by GJ Kelly
At noon, they slowed to a walk, unbuttoning tunics to admit what cooling breezes there were, eating and drinking hastily, peering ahead through the trees in the hope of catching a glimpse of greensward, even though they all knew the plains were, by Gawain’s estimation, four more hours at the run.
Allazar, walking to Ognorm’s left, glanced across at Gawain and caught sight of the grimace on the young man’s face. Gawain had been paring a slice of frak and the sight of his own hands and arms made him pause. The skin was crimson, with blotches of a paler red. The fact that fingers and hands still responded to their owner’s commands was a source of great relief to all of them. No-one spoke. It would’ve been a waste of energy which they might yet need before they reached the plains. Twenty minutes after their walking lunch-break, Gawain gave a red-handed signal, and they began running once more.
Birds began to proliferate, flitting away with calls of alarm at their approach, and their sounds and their presence lifted spirits; there was life here, other than their own, and the funereal silence which had enveloped them for days was finally broken. And then, mid-afternoon, Reesen suddenly held up a hand, and came to a halt.
Hearts already pounding from the run beat a little faster, and men struggled to quiet their laboured breathing. Reesen squatted, peering forward, moving a little from side to side, taking paces this way and that, and then he turned to them, a broad grin plastered all over his face.
“No trees, close, miThal! Grassen sky close!”
Faces split into grins, immense sighs were released, shoulders were slapped and arms clasped.
“We need to move cautiously,” Gawain announced, still breathing hard, “There may be pit-traps hereabouts, best move carefully, just in case.”
“Pit-traps?” Berek asked, eyebrows arched in surprise.
Gawain saw the sudden look of concern flit across Allazar’s face and elected not to reveal the reason why the edge of the forest might be seeded with Jurian traps. “Small ones, big enough for a foot, no more. Not as bad as a Spikebulb, but unpleasant nevertheless. Come, were nearly there.”
The last mile to the edge of the forest was made far quicker than any sensible caution would have demanded. Ferns, brambles and saplings began to obstruct the avenues between the older trees, and even the burgeoning undergrowth seemed not to retard their progress as much as it had when the Orbquest had first entered the forest. Finally, with spirits soaring in spite of bodies wracked with aches and pains, they burst onto the plains, sprinting a hundred yards clear of the tree line in sheer exaltation.
“Blue sky!” Prester cried, “By the Spire! Blue skies and good green grass!”
Men collapsed onto that soft and verdant land, grinning, some laughing, some crying tears of unashamed joy.
“Welcome to Juria,” Gawain managed, at last. “Welcome to the east.”
It was March 10th, and save for the three Gorians who had endured the forest for longer, the Orbquest had been ten days without clear sight of the sky, or a far horizon.
They allowed themselves twenty minutes rest, sitting there facing the forest for caution’s sake, fighting sleep in the early evening sunshine.
“Two hours or thereabouts before sunset,” Gawain judged, and Allazar agreed with his assessment of the time left to them. “We’re a fair way north of where we entered and left the camp. Pity we don’t have a maroon to send up.”
“Damn it, we could have taken the enemy’s,” Berek sighed, adding with a wry smile: “It would probably be dry by now.”
Gawain and the men chuckled, and then began the painful chore of forcing themselves up onto their feet.
“If the shadow can leave the forest, it will. And we need to keep going. Southeast. But let’s not kill ourselves with haste.”
Half an hour later they heard an unmistakable whoosh! and then the concussion of a maroon to the south, and saw a green ball of smoke in the far distance. Below it, a speck on the horizon, growing larger.
“One man, one orse,” Reesen announced. “One orsen rider.”
Gawain smiled. “The men must’ve put out patrols north and south in case we emerged as we did far from their camp. We’ll keep to our heading, the maroon will have summoned the rest of them, and in the time it takes for them to arrive, we can put more distance between us and that Dwarfspit vakin forest.”
Ten minutes later, a rather grubby-looking red-headed and familiar Callodon guardsman brought his galloping horse to a walk alongside the steadily-jogging Orbquest.
