The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  The dark wizard knelt there, empty-handed, on one knee, left leg stretched behind him and arms braced for the downward blow he’d been expecting, but which did not arrive. Gawain saw the astonishment in the demGoth’s eyes through the holes in the iron mask, black and wide with terror, and on a black chain around the dark wizard’s neck, a crusted Eye of Morloch, open wide, gazing malevolently.

  “Remember me, do you, bastard!” Gawain screamed, leaning forward to stare into the Eye, and before the demGoth could react, stepped back, and swung the blade again. The steel smashed upwards through the wizard’s left side, through the chest and through the Eye, bursting it asunder in a blaze of aquamire, and continued up through the right shoulder. Then Gawain brought it straight down, cleaving the iron mask and the head behind it in two, ripping down through the trunk to leave a carcass gaping wide and steaming.

  Jolts of something rippled through the blade and through Gawain’s arms, and he cried out at the familiar thrill of it, his sword still crackling. Then he turned, and saw his five companions staring at him, all of them grinning wildly, and as one they lifted their weapons, and gave a cries of victory, and of relief.

  The scene was grotesque, bathed as it was in the fading red light from the dead demGoth’s candle. Bodies and gore littered the ground, blood and gore stained the six triumphant warriors and their weapons, and everything around them was tinted with a reddish hue. Crossbows were retrieved, comrades checked for unseen wounds, backs slapped and beaming smiles exchanged. Then, as the red candle faded, a shadow swept across the sky above them, and branches and boughs high up exploded into matchwood, showering them with splinters.

  “Graken!” Gawain cried. “Bastard summoned an attack upon us here! Split up! Run! Reesen, watch and shoot!”

  Run they did, Berek and Loryan heaving on their crossbows as they went, flicking glances skyward and cocking the weapons by feel and long years of training. Reesen and Prester nocked arrows, but Ognorm and Gawain ran empty handed, weapons sheathed, no point even considering an upward throw of a longshaft through the canopy.

  “South! South!” Reesen shouted, and cover was hastily taken, those with bows scanning the sky and making ready to shoot at anything moving there.

  Reesen shot first, and they all heard the disappointing sound of his arrow glancing off branches and cracking to a halt in a bough, then the dark and unmistakeable shadow of a Graken, wings spread wide, slid silently over them. Bowstrings sang, and branches were again blown asunder, debris raining down on them. The canopy, winter-bare though it was, was as much of an obstacle to their attack upon the Graken as it was to the Graken-rider and his attack upon them. The black fireballs loosed from the demGoth’s Rod of Asteran expended all their force harmlessly in the branches.

  More sprinting then, weaving from tree to tree, while Reesen called the Graken’s direction, north, turning west… the beast and its rider looping around to come up from behind them for another strafing run. Gawain laughed. He felt it ballooning up from his stomach as he sprinted, a great bubble of pure elation bursting up through his chest and out of his throat.

  “West! West!” Reesen screamed, and again they took cover and took aim.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Gawain shouted, “Take cover!”

  Men pressed their backs into the cracked and craggy bark of the trees, and hunched over, covering their heads. One, two, three immense concussions blasting great holes in the canopy as the Graken followed the line they had been taking. Gawain felt a heavy, glancing blow on his left shoulder, and that was followed by a shower of smaller twigs and pieces of larger boughs.

  “East!” Reesen shouted again, “Go south!” the Graken wheeling away to their right for another turn.

  “This way!” Gawain ordered, running back the way they had come and then turning north, the men following, puzzled but obedient.

  “Aim there! Aim through there!”

  They understood at once. The last aerial bombardment had ripped great holes in the canopy, affording a clear field of fire. The Graken would doubtless swoop in from the south, again, and Agomak demGoth, leaning over its neck, would loose his black fire down into the forest where he believed his quarry had run, towards the east…

  “Come soon,” Reesen said quietly, stepping forward, drawing string and following the Graken’s progress with the Sight. Gorian bowmen stood either side of him and slightly behind, aligning their weapons with his, following the movement of the elf’s bow as the Ranger tracked the enemy’s flight.

