by GJ Kelly
Take it far from here, and cast it into fire!
I’ve never known such clarity of thought…
Cast it into fire!
I could see clearly into Morloch’s mind. All his plans, his intentions, his purpose…
Gawain took the phial from his pocket, and held it. It was warm, heat from his own breast removing the chill from the glass and its contents while he’d carried it here, safe from the elements. Safe from the wizard’s gaze. Safe from the wizard’s grasp.
Aquamire is the greatest of all evils.
Yet with strange aquamire darkening his eyes, Gawain had seen across the Teeth, and brought Morloch to his knees…
Aquamire is the greatest of all evils.
I know, but everything hangs by a thread, Allazar. And there are so many threads, and so many things dangling from their ends.
So Gawain had said, on the road to battle. Now, there were dark wizards abroad in the lands south of the Teeth. Or there had been. Dark wizards on Grakens, at liberty to go anywhere, unseen in the night by all except the new Rangers, at liberty to wreak havoc from the air or sow a crop of it in friendly soil. Perhaps the demGoth Reesen had shot was the sole survivor of Far-gor, no longer welcome in the west, and fearing Morloch’s retribution for the failure in the north, had simply abandoned Morloch’s Eye… Perhaps.
What is aquamire?
Words uttered in a Ramoth tower, a long way to the north, adjacent Juria’s Keep where even now perhaps Hellin walked alone in the night, her fate sealed by a traitor…
I will not say. It is vile. Evil. The vilest of all substances made with dark wizardry and I cannot bear to speak of it or how it comes to be.
Gawain had seen it being made, a lake of it, filthy and fermenting, on the far side of the mountains that bound Morloch far beyond the reach of Gawain’s vengeance. Mountains which only in dreams could be crossed, and then only by boys of wizards condemned to lonely monastic cells for their nightmares…
Take it far from here, Gawain, take it far from here, and cast it into fire!
Memories of the horrors of Far-gor came flooding back, visions of Morloch’s deception, his great army of ten thousand marching relentlessly across the farak gorin.
How could I have been so wrong? Elayeen, Allazar, how could I have been so completely and utterly wrong?
He looked at the bottle in his hand, small enough for it to be completely hidden when he closed his fist about it. How much of it had the demGoth needed to create, in haste, an Aknid of Gothen, yonder, in the distant hills? A single drop? Two? How many lives had gone into the making of this one small phial?
I’ve never known such clarity of thought…
But then another voice intruded, softer, but no less passionate than Allazar’s plea.
No, G’wain, you didn’t think. The sword and circles were created to prevent Morloch’s return. The Sight, the Word and the Deed were created to hold Morloch’s forces in check, together, and to bring about the new age. That age is almost upon us. Until it is, you, and I, and Allazar, still have our duties to perform.
“You’re right, E,” Gawain whispered, and straightened his back. He hadn’t thought, when he’d battered the Black Riders with Raheen’s Sword of Justice. But he’d felt the jolts of something when he’d taken their heads. Just as he’d felt the jolt of something when he used the sword to destroy the Aknid of Gothen. The same sword he’d plunged unthinking through the vast glass lens beneath the Teeth, a lens filled by thousands of flasks of aquamire…
A break in the clouds revealed a patch of twinkling stars, and a dull, charcoal-grey light painted the stony scrubland where he stood. Ten feet away he spied a lump of rock poking through the topsoil, and strode to it, and knelt, touching it lightly with his fingertips. A chalky limestone, weathered and giving the appearance of crumbling. Gawain placed the phial of aquamire upon it, and stepped back.
Cast it into fire!
No.
Gawain drew the longsword, fixed his eyes upon the phial, and as the starlight began to fade, swung. His aim was true, the phial shattered, and a jolt of familiar something surged briefly through him…
oOo
27. Little White Lies
Shortly after sunrise, an inviting crack appeared in the gates of Harks Hearth, and Gawain began the slow walk towards it. He’d been wrong about the rain, and had spent a miserable night watching the flickering lights on the battlements, and envying the watchmen their braziers. And yet, there was a flicker of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth when, finally, he stepped through the gap in the massive portals.
