by GJ Kelly
Then, seeing the bandages on Loryan’s hands, the dwarf looked genuinely aghast. “Poke my eye, you all right, mate?”
“I am,” Loryan acknowledged with a nod. “Thank you.”
“We had a little bother in the night,” Gawain explained, “Come, lift and shift the Orb, Ognorm, and let’s be away.”
Outside, mist swirled ankle-high, though fresh breezes from the north kept it moving, exposing the tops of the white-stone walls forming the ponds around the blockhouse. The two mould-corpses Ognorm had mentioned at first looked like men leaning casually against the trunks of trees some twenty yards to the west, but closer scrutiny showed them for what they were.
The men of the quest looked distinctly relieved on seeing Gawain and Loryan emerge relatively unscathed from within the confines of the building. Reesen caught Gawain’s gaze and held up three fingers, jabbing them to the west.
“More scouts, looking for those two I shouldn’t wonder,” Berek announced softly.
The Imperator looked tired. They all did.
“We heard the sounds of the shadow-creature’s attacks,” Allazar explained. “And doubtless so too did the enemy. But for your orders to remain at a distance, we too might be decorating the trees nearby with our mouldering remains. There are pipes in yonder mulch, all burst asunder, the mud and debris flung all about. I take it that is where the creature emerged?”
Gawain nodded, and pared a slice of frak. “We had something of a sleepless night too. But were successful in keeping the creature from the Orb, obviously. Tonight, though, I very much doubt we’ll have the luxury of such a secure vault at our disposal.”
“Ready, melord,” Ognorm announced from the doorway, the casket firmly in place in his rucksack.
“East then, but not in too much haste. We need only stay ahead of the enemy, and not allow him to drive us into the ground. Let them exhaust themselves trying to close the gap, I want us to be fitter for combat than they are when they make contact.”
“We may have another challenge to face, Longsword…”
“Dwarfspit, what could be worse than the shadow-creature skulking in the dark, and a dark wizard and his men-at-arms by day?”
“A Graken-riding demGoth. Reesen is certain he saw one, flying in a loop. It passed north of us, heading due east, and then swung slowly around, disappearing from view for almost an hour before flying back towards the west well to the south of us.”
“When was this?”
“Less than an hour after sunset.”
Gawain sighed, and blinked against the rising light of the day. It was overcast, and there looked to be rain in the offing.
“Just how many vakin darkweasels does this Maraciss of Simatheum have at his disposal, Berek?”
The Imperator shrugged. “I know not, Raheen. Perhaps all of them, from Armunland north to the Meggenveld and beyond. We don’t have your elf’s eyes, and didn’t see the ironmask or his winglizard, but it’s no surprise to us they might have others in the west to call upon.”
“Doubtless it was summoned by the one pursuing us, in the same manner that it, in turn, was summoned by the one you and your men destroyed at the city docks. Well, there’s little we can do about it standing here.”
“There is one more thing…”
“Oh vayen vakin Denthas, Allazar, what else can there be?”
The wizard looked apologetic.
“The terrain east of where we sheltered last night… it is not friendly. It is hilly, uneven, and there is at least one deep stream to ford that we saw.”
“Dwarfspit. Well, if it slows us, it’ll slow the enemy too.”
oOo
47. Simplicity
Slow them it did, that ‘unfriendly’ terrain, and that first deep stream, one of several deeper flows and of many shallower, made the going even more uncomfortable. Running in wet boots, feet squishing and slipping within, added to their misery, as did clambering on hands and knees up steep rises and slipping on their backsides on the down-slopes.
Gawain fretted. They all did. Time was being eaten by a cruel geography that simply wasn’t present further south when they’d entered the forest. Flat and unobstructed save for trees, so Gawain had described the terrain to Berek back on the barge at Calhaneth. He could almost hear them all repeating that poor description over and over again in their heads, as a mantra against the discomfort they were all suffering.
