by Robert Ryan
Harakgar: Leth. The three sisters. Creatures of magic brought into being by the lore of the Letharn. Their purpose is to protect the tombs of their creators from robbery.
Harlak: Leth. An ancient name of Aranloth.
Harath Neben: Hal. “North gate.” This gate bears a token of two massive emeralds that represent the constellation of Halathgar. The gate is also known as “Hunter’s Gate,” for the north road out of the city leads to wild lands full of game.
Immortals: See Halathrin.
Kareste: A mysterious girl who helps Brand. She possess potent magic.
Khamdar: An elùgroth. Leader of the host the besieges Cardoroth.
Lake Alithorin: Hal. “Silver lake.” A lake of northern Alithoras.
Letharn: Hal. “Stone raisers. Builders.” A race of people that in antiquity ruled much of Alithoras. Only traces of their civilization remain.
Lethrin: Hal. “Stone people.” Creatures of the Graèglin Dennath. Renowned for their size and strength. Tunnelers and miners.
Lòhren: Hal. Prn. Ler-ren. “Knowledge giver – a counsellor.” Other terms used by various nations include wizard, druid and sage.
Lòhren-fire: A defensive manifestation of lòhrengai. The color of the flame varies according to the skill and temperament of the lòhren.
Lòhrengai: Hal. Prn. Ler-ren-guy. “Lòhren force.” Enchantment, spell or use of arcane power. A manipulation and transformation of the natural energy inherent in all things. Each use takes something from the user. Likewise, some part of the transformed energy infuses them. Lòhrens use it sparingly, elùgroths indiscriminately.
Lòhrenin: Hal. Prn. Ler-ren-in. “Council of lòhrens.”
Lòrenta: Hal. Prn. Ler-rent-a. “Hills of knowledge.” Uplands in northern Alithoras in which the stronghold of the lòhrens is established.
Lornach: A Durlin. Friend to Brand and often called by his nickname of “Shorty.”
Lost Huntress: See Halathgar.
Magic: Supernatural power. See lòhrengai and elùgai.
Menetuin: A city on the east coast of Alithoras. Founded by the Camar.
Merlon: The vertical stonework on a battlement between crenels. The merlon offers protection, the crenel a gap through which missiles are fired.
Otherworld: Camar term for a mingling of half-remembered history, myth and the spirit world.
Sellic Neben: Hal. “East gate.” This gate bears a representation, crafted of silver and pearl, of the moon rising over the sea.
Sending: See Drùghoth.
Shadowed Lord: See Elùdrath.
Shazrahad: The Azan who commands an elug army, or serves as a lieutenant of an elùgroth.
Shuffa: A type of boat. Small, fast and ideal for travel by river. Favored by the villagers who dwell along the Careth Nien, and based on a design originating from ancient times when the Letharn fished the two rivers of the Angle. The same name is used in Cardoroth for a different kind of boat, slower and of a different shape. It’s unclear which version is closer to the original design.
Shurilgar: Hal. “Midnight star.” An elùgroth. Also called the betrayer of nations.
Sorcerer: See Elùgroth.
Sorcery: See elùgai.
Surcoat: An outer garment. Often worn over chain mail. The Durlin surcoat is unadorned white.
Taingern: Cam. A Durlin. Friend to Brand.
Tombs of the Letharn: The ancient burial place of the Letharn people. All members of the population, throughout the course of their long civilization, were laid to rest here. It was believed that to be interred elsewhere was to condemn the spirit to a true death, rather than an afterlife. The dead were preserved, and returned even from the far reaches of the empire. This was withheld from perpetrators of treason and heinous crimes. These were buried in special cemeteries near the river. Petty criminals were afforded an opportunity to redeem their place in the tombs on payment of a fine determined by the head-priest.
Ubrik: A long-dead priest who served in ancient times within the tombs of the Letharn.
Unlach Neben: Hal. “South gate.” This gate bears a representation of the sun, crafted of gold, beating down upon a desert land. Said by some to signify the homeland of the elugs, whence the gold of the sun was obtained by an adventurer of old.
