The Longsword Chronicles: Book 03 - Sight and Sound

by GJ Kelly

  “Yes. Yes, everyone has felt their absence today. Even your lady seemed most attentive to the south and east, at least until the rains came and we all took shelter. The hours spent off the chain when none of us could see ahead will lessen the distance they’ll need to make up.”

  More lightning flashed in the east, and Gawain shivered in spite of his cloak. A sudden thought struck him. “Why isn’t the deck awash with rain? That deluge filled the mess-tins in no time at all when Tyrane cleaned them, I would’ve thought the barge sunk long before now with all that rain.”

  “I have no doubt that if Master Arramin were here, he would delight in lecturing us all about mechanisms and pumps and lubricants beneath the deck operating to keep us all afloat. I must admit I did wonder myself, but the level against the tow-path hasn’t changed at all.”

  “The wheel goes ‘round?”

  Allazar grinned sheepishly. “Yes, yes it does. Good night, Longsword.”

  “Good night, Allazar. Sleep well.”

  As Rollaf had correctly forecast with all the experience of his former occupation, the rain returned a short time later, though it was not quite as torrential as the earlier deluge. Jaxon dozed, sitting on the bench on the port side of the deckhouse, wrapped in a blanket and with his head wedged into the corner of the deckhouse where the hard steel bulkheads of its front and sides met. Gawain and Tyrane sat opposite the slumbering Gorian refugee, the Callodon captain flicking frequent glances ahead through the porthole where water dripped and occasionally blew in.

  The heavy clouds obscured the starlight, and the darkness, while never total, was occasionally splintered by lightning from the east, briefly illuminating the way ahead. For the sake of their snoozing companion, and with the noise of the rain ringing on the metal roof, Gawain and Tyrane were content not to speak. The aroma of stew which seemed to seep through the lid of the large camp-pan stowed under the bench on Jaxon’s side of the deckhouse played havoc with their appetites though, and in the darkness, Gawain resorted to frak and Tyrane to the biscuit-like remains of something he’d kept wrapped in the pocket of his tunic.

  Around three in the morning the rain eased to a light drizzle, and it grew lighter as clouds driven on stiff gusts from the east scudded quickly, and broke, becoming patchy as the rain finally stopped. Then, the sounds were of wind, and the barge on the chains, and occasional distant rumbles of thunder from the storm passing far to the west and the south.

  Gawain spent some time with the horses, fetching their blankets as quietly as possible from the rear deckhouse where the day watch slept. Rollaf cracked a sleepy eyelid, gave a brief nod, then promptly went back to sleep. Elayeen slept on top of the benches on the starboard side, facing the bulkhead, her right arm crooked under her head and her cloak drawn tight. He gazed at her a moment, then flicked a glance at the sleeping form of Kahla nestled under the bench. Allazar slept as Rollaf did, sitting up on the port side benches, the Dymendin staff wedged against the bulkhead behind him and his head leaning on that. It looked to be a most uncomfortable pillow, but the wizard seemed to be sleeping soundly enough.

  As quietly as he could, he left them to their dreams, tended to the horses, then moved forward up onto the walkway to join Tyrane standing in front of the deckhouse. Starlight showed the canal clear of obstructions ahead, and made shadows of distant contours in the ridge either side of the canal.

  “Should have more of a moon in the days ahead,” Gawain said softly, nodded up at the fingernail sliver of moonlight occasionally peeping through the clouds.

  “Aye. Though here on the ridge, visibility is better than it was below in the forest. No trees to block the light.”

  And it was true, their altitude above the great expanse of forest below made a vast bowl of the sky, and an unbroken circle of a horizon.

  There was a clunk from below, as usual, but then silence, which was not usual. They waited for the barge to take up the next chain, but nothing happened. The next section of chain below the barge had either broken or wasn’t functioning, and with a sigh, Gawain announced he’d take a pole, leaving Tyrane to wake Jaxon and to take the controls.

