The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  “I have spoken with Reesen, Longsword,” Allazar whispered urgently, “He cannot see the shadow-creature!”

  Gawain looked puzzled, the creature in plain view at the dockside. Then he understood. “It isn’t dark?”

  “Neither dark nor light. It is not visible to the Sight of the Eldenelves! I did not wish to mention this with the Imperator present, truce or no.”

  “Wisely withheld, Allazar. Though I hope to persuade Berek to our cause this night.”

  “And this will be a long night indeed. If there is no change in the weather, no wind to rid us of this fog, the day may likewise find us trapped in a gloom suited more to that creature’s endeavours than our own.”

  The clinking of chains drew their attention, and Loryan, suitably laden with them, advanced slowly towards the far end of the vessel.

  “I shall go with him, Longsword, to try to secure the chains.”

  “Good idea. Take Ognorm with you, his strength might be useful too.”

  Berek rejoined Gawain at the gunwale.

  “Oh and Allazar?” Gawain called softly at the wizard’s retreating back, “Send up another candle when you get there.”

  oOo

  40. Siege

  By midnight, the world had been reduced to a wall of fog some twenty yards in all directions, and it was cold. Damp cloaks were drawn tight, the brazier was kept well-stoked with wood, and crude torches had been lit as much for warmth as for light.

  The casket had been reinforced with elven chains wrapped tightly about the box and secured by Ognorm hammering a mooring-spike through the links and bending its ends closed with mighty blows from his rock-hammer, the sound of it ringing loud, piercing ears as well as the gloom.

  When silence returned, it was oppressive, and complete, save for the occasional crackle of burning wood or a gentle clinking from the barge’s mooring chains.

  “Did you mean what you said, Raheen, about my men and I accompanying you to the Sea of Hope?”

  “I did, Imperator. As you explained it, your Emperor’s orders were concise: prevent the Orb from falling into the hands of the enemy, and return it for destruction.”

  “True.”

  “The Orb was made here in the east, by artisans of all lands, though principally by a Forgemaster of Ognorm’s homeland. Knowing what we do of its construction and history, we know it cannot be simply or safely destroyed. If you return it to Zanatheum, the wizards there would likely discover that simple truth, but at who knows what cost to them and to your countrymen? And, you would be harried all the way, by dark wizards and Morloch’s spawn bent upon ownership of it.”

  “Again, true.”

  Gawain took a deeper breath, and let it out slowly in a billowing plume like dragon’s smoke. “At least if you witness it going over the side into the depths of the sea, you can truthfully report to your Emperor that it is beyond all reach of any enemy, not just those which blight your lands.”

  “And you can guarantee our safe return to Goria?”

  “In truth, I can guarantee nothing, Berek. Allazar has said if the weather doesn’t break soon, this fog will remain tomorrow, and favour the creature’s efforts over our own. But if it’s my word you want concerning safe passage through eastern lands and back to the west, you’d have it.”

  “You and yours would not be so welcome in the Empire. Nor have we ever been welcome in yours.”

  “I know. But this is not a time to revisit painful memories of a past long gone. We are all bent upon the same purpose, in the here and the now, which is seeing that obscene device safely disposed of, beyond all ability for causing harm to either of our lands. Besides, as you have said, these lands are under no threat from the Emperor. It’s the Goth-lord who is as much a threat to us as to you.”

  Berek nodded, and stared into the fog. “It’s four days east to the plains you spoke of?”

  “Yes. Though if we have a shadow-creature pursuing us, perhaps a little less. Flat and unobstructed save for trees.”

  “It’s a lot further to the tree line in the west, and the terrain is not so friendly.”

  “If we can get the Orb out of the forest and on to the plains, then with good luck and sunshine the shadow-creature will wither and die, trapped here in the gloom of the forest far beyond the succour of the Orb’s emanations, as Allazar believes. Our journey to the sea will be a leisurely stroll in comparison to what awaits us in the coming days.”

  “You Eastlanders are not what we thought you would be.”

  “Neither are you Westlanders.”