Only Ognorm seemed immune to the hardships, and his frequent smiles were becoming almost as annoying as they were amazing. No-one complained audibly, of course, except for the odd hissed or whispered curse on stumbling or slipping. But Ognorm seemed almost cheerful in comparison to everyone else’s demeanour.
At noon, the going levelled out, and the ground underfoot became firmer. Gawain ordered a pause at a broad and shallow stream which burbled happily over its gravel bed, and they sat heavily on the eastern bank. Boots were pulled off, emptied, and sopping socks wrung out. Drinks were taken, containers re-filled, then hands and feet bathed.
“Reesen?” Gawain called, quietly, when all except Ognorm were sitting on the bank.
The elf shook his head. Around mid-morning the pursuing force had caught up with the three scouts and were hovering at the furthest extent of Reesen’s Sight, but since then, the sharply undulating terrain had reduced the elf’s range. Nor had the Kindred Ranger been able to provide any detail on the strength of the enemy, beyond ‘many’, which Allazar had determined in elvish meant ‘a large group, twenty or more.’
Ognorm stood in the shallow stream, water swirling over his bare feet, digging his toes into the gravel and smiling another faint, curious smile.
“You always so bloody cheerful, Ognorm?” Prester grumbled, finally giving voice to the annoyance they all felt at the dwarf’s seemingly indomitable spirit.
“Narr, ‘course not. I can be a right miserable bugger when I feels like it, ask anyone at ‘ome in the ‘Mark.”
Allazar frowned, and suddenly seemed greatly concerned. “Then why do you appear so happy with our current situation, my friend? Do you feel well? The Orb is not affecting you, is it?”
At that, all of them became concerned. No-one had considered for a moment that the emanations which attracted the shadow-creature might have unseen and unwelcome effects upon them.
“Narr,” Ognorm grinned again, “Begging yer pardon, Serre wizard, but don’t be daft.”
“Then why the smile, and the cheerful disposition, while the rest of us are gritting our teeth and feeling every bone and muscle in our bodies?” Gawain sighed, relief at the dwarf’s reassurance flooding through them all.
“’Cos I’m here, melord, with all o’ you. See, in years from now, I’ll be able to close me eyes, like this,” and Ognorm surprised them all by doing just that, “And I’ll be here again, with all o’ you. I’ll feel the cold o’ the water running over me feet. I’ll feel the gravel between me toes when I scrunch ‘em up like this. I’ll smell the scents o’ the forest, feel the weak warmth o’ the sun on me face, and I’ll be here again, or as good as, with all o’ you.
“And, melords, if I don’t get back home, well. I’m still here now, with all o’ you. You spoke my name aloud, in the Hall of Threlland’s Fathers, gave my name to the king himself, and the call went up. The king himself sent for me, Ognorm o’ the ‘Mark, by name. By name! And here I am, answering that call, with all o’ you. I mean to remember it all, melord, every sight, every sound, every smell, every touch and every feeling, for as long as I live, be that five minutes or fifty years, so’s if I do get back ‘ome, I can tell ‘em all, tell ‘em all about all o’ you, and about everything we done, here, together.”
With that, the dwarf stooped, and plucked a small and smooth pebble from the stream. It was an ordinary pebble, no different from the many thousands of others around it. Except now it had been elevated above all the rest, and now, it was no longer ordinary. Smiling, Ognorm held it up, so they could see its ordinariness, and understand the reason for his smile and his cheery dispo
sition, and then he slipped it into his pocket. With a grin, Ognorm stepped out of the stream to dry his feet. One by one, each of them stood, and waded into the stream, and reached down, and took a pebble, and pocketed it.
For two hours they ran hard and steady, Ognorm’s simple wisdom wiping away the misery of wet boots and tired limbs, aided by terrain which matched once more the description Gawain had promised. At the end of those two hours, they slowed to a walk, breathing heavily and eating as they went, Reesen turning from time to time to check the rear where he declared there was still no sign of their pursuers.
Gawain frowned. “D’you think it odd, Berek? The enemy lagging so far behind now, when they were so close earlier in the day?”
