by Robert Ryan
Khamdar turned to Aranloth again.
“Would you like to know, O mighty lòhren, what his last words were?”
Aranloth gripped tight his staff.
“You will speak, whether I will or no, so get to it.”
“Very well. I have no wish to prolong your pain. I will tell you, but first, I think that perhaps all the men who so valiantly protect both king and lòhren should know what the last hope of Cardoroth was, how the city leaders devised it, and who they sent in their stead for its accomplishment. Who, in fact, faced dangers beyond them so that cowards might live a little while longer.”
A hush fell over the wall, and Khamdar paused. His words were dripping with poison. They could fester among the men, and Gilhain knew he should say something. But he was overwhelmed. The enemy knew of Brand. They said he was dead, and that wrenched at him even more than he feared it would, but he straightened and took heart. Words were often easy to say – proof was harder.
Khamdar spoke again. His voice was slow and assured.
“We elùgroths possess great power,” he said. “But there is an object that we use to enhance it. Your leaders,” and here he pointed at Gilhain and Aranloth with his staff, “sought to break that power. They sent Brand, your precious Durlindrath, on a quest to do so. They sent him alone. One man against an army. That was so … brave … of them, was it not? But Brand is now dead, though he lived a long time, despite torture and torment. Yet with his dying breath he cursed both lòhren and king.”
He turned again to Aranloth.
“Does that surprise you? It should not. You sent someone to complete a task that you dared not attempt yourself, and he died in your stead. What else did you expect?”
Aranloth gave no answer, but he leaned on his staff and bowed his head.
Gilhain spoke. “You have much to say, but I see no evidence that your words are anything more than dust on the wind.”
Khamdar laughed again. “Dust on the wind? Then let the air bring you the proof you want!”
He drew back his arm, and though the wall was high, and Gilhain stood more than fifty feet above him, the elùgroth hurled an object with speed and accuracy. It flashed through the air, spinning and glittering as it wheeled.
It would have struck Gilhain even though he tried to leap back, but Aranloth was quicker than he looked, or perhaps had anticipated such a move. Either way, his staff struck the object down to clatter on the stone flagging at their feet. The lòhren bent down quickly to pick it up.
From the ramparts several archers loosed arrows. But no shaft reached the target below. With a dismissive wave of the wych-wood staff the arrows shattered in flight and fell whining in smoke and ruin.
“Halt!” cried Gilhain, holding up his hand to stop any further attack. “Don’t fire.”
The men fitted new arrows to their strings, but did not draw.
“This is a parley,” Gilhain said, moving back to the edge of the wall. “But I suppose I shouldn’t expect elùgroths to hold to the rules of civilization.”
Khamdar looked up at him and grinned. The cowl fell back a little and there was a sudden flash of white teeth and also a high-cheeked but pale face.
“It was no attack – merely a returning of your own. But think on how I came to possess it? See! Aranloth already knows.”
Gilhain turned to the lòhren. Aranloth stood there, his head bowed and his posture limp. Yet in one hand he held a knife, the very knife that Gilhain had given the previous night to Brand. He knew it by the sign of Halathgar that was on it. It had not brought Brand the luck he needed…
The elùgroth spoke again. His voice was cold.
“We know your purpose. We learned your plans. Your hope is lost, and the city will fall. The proof is in the lòhren’s own hand.”
The elùgroth turned on his heel and strode back toward the camp. It was a dismissive gesture, but one that his comrades did not imitate. They backed away carefully, keeping a close eye on the ramparts for any further arrow shot, but it was needless. Gilhain’s command held firm, and the men did not draw their bows.
The lòhren staggered back from the rim of the wall. He looked as ancient as he was, and Gilhain’s own heart sank in anguish. Their last hope was truly lost, and Brand, like a son to him, was gone with it.
The retreating elùgroths merged back into the host. Aranloth stood there, leaning on his staff as though it were all that held him upright.
“We tried,” Gilhain said. “But Cardoroth will fall, sooner or later. And Brand will neither walk its streets nor return to the lands of the Duthenor. I wish now that we had not sent him.”
Aranloth slowly straightened. He lifted up his head, and though his face did not alter, Gilhain saw that some great emotion flowed through him like a river, and the power that he veiled ran near the surface. Then it was gone, and the lòhren went back to normal, but he laughed and a look of merriness was in his eyes.
Gilhain stepped back another pace, but the lòhren raised a hand and stayed him.
“O king! Do not think I am mad. Grief has not broken me, though well it might have through the long years. If I seem other than you expect, it is because the situation is not what it seems. Khamdar is a liar. Thus he has ever been, but this is the happiest lie ever he told. Brand is not dead.”
Gilhain looked at him. Then he looked at what the lòhren held in his hand.
“But he has given us the proof of his words. The knife is the token of death that we feared.”
Aranloth shook his head. “No. It is not. You do not know Khamdar as I do. I said he was evil, and evil shows us what it is by its nature. If he had taken Brand, he first would have learned what he could from him, and then, in order to weaken us, he would have had him tortured and slain before the walls. And if Brand were killed when they tried to capture him, then Khamdar would have brought and then broken his body before us. That is his nature, to inflict pain, both physical and emotional. You can be sure that Brand yet lives, and somewhere out there,” the lòhren gestured widely with the knife in his hand, “he still strives to fulfill the quest.”
