The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  Seeing the wizard unconscious in the bed brought memories of the inn at the foot of the Downland Pass flooding back. On a sudden impulse, Gawain quietly stood, retrieved the Dymendin, and laid it lengthwise on the bed, gently lifting Allazar’s right hand so that it rested on the bleached wood.

  It was warm in the infirmary, hot coals glowing in braziers helping to keep the chill of winter out of the sick-room. Gawain settled in the chair, folding his arms under the cloak, and allowed his eyes to close.

  The walk back from the eastern hills had been slow and leisurely, and made in a companionable silence with Reesen. The elf still seemed fascinated with his new environment, gazing at the stars and turning full circle now and again, as if seeing them for the first time. Perhaps, Gawain thought, since leaving his homeland, the elf really was seeing the vast ocean of stars for the first time; his former life in Elvendere may well have been spent glimpsing them only through the canopy of the forest. And now, possessed of the sight of the Eldenelves, the elf truly was seeing the world anew.

  Gawain found himself suddenly envying Elayeen and the Kindred Rangers; what wonders were now revealed to their curious Sight he could only imagine. Certainly, the night sky was likely filled with as much life as in daytime, bats and all manner of night-birds on the wing. Night creatures on foot, too, shy and hidden in the daylight, roaming abroad only when darkness fell. All this they could see. They would make for formidable hunters. And, as the dark wizard had recently discovered, formidable enemies…

  Allazar’s breathing suddenly broke rhythm, and Gawain’s eyes snapped open. The wizard was stirring, his right hand tightening a little around the staff. He took a deeper breath, licked his lips, and opened his eyes, squinting a little in the brightness of the whitewashed infirmary.

  “Morning,” Gawain announced softly.

  “Ah, good morning, Longsword.”

  “How do you feel, you bone-idle goit?”

  Allazar smiled a weak smile, and closed his eyes again. “Much the way a bone-idle goit might feel were he to be flung from a horse at the run, I fear. But thank you for asking, your kingly greeting spares me from wondering whether or not this is the fabled yonderlife, where all is bright and beautiful.”

  “Are you saying I’m not bright and beautiful?”

  “Alas, my eyes are closed, and so I am not qualified to answer.”

  Gawain smiled, and suddenly felt much less tired than he had earlier. “How’s the head? You appear to have at least three lumps that I can see, and here’s me all this time been offering you only one or two.”

  “It seems to be competing with the rest of my parts for the honour of being crowned achiest of achy things.”

  “Well don’t strain it then. Let something far less valuable take the prize. You’ll be here for a while yet; the healers will want to keep an eye on you before they let you out of bed.”

  Allazar sighed. “I’m sorry, Longsword, my poor horsemanship has delayed our journey.”

  “And you’ve killed yet another horse, you bloody whitebeard. I’ll wait until you’re up on your feet before I add to your collection of lumps, though.”

  The wizard winced and sighed again. “The poor beast carried me such a long way.”

  “Yes, she did. And you’re starting to show signs of feeling for them. If you’re not careful, you might even start becoming Raheen.”

  “I can think of few fates I’d rather suffer, Longsword.”

  “Oh, good answer! Your brains aren’t entirely scrambled eggs after all. Would you like to know what happened and how you came to be here, or would you rather I let you sleep?”

  “I should like to know, Longsword, if you wouldn’t mind? You might start with where here is.”

  “You’re lying abed in the infirmary at Harks Hearth, where you’ve been since a moment or two before sunset yesterday, which was the fourteenth day of February. Which, to spare your addled pate again, means today is the fifteenth.

  “When you were brought down by the Graken-rider, much in the manner of a girl being pushed over in a playground I might add, the creature overshot well to our rear before turning. We wheeled around to face it head on, but the dark rider was more interested in the Stick of Raheen than in us. Bit remiss of you to leave it conveniently sticking up in the mud for any passing Graken-rider to grab; consider yourself reprimanded.”

  “Apologies, Longsword. I really don’t know what was going through my mind at the time.”

