by GJ Kelly
“And they ain’t so tough if you get ‘em quick enough, melord. In a fair fight, we can take ‘em. It’s the shadow-thing I don’t much fancy.”
“Agreed. Let’s try to make sure these fires will take when we want them to. Tear up the Major’s spare clothing for kindling, and pass out the bottles of brandy to be used for igniting the fires.
“Allazar, should the shadow-creature arrive it can only approach the tree from the front, the west, once the fires are burning. I’ll want you to harry it with light too, from our position behind the torches and our lamps, there at the northern side.”
“Is this wise, Longsword?”
“Wise or not, night will fall and the shadow will come. The enemy too will not relinquish the Orb without a fight. This time tomorrow we should be on the plains or near enough. We just have to survive this night, and I mean to do that rather more manfully than we have of late. Tell Reesen to look up as well as around. There’s still a Graken-rider at large and by now he may well have received word that his spike-traps failed.”
“Fires will certainly guide such a creature directly to us,” the wizard complained. “We might then have three enemies to contend with, from the air as well as on foot from the west.”
“And if the imbeciles from Simatheum continue following our trail after discovering their scouts, one of those enemies may well do us a favour and cut a mouldering swath through the other on its way here.”
“Good point,” Berek muttered, eyebrows arched in surprise, and then loped away to fetch more wood, leaving Gawain and the wizard alone while he and others continued preparations.
“If the Graken should attack after nightfall, Longsword, I doubt I can bring white fire to bear upon it. I do not possess the Sight of the Eldenelves.”
“I know you’re concerned, Allazar. So am I. But understand, the enemy have no idea that you are with us. The demGoth destroyed by Berek and his men at the docks of Calhaneth would have called for reinforcements long before we appeared on the scene. Remember, when we arrived at the docks the iron-masked bastard had been floating face down in the mooring-pond all night. They still likely believe they are pursuing a handful of the Pellarn Resistance.”
Allazar blinked, a little astonished. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted.
“That’s just one of the many reasons I’m a king and you’re a sweaty whitebeard trying hard not to look exhausted.”
“Ah.”
“You were right, Allazar, we’re all pushing hard at the limits of endurance. And that’s another reason for making a stand here, while we’ve still strength for fighting. My hope is that the shadow-creature will hit one or two of the enemy on its way here, and if we’re lucky, one will be the vakin darkweasel. If we’re even luckier, the mercenaries will then flee, leaving us in peace to feed the fires and starve the shadow.”
“That,” Allazar whispered, “Is placing a lot of faith in luck.”
“I know. But with Reesen’s Sight at our disposal, if they attack after dark he can pick them off as he did the Graken-rider in the hills northeast of Harks Hearth. And then there’s you and the stick. We have two secret weapons on our side, and as my old mentor would have said, that should give us sufficient superiority for an optimistic outcome. If any do get through, there’s Nadcracker and three praetorians before I need to get my hands any dirtier than they are already.”
“And the shadow-creature?”
“Candles, and the light of that deadbeard Aemon should take care of that. I hope.”
Gawain suddenly frowned at the wizard. “You don’t still have any beardwit objections when it comes to loosing fire upon the enemy, do you?”
“No,” Allazar firmly, “As the Meggen at Far-gor discovered to their cost. Since the loss of Master Imzenn and other friends at that battle in the north, I have elected to consider any ethical dilemmas only when I have the peace and quiet to give them the consideration they deserve. And I do not expect there to be sufficient peace and quiet while Morloch draws his foul breath.”
“Good answer.”
“Thank you,” Allazar smiled, though his eyes were tired. He sighed, and glanced around at the preparations, leaning on his staff. “The breezes are warmer, and more from the south.”
“Yes, the seasons are turning, spring has almost arrived. Let’s hope there’s no vakin fog tonight, or we’re all mould by midnight, fires or no fires.”
“And there was me enjoying the phrase ‘optimistic outcome.’”
oOo
52. Remember Me?
“They’ll know from our trail that only seven of us remain,” Berek agreed, watching as Loryan and Prester shoved and twisted torches into the ground. “Whether that will give them enough courage to make a night attack, I cannot say. We’ve reduced their numbers considerably, too, and the penny-blades have nothing but fear of the ironmask at their back to drive them forward.”
