by GJ Kelly
Berek stepped forward, shaking his head violently. “No, this is not the same, not the same! Farayan’s hand was dead the instant his blade struck the shadow, and mottled green and black, not red! This is not the same, Raheen!”
Huge sighs and groans of relief greeted Berek’s assertion, but Gawain seemed unconvinced.
“Perhaps, my sword being longer…”
“Perhaps nothing,” Berek insisted again, “This is not the same!”
“Yet my hands are numb. First, there was shock, and pins and needles in my hands and arms,” Gawain spread his fingers wide and turned his hands over and back again, “But that has faded now, leaving my hands completely without feeling, arms tingling only faintly now, the feeling leaving them also.”
“Farayan couldn’t move a finger,” Loryan insisted, “And you could see the green and black mould creeping past his wrist as it consumed his arm. It’s why the Imperator took it off quickly. Maybe it’s that black and crackling blade of yours, Serre, and the power it contains, spared you?”
“Black and crackling?” Allazar’s eyebrows arched.
Gawain shrugged. “Aquamire, from the Eye of Morloch and the dark wizard, and the Aknid back at Harks Hearth, no doubt.”
“Hmm,” The wizard frowned, “Aquamire is power, it’s possible it added strength to your steel to resist whatever foul poison or emanation the creature emits. But come, hurry, Ognorm, fetch Longsword’s pack. We’ll apply the Eeelan t’oth and hope the elven unguent can at least relieve the appearance of burning even if that is not the malady.”
“The rest of you should watch for the shadow,” Gawain insisted quietly. “It will not give up the Orb, not after coming so close to snatching it away.”
Burning brands were raised, smaller fires built, and eyes snapped this way and that at every slight stirring of the mist about them. But worried glances were still cast over shoulders to where Allazar knelt beside the seated young man, gently applying the oily unguent to Gawain’s arms and hands.
“You should feel it numbing your skin soon,” Allazar said softly.
“No, clodwit, I won’t, they’re numb already.”
“Ah. Well, it will doubtless pass.”
“Nice try.”
“May I ask you a question?” Allazar’s voice was hesitant, rich with concern, and low enough not to be overheard.
“Of course.”
“You did not burn the aquamire, at Harks Hearth, did you?”
Gawain took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“I see that you did not.”
“As you said, it may have strengthened my blade. And perhaps it gave me a greater clarity of thought than I had before.”
“As you say.”
But there was such disappointment and sorrow in the wizard’s voice, Gawain’s eyes snapped up from his bizarrely-coloured arms to gaze at Allazar’s stricken face.
“It did me no harm beneath the Teeth, where by comparison there was practically an ocean of the stuff in that dark lens I smashed. The phial contained very little, and merely stained a blade already marked from the Aknid and the blood of the demGoth.”
“It is not for me to judge the Deed, nor for me to judge my king. Perhaps the aquamire did help to spare you this night. But it is far more likely that the circles in the hall of your father have more to do with your surviving the shadow of Calhaneth than the foulest of substances Morloch-made.”
“Morloch played me like a fish on a line at Far-gor, Allazar. He could not have done so before Kings’ Council at Ferdan, not with strange aquamire giving me insight.”
“You do not understand.”
“I understand your concern, and I understand the unique reason a wizard loyal to Zaine’s whitebeard vision of the world would fear the corruption aquamire represents. And that is why I lied to you, for your peace of mind. But I am not a wizard, and I’ve been exposed to the substance without harm before, and often, as you know.”
“Then I shall say only one more word upon the subject, your Majesty.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Hurgo.”
Gawain blinked. “Bah. I still have both my hands intact. And there, by my left elbow, you missed a bit.”
They were tired, all of them, and it was easy to sleep when their turn came to curl up on the ground while others kept watch. Allazar tried simply to doze, so that he could be ready with his staff at a moment’s notice should the shadow attack, but he was asleep while the thought was still unfinished in his mind. Only the irrepressible Ognorm of Ruttmark seemed tireless, taking it upon himself to keep the fires burning, though even he continually flicked worried glances in Gawain’s direction.
