The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  “And yet there the casket is, and you standing beside it. You’d risk an encounter with this shadow-creature to take the Orb west?”

  “No,” Berek asserted. “I meant to take it back to the tower, set it back upon its pedestal, and guard it from a safe distance while two of our number went for reinforcements.”

  “To what end?” Allazar frowned. “How would more men avail you here? Your enemies are already destroyed.”

  “To the end of bringing enough lamps and torches to keep the shadow at bay on our journey out of this miserable forest.”

  “The plains of Juria are but four days east of here,” Jerryn announced. “And we have lamps enough, and a wizard with a bright staff.”

  “Four days may as well be forty,” Farayan spat, blood seeping afresh through the bandages on the stump of his arm. “Those Simatheum scum had a darkweasel ironmask who could light the sky for half a mile, and did last night, and much good it did them.”

  “Them darkweasel ironmasks o’ yours ain’t so much to speak of,” Ognorm smiled cruelly. “Lord Vex has done for a few, an’ so’s his lady, too.”

  “Lord Vex?”

  “One of my names,” Gawain admitted. “And the dark wizard and his men floating out yonder were not destroyed by the shadow,” Gawain said quietly. “But by you.”

  “True,” Berek conceded, “But while the wizard’s light kept the shadow-creature at bay in the forest, still it drove them back, towards the centre. It dwells in this dead city, perhaps in the very tower itself, and it must have the box. And I still have my sworn duty.”

  “And I mine. Both of us, Imperator, are sworn to see the Orb destroyed, and to prevent it falling into the hands of the enemy.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Then, the only matter between us and ownership of the box is the question of our enmity.”

  “That would seem to be also to be true.”

  “Then I suggest we leave the box where it is and withdraw a little to the north. Your man needs attention, we have a wizard and supplies which may ease his misery and aid the healing of his wound. It’ll give us a chance to use reason instead of brute force.”

  Berek eyed Gawain, and then his own men.

  “Very well, Raheen. A truce, until a decision is made. I am Berek, Imperator Praetor, I speak for my men. In the Emperor’s name, peace, until you and I decide otherwise.”

  “Agreed. Allazar, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Your Majesty,” the wizard acknowledged, and led the unfortunate and suddenly worried-looking Farayan a dozen or more yards to the north, to tend to the wound.

  oOo

  37. Goth-lord

  The others followed, eyeing each other uneasily, and keeping enough of a distance between them that weapons could be drawn if necessary. Gawain and Berek lingered a few moments by the casket, watching as their men withdrew.

  “You had us cold, Raheen. We were dead. Yet you slew us not.”

  “You seemed like honourable men, far removed from the ignorance of mercenaries and slaves, in spite of your garb. I may live to regret my decision, Berek, but at least honour remains intact.”

  “Well spoken. Our garb offends us, too, but it was needed to evade the traitors of Simatheum, and there are more than enough of those in the land you know as Pellarn.”

  “That’s twice you’ve mentioned the name Simatheum. ‘Sima’ means ‘south’, does it not?”

  “It does,” Berek looked surprised. “You speak our tongue?”

  Gawain shook his head. “Last year we encountered refugees, fleeing the darkness in Armunland.”

  “Armunland, the province nearest your mountain stronghold. It was the Goth of Armunland’s work that broke the defences of Pellarn, and plunged the light of the Empire into darkness.”

  “Salaman Goth is dead. Destroyed at Raheen, by my queen.”

  Berek paused, and turned, eyeing Gawain anew, and with open admiration. “Then, by Zana’s Spire, honour to your lady!”

  Gawain nodded grimly, acknowledging the compliment.

  “We wondered why that bastard hadn’t been seen for some time. Now we know. It must have been a recent victory, Raheen, for it was that reeking ironmask who nursed the Goth-lord of Simatheum to power, and thence to dominion over the south-eastern lands of Empire. Those corpses floating in the pond answered to the Goth-lord.”

  “And you?”

  Berek stiffened his back. “We serve the Emperor.”

  Rejoining the group, and now within their hearing, Gawain and the Praetorian commander stood side by side, arms folded, leaders assuring their men of the sincerity of the unexpected truce between them.

