The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  Inside, there was little to see. A large steel pipe emerged from the stone floor and split into five smaller pipes, each fitted with a large steel wheel valve. Above the valve wheels, the pipes turned through a right-angle and proceeded through the wall and out towards the ruins of the pools beyond. There were no windows, but a simple vent near the plain stone ceiling above the door admitted fresh air.

  “It’s small in there,” Berek grunted, peering over Gawain’s shoulder.

  “Aye, small like a crypt,” Prester complained.

  “It’s stone-built, with a stone floor. It has a steel door, and but for the vent, is likely impregnable to the shadow-creature.”

  “And if it should get in, we would all be destroyed in an instant, huddled together as we’d have to be to fit in there.”

  “Not all of us will be in here,” Gawain announced. “Just the Orb, and two men to guard it ‘til dawn.”

  There were gasps of protest, which were stilled by a regal hand. “The remainder shall withdraw to the east, moving as far as possible until sunset, and there settle for the night. If the shadow-creature is fixed upon the Orb it’s unlikely to bother itself with people so far away from it.”

  “I’ll stay with the Orb, melord, since I’m the one shifting it.” And with that simple assertion Ognorm started a round of protests and volunteering, until again Gawain called for silence.

  “Lots will be drawn, and before you even think of suggesting that you control the drawing, wizard, I’ll be the one holding them.”

  Allazar scowled, and mumbled under his breath before adding clearly: “I should remain with the Orb to provide light against any assault from the creature.”

  “The very same reason is why you should remain with the men, Allazar,” Gawain asserted, and outside in the fading evening light, tore a length of dead suckerweed from the wall, snapping the stem into lengths, two distinctly shorter than the others.

  “I don’t like this, Raheen. What if you draw a short lot? You command here, if you should be lost…”

  “If I am lost, Berek, then you and the wizard will see the Orb safe to the sea in my stead. Remember, all of you, it is the destruction of the Orb that matters. Nothing and no-one else.”

  Gawain showed them the lots, then closed his hands over them, rearranging them before holding them out for the choosing. No-one moved to draw the first lot.

  “There’s no time for this!” Gawain hissed, anger rising, “Draw, while there is light left to safeguard the Orb and ourselves!”

  Berek glowered. “In the Empire, the commander commands, he does not put himself at risk as you are doing, Raheen. Take one of the longest straws out, for yourself, then I and my men shall draw.”

  “This is not the Empire, Berek, and I command here as you yourself have noted. So draw, then, Imperator Praetor of the First Zanatheum Cohort, I command it! Or do you mean to abandon our truce and your honour with it?”

  Berek’s expression darkened, flushed with anger at the suggestion. But he was trapped, and he knew it, and his hand reached out, fingers snatching a straw. It was long.

  “Allazar, you now.”

  “I prefer to wait…”

  “Now, damn you, wizard!”

  Allazar shuddered at the anger in Gawain’s voice, recalling all too well a recent outburst at Lord Rak’s house in Tarn. With trembling hand, he reached out, and plucked a straw from Gawain’s fist. Long.

  “This is insane, Longsword,” the wizard spat, and threw the straw down before turning and walking away two paces, his back to the proceedings.

  Prester, long. Jerryn, long. Loryan, short. Ognorm, long. Reesen, long. The elf grimaced and glowered, and pointed at the remaining straw in Gawain’s hand, as if to say show it to us. But Gawain simply tucked the straw into his tunic beneath his cloak.

  “Ognorm,” he demanded, “Can the casket be secured by its free length of chain, to that large pipe at the end of the blockhouse?”

  The dwarf’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Arr, I think so, melord, still got the bent spike through it as secures it’s other end around the box. I can slip the last link back through that and close the spike a bit I reckon.”

  “Please do so. Allazar, examine the mechanism of the latch-handles each side of the door. I want to be able to secure the door from the inside against that shadow-creature, or anyone else, and prevent it opening from without.”

  “Very well, your Majesty,” the wizard glowered, emphasizing Gawain’s title as if to remind the young king of something.

