The Longsword Chronicles: Book 03 - Sight and Sound

by GJ Kelly

  “Can we be so close to it, then? I thought you said it would be late morning or afternoon before we encountered it.”

  Again, Arramin shrugged apologetically. “My calculations attempted to make account for stoppages on our journey, and the somewhat approximate distances mentioned in the references I have read describing these works, my lord. But there is a large margin for error.”

  “And it is night, Longsword, and the ridge rises above us like the walls of a tunnel, carrying the sound from afar.”

  “True,” Gawain conceded.

  “And,” Allazar added softly, “At the other wheel, to the south, the sound of its activation attracted the Razorwing from a great distance. I suspect the canal, being of stone and of water, and possessing its own mechanisms below, carries the sound of the wheel much farther than might air alone.”

  “Very well,” Gawain announced, his voice low but firm. “We’ll remain off the chain ‘til dawn gives us a better view of our surrounds. Tyrane and I shall pole us forward, Allazar if you would take the tiller?”

  “I shall.”

  “Keep us toward the middle of the canal. The rest of you should retire aft, try to sleep if you can, doze if you can’t. It’ll be light soon enough anyway.”

  Tyrane waited until Kahla helped Elayeen step down and away to the aft deckhouse before stepping down himself.

  “What do you think, m’lord? Elves?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I do not imagine it could be anyone else, my lords,” Arramin asserted. “The controls require to be operated in a certain order for the wheel to turn. Simply pulling levers and cranking handles at random would avail no-one of success. Yet the lack of lubrication suggests the operator is not competent.”

  “But why would they be trying to operate the wheel at all? Never mind at this time of night. Or morning.”

  “Alas, I cannot guess. My lords, if you wish, I can summon the light of Aemon, it would serve very well to illuminate our path for a goodly distance?”

  “No, thank you Arramin. It would also serve to alert eyeballs other than our own to our presence. We’ll pole away, and proceed cautiously in daylight. If there are elves at the wheel, I’d prefer not to surprise them into anything precipitous before my lady has a chance to speak to them.”

  “Of course, my lord,” And with a slight bow, Arramin retired aft.

  With Allazar at the tiller steering the barge, and with Gawain and Tyrane walking the poles, the vessel slid silently northward once more, though at a somewhat reduced pace.

  oOo

  16. Venn Emiya?

  Dawn seemed to take an age to lighten the sky and condemn the stars to obscurity once more, but when it finally came, wispy clouds promised a gentle day. The sheer sides of the cliffs rising above them curtailed their view of the world however, producing a kind of tunnel vision that goaded their frustration given that a threat lay unseen ahead of them. There had been no further noises from the north though, which while it was scant comfort was better than no comfort at all.

  The barge was poled to the west bank, and the two scouts nipped ashore to run ahead, fully armed and alert. The pause for the ladies’ convenience was short-lived, and the horses seemed genuinely puzzled at not being led ashore for exercise, even though they could see that the foliage on the banks was sparse and of poor quality at the foot of the cliffs.

  As soon as the barge was on the chain again, Elayeen took a prominent position in front of the forward deckhouse, and when Gawain asked her if elves at the wheel might react with defensive violence towards them at their sudden appearance on the canal, Eldengaze merely asserted again that none would bar their passage to Shiyanath.

  Gawain and Tyrane attempted to doze, sitting on the benches under the shade of the forward deckhouse roof, but it was futile. With the possibility of contact with Elvendere’s residents so close and so much sooner than anticipated, the brazier remained stowed in its compartment, and camp-pans of cold goat stew were too unappetising to contemplate. Those on day watch contented themselves with ancient honey-bars for breakfast, while Gawain shared his frak for supper with Tyrane.

  “How far are the scouts?” Gawain asked quietly.

  “About a mile, Longsword. Still in sight, and making no signals.”

  “They’ll signal if they see anything,” Tyrane asserted, “Then run like a Kiromok was after them if they do. There’s no cover for them to take advantage of, out there on the bank.”

  “At least with the game along the ridge we’ve bagged these last few days, we can be sure there are none of those dark creatures loose in these parts,” Allazar asserted.

