The Longsword Chronicles: Book 03 - Sight and Sound Page 16

  “And this is good, because…” Gawain prompted.

  Allazar laughed and replaced the block. “During your stay in Elvendere you had many meals I daresay, but did you ever see a cooking fire there?”

  Gawain frowned, took a breath as if to answer, and then paused. “Actually, now that you mention it, no, I didn’t.”

  “Fire and forests don’t mix,” Allazar smiled, “And trees have many more valuable uses for elves than simple firewood. Thus the pyre-brick and ellamas oil. You’ve seen the brazier aboard the barge? And the large hearth that remains within the hostelry here?”

  “Aye.”

  “The pyre-bricks are placed in the brazier or hearth, and ellamas oil poured over them. The pyre-brick is porous and quickly absorbs the oil which is then ignited. There is a very brief and intense fire which is carefully guarded until, within seconds, it dies. The heat from the intense burning of the ellamas oil is retained within the pyre-brick and is sufficient for cooking. Pyre-brick is much more efficient than charcoal, and lasts much longer, two or three ignitions before it is finally reduced to ash. And, of course, it is considerably safer in woodland than any open flame.”

  “My lady never mentioned it,” Gawain folded his arms. “It seems there’s much about life in Elvendere my lady has never mentioned before.”

  “Well,” Allazar announced a little sadly, helping Arramin to his feet, “Since she is barred from her homeland I imagine she didn’t feel it necessary to mention such day to day activities as cooking. It does mean, however, that we have fuel for cooking aboard the barge should our hunting and foraging prove bountiful. If Terryn and Rollaf are successful this morning, we could even make use of the old hearth inside. It, at least, should still be functional even if nothing else is.”

  “And the drums?”

  “Ah!” Allazar exclaimed, and picked up one of the canisters. “May I borrow your boot knife, Longsword, the lids on these things are pressed on very tight to seal the contents.”

  “It would be remarkable indeed if the contents are preserved and still edible,” Arramin announced. “The longest I have heard of a canister of honey-bars being preserved and then consumed was thirty years, when some were retrieved from shipwreck along the Mornland coast.”

  “Yet the canisters seem intact, and honey does not spoil.”

  “That is true, Master Allazar. I did hear a rumour once, I’m sure, that a wizard of the D’ith Met had stored a can at the Hallencloister to test the longevity of its contents, but I do not recall an end to the experiment. Let us hope, then, that the contents are yet edible.”

  Gawain handed Allazar his knife, and watched as the wizard, with a little difficulty at first, prised open the canister’s lid. The wizard handed back the knife, and withdrew what looked to be a wooden box from inside the container. Opening the lid revealed several rows of dark amber-coloured bars within which some other things lay entombed, like insects in that resinous stone. Each bar was separated from its neighbours by what looked like thick parchment, or thin wooden sheets.

  “Seeds,” Arramin explained, “Washed in wine and encased in honey. Perhaps not as nutritious as your preferred frak, my lord, but certainly very handy to have at hand, especially in winter.”

  “So these are some kind of emergency ration?” Tyrane asked, looking very sceptical.

  “They are. Though children enjoy the sweet taste very much, or so I believe. Would you like to try one?” Allazar offered the small bar to the captain.

  “After a thousand years? I think I’d rather not.”

  “It certainly seems well-preserved,” Arramin remarked.

  “Well,” Allazar replaced the bar in the box and tucked it under his arm. “We can put them aboard the barge and if we find our provisions running perilously low, we’ll have them to hand.”

  Gawain shook his head in disbelief, and helped Tyrane carry boxes, barrels and canisters to the dockside, and then aboard the vessel, leaving the two wizards exploring the small blockhouse which fronted the great wheel lift.

  When the last of provisions, some heavy, some light, had been carried from the shell of the inn to the barge at the dockside and stowed aboard, Tyrane sighed, and brushed dust from his uniform shirt.

  “I wonder who’ll actually be the first to try one of those honey-bar things, my lord?”

  “Not I. If it comes to it, I might order Allazar to sample one before anybody else. Serve him right for being so enthusiastic about taking the things with us.”

  “It would be a wonder indeed if they were still edible after all this time.”