  But Gawain let Allazar’s hint slide by, and turned to the others. “Loryan and I shall need light, torches as a last resort if our lamps fail to keep the shadow away from the vent above the door. Quickly, if you please.”

  Ognorm set about his task, and the sound of clinking chain and metal upon metal from inside the blockhouse spoke of his work, while Jerryn and Prester went to gather suitable wood for makeshift brands. Berek stood with his massive arms folded, smouldering with unspoken anger. Allazar grimaced and strode to the door to examine the latches, and Reesen stepped forward so that he stood, practically toe to toe, staring straight into Gawain’s eyes.

  “Reesen see,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to indicate the straw Gawain had pocketed.

  “Nai,” Gawain hissed, “Thal command, Reesen do.” And Gawain patted his cloak firmly, three times, a possessive and unmistakable gesture.

  The elf’s eyes blinked, his pupils snapped shut, but before the paralyzing gaze of Eldenelves could assail Gawain’s senses, Reesen blinked again, pupils expanding normally in the dull light of evening.

  “Thalin-Elayeen command,” the elf whispered, glowering, “Reesen do,” And then to Gawain’s immense surprise, the elf lifted his hand, finger pointing, and then poked Gawain in the chest, twice, saying again: “Reesen. See.”

  Anger ballooned in Gawain’s stomach, muscles tensed, eyes narrowed dangerously, but the elf Ranger remained totally unmoved. For a few short moments, Gawain trembled with rage. But the sound of a hammer ringing on steel pierced the silence from within the blockhouse, and he forced his fury down, throttled it, choked it back, swallowed it, with teeth clenched all the while.

  Gawain’s hand reached up, slid beneath his cloak, drew out a piece of the long straw he’d broken in half when he’d patted his cloak, and held it up before Reesen’s face, moving it closer, forcing the elf back a pace, then another.

  “Thal command, Reesen do,” Gawain hissed.

  The Ranger stared at the straw, and then at Gawain, and then, reluctantly, his eyes dropped. “Isst, miThal.”

  Berek, standing ten feet away, arms still folded, observed the exchange, but said nothing.

  “All done melord,” Ognorm called softly from the doorway, “I’ve ‘ammered it so’s a bright lad can undo the tether by sliding the last link ‘round the curl I made o’ the spike. Don’t reckon the shadow-thing’s too bright though, so it’ll hold. My life on it, melord.”

  “Thank you, Ognorm. Allazar, have you found a way of locking the door?”

  “I have, your Majesty. The latches work in opposition to one another. Here on the outside, the handle is pulled to unlatch the door. On the inside, it is pushed. It will be a simple matter to wedge an object between the handle and the door on the inside to prevent it being unlatched from without.”

  “Good. Can the door also be wedged from without, should the latch break?”

  “It could be, if a suitable wedge were to be made available.”

  “A sword, dagger, or other knife should suffice, should it not?”

  Allazar nodded, reluctantly.

  “Then see that it is, and spare me any more of your beardwitted truculence. This is no time for sulking like children! Loryan, do you have a lamp?”

  “I do, Serre.”

  “Good. Food, and water enough for the night?”

  “Aye, Serre.”

  “Then take a piss or whatever comfort you may need, once we’re within the blockhouse, there we rema
in until dawn when the wedge from without is removed to release us.”

  “We’ve a goodly number of boughs for torch-handles, my lord,” Jerryn announced with an armful. “I’ll put them inside, with rags and a bottle of brandy.”

  “Not the good stuff, I hope, Major.”

  “It’s Jurian, my lord, it’s all good stuff.”

  “Then let’s hope we don’t need to waste it. Berek?”

  “Raheen.”

  “You’ve about an hour to find somewhere to spend the night. Once Loryan and I are sealed within, you’re all to leave, and head east. I want you all far enough away not to be a target for the shadow-creature’s spite. It’s unlikely the enemy to the west will advance or attack tonight. At dawn, and I mean dawn, when it’s bright enough out here to deter the shadow, return and release the wedge. Rap upon the steel of the door two times, twice, so we know it’s you and can release the obstruction to the latch within. Understood?”

