by GJ Kelly
“Two groups then, one moving west, the other southwest.” Gawain frowned, and gazed first towards the north, and then over his shoulder.
“Which way, melord?” Ognorm asked the question nobody else wished to.
“The dark wizard went due west,” Gawain announced, “And the group which attacked the dark wizard’s party took the more southerly track. From what we saw in the tower and out here, it’s probably a safe wager that the dark wizard has the Orb. The Orb is the object of our quest, and there’s no time now to call for reinforcements, and none nearby anyway. We must move quickly, and with as much stealth as we can once we close upon them. They have three days on us at least, but those with the Orb may well be slowed by the faction it seems are intent on taking the device for themselves.”
“Much feets go west, miThal,” Reesen repeated, and there was a hint almost of disapproval as well as the warning in his eyes and in his voice.
“Yes. And ten more feets go west after them.”
oOo
33. Shutters Narrow
What swiftness of pursuit Gawain had hoped for was hampered almost immediately they passed through the sickly region of weeds and saplings into what was once the west quarter of the city. Immense columns, toppled at bizarre angles like some hastily thrown-together palisade, had to be negotiated, the soft and yielding ground underfoot treacherous. Nor did the going improve much once past the ruins of that immense cloistered college.
They picked up their quarry’s trail close to the mouldering form Jerryn had described, and Gawain paused, eyeing the ground near the grotesque corpse sitting propped against a broken-armed statue. The expression on the sculpture’s blotched and weathered stone face was stern, as though disapproving of the dead man’s choice of a final resting-place.
Then, at a curt nod from Gawain, they pressed on, Reesen doing his best to use the Sight to scan the way ahead while at the same time trying to keep his footing on the treacherous terrain.
The trail was certainly an easy one to follow, there’d been no attempt at stealth by those fleeing westward. Nor had those pursued fared any better than the pursuers on their flight through the ruins; in fact they’d suffered worse, clear signs of trips and falls here and there, and even the occasional bloodstains where sharp stones lurking beneath a thin blanket of forest detritus had pierced or scraped flesh.
Finally, after only two hours of tracking, the gathering gloom and the need for safety demanded a halt. The moon was waning gibbous and of late had been rising well after midnight, and while that fact would have been of immense comfort had the Orb still resided in the tower waiting to be retrieved, it was no hunter’s moon. Stars were beginning to twinkle above the forest canopy, but their light was dim and seen only in patches. Everyone seemed to share Gawain’s sense of disgust when they grouped at the foot of a young darkwood tree, and tried to settle.
“We could use the lamps I brung, melord?”
“We could, but I don’t want to risk drawing attention to ourselves should anyone or anything else be lurking. We can’t risk a twisted ankle, or worse.”
“Arr,” Ognorm agreed quietly, “Falling into one o’ them ‘oles we seen along the way wouldn’t be too clever, lamp or no lamp.”
And that was true, too; the westerly track their quarry had taken had been, of necessity, somewhat tortuous through the ruins of the city’s western quarter, and several more gaping holes similar to the one at the edge of the Wheel of Thought had been exposed.
“We’ve still to clear the outer ring,” Gawain complained quietly.
“Our quarry would have suffered a similar delay, Longsword. Worse, if the trail they left is any indication. They have the Orb and its casket to contend with, too.”
“Aye, and the knowledge that an enemy was nearby to the south,” Jerryn added.
“True,” Gawain acknowledged, paring a slice of frak. “The pace will pick up tomorrow once we clear the outskirts.”
“We’re outnumbered at least four to one, my lord. How do you wish to proceed once we near the enemy?”
“With stealth and dishonour, my friend. Hit and run, and harry from the rear. Thin their numbers fast. The dark wizard is our principal concern, the sooner we can destroy that foul creature, the better. We have at least two advantages, we have an elf, and a wizard of our own.”
“Three, if you count surprise,” Jerryn added. “I doubt they’re expecting an attack from a second force.”
“Which begs the question,” Allazar grimaced, obliged to eat frak too, “Why are the enemy fighting amongst themselves?”