  “You know, Tyrane,” Gawain said quietly, eyeing Elayeen standing on the grass with Kahla and Jaxon near the tree line to the west, “The more we learn of the wonders of ancient elvendom the more I find myself wondering what they have today, about which we know nothing. Have you ever seen such metal containers which can preserve things for centuries? Or heard of this flameless fire-brick? ”

  The captain was about to reply when the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble a little, ripples spreading across the mooring pond accompanying a deep-sounding rumble of something heavy, something moving. The two men stared first at each other, and then at the blockhouse by the great wheel.

  There was another sound, a great clanking noise, and then rushing water, before a mighty squeal rent the air, and the immense boat-lift of Thal-Marrahan slowly began to turn.

  “Dwarfspit!” Gawain gasped.

  They stared, slack jawed, as the rumbling continued. Water dripped in sheets from the lower caisson as it rose up and out of the pond, axles and pivots giving occasional squeals, louder than thunder, piercing and shrill, reflecting back from the sheer cliff behind as the wheel revolved, the caissons hanging level. Gawain flicked a glance towards Elayeen, but she seemed entirely unconcerned, her gaze casting to the west while Jaxon and Kahla gaped in awe at the impossible taking place before their very eyes. That such a mighty structure could move at all beggared belief, never mind so long after its abandonment.

  There was a new sound, a hissing counterpoint to the low rumbling and high squealing of metal on metal, and Tyrane pointed towards the centre of the enormous wheel, where steam suddenly billowed. At once, they ran across the blue-stone paving of the dockside towards the blockhouse, and saw the reason for the steam; jets of water sprayed majestically up from the ground to the rear of the massive steel legs at each end of the wheel, arcing like fountains, playing cooling water on the main axle bearings as the wheel revolved.

  A fine mist drifted over them, dampening their clothes and darkening the blue-stone around them, and when the caissons reached the midway point and they thought the wheel would grind to a halt, the sprays surged a little, the rumbling beneath their feet seemed momentarily louder, and the wheel continued to revolve. What had been the bottom caisson now rose towards the apex and the aqueduct above, and what had been the upper caisson, dry-bottomed, descended towards the mooring pool, there to touch water for the first time in centuries.

  It took perhaps fifteen minutes for the wheel to revolve through its one hundred and eighty degrees, before it came to a halt with a shuddering clunk. The water jets continued spraying, steam continued billowing from the bearings, and below, they felt rather than heard the rushing of water easing a little.

  Then they heard laughter, great peals of laughter, and then singing, and when Gawain and Tyrane peered around the open door of the blockhouse, they saw Arramin and Allazar, arm-in-arm, dancing a high-kneed jig in a small circle before a panel of levers and wheels vastly more complicated than those which controlled the barge or the chains in the canal. And they sang as they danced in their circle,

  The wheel goes ‘round, and ‘round and ‘round,

  The wheel goes ‘round and ‘round! Hai!

  The wheel goes ‘round, and ‘round and ‘round,

  The wheel goes ‘round and ‘round! Hai!

  The wheel goes ‘round, and ‘round and ‘round,

  The wheel goes ‘round an
d ‘round! Hai!

  Arramin, beaming like a child with a new toy, tears of happiness streaking his face as he danced and sang, suddenly caught sight of Tyrane and Gawain, and behind them, Jaxon, peering through the doorway.

  “Oh dear! Oh deary me!” he announced, stopping abruptly in mid-jig.

  “The wheel goes ‘round and ‘round! Hai!” Allazar finished the stanza, and then saw the reason for Arramin’s sudden halt. “Ah. Longsword.”

  Gawain fought hard against the laughter building within him at the sight of the two wizards, breathing hard and grinning like idiots.

  “So, wizards,” he announced, his voice stern. “Are the Captain and I to understand that the Wheel of Thal-Marrahan goes ‘round?”

  oOo

  11. And ‘Round and ‘Round…

  Go ‘round it did, a second time, in reverse. Something to do with lubrication of the bearings, Arramin had said, before taking it through a third cycle, then a fourth, waiting for the bearings to cool between each cycle. Again, something to do with lubrication, Arramin had repeated, and whatever it was that had to do with pumps and pressure and coolants and oils, it worked, and the shrill squealing that had accompanied the first half-revolution of the wheel faded completely.

