by GJ Kelly
“It made short work of the enemy scouts last night, my lord,” Jerryn reminded them all.
“True, but they were much closer to the blockhouse than we are to the casket, and had no lights to shield them. I think the creature was enraged by its failed attempts at the door, and either struck those men in fury and spite, or by accident when we drove it from the door with our torches. Either way, we’ll find out. Four of you should try to rest, the remainder will keep watch. Reesen, in the first group, we’ll need your eyes later. Half an hour.”
Berek, Ognorm, Reesen and Prester huddled at the base of the tree, their backs to it and to the distant casket, and settled to doze as best they could. Within moments their breathing was deep and regular, heads lolling, all of them fast asleep.
A nod of the head drew Allazar away from the tree to stand with Gawain far enough away for whispering not to disturb the sleepers.
“Longsword?”
“Last night’s Graken and its rider bothers me, Allazar. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t simply gauging the distance from Calhaneth to the plains of Juria.”
The wizard shrugged. “Nor can we sensibly guess at its purpose. That it hasn’t been seen today, nor rained black death upon our heads from above, is a mercy we should all be grateful for. We have enough to contend with as it is.”
“Still, it bothers me.”
“Longsword, we are all pushing hard at the bounds of our endurance, and though all here are experienced in battle, there is only so far that endurance may be stretched before something breaks.”
“I know. Which is why I’m also troubled by the enemy not pressing us as they did yesterday. We’ve heard no maroons, Reesen’s seen no sight of them since this morning. They won’t give up the Orb any more than we will. They’re up to something.”
“If you’re contemplating some daring night-time excursion in the manner of a black-eyed Ramoth-slaying madman of our former acquaintance, I shall be obliged to express my violent opposition to such a course of action.”
Gawain arched an eyebrow and regarded the stern-faced wizard beside him, both of them facing the casket and the pinpoints of its glowing lamps.
“No, I’m not. Though I confess I did consider it earlier. Briefly. But for the Orb and the shadow-creature, it would make sound military sense, and my former teacher would be delighted by such a surprise attack. The enemy certainly wouldn’t be expecting it any more than they would have expected the gore they stumbled across yesterday.”
“There are many aspects of your behaviour and demeanour which I have found disturbing since we left Harks Hearth, Longsword, and that was one of them.”
“Really?”
The wizard nodded, clutching his staff tighter, the air around them suddenly chill with impending nightfall. “I have always known there is a darkness in you, ever since the first time we met in Callodon. I have always attributed that darkness to Morloch’s destruction of your homeland, and perhaps I was right so to do. Much has happened since then, and I have also seen something of the brightness of that light within you our lady Elayeen has described. But the description of the dismemberment of those enemy scouts as given to us last night by praetorian Prester, and confirmed by Reesen, was alarming indeed.”
“It was necessary,” Gawain said, calmly and quietly. “And it likely won’t be the last or most alarming thing I’ll have to do before there is real peace in the lands.”
“There was peace, Longsword, truly, in Tarn, after the battle. At least before we learned of the Orb in the vaults of Crownmount. And it drove you almost beyond reach of all those who care for you. I worry for you, Longsword. Sometimes I think you are too anxious to hurl yourself into harm’s way.”
“If that were true, wizard, I’d be stalking through the forest even now, seeking to inflict damage upon the enemy, dressed all in black and deadly as the shadow we now await.”
“As at the Barak-nor, and countless Ramoth towers, yes, I know. It’s a testament to your brighter kingly aspect that the Orbquest now restrains your darker instincts.”
“Orbquest?”
Allazar shrugged. “As good a name for our business here as any I could think of on the spur of the moment, balancing on the knife-edge of your ire as I am.”
Gawain smiled. “You’re safe, Allazar, I’m too tired and too worried to be irate.”
“Oh that is no comfort at all.”
“Sorry.”
“Now you’re making it worse.”
Gawain chuckled softly. “What do you want me to say? We’ll probably all be mould by midnight?”
