G. Kelly - Sword and Circle

“I can feel the sun. It’s quite warm today.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. You’re as bad as Allazar.”

“Is he awake yet?”

“Yes, though still mumbling in a strange tongue. He is much quieter though, according to the healer.”

“I am worried for him.”

“I am too. Don’t tell him that though.”

Another few paces, and Gawain brought them to a halt.

“Good afternoon, your Majesties,” Tyrane beamed, and bowed slightly.

“The good Captain is of course addressing you, my lady,” Gawain smiled and nodded a polite greeting at the officer.

“Good afternoon, Captain Tyrane,” Elayeen smiled, glorious in the sunshine. “My husband has told me of the care and attention you and your men have given to our protection. I hope you will add my compliments to his and pass them on to your men.”

For a fleeting moment, hope seemed to flare in the officer’s eyes, but then he noticed that Elayeen was in fact looking slightly to his left, and past him, and that her sight had not yet returned.

“Thank you,” Tyrane said quietly, and with great pride. “I shall. If there is anything I and my men can do for your comfort…”

Elayeen bowed her head a little, acknowledging the officer’s sincerity. “Thank you.”

“If you’ll excuse us then, your Majesties, the sergeant and I have our duties…” And with a none too subtle jerk of the head at his sergeant, strode off towards the northern end of the outpost, leaving Gawain and Elayeen alone at the wells.

“Captain Tyrane is gallant.” Elayeen said softly.

“I’m standing right here, my lady, that’s my arm around you, you know.” Gawain grumbled.

“I know.” Elayeen smiled bravely, but even without the throth to bind them, Gawain knew she was struggling against fresh tears.

He turned her slightly, and stood before her again. “It is a wonder you are out of bed, Elayeen, never mind charming a Callodon Captain for the whole world to see.”

She took a big shuddering sigh. “A few steps, miheth. It is hardly a triumph worthy of song. Though now I am sure the world is brighter, I can feel its warmth and yes, the darkness in my eyes is brighter.”

“E…” Gawain’s voice almost cracked, “The sun is behind you.”

“Oh… I think I should like to go back to the room now, G’wain, please.”

“Of course,” he whispered, and led her back across the courtyard.

“There is a step up here…” Gawain said softly when they reached the boardwalk outside the inn.

“Longsword! Quo et dthu! Quo et dthu Longsword!” a familiar voice called from within.

Gawain’s heart sank.

When Elayeen was settled in their room, in a large chair made all the larger for her petite frame curled in it, she insisted Gawain go at once to Allazar. He left her sitting there, her knees drawn up, gazing towards the window, the curtains now flung wide open.

“He certainly appears a little more rational and quieter today,” Turlock said softly outside Allazar’s door, “But still distracted. It’s getting more difficult to restrain him now, and I’m concerned about the concussion he’s suffered. Unlike your lady, my lord, the wizard really must lie still.”

“I’ll try to persuade him. I suppose a second blow to the head would not be effective at restoring his senses? I’ve heard stories…”

“No.” Turlock announced firmly. And then allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “Though I shan’t rule out the possibility as a last resort if he continues to be troublesome.”

Gawain opened the door to see the wizard in question laying in bed, the Dymendin staff under the covers with him, the top end resting on the plumped pillows beside Allazar’s head.

“Aha! Longsword! By the Teeth, Eyem hatak a ver dthu !” the wizard struggled to prop himself up, only to find Gawain gently pushing him back.

“Allazar, you have been hurt, and must rest, lie still.”

Allazar groaned, and then seemed to twitch, staring into the far corner of the room as if straining his ears to listen to someone standing there. He blinked, before staring back at Gawain once more.

“Longsword,” Allazar whispered urgently, as though fearful of eavesdroppers. “ Mi scribendana!”

“Your notebook?”

Allazar’s eyes widened in rapture and his left hand shot out from under the bed-linen. “ Dthu compindame! Mi scribendana!”

“No, Allazar, I don’t compinda you, but I have your notebook, it is in your bag, in the other room with Elayeen. Do you want it? Is that what you’re saying?”

The wizard looked on the point of tears, such was his frustration, and he nodded furiously, before sinking back into the pillows where his expression seemed to relax again, and he began mumbling quietly.

Gawain self-consciously straightened the sheets, and then stood. “I’ll get your notebook, Allazar. Be still.” And with that he left the wizard’s bedside and returned to the room he shared with Elayeen, only to gasp with alarm.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her hands outstretched before her, walking almost toe to toe towards the stone hearth and chimney set in the north wall.

“Elayeen!” he gasped, and hurried forward.

“No!” she cried, “Leave me alone!” and he froze, stunned.

“Allazar… he wants his notebook…”

“Then take it to him, G’wain, and leave me be.” And she kept walking slowly towards the unlit fireplace.

Gawain found the wizard’s bag where he’d left it hanging on the back of a chair, and stepped quietly to stand a short distance from his lady.

“E, what are you doing?” he whispered.

“Trying to find my way around the room by myself!” she said, harshly, and whipped her head around to gaze angrily at the sound of his voice. Then her eyebrows raised in sudden surprise. She lowered her arms, and turned towards him. “G’wain, am I facing you now?”

“Yes,” he replied, and his heart began to beat faster, hope beginning to blossom.

But then she turned, slowly, a little at a time, moving her head this way and that, and then back towards him. She turned a full circle and faced him once more.

“And now, G’wain?”

“Yes!” and his heart beat harder.

But Elayeen turned once more to face the fireplace, raised her hands in front of her again, and began slowing inching towards it. “Take Allazar his notebook, miheth. It may help to quieten him.”

Gawain sighed. He had been dismissed, and knew it. Suddenly deflated, he nodded uselessly, and then quietly let himself out of the room to return to Allazar’s bedside.

“ Mi scribendana.” The wizard smiled when Gawain fished the book from its resting-place between the wrapped remains of sandwiches, and the joy which infused the two words made him sound like a child receiving a long yearned-for birthday pony.

“Yes, wizard, your scribendana.”

Allazar squirmed beneath the bedclothes and for a fleeting moment Gawain thought the wizard was having some kind of convulsion, until he realised that in fact Allazar was attempting to transfer the staff from his right hand side to his left.

“By the Teeth, wizard, you have my permission to release the stick! I didn’t mean for you never to let go of it when I named you its keeper!”

But the wizard either ignored Gawain, or defied him. It wasn’t until the staff had been moved from one side of the bed to the other and the notebook transferred to the wizard’s right hand that Allazar seemed to relax. Then, with his left arm, and to Gawain’s astonishment left leg, wrapped around the staff, Allazar flipped the pages of his notebook until two blank leaves faced him, and made the universal sign for a pen or writing implement.