“They’ll also know that we’re less than a day from the plains, and that will spur the dark wizard on.”
“True, unless that winglizard darkweasel dropped more of those Spikebulb things in our path.”
“If he didn’t,” Allazar grumbled, “He well might tonight.”
Gawain shrugged. “It’s not the possibility of Spikebulbs we should be concerned about, but fire raining down from above and arrows raining in from the west. Not to mention the shadow-creature. Seven against nine is a certainty, the shadow and Graken a probability, but Spikebulbs are only a possibility tomorrow after daybreak, assuming we live that long.”
“We need enough wood to keep the fires burning all night if needs be,” Berek called to Ognorm and the two praetorians. “D’you think that’s enough?”
The three men eyed the bonfires, the piles of wood near them, and shrugged before heading off into the trees to fetch more.
“Allazar,” Gawain asked quietly, eyeing Reesen, who stood some distance away, eyes fixed on the west. “If it were necessary, could you set light to one of these trees? With the stick, that is?”
The wizard and the Imperator blinked.
“I’m not entirely certain, Longsword. Setting fire to a living darkwood tree in the middle of forest is not something I’ve attempted before.”
“But if you hit one, with that lightning of yours, would it catch fire?”
“I honestly do not know. Most likely, the wood would be sundered by the strike, rather than set alight. Which tree has so greatly offended you, if’n you don’t mind my askin’?”
Gawain smiled grimly. “None of them. All of them. I was just wondering aloud. It’s probably too damp anyway.”
“I have known you for but a few days, Raheen, and even I know you weren’t merely wondering aloud.”
Gawain shrugged. “Well. It doesn’t matter. It simply occurred to me that with the wind swinging around behind us, sending a wall of fire towards the enemy and the city where probably lurks the shadow-creature might buy us more time than simple bonfires and torches.”
Allazar was aghast. “And that is why you spoke quietly, for fear that Reesen of elfkind would overhear! Deliberately to start a forest fire, Longsword! It beggars belief!”
Gawain shrugged again. “As I said. It’s probably too damp anyway. Besides, when we light the bonfires, the rising heat from them might be enough to ignite the branches overhead, and then nature will take its course. You’ll note that Imperator Berek doesn’t share your shock.”
Berek smiled, his eyes hard. “Imperator Berek would like nothing better than to see that box safely into the sea, and then to go home. If a few Eastland trees would guarantee that, I’d light them myself.”
Allazar was about to protest when Reesen swung around and glanced over his shoulder towards them. “Lights, slow, one mile, miThal.”
“Walking?”
“Isst, walk, slow, no run.”
“Well, if they keep up that pace, they’ll be here in about twenty minutes, and still a good half an hour after their arrival before sunset,” Allazar muttered.
“That’s assuming they keep up that pace,” Gawain agreed. “They’ll have reached the edge of the softer ground and will doubtless be wondering if it gets boggier further on, or firmer.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to deploy scouts, Raheen, not after the misfortune all others have suffered.”
“Good. Though it would probably be better if they rushed us now, before nightfall. That’d just leave the shadow-creature to deal with.”
“And the Graken-rider,” Allazar reminded them.
Gawain was about to reply, when to their astonishment, the concussion of a maroon sounded from the west.
The men gathered near Gawain, armfuls of wood hastily dumped on the piles.
“Are they mad?” Allazar whispered, “Surely they can’t mean to drive us onward?”
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s probably a signal, a ball of smoke above the trees to guide a Graken-rider. Allazar, stand ready in the clearing. You’ll have to loose your fire up through the branches. Remember, it doesn’t know you’re here. Reesen, eyes up! The rest of us should probably spread out and take cover. By all means take a shot at the beast and its rider should it appear.”