Gawain shrugged. “Perhaps it’s as I imagined, and the dark wizards who hold the western provinces are acting independently of Morloch’s wishes. Perhaps whichever dark wizard holds the Orb can use it to increase his power or influence. Not that it matters. Whichever faction holds it now won’t do so for long.”
The dwarf fidgeted restlessly, sitting on his bedroll, eyes downcast, and Gawain noticed it.
“Something troubling you, Ognorm?”
“Begging yer pardon, melord, I ain’t so much worried about dark wizards and the men as follows ‘em… We done fer a few o’ both at the Far-gor after all,” Ognorm squirmed on his blanket again, fished a lump of masonry out from under it, and grimaced in the gloom. “It’s them poor blokes all turned to rot an’ mould as makes me discomfterble. What done fer ‘em, d’you reckon, melord? Magic?”
“In truth, I don’t know, and I share your discomfort, believe me. Allazar?”
The wizard shook his head. “I know of nothing which could cause such corruption of the flesh as we have seen. Neither mystic arts nor any disease that I am aware of could so completely consume a man and leave nothing but that foulness to mark his form. It is odd, too, that so few seem to have been afflicted thus. If it were some weapon being used against them, I would have thought to see many more victims of it than we have. Whatever may be the cause, I sincerely hope we do not encounter it.”
“Oh well there’s a comforting answer in the dark at the outskirts of the most dread city this side of the Teeth,” Gawain sighed, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “See anything, Reesen?”
“Nai, miThal. Trees. No light.”
“No birdies?”
“Nai, miThal. No light. Trees.”
“Odd,” Jerryn muttered.
“Arr,” Reesen agreed, jabbing his boot knife into the humus beside him and flipping a clod of rich black leaf litter over. “Edscratchy odd. Not good. No light up, no light down.”
“Aye,” Jerryn agreed, “The only life here apart from us is trees and weeds. At least in daylight there are birds about, though what they find to eat I can’t imagine.”
“Seeds, most likely,” Allazar said quietly, drawing his cloak tighter about his shoulders, “Insects, perhaps. There was much more life further to the north, near the dock and the canal, when last we were here.”
“It is the silence which troubles me the most,” Jerryn confessed, sitting cross-legged and fishing a small bottle of Jurian brandy from his pack. “On the plains we had the horses, and the calls of night-crakes. Even the occasional bark of a fox and the yapping of a brush-wolf. This, though… this place is silent as a crypt. Naught but the sighing of the wind, the clicking of twigs and creaking of boughs. Such silence in a forest is unnatural.”
The bottle of brandy was passed around, each taking a pull of the smooth and fiery liquid, revelling in the artificial glow of warmth which seemed to course down gullets and spread through veins.
“Of course,” Gawain said softly, “In your description of the plains you forgot to mention the squealing of the rabbits, the poor twitchy-nosed flopsy floppy-ears pursued by mad wizards possessed of big sticks and bigger appetites. And even in a crypt you’d hear one mumbling in dismay at the prospect of another meal of frak. It’s never truly quiet when there’s a wizard around.”
Allazar sniffed in mock disdain.
“See what I mean?”
The watch was divi
ded, and they settled as best they could, though sleep would be a long time coming.
After a long pause, it was Jerryn who broke the silence. “Why now, my lord? After all these years, why now, when the Orb is our objective, did they choose to claim it? Are we betrayed?”
“Serendipity,” Gawain announced softly, hands behind his head as he gazed at a glimmer of unknown stars through a hole in the forest canopy. “From their perspective. And stupidity on my part. Last summer, when we encountered Kiromok and Razorwing hereabouts, I thought them ancient sentries. Of course they weren’t. Likewise I thought the Kraal in the woodlands near Jarn some kind of distraction to divert the attention of those at Kings’ Council from events in the north. Perhaps it wasn’t. A distraction, yes, but one intended to occupy Igorn and Callodon’s Westguard, to keep everyone well away from this part of the great forest.”
“Not part of Morloch’s vengeance, then, Longsword?”
