The Longsword Chronicles: Book 03 - Sight and Sound Page 23

  “Eh? Oh dear me. Where was I?”

  “The land, between the wheel and Ostinath?”

  “Oh. Much the same as before… oh yes, I should imagine that we might begin to encounter signs of life once beyond the wheel. We are too far to be able to see the Toorseneth, of course, and once below the ridge, the forest all around us will obscure any view of it until we reach Ostinath itself. But I should think we will encounter elven civilisation oh, perhaps three days from the wheel.”

  “Well, since it’s our watch now and another day has begun, that should mean three days or so from now,” Gawain announced softly.

  “Indeed. And three more on the canal after that until we reach the terminus. I fear, your Majesty, that once we have descended the wheel, my usefulness, such as it may have been to your quest, will be greatly diminished.”

  “Bah,” Gawain announced before anyone else could protest. “You will simply become as useful as Allazar has been since we clambered aboard this vessel. And I’ve put up with him rather well, I think.”

  Arramin gave a curious snort of laughter, and quickly bowed, and then took his leave, heading towards the aft deckhouse and sleep.

  “I have opened another box of honey-bars,” Allazar sniffed haughtily, “Should you gentlemen wish to avail yourselves of them during the night. There ends my usefulness for another day, so I shall bid you both good night.”

  They watched him go until he passed through the horses, and then turned to take up a position up top, leaning back against the forward deckhouse.

  “Nice night, my lord. Clear, and more of a moon now.”

  “Aye. I notice Jaxon has taken to sleeping at the rear again now Terryn’s back aboard.”

  “Yes. Though I’ve also noticed he seems not to stray too far from the lady Kahla of late.”

  “You’ve only just noticed?”

  Tyrane looked surprised.

  “I believe Kahla has been interested in friend Jaxon since before we left Jarn. He’s only recently become aware of the hook she set some time ago.”

  “Ah! Ladies are indeed cunning anglers then, I hadn’t noticed that either.”

  Gawain smiled in the starlight, and shrugged. “I watched them closely, early on, just in case.”

  “Just in case?”

  “Just in case they had other motives for volunteering to make such a perilous journey as this. Call me suspicious and cynical, but I watched everyone closely.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.”

  “No,” Gawain chuckled softly, “You’d just think it, unless two hundred and fifty riders thundered by and then you might yell it at the top of your voice.”

  Tyrane acknowledged the truth with a chuckle of his own, and then became quietly serious. “We’re less than a week from Ostinath now, and whatever awaits us there. It’s a pity that magical dove of Arramin’s can’t reach that far ahead to tell of our approach. At least then we might expect a civilised welcome.”

  “Are you worried, Tyrane?”

  “It’s just a feeling. And a memory.”

  “A memory?”

  “Aye, m’lord. Six, seven years ago. His Majesty King Brock suddenly got it into his head to make surprise inspections of some of our outposts and beacon towers. He wanted to arrive completely unannounced so he could ‘see the reality with his own eyes.’ He told me he was fed up with Callodon smelling of fresh paint everywhere he went, and had worked out why it did so, all on his own, as he himself put it.”

  Gawain grinned. Brock was no man’s fool.

  “Anyway. In spite of my protests, the ‘surprise inspections’ began. But of course keeping secret the fact that the King is abroad is nigh impossible. Our first call, the beacon tower in the north ridings, well that was a surprise. Fortunately for the men there, everything was found to be in order. At the second stop, however, we could smell the fresh paint and wood-tar a mile away. Somehow, they got the word out.

  “His Majesty was decidedly not amused, and we returned to Castletown. About three weeks later I was summoned to the stables by a scribbled message handed to me by a page and to my horror found King Brock there, dressed in grubby garments and ready to travel. He, it seems, had decided to sneak from the Castle incognito to make a genuine ‘surprise inspection’ of the wall and guards at Harks Hearth, in the east. Do you know it, m’lord?”

  “No, my journeys in Callodon were brief and did not take me anywhere east of the Guards Headquarters.”