Gilhain slowly reached out and took the knife. He studied it carefully. There was no doubt that it was the very same that he had given Brand. Yet it was a thing of luck, and suddenly, despite what the elùgroth would have him believe, he saw many ways that it might come into the possession of the enemy, and yet by luck Brand might have escaped their grasp.
He felt hope surge through his veins once more and looked up. Tears misted his vision and he felt ten years younger. Joy surged within him just as it had a few moments ago in the lòhren.
“But why then this act? Why pretend to believe the elùgroth?”
Aranloth grinned. “Let them think we are beaten. The soldiers on the wall know little of Brand or his quest. They trust rather to their own strength of arms. Let that continue. In the meantime, if the enemy thinks you broken, they will be less swift to try to kill you. That is to our advantage. Never let the enemy know what you are really thinking. You know that.”
Gilhain grinned back at him.
“So I do. We’ll turn this to our benefit, and I’ll make them rue the day they tried to break me.”
Aranloth sighed, and as swiftly as joy had shone from his face, it now faded.
“Alas, joy is always short lived. Brand yet lives, but I do not doubt that they know of him, that they have learned his purpose and hunt him. He is not dead, at least not yet, but neither will he know safety again for a long while.”
Gilhain understood the truth of those words. And yet having felt despair only moments before, he would not allow it to overwhelm him again, no matter what the enemy said or did, no matter that hope was as tenuous as a fluttering heartbeat.
14. Forbidden Lore
Brand drew his sword. The hounds swam toward the little boat. For all their splashing and the froth of water about them, they came on in unnatural silence. But still they came on.
The girl rowed as swiftly as she could, but the
shuffa was not a fast vessel. She would never outpace them.
Brand stood up, carefully keeping his balance by spreading his legs. He could not fight properly like this, but it was all he could do.
The shuffa began to spin to the side, taking him away from facing their enemy. The girl tried to right the boat, but all she could manage for the moment was keeping it at the same angle, yet still they drew away from the bank. It was now invisible, swathed in the thick fog.
For the first time one of the hounds made a noise. It was a deep howl, like that of a wolf’s, but Brand heard words weaved through it, and it held something of the timbre of a human voice.
The other two hounds took up the howl, and the girl began to slow her rowing. In a moment, Brand saw why.
The craft was now in deeper water, and the hounds seemed to have come as far as they dared. They were not good swimmers, being heavy set, and their thick wet fur weighed them down. Great tufts stood out in places, while in others only pale skin showed.
The howling ended in vicious snarls, and the beasts turned back toward the shore. The girl did not stop rowing.
In the following moments they ventured further out into the lake. Shore and elugs and hounds were gone. He was alone with the girl in a world of water and thick fog.
It was eerily quiet, and she was obviously unsettled. Whatever the beasts were, they were not natural. They were a product of sorcery, and he thought it must be a great sorcery at that. But it did not bear thinking about too deeply, for however it was done he guessed that not just beasts were involved, but also men. In some manner the elùgroths had fused both together, and it was an abomination such as only they could conceive. He remembered Aranloth’s words that even among elùgroths, Khamdar was the worst. If he did not believe it before, he did now.
The girl turned the boat southward. How she knew which direction was which, he did not know. But she told him so and he believed her.
They took turns at rowing. He found it cumbersome, but soon grew competent after her terse instructions. It was not that difficult, but neither was their rate of progress fast. Still, the enemy could not see or track them, and so far as he knew, they could not discover in what direction his quest lay. Only Aranloth and Gilhain knew that, and in them he trusted.
Only the distant sounds from shore kept them from straying too far out over the lake. He could not tell himself in which direction they were headed, but at least he knew they were not getting lost on the vast expanse of water. At first they heard elugs, but when the noise of their tramping through the brush and calls to one another faded, there was only the occasional hoot of an owl or yelp of a fox.
When the silvery dawn finally glimmered through the fog, they could dimly see the shore again and struck out toward it. As the light grew, Brand could see his companion better. Her eyes were green with flecks of brown. Or else they were brown with flecks of green. He could not tell which. And what he had taken for white lòhren robes were not. Rather, she wore a flowing tunic, all of pale gray and tied at her waist with a black belt.
He studied her closely now, for suspicion rose in him, and a terrible fear that he had made the most dreadful mistake – notwithstanding that he had not had any choice.
Her hair was long and ash-blonde, bound by a black ribbon. She gazed back at him with eyes that sparkled not just with intelligence but also secrets. But for all her fierce gaze she was even more beautiful than he had thought, though it was beauty of a high and remote kind.
With an insight that surprised him, he realized that few people ever got close enough to her to discover what she really thought or felt. She held everyone at a distance, even as she was doing with him.
She grew annoyed at his scrutiny, but before she could say anything he spoke.
“Are you not lonely? You know, independence is a fine thing, but sometimes it’s nice to be able to lean on others when you most need it.”
