The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  “Of a kind,” Berek agreed, but his eyes glinted with pride. “Though there will be only one victor, once the darkweasel scourge is cleansed from the provinces and the Goth-lord scum of Simatheum destroyed. But you, Raheen, your men have spoken of war in the north, and you yourself have spoken of thousands of wildmen aiding your enemies?”

  Gawain nodded. “After the fall of Pellarn, the lands south of the Teeth were afflicted by Morloch, in the guise of agents calling themselves Ramoths...”

  And so, with Gorian ears listening keenly, Gawain and Allazar spoke of the days of the Ramoth, of their destruction, and of the great army Morloch had raised beyond the Teeth. They described briefly how the lands east of the Eramak River had stood shoulder to shoulder at the farak gorin, and how Morloch’s army of the north, all ten thousand, were destroyed utterly at Far-gor.

  But they did not mention Elvendere’s betrayal, nor the destruction of Raheen, and nor did they make mention of how pitiful a force had mustered at Ferdan to face the northern horde. An honourable truce there might be, but the uniforms worn by Praetorians of Goria spoke silent volumes, and both parties were circumspect when it came to numbers and tactics.

  At noon, the brazier was stoked, supplies compared and contributions made to produce a rich and meaty broth. With both leaders apprised, albeit briefly, of recent events in both lands, the men on both sides settled to lunch, leaving Gawain and Berek sitting on the benches, alone in the cabin.

  “Good broth,” Berek opined.

  “Not bad,” Gawain agreed.

  “Your men respect and admire you.”

  “Yours likewise.”

  “Discipline is important in the Guard.”

  “We value loyalty.”

  Berek winced, little more than a twitch of the eye, but it was there. “There’s a lot of history between the Empire and your lands, Raheen. I don’t expect either of us to pretend there isn’t.”

  “True,” Gawain agreed. “And for a long time before Pellarn, there was peace between east and west, however uneasy it may have been. There were still slavers though, and pirates.”

  “None of which set out from Zanatheum.”

  “That an excuse?”

  “Of a kind,” Berek nodded, warming his hands on the battered tin mug, and sipping the broth. “You have to understand, the Empire is vast. No one man can ever hope to control every aspect of life within its borders. As long as the tribute arrives from the provinces, the Imperial council tells the Emperor all is well. How the provincial governors govern their provinces is no concern of Zanatheum, unless such governance is treasonous.”

  “As at Simatheum.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Salaman Goth was old, Berek. Older than your Emperor, and older than this Maraciss of Simatheum.”

  “Aye. As I said, the Empire is vast. Dark weasels have lurked in dark corners for a very long time. Most in the wild of the Meggenveld, it would seem, beyond the line.”

  “The line?”

  “A line on the map, drawn to the north of the horse-plains of Namanland. The line beyond which the Emperor’s word is neither carried nor his law enforced.”

  “Morloch has done his work well, it seems.”

  “I would say so. And you will forgive me, I trust, if I say it’s my sincere hope that Morloch’s force of wildings was utterly spent against you Eastlanders in your recent battle in the north.”

  “Actually, it’s my hope, too. They are wizard-bred, as Allazar described, and utterly ruthless. They are an enemy without honour, without scruple, and without a care for their own lives. Keep your strings taut, Berek, should you and yours ever encounter the Meggen, and kill them from a safe distance.”

  “Assuming I ever return to Imperial lands.”

  “Which once again brings us to the question of the Orb.”

  “It does. You seem to know a great deal more about it than I. Perhaps a little knowledge of its history might colour my judgement.”

  “It is a relic of a bygone age. The ultimate symbol of hope, perhaps, designed to shield all creation against Morloch for all time.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Traitors. Treacherous wizards in league with Morloch, who sabotaged the Orb, destroying an entire city and all its inhabitants in the process.”

  “By the Spire…”

  “As I said, Morloch has done his work well.”

