giving us your answer.”
“I do not need to consider it, my lord,” Jaxon said. “My people are free, and I am free. I am not tythen, and I was only made leader because I’m better with words than some of the others, and a good teller of stories. It was the Talguard who led us out of Armunland, not me. Now, all of us follow you and the Captain, and the Lady who watches over us. I will go with you to the north.”
“You won’t be missed by your people?”
Jaxon shook his head. “Only as friends are missed. I am not tythen, and I am free to go with you.”
“Then thank you. Captain Tyrane, once our friends from Goria are in the care of the Jarn guard I presume you will be free to act upon your own initiative?”
Tyrane beamed. “Yes, my lord, I shall.”