  Together, Gawain and a bleary-eyed Jaxon poled on, trying not to wake the sleepers with their efforts. Tyrane cast Gawain a worried look when they’d gone more than two elven chains without picking up another, until finally there was a reassuring clunk and the vessel continued at its normal pace. Fully three sections of chain in this stretch of the canal of Thal-Marrahan had failed.

  It took a little while before Jaxon went back into the deckhouse to sleep, all three men had been worried about the chains after so long a broken stretch, but when it seemed that the barge was proceeding normally, they relaxed.

  “Light enough for a walk alongside, m’lord.”

  “Not tonight, Tyrane. I’d rather we were a bit further on from where that Razorwing hunted for its food,” Gawain glanced at the officer, who returned the sudden worried look.

  “An excellent point, and well-made m’lord,” Tyrane announced, and both men promptly left their exposed position in front of the deckhouse and returned to the relative safety within it.

  oOo

  13. Birds

  The barge trundled northward along the chains through the remainder of the night, and there was no further ado to disturb its progress or the slumber of those sleeping aboard the vessel. Gawain and Tyrane took it in turns to stand watch at the porthole lest some unforeseen obstruction block their path, and there being none when the sun rose, Gawain attended to the horses again.

  They were restless, and not particularly happy. From their vantage high up on the ridge they could see the vast expanse of forest to the east and west, but more than that, they could see the grasses clinging to the poor and wind-blown soil on each bank of the canal. While it was true that the animals were used to life in the Callodon Guard, they were far from used to spending long periods of time standing on the metal deck of a floating monster rumbling its way along a great water road.

  With sunrise though came a better appreciation of the landscape around them, and more importantly ahead of them, and Gawain decided that depending on Elayeen’s early morning pronouncements concerning things dark, the horses and he would enjoy a good run. They would have to come off the chain and pause for a while anyway, to permit the ladies time ashore.

  Rollaf and Allazar were the first to rise, and they left the ladies sleeping to join the other three men in the forward deckhouse. Gawain briefed them about the broken chains while they ate a frugal and unappetising breakfast.

  “And apart from that, it was quiet,” Gawain yawned. “Looks like it should be a dry and sunny day. When Elayeen and Kahla are up and about and we put in to the side, I’ll take the horses out. They’ll be happier on land after all the excitement yesterday.”

  Allazar agreed. “Perhaps while the horses are on land, we could set up the brazier to warm the stew, and also some breakfast wine. The animals were a little unsettled by the brief flaring of the ellamas oil yesterday, and the odour of the pyre-brick.”

  The thought of warmed Callodon wine after their long night in the chilly metal confines of the deckhouse was an appealing one, and in short order the saddles and other items stowed in the dry under the forward deckhouse were moved aside and the brazier and its accoutrements lifted from the compartment Arramin had revealed to them. Allazar also produced the box of ancient honey-bars from under the bench and offered them around, rather hopefully.

  “You go first,” Gawain suggested.

  “Ah. Well, perhaps another day.”

  “No, no, I insist, Master Wizard of Raheen,” Gawain added pointedly, smiling wickedly in the morning sunshine.

  “Ah.”

  Allazar took one of the dark amber bars from the box, and sniffed it. Then held it up to the light, and squinted, then pressed the bar to his eye as if trying to see through it.

  “Wine-washed seeds, I think Arramin said,” Gawain prompted, “Sealed in honey.”

  “I�
�ll try some, Serres,” Jaxon suddenly announced.

  “It’s centuries old, Jaxon,” Gawain explained, “It’s been in a box in a steel drum for perhaps a thousand years.”

  Jaxon shrugged, staring at the bar Allazar held. “Honey was a rare treat in Armunland, had to be smuggled from the hives. Most all of it went to the Tals, some to the Talguard, what’s left to the overseers. Only the sick received any, and then only with permission.”

  “It can’t possibly do any harm, Longsword,” Allazar said quietly, while in the aft deckhouse beyond the horses, the ladies began to stir.

  “That being so, you won’t mind testing it first then,” Gawain announced firmly.

  Allazar sighed, and opened the box again, and handed a bar to Jaxon. “I shall go first. If I do not promptly expire from some exotic and hitherto unheard of poisoning, then I shall be happy to enjoy this elven delicacy with our friend from the west.”

