The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  “This is their land,” Gawain smiled, “And there’s a great deal about them we don’t know, too.”

  “An’ ‘ere was me thinking you might’ve sent me mate off to fetch some sneaky reinforcements back there a-ways, melord.”

  “Alas, Ognorm, our sneaky reinforcements are waiting with the horses on the plains. We’re it.”

  “I do have another question, melord, though I’m a bit concerned about the asking of it.”

  “Ask.”

  “Well, melord… If that lot after us are going to attack at dawn, and that black blob don’t leave ‘til dawn, how’re we going to get the Orb down and leg it before they get to us?”

  “I have a childishly simple plan.”

  “That’s all right then,” Ognorm sighed with obvious relief, “As long as it don’t involve me having to climb yonder tree.”

  “Well, there is the rope that Reesen left dangling,” Jerryn announced cheerfully.

  “Nads,” the dwarf muttered, “Rope’s just a thin tree. Dwarves don’t do trees. Show me a dwarf arborist, an’ I’ll show you an arborist pretending to be a dwarf.”

  “The beast is stretching again,” Loryan hissed. “And it is taller still than before.”

  “It’s strength and size are growing as it feeds,” Allazar confirmed, “It must have been a great deal bigger and stronger before the dark wizard closed the casket and thus greatly diminished the range and power of the Orb’s emanations.”

  The creature sank back, though it had stretched almost twelve feet in its attempt to gain the casket.

  “It’s becoming used to the light from the two lamps too, or so it seems,” Jerryn sounded concerned.

  “Possibly, Major,” Allazar frowned. “Though the light from the lamps is quite dim on the ground below the bough.”

  Prester spat, and took another bite from a Gorian meal-bar. “The light from the fire aboard the barge didn’t help Iyan, and was about as bright.”

  “True,” Allazar conceded, which prompted a round of glances at the lamps they held, their only illumination and their first line of defence.

  “Do you think it can actually see us, from all the way over there?” Prester complained.

  “Yes, just as we can see the lamplight and the casket, and the creature itself.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way,” Gawain announced. “As long as the bloody thing stays there, beneath the Orb, until I decide to move it. And that won’t happen until after Reesen returns.”

  Silence, then, all eyes on the shadow, and all thoughts turned to the Ranger stalking the enemy, alone in the dark. There wasn’t one of them didn’t wish to be out there hunting with Reesen…

  A cluck of a tongue from the east a little over an hour later alerted the group of shadow-watchers to Reesen’s return, and there were more than a few audible sighs of relief when the elf, blood-spattered and smiling grimly, rejoined them. Allazar translated the hurried elvish report.

  “There are twenty-four of the enemy including a dark wizard, and most are sleeping on the ground. The two scouts were despatched silently, and… a mess made as a warning to others. The enemy have not moved, and remain arranged in a slight arc, facing in our direction.”

  “Mitak, mifrith,” Gawain whispered. “Rest.”

  “MiThal,” Reesen saluted, and went to sit behind the tree, bow resting across his lap.

  Gusts of wind and the rattling of branches drew Gawain’s attention to the heavens, where the absence of stars spoke of heavy cloud. Rain would doubtless hamper their progress in the morning.

  Twice more in the night the shadow stretched for the casket and twice more it failed, though on its final attempt it managed to squeeze itself into a column an impressive eighteen feet in height before collapsing back into its more usual rippling mass. Each time, it circled the pool of light before settling to feed once more. Men, meanwhile, took it in turns to doze, becoming so accustomed to the shadow’s presence that sleep was almost, but not quite, possible.

  Finally, perhaps a half an hour before dawn, the creature appeared to become restless, stretching itself a little taller as if milking the last of the Orb’s emanations but refraining from using energy to reach for the casket itself.

  “I believe it knows that daybreak is approaching,” Allazar whispered.

  “Then it’s time to prepare to leave. Those who want to take their socks with them best collect them now.”

  “I’ll gather them all, Serre,” Loryan declared, “We’ll dole ‘em out later on the move.”

  “Thank you, Loryan. Packs on, quietly, keeps the lamps lit in the front row.”

  “Torches, my lord?”

