Lore Of The Letharn (Book 2)

by Robert Ryan

He hesitated, unsure what to do.

  “Take it,” she said. “You need it more than I do.”

  He took the blade and strapped it on. It felt different from the shazrahad sword, but he was glad to have it.

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “Thank me when you return,” she said.

  Lanrik was not sure how to answer that, but she seemed to need no reply, for she looked away as though considering something more important.

  Lanrik spoke briefly with the lòhren, telling him his plan, and Aranloth soon led Arliss and Caldring away onto the grass. They headed for the riverbank a mile further along. That way Lanrik would know where to find them later on.

  Night had fallen. It was dark and quiet – the perfect environment in which to put his Raithlin skills to use. The only thing that he did not like was that it was still early in the evening. If any solders had remained near the horses they would still be alert. It would have been better to make the attempt after midnight, but waiting that long was a luxury he did not have.

  He walked out onto the grass himself, but he did not go far. All he wanted was to put himself in a position so that he could approach the camp from the opposite side to the track that emerged from the swamp. That was the direction the soldiers would be least wary of.

  It was a time to walk silently. It was also a time to walk quickly. Speed was important here, for later on he would have to move with extreme care, and that would be slow.

  He continued on until he was a few hundred paces from where he thought the camp was situated.

  There had not been any guards visible during daylight, but that did not mean that they had not been there, or that their commander had not established a night watch. He waited, listening carefully and scanning the dark smudge of the horizon that was the line of trees.

  There was nothing to be seen or heard. He looked behind him, assessing the light on the horizon and how likely the chances that he would be silhouetted. The sky was clear, but the stars had not yet begun to shine brightly. There was little light, but even so, he would soon have to get down on the ground and crawl. But not just yet.

  He edged closer. After some twenty paces he stopped and listened. He heard only the distant sounds of the swamp, and so he repeated the process. He did this several more times.

  There was still nothing. But he knew he must be getting close now, and so he waited a little longer, sure that he had judged the distance correctly. He must be very near the camp.

  At length, he did hear something. What noise it was, he could not tell. But it was enough to make him wait longer. He sat down and closed his eyes, sharpening his sense of hearing.

  The minutes passed. Frustration was growing on him, but he let it go. Now was not the time for a mistake. He needed to hurry, but the greater need was to avoid getting caught. He slowed his breathing and waited some more.

  A soft thump drifted to his ears. And then he heard it again, even louder. He smiled in the dark, for he recognized that sound. It was the stamping of a hoof. Probably the mosquitoes were annoying the horses.

  He did not stand up. Instead, he used the Raithlin crawl to move forward across the ground. His palms rested on the earth, and he kept his elbows close to his trunk for support and to reduce the chances of being seen. The weight of his body was mostly on his hands, forearms and one leg at a time. He brought the free leg forward, low to the ground, and moved forward in that manner. It was slow going, but not as slow as it could have been. He was skilled in the technique.

  He made no noise as he went and that enabled him to listen carefully for any sign of the enemy. He relied on that, on hearing or seeing them first, as his main defense against someone spotting him. Should somebody be nearby, he would hunker low and stay perfectly still. His cloak and the darkness should conceal him.

  He kept going. Mostly, he kept his head down so that the white of his face would not make him visible, but from time to time he paused and looked intently ahead.

  For what seemed a long time he saw nothing. But eventually the woods became distinct. He could pick out taller trees and smaller shrubs. The sound of the swamp, of frogs and insects and the splash of water came to him ever more loudly, but nothing further of the horses. Yet he knew he was now close and slowed down.

  He heard it again soon. The stamp of a hoof and from somewhere nearby another horse shook its head. He was very close.

  He moved forward once more, only going a few feet this time, and waited again. He saw movement now, dim, but recognizable as horses. More and more became visible as he watched. There were ten that he could count, but he saw no people, and that worried him. There would likely be at least one guard, no matter how many men the commander had sent forward to wait in ambush.

  He waited some more, but there was no other sound or movement than the horses. Time was running out, but that was no reason to be careless. He moved to the left, being sure not to get any closer to the camp. He was looking for a different angle to see things.

  The smell of the swamp drifted to him, but he still saw nothing alarming. The saddles were piled carelessly in a heap on the fringe of the trees, but he ignored them. If there were no guards near the horses, it was possible that they were above them.

  The tree line was dim, but the trunks and branches, by virtue of being higher than the grassland, were placed in a better light by the afterglow of the setting sun. He studied each tree, each branch, looking for a sign that someone was there.

  He saw nothing.

  It was time to move in closer. He did not like that he had not found a guard. It would have been better if he had done so, and then disabled him. But there was none in sight, and perhaps they were using every man for the ambush.

  He inched forward. If there were no guards, he would have an opportunity to saddle the horses. That would make their trip to the Angle easier.

  The saddles lay in a jumbled pile and he veered in their direction. The night seemed particularly quiet, but he was quieter still. He moved to the closest saddle and looked around again. The horses remained still and ignored him. There was no movement anywhere.