“No, I would prefer it if you didn’t say that.”
“Well. You can thank Ognorm’s speech at the stream if I seem philosophical this night. Here we are, eight pebbles from among thousands, and it’s all lands, east and west, we strive now to protect.”
Allazar sighed. “You do know that Brock will be furious when we cross into Callodon with our new friends? After Pellarn, he became bound and determined never to let a Gorian soldier set foot in his lands.”
“I’ll be more than delighted to worry about Brock’s feelings when the time comes. It’ll mean we’re not here, waiting in the dark for some shapeless evil to come a-calling.”
“Yes.” Allazar shook his head sadly, and leaned on his staff. “I thought Calhaneth bad enough the first time. At least removing the Orb from the tower has brought a modicum of peace to the ruins. No more shall be heard the dreadful sounds of its final hour.”
“Except in nightmares.”
“Yes, except in those.”
“Do you think this will work? This childish simpleton’s plan of mine?”
Allazar sniffed. “I refuse to be goaded, Longsword.”
“I spy, with my little eye…”
“And I refuse to play that game, too. Word of the last time you attempted to engage me in such unkingly pastimes as ‘I Spy’ got out, as word so often does. And I still maintain I would’ve gotten ‘Mountains’ if I’d been playing, in spite of what I overheard them saying in the Traveller’s Rest.”
Gawain grinned as the darkness gathered around them.
“And yes, it’s entirely possible that your plan will work, given what little we know of the beast. I do, however, take some comfort in having a bonfire ready to be lit. The violence inflicted upon the blockhouse by that entity was astonishing, and the spiteful attack upon the Gorian praetorian, Iyan, while on the barge, was horrifying.”
“Is there a light you can make, like the shield you have raised in the past? Something which might encompass us all?”
“The Light of Aemon should be sufficient, I think. Why? Have you lost faith in our dwarven lamps?”
Gawain shrugged. “I don’t know, Allazar. Last night, it ripped a flaming brand clean out of Loryan’s hand. And tried to take one from mine, too. It was bold, and clearly prepared to suffer harm in order to gain possession of the Orb. Those candles of yours would be inappropriate, given the proximity of the enemy and the possibility of a Graken-riding demGoth spotting them from afar.”
“I hadn’t thought of the Graken for several minutes, thank you for reminding me. I decidedly do not want to attract that thing’s attention with Aaron’s Candles, not while the only eyes likely to see its approach in the dark are sleeping. These moonless nights would have been ideal for the taking of the Orb from the tower, but it’ll be another week before we see the welcome glow of the moon in the night sky. Even then, it will be early in its first quarter.”
“Always assuming of course we’re not mould by midnight.”
“Ah.”
Eight times the watch changed, and before the ninth relief had chance to settle for rest, the wind rose, a heavy overcast obscured what patches of starlight had been visible, and in the silence, Jerryn hissed a quiet warning through his teeth.
Beyond the casket tree, perhaps seventy yards from where they huddled close together, a darker, blacker patch of night seemed to pulse malevolently. All of them dropped to one knee, keepin
g as close to the open lamps as possible, all except Allazar, who stood behind them, Dymendin held horizontally, gleaming like lustrous pearl in the lamplight.
No-one spoke. No-one needed to. For long minutes they knelt, poised, lamps held low the better to keep watch on the silent, shadowy enemy which in turn seemed to remain rooted to the spot, watching them, its slight pulsing and rippling a grim parody of breathing.
Boughs creaked a little in occasional gusts, twigs clicking and rattling against one another where trees touched in the canopy high over head. Gawain blinked, and though he had seen no obvious movement from the shadow, it seemed a little closer than it had been before.
It was moving, inching slowly, almost oozing so slow was its progress, forwards, and slightly to the right, positioning itself in line with the casket, and not with them.
“It sees us, yet the Orb is closer,” Allazar whispered, “Do not move, I can shield you all better thus, if needs must.”
“If it charges,” Berek whispered in reply, “It’ll be in our midst before we can blink.”