  “It is a very small but important town, one of the few walled towns in our land. It was once a fortress haven in olden times, Arramin will tell you all about that no doubt, but now it’s home to granaries and is the principle storehouse for Castletown and its outlying villages. A very friendly place, m’lord, where there is much music and gaiety to be had. And, of course, the food is excellent. A good contingent of the Guard are permanently in barracks there, mostly serving as fire-watch and looking inward, but at night the gates are shut and keen eyes look outward too. It is a duty that carries a deal of responsibility, my lord, guarding the main stores which could make all the difference in a harsh winter.”

  “Aye, we had similar stores, though with no need of such protection as you here in the lowlands.”

  “Quite so. But back to my memory, and the feeling I spoke of. It was late when we approached the gates, they were shut up tight for the night and it was well known that except in dire need, deep winter, or by prior arrangement, travellers arriving there would await morning before attempting entry. His Majesty was tired and hungry, restless, and it was in such spirits he judged that night-time would be the ideal time for his ‘surprise inspection.’” Tyrane sighed, and shook his head.

  “There was trouble?”

  “There were four of us, King’s orders. Myself, King Brock, and two lads of the guard hand-picked by me. Those two were at the rear, I to my King’s right flank. We could see the Wallguard’s faces looking down at us, and they weren’t looking friendly. Open the gates in the name of your King, which is me! his Majesty yelled up at them. Bugger off! a voice yelled down…”

  Gawain couldn’t help the snort of sudden laughter that burst through his defences, and Tyrane grinned.

  “Aye, m’lord, it’s funny now in the telling years later, but not so at the time. Remember, the King was poorly dressed. Bugger off! the voice yelled down, if you’re the king you know the rules! His Majesty gaped, stared at me, and then yelled up again I make the bloody rules! Now open the gate you Dwarfspit excuse for a Guardsman of Callodon or the next black and gold you see will be my boot on its way to your backside!

  “Not one but four steel bolts slammed into the rocky road in front of us, showering the King and I and our horses with dirt and stones. Then a hard voice called down to us. I’ll never forget the words. Dwarfspit excuses we may be, and king you may be, and maybe your boot will indeed kiss my arse hello, but Guardsmen of Callodon we most certainly are, so bugger off ‘til sunrise or you saw yer last dawn this morning! And we heard the ‘bows cocked.” Tyrane paused, and looked up at the stars.

  “What happened next?”

  “We withdrew. It was that or they would’ve shot us from our saddles, they knew it, I knew it, the lads knew it, and the King knew it. When we were well clear, we made a roadside camp, King Brock pacing furiously and muttering under his breath. I thought I’d never seen him so angry. The lads were glad to take a watch, well away from that pacing fury. Then he stopped in front of me and said with astonishing passion Did you see such men, Tyrane! Did you see such men! And in my colours! Men of the black and gold! And I realised then it wasn’t fury that had him pacing up and down, it was pride.”

  “I take it the guardsmen were spared the royal boot next morning?”

  “They were, but not before some fretful moments which I daresay they still sing a song or two about. When they saw that yes, indeed, it had been the King at the gate, they thought their last day had come. Who shot at me and my officers! The King demanded, and at once the four me
n stepped forward from the assembled ranks, expecting the worst but standing proudly before their comrades anyway. Well done, lads, well done! his Majesty said, and he meant it.”

  Gawain nodded thoughtfully. “And your feeling, to accompany your memory?”

  Tyrane shrugged. “That night outside Harks Hearth was almost a catastrophe. They didn’t know we were coming, who we were, or why we were there. And here we are on a metal boat on a canal that hasn’t been used in a thousand years, coming from a city no-one ever goes to, and only one of us elfkind. In Ostinath, my lord, they don’t know we’re coming, who we are, or why we’re here.”

  “Then let us hope my lady is correct in her assertion that none shall bar our way.”

  “Always assuming we receive an opportunity to announce ourselves, before the elves announce themselves in their customary fashion. Few dare to approach Elvendere from the plains for fear of an arrow by way of a greeting. And here we are, in the depths of their forest riding in one of their boats.”

