by Robert Ryan
The legends said that he was slain by Aranloth in a great battle. The lòhren did not talk of such things. If it was true, Brand did not know. It was hard to believe that the man who stood before him now, talking and breathing, was the same legendary Aranloth from those far distant times. And yet that was what was thought in Cardoroth, though some claimed the name of Aranloth was used by generations of lòhrens as a kind of hereditary title. Brand was not inclined to believe them. But none of this, intriguing as it was, helped solve Cardoroth’s present problems.
“If they have this thing of power, why haven’t they used it before?”
“They did not have it before. Of that we can be certain. If they had, they would have used it. Elùgroths are always quick to exploit such things, eager to unleash sorcery, quick to dismiss the consequences, and slow to exercise caution. But every consequence is one day discerned, every secret one day discovered. In this case, the long hidden is found again. The long sought for is now in their possession. And they have sought this thing, since before Cardoroth was founded. Before the Camar tribes came east and founded their realms, some of which still stand.”
The lòhren turned to him once more. As always, he veiled the power that was in him, but Brand sensed it near the surface now, like the sun covered by the last trailing edges of a cloud, ready to blaze.
“It was I that defeated Shurilgar, as you have guessed. It was I that broke his power and slew him, though he was as a brother to me in a time more distant than that deed now is to you. And in doing so, I broke his staff. One half the immortal Halathrin took to their realm, for they were with me and suffered more than most from his betrayal and malice. There long ages they held it secure. The other half I kept myself.”
“Why wasn’t it destroyed?” Brand asked.
“Alas! I wish that it was. Such was my counsel, but it went unheeded, though you will see why. For the wood came from a sacred grove of elms in the forest realm of the Halathrin. Not only that, it grew on a mound, the burial place of their great king who led them hither to Alithoras on their exodus. It was from that place that Shurilgar stole the timber for his staff. For the Halathrin do not entomb their dead in stone, even their great ones. Yet this much they knew of their own lore, and needed not my telling: the staff was possessed of an evil power, yet they deemed that its power must lie dormant without an elùgroth to wield it. There, in their forest realm, they kept their half, and they kept it in token of the living tree and the rest of the grove that Shurilgar had razed by fire and sorcery. They would not destroy the staff, for it was all that was left of something sacred to them, even though it was now tainted. I did not agree with them then, still less do I do so now, and yet I understand why they took that path.”
Aranloth had grown sad in the telling of this tale. Brand guessed that he understood better than most why people clung to the last remnant of something, or someone, that was loved after they were gone. In his long life he must have suffered many such losses.
The lòhren seemed to stiffen now with some resolve or new thought.
“But some dreadful deeds must have been done to retrieve it,” he said, “and I fear for the Halathrin. Not lightly did they undertake to preserve and guard this thing, for they knew it would be sought by elùgroths. And to enter the Halathrin realm by force or stealth is unheard of. They have powers of their own, not that of lòhrens and elùgroths, but a unique and peculiar magic. And when that fails they have many bright blades and great courage. Alas, all of these things must have been tested and found wanting. They will feel shame that evil has been loosed on the land, and they will feel grief that all that is left of their sacred trust is stolen again.”
Brand did not really grasp half of this story. But loss he understood. And evil. It was before him now anytime he chose to look over the battlement and watch the seething mass of the dark army spread below. But something else troubled him.
“What of the staff’s second half? Was it destroyed? If not, how can you know which half the elùgroths found?”
Aranloth shook his head. “The second half was not destroyed. The two halves are joined by sorcery. To destroy one is to destroy the other, for they are linked by the forces that infuse them. And I had not the heart do that to the Halathrin.”
“Then where is it?”
Aranloth looked at him bleakly. “It’s in the one place in Alithoras that none can go save me. There only did I trust to its safekeeping, the only secure place for such a thing. So it has proved, for few places are harder to reach than the realm of the Halathrin, yet still from there the other half was taken.”
“Can we reach and destroy the half you have hidden?”
“We must!” Aranloth said with sudden fierceness. “Or else Cardoroth will fall to sorcery. I, and the other lòhrens, cannot hold the elùgroths off forever. But the reaching of it is the problem.”
“Why?”
Aranloth turned away. “Let me think. But first, before I decide anything, the king must learn of this. And in the choices that follow he also will have a hand.”
Aranloth recalled the soldiers, and they filed up once more on the battlements, oblivious to what had transpired there. Had they known, they would have shown greater fear. But Brand knew; indeed he knew better than most just how powerful Shurilgar was and that, though the lòhren had expected to discover some artefact that enhanced the elùgroths power, this was a thing greater and darker than he had dreamed.
They made their way back to the palace with little speech. The lòhren remained deep in thought, and Brand studied the city as he rode. He looked at it now in a different light, for it was always that way when something was at risk.
The people showed little worry at the siege. They had endured such trials before and they trusted the high wall, and the skill of Gilhain, to save them. Brand was not so sure. The enemy was vast. They were led by foes determined to bring the city down, and treachery bred in Cardoroth like shadows in a dark forest. It was everywhere, else there would be less need for the Durlin. And on top of it all there was the sorcery to consider. No, there was good reason for fear, but not despair. While Gilhain drew breath, the city might survive, and there were others to help him.