Iven was standing off to one side of the stone steps leading up to the battlements, teeth clenched, though whether against the chill of a damp dawn or cold ire couldn’t be said. Gawain promptly changed his direction and approached the officer.
“My lord.”
“Good morning, Captain of the Hearthwatch,” Gawain said quietly, and with respect. “My apologies for stealing away from your protection like a thief in the night. I had a duty, and didn’t wish to disturb you or your men with it. I believe the next time I leave it will be through the gate, with my companions.”
“Thank you for your courtesy, my lord, it is much appreciated. And at my morning briefing, the whitesleeves announced that Serre wizard Allazar will be discharged from the infirmary today. I believe you’ll find him at breakfast in the guardhouse. They’ve said that if he shows no ill effects from his liberty when examined tomorrow morning, they shall declare him fit to travel.”
“This is excellent news, Iven, thank you. I hope you won’t think us ungrateful or unappreciative if we leave Harks Hearth promptly after the healers make their pronouncement? We have business with Brock which I’d rather not delay, though the comforts here have been most welcome considering our weeks on the open plains.”
“Of course not, my lord. We’re simply happy to have been of service to Lord Vex and his companions. If there’s anything else you might need, please let myself or the Sergeant know. We’ve plenty of provisions as you know, and his Majesty would flay me alive were I to allow you to leave without loading your pack-horse down.”
Gawain smiled. “I’ll ask Jerryn take a look at our supplies. Thank you again.”
With that, Iven saluted, and left about his business, while Gawain strode to the guardhouse and through the door, banging it shut behind him. All four of his companions were at table, digging in to a hearty cooked breakfast, and Gawain signalled them to remain seated while he removed his cloak and hung it near a brazier by the door to dry.
“Morning, Allazar, how are the scrambled eggs today?”
“Good morning, Longsword, and they’re fried, not scrambled.” Allazar smiled, and squished a yolk with a hunk of bread.
“I meant the ones between yer ears, not the ones on your plate, clodwit.”
“Ah. Those scrambled eggs. My apologies. Those ones seem to be more their usual firmly-poached selves this morning. I’m now at liberty to roam where I will within the walls, and tomorrow, will likely be declared fit for travel. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It is,” Gawain agreed, filching a thick slice of toast from a plate in the middle of the long oaken table that served for briefings of the watch as well as for meals. “Jerryn, if you’d be so kind, the Captain o’ the ’Watch is concerned for his reputation should we leave without ample supplies for our journey to Castletown…”
“I’ll attend to it promptly, my lord.”
“Ffnkyoo,” Gawain managed, munching the toast heartily and moving closer to the cast iron stove in the middle of the room to warm himself.
“Cold outside, melord,” Ognorm smiled, hacking at a thick slab of gammon. “Rained in the night too, woke me up with the noise on the roof it did.”
“Kept me awake too,” Gawain grumbled, and eyed the last of his toast. “For the same reason, though the hood of my cloak’s not as sound as the roof on the guardhouse. I’m turning in for a few hours. Wake me if anything needs my attention.�
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And with that, he finished the toast, and retired to their quarters to sleep.
When Gawain woke later that afternoon, Allazar was walking the walls, his Dymendin staff gleaming in the pallid sunshine streaming through great rents in the clouds. Gawain pared a slice of frak, popped it in his mouth, and took the steps by the gates two at a time to join the wizard in his slow ambling around the battlements.
“I hope you will forgive me asking, Longsword, but I fear I must know…”
“It’s done, Allazar.”
Tension seemed suddenly to drain from the wizard’s shoulders, and he smiled, and nodded with approval. “It is the most evil of all substances.”
“I know.”
“Yes, yes you do.” Allazar took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the chill, clear air, and gazing happily out towards the north, letting it out slowly.