  Allazar approached from the brazier, two mugs of steaming broth in one hand, staff in the other.

  “Here, my lords, to ward off the chill. The fog is damp and becoming thicker…”

  There was a sudden, immense and ringing impact at the northern end of the barge, and as the vessel lurched violently against its chains, men staggering and falling and the brazier spilling its embers as it crashed to the deck, they caught the briefest glimpse of a large black mass compressed against the side wall of the deckhouse. Then it was gone, the shadow-creature fleeing back to the west through the fog at astonishing speed.

  “The Orb!” Gawain screamed, staggering to regain his footing on the heaving deck, watching in horror as first the casket teetered on the edge of the deckhouse roof, then fell, its end striking the steel of the walkway before slowly, inexorably, it leaned, and toppled overboard.

  The splash of the casket hitting the water was barely audible over the surging of waves against the side of the barge as it swung on its chains, churning foam on the surface of the waters beneath the mist.

  “Does it have it?” Gawain cried, rushing up the barge, ignoring the burning embers and torches scattered on the steel gratings underfoot. “Does it have it!”

  Allazar launched a candle, enormous and dazzling, the mystic light bursting into existence some fifty feet in the air above them. The cold and brilliant glare was at once diffused by the fog, giving the impression of white walls hemming them in. Gawain held his lamp over the gunwale, staring down into the water, seeing only mist swirling, and ripples receding.

  “Vakin Dwarfspit!” he spat, disgusted. “Allazar, can you see anything below?”

  “Let me try,” the wizard gasped urgently, and plunged the end of his staff into the murky dark of the water.

  A whisper, and the staff began to glow, and though no-one could swear to it, they thought they saw a dull grey glint through the ripples and the mist.

  “How deep is the water?” Berek demanded.

  “Not very, here in the pool,” Allazar asserted hurriedly. “About four feet at most, perhaps a little less now the supply from the north is diminished. But for the lock gates, it would be less, now the level in the canal has fallen.”

  “Someone must go in and retrieve it,” Berek announced.

  “In the dark?” the wizard gasped, “Knowing as we do now that the creature can travel across water?”

  “Not with such a candle as that burning above us, it won’t,” Gawain agreed, moving to slip the longsword from his shoulder.

  “Oy,” Ognorm growled, “If there’s lifting and shifting o’ Morgmetal to be done, it’ll be a Threllander as does it!” and was over the side before anyone could utter a word.

  The splash the dwarf made had them all flinching back from the spray, the walkway scarcely two feet above the water’s surface. Ognorm waded this way and that, feeling with his feet for the casket.

  “Thrukken Teeth, it’s cold!” the dwarf gasped, up to his broad chest in the murky water, and then, coming to a standstill, took an immense breath, and disappeared briefly below the surface.

  A couple of heartbeats later he burst from the water, holding the casket aloft, the box dripping, though its dwarf-made seals had remained water-tight.

  “’Ere melord, quick! Afore that thrukken thing comes back!” and with a heave, Ognorm launched the casket up onto the walkway.

  “Lights! Lights!” Gawain shouted, as Allazar’s candl
e faded, and with a shout, the wizard launched another, while all aboard who had them held aloft their lamps.

  Gawain heaved the casket to Berek, who in turn heaved it to Prester, who carried it into the cabin while Gawain and Berek reached down to clasp Ognorm’s raised arms.

  The dwarf practically flew aboard, such was the haste with which he was drawn from the water.

  “Get the brazier going, light more wood!” Gawain ordered, “Out of those soaking rags, Ognorm, you rock-brained loon!”

  Teeth chattering audibly, Ognorm attempted a grin, but he was shivering like a leaf in a gale and couldn’t quite manage it.

  Men rushed to right and stoke the brazier, and near the middle of the deck built an open fire while Ognorm peeled off his soaking clothes. Reesen fetched his pack, and rummaged for a set of dry garb and boots.

  “Are all men of Threlland as impetuous as your fellow there?” Berek asked, his voice hushed, his expression a little astonished at the manner in which the dwarf had addressed a king and then plunged into danger.