  “You must forgive our ignorance concerning your Empire, Berek,” Gawain announced, watching while Allazar did his best for the wounded man. “Our only contact with Goria has been through refugees fleeing slavery and darkness there. Not to mention slavers and pirates. And of course at Pellarn, though I was far too young to have seen that conflict.”

  “It was no conflict,” one of the Gorians spat. “It was a threken obscenity. Good men and brave, swept away like beasts in a pen by filthy magic and foulmade creatures. There was more than just me wept that day, for the shame of being a part of such disgrace.”

  “So speaks Prester, who was there, with the Fifth. That other is Iyan. Both good with the shortbow,” Berek explained.

  “Yonder is Reesen, Kindred Ranger, there stands Major Jerryn of the Royal Jurian Guard, and there is Ognorm of the Ruttmark, of Threlland. Men of Callodon await us without the forest. Representatives of all lands intend to oversee the destruction of the Orb. We’d hoped to acquire it without incident.”

  “A week earlier and you would’ve. Us too. We were delayed by weather, and a flooded river.”

  “We were delayed by a Graken-riding demGoth.”

  “So the rumours are true then, the ironmasks are everywhere.”

  “Narr,” Ognorm announced. “Lord Vex kicked Morloch’s arse up north. Only one got away. Not fer long though.”

  “That’s a wilding mace, a weapon from the Meggenveld beyond the line at Namanland,” Berek grimaced.

  “Arr, taken from a dead Meggen in the battle in the north, where we was proud to serve under Lord Vex’s banner, and destroyed ten thousand of ‘em.”

  “Ten thousand?” Berek looked stunned. “You battled ten thousand of them? Here in the Eastlands?”

  “More like eight,” Gawain asserted, “Though they had two thousand Morlochmen with them. And Gorian guardsmen, too, with dark wizard-made creatures.”

  Berek stared at his men, and they stared back, aghast.

  “You’ve not fought against them yourself?” Gawain asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “No,” Berek admitted. “The only example of a wilding mace I’ve seen was on display in Zanatheum. The region north of the line at Namanland is a wilderness, and considered worthless by the Emperor.”

  “Then clearly we are both in ignorance of events in each other’s lands.”

  “Clearly! If the Emperor knew there were thousands of wildings in the Meggenveld… worse, if the bastard lord of Simatheum has such forces at his disposal…” Berek trailed off, his face a picture of horror before he managed to restore his professional deadpan expression.

  But it was too late, and they all knew it. The two groups of warriors gazed at each other, while the wizard tied a fresh bandage around Farayan’s stump.

  “I do not think standing here gaping at each other will aid our decision,” Gawain unfolded his arms. “Nor am I eager to rush to any conclusion. More is happening in both our lands than we know, and this could affect our judgement.”

  “True,” Berek agreed. “What do you suggest?”

  “I suggest we extend our truce. Standing here in the open leaves us vulnerable. I propose we retired to the barges, with the Orb. We can place it on the deck in the middle of the vessel, in clear sight of all, and share what knowledge we have, the better to judge how best to proceed.”


  “When darkness falls, the shadow will come,” Berek reminded them.

  “And we have a wizard, and lamps, and starlight to keep it at bay. I’d feel safer out there than standing here with only thirty yards to the trees and water at my back.”

  “Who will carry it to the barge?”

  Gawain shrugged. “It matters not, Imperator. If our truce is extended, and kept with honour, I care not who moves it from shore to barge.”

  “Very well,” Berek agreed, “We will hold this peace, and delay our decision until dawn tomorrow, should all of us live through the night.”

  “Good,” Gawain agreed. “For now, we can simply place the casket aboard the barge. Allazar, perhaps you’d be kind enough to secure the vessel on a chain?”

  “Aye, your Majesty.”

  “A chain?”

  “Oh,” Gawain nodded, “The barges possess mooring chains, to secure them to the side. It makes them easier to board or to load. Saves getting wet walking out to them should they drift away from the dockside in the breezes.”