  He rose to his knees, took hold of a saddle, and prepared to stand. Even as his legs started to push upward he caught the faintest glimmer of light from behind the ones he left behind. He knew what that gleam was: an unsheathed blade.

  It streaked toward him and he threw himself back. He felt something strike the edge of the leather saddle, a hard blow that would have killed him, but he was still in a bad position. On his back, and two men leaping over the saddles to kill him.

  He rolled to the side and stood, drawing his own blade. They were on him before he was ready. One struck a driving thrust for his stomach, intended to impale him, but the blow was not quite quick enough and Lanrik managed to stumble back. Yet while he was doing that the other man came at him from the side with a wild slash that nicked his shoulder. He grunted in sudden pain.

  The soldiers came at him fast, pressing home their attack, but he was better balanced now. Steel met steel in a sudden clash that broke the silence. The horses stomped and snorted.

  Lanrik knew that he would have to work quickly. These were his own countrymen, but they had murdered innocent villagers, and he must be prepared to kill them in turn. At least, he thought grimly, that if he could not do so they would still not obtain the shazrahad sword.

  A savage blow hissed near his head, the last stroke of that soldier. Lanrik stepped in and smashed he hilt of his sword against the man’s head. He slumped to the ground.

  Lanrik spun and faced the other man, but he turned, leaped over the saddles, and ran into the fringe of trees.

  A moment later a horn sounded, loud and deep in the night. Lanrik cursed. The man was no longer a danger, but he had warned the others. In short order the camp would swarm with soldiers.

  He stood a moment in desperate hesitation, but a moment only. Should he flee while he could, or should he take the horses?

  His feet moved of their own volitio
n and he was running. Not away from the camp, but to the horses. The ambush must be a good way into the swamp. He was positive the men would have taken the necessary steps to make sure that their intended quarry would not hear horses and receive warning.

  He had a few precious moments. The horses were nervous, but still docile, and he ran a loose rope though the bridles of the four closest to him. Quickly, he bunched their reins together and severed the ropes that tethered them to pegs in the ground. Then he paused to listen.

  He heard yells, curses and the slamming of boots on the hard packed earth of the road. The King’s Guard would be on him soon, but he had one more task to do.

  It would do little good to escape and then let the enemy pursue him. Better that they were on foot, at least for a little while.

  He quickly cut the remaining ropes of all the other horses that he could see, and then with a wild shout and slaps to their rumps, he set them into a gallop.

  Hooves thundered in the night and there was movement everywhere, whether of man or beast he could no longer tell.

  He jumped onto the back of the first horse that he had taken and urged it into a trot. The others followed. The rope was awkward, and so was riding bareback, but it was better than walking. He moved out onto the grass, heard the hiss of some wildly shot arrows, and looked back as night swallowed the camp. It was nothing now but a memory of a fast fight and lucky escape.

  After a little while he slowed and came to a stop. He could still hear a commotion in the distance, but there was no immediate pursuit.

  He turned to the left and made for the river. When he found it, he followed it down stream.

  Not long after that he came to the others. Arliss saw him first, her face showing relief, and then anger.

  “You should have taken me. You nearly got caught, didn’t you?”

  “Nearly, but I didn’t – that’s all that matters.”

  He jumped down from the horse and untied the rope that led the others.

  “Quickly,” he said. “No one followed me, but they’ll be searching. And if they don’t find my trail tonight, they’ll probably find it tomorrow.”

  “Assuming any of them can track,” Caldring said.

  “Probably they can’t,” he answered, “but it’s better not to make assumptions.”

  In moments they had each mounted their horses and began to walk downriver. It would be another long night.

  Arliss shifted her position. “Saddles would have been nice.”

  Lanrik shrugged. “I suppose so, but I was a little pushed for time.” He smiled her. “Anyway, thanks for the blade.”

  He undid the sword belt and handed her the weapon.

  “Did you need it?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I wish that I hadn’t.”

  Arliss studied him carefully. She obviously sensed his distaste at being forced to fight his own countrymen, for she let the matter drop.

  Aranloth gave him back the shazrahad blade, which he buckled on promptly. It felt good to have it back.

  “How far is it from here to the Angle,” he asked the lòhren.

  Aranloth thought about it a moment. “A little under two hundred leagues,” he said. “A fair way but much closer now that we have horses.”

  Lanrik sighed. “I guess that we’ll be pursued though. How the guard found us in the first lace, I don’t know. But it won’t take much for them to find the trail of four horses. They probably don’t even need a tracker for that.”

  “How long do you think we have?”

  “I don’t know, Aranloth. But they’ll be busy rounding up their own mounts for a while. That should take them the rest of the night. And there’ll be trails everywhere from the other horses I set loose. That’ll slow them down, too. I’d guess that we might get a day’s lead on them. It would’ve been longer if I wasn’t caught.”

  Aranloth shrugged. “These things happen. The most important thing as that we’ve got a lead, and we’ve got horses. Anyway, once we get to the Angle we should be able to shake them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  The lòhren looked grim “They’ll not go where we must. And if they do, they’ll not survive.”

