King's Last Hope: The Complete Durlindrath Trilogy

by Robert Ryan

  “Better them than us,” Kareste said.

  Brand did not answer. Her comment was true, and yet it was not a sentiment that he would have voiced himself.

  They stepped back from the ledge. “They’re not all there,” she said. “Perhaps some escaped, or maybe we just can’t see all of the bodies. The rest may be obscured by water or swept away.”

  “There’s no way to know for sure,” he said. “Yet I admit that I’d feel more at ease if we’d seen Khamdar down there.”

  “He was quick to flee, sensing what was coming before the others. And he is warded also. He may be injured. Or he may be dead, but I doubt it.”

  “He’s definitely not easy to kill,” Brand said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Nor are you. That much I’ve learned for myself, though Aranloth evidently knew it before me.”

  Brand looked at her, drawn as always to her green-gold eyes, but unsure how well he knew her, if he knew her at all. And yet the risk he had just taken, enormous as it was, had paid off. They were safe, at least for the moment.

  “What now?” he asked.

  Kareste gazed back at him, her face masking the many things that she must have felt.

  “First,” she said, “Tell me why you gave me the staff. I didn’t think you would.”

  Brand shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure myself. But what has been done to the Halathrin is a great evil. It cannot go unchallenged – it must be fought.”

  “So too must the siege of Cardoroth, but that continues. Yet you gave me the staff, and you must know that it occurs to me to keep it.”

  Brand shrugged again, but gave no answer.

  She kept looking at him, her gaze intense. “You trusted me to give it back, but I don’t know why.”

  “I pick my friends carefully,” he answered. “And my quests also. If we stick together, we might both yet live. And may the king forgive me, but I agree that the Halathrin, entrapped by sorcery as they are, must be freed. How can I decide to help only Cardoroth or to help only the Halathrin? It’s in our power to attempt both, but it’s a heavy burden to stand here knowing that my first quest is achieved – that I could destroy Shurilgar’s staff and save Cardoroth – and yet not do it.”

  Kareste continued to look at him, and though her face showed nothing, he guessed at the turmoil that battled across her mind.

  Her face did not change, but suddenly she held out the staff to him.

  “We all pick our friends carefully. Or at least we try to.”

  For just a moment some great emotion welled to the surface, and her face flushed. But then she pushed it down and became the perfect picture of a lòhren again: calm, poised and tranquil.

  “Take it,” she said. “Khamdar was wrong. I’m no elùgroth, though I feel the lure of elùgai.”

  The staff shimmered darkly between them. He saw how hard it was for her to return it, though she nearly hid that from him. And he admired that she had the strength to offer it back, for surely if she kept it great power was at her command.

  He saw also, more clearly than she, that her final choice of Light or Shadow, of lòhrengai or elùgai, was not yet made. From the moment that he took the staff from her, she would yearn for it. From the moment it was destroyed, which he still planned to do as swiftly as the Halathrin were freed, she would regret her choice. The blush of great power was on her, and its lure was strong, but so too was the freshness of her gratitude for his trust in her. But those opposing forces would wax and wane over time, the first growing stronger and the second receding.

  She was not ready to make her choice, and to force the issue now might be to jeopardize her soul. For once a person walked beneath the Shadow it was near impossible to turn around again. But if she could do it, it must be done in her own time and of her own will.

  Yet still he hesitated amid a wave of doubt, for if he did not take the staff now and destroy it, then the risk to Cardoroth would grow, and with it the peril to the rest of Alithoras.

  What would Aranloth want him to do? The knowledge that there were Halathrin, caught by foul sorcery and turned into beasts that roamed the world at the will of elùgroths, would tear at the lòhren’s heart. And that the elùgroths did this, Khamdar chief among them, was not just a matter of spite or malice. There was a plan behind it.

  He made his final choice. Even Cardoroth was a small thing compared to the fate of Alithoras. But he felt alone, for he was making decisions that even lòhrens and kings would find hard.