  “Come now, one…two…three!” and Reesen loosed his arrow into the empty space cleared by black fire. In an instant, two crossbows and a shortbow thrummed.

  Gawain, grinning madly, let out a cheer as the bulk of the winged beast flew into view through the gaping holes of the canopy, and into the small swarm of deadly projectiles speeding through what had been empty space. The Graken screamed, its howl of pain high-pitched and piercing, and it winged over violently, turning abruptly to the east, away from the sharp and stinging pain in the left side of its underbelly.

  Gawain saw the demGoth flung this way and that, like a rag-doll stitched to the creature’s back, lurching violently, and finally he understood the reason for the curious, high-backed chairs the Graken-riders employed for saddles; no ordinary saddle could provide sufficient support to a rider being flung around like that.

  They heard the leathery wings beat hard as the Graken powered away to the east, and then they heard a great ripping noise, like sheetrock being torn asunder.

  “Allazar!” Gawain announced, “Allazar has loosed his fire upon the beast! Run! Quickly, to the Orb and to the wizard!”

  oOo

  53. Blind Luck

  They heard the distant splintering of wood, and great quantities of it too from the sound of it, and at first they thought the Graken had come to ground practically on top of the casket tree. But when they burst into the clearing in front of that tree, the wizard was facing them, staff presented and sparks fizzing around its business end, and the casket tree was intact. Mostly.

  “Longsword! I could have destroyed you all!”

  Gawain laughed again, “And suffered the endless guilt of offending against that codex of yours. We heard the Graken go down, was it nearby? Did you destroy the rider?”

  “No, to both questions. You can see for yourself the wreckage above, where my fire was loosed. An offshoot from the trunk of my white fire took a large piece of the Graken’s right wing, and it wheeled off towards the southeast.”

  Above them, what was left of the canopy smoked and smouldered, charred branches steaming, and a few of the smaller broken twigs actually aflame, like bizarre candles in the fading evening light. The Gorians, gaping at the great expanse of open sky above them, had never seen damage inflicted by a wizard on such a large scale, and were clearly and suitably impressed.

  “It went down a good distance away, I think,” Allazar grumbled, leaning on his staff and scowling at Gawain. “I believe I could have counted to six or seven before I heard the sounds of it crashing into the treetops.”

  “You’ve made a something of a mess, too, there’s bits of smouldering wood everywhere.”

  “Yes, well… What madness possessed you to undertake such a foolhardy adventure! I heard the Graken-rider’s attack upon you after the red candle was launched, you could all have been blown to pieces!”

  “Calm yourself, wizard,” Gawain grinned, and to Allazar’s continued astonishment, the young man slapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Come, daylight’s fading fast, and we still have the shadow-creature to contend with.”

  “Indeed,” Allazar grimaced, noticing for the first time the gore with which the six smiling warriors were decorated, “And a demGoth from the southeast if it survived such a catastrophic landing.”

  “Agomak. Agomak demGoth is the bastard’s name and if he lives, it won’t be for long. And nor shall we if don’t finalise our preparations and restore order here before the shadow arrives.”

/>   Mist continued rising as the sun continued setting, stars twinkling through the iron grey of twilight. Torches had been prepared and those which had been knocked over by falling debris from Allazar’s blast restored upright. More wood for the fires was gathered, lamp shutters opened narrow, and all the while, smiles of contentment were plastered all over six of the seven faces preparing to face the shadow-creature of Calhaneth.

  Allazar eased Gawain to one side, his face etched with concern.

  “Longsword, what happened? There is an unseemly joy in all of you I do not understand, and which is alarming indeed.”

  Gawain shrugged. “We met the enemy, and we prevailed.”

  “Then it is simple bloodlust that has you all grinning like village imbeciles?”