  Lanrik had seen that look before. Aranloth was worried, and he was not about to reveal exactly why. Whatever dangers lay in the tombs of the Letharn must be of concern to him.

  Lanrik pondered it. Not for nothing had Erlissa made him swear never to go inside them. He straightened and rode taller. Warning or not, it was what Erlissa needed, and he was determined to do it, whatever it cost him. Still, the memory of her words made him nervous. He promised himself that he would be careful, but the nagging doubt was growing and he could not shake it off. As much as he planned for things, he could not plan for everything. If he could, then the two guards back at the camp would not have taken him by surprise.

  They rode through the night. It grew chilly, and he shivered. A mist of light rain started to fall from the darkening sky, and he wondered what was worse: being pursued by enemies for what now seemed all his life, or running headlong toward his own death, a death that had been foretold, and that was, perhaps, unalterable.

  16. The Valley of Death

  The voices of dead men rode the wind.

  Erlissa looked down from a high ridge over the valley of Caladhrist. A dark pit gaped below her; a night-haunted hollow that seethed and roiled with anguish and the haunted cries of the lost.

  Late evening cast groping shadows down the ragged valley sides: or the darkness of the pit boiled up to flood Alithoras. Erlissa could not tell which.

  She stepped back from the intensity of it. How had she not sensed this the first time that she had come here? The place had left her uneasy, but this, this was something else altogether. She considered it further. Perhaps her growing skills with lòhrengai had opened her senses. That was likely. But even so, it was not enough to explain what was happening.

  There was more going on. She felt as though a great wave of evil surged up from the pit and battered against her sanity. The presence of the witch was part of it. So too the cries of the sacrificed and the spilled blood that fed her power.

  Ebona was gathering forces here that could destroy Alithoras. And Erlissa knew that she must stop it. Yet she was a pitifully weak challenger, dwarfed by the puissance of her opponent. She was as nothing to Ebona: the witch could swat her like a fly.

  Erlissa felt a sudden urge to turn and run. She took a step back. Fear rose up within her like a rearing snake and she swayed and shook. Her breath heaved in her chest and she took another pace back.

  The lip of the valley began to obscure the pit. A few more steps and it would be out of sight altogether. She would be free!

  There was evil down there, and it ran unchecked. Her heart thudded and she felt sick. But she clenched her jaw and stood still. She could turn and leave Caladhrist behind, but as far and as long as she fled, she would never be free of the voices. They would damn her always. The ceaseless crying of a thousand accusers would haunt her dreams. And her own voice would be the loudest.

  One step at a time, she forced herself forward. The sense of evil buffeted her, but that at least gave her cause for hope. She was insignificant among the mighty powers that pulsed and throbbed in this valley, but she knew where Ebona was, could track her down and try to stop her, but the witch would be unaware of her presence. At least Erlissa hoped so.

  She sensed the struggle that was in play between the witch and Carnona, and she knew that the witch was winning. Not lightly had the Guardian summoned her. Her presence was needed, though exactly what she would do when she found her enemy, she still had not decided.

  Slowly and carefully she moved down the rocky slope. It became a little easier as she progressed. Perhaps her decision and determination to fight had cleared her mind. Or maybe her senses, at first overwhelmed by the forces that assaulted her, were growing more accustomed to them.

  She walked forward warily, aware that any misstep could be her last. She
had shunned the road, it being too visible, and come down through one of the many treacherous ravines.

  This area had been mined, though how long ago she could not tell. The ground was broken and tumbled, a mess of loose sand and knife-sharp rocks that formed fragile slopes and ridges. Either could give away at any time, but she stepped lightly until she was deeper in the valley and the slope had become less steep.

  Fires burned, red and flickering, far below. The faint and acrid tang of smoke hung in the air. It seemed unlikely to her that any miners were still there, but if not them, she wondered who had lit the fires and for what purpose. But it did not mater. Ebona was not down there. She was somewhere on the slope to the right, probably in one of the many tunnels.

  Erlissa turned her steps in that direction. It was hard going, but she kept at it with slow determination. The fires intrigued her, but she had no way, and no intention, of finding out what was going on.

  She had only one concern in the valley, and her time was swiftly running out. She concentrated on Ebona and forced herself onward. She was in a race of sorts. The pull of her body in Lòrenta was growing by the hour, and the beasts that hunted her were closing in. Worst of all, the task that she must accomplish remained unfinished, and it would stay that way if either of her other problems caught up with her too soon.

  The night grew old around her, and she could now almost understand the plaintive calls that filled the valley. There was meaning in them, over and above pain and anguish that tore directly at her heart.

  Erlissa shuddered and walked on. She looked up and saw that the stars were gone. The darkness of the valley was thick like smoke. Shadow had become substance. She wondered anew at Ebona’s growing power and what she could do to try and break it.

  As she walked along the valley side she knew also that the creatures of the otherworld that hunted her had entered it too. They were coming for her, though she sensed confusion among them. The place was filled with roiling power, and their senses were not as acute as her own. She might be able to avoid them for a while. Long enough, perhaps, to reach Ebona.