  “He takes his work seriously,” Gawain smiled, light from the candle overhead and from the blazing torches and lamps illuminating the scene. “As do we all. From now on, the casket remains inside the cabin. That shadowy bastard will have to learn to pass through steel to get at it next time.”

  “Agreed, Raheen. That was far too close a call. If there’d been a man stationed on the walkway beside the cabin…”

  Gawain grimaced. “Good point, let’s all withdraw to the safety at the other end of the barge once more. We know now it cannot pass through steel, we’ll all be safer for the shield the deckhouse will provide. We can watch the casket from there well enough.”

  Watch they did, huddled in the safety of the southern deckhouse, lamps and torches glowing, Ognorm’s wet clothes hanging limp from makeshift props assembled from the pile of firewood he himself had helped to bring aboard. Ten men, reflecting upon the alarming attack, and what might have been.

  “The fog must have shielded the stars from its senses, whatever those senses may be,” Allazar said softly. “And it must have thought it worth the risk to cross the pool at great speed, hoping to gain the Orb and make the far side before any light could harm it.”

  “Then its desperation must be rising, to risk such a venture,” Gawain asserted, “And clearly it wasn’t aware of the steel of the deckhouse bulkheads. I do not think it has eyes.”

  “Not as we know them, perhaps. Perhaps it sees only the emanations of the Orb, and flees from light as we would flee from great heat, or great cold. Or perhaps there are vibrations from the device, which it can hear but we cannot. Whatever its senses, I believe it has no concern for us at all, and that those unfortunate enough to have been destroyed by it were simply in its path as it followed the Orb’s progress from the tower.”

  “Why so?”

  “Because it flung itself at the Orb, rather than at us. If it possessed reason and knew of our existence, it would have swept the decks clear of us, waited for all lights to be extinguished, and then endeavoured to remove the casket or free the Orb from within it.”

  “Your wizard makes sense, Raheen,” Berek nodded thoughtfully. “And though this knowledge may keep us safe throughout the night, how will it avail us in the morning? Without a wind to disperse the mist, I doubt the day will dawn bright enough to drive the creature far below ground, or back to whatever place is its lair.”

  “Then we’ll have to wait it out, until the sun burns the mist clear. We have plenty of food, and fuel for the brazier to boil the water around us should our enforced shelter on this barge be prolonged. I doubt this foggy siege can outlast our supplies.”

  An hour dragged by, the small bonfire in the middle of the deck dying back to embers while Berek, to pass the time, spoke more of the rise of the Goth-lords in the Empire. Iyan stood from the cramped deck, stretched, and announced that he was going forward to add fuel to the fire, and to relieve himself overboard.

  “Hey, Ognorm,” he called from near the dull red glow of the fire, “Your clothes are drying well. Boots are still soaked though.”

  They watched as the tall figure slung his shortbow over his shoulder, stepped up onto the walkway, and began to relieve himself over the side in the dull light of flickering, makeshift torches. There was a sudden blur of movement, black and shapeless, and a terrifying scream which faded quickly towards the eastern side of the docks, and then a loud splash, and then silence…

  “Iyan!” Farayan screamed, throwing himself flat and peering over the gunwales as the others rushed out on deck, crouching low. “Iyan!”

  Allazar, unbidden, launched a candle high towards the west, but when it burst, they could see nothing but the whiteness of the fog some fifteen yards from the barge.

  “Iyan!” Prester called.

  Silence.

  “More fuel on the fire, Ognorm,” Gawain ordered, crouching low. “Back in the cabin! Stay low! If that bastard couldn’t see us before, it’s learned to see us now!”

  oOo

  41. Decisions

  “I am sorry for the loss of your comrade,” Gawain said softly. “It could as easily have been any one of us.”

  The fire on the deck was blazing higher and crackling, fresh torches made and lit all around the gunwales at the southern end of the barge, and the nine men were huddled within the deckhouse once more.

  “He was a good man,” Berek announced, his voice hard. “And did not deserve to die in such a fashion.”