The wizard strode forward into the expanse of bare forest floor between the casket tree and its nearest neighbour, staff clutched in both hands, face set grim and eyes scanning the pale blue sky through the canopy of budding branches. Reesen stood to his right, scanning the west and the heavens, and Gawain and the rest of the men took positions behind the solid trunks of darkwood, preparing bows, bolts, and arrows.
“West, move fast,” Reesen announced, pointing low, and then spoke in elvish.
“The enemy are spreading out and coming towards us quickly,” Allazar called. “Reesen sees eight in all, and one of them is dark indeed.”
“No sign of the Graken?” Gawain called back from beside the casket tree.
“None.”
“Dwarfspit,” he mumbled, slipping his pack and loosening the sword in its scabbard. Then he strung an arrow, and surveyed their surroundings. The two greatest threats were the shadow and the Graken-rider, and the former would likely not appear until after sunset, though if the clear sky above them were any guide, starlight would be their ally this night.
The Graken-rider, though, would make a difficult target for both bolt and arrow. There were too many obstructions in the canopy above them to guarantee a hit. Only Allazar stood any real chance of inflicting damage upon the airborne enemy, and with such a limited field of fire at his disposal, the wizard would need to be swift and accurate indeed. Or at least swift, and his tree of lightning as immense as it was at Far-gor. Gawain eyed Allazar with sudden concern; at the farak gorin, the wizard hadn’t had to run through a forest for three days before loosing his power.
“A thousand yards,” Allazar announced softly. “Still no sign of the Graken.”
The enemy’s plan was obvious, Gawain thought, the foot soldiers intending to arrive immediately after a strafing run by the Graken rider. They would probably wait until they were almost within bowshot before launching another maroon to guide the airborne wizard to its target.
“Enough of this,” he whispered to himself, and hurried forward into the clearing, giving a low whistle to summon them all to him.
“We’re going out to meet them, before they can bring the Graken down upon us and while there’s light enough left to keep the shadow at bay. We’ll advance four hundred yards, take ambush positions, and take the fight to them!”
Grim smiles met this news, though the wizard remained merely grim.
“I know, Allazar,” Gawain forestalled his protest. “You must stay here with the casket. Should the Graken arrive early, you’ll have to deal with it alone.”
“Alone! And what of the dark wizard you’ll be facing head-on! What of his power?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when we return. Take a station behind the casket tree, and be prepared to light the fires should we not return by sunset.”
And with that, and before Allazar could forestall Gawain with any further protests, the men were running west, spreading out into line abreast, Reesen to Gawain’s right, and all of them, grinning broadly as they sprinted away from the Orb of Arristanas, and away from the wizard left guarding it.
“Madness…” Allazar sighed, stunned, “Utter madness…” and then realising that he was alone in the clearing, hastily glanced skyward, then hurried to his post behind the casket tree.
They slowed to a halt on firm ground near the top of the incline up which the enemy would have to climb after crossing the soft and muddy ground below. Reesen confirmed the enemy’s disposition, eight in all, in a ragged line abreast, the ‘vizarrn am Morloch’ at the centre. Gawain deployed his men accordingly, and they waited, catching their breath and making ready.
Gawain took deep breaths, trying to still himself so he could listen for the enemy’s approach. It helped to keep the elated grin from his face, too. He knew it was a risky venture, he knew he was putting himself and the others in harm’s way, and he knew that leaving Allazar as sole guardian of the Orb would earn him no thanks from the wizard later. But he was tired of running. All his life his many teachers had taught the same thing: you are Raheen, you run towards the danger, never away from it, unless your commander orders a tactical retreat.
Now, he was the commander. And the enemy’s miserable grasp of tactics had been more than evident at the Battle of Far-gor. Here, superiority was his, in spades. Thank you again, Captain Hass.
Noises. Stumbling, heavy-footed, the rattling of cheap weapons in loose scabbards. A distant voice, little more than sibilant hissing, probably an order to whoever had stumbled to be silent and to take more care. A quick glance at Reesen, the elf shaking his head; the enemy had yet to crest the rise.
Gawain smiled. The enemy were expecting a handful of Pellarnian Resistance fighters. The enemy were in for a surprise.