  Aranloth had warned him that at all costs the staff must be destroyed as soon as it was brought from the tombs. Otherwise, it was at risk of being obtained by the enemy, and the damage they could cause with it was incalculable. But he must take up the burden of choice – there was no one else to do so.

  He shook his head.

  “Keep it,” he said. “We go to the hills of Lòrenta to free the Halathrin, or to try to. But we must go there swiftly and destroy the staff when our quest is done.”

  Kareste looked at him strangely, and then slowly lowered her hand. She gripped the staff fiercely.

  “I thought you would take it,” she said.

  He flashed a grin at her.

  “So did I. But my choice is made, may the king forgive me, and it’s behind me now. All that matters is to get to Lòrenta quickly, but I fear that Khamdar waits for us above. He, and any of the band that survived with him.”

  “That may be,” she said. “But another way, an old way has opened.”

  She pointed to where the rockfall had been cleared away. The downward path, though steep and narrow, seemed passable. “Taking it we can avoid Khamdar, for a time, but it will take us longer to get to Lòrenta. If we go that way it will take us into the Angle and we must cross rivers. And no doubt we will meet other dangers that we don’t foresee.”

  “The new way might be safer,” he said. “But the old way – back the way we came – will be swifter. And we’re in need of haste.”

  “But however fast we get there,” she answered, “we must still get there. The slower way offers a better chance of that. And not all the hunt was gathered here with Khamdar. We’ll surely meet with the rest if we go back that way.”

  Brand sighed. “The delay chafes me, but what you say is true. We’ll take our chances on the new road.”

  They mounted and looked around one last time. Brand would not be sorry to leave here. He still felt the presence of the harakgar, furious but muted within the tombs, and he knew he was lucky to have escaped.

  The path ran steeply. The rockfall was gone, blasted away by the force of water that had flowed down the ledge like a river, but the stone was wet and treacherous, and it was no place to slip; the abyss opened to their left like a yawning mouth.

  Kareste went first, leading her horse by hand. Brand did not like the Angle at all; everything that he had seen so far stank of death. Yet he wondered if it had always been like that. The great carvings on the cliff opposite the chasm told him that there was more to the Letharn than he had seen so far.

  They continued downward, moving with caution. Kareste paused often, as though probing with some secret sense the state of the stone beneath their feet.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” she said.

  Brand was less sure. “Then why are you being so careful?”

  She grinned at him but gave no answer.

  Nothing, and no one, followed them, but the roar of the waterfalls, of the mighty river pouring down the escarpment just ahead of them, grew louder every moment.

  As they went Brand studied the view. The Angle was visible between the two silver bands of river that bordered it. It was a green and lush land that swelled into a smooth-sloped hill toward its middle, but it was far away and hard to see properly. There were, perhaps, buildings on that rise, covering its crest and stretching down its long sides. If so, they were decrepit, barely more than rubble, but it was hard to tell though Brand strained his eyes. No doubt, if they were buildings rather than masses of broken and toppled bou
lders, they were the remnant of the city, or at least one of the cities, of the Letharn.

  They neared the bottom of the ledge. There was water in the chasm below them, much closer now and still running from the flood Kareste had summoned. The broken body of an elug was caught between some upward thrusting rocks. Its head lolled at an unnatural angle, and flies gathered at its vacant eyes and open mouth.

  Brand looked away. He took no joy in death, even of those who would kill him. But his thoughts soon turned to what lay ahead.

  To their right was the face of the great escarpment, and over this thundered a mighty waterfall nearly a quarter of a mile wide. He had never seen anything like it.

  Beyond, he saw the two rivers more clearly, for amid all the roar and spray of water this was the place where one river became two. Thus had the area earned the name of the Angle. But just before the Angle began, there was an island. A bridge spanned the first river and led to it, and then a second bridge spanned the next and led to other lands.