  “Understood, Raheen.”

  “Good.”

  Final preparations were made, which included Ognorm expertly knocking a lump off a white-stone block with his rock-hammer, the lump to be used to wedge the interior handle, and then Loryan and Gawain stepped inside the blockhouse, Allazar holding the door open.

  “Can I not persuade you against this risk, Longsword? Can the word of the Word not deflect the Deed from its course?”

  “No. Get moving. Keep good watch. See you after sunrise tomorrow. Now seal the bloody door before I change my mind.”

  Allazar’s face crumpled, and he sighed, and began shoving on the heavy steel door. Hinges squealed, metal scraped on stone, and in jerking advances, finally, the door slammed shut. At once, Gawain wedged the lump of stone Ognorm had prepared between the latch-handle and the door, and hammered it in place with the pommel of his shortsword.

  “Try the handle, Allazar!” Gawain shouted up towards the narrow vent above the door.

  “It does not move!” came the faint reply. “I am wedging the door!”

  Hammering from without, and at the foot of the door, in the light from their lamps, Gawain and Loryan saw the point of a Gorian bollock dagger slowly inch forward, driven by blows from without, until the hammering, and the blade, stopped.

  “It is done,” Allazar called.

  “Go, then!”

  “Good luck!” came a shout from without, though from whom, they could not say.

  “Now we wait,” Gawain announced, eyeing the vent and the dim light shining through it, and then the narrow slits at the top and bottom of the door.

  “Aye, Serre,” Loryan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’ll be a long night, too.”

  “Not as long as the next three will be. I doubt we’ll find another shelter such as this between here and the plains. And those bastards in pursuit will doubtless make their move against us from tomorrow afternoon.”

  Gawain tested the chain looped around the large pipe where it emerged from the stone floor, and holding the lamp closer, examined the bent mooring-spike which served to secure the chain around the Orb casket as well as securing the end of the loop passing around the pipe. Ognorm had done his work well.

  Then, they sat, tore strips of cloth from the old Gorian clothing Jerryn had left, and prepared a handful of makeshift torches, should they be needed in the night. At length, the job done, Gawain quietly ordered Loryan to close the shutters on his lamp, and did likewise.

  As their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, they saw three areas of weakness in their shelter. A shaft of light lanced through the west-facing vent above the door, illuminating a rectangle of stone on the eastern wall, the patch of light slowly creeping up towards the roof as the sun continued to set. And two thin strips of light were barely visible at the top and bottom of the door.

  “That is were it will attack,” Gawain announced, quietly.

  “D’you think it could fit under the door, Serre?”

  “I don’t know. This afternoon it seemed to ooze through and around the links in those large chains. There’s no other way for it to get in, that I can see.”

  “Nor I.”

  “We should rest while we can, sunset isn’t far off now.”

  “I’ll take first watch, Serre.”

  “Very well, thank you. Keep your lamp handy. In these confines, light will be our best and likely only effective weapon.”

  Gawain closed his eyes, and with the longsword propped against the wall beside him, useless within the blockhouse, he pondered the wisdom of his decision. The blockhouse was, of course, the most secure location for the Orb, and with luck, the stone blocks which had stood here for a thousand years proof against the shadow of Calhaneth. Whether it was wise for them to lock themselves in with the Orb remained to be seen.

  Perhaps they could have found a way to seal the door from outside, and to block the air vent above the door. But leaving the Orb unguarded simply seemed to Gawain far too great a risk. They had no idea what might happen should the shadow-creature acquire the Orb. Perhaps they could have left lights burning inside the blockhouse. Perhaps. No, Gawain decided. He had made his decision, and it was a good one. As for cheating with the lots, that had been easy, and taught to him by his brother Kevyn long ago, in a different life; a life where shadows were cast by nothing more dangerous than glorious sunshine warming a high plateau…

  They took it in turns to sleep, or rather doze and snooze, half an hour at a spell. Shutters on the lamps were opened narrow when the light from without finally faded. On a sudden impulse, Gawain rammed a length of wood into the air vent above the door, to act as an alarm should the shadow attempt to gain entry there and push it out onto the floor.