“No, though perhaps in truth everything is part of his vengeance for being bound beyond the Teeth in elder times. Remember, that odious parGoth and his gang of brawny chain-pullers had been wandering in the woodlands, lost and looking for Jarn, for almost two weeks before my lady discovered them. I think that by some stroke of extremely bad fortune, for us, the enemy forces which invaded Pellarn eventually discovered some reference or other to this city, and to the Orb within the tower. Or learned of it before, and invaded the Old Kingdom the better to gain access to it, but that makes less sense. It shouldn’t take sixteen years to find this place, after all. Not that the chain of events which led to the discovery matters. They are here, now. And so are we.”
“And but for my stupidity and the days wasted in Harks Hearth,” Allazar sighed, a huddled figure of sorrow in the dark, “We would have beaten them to the prize.”
“Yes, Allazar,” Gawain smiled unseen in the dark, though his sarcasm was richly evident in the tone of his voice. “It’s all your fault for getting knocked off your horse by a Graken-riding demGoth. But for that, we’d all be well on our way to Porthmorl with a hop, a skip, and a hey nonny-no. You bastard.”
Jerryn couldn’t contain his chuckling, and within moments Ognorm joined in.
After that, there was a long and companionable silence, but the night was still very young, and though they’d rise with the sun, sleep would still be some time coming.
“The nights are shortening,” Allazar said softly, as if seeing Gawain’s train of thought in the darkness. “In a little over two weeks, the day will be as long as the night, and Vernal celebrations held to mark the arrival of spring.”
“Let’s hope we’re in Callodon to enjoy them,” Gawain replied, eyes still closed.
“Foggy tonight,” Jerryn announced, “And my cloak took all day to dry after the last storm.”
Gawain’s eyes flicked open. Misty vapours were beginning to swirl around them. But it seemed to be rising from the ground like a dawn mist on the plains, rather than forming in the air about them.
“Reesen?” Gawain asked, sitting upright, which sent a frisson of alarm through all of them.
“Odd,” the elf whispered, holding up a hand and wafting the mist with it.
Gawain stood, and they all followed suit, heads cocked this way and that. The mist seemed most dense just above the ground, and was rising, slowly, swirling in the light breezes winding through the trees. Clouds, thin and wispy, passed over the canopy above them, blotting out the silvery-grey starlight and plunging them into an eerie darkness.
“Break out a lamp, Ognorm, set the shutters narrow.”
“Arr melord.”
There was a brief rustling, and the slightest squeak of metal as the dwarf adjusted his miners’ lamp by feel and long years of acquaintance with the device. A thin sliver of light from the glowstones within lanced the blackness, and showed the blanket of mist swirling all about them at knee height.
Reesen spoke softly, a stream of elvish, his tone more curious than alarmed.
“He has rarely seen such a mist in the forest around Elvenheth,” Allazar translated, and then whispered a few words in the wizard’s tongue, the Dymendin staff taking on a diffuse glow of its own. “And it appears to be rising.”
“Ognorm, a lamp for each of us,” Gawain ordered. “Tie them securely to your belts, just in case. No wandering off.”
Minutes later, and with the mist now waist-high, five slivers of light glowed faintly, and Allazar dimmed the staff.
“The ground is damp from the recent rains, Longsword, and with such sunshine as we had today, I do not think such a fog unlikely or unnatural...”
Gawain held up a hand, and heads canted this way and that. Another faint sound swirled on the breezes, one they all recognised. A clash of steel, though far off, and from which direction none could tell. In the dim light from the lamps, Reesen’s pupils snapped shut, and he scanned the forest around them again. Silence… save for the sudden pounding of hearts braced for action. Then another sound, again far off, a scream, short and piercing, silenced abruptly, though whether of man or beast, none could say.
They stood, stock-still and ears straining, for long minutes, but heard nothing more than the creaking of boughs and the clicking of twigs above them. The fog had enveloped them now, muffling even those woodland noises, and bringing with it an oppressive stillness.
“Anything, Reesen?” Gawain whispered.