The hooves of their horses clattered in the palace yard and they gave their horses to the stable boys to brush down and care for.
Aranloth hastened, striding up stairs and along corridors until at length they came to the king’s chamber. The Durlin guards were not there, but a maid was just then coming out of the room.
“Is the king inside?” Aranloth asked.
She curtsied. “No, My Lord. The king left some while ago.”
“Where is he then?”
“In council with the army commanders. At least so I heard the queen say to someone else.”
Aranloth strode away. He turned as he went, speaking over his shoulder, “Thank you,” he said.
The maid smiled and gave another curtsy.
Brand followed swiftly. There was not far to go, however. Aranloth guessed rightly which meeting chamber was being used and in moments he stood before the great doors. They were closed, and outside waited six Durlin, two more than usual.
They gave Brand the Durlin salute, a clenched fist over their hearts. He returned it, wondering if even six guards was enough, yet the men must take turns and rest. No one could stay alert all the time. Without rest they were useless, and the palace was the safest, though not safe, place in the city.
“Open the door,” Brand commanded.
Two of the men obeyed. One gave a knock to the timber, using a brass weight that was set in the middle of the door so that those inside knew when an interruption was coming and not to utter any secrets until it was established who was entering.
Then both men swung the door open. It was a heavy contraption of oak, carved, decorated and paneled with gold. They entered, Brand allowing the lòhren to go first, for he was of higher standing in the city.
The lòhren stood in the doorway, and his face was grim. Th
e captains looked at him. Lornach who sat next to the king, ready to protect him and summon the Durlin if trouble started inside the chamber, studied him also. And the king scrutinized them both, his eyes curious, knowing whence they had come from and what had been his task.
“I would speak with the king,” Aranloth said.
Gilhain nodded, and his gaze shifted for a moment to the captains.
“Alone,” Aranloth said. “Except for Brand.”
Brand had not expected to be included in the discussion. He was not a counselor to the king, but his guard, and it seemed that the captains thought it strange also. But they did not like his ascension to the position of Durlindrath. They did not like him, because he was a foreigner, no matter that he had proved himself more than they had. But the king knew, and that was all that counted.
The soldiers filed out, annoyed to be dismissed, more annoyed that Brand was going in. They did not look at him or greet him as they passed.
Lornach was the last to go. He rolled his eyes as he neared, and Brand repressed a smile.
“Come in and take a seat. Tell me what you discovered,” the king said to them.
They sat, but it was the king who spoke first.
“So, is it good news or bad?”
Aranloth leaned his staff against the edge of the table, but he did not let it go.
“The worst,” the lòhren said.
Gilhain gave no reaction. If anything, the wolfish intelligence on his face showed just that little bit more determination.
“Tell me all,” he said.
It did not take long. The king was familiar with Shurilgar; it would be hard to find someone who was not. The breaking of the staff and the hiding of the two pieces were all that was really new to him.
“And you’re sure that it was the Halathrin piece that has somehow been found and taken?”
“I’m sure.”
“The Halathrin will have guarded this thing well, no doubt. And its loss will devastate them. But so too will the fact that through them a great evil has been unleashed upon Alithoras. I wonder,” Gilhain said, “if they would try to retrieve the thing. I cannot help but feel that they will. Perhaps they’ll even send an army. That may be the chance that we’re looking for, the one turn of events that could save us.”
Aranloth sighed and let go of his staff. “O king,” he said. “I wish that it would be so, but it will not. The Halathrin no longer venture into the lands beyond their forest realm. They suffered greatly, as you know, in the Elù-haraken, the Shadowed Wars. The immortals died like wheat before the scythe, though in numbers far less than men. Since those times they have become reclusive. There will be no army, but perhaps they will send a small group of their best to try to retrieve the staff. If so, when they discover that it is held in the midst of an army, they will give up. There will be no help from them, for they will bide their time and hope to retrieve it one day in the future when the guard is not so great. They are, after all, immortal. They have great patience to wait for such things.”
“Then there’s little hope for us. The elug army is patient too, and it will wear us down even if it takes another year. And no aid will come from anywhere else in Alithoras. Other cities are far away, and they stand in peril of invasion also. We must prepare ourselves for the long defeat. We knew it would come one day.”
Aranloth held up his hand. “O king. You spoke of a last chance for Cardoroth. It will not be the Halathrin as you hoped. Yet there is a chance, faint and slim. The last chance, and yet the best.”
Gilhain looked at him. The wolfish intelligence of his eyes flashed.
“What chance is this? It’s something new, and something to do with magic or sorcery rather than soldiers and swords, else we would have discussed it before now.”
“So it is,” Aranloth said. “For in every power there is a weakness. In every loss an opportunity. It is so with Shurilgar’s staff. I said that the enemy has the one half. The other is not in their possession. But both are linked by the power that Shurilgar put into them. Should the second half be found, should it be destroyed, then the first will lose its potency. The power will drain from it. Perhaps even the timber itself will crumble to dust. I hope not for the latter, for I would return it to the Halathrin, yet I fear that such will be the case.”