“And could already have done so, if our lives were its intent,” the wizard whispered again, and continued his commentary: “It edges closer to the casket now, though seems wary of the light pooling from the lamps. Still it moves forward, creeping… it has stopped. Now it advances again…”
The creature inched forward, until it was clearly visible to them all, an amorphous blob of rippling blackness poised and throbbing at the very edge of the faint puddle of light spilling down from the two lamps suspended from the Orb casket. As they gazed in loathing and horror at the shadow-creature, it slowly oozed its way around the twin-lobed pool of light.
“It seeks the region of strongest emanation from the Orb,” Allazar explained. “And remains reluctant to move directly beneath it.”
“Is it my eyes, or does it appear smaller than at the docks?” Gawain asked.
“Aye, it does,” Berek affirmed. “At least I believe so.”
“Bin on a diet,” Ognorm muttered, evincing smiles, and relieving a little of the tension in the close-huddled group.
“It is rising!”
And it was, the shadow becoming distinctly thinner and taller, as though the entity were reaching up, stretching for the Orb, men’s eyes widening and eyebrows arching, staring transfixed as the blackness oozed upwards until finally it paused as if standing on tip-toe, and then resumed its squat and shapeless mass once more.
Again the creature circled below the casket, and again it stretched upwards towards the box chained to the bough thirty feet above it. Again it failed, and having failed twice, remained where it was, shimmering, pulsing, grotesque and malevolent, but for as long as it sat motionless fifty yards from the group of men huddled in their lamplight, no threat.
“I want it destroyed,” Berek hissed, a dark and deep passion in the softly-spoken words. “For the lives it took, I want it destroyed.”
“As do I,” Gawain replied firmly. “But now is not the time.”
“There it sits, Raheen, surely within range of your wizard’s fire.”
“No. By the time Allazar’s fire has chewed the forest floor halfway to its mark the creature will be gone, or in our midst. Let it be. Let it suffer a long, slow death when we are on the plains and far beyond its reach. There are still at least seven more hours of darkness before dawn, and darkness is its domain, not ours.”
Berek took a deep breath, and, pressed together as closely as they were, they could all feel his powerful frame expanding as he did so. Then he let it out, slowly, through his nose, and gave a faint nod of acquiescence.
They waited, watching the thing as it sat motionless below the casket.
“Why don’t it just climb the tree?” Ognorm suddenly asked.
“It cannot climb a thing which presents no obstruction to its free movement,” Allazar explained. “At the dockside and elsewhere, it passed through trees as though they did not exist. And perhaps, for the shadow-creature, they do not.”
“Ain’t no aborist, then.”
“No, indeed. In all its existence, and with the Orb shining down upon it from the tower at the heart of the city, it has likely never had to climb anything. It probably does not know how, which would explain its failure to attack the roof of the blockhouse last night.”
“You make it sound like a child, Serre wizard,” Jerryn whispered.
“A very dangerous child, but yes, perhaps it does share certain qualities with infants. It wants, it needs, and if it cannot get what it wants and needs, it throws tantrums. Before the Orb was taken, it simply existed, roaming at will, never needing to learn anything. Its attempts earlier at rising up to the Orb were like a child reaching for a jar of sweetmeats on a high table.”
“Then let’s hope it’s content to sit and gaze up at those sweetmeats and not rush around destroying the kitchen,” Gawain muttered.
Almost an hour passed, mostly in silence, neither side moving, the one black and pulsating, the other kneeling in a pool of lamplight, until finally Loryan announced that he needed to move to prevent a cramp building in his thigh. Gawain whispered instructions, and four of the group slowly eased back behind Allazar, and either squatted or stood to ease their aching limbs. For another two hours, they took it in turns to stretch themselves, taking care during the change-overs to keep the lamps steady and in roughly the same positions, so as not to alarm the shadow.