  And then, quietly, Gawain gave the Imperator Praetor of Goria a potted account of the Orb’s making, the noble aspirations of Thal-Marrahan, whose works surrounded them, and of the destruction of the city of Calhaneth.

  oOo

  38. Nightfall

  After lunch, the two groups took to opposite ends of the barge, ostensibly to rest. They knew that nightfall would bring with it the threat of the shadow-creature, and wisdom decreed that they should be wide awake when it did. It also gave both groups the opportunity to discuss the morning’s events, though much of those discussions concerned the new information both sides now possessed, rather than the disposition of the Orb. Only two men could decide that, and the others wisely kept quiet on the subject. The Orb itself remained hidden from view, shielded within its Morgmetal casket, and it seemed no more intimidating than it appeared, a dull grey box on the dull grey gratings of the deck.

  Clouds swept overhead from the northwest, bringing with them drizzly showers which dampened moods as well as hair and clothing, but they were short-lived, and by mid-afternoon were gone, leaving the sky a pale azure, sunshine warming the forest anew.

  “More fog tonight,” Allazar complained quietly, Reesen and Jerryn still dozing, and the wizard cast a worried gaze towards the forest. “Unless the wind picks up again. I shall be happier, Longsword, when we are in the middle of this pool and lamps well lit.”

  “Ognorm and that praetorian, Iyan, fetched half the forest aboard for the brazier. For a while I thought they were planning on building bonfires out there in the remaining barges.”

  “As well they might. I do not like the sound of this shadow-creature. There is nothing in my knowledge, ancient or modern, to account for such a thing.”

  “You don’t think it dark wizard-made?”

  “No. If it were, the demGoth floating face-down out there in the pool would’ve been able to command it. I have my suspicions concerning its origins but the thought is too terrifying to contemplate. Besides, until I behold the thing with my own eyes, I must reserve judgement.”

  “And speaking of judgement, do you still think me unwise for sparing their lives? And the truce, is it ill-advised?”

  “No, I do not think you unwise. Had we taken the Orb by force we would’ve remained entirely ignorant both of the shadow-creature and of events in the west. We would even now be trotting merrily through the trees towards the plains of Juria, blissfully unaware of the shadowy death stalking us. You are the Deed, Longsword, and this Deed has been well done, so far.”

  “The Gorians are not what I expected. And they probably think the same of us.”

  “True. However abhorrent their society and system of governance may be to us, they are but people, after all, and people, for the most part, are the same everywhere. Each with their hopes, and dreams, and ambitions for happiness and fulfilment.”

  “If we could have destroyed the Orb there and then on the dockside, Berek would have permitted it, freely, and gladly. And we would indeed have parted in peace, in the sunshine. There is honour in them. They wear their colours with pride, the same as we all did at Far-gor.”

  “True. And yet, possession of the Orb remains in dispute.”

  “Not really. Only the nature and depth of our enmity is in dispute, and I believe both sides have taken great strides today in that regard. If Berek is persuaded that we are not the enemy, then possession of the Orb can pass to us without stain upon his honour and without disobedience to his Emperor’s orders.”

  “Then let us hope dawn finds us all as philosophical as you, Longsword, and the day much more cheerful than thi
s has been. I had hoped never to perform the rites again, not after so many at Far-gor.”

  “It was an honourable thing you did, Allazar.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “No perhaps about it. It was one of the strides I mentioned.”

  Gawain surveyed the forest edge surrounding three sides of the mooring pond. Nothing stirred, though a faint grey mist seemed to be forming an inch above the ground beyond the blue-stone paving of the docks. He sighed, and adjusted the strap of the longsword over his shoulder.

  “I’ll speak with Berek. I think we should make the most of the last of this daylight to pole out to the centre, and tie up.”

  “Good idea. I’ll fetch the poles.”

  When Gawain suggested mooring in the centre of the pool, Berek agreed readily, though seemed entirely bemused when the poles were mentioned. Gawain smiled, and left the Gorians in the cabin watching with undisguised astonishment as Allazar cast off the chain and handed Gawain one of two poles.