“Hard to say. The lay of the land back there was unfriendly, and the main force is mercenary. They don’t make for the most enthusiastic of troops at the best of times, and they’ve already lost at least seven without so much as sighting us. Besides, there’s still a long way to go before we reach the plains. They’ll know that, if for no other reason than the winglizard ironmask will doubtless have told them last night.”
“And we can consider ourselves fortunate not to have encountered that today,” Allazar grumbled.
“So far,” Gawain added, ominously.
“We’ve about four hours of daylight left, my lord,” Jerryn announced.
“Agreed.”
“And we’ve seen no sign of any construction since leaving that blockhouse this morning. Do you have any plans for our disposition tonight, and the safeguarding of the Orb?”
“I’m hoping the greater the distance between us and the city will mean the creature has to venture further and further from safety in order to attack us, and thus diminish the time it has available near the Orb if it’s to seek shelter when the sun rises. As for our disposition, that’ll be decided when it’s nearer sunset.”
Even to Gawain’s ears, his words sounded somewhat vague.
“If the creature was indeed using pipes and channels below ground for travel and safety from daylight,” Allazar asserted, “Then a greater distance between us and such constructions as it used will indeed weaken the beast, and require it to waste time and energy travelling.”
“I do have a plan, as it happens, Allazar,” Gawain announced, “Though your attempt at rescuing my authority, while utterly pointless, is appreciated, you bloody whitebeard.”
“Ah.”
“I just didn’t want to depress you all with its simplicity. Not to mention its risk, especially with an enemy of unknown strengths and qualities pressing from the rear.”
“I could stand to be depressed, my lord,” Jerryn smiled grimly, “It’s probably better than being taken by surprise when the sun starts sinking.”
“You people are strange,” Berek sighed. “In the Empire, if a man questioned his commander in public the last thing he’d see would be his own backside as his head was thrust up it.”
Gawain chuckled softly. “Another interesting Imperial policy which I must add to my list of interesting things I’ve learned from you and your men, Imperator. However, in these lands, it’s usually only the wizard who suffers my regal ire.”
Allazar sniffed. “It’s always the wizard who suffers your regal ire, your Majesty.”
Gawain became serious as they walked on, breathing settling, muscles grateful for the rest.
“The plan is simple, born from observations of the creature’s behaviour last night. We’ll chain the casket to a stout limb high up in a darkwood tree and fix a couple of lamps to it. The lamps will deter the shadow from attacking the casket and freeing the Orb, and will also serve to keep it at bay. We’ll deploy nearby, with our own lights, and with the White Staff for defence against the creature should it lash out at us in spite. Last night, the one part of the blockhouse the creature failed to attack was probably in fact the weakest: the roof.”
“Ah. A simple plan indeed,” Allazar muttered, “And one so obvious a child could have devised it.”
“Tell me, Imperator, what happens in the Empire when someone suggests in public that a commander is childishly simple?”
Berek grinned as Allazar spluttered.
“I wasn’t making any such suggestion, Longsword, I was merely castigating myself aloud for failing to use my own worthless wits.”
“Then castigate harder. And if we’re all finished eating and have our breath back, another two hours of running, and then we’ll need to look for somewhere suitable to put the plans of a childish simpleton into operation. Always assuming, of course, some unforeseen catastrophe doesn’t befall us on the way.”
There was no such catastrophe, unless a misty drizzle could be counted as such, and no-one mentioned it. Indeed, the coolness of the rain, while it damped clothing and hair, helped cool them on the run, and afterwards, when finally they slowed their pace to a walk and began seeking what Gawain described as ‘somewhere suitable.’
Reesen assured them that the enemy remained out of sight well to their rear, which Gawain felt was probably as alarming as it was welcome news. Given the discovery of the mould-corpses, and the previous day’s hideous butchering of the pathfinders, the consensus was that a night attack was highly unlikely.
At length, they spotted an immense and very old darkwood tree, towering above them and above all its neighbours for a good distance around, though a dark scar the length of its mighty trunk spoke of lightning; the penalty such a tree must often pay for excelling above all others.