  A long, drawn out squealing of protesting metal echoed eerily along the canal, louder than it had been when last they heard it. Arramin paced and muttered, clearly upset by the sound. But when half an hour had passed with no further repetition of the noise which set teeth and nerves on edge, the elderly wizard finally took a seat in the forward deckhouse, and settled.

  Gawain could find no peace in the relative silence which followed that single, nerve-jangling squeal from the north, and he certainly couldn’t sleep. Instead, he busied himself with his duties first to Gwyn, and then to the other horses aboard. They could feel the tension rising aboard the vessel, and were restless themselves as a result. The west bank slid by, and though the tow-path and the narrow strip of scrubby ground between it and the foot of the cliff were by no means inviting, to equine eyes they were much more to be desired than the metallic corral of the barge.

  Elayeen stood at the prow of the vessel, to the right of the tiller, facing north of course and with her ever-present bow resting on her left boot. Occasionally, she turned her head slightly to the west, watching the scouts when they eased forward, the two men keeping the distance between themselves and the vessel as constant as they could. They would jog ahead, then crouch and pause until the barge made up the distance, and then they’d set off again, and it was their movement which attracted the attention of Eldengaze.

  Allazar gently rested his hand on Gawain’s shoulder.

  “You should rest, Longsword. You had a long night’s watch.”

  “I know. But there may be trouble ahead and strangely enough, I’m not tired.”

  “And so you’ve spent the last two hours with brush, shovel and nose-bag attending every horse aboard.”

  Gawain shrugged. “Horses remind me of home, and are familiar friends. They have hard work ahead of them too, when we reach Ostinath. Assuming we get there.”

  “Assuming? Has something happened to give rise to such doubts?”

  “Tyrane reminded me last night where we are and what we are about. Truthfully, Allazar, we’ve all been so relieved at leaving that dread city in the south and putting more and more distance between us and it, we seem to have forgotten our purpose, or so it seems to me.”

  “It is this method of travel, I fear. There is a comfort to the regularity of the mechanism towing us from below, and the apparent dependability of its rumbling and clunking every thirty-three yards. With little to do but sit back and watch, it is easy to let go of cares and concerns.”

  “Yes. But we cannot simply abrogate our responsibilities and delegate the task of watchfulness to Eldengaze. As Tyrane has said, it is elves that wait ahead, not Morloch nor any spawn of his making. When we draw nearer the wheel, I’ll stand beside her with my arrowsilk cloak at the ready, no matter what rasping protest she may make.”

  Allazar glanced along the main deck towards the forward deckhouse. “It might be wiser, Longsword, if I stood by our queen. With the Dymendin staff I can shield her just as well as your cloak, and the sight of a wizard next to an elfin wearing the uniform of the Thalangard may dissuade any of the elven kindred from loosing too enthusiastic a greeting.”

  “Or it may encourage the same. We’ve no idea what’s happening in Elvendere, nor the reason for that orphaned word ‘Urgent’ which Brock so infuriatingly tacked on to the end of his message.”

  “Yet we are
few, and cannot shoulder the responsibility now for the safety of all the lands south of the Teeth any more than we could at Ferdan. We must trust that Rak of Tarn has forged the union dreamt of for so very long. We must trust that all lands now stand together.”

  “With what? We may have slapped Morloch back beyond the mountains and shattered his hopes of swarming across the farak gorin, but he still has his armies. They may not be much in terms of numbers, but they’re a lot more than the lowlands have faced in so long only an historian like Arramin could say when. Whatever army the Council may wish me to lead in the north had best contain the thousands of elven archers Elayeen spoke of at Rak’s house, because without them, we’re likely doomed.”

  Allazar sighed gently, leaning on his staff. “In a little over two weeks, we shall have the answer to Brock’s orphaned word, as you so quaintly describe it.”

  “If all goes well,” Gawain muttered, admiring his handiwork with the horses.

  “Indeed,” Allazar agreed, and was about to continue the conversation when the clucking of Tyrane’s tongue drew their attention forward.