  Together, striding along the walkways of the barge with practiced ease, Gawain and Allazar poled the immense vessel out towards the mooring-posts, ignoring the bodies floating in the pool, some of which bumped alongside as they went. After some confused manipulation of the tiller at Gawain’s shouts of command, the vessel finally slid into a vacant space, as near to the centre of the pond as made no difference, and Allazar hurried to fix the mooring-chain to a half-submerged post, Gawain likewise securing his end of the vessel.

  Eyeing the clear expanse of water and the dockside some fifty yards away, Gawain wondered how powerful the demGoth wizard had been to wreak destruction ashore. From where he now stood on the walkway, the shattered saplings and churned, blackened earth where dark fireballs had struck were clearly visible.

  “They were a lot closer to shore,” Berek announced, as if reading Gawain’s thoughts. “They were on that vessel yonder, the one swinging loose on its chain. They’d pushed it out further, but the breezes nudged it closer to the dock and in the dark and the fog perhaps they didn’t notice. They left a handful of men ashore, ordered back to Pellarn to fetch reinforcements, most likely. I sent men after them to cut them off, and cut them off they did.”

  “We found their remains. We thought there were many more of you both.”

  “We were a much stronger force when we stepped into this cursed forest. We lost men almost every step of the way. Two were swept away in the river north of Pellarn, before we even set foot in the woods. But it was here, in this dead and pitiless city, that we lost the most. In Pellarn, the locals say ‘no-one ever goes to Calhaneth.’ They couldn’t tell us the reason, but we soon found out why. We heard sounds, on the wind, before we came to the ruins. Such sounds as I hope never to hear again…” Berek sighed, and gazed away into the forest.

  “There was a survivor of the catastrophe,” Gawain said softly. “He described fleeing along the canal, yonder, in a barge identical to this one. In his account, he describes ashes, falling like snowflakes in the summer, which drove others mad when they settled on their hair and clothes…”

  “By the Spire…” Berek sighed again. “This thing must be destroyed, Raheen.”

  “It shall be. It’s why we are here, after all.”

  “You should know. The men and I spoke this afternoon. You should know it is our suspicion that the Goth-lord of Simatheum intended to test this thing, on the town within Pellarn’s curtain walls.”

  “By the Teeth! The Castletown?”

  “Aye. Men of high station and their families began leaving almost as soon as that ironmask and his force departed. They took all their wealth with them, slaves carrying every possession, taking the northwest road to Simatheum. We didn’t know why, or so we told ourselves, until we saw the ruins of this place. It makes sense now. Maraciss would no longer have a need for Pellarn once he had that in his possession.”

  “Dwarfspit!”

  “The destruction of Pellarn would serve as an example to the Emperor. Maraciss is maddened by power, corrupted by dark magic. He would destroy Zanatheum in order to own its ruins, and still call himself Emperor. I’m telling you this, so you will understand why we cannot allow the Orb to fall into enemy hands.”

  “Long was the Old Kingdom an ally of Raheen. Your reason merely strengthens my own resolve, Berek.”

  “As I thought it might. But the sun is setting, and soon the shadow-creature is at liberty to roam this broken land. We should make preparations now.”

  “Agreed.”

  The brazier was kept well-stoked, a last hot drink made, and as stars began to pierce the iron-grey of twilight, steaming brandy-water washed down a dry meal; frak for Gawain and his companions, and meal-bars for the Gorians which Gawain had seen before in the woods along the Jarn Road.

  “Your man Farayan seems a little brighter,” Gawain remarked to the Imperator.

  “Aye, thanks to your wizard’s attentions and a good day’s rest. He got no sleep last night, as you can doubtless imagine.”

  “Yes. Fog’s rising in the trees.”

  “And spilling out over the docks. Breezes are dying too, there’s mist on the water.”

  “Then let’s hope the breezes return, or that this shadow-creature can’t swim.”

  “I think light is its only enemy. At least there’s more of it out here, and even the light from a flaming brand will carry further over water than in the forest.”

  “True. And so begins the wait.”

  “I doubt we’ll have to wait long, Raheen. The stars may be out soon, but in the forest, the trees will have blocked the sunset for almost an hour now.”