They gathered at its base, and gazed up at the lowest limbs, some thirty feet above their heads.
“Ognorm,” Gawain announced.
“Wot?” came the startled reply.
“Up you go then,” Gawain smiled. “The chain should fit around that bough, about a third of the way along from the trunk. It’ll be in good view of us all on the ground there, too.”
“Urrmm, begging yer pardon, melord,” Ognorm twisted a booted foot in the leaf litter. “Only, there ain’t much of a call for tree-climbing in Threlland, even in the valleys.”
“Ah. Fair point, well made. Reesen.”
All eyes swung to the elf.
“Wot?” he said, his eyebrow twitching.
“Nice try,” Gawain beamed back him. “Allazar, a translation of my instructions for Ranger Reesen, if you please.”
While Allazar described what was needed, and Reesen stood there blinking and gazing up at the bough and then down at the casket Ognorm had dragged from the rucksack, two miners lamps were secured to the chains wrapped tightly around the box.
“Make sure they’re secure, Ognorm. In the blockhouse, the creature risked pain by snatching away a burning torch to try to secure the Orb.”
“Arr, melord. Can do. One each side, you reckon?”
“Good idea.”
There was a brief exchange of rapid elvish between Reesen and Allazar which left the wizard smiling. Gawain picked out a couple of the ruder words but refrained from asking for a translation while the casket was being prepared.
Ropes were produced, from Gorian packs as well as others, and tied firmly together, and Reesen wrapped one end around his waist and tied it off, before, reluctantly, handing his bow to Gawain. The gesture wasn’t lost on Gawain, who rested the tip of the weapon on his boot in a manner which would’ve made Elayeen proud.
Reesen turned and studied the fissures in the ancient bark, and dumped his pack, quiver, and shortsword. Then he began the climb. When he was halfway up, and moving carefully but steadily, Gawain asked Allazar what it was Reesen had said.
“He said just because I’m a vakin elf doesn’t mean I can climb vakin trees, I was the king’s bodyguard, not his vakin arborist.”
Gawain grinned. “He’s doing a pretty good job of it, all the same.”
“Arr, not bad, if I say so meself, not that I know bugger-all about tree-climbing. Begging yer pardon Serre wizard, but what’s an arborist?”
“Ah, a tree surgeon, master Ognorm. A tree surgeon.”
&nbs
p; “Poke me in the eye, elfs must think a lot o’ their trees if they got their own doctors then.”
Reesen made the bough, and walked out on to it, dragging the rope with him. Then he sat astride the limb, removed the rope from his waist and tied it around the bough. When the lower end was secured to the casket, he began heaving it up, hand over hand.
It took very little time after that for the chain to be wrapped around the limb and secured by the mooring-spike clasp as Ognorm had demonstrated, and then, with the casket sitting firmly atop the bough and the two miner’s lamps opened wide, Reesen simply slid gracefully down the rope to the ground.
Gawain handed the elf his bow with a nod of gratitude, which Reesen acknowledged with good grace.
“Time to find a spot within sight of the Orb but far enough away from it to avoid the shadow. To the east, I think. It’ll put a little more distance between it and us when, or if, it appears.”
“I think the ‘if’ is a little wishful, Longsword, if the creature’s efforts last night are any measure of its hunger.”
“I was being optimistic for the sake of morale, beardwit. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it, none of us will sleep tonight.”
“Ah.”
oOo
48. No Arborist
By dint of good fortune and nature’s own forest husbandry, they were able to maintain a clear view of the casket tree and its strange new fruit glowing in the gathering gloom some fifty yards away and slightly south of east. There, waiting for sunset, weapons were readied, torches prepared but not lit, wood for a bonfire collected and laid ‘for emergencies’, or so Prester had said, and when the misty rain finally eased, wet socks were hung from sticks poked in the ground in the hope that morning might find them dry and men still alive to wear them.
“We should only loose fire on the beast if it looks as though it will gain the Orb,” Gawain decided. “If we harry it, it will notice us. With luck, our lamps will be enough to deter it from launching itself at us.”