War drums: Drums of the elug tribes. Used especially in times of war or ceremony. Rumored to carry hidden messages in their beat and also to invoke sorcery.
Wizard: See lòhren.
Wych-wood: A general description for a range of supple and springy timbers. Some hardy varieties are prevalent on the poisonous slopes of the Graèglin Dennath mountain range and are favored by elùgroths as instruments of sorcery.
DEFIANT SWORDS
BOOK TWO OF THE DURLINDRATH TRILOGY
Robert Ryan
1. Brave Fool
Brand was at a loss. His enemies had him in a trap, and there was no way out. And yet, if he had the courage, there was a way. But it would take daring of a kind that did not involve swords or magic.
Khamdar stood tall and still. His pallid hands rested loose and confident on his wych-wood staff. He gave no hint of outward aggression, and yet a wave of malice, strong as a flood, flowed from him like a physical thing. Brand had heard of this before. It was said that the mere presence of one of the great sorcerers was enough to unman brave warriors. He believed it. And yet there was something in him that did not like to be pushed. The greater his fear became the stronger that thing inside him grew.
He felt the weight of the broken staff of Shurilgar in his hand. His whole purpose in retrieving it from the tombs was to destroy it, and thereby destroy its other half that was used by the enemy in their siege of Cardoroth. Anything less was a failure.
Yet Kareste looked at him, pleading silently, for she alone could use Shurilgar’s staff with hope of defeating Khamdar.
The sorcerer, a brooding shadow, watched with malicious fascination. Dare he give it to her?
It was a good question, for it was now plain that Kareste had her own agenda, and if he gave her the staff he may never again have the chance to destroy it. If so, Cardoroth was doomed, and perhaps the whole land also, for he sensed that she teetered on the edge of becoming a sorceress. Khamdar had not lied when he claimed that.
One other choice Brand had, and he pondered it swiftly. He could take the staff back into the tombs and leave it there. He might survive the harakgar, the dark guardians of that shadow-haunted world, long enough to drop it into some bottomless chasm, for now that Kareste knew the charm that kept the harakgar at bay, she could retrieve it otherwise. Doing so, he might live, for as long as he did not attempt to take the staff out of the tombs the harakgar would probably not kill him. And there were other exits than the one he now stood before that would allow him to escape Khamdar.
But if he did any of that, Cardoroth would certainly fall, and likely Kareste also. His mistrust of her would surely push her closer to the enemies of the land.
He made his choice. There was no way to know if it was right, otherwise it would not have been so hard.
The ring of enemies behind Khamdar did not wait with the sorcerer’s stillness. The Azan warriors gazed with hatred, their eyes dark slits, their hands tightly clenched about sword hilts. The elugs milled uncertainly, their iron-shod boots scraping the stone of the high ledge as they shuffled impatiently. From the beasts, the hounds born of dark sorcery, a low growl throbbed, deep and rumbling as though the earth moved and tumbled masses of stone into the abyss behind them.
Brand took a slow step back, and then another. All eyes watched him, even Kareste’s, whose face showed at first surprise and then swift disappointment. She guessed his choice: he would not give her the broken remnant of Shurilgar’s staff – instead he would return into the tombs of the Letharn behind him, preferring to dare its dangers rather than trust her with it.
He took another step and hoped that his instincts were right. Kareste studied him, understanding all that had just passed through his mind, or thin
king that she did, for her face was stricken. The sight of her anguish stabbed him in the heart.
But she was wrong. The enemy now focused on him, which was what he intended, and they had forgotten her. With a sudden but sure motion he threw the staff to her. The black wood glinted, and its jagged ends of broken timber caught the light like flashing daggers.
Her eyes widened, but still her hand reached out, swift and sure as his own movement had been, and plucked the staff from the air.
Even as she did so, Brand voiced the Durlin creed.
Death or infamy! he yelled.