“Do you think he still has power and influence, Allazar? Here in the south, and in the Empire?”
“In truth, I do not know. It would be wise to assume so. If we start believing him emasculated and no longer a threat, we may find ourselves back where we started, when the Ramoth came.”
“There are still some worms left in the box to be considered. Pellarn, for one. I still believe the Empire, or Morloch’s agents, acted far too early when they invaded the Old Kingdom. Can you imagine what might have been, had Morloch opened two fronts, one in the north, and one here in the south? If hordes of Meggen warriors had flooded through the Jarn Gap with creatures of the Pangoricon at their disposal?”
“I can, Longsword, which is why I prefer not to. Fortunately for all these lands, the battle in the north was won. We should now keep our eyes fixed firmly on our new goal, and allow the free peoples of the south to rest, and to tend to the business of their own defence. Lord Vex is not required to lead a Kindred Army now. But he is required to recover the Orb, and make the world safe through its destruction.”
“And yet I’m uneasy. Arramin was right, the presence of Razorwing and Kiromok at Calhaneth was no accident. They know about the Orb. I’m wondering now if that Graken-rider, hovering around Juria like a vulture circling a carcass and drawing attention to itself with its aerial attacks, might not have been some clever diversion on Morloch’s part, to draw all eyes away from the west. The lack of an Eye about that demGoth’s neck might be another ruse, to make us think we’re dealing with a lesser, independent threat.”
“And plenty of time to consider such portents. We’ll soon be on our way to Brock’s castle, and thence to that dread city in the forest. I am well,” and for emphasis Allazar took another hearty breath and let it out, “And tomorrow the healers will agree with me and wave us on our way to the west. We’ve made good time, Longsword, better than I expected, what with the wind behind us all of the way.”
“Yes. That, and Jerryn’s ‘Ot Soup’ and ‘Ot Drinkies.’”
Allazar smiled. “I’ve spoken to our friend Reesen, and I agree, there is a sense of humour hidden behind his professional exterior. I have no doubt he knows perfectly well the correct pronunciation of his new vocabulary, having heard all of us talking during our journey. Yet he seems to delight in mimicking Ognorm’s lazy language.”
“He’s helped keep our spirits up with it many a time on wet and windy nights. Did you ask him about any specific orders Elayeen might have given him? I thought I detected a look of stern reproach in his gaze at breakfast this morning.”
“Longsword, Reesen was a Royal Honour Guard in Thal-Hak’s service. Getting anything out of him that he does not wish to give would be next to impossible. All he told me is that his instructions were to use the Sight to keep us safe, and to obey you. If our lady did indeed give him additional orders, he is unlikely to reveal them unless permitted. And I can’t see our queen granting him such license, can you?”
“No, good point, and well made. And let’s not forget the risk he is taking by accompanying us into what is still Elvendere, no matter what the old maps may say. I believe I’ll cut him some slack. Don’t press him for answers, Allazar, not on my behalf.”
“Very well. And very wise.”
“Bah to your feigned compliments. You’re just hoping I’ll shoot that rabbit down there and fetch it in for your supper.”
Allazar sniffed. “Not even a shadow of such a thought had crossed my mind. What’s left of it after battling one of the most powerful dark wizards these lands have seen in modern times.”
Gawain chuckled. “Not including Morloch, of course.”
“Indeed.”
“And since when has being pushed over like a girly in a playground counted as ‘battling’?”
Allazar sniffed again.
Suddenly, Gawain became serious. “When we get to Callodon, I don’t want to remain any longer than absolutely necessary to make arrangements. Knowing Brock, he’d have us feasting for days, weeks even.”
“Have no fear, Longsword. I will provide weight to your words should it be needed. And besides, I know Brock of old from my service in his court. He will recognise the need for a certain degree of urgency, just as Eryk did.”
“Good. Recently, I’ve had the feeling that we were wise to set out from Tarn no later than we did.”
“Really? An intuition?”
