by GJ Kelly
“Still not a breath of a breeze,” Berek complained, arms folded, his features grim in the light from the miner’s lamp hanging from his belt. “Though the fire is burning some of it off.”
“And no sign of the stars. Even if the moon had risen, we’d not see it through this,” Gawain sighed. “How long ‘til dawn, Allazar, do you think?”
“Alas, I cannot say. I have lost all sense of the passage of time since the mist closed in about us. Without the stars, I cannot tell.”
“Anyone?”
No answer, save the hammering from the other end of the barge. Then it fell silent, and then chains rattled once more, violently, as though being tugged this way and that. Finally, the scrape of metal upon metal.
“I believe Ognorm has done his work…” Allazar began, but was cut off by the crashing of a sudden violent impact which made the barge lurch hard towards the west. Cries of alarm and then screams of horror and pain from the wheelhouse, and the scraping of something heavy on metal.
“Candle! Candle Allazar!” Gawain screamed, pointing straight towards the deckhouse.
Allazar thrust the staff forward, an orange ball shot the length of the barge and burst into brilliant light inside the cabin of the northern deckhouse. For only the briefest of moments, the scene at the far end of the vessel was frozen and burned into retinas; Ognorm laying on the deck in the cabin, holding up his lamp, Farayan’s form crumpled against the eastern gunwale, and the massive, shapeless bulk of the shadow-creature enveloping the casket on the eastern walkway, a taut elven chain vibrating like a harp-string fixed between the casket and deckhouse bulkhead. And then the vision was gone, white-washed by the full brilliance of the Aaron’s Candle trapped in the confines of the cabin.
The light grew and then faded, and there was a heavy metallic crash, and the sound of something being dragged across the deck-plates. Gawain tried to blink away the garish purple after-images left by the candle, and began crawling on his hands and knees out from the deckhouse and towards the fire still burning in the middle of the barge. A heavy hand landed on his back, pushing him down into the gratings.
“Nai, miThal!” a voice hissed in his ear. “Nai murthen! Eem frith am Ognorm!” and the elf pushed past him.
“He’s right, my lord!” Jerryn whispered urgently, and powerful arms dragged Gawain back into the cabin.
It was Berek who had dragged him back to safety, and the Gorian officer’s eyes were hard.
“You’re needed alive, Raheen!” Berek hissed, “Let the men do their work!”
Gawain blinked again, and looked to the north. Reesen and Loryan were scurrying forward, crouching low, lamps held high. The scraping noise came from the far deckhouse, where Ognorm was still laying on the deck, but heaving on the chain, trying to drag the casket back into the safety of the cabin. It occurred to him then that Reesen might be using the Sight to overcome any temporary blindness the candle had afflicted, and that Loryan had been behind Allazar when the dazzling light had burst directly ahead of them.
“Where’s the Orb!” Gawain demanded.
“Ognorm has it,” Allazar replied, “He has dragged it into the cabin.”
“I can barely see,” Gawain complained. “Tell them to leave it in the cabin.”
“Aye, starve the bastard!” Prester spat.
“Leave the casket in the cabin!” Berek shouted the order, his voice booming the length of the barge. And then, quietly again and for Gawain’s benefit, “The elf has Ognorm, and Loryan too. They’re leaving Farayan.”
“I heard him scream,” Prester announced, shifting his weight from side to side, as though he would pace angrily but for the confines of the cabin. “And you know what that means. Bastard shadow finished the job he did on his arm, and took the rest of ‘im. Threken evil threken bas...” Prester sighed in disgust. “Sorry, Serres. Farayan was a mate.”
In the time it took Reesen and Loryan to drag Ognorm safely back, Gawain’s eyes were clearing, though in truth there wasn’t much to see. The fire on the deck had spilled over a little, Ognorm’s damp clothes collapsed onto the deck-plates nearby, the dwarf himself propped against the wall of the deckhouse and Allazar kneeling by him.
“Where’s me mate Farayan?”
“Alas,” Allazar sighed.
“Arr… No sooner had I put the box on the roof, I heard ‘im cry out. Then he must’ve shoved me into the cabin out the way, and I fell, an’ heard him scream. Then all was bright white. Thought it were the yonderlife, but for the noises… Farayan… seemed like a good bloke, to me.”