  “Nothing, probably, though your spine made a valiant attempt from what I saw. Anyway. Reesen and Jerryn rode at the oncoming Graken, loosing arrows and bolts, while Ognorm and I were arguing about whether to bury you or leave you to the elements. We chose the latter, and ran to aid Reesen and Jerryn. As the Graken approached, I clumsily ran into the Stick, knocking it over out of the dark wizard’s reach, and Ognorm gave the flying lizard a mighty crack on the wing with his Meggen’s mace, what’s-he-call it...”

  “Nadcracker,” Allazar smiled, his eyes still closed.

  “Ah yes. After that, the creature flew off, pursued briefly by Jerryn and Reesen shooting at it, until it made the hills in the east. Then its wing collapsed, it plummeted to earth, and made a mess. We then had a rather nice dinner of spit-roast rabbit to celebrate our victory over the Graken and to see you off, but to our immense surprise you turned out to be not-dead, so we ate up, brought you here, and that’s that.”

  “I’m grateful, your Majesty, for the many kindnesses you have shown in my somewhat enforced absence. I shall endeavour to make it up to you as soon as I am able. It sounds an exciting adventure, and I’m sorry I missed it.”

  Gawain smiled, and took a deep breath, his tone becoming much more serious. “It was, and you should be. I tell you, Allazar, I was amazed, and still am. Ognorm was magnificent, utterly magnificent. The Graken swooping low, that steel-masked ‘spitsucker leaning out to grab the staff, and Ognorm takes a running leap, swinging that mace of his… In truth, Allazar, I thought he was going to jump aboard that flying monster and beat the dark wizard’s brains out. As it was, he smashed the wing-bone of that immense beast so hard we were sprayed with its blood, it left a trail of it a mile long, and it screamed all the way to its doom. The thing barely made it to the hills before the wing broke and sent it crashing down.”

  “And the demGoth rider?”

  “Survived. Reesen saw it limping over one of the far hills.”

  Allazar’s eyes opened, and he looked horrified, and struggled a little as if to get up. “It must be destroyed…”

  “Hush, clods-for-brains, peace, it already has been,” Gawain assured, laying a firm hand on the wizard’s chest and pressing him gently back down, before patting him on the shoulder. “Let me finish.”

  Allazar groaned, and nodded, closing his eyes again.

  “It was Ognorm who carried you here, at the trot, standing, or rather squatting in the stirrups, taking all the shocks of the ride. We barely made it here in time before the gates were sealed for the night, and it’s thanks to the dwarf we did. Once you were safe here, Reesen and I left you in the care of Ognorm and Jerryn and the whitesleeves, and went hunting.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes. Took half the night, but with Reesen’s Sight we found the bastard, limping east towards the region around Lake Arrunmere. We found the remains of the Graken on the way, little more than a greasy smear. But some of the saddle remained intact, and I noted a sack or bundle tied to the back of it during the attack. It was destroyed, but in the remains I saw what looked like burnt apple pips. Reesen refused to let me touch them, or I’d have brought one back for your inspection. He said he’d speak to you about it later.”

  “Odd… and very discomforting.”

  “Yes. But not as discomforting as coming face to face with a scuttling Aknid of Gothen later on, as I did. We found the dark wizard apparently asleep in the hills, but somehow he’d put one of those crab-things on guard duty. It emerged from the ground, in the dark, in front of me as I lay on th
e crest of the hill pondering whether to take that demGoth alive or not.”

  “By the Teeth…!”

  “Scary isn’t it.”

  “They are unpleasant creatures indeed, Longsword.”

  “No, I meant scary that I actually remembered one of things in your pocket Pangoricon. I might have to read it properly now that we’re in the dry.”

  “Ah. Yes, it would likely be a good idea for you to acquaint yourself with the enemies we are now likely to face, and how to destroy them. Just in case, you understand.”

  “In case you fall off your bloody horse again, yes, I understand.”

  “How did you succeed in burning it?”

  Gawain blinked. “Burning what?”

  “The Aknid.”

  Gawain blinked again. “I didn’t. I cut the vakin thing in half with my sword.”