“My lord! Well met, my lord!”
“Well met, Vinn,” Gawain smiled, slowing to a halt. “How far are we from camp?”
“Five miles north, or thereabouts, from where you went in, a couple further east,” And then Vinn caught sight of the Gorian uniforms. “My lord…”
“Peace, Vinn, these are allies in our quest, and have my safe-conduct. We need to keep moving, a foul creature pursues us and we must put as much distance between us and the forest as we can before nightfall.”
“A creature? Dwarfspit… I’ll send up another signal and then ride to meet the lads halfway, and chivvy them up, my lord!”
“Do so, Vinn, we’ll turn due east again in the meantime.”
Vinn rode clear, dismounted, and a minute later another maroon burst high overhead, this time blossoming bright red. The rider mounted, and charged away to the southwest, leaving the Orbquest jogging, painfully but manfully, to the east.
Less than an hour later the escort thundered up from the southwest, ten riders, including the original four who’d escorted Gawain’s group from Castletown to the forest. Five riderless but saddled horses, including a prancing and delighted Gwyn, and five packhorses.
“My lords!” Ekerd announced, delighted to see the Orbquest, though clearly uncomfortable at the presence of the three Gorians.
“Ekerd. Has Vinn explained our haste?”
“He has, my lord, something about being pursued by a creature?”
“Yes. We must make the most of the horses while it’s safe to ride. You’ll need to re-distribute the supplies on two of your packhorses. Imperator Berek will take Major Jerryn’s horse, well need two more for praetorians Loryan and Prester here.”
“Major Jerryn…?”
“Fell, and with honour. Quickly now, Ekerd, we have no time to waste. We’ll take a course ten points south of east for as long as it’s safe to ride. The more miles we can put between us and the forest, the better the chance of all of us surviving to see sunrise tomorrow.”
“You heard his Majesty!” a pale-faced Ekerd shouted at the riders behind him, “Jump to it!”
Ekerd dismounted, dishevelled, grubby, unshaven, and doubtless reeking far less than did the seven of the Orbquest. Men hurried to shift packs and sacks of supplies, rushing to prepare two of the packhorses for riding.
“We loosed two pigeons, my lord, as instructed by Captain Tyrane. Resupply party from Castletown brought no news since you entered the forest. We’ve been undisturbed, haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone or anything since you left. My lord, are you well? You all look like kak.”
“We all feel worse than we look, believe me…”
“Horses ready, m’lords!”
Ekerd waved an acknowledgement.
“Come then,” Gawain sighed, “Let’s ride these last miles before darkness as if the light of the world depended upon it. And make no mistake, it does.”
It felt good. If Gawain had been asked, he would cheerfully have admitted it, in spite of their circumstances. It felt good to be in the saddle and thundering across the rolling plains of Juria, leaving the dread of that ‘spitsucking forest behind them. He had to restrain Gwyn, the mighty Raheen charger filled with boundless energy and joy at Gawain’s return, and too long idle in camp. But when his own elation faded, Gwyn felt his exhaustion and discomfort, and then felt his anxiety growing as shadows lengthened before them.
The packhorses would tire soon too, laden as they were with supplies for the eight-day journey t
o Porthmorl, and so Gawain reluctantly slowed the pace even more. Ekerd and the men of Callodon took positions around the seven of the quest, and they took positions around Ognorm of Ruttmark and the casket snug in his rucksack. The rolling plains of lush grasses and squat blisters of gorse were, to the seven, both blessing and curse. Blessing, for they were free of the gloom and threat of the forest and the trees that barred their way. Curse, for there was absolutely nothing now but distance, a tired wizard, and a handful of lamps to stand between the Orb and the shadow they knew would be waiting for darkness to fall.
oOo
57. Echoes
The sky began to take on a leaden hue, and Gawain considered riding through the night. The horses were fresh enough and could sustain a walk or a trot across the verdant plains with relative ease. But the brighter stars were already beginning to prick the vast bowl of the heavens around them, and though his body was exhausted, his mind seemed unnaturally sharp.