With no shortage of shattered wood readily to hand, keeping the area around themselves and the casket well-lit was a simple task. Only one small region remained shrouded in the gloom of mist and starlight, and that was out to the west of the fallen tree and the stub of its splintered trunk. And in that direction, from time to time, Ognorm heaved a burning brand, fresh from a fire, ‘just in case’, he said.
The shadow was not seen though, until an hour past midnight, when Loryan hissed a warning. Allazar was woken along with Gawain and Prester, and the seven of the Orbquest watched the black and malevolent creature slowly circling them in the gloom.
“Shine a light on that ‘spitsucking evil, Allazar.”
The wizard lifted the Dymendin a little, and a brilliant cone of Aemon’s Light flashed into the gloom, sending the shadow-creature speeding away out of sight.
“It might make it angry enough to charge us, Raheen.”
“I don’t know that it has the strength with all the fires Ognorm has blazing around us. And it seems much smaller to my eye than it did yesterday.”
“Aye, that’s true.”
“And speaking of eyes, Reesen, how are yours?”
“MiThal?”
“Eyes, no babycry?”
Ognorm chuckled.
“Nai,” Reesen’s eyebrows arched as he squinted at Gawain, “No babycry. You?”
“I cannot feel anything below my elbows now.”
Allazar translated.
“Eeelan t’oth good,” Reesen announced softly.
“Yes,” Gawain agreed, remembering fire and ice, and hazel-green eyes. It seemed so very long ago now, and Elayeen so very far away.
His hands, though, were still scarlet, but still he could move his fingers and wrists. He just couldn’t feel them when he did.
Heads swivelled, eyes likewise, searching for the shadow-creature in the dark.
“No moon again tonight, Longsword. Except perhaps for an hour before dawn, and even then it will be little more than a sliver in the east. There is but one more day until the new moon.”
“How by the Teeth do you keep such things in your head? Did you memorise the Hallencloister’s almanack or something?”
Allazar sniffed. “I am a wizard. It’s my thankless job to know such things.”
“Then it’ll be dark on the plains tomorrow night, too.”
“Yes.”
A sudden impact, and a jerking of a chain, and there, in the light from the casket lamps and the fires, the shadow, enveloping the box and holding it six inches above the ground, the chain straining and shuddering, the creature pulsing violently, but as Allazar brought a light to bear, the casket dropped back to the ground with a solid thump. The creature was gone.
“It’s using the fallen trunk as direct path to the Orb!” Allazar cried out. “It can pass through the trunk but light cannot!”
“And it suffered the lamps on the casket too. It’s becoming bolder in its desperation.”
“Still it did not attack through the fires, Raheen. Perhaps it fears the hot light from them more than the cold glow of the stones in the lamps?”
“Indeed. Ognorm, heave a few more brands out that way, where you and the men freed the casket. With luck and a fair breeze, all that fallen wood will take light.”
“Arr, melord!”
An hour passed, and the creature remained unseen. Smoke wafted up from the brands heaved out alongside the fallen trunk, wood smouldering, and an occasional flame licking up through the mist.
“A little over four hours until dawn,” Allazar announced, and yawned.
“Yes,” Gawain agreed, clenching and unclenching his fists, watching them as though they belonged to somebody else. “And still the night is clear. Sunrise will be welcome this day. If we’re still here to see it, I believe I might make a Remembrance. For Jerryn’s sake, as well as all the others. It’s been a long time since I have.”
“I’d noticed.”
“I try to keep the customs of my people alive, Allazar, but sometimes it’s hard. When this is over, I think we’ll fetch Elayeen and visit our people in Arrun.”
“Yes, that would be good. Arrun is a gentle land, and it’ll be summer by the time we reach Tarn. A good time of the year for travelling in the east.”