  While Allazar secured the barge and Ognorm took the casket aboard and placed it in the centre of the deck, Reesen cast a furtive look around them. A slight shake of his signalled that nothing was moving in the forest within his range. With the Orb in its Morgmetal casket sitting lonely and abandoned on the centre of the low deck, the two groups boarded the vessel, and gathered towards the southernmost cabin.

  Gawain lifted a bench and the deck-plate beneath it, and brought out the brazier and griddle plate he’d expected to find there.

  Berek’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been aboard one of these things before, Raheen.”

  “Yes, for a long and miserable journey north along that Dwarfspit canal. And you have no idea just how miserable it was. Ognorm, if you wouldn’t mind, we could do with some wood for this. We’ll get something hot to drink, and it’ll provide some warmth for now and some light for later.”

  “I’ll go with him, Imperator, by your leave?” Loryan asked.

  Berek nodded. “Fetch our packs too, while you’re at it. We left our supplies in the woods before last night’s fighting,” he explained to Gawain, “Didn’t want to be weighed down.”

  “As did we this morning. Last night, we saw the lights, and heard a little of the battle from our position north of here.”

  “Well. While we’re waiting for the wood and the supplies, I’d like to shed this peasant’s garb. With our enemies dead, we’ve no need of it until we return to Pellarn.”

  “Of course.” Gawain stepped out of the cabin, pulled a lump of frak from his pocket, and pared a slice, gazing out at the lock gates on the north side of the pool.

  When he slipped the boot knife back into its sheath and turned, the four Praetorians of Goria stood proud in their grubby uniforms, and he had to admit they made for impressive figures. Chainmail, a short-sleeved surcoat, leather chest- and back-plates studded with polished metal, and in the Imperator’s case, inlaid with bars of silver lightning and decorated with a wolf’s head, teeth bared.

  When their own packs had been retrieved, and with wood burning in the brazier to heat camp pans of hot water laced with brandy, Allazar took to the dockside again, the men gathering to watch with due respect and solemnity while he performed the rites for the dead praetorian. The gesture was appreciated by the Gorian contingent, who regarded Gawain’s party with a mixture of surprise and a certain grudging respect.

  Finally, sipping steaming hot brandy-water and watching the mist burn away from the edges of the forest, Allazar broke the silence.

  “Is there more to tell us, Imperator, concerning our common enemy, this shadow-creature?”

  Berek shrugged. “I don’t think so. It wants the box, or rather its contents. It hunts in the darkness, retreats with astonishing speed from bright light. And from observing it last night and the night before, we think it might be able to lurk in the fog, even in starlight, if the mist is thick enough. As Farayan and others have discovered, its touch is death. Though in truth, I don’t believe it means to kill. I don’t believe it even knows or cares that we exist. It’s that thing you call the Orb it wants. That’s all we know.”

  “How came you to learn about the Orb,” Gawain asked, “Just as a matter of interest.”

  “The Emperor has spies everywhere. They brought word to the City of Gold that the Goth-lord of Simatheum was seeking for an ancient weapon, a device powerful enough to level an entire city. We were told, briefly, that it would be a ball of metal, in a metal box, and then sent here in haste, with the orders I’ve already mentioned.

  “From what we gathered later in Pellarn, it seems the ironmask Salaman learned of the existence of this thing many years ago, and had been searching for it ever since. It was his spies who heard whispers of it in Pellarn, and so with the traitors of Simatheum at his disposal, he crossed the Eramak.”

  “And brought misery to the entire Empire,” Loryan spat over the side of the barge.

  “And to Pellarn,” Gawain reminded them. “Salaman Goth then spent sixteen years looking for it?”

  “Aye. Though he was in no hurry, and the bastard lord of Simatheum had his own plans that needed the ironmask’s attention. There was another weasel, too, though not as powerful as the Salaman. What was that one’s name, Iyan, the one who rode about Pellarn on his winglizard posing like a popinjay at a peacock’s party?”

  “Jerraman. Jerraman demGoth. Stuck a pair of metal threken wings to his mask, thought it made him look pretty.”

  “That’s the one. Claimed to have Morloch’s ear as well as his Eye.”

  “Dead, I believe,” Gawain announced, his expression grim. “We encountered a Graken-rider who I think went by that name and wore such a mask, well to the south of here, last summer. The wizard Allazar smote it with the tree of lightning you saw earlier. Nothing remained but ashes.”