At length, he saw an expanse of gentle grass unbroken by gorse or shrubs of any kind, and a shimmering silvery ribbon of a stream meandering through it, and there, to everyone’s surprise, he called them to a halt, with instructions to let the horses drink and only thereafter to cross to the eastern bank.
“My lord,” Ekerd announced, “The skies are clear tonight, we can continue a goodly distance in safety in this terrain.”
“I know. But I also know the speed with which the creature pursuing us can travel. I’ll not have it tearing through our horses from the rear, leaving us on foot and wreaking havoc amongst us. Starlight or no, the creature will be desperate, and fighting for its very existence.”
“With no mist, Raheen, and no cloud this night, the shadow may succumb before it can reach us here.”
“Unless as you suspected it can travel below the ground, Berek.”
“There are no sewers or conduits to avail the creature here, Longsword.”
“I know. But I will take no chances. Ekerd, do you have anything by way of spikes that may be driven deep into the soil?”
“Tent-pegs, my lord, of steel. But they’re short, only six or eight inches.”
“We need something to secure the casket.”
“I got one o’ them mooring-spikes, melord, but that ain’t much more’n eight inches too.”
“It’ll have to do,” Gawain sighed, as a familiar and long-dead voice whispered inside his head again...
Be creative, y’highness! Have you assessed your enemy? Have you deduced what qualities he lacks and exploited them?
Gawain nodded and drew his aching shoulders back. “Cross the stream, ten yards of no-man’s land between it and the casket. I want a shortsword hammered into the ground to within an inch of the hilt, Ognorm to secure the chain to that and use whatever else is available to assist in preventing the casket being carried away.”
“Arr, melord, can do.”
“I want a fence of shortswords circling the casket, edges outermost. The shadow cannot pass through steel and swords will not avail us otherwise here. Stick ‘em in half way so they can be pulled out in the morning, they might come in handy later on our journey to the port. Fix lamps on them and around the casket. Light, Ekerd, is our only effective weapon against the creature, and here on the plains we have no other defence against it. Move quickly, men, and then we’ll withdraw to the east again.”
Men of the Callodon Guard set to, gently easing the exhausted men of the quest out of the way, and eyeing the Gorians with a mixture of distrust and distaste.
“This is Callodon,” Joss, the tallest of them, announced firmly. “It’ll be Callodon steel guards the box this night.”
“Very well,” Gawain called, “Prester, Loryan, come, leave them and Ognorm to it. We’ll need the horses and supplies led away to safety.”
Berek moved to stand a little closer to Gawain, and spoke softly in spite of the noise of blades being pounded into the soil.
“The men of this land do not care for us, Raheen. I would we hadn’t burned our peasant’s garb for torches in the forest. The sight of our uniform rankles, it seems.”
Gawain nodded. “I can’t command men’s feelings, Berek. Callodon has long held the Jarn Gap against what they believe to be Imperial forces these past sixteen years. They and Raheen lost good men at Pellarn. Villages all along the coast have suffered too, at the hands of slavers and pirates. There’s a long history of Gorian abuse in Callodon’s memory.
“I don’t wish to offend, as I’m sure you well know, but perhaps it’s best if you have a quiet word with Loryan and Prester, and have them stay close to us, and quiet, ‘twixt here and your homeland. We’re all exhausted, it would be easy for any of us to say or do something which might cause unintentional repercussions.”
“Understood.” The Imperator began to move away, but Gawain spoke softly again.
“Berek, I gave you all my word. Whether there, in the dead city of Calhaneth, here on the plains of Juria and Callodon, or on the decks a ship at sea, my word remains immutable.”
“Safe passage through eastern lands, and to the west.” Berek whispered.
“And my string and steel for any who would oppose us.”
Berek nodded his gratitude, and Gawain watched while Ognorm knelt and began pounding in the mooring-spike and tent-pegs to secure the casket chain to the makeshift stake of a Callodon shortsword driven deep into the ground.