  They rode ahead. Spray from the waterfall drove at them, and the horses became skittish. They crossed the first bridge and made the island. Water churned all around. Wind howled above, whipped up by the cascade of white water that smashed into stones, frothing and foaming.

  Beneath the waterfall was a lake. From this sprang the two rivers. But the lake was not still and peaceful as was Lake Alithorin. Rather, it roiled and tossed in ceaseless motion.

  They came to the second bridge. It was of ancient stone, pitted and marked by uncounted years, but it still had something of its original grace.

  They crossed and worked their way through rocks and scree when they came to the other side. Brand was not sure there was a path, but Kareste seemed to have at least an idea of where she was going. Soon, a faded track became visible. It climbed the escarpment, winding to and fro. The horses slipped on loose rock and steep banks, sending sheets of scree sliding and clattering behind them, but they made progress, albeit slowly.

  Eventually, they came to the top of the escarpment once more, but now on the opposite side of the river. Night was drawing on. It had been a long day, and they were exhausted.

  To their right, some distance away, was a building. Brand saw it clearly, though clouds of fog rolled up at times from the falls. Ahead, the river flowed past, tree-lined and peaceful compared to what it became when it tumbled over the escarpment.

  The building was of stone. It was an ancient thing, seeming lonely and deserted. It held something of the same grace as the bridges below. They did not ride past too closely, but Brand saw that it was constructed of granite blocks, each one at least as long and as high as a man. Its gray sides were dirtied by long years of fog, causing moss and lichen to grow thickly, and yet the building, the closer they approached it, gave off a feeling of awe. It had many strange windows, triangular slits in the stone.

  The building itself was also shaped as a triangle, and massive entrances, triangular as well, stood open at each of its three sides. If there were any doors originally, they were long gone.

  “What is it?” Brand asked.

  “I don’t know, but I sense danger there. Or somewhere beyond it.”

  Brand agreed, and as the sun set they left the escarpment and the strange building behind. There was something about it that disturbed him. Perhaps it was a feeling that beyond it waited the Harakgar, though how he knew that, he could not be sure.

  Night drew on swiftly, and the rush of the river dropped now to a smooth and steady flow, a faint and pleasant gurgle in the background.

  They stopped to camp. They could go no further though all the hounds of the elùgroths were on their trail and an army of elugs to keep them company. But the land about them was still and peaceful, void of any obvious threat. Brand liked it. Yet it was still too dangerous to light a fire. Their enemies could be anywhere about, whether there was any sign of them or not. But neither was it cold, and no fire was needed.

  They ate a simple and quick meal. And though they had not eaten in what seemed a very long time, they were not hungry.

  Beside them was a small wood. Moths flew from it, and bats followed, wheeling and darting through the night. The stars were not bright; a haze filled the high airs and low clouds scudded, but they were not many and Brand did not think it would rain.

  He liked woods, but he liked better being able to see and hear far into the distance. If their enemies came, he would have notice from where they rested. And though he knew they should take turns to sleep, it was out of the question. No sooner had they finished eating than they lay down on the green grass, lush near the river, and sought the rest that only sleep could bring.

  Yet for all Brand’s tiredness, he slept poorly. Many times he woke. Once, sometime after midnight, a noise alerted him. A long while he listened, hearing a scuffling sound somewhere away in the dark, but it was only some small creature that sought worms or beetles on the verge of the wood.

  The bats were gone. The clouds had disappeared, and the stars shone bright. It was cooler also, for a breeze played over the grassland and carried the nighttime scent of the river with it.

  For a long while he did not get back to sleep, and he thought as he lay there, tossing and turning as the stars blinked at him and the creature wandered away in search of other food.

  His thoughts turned at first to Kareste. He had been right to trust her, to give her the staff. Yet she was at risk, for the power in the talisman would call to her, but how else could she make her choice of Light or Shadow unless it was offered to her?