  Gawain pondered the captain’s remarks, eyeing the waters of the canal ahead of them and the starlight sparkling on the surface. They were proceeding well, were well fed thanks to the scouts and the goats which seemed to favour the high ridge, and hadn’t needed to resort to fishing. During the day, the horses went ashore at ladies’ convenience first thing in the morning, and given a good run and allowed to feed while the barge caught up. Supplies were running low, it was true, but with life thriving all around them once again, foraging met the needs of man and beast alike.

  It might not be so comfortable once they were on low ground after the wheel. For one thing, hunting for game while the barge trundled along on the chains would put the hunters at a distinct disadvantage in any encounter with elves which might, for whatever reason, occupy the forest there. Arramin’s estimate of three days of vacant forest before making contact with elfkind might be seriously outdated, based as it was on historical studies. And Terryn had seen ‘traces’, almost at the southern end of the ridge.

  “I think you’re right, Tyrane. I think we may need to be much more cautious than we have been. It might be worthwhile adding to our supplies, too, rather than simply subsisting on the daily bag.”

  Tyrane nodded his agreement.

  “I’m nipping ashore, call of nature and some exercise. I’ll stay level with the barge though.”

  “Aye, m’lord. I’ll be here.”

  Gawain leapt nimbly onto the blue-stone tow-path and waited while the barge slid quietly past him in the gloom, and then turned his back to it to relieve himself. The nights were so much cooler now that his arrowsilk cloak was fast becoming a necessity against the chill in the long hours before dawn. It was misty too, in patches, and damp, although stronger breezes quickly dispersed the wispy fog rising from the forest below before it could hamper visibility ahead.

  He stepped out, moving onto the softer earth of the scrubby bank so his footfalls on the tow-path wouldn’t rouse the sleepers when he caught up with the vessel. The horses were becoming used to travelling in the barge, but clearly weren’t in love with it and were rather truculent when they were being ushered back aboard after a day on the bank. They would probably need to tolerate much longer periods aboard, Gawain knew, once they cleared the wheel. Tyrane was right. It wouldn’t do to go thundering along the tow-path on horseback and find a group of well-armed elves blocking the way.

  Then there was the prospect of negotiating with elves at Ostinath for permission to charge headlong down the Threnderrin Way clear to Shiyanath. Elayeen had been forcefully insistent that none would bar their way, but it had been Eldengaze who’d said that, not his queen. Eldengaze seemed to care nothing for the fact that Elayeen was faranthroth, officially dead to all elfkind. Never in all elven history, so it was said, had an athroth elf or elfin been taken from the Circle of Faranthroth, as Gawain had taken Elayeen.

  The political chaos which had followed his trespass of Elvenheth to rescue her still doubtless carried repercussions the severity of which Gawain couldn’t hope to guess. He’d formed the impression that civil war had been a distinct possibility, doubtless inspired by elfwizards loyal to Morloch’s cause, but a possibility nevertheless. Yet Eldengaze had often blithely announced that all elfkind in Ostinath would humbly step aside at the direction of a blind faranthroth elfin whose existence was tolerated merely by the fact that she was Queen of Raheen, an extinct land, and Gawain King of an all but extinct people.

  Gawain pared a slice of frak and chewed it thoughtfully, walking briskly to keep pace with the forward deckhouse of the barge sliding along the canal to his right. Tyrane stood atop the walkway at the prow, leaning back against the deckhouse roof, scanning the way ahead. A vast, upturned bowl of stars enveloped them, not a cloud to be seen. It was, as Tyrane had said, a nice night.

  Some three hours later both men stood at the prow, both well-exercised and well-fed, talking quietly as the barge rumbled on the chains.

  “…but I’ve never seen it for myself. Have you, my lord?”

  “The D’ith Hallencloister? No. Allazar has described it to me. It sounds more like a fortress or citadel than a school for whitebeards. I haven’t been to Arrun either, and the only part of Mornland I’ve seen was at the border crossing with Threlland. There were no Ramoth there to vie for my attention.”