  “Hardly. I can understand your concern, Allazar, but you must understand who it is you’re standing with here against the coming shadow. There are three Gorians over there, praetorians, the Emperor’s personal bodyguard,” Gawain sighed. “At home, my brother once told me there were few who could test my swordsmanship, and he named only the praetorians of Goria and the Callodon Household Guard as amongst those who might best me. He was wrong about the Callodon Household Guard, though they’re not bad. Those men over there have trained all their lives to defend their Emperor, as I have trained all mine to defend Raheen and its allies.

  “Yonder is Ognorm, once an ordinary pebble of a dwarf whose life was spent lifting and moving heavy loads from one place to another. War elevated him and propelled him here, and now there is nothing he will not do for the honour of his people. And there, Reesen, Kindred Ranger, once of Elvenheth, once of the Thalangard, bodyguard to Thal-Hak. He too has prepared all his life to fight and die for something far greater than his own life.

  “And all of us, wizard, have been harried and pursued by a foul enemy bent on our destruction and, should we fail, the destruction of countless thousands in the west. There is only so far men such as we may be pressed, and the line was drawn here. We did what we all trained so long and so hard to do, we did what we all yearned to do, and we did it well. Jerryn did, too. That is why we are smiling.

  “And if you took the time now to look up, Allazar, at the size of the hole you made and the number of stars shining now upon us where before there were only twigs, branches and boughs, and if you imagine the mess the half-wing Graken would have made thanks to you, you’d be smiling, too.”

  Allazar flicked a glance upwards, and sniffed. Then he shuffled his feet and glanced up and around, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

  “Go on, you know you want to.” Gawain urged, and to his delight, the wizard’s face cracked into a broad grin.

  “There you are, you see? Welcome to the band of bloody lunatics.”

  “In my case, one out of two isn’t bad,” Allazar sniffed again.

  “Wizards never get messy,” Gawain said quietly, becoming much more serious. “They almost always ensure it’s other people who do. The one I killed back there was wearing an Eye, and it was open. He was carrying a Jardember too, it’s probably how they tracked us well enough without pathfinders and scouts to guide the Graken-rider for the final assault.”

  “You see Morloch’s hand at work here?”

  “I don’t know, Allazar. We’re a very long way from the Teeth. It needed a Jardember for Morloch to appear to us on his very doorstep, could he reach this far? Could the Goth-lord Maraciss use the Eyes for his own purposes?”

  “Alas, I do not know. As I understand it, the Eye is an aquamire lens designed solely to show Morloch everything his minions see. I am not aware that it could be used by others for private communication, though of course I might be wrong. Perhaps the Eyes used at Far-gor did report only to the four Graken-riders there as their Condavians did. The knowledge I possess is old, and even the newer knowledge gained at the Hallencloister is far from comprehensive. It’s possible that the Eye saw what it saw, but that Morloch does not now have the power himself to see the images the Eye captured.”

  “Well, no matter. The Eye is blind, and the wizard who carried it little more than a gaping wound almost as wide as the hole you made. We’ll worry about the significance of the Eye when we have the luxury of time.” Gawain looked up at the night sky. “Stars are much brighter now. Time to light the fires.”

  Gawain gave the signal for the bonfires to be lit, and soon the sound of firestones scraping steel rang through the gathering darkness. A nod to Berek brought the Imperator over to join the king and his wizard.

  “I don’t like this mist too much,” Gawain announced, eyeing the milky murk swirling ankle-deep around them. “I know it’s low and we’re unlikely to have a dense fog, but still. Berek, did you ever see the creature move closer to the ground?”

  “No, Raheen, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.”

  “It stretched high for the casket last night,” Allazar agreed, “That doesn’t mean it can’t spread itself thin beneath the layer of mist.”

  “And creep like a puddle, you mean? How would that avail it? The lamps on the casket are lit, the fires are smouldering well and producing enough smoke to hide an army, and should they ever actually take fire will blaze nicely. And thanks to our wizard’s astonishing foresight in clearing the canopy, we have starlight as a welcome ally. Any creeping puddle couldn’t hope to reach up for the casket without being brightly illuminated and suffering accordingly.”