  “The creature’s desperation is rising, and it’s taking full advantage of the fog. It must have finally understood that we are depriving it of its succour. It has just declared war upon us.”

  “Perhaps, my lord,” Jerryn offered, “If we have more chain, we could secure the casket to the barge and place it back on the roof of the other deckhouse?”

  “To what end, Jerryn?”

  “Perhaps whatever weak emanations escape the casket cannot penetrate the steel walls while the Orb remains within the confines of the deckhouse. On the roof, those emanations might be enough for the creature to cease its attack upon us. If it does come again for the casket, perhaps the White Staff may be able to loose upon it, and destroy it?”

  “Use the Orb as bait?” Allazar was clearly surprised.

  “Why not?” Berek announced, his features set grim in the dull glow of their hand-lamps. “I want that foul thing destroyed utterly.” And that announcement was greeted by a chorus of ‘ayes’ from the three surviving praetorians.

  “Allazar?”

  “I am greatly concerned, your Majesty,” the wizard protested, speaking rapidly. “And I am not entirely certain I should risk loosing Aemon’s Fire here on this vessel while we are aboard it. There’s no telling what might happen. If my fire should strike the chains and set loose the casket, or if my fire should strike the casket itself and liberate the Orb… and we do not know that white fire will harm the creature at all. We can have no way of knowing what effect loosing such fire might have upon this vessel, I could destroy us all! The unknowns are too many and the risks too great.”

  Gawain could feel the outrage of Iyan’s loss simmering within the Gorians, and the man’s cruel death had stunned them all with its sudden and unexpected ferocity.

  “What if you loosed one of those candles at it? Surely the light could do us no harm, nor the casket?”

  “An Aaron’s Candle? It could be as dangerous to us as gazing into the sun on midsummer’s day.”

  “But it’s a cold light, yes?”

  “Yes,” Allazar grudgingly conceded.

  “Very well,” Gawain eyed the others. “We’ll need chains to secure the casket to the barge, and someone to place the casket on the roof.”

  “There are no chains in the compartment here, Raheen,” Berek asserted, “We used them to bind the lid closed.”

  “Then we’ll look in the compartments in the other deckhouse.”

  “I’ll go, melord. If there’s chains, I can fix ‘em with
me ‘ammer, and then lift an’ shift the box, too.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Farayan declared immediately. “I still got one arm left that can hold a light while you work.”

  Berek nodded his agreement.

  “Stay low,” Gawain insisted. “Crawl on your hands and knees if you have to, but keep your heads down.”

  “Arr, melord, no worries on that account,” Ognorm took a deep breath, and checked his belt for his tools and equipment. Then, with a nod for Farayan, he crouched, and scurried out of the deckhouse, followed closely by the Gorian.

  Once the two of them had passed the fire blazing on the deck, they were lost from sight, little more than shadows themselves in the flickering gloom.

  “Can you put a candle up, Allazar? Up over the roof of the deckhouse?”

  “I can and I shall,” the wizard declared, and launched a light which burst above the barge.

  Again, the light was diffused into a milky glow which surrounded the vessel, fog thick as ever and pressing in as before. Only now, that fog was sinister, eerie, and to be feared, for they knew the horror that lurked within it.

  “Ta, melord!” drifted the length of the barge, and Gawain smiled in spite of himself, glimpsing two shadowy figures in the cabin some sixty feet away.

  “Visibility is so poor I can barely see them,” Allazar complained. “But for Ognorm’s lamp and the torch Farayan holds aloft, they would be practically invisible.”

  The clank of metal told of benches being raised and compartments opened, and then the rattling of a length of elven chain was accompanied by a dwarvish cry of ‘Aharr!’

  Hammering, then, harsh and metallic, ringing through the night as the candle faltered, and faded.

  “Is it me, Allazar, or are your candles becoming shorter?”

  “Alas, I fear it’s true. I feel as though a part of me is becoming tired or cramped, as the fingers of a scribe might feel who has written too long throughout the day and night.”

  More hammering, and the clinking of chains from the far deckhouse, the lamp and Farayan’s flickering torch still barely visible through the mist.