His voice rang clear and loud in challenge, but he did not wait for any answer. Instead, he leapt forward and struck out, aiming for Khamdar. If he destroyed their leader those who followed might falter. So he hoped, for no matter his skill at arms he could not defeat them all. He could not even defeat Khamdar alone, but his attempt might give Kareste the time she needed to decide what she was going to do – if she had not already fallen to the lure of dark sorcery.
But Brand did not use his skill at arms. He sensed that Khamdar was beyond such attacks, warded by arcane power. Instead, he drew on the newfound, unwanted, but desperately needed strength of magic that he had discovered within himself.
Blue-white flame spurted to life and ran along the oaken staff that Aranloth had given him. It flared and fluttered, then streaked toward the sorcerer.
Khamdar, poised and sure of himself, made a smooth motion with his own dark staff and waved Brand’s attack aside without effort, diverting it harmlessly into the chasm that ran behind him.
Brand tried again, but even as he summoned flame Khamdar knocked the staff from his hand. It clattered over the stone as it fell, and Brand stood unprotected before the sorcerer.
At that moment he felt the full power of Khamdar, of one of the great elùgroths, and it chilled the blood in his veins. Fear surged through him, overwhelming dread that drove into him and urged him to run, to run anywhere to escape, even over the ledge and into the abyss, for surely such terror could not be endured.
He tore his gaze from the sorcerer and looked at Kareste. Her hands gripped tight the broken staff of Shurilgar, but she had not moved. Her face seemed strange, as though she summoned some great power, but he saw no sign of any spell. He did not understand what she was doing, but he saw no indication that she made any move to help him.
He gritted his teeth and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He was not going to run anywhere, no matter the shadow of madness that the sorcerer cast over him. If he must die, he would die fighting.
Khamdar laughed softly. He seemed perfectly at ease, confident that he could kill his prey whenever he chose, no matter that it tried to fight back.
Brand trembled. Despite the cloud of horror that deepened over him, that drained both strength and will, he slowly drew his sword.
The sorcerer grew still. His laughter ceased, and Brand drew assurance from the fact that his enemy seemed surprised.
The Halathrin-forged blade glittered and flickered in Brand’s hand. A cold light seemed to shine within it. Brand shook off a little of the fear that clung to him like a fog.
“You can kill,” he said slowly to the elùgroth, “but you cannot win.”
Brand was surprised at the steadiness of his voice, and his final choice was made, as he always made it: live or die; win or lose – he would fight.
He took a pace forward, and it required an enormous effort. Yet in doing so it freed him, for the fear that gripped him fell suddenly away, and despair and mad terror vanished with it. All that was left was a soaring will to defy the person who would oppress him, and in that moment, life and death, his quest, and the fate of Alithoras itself were all forgotten. There was only one thought, and that was to resist his enemy.
A shadow of doubt crossed the elùgroth’s features, and his fingers flexed uncertainly on his wych-wood staff. Brand understood intuitively that it had been many long years since anyone had dared to challenge him. But whatever misgivings the sorcerer had, he swiftly stifled them, or else confidence in his unassailable might rose once more to the surface. He smiled, and then stepped forward himself.
An unexpected roaring filled Brand’s ears. If it was some attack of sorcery, he did not understand it. But judging from how the elùgroth tilted his own head to listen, it was a surprise to him also.
And then suddenly Brand felt rough hands on him from behind. Kareste was there; he knew her by the flick of ash-blond hair that he saw from the corner of his eye. With a strength that he scarcely believed, she spun him around toward the cave and threw him to the ground. Taken by surprise and unprepared, he fell hard and tumbled awkwardly across the ancient stone ledge.
He had made a mistake – the greatest of his life. Kareste would side with the enemies of Alithoras, perhaps even rejoin the two halves of Shurilgar’s staff, and the woe that would come of that was unthinkable, yet he must think of it, for it would be his fault.
A voice cracked at him like a whip. “Back, you fool! Back!”
It was Kareste. Her eyes were wild, and immense strain showed on her face. He staggered to his feet near the entrance to the tombs.
