by GJ Kelly
When, finally, it faltered and flickered out, no sign of the shadow could be seen, and in the cool grey light from an ocean of stars above them, visibility was surprisingly good.
“It looked to be shivering,” Loryan announced.
“Aye,” Prester agreed. “Like it was cold.”
“Trembling, more like,” Gawain asserted. “Burning in the starlight, weak and starving. Ekerd, what lights we have must be kept well-lit.
“Aye, my lord, though there’s only open flame from the stove now, unless we commence to burning spare clothing and the tents. All our lanterns are yonder, with the box.”
Gawain nodded, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Very well, we shan’t need to go that far I hope, not while the Keeper of the Stick can make a light or two.”
“Assuming,” Allazar whispered, “The Keeper of the Stick can stay awake.”
“You had rabbit stew for dinner, you bloody whitebeard. I thought rabbit was wizard fuel? You should be able to run from here to Porthmorl on that, never mind shine a Light of Aemon out that way.”
“Hardly,” Allazar sniffed.
“There my lords!” Malko called, pointing slightly to the north, “It returns, slowly!”
Return it did, and slowly, keeping to the west bank of the stream, moving steadily, pulsing as it did, until it stood once more facing the Orb across the ribbon of silvery water and ten yards of no-man’s land. And there it sat, and began its curious shivering again.
A snort and a snuffle from Gwyn was echoed by the rest of the horses, animals becoming restless and uneasy even though the shadow was close to seventy yards from them. One of the escort could be heard muttering soothing words to try to calm them, when suddenly the shadow shot forward, only to slam into the makeshift fence of swords.
“By the Teeth it moves quick!” Ekerd gasped, the shadow straining for the casket, shivering and oozing around the blades that barred its progress, before suddenly it withdrew to the edge of the area lit by the lamps, and slowly circled the casket before returning to its position beyond the stream.
“Allazar, can you manage another?”
The wizard presented his staff, and mumbled, and another ball of orange light flew forward, but fell short, skittering along the ground before bursting into light some ten yards their side of the casket.
“Apologies, Longsword,” Allazar sighed.
“None needed. It had the desired effect. I saw the creature speed due west.”
“Aye,” Berek agreed, “And overland all the way. Perhaps it cannot pass beneath the soil as we thought it might.”
Gawain shrugged, and regretted it, muscles protesting at the unexpected and unwelcome movement. “There’s gravel there in the bed of the stream. If it can’t pass through stone, then gravel and rocks in the soil would impede it too.”
“Slightly to the south,” someone, one of the escort, whispered urgently, and they saw it there, moving closer.
Again, the shadow creature stopped on the west bank of the stream, and commenced its curious vibrating. And then sounds began to emanate as if from the very air around the creature, quiet at first, and then becoming louder.
Awful sounds. The crackling and roaring of fire, the collapse of walls and columns, distant screams and the rising of an immense, roaring wind.
And then it was silent.
“By the Spire!” Prester gasped, “That’s what we heard on the way to the dead city!”
“Those are the sounds which the creature has heard every day of its existence, at noon, in the city of Calhaneth,” Allazar announced.
“Why is it making them? Is it a threat?”
“I believe it is trying to speak to us in some way. I do not think it is threatening us. I believe it may be pleading with us.”
“Begging for food…?”
Again the creature began shivering and vibrating, and another cacophony began to fill the air…
The snap-fluttering of lightning and the sickening thuds of its impact on flesh, men and women screaming, burning, running, the shattering of glass and the whoosh of fireballs billowing from now-vacant windows…
Theo! Theo! This way! Run! In Stanas’ name run for your life!
Peeta! Peeta don’t leave me!
Leeyana! This way! This way!
Yathami! Yathami! Eem Fyeran! Eem Fyeran!
“By the Teeth, Allazar, end it!” Gawain gasped, men clutching hands to their ears, the sounds of Calhaneth dying all about them on the air. “Light it up! Light it up!”
