G. Kelly - Sword and Circle

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.”

“Salaman Goth, m’lord?” Tyrane asked.

“Aye, the name of the dark wizard who attacked us, and so nearly defeated us.”

Gawain walked with the Captain to the tents by the wells, drew fresh water from a bucket and under the watchful eyes of the sergeant at arms and a burly guardsman, sat on a low bench and leaned back against the wall of the well, and told Tyrane of their encounter with Salaman Goth of Goria. The Callodonian guards listened intently, eyes wide, sighing audibly when Gawain described Elayeen thundering in on her horse, and how her shot had taken Salaman Goth, clean through.

Some strange intuition prevented Gawain from speaking of the circle though, and the events which occurred within it. Instead, he simply implied that the injuries Elayeen and Allazar had sustained were got in the battle with the dark wizard and his Graken. Nor was he questioned, of course. One thing was clear to Gawain as he finished his tale, the warmth of the morning sun and his lack of sleep making him drowsy: If the men of the Callodon guard had loved Elayeen for her headlong charge up the Pass, they loved her more on hearing of her rescue of the King of Raheen and his wizard.

He remembered it too, his eyes closing, seeing her again, her magnificent charge at full gallop through the ghosts of the north gate, feeling the love of her and the pride in her spreading through his chest anew.

When he awoke, stiff-necked from sleeping sat on the bench with his head on the edge of the well, it was mid-afternoon. Someone, probably Tyrane, had draped a loose cloth over him like a cloak, a sure sign to all of a sleeping man so he wouldn’t be disturbed. The cloth, it turned out, was a Callodon flag.

Gawain glanced about the outpost, and spied Tyrane standing on the decking in the shade outside the inn, and he nodded when he caught his eye, folding the flag respectfully and leaving it on the bench by the well.

“You let me sleep a long while, Captain.” Gawain asserted quietly, joining the captain on the boardwalk.

“You were tired, my lord. And no surprises there. Last I heard from Healer Turlock about an hour ago was that your lady was awake, but there was no change in her condition. The wizard still sleeps soundly.”

“Thank you. Has my lady eaten, do you know? Perhaps I should take her something.”

“Alas, my lord, I know not. I would imagine such details would not be overlooked by the healer though.”

“Ah.” Gawain agreed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. “I think I shall visit her, I don’t believe I’m prohibited from doing so?”

“I sincerely doubt it, my lord.”

“Ah. Well then… ‘til later.”

“Aye, my lord. All’s quiet.”

Gawain found it cool inside the inn, helped himself to a mug of ale, and then filled another to take in to Elayeen. In truth she didn’t much like the stuff but if nothing else it gave him a pretext for entering and for quenching his own thirst, having slept through the noon sun.

She was sitting up in bed, wearing a plain white shirt, the linen sheet drawn up around her waist, silver hair tumbling about her shoulders and arms. She stared blankly towards the sound of the door closing and even from across the room Gawain could see the pinpoints of her pupils almost drowned in the sea of hazel green.