Kareste leaped back to join him, the broken staff of Shurilgar raised high. A moment Khamdar paused, uncertain of what was happening.
The roaring grew louder. Brand stood next to Kareste. He held his sword before him but was unsure where to face or what to do. From just behind he felt the stale breath of the tombs, and he sensed the harakgar stir within the tunnels that they guarded. A shiver ran up his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Khamdar made to move forward. The band that he led followed in his wake. But in midstride the sorcerer paused once more. This time he looked up, a wary expression on his face. The roar grew unbearably loud. A thrum ran through the ground.
Without warning Khamdar turned and fled through the ranks of his own followers. An Azan warrior, not quick enough to get out of his way, was blasted by crimson flame and propelled to the side in smoke and screams. At that moment white froth flew through the air above. It was followed by a spray of water and then a flood that tumbled and roared and raced in an avalanche of fury.
Kareste had called forth water from the river that ran above the tombs and drawn it to the ledge. The band of enemies screamed and panicked. Yet before they could move Brand saw many swept away over the ledge and into the abyss. Moments later all were lost from sight in the mighty torrent that gathered pace, sweeping rocks and smashing boulders before it.
Water-spray lashed Brand’s face. The ledge before him trembled, and he was sure that some was taken away. He feared that Kareste had called too much water and that the whole platform of stone might crash and topple into the abyss, and they might yet be forced back into the caves, if even that was safe from collapse.
2. Evil must be Fought
The ledge groaned and the water roared. Rocks and boulders tumbled over the precipice, tearing and ripping away at the lip as though it were mere cloth. Yet as quickly as the water came, the great flood ceased.
Brand looked for any sign of their enemies. His searching gaze first took in the ruined edge of the platform, broken and tattered along its length, and then closer in where rubble and deep layers of silt had settled. Water trickled across the surface in little streams, draining into the abyss.
The ancient stone marker remained as it had for years beyond count, though its inscribed sides now glistened darkly with moisture. All these things he saw, but of the hunters who had pursued them from Cardoroth to the tombs of the Letharn, there was no sign.
Brand shivered, for the air was chill. It was as though the enemies who had stood there just moments ago had never existed. The force of Kareste’s magic had swept them into oblivion. He had seen her use power before this, but not to such a catastrophic end. Her claim was true: she could use Shurilgar’s staff. And though that had just now saved them, yet also its lure would draw her very soul into jeopardy.
He sat
down on the stone, exhausted and uncaring of the wet surface. Kareste remained standing, gazing out into the abys. There was an expression on her face that might have been elation, but there were times when he could not read her, and this was one. What she was thinking, he could not even guess, but certainly she gripped the black staff hard, as though she would never let it go, and that worried him.
After a while her fingers relaxed, and she glanced down at him.
“Don’t think that they’re all gone,” she said. “We’ll have trouble from them yet, before the end.”
Brand looked out toward the chasm. “Surely nothing could survive that.”
Kareste closed her eyes. “I no longer sense Khamdar, but that doesn’t mean he’s dead. He may have reached safety. Or, even if swept away by the flood, he might have survived it. Elùgroths are hard to kill. Harder than lòhrens, for they use their power all the time to ward themselves against the chances of the world.”
Brand groaned and stood. It seemed that every muscle in his body ached, and even sheathing his sword hurt him.
He walked past the horses, huddled and scared near the wall, and gave them some reassuring words and a rub along their withers to help steady them. As he did so, he noticed that the rockfall that had once blocked the downward route along the ledge was gone: the flood had cleared it away, yet the stone cliff above remained blackened where the fire of some previous battle scorched it.
Brand moved cautiously to the broken edge and looked into the abyss. Kareste joined him. They gazed in silence, for below them was a scene of death. The bodies of their enemies were at the bottom of the gorge. Some floated, tugged back and forth in the ebb and flow of the receding floodwaters. Others, the tattered remnants of creatures that once walked, lay sprawled and broken on hard rocks.