  Three hours had passed since they’d stepped ashore at the wheel, and both Gawain and Tyrane were yawning in the late morning sunshine. The clouds which had scudded across the sky were thickening though, rain was looking much more likely. Elayeen sat on a grassy bank by what had been the boarding hall near the inn, Kahla sitting beside her and talking away happily. The horses were munching quietly and seemed content, the wizards were busy in the blockhouse, Allazar making copious notes as Arramin explained the controls, and Jaxon was walking around the mooring pool, for some exercise, he said.

  “When do you expect them back, Tyrane?” Gawain shielded his eyes and looked up at the top of the cliff where the aqueduct jutted out and abutted the upper caisson in the wheel.

  The captain shrugged. “Soon, I think. Sooner than now, in truth. They were only supposed to scout for a way up to the top for the horses, and bag anything worth eating in the vicinity. They weren’t supposed to make the climb up there themselves.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t looking for them up there,” Gawain explained. “I was wondering what it would be like to go up in that thing. And with horses aboard, no less. The wizards are itching for someone to make the journey up in the barge.”

  “And you’re hoping the lads will volunteer?”

  “No, I’m just hoping they’ll get back soon so we don’t have to.”

  Tyrane smiled. “To be fair to the wizards, m’lord, the longer we tarry here the less advantage the barge gives us.”

  “True enough,” Gawain yawned. “And each time the wheel goes ‘round there’s another delay while the mechanism cools. I can understand their impatience. They’re convinced it’ll all work wonderfully and they can’t wait to watch a barge-full of people and horses ride up into the sky inside that thing.”

  “The bigger problem will be getting the wizard Arramin up there, assuming the rest of us do ascend in the wheel.”

  Movement at the tree line caught their attention; Rollaf and Terryn returning, and hanging from a pole carried between them, what appeared to be a large dead animal.

  “Let’s hope they also found a gentle path up to the top then, as well as our dinner for the next few days.”

  “Aye, m’lord. Looks like goat stew’s on the menu.”

  “Hurrah for frak,” Gawain mumbled, “Probably a lot more tender than that poor thing ever was.”

  The goat seemed somehow smaller when it and the pole it hung from were laying on the blue-stone paving at their feet.

  “Milord, Serre.”

  “Lads,” Tyrane answered. “Nice bag.”

  “Thank you, Serre, about the only thing nice we got for you though.”

  “Trouble, Rollaf?”

  The tall man shrugged apologetically. “Me and Terryn went out a-ways, planned to look for spoor then swing ‘round to look up at the top of the hill. Only got about three quarter of a mile west though. Trees thinned, ground got rocky, then dropped off sharp, steep slope down.”

  “A gorge?” Gawain asked, hoping for a negative answer.

  “Might be a river at the bottom, couldn’t see. Trees and shrubs clinging on the slope, thickening at the bottom. Pine and gorse mostly. Saw our friend here on the rise, bit north of here. Rocky up there too, looks like the cliff is the end of a long ridge, runs north, like the gorge. Ridge runs straight-ish, gorge is a bit more bendy like, probably is a river down there, but we couldn’t see it.”

  “Is there an easy way up there on horseback?”

  Rollaf grimaced, flicking a glance up at the top of the cliff. “Wouldn’t say so, milord. The goat was happy enough on the slope but not much else’d take to it. Terryn had a look, didn’t get far.”

  “Aye, didn’t get far. Landslide, rockslide, ages ago.”

  Rollaf nodded. “Aye, I’d say from the colour of the ground, ages ago. You could see where someone’d made a way, cut into the side of the rock. Maybe big enough to roll that thing down, nice gentle slope an’ all. But most of it’s gone now, and trees on what’s left of the rest.”

  “Aye, trees. Most of it gone, ages ago. Can’t see where it went, that’s how long ago.”

  Again Rollaf nodded. “If it were recent you’d see the trees brought down, and fresh rock spill in the gorge below. But it’s all old growth down there.”

  “Aye, old growth.”

  “Dwarfspit. I’d hoped for a simple path up.”

  “I think the wheel is supposed to be the simple path up, my lord,” Tyrane said quietly.

  Gawain sighed. “You’re sure about the terrain? One of us will have to take the wizard Arramin up on foot, or by horse. He has to operate the wheel and so must remain behind.”