She gazed at him with such fierceness that he thought she was going to attack him, and Aranloth’s diadem felt hot against the skin of his forehead.
“What business is it of yours?” she snapped.
“Oh, I know a thing or two of loneliness. I’m a Duthenor tribesman, the only of my kind in a great city with a recorded history stretching back into what my people think of as legend. My family is dead. And they did not die of old age. And what was theirs was stolen from them. Yes, I know a thing or two of loneliness. But if you’re content so, then there is no need to speak of it.”
“I’m content,” she said, but for a moment it seemed to him that she drew a veil over her face, and yet he glimpsed a little of what lay behind it. And a flicker in her eyes gave the lie to her words, for he momentarily saw a yearning in them every bit as fierce as her independence.
He let the matter drop. They were getting close to the shore now, and he trained his attention on it.
“The enemy could be out there,” he said. “We wouldn’t know if they were swarming beyond the beach and in the trees.”
The girl shrugged with nonchalance, as though what he said did not matter, or was wrong.
“Maybe,” she replied. “But they can’t know where we’ll make land. Lake Alithorin is vast, and I’m pretty happy with our chances of avoiding them – at least for now.”
“If they’re not here, and I agree with you for the moment, they’ll sooner or later find our tracks wherever we come to shore, and follow.”
“That’s a given,” she said, flicking her hair impatiently. “And don’t forget those beasts. I guess they’ll have your scent, and the water won’t put them off forever.” She paused, and stared straight at him. “Are you scared? Do you wish to abandon your quest so soon, even though I’m babying you through it?”
That made him angry. She seemed one of the few people able to draw that emotion out of him with ease.
“You’ve helped me,” he said with deliberate slowness, “and I thank you for it. But I don’t take the names of scared or baby from anyone. Not from a warrior. Not from a lòhren. And not from you, who say you are a lòhren, but aren’t.”
He stood in the shuffa and drew his sword. “Now speak! Twice you have lied to me, which lòhrens don’t do. Your staff isn’t broken. That was your first lie. And you said you were heading in the direction of the Angle. That was your second. Now, speak truly. Why were you waiting by the lake, and who are you?”
The girl glared, her eyes boring right through him, but he did not flinch. At length, she smiled, or at least bared her flashing white teeth.
“Well, the young kitten has claws after all. But are you not afraid? I have lòhrengai at my command that could blast you to a cinder.” As she spoke, flame played across her fingertips, ready to leap at her will.
“I mistrust magic,” he said without hesitation, “but I don’t fear it. I’ve faced it before, from greater threats than you, and survived.”
She eyed him again for a long while, and a frown creased her face.
“Maybe you have.”
Her words were calm, but the air was charged with tension. Anything could happen at any moment, and he could not read her except for a sense of bafflement. Nor, he suspected, could she read him. They were opposites, as unalike from each other as possible, and that was dangerous.
They stared at each other, unmoving, while fate and destiny swirled around them like currents in the misty air. Then suddenly she smiled, and it was genuine this time, though flame still darted and danced at her fingertips.
“Very well. You’re right, but you’re wrong also. I was drawn to Lake Alithorin. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I found myself studying the battle, though I knew that wasn’t what drew me. And I saw no way to get through to the fortress to help anyway, and that confirmed my instincts. I was needed, but not for what was most obvious. A lòhren’s feelings often work that way. A hunch, a momentary vision, a whim that turns out to be something more. So I waited, unable to help the city, but unable to go either. I didn’t know for what I was called until I saw yo
u flitting through the trees, and a merry chase you gave me until finally I caught up. I can say no more than that. I acted on instinct, and it has never yet let me down.”
He thought about her response, but never lowered the point of his sword. What she said had the ring of truth, but it did not really answer his most pressing question.
“Why did you lie about your staff? It isn’t broken, that much I know, and a lòhren without a staff … isn’t really a lòhren.”
A shadow of remembered pain crossed her face.
“That isn’t true. A lòhren doesn’t need a staff. It just helps, and in the eyes of the people all across Alithoras it acts as a symbol. But the lòhrengai of a lòhren…”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then changed what she was about to say. “All you need to know is this – I was a lòhren. I had a staff. And as you say, it wasn’t broken. It was taken from me – taken away by the Lòhrenin, the council of lòhrens. Too deep I delved into forbidden lore. They thought I was turning down the paths of an elùgroth. At least so they feared.” She gave a shrug. “Maybe they were right to stop me, maybe not. But no lòhren is the same as any other. Anyway, they would have expelled me from the order, but Aranloth persuaded them otherwise. They confiscated my staff, but they did not break it. For that, I owe him, and for other things beside. And I do not forget my debts. Had you killed him, you would not have seen this dawn. Yet still for five years they sent me away. Five long years, and only two have passed. When my punishment is ended, then I can return and they will judge me anew.”
She said these last words with bitterness, and he glimpsed some of her great pride. And he understood also that she had no desire to tell him any of this, yet still, just as he had been forced to tell the truth before, so was she now. Fate or circumstance had caught them both in a tight grip. And just as he needed her help before, so now he knew that for some reason she would do anything to come with him to the Angle. But why?