“Nai, miThal.”
“That was sword-play, from the sound of it,” Jerryn opined. “But through the trees, impossible to tell how far, or near, or from whence it came.”
“That we heard it at all is alarming,” Gawain whispered. “Our quarry should be days away from here, not within earshot, even with sound carrying as well as it might on a night like this.”
“And there is nothing to be done about it, Longsword. We could not risk travelling in the darkness, never mind in such conditions as this.”
“True. Nor can they. But the fact that they were attacked tells us that someone is prepared to take the chance. They must be well beyond the ruins, and on the safer, even terrain of the older forest to risk fighting at night.”
“Perhaps both groups of combatants have wizards at their disposal, to cast lights about them?”
“Perhaps, Jerryn. Let’s hope they succeed in killing each other. The more they cull their own numbers, the less for us to worry about. Let’s try to get some rest, though I suspect sleep will be elusive for us all this night.”
oOo
34. Well Able
Dawn, when finally it came, showed the world reduced to a circle some twenty yards in diameter about them. The fog lingered, the air as unmoving as the ruins of Calhaneth. They ate without cheer, and winced at the noises they all made when packs were slung over shoulders, cloaks donned, and weapons set to hand; the fog all around them seemed to amplify the sounds, adding to the illusion that overnight the world had been diminished to the range of their vision.
Reesen, though, being possessed of the Sight of the Eldenelves, was entirely unimpressed by the dense grey mist, and when they set off, it was he who took the point, following what was perhaps the most obvious trail any elf hunter since Yargo’s day had tracked through the great forest.
They moved quietly, the fog seeming to command silence. Ognorm walked high-kneed, his face set in grim concentration, desperate not to shame himself with a misstep or stumble, trusting to Reesen and the others to serve as watchmen while he gave all his attention to his footing on the broken terrain.
Not even birds broke the silence of the fog. The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath, wreathed in a funereal shroud of dense, grey-white vapour.
Finally, after more than an hour of cautious progress, the forest floor seemed to level, becoming smoother, undulating here and there but unbroken by angular shapes. This was terrain of nature’s making, old forest, the trees spaced much further apart, the distance between their trunks governed by the breadth and depth of the canopy above, though the winter-bared branches of the
immense darkwood trees were shrouded from view by the fog.
Still the dense vapour seemed to cling, swirling lightly at their passing, their pace increasing now that the ground underfoot could be trusted. The trail was still visible, though not as clearly marked by trips and falls as it had been in the outskirts of the city.
Half an hour after leaving the rim of the city’s outskirts behind them, they found another of the grotesque mould-bodies, sitting propped against the trunk of a tree. Its appearance at the very edge of their grey-walled world added a chill to the clammy dampness of a fog which seemed to defeat all attempts at keeping it out from their very bones.
“He was alive when he was put there,” Gawain announced with a whisper, shivering suddenly and adjusting his cloak for the hundredth time that morning. “You can see where his heels dragged in the leaf litter when his comrades put him there.”
They eyed the tracks in the soft ground around them, seeing for themselves the scene Gawain described.
“He must’ve been wounded in the ambush back at the centre of the city, and made it this far, in haste, perhaps helped by his companions. There’s where he finally fell, unable to go any further, sapped of all strength. So they dragged him here, and there against the tree they made him as comfortable as they could, in haste, and left him to die while they continued their westward flight.”
Jerryn’s whispered response matched the disgust in his expression. “They have a wizard, why did he not aid the wounded with magic?”
“They came for the Orb. It’s all that matters to them, not the life of some silvercoin mercenary. Come, let’s go, and hope for the sun to burn away this cursed fog before we drown in it, or freeze to death in its grip.”
But twenty minutes later, Reesen, ten yards to the fore, suddenly signalled a halt, and began scanning the ground, and the area around them. Then he pointed to the northwest, and signalled that the enemy had turned in that direction. They gathered around him, breathing a sigh of relief that the reason for his abrupt halt had been relatively mundane, and not the result of something dark appearing within range of his Sight.
