Gawain, his eyes fixed on Allazar, drew his lady further back along the road while the wizard advanced, keeping himself between her and the Graken and whatever might occur next.
Allazar grasped the staff two-handed, as though it were a pitchfork and he would stab the Graken and its rider with the prongs. The Graken still gave out shrill cries of pain, but continued to advance, closing the distance between them and Allazar, and the rider lifted his stick high to conjure more black spheres with his stick.
Suddenly, without warning or chanting or any other sign, a great streamer of white lightning ripped from the end of the staff, blasting into the road, gouging a huge furrow in the stones and sending rock shards and earth flying. The wizard seemed to struggle with the staff, his face contorted into the twisted rictus of battle, heaving up on the pearl-white Dymendin trunk as though some great weight sat upon its end. The furrow of searing destruction zigzagged along the road, tearing rock and earth asunder, before finally it lifted clear of the ground and smashed into and through the wailing Graken and up into the rider on its back, blasting them apart amid a great flurry of streamers which branched from the main course. For the briefest of moments, to Gawain’s dazzled eyes, it looked as though Allazar were lifting a huge tree of lightning by the roots.
And then the lightning was gone, and when Gawain had blinked back the after-images that stained his vision all manner of bright and jagged colours, so too was the Graken, and the nameless dark wizard who had made it. Nothing remained of them but ash upon the seared and shattered track, and a plume of smoke which was even now being whipped through the trees and away towards the west from whence it had come.
Allazar let out a huge sigh, breathing heavily, leaning on his staff for support.
“Dwarfspit.” Gawain managed.
“Did he hit it?” Elayeen asked quietly, all trace of the eldengaze gone.
18. Changes
At the horses, Gawain helped Elayeen into the saddle, and held her left hand tenderly, his own resting on her thigh. “We’ll have the whitesleeves look again at your poor fingers, miheth. He’ll probably be as unhappy as I at the punishment they’ve taken today.”
Elayeen nodded, and glanced north along the road. “The way is clear again, G’wain. We should move from here as quickly as we can. Healer Turlock can attend to my hand when we stop for the night. The people from Goria will look to us for leadership in the midst of this terror and we can’t make them wait in fear for so small a thing.”
“As you wish. Though what new horror lies between us and Jarn is anyone’s guess. Allazar, are you well?”
“Yes, Longsword, a little tired, in an odd sort of way. I am very far from used to unleashing such power as we just witnessed on the road. It is as frightening as it is astonishing.”
“Agreed.” Gawain mumbled, mounting Gwyn. “Come, let’s rejoin the head and the body, and move the column on.”
“You go ahead, Longsword. I will attend to the fallen of Callodon.”
“Oh… yes. What shall I tell the captain?”
“Simply that I am attending to his fallen men. Don’t approach, though, until I am done. I must gather my strength and my wits for the rite.”
“Very well,” Gawain acknowledged, guiding Gwyn who gently nudged Elayeen’s horse on to the road, facing Tyrane and his men. Then Gawain paused, and looked down at the wizard. He did look tired, drained, as though from a long day’s labour. “Thank you, Allazar.”
Allazar’s eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, and he smiled up at the younger man, and then bowed his head a little in a genuinely gracious acceptance of his king’s gratitude.
Gawain guided Gwyn and in turn Elayeen’s horse through the grisly remains of the slain scouts, back to Tyrane. He told the captain of Allazar’s intentions, and then with Elayeen joined the line across the road, facing the fallen and the wizard standing in the middle of their remains. The destruction wrought upon men and horses by the dark wizard was too extensive, and it would be too distressing for all concerned to perform a recovery and burial.
The guardsmen ported their crossbows, still watchful, but Captain Tyrane drew his shortsword and held it across his chest, his head bowed in salute. Gawain drew the longsword, and held it point down and to the right, and lowered his head, honouring the scouts whose names he did not know.
In the midst of their remains, Allazar planted the staff firmly on the ground, and began the chant all wizards of the D’ith learned long before leaving the Hallencloister. Elayeen saw a glow beginning to spread around the wizard’s feet, and understanding what was taking place, placed her right hand over her heart, closed her eyes and bowed her head.
The glow about the wizard’s feet spread slowly, like a ripple on a pond of molasses, moving outward, slowly and silently, reducing to smokeless ash the remains of the fallen men and their horses. In the blustery easterly winds, in no time at all, the road was clear, and the ceremony done. Allazar bowed briefly to conclude the rite, and then mounted, waiting patiently while the head advanced to join him, Tyrane signalling the body and the tail to move on.
The column thus reformed, it was a sombre and watchful group of Gorians and Callodonians who followed behind the three of Raheen, though in truth such glances that were made in their direction were mostly for the slender elfin riding proudly in the saddle, her silver hair streaming in the strengthening gusts.
By sunset they had put twenty miles between them and the shattered expanse of track that had marked the end of the Graken and its rider, and made a makeshift camp at one of the many passing-places that dotted the length of the Jarn road. The three of Raheen and the head of the guard took the western half of the passing-place, while the Gorian party and the wagons took the eastern side. Tyrane had the sergeant deploy pickets, and ordered frequent changes of shift. The skies were darkening quickly, clouds scudding across the stars, and there was a dampness in the air, a harbinger of rain to come.
Food was distributed, cloaks drawn tight, horses tended, but no fires lit. The Gorians seemed to take it in their stride, and Gawain found himself marvelling at their stoicism, until he remembered that they would have endured much worse on their long travels east with an unseen Grimmand in their midst.
It was only once the camp was settled, if camp it could be called, and Turlock had strapped Elayeen’s broken fingers once again, that Tyrane approached the three of Raheen, and huddled in his cloak against the wind, squatted before them where they sat upon their saddles on the gravel.
“My lady, my lords, I must speak with you.”
“Of course, Tyrane,” Gawain said softly. “I had expected you would as soon as your immediate duties permitted.”
“It’s of duty I must speak, my lord. I am a Captain of Callodon, and Brock is my king. I cannot in all conscience withhold the events of this day from my superiors and his Court. I must report this, and I fear I must send that report ahead by fast rider, even though it means one less sword at your disposal.”
“I understand,” Gawain acknowledged, and he did. Lacking imagination he may have been, but Tyrane was a good officer, chosen well by Brock, and trusted. “And I have no objections to your duty, Captain. On the contrary, it does you and your crown honour.”
“If I may borrow your wizard, my lord, with his permission as well as yours? There are certain things I don’t know and would like clarification for my report?”
“Of course, I am at your service Captain. Longsword?”
“Yes Allazar, please give Captain Tyrane any assistance he needs. I fear Callodon may need to know more about the Graken and their dark riders in times to come. Though the wind’s in the east, I fear there’s a storm brewing in the west as well as the north now.”