  And when her moment came, as come it must, he intended to be there. Perhaps he could make a difference, as he saw now that Aranloth had tried to do when the other lòhrens would have had her expelled from their order.

  At length, his thoughts turned to where they had shied away from all through the day. But now, in the deep night, where a man’s troubles always rose to the surface of his mind, he could avoid it no longer. Aranloth had misled him. There was no real power in his staff. Brand knew that now. He realized also that Kareste had known the same thing from the moment they had first met, and had not meddled in Aranloth’s affairs by stating it directly, though she had hinted at it.

  Aranloth’s staff was different to Shurilgar’s. The broken staff was a relic, infused of old with enormous power, but with the lòhren’s there was only the memory of enchantments worked through it, the bare traces of things that once were.

  What power Brand had summoned had come from within himself. The thing that he most mistrusted in all the world was a part of him, inside him, at his very core. But why had Aranloth not told him that?

  He felt a flicker of doubt at the lòhren’s motives. And though what Aranloth had said could not be called a lie, it was bordering on it as close as was possible. He shrugged his misgivings aside, for he trusted Aranloth, and trust was easily eaten away by doubt. He would not doubt him, and he would not doubt Kareste either. They each had reasons for what they did, though it occurred to him with unexpected clarity that so too did Khamdar. In the sorcerer’s own mind he was doing the right thing.

  It was a startling realization, and it did not make Brand comfortable.

  3. From Another World

  Gilhain did not know what was happening, but he knew this much: Aranloth was right. Something was approaching; something wicked beyond the reach of thought.

  The black-cloaked elùgroths sat in their wedge before the wall. Their wych-wood staffs pointed menacingly at the Cardurleth, and the rising chant of their spell smoked through the sorcery-laden air.

  Beyond the wedge was the enemy host, and its multitudinous voice rose also in some eerie union with the invocation of the elùgroths, lending them power.

  A wind blew, dry and hot, and then suddenly it changed. In what way, Gilhain could not be sure. It now smelled of moisture, or mold, or the decaying leaves of a forest that was thicker than any that grew near Cardoroth. But it was more than that.

  “It comes!” hissed Aranloth.


  Gilhain was sick to the pit of his stomach. He felt a great evil. It washed over him as did nausea to an ill man, in ever-greater waves that took him deeper into misery. Something was coming, and its arrival was inevitable. He could do nothing but wait.

  He did not speak. Aranloth did not move. Soldiers waited all along the wall, and Gilhain knew that each and every one of them felt just as he.

  The sun dimmed. The sky grew dark. The wind dropped, but the smell in the air intensified. It was putrid. He knew now that his guess was right. It was of a forest. A wet forest. A forest layered deep by centuries of rotted leaves and mildew.

  There was a growing sound also. It was an eerie thing, something over and above the world that surrounded him; he heard rain. Not just any rain – and certainly not the gentle nighttime rain that usually fell over Cardoroth, but a torrential downpour. It was a sound of watery fury, a sound that thrummed and boomed and lashed like a hundred storms gathering together and drawing near.

  Gilhain looked around, confused. He did not know what was happening, nor did he understand why it grew suddenly hot. But hot it was, and more humid than he had ever felt before. The very earth before the Cardurleth began to steam.

  Wisps of vapor rose sluggishly from the trampled earth. The gray tendrils twined about each other, swirling and undulating. His eyes followed them upward for a moment, and when he looked down again, he saw that the earth was gone. Where the ground had been, the same ground that he had known all his life and trod uncounted times, there was now a gaping void.

  He saw at once that it was not quite empty. It seemed to be a valley, even if it had no place in Cardoroth. And within he saw a vague outline of steep banks, wind-lashed trees and cascading water.

  But none of those things held his attention. Something else filled his vision, drew his gaze even though the horror of it was repellent.

  A shape rose amid the steam. It flowed and writhed, but it was a thing of substance and not vapor. And it was massive.