  The Callodon officer signalled to Gawain.

  “The scouts are returning at the double. They’ve seen something, or something’s seen them.”

  “Ah.”

  When both scouts leapt nimbly back aboard, Arramin stood poised with his hand upon the lever ready to disengage from the chain.

  “Milords,” Rollaf began, breathing hard, “Wheel’s ahead. About three miles.”

  “Aye, about three mile,” Terryn agreed.

  “Anything else?” Tyrane prompted.

  “Didn’t see, Serre. Saw the wheel, up over the horizon. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Indeed,” Gawain announced, “And better you’re aboard than out there on our approach to it. Keep us on the chain, Arramin. Lady Kahla, you’ll be safer with Serre Jaxon inside the deckhouse please. Allazar, with my lady. It’s time to stand to. If there are no…” But Gawain broke off as another loud metallic screeching lanced along the canal, ricocheting from the high walls before it halted abruptly.

  “Imbeciles!” Arramin sighed, “Incompetent imbeciles!”

  “As I was saying,” Gawain continued, “If there are no elves at the staging pool ahead, there will be at the controls and docking pool below. It’ll be best for all of us I think if the first person they see is my lady. Rollaf, Terryn, a station below the side of the barge amid the horses please. Don’t put in any sudden appearance unless signalled.”

  “Aye milord.”

  “We must be careful. We will be viewed as trespassers here, unannounced, unexpected, and as far as they’re concerned, unwelcome.”

  “None shall bar our way,” Eldengaze announced from the prow.

  “Tell it to your countrymen when we see them,” Gawain murmured under his breath.

  With only a little over thirty minutes to the wheel, if the scouts estimate of distance was correct, the barge suddenly came alive with urgent but measured activity. Gear was stowed, weapons checked and readied, supplies tucked away safely under benches in the deckhouses fore and aft, horses calmed as best they could be in spite of the rising tension.

  Another short-lived scream of tortured metal echoed along the canal, and Arramin winced and fumed.

  “How is it the elves cannot operate the wheel?” Gawain mused.

  “It is very old, my lord, and with the passage of great lengths of time much is forgotten. It’s also possible, and I do hope it isn’t so, that the wheel is damaged, and the agonies we are hearing are the elves’ attempts at repairing the mechanism.”

  “But why would they want to operate it? That is the question.” Allazar remarked sternly, standing to Elayeen’s right, his staff clutched firmly in both hands.

  “Why indeed, after all these years,” Arramin agreed.

  The northern Wheel of Thal-Marrahan grew larger ahead of them with each minute, and when all aboard had been readied for whatever might greet them there, the lock gates giving access to the staging pool were clearly visible.

  “Elayeen?” Gawain called from his position below and behind her in the deckhouse.

  “I see nothing dark. But there are people there, a small group. Perhaps half a dozen.”

  “Dwarfspit. Are they elves?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Allazar shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun, blazing over the eastern cliffs where they dropped away sharply. On both sides of the vessel now the familiar green of the great forest hove into view as the cliffs each side of the canal swept down and drew level with the banks.

  “They don’t appear to have seen us yet, Longsword,” Allazar announced softly.

  Gawain looked across at Tyrane, who was peering ahead through the porthole. “How far?”

  “Half a mile to the lock gate, my lord.”

  Arramin, standing with his hand resting lightly on the lever which would disengage the barge from the chain, shifted his white oak staff over his shoulder. Gawain flicked a glance aft, past the horses, all of which had moved to the near side of the vessel and were eyeing the bank sliding by a mere three feet away from them. Kahla and Jaxon were huddled on the bench on the starboard side of the rear deckhouse, beside a pair of saddles and sacks of feed behind which they could shelter if arrows flew. The scouts squatted on their haunches below the gunwales, crossbows cocked and bolted but held casually, and professionally.

  Minutes ticked by.

  “Four hundred yards, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Tyrane. Allazar?”

  “They appear to be elves. They have not seen us, and are gathered facing the wheel, to the right of the pool.”