There was a chill in the air, evening advancing, the breezes backing northerly once again. Mist was beginning to rise from the warmer, damp ground, Gawain could see it gathering in the dark hollows formed between exposed roots on the eastern side of the tree he leaned against. Mist and fog, he thought idly, would not be welcome this last night in the forest, though if it clung low to the ground, it likely wouldn’t be of use to the shadow-creature.
Movement, Reesen giving a slight nod in his direction. The enemy were a hundred yards away, slowing, breathing heavily after labouring over the expanse of soft, wet ground. They slowed still further, heavy jogging footfalls easing to a slow walk, and then, when they were fifty yards from the line of Gawain’s ambush they came to a halt, drinking heavily and gasping between gulps from water skins.
“Make ready the signal,” a rasping voice commanded, “It is to be launched towards the enemy on my command.”
Reesen made a gesture with his hands. The eight-man enemy force had gathered together in a loose cluster. They were no longer spread out in line abreast.
“M…my lord!” another voice gasped. “The fuse… it is damp… it must have become wet when I fell!”
“Imbecile! Dolt! Threken Osmathenen mercenary imbecile! Agomak demGoth circles to the west awaiting the final marker! Dry it! Dry it now!”
Gawain lifted his arrow, glanced at Reesen, and nodded.
He swung out from around the tree, spotted the enemy clustered slightly to the south of west, and began sprinting towards them. “Vex!” he screamed, and hurled his arrow on the run, stringing the second he held ready in his left hand before the first struck a surprised mercenary in the arm.
Screams of pain, shouts of surprise, bolts and arrows flashing through the gloom and slamming into bodies and limbs. The enemy had been taken completely by surprise, hands filled with water skins and food rations instead of weapons, eyes fixed on the object of the dark wizard’s wrath, kneeling and holding up the mud-stained maroon for the demGoth’s inspection.
Only the wizard remained unscathed, firstly by sheer good
fortune, Reesen’s arrow deflecting harmlessly off the side of the demGoth’s iron mask and raking a gouge in his bodyguard’s shoulder behind him, and then by dint of the black and smoky shield he promptly raised from his short staff, Gawain’s second arrow slamming into that and flaring into smoke and ashes.
“Vex!” Ognorm screamed, arrow-string trailing from his wrist as he transferred his mace from left hand to right, sprinting with the rest of them, charging across the fifty yards of ground now shrinking rapidly.
“Zana! Zana!” was the battle-cry on praetorian lips, crossbows once loosed promptly discarded and shortswords drawn on the run.
Gawain drew the longsword over his shoulder and ran straight for the dark wizard, who cast aside the Jardember he’d been holding and suddenly thrust the short staff forward to launch a brilliant, bright red candle high into the sky.
Another arrow streaked from Reesen’s bow, this time taking the bodyguard in the chest and knocking him off his feet. And then the mêlée began…
Gawain leapt over the slumped mercenary still clutching the damp maroon and brought his sword down in a mighty swinging arc at the demGoth’s masked head, but the wizard, his red candle launched, raised his shield once more, and Gawain felt a familiar shock when his ancient blade met that mystic barrier. He’d felt it before, many times, outside the Keep in Raheen, when he’d faced Salaman Goth.
But this was not Salaman Goth, this was an unknown demGoth, who had clearly never known a violent assault before. The dark wizard staggered back under the force of the blow, stunned, as Gawain smashed the blade down, again and again, driving the demGoth further back into the gloom and away from the throng.
“Vex!” Ognorm screamed again, and over the crackling of his sword against the dark wizard’s shield, Gawain heard a sickening thump, and felt something wet spray the back of his head and neck.
The sounds of battle behind him suddenly faded, the mêlée short-lived.
Again he smashed at the shield, the wizard holding the short staff with both hands now, and falling to one knee at the impact. Another hammer blow, the great blade of Raheen shimmering grey, a black, aquamire stain swimming deep in the steel, and then Gawain utterly surprised his foe, and swung the blade underarm, lofting it in an upward arc, catching the rim of the wizard’s mystic shield and lifting it, ripping the short staff from the demGoth’s astonished grasp.