  The scouts grimaced, and shook their heads. Rollaf steepled his fingers, making the shape of an acute-angled triangle, the apex angle about seventy-five or eighty degrees.

  “Downslope to the gorge is steep, milord. You can see the bottom of the ridge is like a big slab o’ rock resting on a block.”

  “Perhaps the eastern slope is gentler, my lord. Easier to navigate on foot.”

  “I doubt it, Tyrane. If it were, why would they have made a broad and gentle road on the western side?”

  Tyrane shrugged, and frowned. Jaxon finished his circumnavigation of the mooring pond and stood a discreet distance from them, within earshot, eyeing the goat on the ground.

  “P’raps the ground’s too soft on the east, milord? That’s a big lump o’ metal. We heard it screaming clear enough, mile and a half away. They wouldn’t be able to roll that thing across soft ground.”

  “True,” Gawain conceded. “If the ground’s folded up in the west it may well be easier to the east. It’ll have to be tried. West is clearly out of the question. In the meantime, we need to take care of the goat. If we butcher it and cook it on the hearth at the inn as Allazar suggested, it’ll make the stew easier to prepare on the barge.”

  “Good idea,” Tyrane agreed. “Either of you two fancy the job?”

  Rollaf shrugged. “I’m more used to fowl and deer, but I’ll give it a go, Serre.”

  “I’d be happy to help, Serres,” Jaxon announced quietly.

  “You’ve experience of such things, Serre Jaxon?” Tyrane asked politely.

  Jaxon nodded. “We had to prepare our own food in Armunland, so we learned quickly to make a good job of it. When you have to eat what you cook, best to learn to cook well. And in truth, Serres, with Kahla helping the Lady, there’s little for me to do here.”

  “We’d be glad of your help, Jaxon,” Gawain asserted. “Rollaf?”

  “Happy for any help I can get, milord.”

  “Excellent. Terryn, you’re with me and the Captain. I fear we’re going for a ride.”

  And so they were, the wizards striding towards them from the blockho
use, smiling gleefully. The goat was taken into custody by Rollaf and Jaxon, Allazar tagging along to provide instruction in the use of the hearth and of pyre-bricks and ellamas oil.

  “Well, gentlemen, I trust you are now sufficiently free from duties to enable a real test of the boat-lift to be made?”

  The three men eyed each other, waiting for someone to come up with a good excuse. None came.

  “Splendid! Splendid! Now, aboard the barge. I shall come with you to show you the mechanism of the gates. There are two to be operated at the northern end once you’re at the top, only one at this…”

  Arramin continued his description while the mooring chains were loosed and the barge poled out into the pond and towards the wheel and its lower caisson. Once there, the elderly wizard pointed out the large steel ring which, from a perilous position kneeling at the prow, had to be lifted, rotated, and then pulled back to release the gate latches and swing the gate open. When all had attempted the feat and survived the manoeuvre without a dunking, the barge was poled back to the dockside to allow Arramin ashore.

  With the wizard safely in the blockhouse, it seemed somehow to take a lot more time and effort to pole the barge back out and into the caisson before the gate was closed tight behind them.

  “Well then. We seem to be floating well enough.”

  “Aye, my lord. But the tray’s still in the pond and so are we.”

  Gawain sighed. “Arramin’s waving at us. I suppose one of us should wave back.”

  No-one seemed in any hurry to return the wizard’s signal. Ashore, Elayeen and Kahla stood near the edge of the dock, watching, and Gawain caught his breath. From this distance, his beloved looked as she had always done, beautiful, her hair shining in the near-noon sun. From this distance, there was nothing of the eldengaze about her.

  “Dwarfspit. What must be done, must be done,” And with that, Gawain waved back at Arramin.

  Immediately, there was a rumble, and a clank. But no sense of motion at all for those in the barge. The walkway around the barge gunwales was slightly below the rim of the caisson, so the three men standing in front of the forward deckhouse could see clearly around them. To the west, the blockhouse and buildings at the dockside and the woodland beyond. To the north, the caisson gate and the cliff face beyond it. East, the moored barges, dockside, and woodlands. Then there came a slight squeal from the caisson axle above them, and a worried glance towards the blockhouse showed a slight shift in perspective.