Gawain sighed, and stared at the Orb casket, and then at his hands.
“Do you really think this lack of feeling will pass, Allazar?”
“That is my hope. You have overcome deadly poison before, after all.”
“This is different. This is an affliction from a creature made long after the eldenbeards were dust. The irony of it just occurred to me, though. All this time, Elayeen commanding me to touch her not, and now, if she were to relent, and allow it, I couldn’t feel her. Not her hair, not her face, not her hand nor her skin.”
“It shall pass.”
“Is that the word of the Word?”
“It is.”
“I spy, with my little eye…” Gawain spoke a little louder.
“Stop it, Longsword, lest the praetorians believe you mad.”
“I’ve had another thought, though,” Gawain announced, frowning, and this time he did attract everyone’s attention.
“What?”
“If it used the fallen trunk and the broken stump to travel through, in order to avoid the light in its attempt upon the Orb?”
“Yes?”
“It could be sitting there now, within the stump, a short root’s length from the casket, feeding, and we wouldn’t see it.”
“Ah. What do you suggest?”
“I could hit it with my sword?”
“We could try to set fire to the stump, melord?”
“You’re becoming rather too fond of fire, methinks, Ognorm.”
“We could leave it where it is, if indeed it’s there,” Allazar suggested. “With four more hours until daylight, if it’s content to remain where it does us no harm, why should we provoke it?”
“Because the weaker it is tomorrow, the less likely it is to pursue us out onto the plains. Besides, if it learns how to hide from light within trees, what is to prevent it tracking us through the forest after sunrise?”
“Of course, we don’t know for certain that it is there at all.”
“True. Can you not simply loose your white fire upon the stump to test the theory?”
“I could, Longsword, but that would probably result in the root to which the casket is chained being shattered, giving the beast the opportunity to take the Orb and carry it off.”
“Dwarfspit.”
“It may not be there at all,” Allazar repeated, “It could simply be the threat of it, like the Kiromok, playing on your mind.”
“Would you like the Stick of Raheen playing on yours? I learned a few tunes at The Chattering Magpie I could bang out.”
“It is a large stump, Longsword, and the trunk of the darkwood tree old and broad of girth. I do not think your whacking it with your sword nor my poking it with white fire will avail us, even if the beast lurks within.”
Ognorm tossed a burning brand so it landed between the casket and the tilted stump, the flame flickering and adding a surreal cast to the dark earth exposed around the root-ripped soil.
“Yonder, Serre!” Prester announced, pointing away to the south, and there they saw the creature, squat, rippling, and looking greatly diminished in size since the first time they’d encountered it.
“Bugger it,” Ognorm sighed, “Waste of a good firebrand.”
“Shall I light it, Longsword?”
“No, keep watch. But be ready to light it up should it advance.”
“It’s moving, heading towards the far end of the fallen tree.”
“Allazar.”
The wizard loosed a candle low into the space between the fallen trunk and the shadow, and at once the creature fled.
“We can’t allow it to learn the use of the trunk to approach us,” Gawain sighed. “Keep good watch.”
“More’n a few big bits of wood smouldering out there, melord. I could bung a few more out, if it catches an’ the trunk starts to burn…”
“If it doesn’t, there’ll be so much smoke the shadow won’t need to use the tree as a conduit. No, Ognorm, we’ll leave what’s burning out there and let nature take its course, but for now, keep all these fires well fed. There’s only one way in here now, and if we can keep that covered until dawn, all well and good.”
Allazar’s candle sputtered beneath the mist, and winked out. Daybreak, they knew, would be a long time coming.
oOo
56. The Last Miles
The Light of Aemon shone brightly on the casket until, finally, the sky through the immense hole in the canopy took on a paler shade of grey. Watching Allazar leaning on the staff while its cone of cold white light illuminated the Orb, it was easy for Gawain to imagine Arramin hunched over some immense tome, reading for hours into the night by a similar light. But although it seemed to take no effort at all on the wizard’s behalf, Allazar’s frequent yawns and the bags under his eyes told a different story.