  The Imperator nodded grimly. “Then more power to your wizard’s elbow, and thank you, Raheen, it explains why that one hasn’t been seen for a while, too.”

  “Who is this lord of Simatheum you spoke of, who commanded the demGoth?” Allazar frowned, and leaned back against the cold metal gunwale, his back to the mooring pool.

  Berek sighed, and in turn leaned back against the wheelhouse bulkhead. “Simatheum is a large walled city, stone-built and rich, well to the north of Armunland. I don’t know if your mile is the same length as ours, but Simatheum is twice the distance from Pellarn Castle as Pellarn Castle is from the southern coast. It is… it was the seat of governance for the south-eastern provinces.

  “When the golden throne passed to Emperor Zersees the Fifteenth, he granted stewardship of Simatheum to his younger brother, Maraciss. But Maraciss covets the golden throne, and turned to the ironmask Salaman for aid, intending to overthrow his brother and claim the throne for himself. Thus began the second rising of the Goth-lords.

  “Maraciss built himself a mercenary army, grew in power and might, and, working in secret with the darkweasel, made for himself a force of foul beasts and creatures. Simatheum is corrupted, its Goth-lord Maraciss reviled. It was the army of Simatheum which took Pellarn, against the Emperor’s orders. The Fifth Legion was closest, and was sent with orders to forestall the invasion, or, if unable so to do, to claim Pellarn in the Emperor’s name.”

  “And they were unable to forestall the invasion.”

  “Aye,” Prester announced. “When we seen the ironmask and the creatures the Simanian legion had, there was nothing we could do. Our Imperator ordered us to rearguard. There was nothing we could do except watch the butchery, and weep for the shame of it.”

  “Against such a force, even two legions of Imperial guard would’ve stood no chance,” Berek continued. “The Fifth found itself ordered by the Salaman out of the new province of Pellarn, and returned in shame to Zanatheum, where, by the Emperor’s command, it was decimated, and those who survived scattered into the ranks of other legions’ cohorts. The Fifth is no more.

  “After that, the da
rkness came. More weasels, from the north, bringing with them more foulmade creatures, province after province falling thrall to them in their advance. Simatheum under its Goth-lord prospered, and seeing the rise of Maraciss, other provincial Tals have begun to throw in their lot with the ironmasks, Goth-lords rising.”

  “And your Emperor?” Jerryn asked, agog.

  “Remains safe within the walls of Zanatheum,” Berek announced, diplomatically, “Girdled by such wizards as he possesses, and by the high walls of the City of Gold. Though not yet besieged, as good as. For years, since Pellarn Province was annexed by Simanian forces, the Emperor has had loyal guardsmen infiltrating their ranks and aiding in secret the Pellarn Resistance.

  “Make no mistake, Eastlanders, and be under no illusions concerning our Emperor; but for the foulmade creatures and the dark magic of their makers, our Imperial cohorts would’ve crushed Maraciss and his toy soldiers and wiped all memory of his treacherous existence from the face of the world.”

  “Then there is no threat to Callodon from the Empire?”

  “There is no threat to Callodon from the Emperor,” Berek corrected. “I cannot speak for Simatheum. No-one can. Although now that we know that the Salaman is destroyed, perhaps that threat is diminished.”

  “The Salaman ironmask is dead?” Prester gasped.

  “Aye,” Berek announced, “By the hand of Raheen’s lady, it seems.”

  Gorian eyes blinked in astonishment, and no little awe.

  “It is true,” Allazar confirmed. “I was there, when Elayeen, Queen of Raheen, shot the foul minion of Morloch clean through.”

  There were hushed mumbles of ‘honour to her’ from three of the Gorians, but Farayan had lapsed into a peaceful slumber, sitting on the deck of the barge, head resting against the gunwale.

  “And, for good measure,” Allazar added, “Raheen himself cut the Goth almost clean in two with the very blade you see upon his back. Nothing of that evil now remains, but a stain upon the cobbles without the Keep of Raheen.”

  “So there is civil war, of a kind, in the Empire.” Gawain quickly changed the subject.