  “Possibly using the speaking-tube to talk to those below,” Arramin suggested.

  “Quite possibly, Master Arramin,” Allazar confirmed.

  Gawain adjusted his arrowsilk cloak, and loosened the arrow-string around his wrist. He hadn’t used it for some time, it had been the men of Callodon who had bagged the goats for the pot during the day watch while he and Tyrane slept.

  “Two hundred yards.”

  “Still we are unnoticed, Longsword.”

  “At one hundred yards before the lock, the chain automatically disengages, my lords,” Arramin quietly reminded them, and slipped his staff from over his shoulder.

  Gawain eased forward a little to peep through the starboard porthole. The wheel loomed large overhead, the dull steel of the lock gates in the centre of the canal looming larger dead ahead and obscuring his view of the pool and the elves beyond.

  “They are certainly elves, though deaf as posts I would say,” Allazar remarked.

  Another great squealing of protesting metal rent the air, setting their teeth on edge and making the horses start, but the sound of their hooves clattering on the deck-plates was drowned out by the shrieking of the wheel. Gawain felt the clunk of the chain disengaging through his boots, and Arramin eased the lever forward and cranked a wheel to unlock the tillers. On the walkway at the bow, Allazar used the foot of his Dymendin staff to nudge the tiller, easing the vessel gently towards the west bank as it slowed.

  “Dwarfspit, haven’t they seen us yet?”

  “No.”

  “Can you see them?”

  “Clearly,” Allazar replied, “There are seven of them, one inside the small hut with the speaking-tube, six milling around.”

  “Armed?”

  “Shortswords, I cannot see their… oh yes, their bows are propped against the hut which houses the levers for the chains.”

  There was the slightest of bumps as the barge came to a halt against the west bank, but the sound of the massive metallic vessel striking the stonework of the canal was by no means trivial.

  “Ah,” Allazar announced. “One of them has finally noticed us.”

  “Stand ready,” Gawain whispered, and flashed a hand signal to the scouts in the middle of the vessel.

  “Arangard! Arangard!” an urgent voice cried from the northeast. “An suten! Suten!
”

  “They are rather hurriedly scrabbling for their bows and running in our general direction,” Allazar began his commentary. “They are on the east side of the pool, heading for the bank, and should be visible to you shortly, Longsword, once they’ve passed the lock gate area.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Nai murthen! Stent thool! Nai murthen!” another voice screamed at them.

  “Don’t move, stand still,” Tyrane muttered, translating the orders from the elves frantically nocking arrows to strings and rushing past the lock gate to aim hastily at the barge.

  Elayeen lifted her bow high over her head, holding it horizontally in her left hand, her two broken fingers sticking up above the grip.

  “Stent thool! Venn emiya! Venn emiya!”

  “Stand still, who are you?” Tyrane supplied again.

  Eldengaze called across the canal to the group of elves, who held their shafts at the half-draw but angled down towards a spot in the water perhaps ten feet from the starboard side of the barge.

  “Eem Elayeen Rhiannon Seraneth ní Varan, Thalin-Raheen, athin am Thal-Hak, athin am Thalin-Reeyan. Stent vegg! Stand aside, Sutengard, do not bar my way!”

  And with that command, Elayeen lowered her bow, resting its lower limb on her boot. Confusion gripped those ashore.

  “Venn este? Vizarrn?”

  “Who is he, a wizard?” Tyrane whispered.

  “Eest frith. Allazar, Primmen am Raheen. We are called to Shiyanath, stand aside!”

  “Stent thool!”

  “They are holding a conference,” Allazar announced quietly.

  “Dwarfspit. This does not appear to be going well.”

  “One of them looks to have been nominated as spokesperson and is making ready to speak.”

  Gawain risked a peek around the deckhouse wall and above the gunwales. Seven elves stood on the east bank, some forty feet away. They were clad in simple brown and green, but they were well-armed and well-built, and their arrows were still nocked to the strings of their bows. And their hands were still on the strings.

  “Athin am Thal-Hak eest faranthroth,” the lead elf called, his voice hard. “And we take no orders from Raheen.”