When all was done, the casket secured and brightly lit within a tight ring of steel, the men retired, and eyed the spectacle from the relative safety of fifty yards of open ground. Horses were left saddled in the event they might be needed for a rapid flight or pursuit, camp stoves were produced and pans of stew set to cooking over charcoal, and salt pork wrapped in slightly stale unleavened bread given to the seven weary and footsore men while they waited for the hot main course to cook.
They ate ravenously, Gawain too, the taste of something other than frak almost cracking his face when he bit in to the tangy sandwich.
“Whuff nn the thtuu,” Allazar mumbled, chewing furiously. “What’s in the stew, Serre Ekerd?”
“Alas, Serre wizard, it’s only humble fare. Plains rabbit and veggies.”
“Oh!” the wizard gasped, “Rabbit! Isn’t it wonderful, Longsword!”
Gawain shook his head in mock disdain, finishing his salt pork and eyeing the glowing casket sitting alone in its ring of sharp steel to the west.
Later, when six of the seven were sleeping, in spite of their efforts to stay awake while their escort stood a quiet watch, Gawain frowned, eyes fixed on the casket. His hands and arms were still a garish and blotched crimson, and still entirely without feeling. He’d even poked his finger into the steaming stew on his plate, but felt nothing, and was roundly but politely chastised by the wizard for doing so; just because he couldn’t feel pain, Allazar had said, didn’t mean it wasn’t there, hurt and harm being done to flesh. It was why, Allazar reminded him, the character of Issilene in Elayeen’s fable had left the seven sons of Yargo able to feel pain, after all.
Elayeen’s words came back to him so clearly he could almost feel the warmth from Rak’s fire, and see her sitting before it, her knees drawn up under her chin…
Pain they knew, for it warned of injury and allowed them to rest and to heal, the better to hunt again.
He would have to be careful.
A good commander will always avail himself of rest whenever the opportunity arises, for he will know that such opportunities are rare once the enemy is engaged.
Yes, Gawain thought, And thank you, Captain Hass. I missed you after the battle. Where did you go, when the fighting was done and we retired to Tarn?
But there was no reply, only a curious warmth which tugged gently at Gawain, and finally, drew him into sleep…
Jerryn, Major, Royal Jurian Guard.
Bek, General, Royal Jurian Cavalry.
Hern, Flag Major, Callodon Heavy Cavalry
My lord
Brek, of Thurmount
Jok, of
Thurmount
My lord…
Rocknoggin, of Thurmount
“My lord!”
Gawain’s eyes snapped open.
“My lord! Something hovers beyond the stream!”
It was Ekerd, hissing a quiet warning, and there where he pointed, shimmering in the deep grey wash of starlight on the far side of the stream, the shadow of Calhaneth pulsed, and shivered.
Gawain pushed himself to his feet, his back and legs screaming in protest, and he picked up the longsword to prod the sleeping wizard. It took two sharp pokes with the weapon before Allazar stirred, blinked, and finally, realising where he was, woke with a start. One by one the members of the quest were woken, and stood, blinking and yawning, and then, features set grim, they closed ranks behind Gawain and the wizard.
“It’s a lot smaller than before!” Ognorm whispered.
“And the lamps are bright, thanks to the storm-lanterns and their oil,” Allazar agreed.
“Are you up to a launching a candle, Allazar?”
“I think so, Longsword.”
“Low, then, and flat, so it bursts upon the ground in the no-man’s land before the stream. Can you manage that?”
Allazar shrugged. “In truth, I know not. Even my bones are tired.”
“I know. It doesn’t have to light the sky from here to Jarn or anything so grand. Just push the creature back towards the forest.”
“The forest is some twenty miles away, Longsword, I don’t think I can make a candle bright enough to drive it that far.”
“As long as it knows it’s not getting the Orb.”
“Very well.”
Allazar took a deep breath, lowered the staff, and a fizzing orange ball shot some forty yards before bursting a brilliant white and seeming to bounce along the ground over the casket and towards the stream.