  “We can carry them on our way out. I don’t want to leave anything useful for the enemy.”

  Quickly, and as quietly as possible, they readied themselves, and waited for Gawain to announce his plan. The Orb still sat in the gloom upon its bough, the shadow still below. And Reesen announced what they’d all been expecting: the enemy were likewise rising, and gathering to advance.

  Gawain took a deep breath, and eyed them all. “Allazar, please translate for Reesen. The plan is simple… Prester, you’ll prepare to light the bonfire. The wizard will advance a little and move slightly to the north, some ten yards. Then he’ll launch the mightiest candle he possibly can at the shadow. When he does, Prester will light the fire. All eyes must be averted from the wizard’s light when it bursts.”

  Gawain paused while Allazar finished translating, looking increasingly alarmed as he did so.

  “The shadow will flee the light back towards the west, hopefully passing through the middle of the bastards advancing towards us and inflicting casualties as it goes. Reesen will climb the rope, release the Orb, and lower it to the ground, where Ognorm will shoulder the load. Then we run for the east, and sunrise. Reesen will take rearguard, the better to keep an eye on the enemy pursuing us. Anyone in doubt?”

  No-one spoke.

  “When we commence our run, Allazar, it might be an idea to loose another candle, to prevent or delay the shadow’s return. I am hoping it’s close enough to daybreak for it to seek shelter rather than return to pursue us.”

  “Creature’s looking more restless, Serre,” Loryan announced.

  “Then if there are no questions…”

  “If Reesen’s taking rearguard to keep watch on the enemy, I’ll take point, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Jerryn. The rest of us will circle Ognorm as before.”

  Gawain waited long enough for any doubts or concerns to be expressed, and noted the firm resolve in the set of their features.

  “Lamps shut, save for Prester’s need.”

  The Gorian praetorian took a small bottle of something from inside his cloak, drew the cork with his teeth and spat it out, took a swig, and then poured the rest over the wood and rag kindling of the bonfire he’d insisted on building ‘just in case’, and then knelt, boot knife and firestone in hand.

  “Allazar, if you please.”

  The wizard took a deep breath, and nodded, and wide-eyed in the gloom, eased his way a little to the northwest, placing the shadow-creature between himself and the enemy as best as he could judge.

  “Ready, Reesen, Ognorm.”

  “Arr.”

  Gawain twisted the shutters of his lamp open and closed, and with spines tingling they turned their back on the casket tree and the shadow lurking beneath it. Almost at once the world seemed to burst around them, an immense flash lighting the forest, darkwood trees bleached of all detail and standing in stark contrast to the heavy pre-dawn sky.

  Prester smacked the firestone on his blade, there was a whump! and flames began licking at the torn Gorian canvas kindling, twigs and mosses and drier leaf litter taking fire, and as the light from Allazar’s immense candle began to fade, they turned, Reesen and Ognorm sprinting forward towards the casket tree. The wizard followed them, holding aloft his staff and lighting the way with a broad beam of Aemon’s Light.

  The bonfire took ho
ld, beginning to crackle, and from the far west came distant sounds of alarm, evoking grim smiles from those gathering near the foot of the rope while Reesen heaved himself expertly to the bough and the waiting casket.

  “A candle, Allazar, just to be sure!” Gawain said, loud and clear, no need of whispering now.

  Allazar pointed the staff slightly west and muttered a chant, and moments later, as Reesen lowered the casket on the rope with a rattling of chains and the clanking of the lamps tied to its side, a ball of brilliant white burst in the sky.

  “They know we’re here now for certain,” Loryan grinned, though whether happily at the sound of a distant scream or whether it was the taut rictus of excitement, it couldn’t be said.

  Reesen slid down the rope, the Orb casket was stuffed into Ognorm’s pack, and its loose chain muffled.

  “The rope, Serre?” Prester asked.

  “Leave it, there’s no time now to untie it. East, and run for the sunrise!”

  And run they did, Allazar’s staff lighting the way, Reesen tossing frequent glances over his shoulder, the men circling Ognorm and the Orb, Jerryn ten yards or more further ahead. Past the blazing bonfire, its sparks crackling up into the gloom of a sky slowly fading from uniform darkness to a lumpy charcoal-grey.