  “Thank you, Serres!” Jaxon exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder at the size of the bar he held before him.

  Allazar tentatively poked out his tongue, moving the bar slowly towards his mouth, and while Gawain and Tyrane stared transfixed, with their own tongues putting in an involuntary appearance, Jaxon simply stuffed the corner of his bar into mouth and bit down.

  There was an audible crack as he drew the bar away, a chunk missing from the corner. “Iffth deliffifth!” he mumbled, and he beamed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he savoured the ancient sweetness.

  “There, you see? What did I tell you? It couldn’t possibly do any harm,” and Allazar licked his own bar.

  “Just because Jaxon hasn’t died yet doesn’t mean it’s safe, you whitebeard clod,” Gawain grinned, arms folded.

  “Ah.”

  “No, really, Serres, it’s got nuts in I think, or sunflower seeds!” And Jaxon took a grubby-looking cloth from his pocket, wrapped the bar in it, and slammed it against the corner of the metal bench, shattering the contents. When he opened the cloth, he selected a medium sized piece and popped it into his mouth, offering the rest to the three men.

  When they politely refused, Jaxon carefully folded the cloth over the bits of crystallised honey. “I must save some for Kahla,” he announced more to himself than to the others.

  “Bah,” Allazar smiled, opening the box once more, “The lady Kahla may have her own, there’s plenty.”

  Jaxon gaped, first at Allazar, then at the box of elven honey-bars glinting in the morning sunshine, and then at the others, who nodded. The Gorian stuffed his honey-filled cloth back into his pocket, reached out, and took a fresh bar from the box. His expression was a wonder to behold as he made his way through the horses to the aft deckhouse and the ladies there.

  “Heaven is many things to many people,” Allazar sighed, smiling happily, “And to our friends from the west, it would appear heaven is honey.”

  “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow morning before I try some, just in case you both end up there beforehand,” Gawain announced grimly, and with a glance around the canal, added, “Come, take us off the chain Tyrane, now that my lady is awake and has given no warnings, we’ll put in and give the horses and ourselves a stretch.”

  Stretch they did, and enjoyed it. The Callodon horses needed no saddles and neither did Gawain. Once ashore, he leapt on Gwyn’s back, and they led the small herd first at the trot and then at the canter before a final burst of a gallop put them a good mile and a half ahead of the barge where it waited for the ladies to return aboard. Gawain dismounted, and the horses contented themselves with a drink from the canal and then a taste of the rough grasses that grew in clumps on the broad bank beyond the tow-path.

  It felt good to be off the barge, even though he was tired from the night’s watch. To the west, the ridge dropped like a cliff, and the great river gorge Allazar had mentioned a mile or so away plunged down further still; the river, if indeed there still was one, and the bottom of the gorge itself, remained hidden from view, at least from Gawain’s vantage point. East, across the canal, the general view was little different, verdant forest stretching away towards the horizon, but the breadth of the canal and the ridge prevented a good look, and for all Gawain knew, a country mile or two of slope might be hidden from his view.

  He walked on, the horses idling along behind him, their heads bent low to rip at the grasses as they went. Occasional splashes and swirling patterns on the water in the canal told of fish, though the companions hadn’t tried their luck at catching any yet, and fresh breezes smelling of pine and woodlands and new-washed earth reminded him of home, and the view from Northpoint. Then he caught sight of something gliding south along the canal and his heart leapt for a moment, but the bird back-winged and settled on the blue-stone tow-path to gaze into the water there; a heron. Gawain smiled, and let out his breath in a long sigh.

  To the south, the barge was back on the chains, but he could see two figures, probably Rollaf and Tyrane, walking ahead of the vessel, stretching their legs, and atop the forward deckhouse two more, more than likely Elayeen and Kahla. Allazar and Jaxon would be in the forward deckhouse, attending the brazier. The breezes, like the storm in the night, were from the east, so the only sounds were the horses, and occasional birdsong. It seemed strange, the silence, after the almost interminable clanking of the barge coming off and on to the chains over and over again; it was surprising how quickly people adapted to new environments and grew accustomed to sounds. They’d not been long on the barge, five days from the city in the south, but even that was long enough that the sounds of its progress faded from the consciousness, and now, less than a week on the great water road, it was any sudden absence of that noise which caused alarm.