Allazar thrust forward the Dymendin, and a cone of Aemon’s Light shone bright, pure and white, and silenced the creature, sending it speeding away to the west again.
Men, teeth clenched, trembled, heads shaking in disbelief at the sounds they had heard as the light from the wizard’s staff winked out.
“Can you manage the light again, when it returns?”
“Yes, Longsword, I believe I can, if it is in short measures. I have no desire to hear those sounds again, nor the endless screaming of names in that firestorm. Echoes they may be, but once, they were real.”
Time dragged by, its passage marked only by the stirring of gentle breezes and the occasional shooting star in the crystal-clear night sky. Eyes, some tired, others fresh, all alert, scanned the horizon around them.
“There, due west, it comes again, even slower this time,” Berek announced. “And it is diminished further still. There is no mist to shield it from the stars, no canopy overhead to block their light, no trees in which to lurk unseen and protected from the light which harms it.”
“Let it wither and die,” Gawain announced with great passion, “For all the lives it has taken, wittingly or otherwise! Let it wither and die!”
“Aye,” Prester spat, “May the stars roast its miserable arse!”
“And the staff. Light it up, Allazar, the moment it draws near the stream.”
“Aye.”
The shadow, pulsing quickly as though gasping for breath, drew closer, and then with an astonishing turn of speed lunged once more at the casket, slamming into the sharp fence of Callodon blades, reaching vainly for the Morgmetal box and its contents, suffering unknown agonies from the lamps and lanterns which with the container was bedecked. And then Allazar loosed his Light of Aemon, and the creature fled, but this time, slow enough for them to watch its lurching progress westward, back towards the forest of its unnatural birth.
An hour passed with no further sign of the shadow of Calhaneth, and the men of the Orbquest settled once more for sleep, leaving men of Callodon, eyes wide, watching well, until sunrise.
oOo
58. Friendly Faces
“Is it dead, do you think, Serre?” Loryan asked over a mug of hot breakfast wine and a handful of salt pork sandwich.
“If not, perhaps it soon will be.”
“Mmff,” Allazar swallowed, “It is possible that some residual emanations remain in or around the broken tower of Calhaneth, but if or for how long that may be so, I do not know. But I believe we have seen the last of it, and, it is my sincere hope, the last of that dread city. May Calhaneth know the peace of nature’s reclamation, undisturbed by all save the woodland creatures which shall one day thrive there once more.”
They were sitting near the no-man’s land by the stream, the casket reclaimed and snug in Ognorm’s pack, the sword which had been its stake still stuck to its hilt in the ground nearby. Fresh clothes had been distributed from the packs, all of Callodon cheapcloth, nothing remotely remarkable which might attract attention. Gawain made sure the Gorians had first pick, larger clothes and cloaks being worn over their Imperial uniforms to hide their identity from any casual gaze. The men of the Callodon escort, though, knew what lay beneath the bland traveller’s garb they wore, and though they kept their opinions to themselves, their expressions spoke volumes in spite of their respect and admiration for Gawain.
“What now, Raheen? What is the plan?”
“Now, Berek, we run straight for Porthmorl and the ship
waiting for us there in the harbour. Scouts will now be sweeping the path from Callodon Castletown towards us, and others moving ahead of us from there to the port. The ship will be readied for our arrival while we’re heading southeast. We won’t be passing near any habitations until we approach the port.”
“How long will the journey take?”
“Eight days, or thereabouts. If the skies remain as clear as they were last night, perhaps less. We’ll be able to press on well after nightfall if the weather is kind.”
“Do you expect us to be opposed?”
“No. Though I also did not expect to be opposed in the forest, so caution is still needed until that thing on Ognorm’s back makes a splash far offshore.”
Berek nodded, and Gawain studied them all over the rim of his cup. Dark shadows under the eyes, though Reesen’s were clearing and the small blisters around them fading fast. Features were gaunt, hair matted and faces grubby in spite of a hurried wash in the stream. They had all endured much, and not even the scrape of a sharp blade to remove straggly beards had succeeded in improving their wild and strangely disturbing aspect.