Some tried to doze, though that was difficult in the confines of their light. Allazar rocked on his heels from time to time, and occasionally lifted his knees and rocked his head to remain limber should his staff be needed. After such a long time gazing at the beast fifty yards away, the threat of its touch and its existence seemed somehow diminished.
“It’s stretching again,” Prester announced, alerting those behind the front line.
All attention snapped to the casket tree, and the shadow beneath it, stretching up, a living stalagmite of shimmering malevolence.
“It’s taller than it was before,” Berek noted.
“Arr, but it ain’t got the reach yet. Long, long way to go yet.”
It sank back again, and slowly began circumnavigating the dim pool light from the casket lamps.
“It is testing its environment again, attempting to detect any changes since last it did so. Look, it has returned to its former resting-place and has settled once more.”
“It’s feeding again,” Berek muttered quietly, “And growing stronger.”
“Not strong enough to reach the casket, Imperator, and still it seems content to leave us in peace.”
“Perhaps only until it is strong enough to destroy us all, and take the box.”
“Yes,” Gawain agreed. “There is that possibility, too.”
“And at least four hours until daybreak,” Allazar sighed.
Gawain nodded, and then shrugged. “We knew a longer night at the Battle of Far-gor, and lived through the next day.”
“We knew a longer night at The Chattering Magpie and had headaches the next day,” Jerryn sighed.
“Speak fer yerself,” Ognorm chuckled, “There was naught wrong with my noggin the next day.”
“How you Eastlanders ever hold a threken border is beyond me,” Berek mumbled.
“Mithal,” Reesen whispered urgently, and in an instant, all trace of humour evaporated. “Lights, far, move slow. One mile and one half.”
“Ahh kak,” Ognorm whispered in disgust. “Bet they ain’t arborists neither.”
oOo
49. Stealing a March
“Dwarfspit,” Gawain sighed. “I knew the bastards were up to something.”
Reesen whispered a stream of elvish.
“They appear to have stopped,” Allazar translated, “Near the extent of his range. They are not moving.”
“Resting for a dawn assault,” Berek announced, eyes still fixed upon the shadow.
“They slept in the day, that’s why they were beyond Reesen’s range until now,” Gawain sighed, dis
gusted with himself, “They know our course, and with nothing more than the faintest starlight could follow our trail easily enough in the dark. Are they camped on our trail now?”
“Yes,” Allazar translated again, “In a loose group, though exact numbers are still indistinct. More than twenty.”
“Thank you. Berek, how will they attack?”
“Cautiously, and without good order. They are not disciplined soldiers of the Empire, Raheen. What tactics they might possess will rely on strength of numbers and the power of the ironmask in their midst.”
Gawain eyed the casket, chained to the bough of the tree, Morgmetal brightly lit by the lamps tied to the chains which bound the lid. Beneath it, the shadow-creature, and beyond it, a dark wizard and his force of mercenaries.
“Will they wait for dawn or advance before daybreak?”
“I cannot say, Raheen. If it were me, I’d advance before dawn and strike while my enemy was rising and still dull with sleep.”
“If it were me I would attack in the night,” Gawain whispered, staring at the casket.
“Two lights move,” Reesen announced.
“Scouts, to gauge how far we are from their line,” Berek opined, “Probably took that long for the darkweasel to persuade two of his penny-blades to serve as such. Especially after what happened to the last pair.”
“Agreed. Reesen, two?”
“Isst, miThal. Two. Move slow.”
Gawain glanced at the elf, then back at the casket. “Reesen move quick,” and then he eased back from the front line, and through Allazar, gave his instructions.
The Ranger smiled a cruel smile, then tapped the emblem on the left breast of his tunic. “Vex, miThal!” And with that, loped away silently to the east.
“Where’s he going, melord, if’n you don’t mind me asking?”
“East, a few hundred yards, well clear of the shadow. Then he’ll loop around to the south and back west, to take care of those two scouts. He’ll come back the same way, so take care before shooting at anything approaching from the east.”
Berek was impressed. “I didn’t know elves could see in the dark.”