  Finally, perhaps an hour or two from midnight, it was difficult to tell, both men simply sat in the gloom of their near-shuttered lamps.

  “We still don’t rightly understand why you didn’t kill us all at that pond, Serre,” Loryan broke the silence, his voice as quiet as the light was gloomy. “Doubt we’d have shown the same mercy, if it were the other way around.”

  Gawain shrugged slightly. “Perhaps that’s just one of the differences between your Empire and our free lands. If we’d slaughtered you, neither of us would likely be sitting here now. We knew nothing of the shadow hunting the Orb. It would’ve destroyed us in the forest.”

  “Maybe. But you own a powerful wizard, I reckon he’d have spotted the shadow-thing quick enough. When we first saw it, we thought it was some kind of creature put here by the elves to guard their dead city and its secrets.”

  “You lost men to it, in the tower.”

  “Aye. Good men, too, sent ahead to secure the device while we engaged the Simanian scum in the woods. Darkweasel and his guard got them, slipped away from the main force while the penny-blades kept us busy. Lost more men in the tunnel outside the tower, too. They went in, looking for a way to come up behind the enemy. It was dark in there, and the shadow took three of ‘em.” Loryan sighed, and leaned his head back against the wall. “This has been the worst duty men of the First have ever undertook, and it’s been made no easier for the fact it was the Emperor himself who ordered it. Proud, we were, when we left. Even endured the peasants’ rags we had to wear. Now there’s just three of us left, and we’re yielded, and honour-bondsmen to an Eastlander king. No offence, Serre.”

  “None taken, yet.”

  “Aye. Sorry, Serre, never was much good in small spaces. Stayed on deck when we sailed out of Zanatheum, rather than endure the cabin below. Tied meself to the mast too, when the storm broke over us. Rest of the boys were below, heaving their guts and waiting for death. I swear, there was puke on the ceilings down there, ship was tossed so bad.”

  “You sailed south?”

  “Aye. From the Golden City, down the Baskar Channel to open sea, then down the coast to the mouth of the Eramak. Up river then, on flatboat scows, almost all the way to Pellarn’s Keep. Had to get ashore early though, mingle with the peasants and make contact with the Resistance.”
<
br />   “Did you leave a wife and family at home?”

  “Me, Serre?” Loryan snorted with surprised laughter, “No, Serre, can’t afford either! They tell of a sergeant, at home, bought himself a wife. In less than a year she ate his house and all his possessions, ran up a debt would make a Cohort Imperator kak himself. Sergeant ended up in the Courts of Recompense, sold in bond to a Namathenen provincial Tal. From sergeant in the Cohorts to a talguard bondsman in some northern kakbucket province, all in less than a year. Guarding a caravan of copperchips hacked out of a hole in the ground at the foot of some nameless pockmarked mountain. No thank you, Serre. Not on my wages.”

  There was a long silence, while Gawain tried to imagine the kind of society Loryan had described. Then a strange sound drew their attention. It was odd, a distant sound but strangely close, as though it were being made far off but being carried into their midst. Silence. Then the sound came again, and they held their breath.

  “It sounds like a wooden rule being strummed on a desktop in a classroom,” Gawain whispered.

  “Or the rattle of a dagger hurled into a wooden board,” Loryan whispered back.

  They stood, carefully, heads cocking this way and that, and the sound came again.

  “It’s coming from the pipe, Serre, I’m sure!” Loryan announced, and they both knelt, listening.

  The curious rattling twang came again, and indeed it was being carried through the pipe manifold from outside the blockhouse.

  “There,” Gawain pointed at the wall where the five separate pipes passed through the blocks and out towards the rectangular walled ponds, long since filled with forest debris.

  In the gloom of the lamplight, they watched a small puff of dust spill from the stone at the underside of one the pipes. Loryan put his hand on the cold metal, and nodded, wide eyed in the gloom. There was a loud and violent concussion, and Loryan whipped his hand from the pipe as though scalded, while dust puffed from around the metal where it passed through the blocks. Then came a rhythmic rattling, increasing in volume.