  Tyrane shivered, though whether at the chill in the longest hour before dawn or at the memory of the Longsword DarkSlayer and tales of his merciless destruction of the Ramoth, he didn’t know. “I’ve not left the borders of Callodon myself, except for now, and when Pellarn fell.”

  “They say travel broadens the mind.”

  “They do. Why did you travel, my lord? What strange turn of fate took you from your homeland and spared you from the destruction there?”

  “I had no choice,” Gawain sighed, “It was the custom there… Did you hear something?”

  Both men stood suddenly alert, peering through the gloom and turning their heads this way and that. Tyrane drew in a breath to speak, but long, eerie howl, far distant, seemed to echo along the rock walls rising up either side of the canal, the channel cut deep into the ridge here.

  “Dwarfspit,” Gawain whispered, “I like not the sound of that! Slip the chain, Tyrane, quickly.”

  “Aye.”

  The captain nimbly stepped down into the deckhouse, and heaved the lever to disengage the barge from the chain below. At once, the vessel began to slow, and silence reigned. When Tyrane returned to the prow, he was carrying his crossbow.

  Minutes passed, the barge slowly drifting a little further from the west bank before finally coming to a halt. Then another sound, far off, shrill and brief, like the screeching yowl of some immense cat, the sound softened by distance and breezes.

  “That is not something of nature’s making,” Tyrane announced firmly.

  “No. Whatever made that sound is huge. Nothing small could make a noise like that.”

  “Should I wake the wizards?”

  “Not yet. It’s far off. Let them sleep a while longer.”

  But silence when the norm is the continuous rumble and clunk of elven chains can seem as loud as any warning bell or shout. Horses were suddenly alert and the sound of their shoes clanging on the deck-plates as they shifted their weight rang the length of the vessel and echoed from the rock walls either side of them. It wasn’t long before the entire party were huddled in their blankets or cloaks near the forward deckhouse, Elayeen standing on the starboard walkway and casting her gaze north along the canal past Tyrane’s right.

  No-one spoke. It was clear from the way the two men of the night watch were poised at the prow that they were listening intently for something. Allazar cast a glance up and over his left shoulder, the waxing moon was close to dipping behind the ridge above them to the southwest, and though it was still about a day from its first quarter, its light would be missed should any threat present itself.

  The gentlest of breezes wafted along the canal, barely enough to dist
urb hair much less cloaks and blankets, but the air was damp, and chill, and there was still an hour or more before the sun rose behind the sheer rock walls to the east. Long minutes passed, and still the night watch kept their vigil, motionless, and the fact that they did so assured all the others that whatever had been heard was not to be dismissed lightly. Even Elayeen kept her silence, and that she did so was taken to be a good sign.

  At length, just as the moon sank below the cliffs on their left and the world dimmed to starlit wash of grey, another sound, far distant, echoed along the canal from the north; a short, shrill squealing, which ended abruptly, as though stilled by a sudden death.

  “Allazar?” Gawain whispered, not looking over his shoulder but knowing the wizard was there.

  “I know it not.”

  “Elayeen?”

  “I see nothing dark ahead.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I believe I know it,” Arramin whispered, “I believe it is the sound of metal upon metal. The Wheel of Thal-Marrahan.”

  Gawain eased himself past the deckhouse along the port walkway, and down onto the deck, while Tyrane maintained the watch from where he stood.

  “You think it’s the wheel, Arramin? In truth? The noises Tyrane and I heard earlier could have been the wheel, I suppose.”

  Arramin nodded in the gloom. “Yes, my lords, I do believe so. And it both saddens and alarms me.”

  “Why so?”

  “It saddens me because clearly the wheel is not properly lubricated and may be damaged, my lords. It alarms me because knowing the great mechanisms as I do, I know it cannot revolve unless commanded so to do.”

  “Dwarfspit! You mean someone is attempting to drive it?”

  The elderly wizard shrugged slightly. “The elven engineers of Thal-Marrahan’s time so constructed the mechanism as to keep it locked in position should any catastrophe occur. Thus, any failure of its vast parts would render the wheel safe, and not a danger to its users. It can only be made to revolve about its axis by the manipulation of its controls.”