“We’ll move at the canter and then at the trot, and those of us who can should try to sleep in the saddle. We’ve a good escort, and hard as it is, we should allow them to do their duty and take what rest we can on the move. Ognorm in the centre as always.”
“Reesen go point, miThal,” the elf asserted.
“Eyes good, mifrith?”
“Isst, miThal, eyes good, see good.”
Gawain nodded an acknowledgement. The Ranger had taken more sleep than the rest of them, but not by much. Still, the Graken brought down near Harks Hearth spoke of the need for continued watchfulness by the Sight of the Eldenelves, and Reesen was professional enough to alert his commander should he ever feel unable to perform his duties.
After breakfast, and with the supplies packed away, they took to the saddle, and began the journey to the southeast, and the Sea of Hope.
During the night of March 12th, at the end of their second full day on the plains, Reesen quietly announced seeing life-lights at the extent of his range, passing to the west of them and moving slowly north. He couldn’t say how many there were, the distance being too great to judge numbers. No-one seemed overly alarmed, but the Callodon escort remained alert as ever on night-watch.
All of them found their spirits were greatly improved; good food, fresh air, the wide horizons and above all, plenty of sleep and rest bringing smiles to faces and comfort to aching joints and muscles. Only Gawain’s hands and arms showed little sign of improvement; both were still entirely without feeling of any kind, though the paler blotches seemed to be growing and the crimson skin diminishing as a result. Allazar re-applied the Eeelan t’oth, though whether it helped his strange wounds Gawain could not say. One thing he was happy to share in common with all of them, and that was the joy of being able now to allow horses to do the work of carrying them.
The next morning, an hour or more after breakfast and heading southeast at the trot once more, Reesen announced the approach of two riders, this time from the east, and heading directly towards them. When the riders drew closer, Gawain called a halt, and waved a greeting, which was promptly returned.
“Friends of ours,” Gawain explained for the benefit of those who didn’t know Rollaf and Terryn, the scouts reining in a respectful distance and then walking their horses closer, grinning like village idiots.
“Well met, milord!” Rollaf beamed.
“Aye, well met, milord!” Terryn grinned.
“Been throwing a loop around you. Not seen anything. Swept the way from headquarters when word arrived. Got a letter from Major Tyrane, milord.”
Rollaf drew the letter from his tunic, and leaned from the saddle to hand it to Gawain. “Been a bit o’ trouble north, up near Juria, so we heard. Maybe the letter tells more about it.”
“Aye, bit o’ trouble. Up ‘round Dun Meven, milord.” Terryn nodded.
“Anyway, letter probably tells about it. We’re under orders, milord, keep the way clear, here to Porthmorl. We got red maroons, me and Terryn. Only ones we got. You see red, it’s us giving warning. Anything else, ain’t us.”
“Aye, won’t see us again milord, not ‘til Porthmorl.”
“Aye,” Rollaf announced, “We got our orders. We’ll cast the loops clear to Porthmorl. Won’t see us again ‘til then. Except the Ranger might.”
“Aye, except the Ranger.”
Gawain smiled at the two men, unable to get a word in if he’d wanted to. Finally, when it was clear the two Callodon scouts had finished, he nodded.
“Thank you, Rollaf, thank you Terryn. It’s good to see you both again. I hope you rested well after your return from Tarn?”
“Aye,” Rollaf grinned, “We did. Big party in Castletown. Good to be back throwing loops for you again though, milord.”
“And good to know it’s you doing it. We mean to pass clear to the west of Castletown, midway between there and Jarn, then swing slightly east to Porthmorl.”
“Aye milord. Bit more traffic on the Jarn path lately. Good idea to cross it at night I reckon.”
“Aye, at night milord.”
“Trouble in the west?”
Rollaf shrugged. “Spring supplies to General Igorn, bit more activity northwest of Jarn too, the lads say. Maybe it’s in the letter, milord.”
“Very well. I’ll read it on the move.”