Finally, when the wizard swung his staff to his other shoulder and then extinguished the light, the trunk of the fallen darkwood tree gave an immense shudder, as if something beneath it had suddenly subsided, and then all was still.
“By the Spire!” Prester gasped, “It must’ve been lurking under there somewhere, taking what succour it could!”
“Aye,” Loryan spat, “And none of us any the wiser!”
“It’s no-one’s fault,” Gawain sighed, “We’re all tired. The thing could have oozed below the mist and under the length of the fallen trunk, and even the sharpest of eyes would not have seen it. At least the fires and Allazar’s light kept it from the casket, and from us.”
“Arr, that’s true. How’s yer ‘ands, melord, if’n you don’t mind me asking?”
“I cannot feel them, nor my arms below the elbows. And they’re still a bright crimson and red.”
“Better than green and black, Raheen.”
“True, Imperator, very true. Reesen?”
The elf shrugged, his eyes still red, though he could open them a little wider now. “Sleepy,” was all he managed, and stood, and stretched.
“We’re all tired,” Gawain agreed, “But with luck we’ll make the plains by early evening, and the men will find us in time for all of us to get well clear of the forest by nightfall.”
“There’s a fingernail of moon to the east through the trees, Longsword, we should probably wait for the sun’s light to blot it out before leaving the protection of the fires.”
No-one was particularly anxious to gainsay the wizard, and though packs were shouldered and a frugal breakfast taken in silence, none seemed keen to commence their inevitable run though the murky gloom of the forest. The sky lightened by degrees, stars slowly fading as a bluer hue tinted the grey, and not a cloud could be seen. It was cold, and breezes began to swirl lightly through the trees around them.
“Douse the fires, melord?”
“No, leave them, Ognorm. Let them burn down.” And the whole vakin forest with them, for all I care Gawain added, silently. “We’ll not waste time on them. Allazar, please ask Reesen if he’s fit to take point again, I
’m concerned that our deadweasel Agomak demGoth may have seeded another trap-line between us and the freedom of the plains.”
After a short exchange, Allazar translated the elf’s assurances, and when welcome beams of sunshine began spearing through the treetops to the east, the Orbquest abandoned their night-camp. Limbs and joints ached, muscles screamed in silent protest, and even Ognorm of Ruttmark’s smile was noticeable by its absence, the weight of the Orb on his back no burden perhaps, but the lack of sleep finally taking its toll.
The going was hard. Not for the terrain, which was as flat and unobstructed as Gawain had promised, but for bodies pushed to extremes and a lack of meaningful rest. Still, they ran as well as they could, Reesen peering ahead of them through half-shut eyes still an angry red, all of them half-expecting the agony of a Spikebulb, or worse, at any moment.
The creaking of pack-straps and their own heavy footfalls on the spongy forest floor created a rhythm into which all of them settled, their breathing a softer counterpoint, like the snorting of asthmatic horses over the thundering of hooves. Gawain’s training and instincts protested at the noise they were making, though he felt sure everyone knew their passage was far too loud for any degree of sensible caution. But the plains were near, or at least seemed to be, and the enemy to their rear.
They paused at the first stream they came to that was deep enough for containers to be replenished, drinks to be taken, and hands and faces washed. But the pause was short-lived, the desire to escape the oppressive forest greater than the desire simply to curl up on the ground and sleep. All of them felt the extra weight of their water skins and canteens when the run resumed.
Sunshine, an ally against the shadow-creature of Calhaneth, was also a curse, flickering through the trees and canopy, dancing in their eyes, half blinding them, making of the world a flashing red, black and blue collage of light and shadow which only Reesen seemed able to ignore. It was only much later, when the sun had risen higher above the treetops, that the stroboscopic and dazzling effect diminished, leaving them all grateful for a return of normal vision, and infinitely more appreciative of Reesen’s ability to guide them at pace.