  Allazar’s eyebrows arched, and his eyes opened in surprise. “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hmm, interesting’? It burst open like a ripe tomato and disappeared in a puff of purple flame.”

  “The Aknid is much like a spidery land-crab, Longsword. It possesses an armoured carapace and shell, infused with aquamire. Fire, and a wizard’s white fire is best, is its mortal enemy. Usually, striking it with steel or stone just makes it angry.”

  “Ah. Well. This one got angry when Reesen hit it with his bow, and launched into a brief but fiery rage when I hit it with my sword. You may amend the appropriate A in your book when you’re up to it.”

  “Thank you,” the wizard sighed, and closed his eyes again.

  There was a brief pause.

  “You still awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll continue. The demGoth launched some of those black smoke-balls at us, and so we ran like girls who’ve just been pushed over in a playground. It took a while to catch up with the creature after that, and when we did, it launched a bright light. Like that Aaron’s Candle thing? Only this one seemed to know where we were, and tracked us, hovering overhead against the wind while the evil black-eyed ‘spit launched more smoke-balls our way.

  “It didn’t do any good. I gave the word, Reesen shot the demGoth neatly in the back, and for good measure, I cut its head off.”

  “Huzzah.”

  “Indeed. When you have less of a headache, I’ll show you what I found in the dark wizard’s bag, but for now it’s enough to say, I didn’t find an Eye of Morloch, which I thought then and think now, strange.”

  “Strange indeed, and worthy of much more thought than my poor and aching scrambled eggs are presently able to digest.”

  “I thought as much. Suffice to say, when you’re feeling a bit brighter, there’s plenty to discuss. For now though, I’ll content myself with saying I’ve finally decided I like Reesen. He has a sense of humour tucked away behind those Eldenelf eyes of his, I think. Though I’m beginning to suspect there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye. Good hunter, though. If all the Kindred Rangers measure up to his benchmark, the southlands will be well-served.”

  “And the Major?”

  “Remains as honourable as ever he was when first we met. Good with a crossbow on horseback too. I think he was probably a fine cavalry officer before he became attached to the Royal Household, and to Hellin. Is your head still aching?”

  “My everything is still aching.”

  “I’ll fetch the healer. A goodly dose of silvertree powder and another day or two lying there doing nothing of any use to anyone will sort you out. You’ve certainly had enough practice at it since Far-gor.”

  Gawain left the smiling wizard, fetched the healer as promised, and took his seat. Five minutes later, the healer was back at his desk, and the two of Raheen were both sleeping soundly.

  oOo

  25. Fighting Dragons

  They took it in turns to sit with Allazar, in spite of the wizard’s protests. The healers, Gawain knew, were right to be cautious; head injuries are never trivial. And, though summer felt a long way in the past, it wasn’t that long ago since Allazar had received a similar blow, from the unforgiving marble floor in the Keep of Raheen.

  Gawain finally had to explain to the grumbling wizard that actually, the presence of one of their party was really to safeguard the Stick, and not the Keeper of it. The enemy would give much to possess it again, as evidenced by the recent and ultimately fatal attempt by the demGoth Graken-rider. The explanation didn’t help in stemming Allazar’s protests at being confined, though.

  During their enforced sojourn within the walls of Harks Hearth, those not guarding the Stick and enduring Allazar’s poor company took to exploring, and relaxing. In truth, the description of the town Tyrane had given to Gawain on the Canal of Thal-Marrahan really didn’t do justice to the warmth and vibrant hospitality of the place.

  The food was excellent, and perhaps not surprisingly; the walled town housed the best of winter stores in readiness against any catastrophe which might befall Castletown to the west, or indeed any of the nearby villages and hamlets. Of course, perishable items which could not be preserved either by drying, pickling, bottling or salting, had to be eaten by someone rather than let them rot and go to waste. Consequently, fresh meat was in ample supply, and vegetables too.

  There was music and dancing in the inns and hostelries, beer and wines, and all manner of entertainments to keep the worst of winter at bay. Ognorm didn’t rate the beer very highly though, claiming that the light blond variety had ‘too much o’ the fizz in it and not enough o’ the body’ and he lamented the lack of any of the darker stouts common at home in the Black Hills. He did his best not to offend their hosts though, and with great cunning hid his disappointment by drinking as much of the fizzy stuff as a Threllander might, ‘just to be sociable.’