“He was that,” Prester confirmed, his voice still taut with rage, clutching his shortbow as though it were a snake and he were wringing the life from it.
“It didn’t get the Orb, melord,” Ognorm whispered, “Me and Farayan seen to that. It didn’t get the box. Chain held fast.”
“I know, my friend,” Gawain managed. “Rest easy. The Orb stays where it is, and so do we, ‘til dawn. Are you hurt?”
“Narr, melord. Just blind. Blind as a bat in a very dark cave, inside another very dark cave. Can’t see bugger-all, ‘cept purple spots floating in a sea o’ muck.”
“It will pass, Ognorm of Ruttmark. It is likely only temporary, and it will pass,” Allazar soothed.
“Arr,” Reesen nodded, and patted the dwarf on the shoulder. “Sleep now, Reesen watch. Well dunmate.”
They sat in the gloom of the deckhouse, lit by their lamps and the flickering light from the flames on deck. Ognorm slept, one fist closed around Nadcracker hanging from the loop in his belt, the other around his hammer. At length, when the dwarf’s breathing spoke of deep sleep, Gawain whispered the question they’d all been thinking.
“Did we destroy it? Did we even harm it?”
“I do not know,” Allazar replied. “The candle burst within the deckhouse, and the shadow was on the walkway with the casket. I do not know if it received sufficient light to destroy it or even harm it. I am sorry.”
“We’ll know soon enough if the bastard comes back,” Prester sighed, leaning back against the cold steel bulkhead, carefully stretching out his legs in front of him, anger fading quickly.
“And now we are eight. Tell me, Raheen, does your word of safe passage through eastern lands still hold good?”
“It does, Imperator Berek. Though it’s not yet dawn.”
“It matters not. The creature has made my decision for me. It has taken my men. It has killed men under my command, men of the First Zanatheum Cohort. I want it dead, or destroyed. I’ll not open that box and feed it, I’ll not make it strong while waiting here in this city of the dead for others to come who might not.” Berek drew himself up a little. “I yield to you, Gawain of Raheen, and hold you to your word, and trust to your honour. We three are the Emperor’s Guard. We shall see his orders carried out, by you, and with you, and do all we can to aid this cause.”
Gawain nodded, solemnly. “Gladly do we accept the aid of men of the First Cohort, Imperator Berek. Together we shall see the Orb removed from all possibility of use, and the foul shadow created by its malevolent light destroyed. May it know misery all the long moments of its withering when the Orb is removed from the forest and taken into the light of the world beyond.”
oOo
42. Marooned
Dawn did not so much break as seep like blood through a bandage, slowly tinting the fog first a dark slate grey and then a slightly lighter shade which graduated to a milky white overhead. The fire on deck had faded to embers, Ognorm’s boots and clothes lay scattered where they’d fallen, and the mould-corpse remains of Farayan, praetorian of the First Zanatheum Cohort, seemed to regard them all with casual indifference from its position near the northern deckhouse.
There, in the cabin, the Orb casket sat on the bench, untroubled throughout the remainder of the night, its rustless elven chains damp and cold as the rest of the vessel, and those aboard it. Jerryn had earlier crawled out to retrieve the fallen brazier, and now the men sat waiting for camp pans to boil
, steam rising slowly to mingle with the drifting mist.
“Jurian brandy-water will be as welcome as the finest breakfast tea ever served in the great halls and restaurants of this miserable city,” Jerryn sighed. “You were right, my lord, it hasn’t been long, and I for one find myself earnestly yearning to be at The Chattering Magpie once again, listening to Melany-Gwynne o’ the Hearth and her telling of The Tale of Emmaleen and Torhansen.”
“An inn, and a good one,” Gawain explained on noting Berek’s quizzical look. “With a fine balladeer, good food, and good company.”
“Beer weren’t up to much, though,” Ognorm sighed, and yawned as he nestled his hammer back into its leather holster.
“You should know, Ognorm,” Gawain smiled, “You drank enough of it to test even the most subtle of its qualities.”