  But here, a little over a mile away, the great metal vessel was gliding towards him at its usual constant pace, silently, almost eerily. Gawain decided to amble along the bank, and allow the barge to catch up. It was always slightly surprising that the barge made so little sound except when one was aboard, when the clunk and rumble of the chains vibrated through the deck-plates.

  A spearbill zipped south above the water, stopping abruptly to hover about a foot above the surface before plunging like an iridescent arrow shot from a bow into the canal. It emerged moments later, a small fish clamped in its beak, and then flashed away to the east and down the slope out of view. There was life here, just as there should be.

  “Four days to the next wheel, Gwyn, and one of them almost gone already. Nine more days to Ostinath if all goes well.”

  Gwyn ignored him, concentrating instead on the clump of grass she was chewing while she watched the ripples of fish in the canal.

  “Then ten to Shiyanath. You’ll get your exercise on that road, Ugly, make the most of your holiday.”

  Gawain turned his head to the west, looking for something, anything at all that was not forest. Apart from the great and winding gash in the canopy below, nothing but green. The same to the east. South, the canal and the barge, gaining slowly but at this distance almost imperceptibly. North, the canal, and the heron taking flight, flapping away to the west and down towards the gorge out of sight. There were no shallows here for the bird to wade in, but perhaps a dart of that long neck from its perch on the edge of the tow-path had been enough to secure a meal.

  “It’s a very long way to Ostinath,” Gawain muttered, eyeing the arrow-straight waterway stretching ahead towards the horizon. Which begs the question, he thought, Why did the elves go to all the trouble?

  And a simple glance down and to the right told how much trouble it must have been to construct this vast waterway, and this was just the visible part. Gawain had no idea what lay beneath, whether immense mechanisms below his feet turned even now, rotating the chains ahead and behind for countless miles, or whether the mechanisms lay nearer the controls, driving the chains with even more chains linked and running unseen below the floor of the canal. Arramin was not wrong to describe the feat as ‘the greatest wonder of engineering created by Elfkind.’

  He of course kne
w why Eldengaze had asserted that ‘none would journey to Calhaneth since its destruction.’ They all knew why, now. He had not heard his own name screamed in fear or agony there, but he had heard other names, familiar names… one memory thrust unbidden to the fore of his mind and he stopped walking, and screwed his eyes shut…

  The sound of glass shattering, screams, the roar of fire and the sickening thud of lightning from the dome ripping someone asunder, their screaming silenced abruptly… the squeal of a donkey or an ass, the crash of a cart and, incongruously, what sounded like a heap of books tumbling onto stone, and then booted feet running…

  “Kevyn! My legs! Kevyn wait! Help me! My legs are trapped!” and then the fizz and crackle of lightning from on high, and the thud of its impact, and another voice was silenced…

  “Until this afternoon, and every afternoon thereafter,” Gawain shuddered in the sunshine, “When it will be heard again.”

  Yes, they all knew why there were none who would make the journey to the city in the south since its destruction.

  But still, the enormity of the undertaking was difficult to grasp. What could possibly have persuaded Thal-Marrahan to bend the will, not to mention the backs, of all elvendom to the task of building first this great canal, and then, at its southern terminus, the once awe-inspiring city of Calhaneth, every block and stone of its construction hewn from quarries over fifteen hundred miles away?

  It was all well and good the wizards spouting on about ‘learning’ and ‘enlightenment’ and ‘banishing superstition’, but why build it in the south at all? Why not east of Elvendere, or in Ostinath for that matter? Gawain sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired, and was beginning to feel it, his thinking becoming fuzzy. Perhaps, he thought, the elves simply wanted their dealings with men to take place as far from the heartland of their home as possible, and that’s why they had laboured so long to create the wonders Thal-Marrahan had decreed.