  “How many d’ye think the shadow took of ‘em?” Loryan called to Reesen, and jerked his head over his shoulder.

  “Lights stop, not move,” Reesen replied, not understanding the question.

  “Not enough o’ the ‘spitsuckers, then,” Ognorm announced, and on they ran.

  Twenty minutes later, Allazar extinguished his Light of Aemon, and though it was still gloomy in the forest and the sky thick with cloud and iron-grey, there was, they judged, more than enough light to consign the shadow to its lair. The only threat now came from the dark wizard and his men in west, and they, according to Reesen, were fading beyond the extent of his Sight. The Orbquest had stolen a march on the enemy.

  oOo

  50. A Bottle of Comfort

  They’d settled into a loping pace once the world brightened around them, and though the day looked likely to be a damp and cheerless one, the relief at leaving the threat of the shadow well to the rear was almost palpable. The realisation of their narrow escape from both a mouldering death and a dawn battle evinced smiles from all of them.

  After almost an hour of that steady pace, Gawain was contemplating easing to a walk for rest and drinks when Jerryn, in the vanguard, gave a sudden shriek of pain, and went down in a heap, writhing.

  “Nai murthen! Stent thool! Nai murthen!” Reesen shouted.

  “Don’t move!” Allazar screamed in translation, “Stand still!”

  Everyone froze, heads swivelling, hands reaching for weapons, eyes desperately seeking the enemy which had brought the Jurian Major down. But Reesen’s face was twisted with anguish, and he slipped off his pack, careless of where it fell, and to Gawain’s astonishment, dropped his bow with it, and hurried to the stricken Jurian.

  Something was wrong with the Major’s foot, they could see that as soon as Reesen lifted him clear of the ground and carried him back to the group, laying him gently on the ground. The elf was almost in tears, and the Major certainly was, eyes screwed shut against the pain.

  “Mifrith! Mifrith! Eem siennes! Eem siennes!” Reesen whispered.

  Jerryn’s face was contorted with agony, teeth clenched, and as they gathered around him, horrified, they saw the reason for his pain.

  A black, barbed spike had burst through his left foot and the instep of his boot, and it seemed to be pulsing, growing larger. And at the sole, a puffy black ball with stringy roots was pulsing, and slowly shrinking. Then, with a gruesome ripping sound, the spike seemed to burst open, like a vile flower blossoming, tearing their comrade’s foot asunder. Jerryn threw his head back and screamed, and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

  “By the threken Spire!” Prester gasped, horrified, kneeling to help Reesen support the crippled Jurian. “By the threken Spire!”

  Allazar’s hand trembled as he reached for the shattered and torn foot. “A Spikebulb of the Tansee… the Graken-rider has seeded the ground before us with Spikebulbs of Tansee… there is nothing I can do…”

  “We must stem the bleeding!” Gawain announced, “And relieve his pain as best we can!”

  “MiThal… Eem siennes…” Reesen apologised again, utterly aghast.

  “It’s not your fault, Reesen,” Gawain insisted. “It’s not your fault. Can you see them? Reesen! Can you see them?”

  The elf wiped his eyes, and Ognorm knelt to take his place at Jerryn’s side.

  Reesen staggered back a pace and then turned his Sight to the east.

  “Isst, miThal…” and he pointed, his finger sweeping a broad arc from north to south. “Mille enam…”

  “Thousands of them,” Allazar translated, cutting away the remains of Jerryn’s boot and exposing the full extent of the terrible damage inflicted by the dark wizard-made plant. “The spores of the Spikebulb of Tansee were scattered from the Graken’s back. They grow quickly, the bulbs lurking just beneath the surface of the soil waiting for an unwary foot or hoof. When stepped upon, the bulb looses a dart hardened with aquamire, upwards, with great force. Once the spike is embedded, the bulb begins to contract, and if not cut off rapidly, it shrinks as we saw, and the spike bursts apart.”

  “Will he live?” Gawain gasped, horror and anger both rising.

  “Yes, with a healer’s care… but Longsword, I am no healer…”

  “Threken bastards!” Prester hissed. “Threken bastards! This is no way for brave men to go!”