“Arr, well, had to be sure, melord. Always got to give summink a fair do afore pronouncing on it, so my father said, and so says I. Though if it comes to pronouncing on this morning, it don’t measure up to the worst beer I ever drunk. Not by a long chalk.”
“At least sleep has restored your sight this morning. How do you feel?”
“Arr, not too bad, melord. There’s still purple spots floating hereabouts, but arr, I can see well enough. Had enough o’ this blasted fog though.”
“Though the mist is moving,” Allazar announced, “A little. There’s a breath of a breeze being drawn to the north, which we should feel soon, I think.”
“I want a good yardage of visibility around us, a hole clear up to the heavens and the bright light of day before I consider poling ashore and stepping off this barge,” Gawain declared.
Jerryn began dipping tin mugs in the camp-pans and passing around the steaming drinks. It was astonishing how much better they felt for the brandy-flavoured heat which suddenly coursed through them, an irrational feeling of civilisation and comradeship blossoming from the simple act of sharing the luxury of a hot beverage.
“The light is brightening,” Allazar noted, “Though it is diffuse. The casket upon the bench at the far end of the barge is clearly visible now.”
“Sixty feet of visibility against a creature that can move ninety in the blink of an eye is small comfort, wizard,” Gawain sniffed, the hot drink making noses run in the chill and damp of the morning.
“The warmth of the sun will begin to burn it away in earnest, once it’s high enough to shine down on us. Rain and cloud cover would be welcome too. Or even a gale. I am beginning to understand how poor shipwrecked mariners must feel, marooned upon a deserted island surrounded by fabled seas.”
“Very poetic, Allazar, but we have food a-plenty, water in abundance, fuel for the brazier and wood for a fire. I suspect few are the mythical marooned mariners of story-time ever to enjoy such comforts as we have.”
“We have sea-fogs in Zanatheum, in the season,” Berek announced quietly. “Rolls up the Baskar Channel in great banks. Thick as soup, on occasion. Once, years ago, I was aboard a sail-hoy, training a contingent of men in beach-landing. The hoy is sturdy, and can be run aground for coastal deployment. There’s at least eight islands in the Baskar Channel for such practice.
“We were running with the tide, in and up the channel towards the harbours when the wind dropped dead-calm, and the fog rolled in. Had forty men each side, paddling us until we finally grounded. Stuck there all night and well into the next afternoon, listening to other vessels and men aboard them blowing horns. Miserable muck. We’d have given a day’s pay for a hot drink like this, back then.”
“You are paid for your service to your Emperor,” Allazar gazed at Gawain, “An interesting concept, Imperator, and one we must discuss further.”
“Always happy to increase the number of lumps you receive, wizard,” Gawain announced, dead-pan.
“Ah.”
The Gorians looked a little bemused by the exchange between king and wizard, but were content to enjoy the strange new camaraderie in the cabin. And then, from the west, came a sound as alarming as it was surprising. A single, distant concussion, which seemed to come from high up, though it was muffled by the fog.
“Dwarfspit,” Gawain managed, almost choking on a mouthful of hot brandy-water.
“A maroon!” Jerryn gasped. “From the west!”
“Berek?”
The Imperator blanched. “None of our doing. We are all that remains of the force loyal to the Emperor. We were to take the device southwest, cross the River Ostern to the western bank and follow it to the coast. Thence, northwest along the coast of Pellarn Province to the Eramak, where a boat would carry us to a ship at sea for the passage to Zanatheum. Our orders were clear, and we were told to expect neither aid nor reinforcements. Could it be your Callodonians come looking for you, and lost in the fog?”
“No, they remain on the plains with our horses for a fast ride to a waiting ship.”
“Then whoever launched that maroon cannot be friendly,” Allazar asserted.
Gawain gazed uselessly at the wall of fog, careful to stay within the shelter of the cabin. He closed his eyes, and drew a breath, letting it out slowly, thinking, and then groaned in disgust.
“What is it, Longsword?” Allazar said softly, recognising the signs of impending revelation.
Gawain opened his eyes and turned to Berek. “You mentioned before, the engagement with the dark wizard at the centre of the city?”
“I did, Raheen.”