  “It would’ve been worse in summer, the canopy thick with leaves. Dark in there even at noon.”

  “Aye. That Ranger of yours, he’s an elf, is he not?”

  “He is. Born and raised in the forest far to the north.”

  Berek sighed, and shook his head. “I don’t know how they do it. We’re not yet three weeks in this dreadful woodland and have almost forgotten what a horizon looks like, never mind the sky. I can’t imagine being shut up in here all my life. To me, it’s a prison, with trees for bars.”

  “My lady is elfkind,” Gawain smiled.

  “I meant no offence, Raheen.”

  “And I took none. I was born to wide open spaces and a life in the saddle. She, to this forest realm. I have seen both worlds, and like you, I much prefer my vistas unbroken.”

  “Is your lady safe at home, in Raheen?”

  “She’s safe with friends. And though well able to fend for herself, I would not bring her here.”

  Berek nodded. “This is no place for a woman, elfkind or otherwise. There are no women in the Guard, who would own them? It’s why we were astonished to learn it was your lady who destroyed the Salaman; that and the difficulties usually encountered when facing such creatures. May I know how she achieved this most welcome feat?”

  “She shot him clean through with an arrow, and she on horseback, at full gallop, when she did so.”

  “By the Spire!”

  Gawain smiled, seeing Elayeen’s unforgettable charge in his mind’s eye once again. Then he shook away the memory. “Elves are renowned for their skill with the bow.”

  “Indeed, as our Eastguard learned to their cost a long time ago.”

  “Are you married, Berek?”

  “I have three wives, and two concubines. Gifts from the Emperor. Five mouths eating me out of house and home, five pairs of hands spending my coin on fancies and fripperies. And of course they all have mothers, and sisters, and countless other relatives all with their needs and demands. The Emperor’s palace has a thousand rooms, almost all of them empty. My house has but five, and last time I was home I ended up sleeping on the roof. If I were to return to Zanatheum successful from this mission, I daresay the Emperor in his golden munificence will reward me with two more mouths to feed. Frankly, I’d rather have a room and an outhouse of my own.”

  “Imperator?” Prester whispered from his post beside the deckh
ouse, facing south.

  “Report.”

  “Movement, I think. Near the path through the trees.”

  Heads swung, and Gawain and Berek stepped up onto the walkway, peering at the docks to the south.

  “Reesen?” Gawain whispered.

  “Nai, miThal.”

  There was long silence, broken only by the light and occasional metallic tinkling of the mooring-chains as barges shifted gently this way and that.

  Fog was rising, mist stirring on the waters. It seemed to be spilling out from the woodland beyond the broad expanse of blue-stone surrounding the pool and pouring over the edge of the dockside onto the water, as though the forest were trying to hold back an ocean of vapour, but the tide was inexorably rising.

  “There!” Jerryn hissed urgently, pointing at a spot in the trees some thirty yards from the south-eastern corner of the docks. Heads and eyes jerked, and locked upon a shape lurking at the tree line, black, pulsing, menacing, its form constantly changing as though a mass of smaller creatures were heaving within a sack of ooze. Mist swirled where it waited, poised as a snake before striking. It was not simply black against the dark backdrop of the forest, but was blacker still, as though it would draw all other light in to itself, a rippling, moving, malevolent hole in the world.

  “That’s it,” Farayan whispered, “That’s the bastard took my arm!”

  oOo

  39. Shutters Wide

  “Major Jerryn, fire-bolt if you please,” Gawain ordered softly.

  “My lord.”

  Jerryn lowered the business end of his crossbow over the brazier, the wadded and brandy-soaked tip of its bolt catching light immediately.

  “You won’t hit it, Raheen,” Berek whispered. “It moves quickly.”

  Jerryn presented the weapon, adjusted his elevation, and loosed the bolt. They all saw it streak across the pool, and they all saw the shadow-creature seem to disappear moments before the bolt would have struck home. Instead, the fiery projectile vanished into the mist-shrouded shrubs and saplings.