  “How can they be destroyed?”

  “With white fire of course, and by burning. But there is nothing here that would burn such a swath of ground as has been seeded. I could try to burn a clear path through for us, but it would also avail the enemy in their pursuit.”

  “Do what you can, Allazar, to make our friend comfortable.”

  “Of course.”

  “Reesen.”

  The elf turned to Gawain, eyes wide and blinking with shock and grief, and shoulders slumped with profound failure.

  “Allazar, translate for me as you work. Reesen, this is not your doing, and not your fault. It was I who ordered you to rearguard, I who commanded that you keep watch to the west for the enemy behind us. This is not your failing. Understand?”

  The elf nodded, but clearly took no comfort from Gawain’s assertion.

  “Can you see the bulbs, can you see their darkness below the ground?”

  Again, when Allazar had finished, Reesen nodded.

  “Can you find a way through to the other side?”

  The elf shrugged, and muttered a response.

  “He said he would try.”

  “Good.”

  Reesen walked forward to the unseen edge of the ground seeded with the foul plant traps, and while he studied the area and the trees all about them, Gawain moved away from the small crowd gathered around Jerryn. He stood stock still, silently watching the wizard doing his best to bind the awful wound and stem the flow of blood.

  Berek joined him, massive arms folded. To his credit, the Imperator held his tongue, though both men knew the inevitable consequence of Jerryn’s crippling injury.

  “I should have seen it,” Gawain whispered. “And would have, but for the distraction of the shadow-creature.”

  “But for the shadow-creature, Raheen, we could have sent the Orb east and a handful of us hunted those Simanian scum to extinction in the night.”

  “Yes. But even so, I should have understood what they were doing. First the Graken-rider, and then the Simanian force, holding back while they made ready to drive us into the trap.”

  “In the Empire, officers are taught to regard the men in their command as expendable, to be used as a means to an end. The men are taught to expect neither kindness nor consideration.”

  Gawain sighed. “This is not the Empire…”

  “I know. I
mention it only because at times such as this, the philosophy is intended to ease a commander’s mind. Though, it never does. I chose my men for this mission. I named them. And I have lost almost all of them. You chose your men, too. You named them, and now…”

  Gawain drew in a breath, staring towards the west and the enemy doubtless gathering to advance once again. “Tell me, Berek. You are older than I. Do you ever forget the names?”

  “When you do, Raheen, then it is time to bid a fond farewell to what few remaining friends you may have, take up a stout stick, and make the long, last walk into the mountains, there to watch the sun set alone, and go with it.”

  Jerryn woke almost at the same moment Allazar finished bandaging his shattered foot. Jurian brandy quickly followed, and Gawain knelt beside his old friend.

  “I have Eeelan t’oth, Jerryn, a powerful elven medicine…”

  “No, no my lord, no, I have heard of its power, don’t rob me of my senses! I know what this means… leave me, my lord, leave me with my ‘bow and some water, and some brandy. I’ll take a few of the bastards off your tail and slow them some.”

  Reesen rejoined them, and spoke hurriedly.

  “He can lead us through the field of bulbs between the trees, Longsword.”

  “Take two at a time,” Gawain commanded, “Single file.”

  Allazar translated, and Reesen spoke again, his voice filled once more with anguish.

  “Reesen would have you know that he is sorry, Jerryn,” Allazar whispered, his voice rich with sorrow, “He blames himself for looking to the rear instead of ensuring the path before you was clear, and would have your forgiveness.”

  Jerryn reached out a hand, and Reesen took it, kneeling once more beside his stricken friend. “Ot soup good,” Jerryn did his best to smile, “Reesen good.”

  “Eem siennes, mifrith…” Reesen managed.

  “Go,” Jerryn smiled, “Go now.”

  The Major squeezed the elf’s hand, and pushed him away. “Go do your duty, Reesen.”

  While Reesen led Loryan and Berek on a tortuous route through the field of hidden Spikebulbs, Jerryn struggled to shrug off his pack. Gawain and Ognorm helped him, and then the dwarf knelt on one knee, bracing his friend so he could sit upright.