“And you mentioned how, before he found your range with his fireballs, one sped away over the treetops. Which direction did it take?”
Berek look puzzled. “West…”
“A dove,” Allazar groaned with realisation. “The demGoth sent a message west, requesting reinforcements.”
“And from what you’ve told us, Berek, there are considerably more reinforcements in Pellarn available to the enemy than to us. The Goth-lord may even have learned of your expedition and intent, and sent reinforcements soon after you crossed the Ostern and entered the forest.”
“And a second dove was likely sent during the battle here,” Allazar exclaimed, “Directing the reinforcements north of the city centre. Now the demGoth is dead, any doves sent by the reinforcements will have met with no answer, and so they have launched a maroon.”
“We cannot remain on this barge. We’ll be sitting ducks, just as the enemy were when Berek and his men destroyed them two nights ago.”
“And the shadow creature?” Berek said, his voice calm.
“Made no further attempt in the darkness before dawn. Perhaps we hurt it last night, and it licks its wounds somewhere. Also, it’s considerably lighter now than it was when last it tried for the Orb.”
“Very well,” Berek nodded. “I have yielded to you, Raheen. You command here now. I and my men are at your disposal.”
Gawain turned and stared up the barge at the dull grey of the box on its bench, the lid held tightly closed by straps and chains.
“Ognorm, will that thing fit in your pack?”
“Arr, if I empty it first, melord.”
“We’ll share your pack amongst the rest of us. It’ll be your shoulders which’ll lift and shift that thing all the way to Porthmorl.”
“Don’t think I’ll be worrying about them clothes and boots yonder on the deck, then, melord. One’s I’m wearing’ll have to do all the way, though it’ll be your noses as’ll have to put up with it.”
“Can you release the chain quietly, without alerting the enemy?”
“Not with bare strength, nor me ‘ammer alone.”
“There’s a pry bar in the compartment under the bench here,” Loryan announced, and set about retrieving it, while Reesen and Jerryn began unpacking the dwarf’s rucksack and sharing out the contents.
“There’s the question of poling the barge,” Allazar reminded Gawain quietly.
“I know. But we can’t stay here. If, as you say, the sun begins to burn away the mist, then it won’t be long before we’re in plain view of the dockside. It’s difficult to g
auge the distance of that maroon, but even a mile would put them far too close. We need to move, and soon.”
“I was thinking more of who, rather than when, Longsword.”
“Us, wizard, who else? There’s no-one else aboard with the skill we have. We need to slip quietly to the northeast corner of the pond, then disembark and run east.”
“You make it sound simple, Raheen.”
Gawain grimaced. “Nothing east of the Eramak is ever vakin simple, Berek.”
With the contents of Ognorm’s pack distributed amongst the others in the cramped confines of the cabin, and the dwarf examining the elven steel of the pry bar Loryan had passed to him, there was little left to do. They were waiting, Gawain knew, for him to give the word. Again he eyed the casket, so innocuous upon the distant bench, and yet so dangerous.
And then another maroon burst, slightly north of west, though they couldn’t tell if it were closer than the last.
“Allazar and I will go forward with Ognorm. Loryan, please release the mooring chain at this end, and then attend to the steering-lever. To begin with, you’ll want to push it slightly to the left side of the barge, then centre it again when we’re under way. Once we’ve slipped the chain at the other end of the vessel, Allazar and I shall pole it as quietly as possible across the pond. Ognorm will do his best to release the chain tethering the casket, then load it into his pack and shoulder it.”
“While the rest of us do what, Raheen? Stand and quietly cheer you on?”
“No, Berek. The rest of you will light burning brands and walk close in front of and behind Allazar and I, though you’ll be on the deck below us. That way, with any luck, the light from the brands will blind the creature to our presence on the walkways, should it be lurking out there somewhere.”
Heads nodded appreciatively, and once all were clear on their roles and the makeshift torches lit, Gawain, Allazar, and Ognorm crouched, and moved forward, five men following, leaving Loryan alone at what had become the stern of the vessel. The praetorian edged low around the cabin wall, slipped the mooring-chain as quietly as he could, and took his position at the tiller, easing its end slowly towards the northwest as he’d been instructed.