Gilhain looked at him shrewdly. “You say if it is found. Yet I guess that you already know where it is. Is that not so.”
“That is so. Finding it will not be a problem. Retrieving it from the place in which it is hidden is where the difficulty lies. For if the Halathrin realm is well guarded, then the place where the second half is kept is warded by protections greater than all other places in Alithoras. The hope of success is so slight as to be barely there.”
“And yet,” said the king with his usual quick shrewdness, “if it was paced there for safekeeping, then it is possible to enter there again.”
Aranloth nodded, but his face was grim, and his eyes held doubt.
Brand leaned forward. “It’s time to reveal this hiding place of the second fragment. It cannot be that bad.”
“It is worse. Worse than you could know. For it is hidden in the tombs of the Letharn.”
Brand had not heard the name before. It meant nothing to him, but Gilhain sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“There is a rumor, he said, “come down out of the ancient past about a people called the Letharn. Once they were mighty, the whisper says, yet their empire fell and now nothing remains of them. Are the tombs something to do with them?”
“Yes,” Aranloth said. “It’s to do with them, but saying they were mighty is like calling a massive old oak tree a splinter. Once, in an age so long ago that nothing is remembered save the tattered edges of legend, their empire stretched from the mountains of Auren Dennath in the north to the mountains of the Graèglin Dennath in the south. That is over three hundred leagues, and it reached inland in some places much further. But their empire fell before even the exodus of the Halathrin into these lands, and even the immortals found little more than traces of what once was great. And yet, some works of the Letharn remain, for not all that they achieved is lost.”
The lòhren ceased talking, and his expression was pensive. But soon he put aside whatever he was thinking of and addressed them again.
“The tombs of the Letharn,” he said, “are ancient. They began when their empire did, and the empire endured long before it fell. And in the noontide of their long rule the tombs were expanded, for ever they tunneled deeper into the hard rock of the earth where no light shines and few things live. And ever they needed more room. The wealth of nations was buried with their multitudinous dead, treasures that the cities of the Camar that came after could not match. If all that those cities owned for the last thousand years were piled into a hill, still it would seem as an ant mound to the mountains of wealth the Letharn gathered. But hold, O king, I see you look at me in amazement, and I see the light of desire in your eyes, for what person, be he king or no, would not want some share of that?”
The king shrugged. “The thought crossed my mind, but wealth is no good to Cardoroth if the city falls to the enemy. That is my only concern.”
“And so it must stay,” Aranloth said, “for the Letharn were a mighty people, and they were jealous of their wealth, and it does not lie unguarded…”
He turned now to Brand.
“Poison covers all the treasure from the least trinket to the most sacred of their heirlooms. It rests near those who once counted it, or wore in on finger, neck or head. Even in death they would keep it that way. Poison that you cannot see or smell covers all. That poison is so deadly, even after all this time, that whomsoever touches it dies a most dreadful death. And that is but the least protection. For in their noontide, the Letharn were a terrible people. Might they possessed of uncounted arms and never-defeated armies. Yet also among them were those who delved deep into lore that few understand. Other powers they had, greater than legions of soldie
rs. And they invoked them to guard the tombs.”
Aranloth fell silent. Brand barely dared to ask, but he wanted to know something.
“What did the Letharn do?” he asked. “What powers did they raise to protect the tombs?”
“Something terrible,” the lòhren answered. “A great feat of power, for they made three creatures, or rather they drew them forth from the very powers that form and substance the earth. And those creatures they set as guardians. They roam the tombs. Bound to them, they cannot leave, and yet within them they are mighty. No lòhren, no elùgroth, not a hundred combined could stand against them.”
The king looked at him intently. “Yet you must have ventured into those tombs, or else you could not have hidden the staff there.”
Aranloth returned his gaze. “Yes, there is a way. The ancients created an enchantment, surpassing strong, yet they also created a way to circumvent it. The powers they called forth are called the Harakgar. They are bound to the tombs, but they are not bound to any particular shape or form. There are three of them, and they always appear together in whatever guise they choose. And they do choose it, for they have intelligence as well as power. They cannot be slain – they can only be held off. There are words of power that lull them, but they only work to allow entry or exit from the tombs. Otherwise, the dead and their treasures could not have been laid to rest. Yet the words lose much of their strength should someone try to take a thing, howsoever small, away from the tombs. That, the harakgar do not tolerate, words no.”
Brand ran his fingers through his hair. Sorcery and wizardry were all alike to him: he mistrusted anything that he could not hold and feel in his hand.
“Has anything ever been removed successfully from the tombs?”
“Yes,” the lòhren said. He looked down at his staff as though remembering another time. “It was done with great cost, and luck, and I had others with me to help. Things could have easily gone awry.”
“Then that gives me hope,” Gilhain said. “If you have done it once, if you are willing to try again, then you might well succeed.”