  “Then let us hope,” Allazar announced with great solemnity, “There is not a line beyond which the shadow may not be pressed, or if there is, let’s hope we have not drawn it here.”

  “We have the northern bonfire behind us, a row of torches before us, a bright staff, lamps, stars overhead, and frak. While a fellow might be foolish to put money on an optimistic outcome, he should at least feel quietly confident.”

  The bonfires began hissing and crackling, tiny sparks rising in the billowing smoke, but flames were still hidden deep within where brandy-soaked canvas kindling had been ignited. It was, in fact, still extremely gloomy, the bonfires very far from the bright conflagrations all had expected.

  “Think we need more heat in the heart of the fires to dry the wood out a bit, Serre,” Loryan announced, “By your leave, we’ll tear up what’s left of the Major’s spare clothing and stick that in?”

  Gawain nodded, a little sadly. “Has his food been shared out?”

  “Aye, Serre. We’re down to the last of the brandy though, apart from the bottle there for when the torches need to be lit.”

  “Use it all, Loryan, we need the fires blazing, not smoking.”

  “Aye, Serre.”

  Gawain watched as three men and an elf began tearing the last of Jerryn’s effects into kindling, and poking it into the heart of the fires. Soon there would be nothing of the Major’s left, beyond memories and the pebble Ognorm carried. And the camp stove, left in the care of men of Callodon waiting patiently with the horses out on the plains. Ot soup, Gawain thought, Ot soup and memories…

  A whump! and a gasp of pain from behind him, and Gawain turned to see Reesen’s head enveloped in a cloud of orange sparks and embers, the elf turning away and staggering, eyes screwed tight shut.

  “Allazar!” Gawain called, needlessly, for the wizard and the others had seen too. “Stent thool, Reesen!”

  The elf did as he was commanded, and while Gawain tilted Reesen’s head back, Berek uncorked a canteen and began slowly dribbling water over his face and eyes.

  “Tend to the fires, the rest of you,” Gawain announced firmly, and Prester and Ognorm returned to coax the bonfires into life.

  Reesen blinked his eyes open, and reached up to guide Berek’s hand to irrigate eyes red-rimmed and streaming. Allazar muttered, the staff glowed, and he leaned forward to examine the brown eyes swimming in tears and water from Berek’s canteen.

  A quiet conversation in elvish followed, and Reesen blinked, and finally closed his eyes.

  “Our friend is lucky,” Allazar announced, “But I fear we are not. H
is eyes are stinging from that showering of embers, small burns are making the lids swell and close a little. His vision will be blurred at best, if he can keep his eyes open at all. It is best if he keeps them closed until nature takes its course and finishes the healing.”

  “I have the Eeelan t’oth in my pack…”

  “No, Longsword, it is too powerful for use on the eyes. A little silvertree powder will help ease the discomfort, but that is all we can do now.”

  “Eem siennes, miThal.”

  “For nothing, Reesen. Come, we’ll sit you by the torches. Allazar, make Reesen comfortable, Berek, you and I need to finish his work and get this vakin fire blazing.”

  They worked frantically, poking and prodding the embers in the heart of the bonfire, shoving brandy-soaked rags in to try to burn away the moisture of the day’s rain and raise the temperature sufficient for flames to take hold.

  “We may be fortunate, Raheen, the starlight may confine the shadow to its lair.”

  “Wherever that may be. And if we were fortunate, we’d still have Reesen’s eyes in our arsenal.”

  “Are you expecting more Simanians, then?”

  “No, Berek, but there’s no evidence that Agomak demGoth is dead. If he survived the Graken’s fall to earth, he remains a dark threat, and far from a trivial one at that. With fires behind us and torches in front, it won’t be easy to spot anyone else sneaking up on us in the dark.”

  “You have your own wizard, Raheen, and one of great power at that. Tell me, do all eastern kings possess such wizards?”

  Gawain paused, and gazed into the heart of the fire, then flapped the hem of his cloak to force a breeze through the embers.