“We got our orders, milord, by your leave?”
Gawain smiled again, and nodded. The scouts were once again wearing the Black and Gold, once more under Tyrane’s command, and anxious to do their duty. He gave a brief salute to acknowledge theirs, and then, grinning once more, the two men rode away to the north before splitting, one looping slowly back around to the east, the other to the west.
“Trouble near Dun Meven?” Allazar grumbled. “Perhaps an allusion to the demGoth you and Reesen hunted down in the hills to the south of there?”
“Perhaps Tyrane’s letter will give us some details, Allazar. In the meantime, let’s move on. We’ve a box to get rid of.”
Tyrane’s letter was disturbing, though seemed to contain no immediate cause for alarm where the Orbquest and its journey to Porthmorl was concerned:
My Lord,
I have appointed guardsmen Rollaf and Terryn as scouts to sweep the path from Castletown to you, and thence to Porthmorl. Others have gone ahead from here to the port as we discussed in the presence of his Majesty before your departure. Word has also been sent directly to Capt. Balhaggan, and the Melusine will be ready to sail when you arrive.
I have the honour to report that his Majesty has appointed me to represent Callodon in overseeing matters aboard the vessel and, in consequence of that appointment, I am pleased to tell you that I shall meet you in person at the docks. You may rest assured that all will be in order and in readiness for your arrival and subsequent speedy departure.
Riders have recently arrived from Threlland bearing several copies of Serre wizard Allazar’s Compendium, and his Majesty’s scribes have commenced making more copies of the same for distribution to appropriate personnel in his Majesty’s forces.
They also bore news of disturbing events in the hilly country around Dun Meven, on the Arrun side of the border as well as on Callodon’s; strange and dangerous plants have sprung up in that region. Reference to the new Compendium would seem to suggest they are Flagellweed of Tansee. We have also received reports of these plants appearing in the vineyards south of Juria’s Castletown.
Why the Dun Meven hills and the vineyards of Juria should be the target of such extraordinary enemy action defies minds far greater than my own, but the consensus is that sheer spite is the motive. His Majesty wishes you to know that a patrol will be sent northeast to investigate the extent of this contamination, and that when clement weather arrives in the region, a trustworthy wizard capable of white fire shall be dispatched to clear these dangerous weeds.
General Igorn ha
s reported increased activity along the western bank of the River Ostern in The Old Kingdom; he has described this activity as unusual, patrols apparently policing the river as if expecting our forces to attempt a crossing. His reports suggest that this activity is not limited to the region we know as the Jarn Gap, but the length of the Ostern clear to the South-halt. His Majesty has ordered increased vigilance in the region and has started re-supply to Igorn’s forces early.
No other news likely to be of any importance to your current undertaking has reached these ears at the time of writing; indeed, all has been quiet save for the foregoing.
It is his Majesty’s sincere hope, and my own, that soon we shall witness a successful and uneventful conclusion to the matter in hand.
Your Servant,
Tyrane, Capt., RCG
Gawain passed the letter to Allazar, and considered its content before easing Gwyn across to join Berek on Ognorm’s left flank.
“News from Callodon, Imperator,” he said quietly, “It seems there is increased activity on the west bank of the Ostern.”
“Indeed?”
“Patrols, apparently, described as policing the river, as if expecting an incursion.”
“Hmm,” Berek frowned. “Simanian forces doubtless looking for me and my men. The Goth-lord must have learned of our mission, or learned somehow of his wizards’ failure to obtain the device.”
“Let’s hope that’s all it is,” Gawain said softly. “But you may need to have another quiet word with your men. Callodonian forces are on increased alert in the region because of the activity in Pellarn. If they’re looking for you, as we both suspect they are, your journey home may be a difficult one.”
“Thank you, Raheen. The warning is much appreciated. I think we’ll worry about that when we’re on the ship and the box overboard. Until then, I’ll tell them men to keep their heads down should we encounter any more of Callodon’s forces between here and the ship.”
“Good idea.”