  It was on their third evening in Harks Hearth, with Allazar now permitted short walks around the infirmary, that Gawain found himself in company with Jerryn at an inn called The Chattering Magpie, a fine dinner inside them, and a pitcher of light beer on the table. The buzzing throng all around them had just been entertained by a popular bard and balladeer, a pretty young woman by the name of Melany-Gwynne o’ the Hearth. Hers was a name which had attracted Gawain’s attention when announced for obvious reasons, though it was also true that her performances held everyone in thrall.

  Now though, the entertainer’s performance over while she dined upon her reward, musicians struck up a series of jaunty tunes on fiddles, flutes and pipes, and conversations were interspersed with cheers for the dancers and whoops of encouragement and appreciation for the musicians.

  “Allazar is well on the mend, my lord,” Jerryn announced. “And seems anxious for us all to be on our way.”

  Gawain nodded and leaned forward. Although it was unlikely that their conversation could be overheard in the general hubbub of the inn, he was still cautious nevertheless.

  “Time is ticking by,” he said solemnly, “Spring is on the way, and with it, days are becoming both brighter and longer. It’d serve us well to achieve the object of our quest while the season is still dark, though I daresay the risks will be high no matter how dull the days. The ruins are neither pleasant nor hospitable in any season.”

  “I’d heard only the vaguest tales of the place from some who heard of it at Ferdan, along with a strong admonition against ever going there. As we draw nearer to our goal, I find myself wondering what fate I’ve invited by my joining your quest.”

  Gawain shrugged. “I try not worry about such things as fate, my friend. My own, it seems, was decreed long before I was born. In some ways, it’s liberating to say ‘ah well, whatever happens from now on is fate, and was meant to happen,’ but really, that’s not true. Things happen for reasons, and the reasons are usually made by people making choices. Sometimes we just have to deal with the results of choices others have made. It’s not fair, but life isn’t.”

  Jerryn smiled, sadly. “I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t mean to start so deep a conversation.”

 
“No need to apologise. You and I, it seems, have a lot in common, far beyond ties of honour and friendship, and a shared hatred of Morloch for events at Raheen. We both vexed that black-eyed bastard well, in the days of the Ramoth. Me beneath the Teeth, and you, with Allazar and that tall fellow who posed as me, bringing destruction upon Ramoth towers in my absence.”

  “Fenner. His name was Fenner. Brave lad, but not very bright. It all went so well at first. Your reputation being what it was, Fenner only had to approach a tower on horseback and the mercenaries fled. He got too close though, that last time, and stopped a bolt from a crossbow.”

  Gawain nodded. “I never knew his name. Only that he served as impostor, and did well enough at it that his death convinced Morloch and the Ramoth I was no longer a threat.”

  “His name’s on the Wall of Honour in the Guards’ Hall, though much good it does him there. Sorry if that sounds disrespectful, my lord, but I’ve seen that wall every day for a very long time, and there are many more names on it I recognise since the battle in the north. I honour them all, of course… but I see my own there sometimes when I sleep, and getting posted there has never truly been a Guardsman’s ambition.”

  “You have another reason for being here, Jerryn, and believe me when I say, I share your pain.”

  The Major took a sip of beer, and sadness flitted across his expression like moth passing a candle’s flame.

  “Then you, too, my lord, know sorrow.”

  “I do.”

  And Gawain spoke briefly of Elayeen, and the gulf between them.

  Jerryn nodded, understanding completely. “Then indeed, my lord, we are brothers in misery. Once, when I was little more than a boy, I caught sight of a girl I thought then the fairest thing in all the world. She was the daughter of a butcher. Jemmer was her name, raven-haired and dainty, and fresh as spring. She lived in the west quarter of Castletown… I was fighting dragons with a wooden sword, my friends were off somewhere, I can’t remember where, and I rounded the corner of an alley and there, across the road and at the side of the butcher’s, there she was.