“No not really,” Gawain lied, and smiled. “Just a feeling.”
oOo
28. Last Orders
Their last night in Harks Hearth was spent enjoying the comforts and entertainment at The Chattering Magpie, and Allazar seemed particularly delighted by it all, though the kitchens were bemused by his order of roast rabbit with so many delicacies available on the menu. Reesen, too, seemed thoroughly entertained by the music, the rustic and jaunty jigs and reels unlikely ever to have been heard in Elvenheth and the Thallanhall, and though he likely didn’t understand a word of the ballads and tales spun by Melany-Gwynne, he sat enthralled, as if hearing something in her voice that no other could.
One of her comic ballads was taken from a popular folk tale, The Last Wishes of Benmello Glimmerwit, concerning an elderly fellow apparently on his death-bed and surrounded by his many avaricious relatives hovering around him like vultures. He sets each of them increasingly difficult and implausible tasks in far-flung lands which they must complete before they may be included as beneficiaries of his will. All of them rush off, save one, an urchin lass, who has no interest in wealth, having never had any. She elects to remain by his bedside during his final days, an act of simple compassion which of course earns her his considerable fortune. She promises to carry his ashes to the shores of the southern sea, to the humble fishing village where the old fellow had been born. She later fulfils her promise, and in that village, she founds with her inheritance a school and refuge to honour his name.
Most of the ballad concerned the comical and disastrous efforts of the less than noble relatives and their greed, and there was of course much laughter at the inn that last night within the walled haven. But, as the night progressed, Ognorm seemed to become more and more withdrawn, and his brow furrowed, as though he were plagued by the sudden memory of some long-forgotten duty or loss.
Much later, perhaps half an hour after the landlord of The Chattering Magpie had called for last orders and rung his time-bell, they made their happy way to their quarters at the guardhouse. It was there, while they were settling for sleep, the glowstone lamps shuttered down to the dimmest of lights, that the reason for Ognorm’s discomfort became known to all. His sudden announcement was startling, and filled with a passion made all the more profound by the darkness and its contrast with the gaiety at the inn:
“Should anything ‘appen to me,” he blurted to the ceiling above him, “On this ‘ere adventure, I’d like very much if’n some one o’ you would oblige me with a favour?”
“A favour?” Gawain asked, hands behind his head as he lay on his bed waiting for sleep.
“Arr, melord. Only, the tale about that Glimmerwit fellow put me in mind o’ me own kin, back ‘ome in
the Ruttmark. And thusly my asking of a favour.”
“Name it,” Allazar announced softly. “Not that anything untoward is likely to happen along the way, of course.”
“Arr, well. If anything should ‘appen, I’d be obliged if’n some one o’ you would take Nadcracker back t’ the ‘Mark for me. If’n you can, that is. The old folks might ‘ang it above the fire-place, and tell a story about it to any littluns as may go asking about it. I think I should like that…
“I was too big, y’see, too broad at the shoulder fer the mines an’ the cutting-face. Too broad an’ too tall for aught below, good fer naught but lifting an’ shifting topsides.” Ognorm’s voice became softer, as though he spoke from afar. “Always felt ashamed, I did, on account of that. My father though, he said honest toil was a duty not to be shirked, and that the lifting and the shifting o’ the ore was just as important as the digging an’ the smelting of it. And maybe it is, who am I to naysay ‘im as made me? No-one, that’s who…
“But Nadcracker, that’s a thing far beyond any amount o’ topsiding labour. Far beyond, and like ‘aving me name spoke in the Hall of The Fathers, not to be forgot. Oh, if you could’ve seen the old folks’ faces when I brung it ‘ome, and when me mate Brickard told ‘em about me being called to the fore by yerself, melord! If only you could’ve seen their faces…”
Ognorm sighed in the gloom, and there was a long silence.
“You’ll carry it back yourself,” Gawain said quietly, “Or I’ll carry it for you.”
Someone sniffed and blew their nose, but in the darkness of their quarters no-one knew who, not that it mattered.