by Robert Ryan
Sparks shot from the sorcerer’s eyes, and they streamed from his hair. His arms were upraised. Strands of smoke, twining like rope, came from all his fingers. The camp shimmered with heat. The people were obscured by swirling smoke. A noise came to Brand’s ears, and it was the hissing of rain and steam in the air, but to him it sounded like laughter. And then the grinning image of Khamdar looked straight at him.
19. They Will Tell their Children
Jinks rode at the head of the column again. They had flanked the enemy host once more, and now the army was to their left. But ahead of them was the picket line that spread out around the city.
They raced ahead. The elugs in the line scattered, not even making an attempt to stop them. In a few moments all the riders were through.
“That was easy!” the man near him said, a fierce grin on his face.
Jinks thought so too. But the knowledge did not give him the momentary pleasure it gave his companion. It had been too easy. The elugs had not tried to hinder them, and that meant, likely enough, that they knew a greater hindrance was already prepared. No need to risk death when the true confrontation lay ahead.
And so it proved. Though he was ready for it, Jinks still felt his heart sink when they wheeled around the host again and turned left, left toward the Arach Neben and the safety of the city. But there was no safety to be found there.
What they had all feared had come to pass. The enemy had launched an attack against the gate. The soldiers of Cardoroth had come forward. Some of the best troops were there, and they fought with skill and ferocity. They would hold the gate open as long as possible, but skill and courage were not a match for far greater numbers.
And the elugs swarmed against the soldiers in seething multitudes. Slowly, surely, the men of Cardoroth were being driven back.
There was one last resort for Jinks to try. There were other gates into the city, and though the picket lines before them were strengthened in those places, just maybe they had not come forward to bar entry. Just maybe.
But then he heard the thunder of hooves, and it was a noise that was not from his own men. It was from farther away.
Hvargil’s cavalry had come forth at last. Some came from the right, blocking the way back from where Jinks had just come. Others now appeared from the left, blocking that way too. The Black Corps was trapped, and every member of the regiment knew it. The column faltered, and many of the men cursed loudly.
Jinks slowed to a trot and his lieutenant hastened forward to speak to him.
“There’s no escape from this,” the man said.
“It would seem not,” Jinks answered regretfully.
“None of the men will blame you, sir. We will surely die now, but it was worth it for damage to the supplies. A hungry army doesn’t fight for long.”
Jinks knew that this was true. His men had struck a great blow against the enemy, a blow when they were already of low morale. He had done more than could have been expected of him, and he had given the city he loved a greater chance of survival. But there were probably already other supply wagons coming up from the south. The wound his men had inflected would, sooner or later, be healed by the enemy. Still, in the meantime, it might provoke an act of rashness that Gilhain could turn against them.
Jinks gave a signal. Without hesitation the column moved smoothly. They trotted now, forming a circle, their movements precise and even. Jinks, ringed by all his men, able to address them all now at the same time, spoke loudly.
“We will fight!” he said. “There’s nothing left for it. We will fight, and we will take as many of the enemy with us as we can. And away in Cardoroth, the lords and the ladies, and those who looked down on us in our former lives, they shall know pride! They will tell their children, and their grandchildren that they knew us! The riders of Cardoroth. The Black Corps!”
The company gave a mighty cheer, and then they came smoothly out of the circle and formed a column again. Like a well-cast spear they drove forth, but not at the approaching cavalry to either side; instead Jinks led them directly toward the rear of the enemy attacking the gate. This would make it easier for the soldiers of Cardoroth to retreat and secure the Arach Neben behind them.
The Black Corps struck with precision, unleashing a hail of arrows and then smashing into the poorly defended rear of the enemy. There was great slaughter, and the elugs fell by the score. As the riders drove deep into the enemy ranks they heard from afar the sound of battle on the other side of the attackers, from the battle being fought near the gate.
Jinks gave another signal and the archers of the Black Corps broke away, half to the left and half to the right. They fired arrows, keeping the enemy riders away briefly, but their supply of shafts was growing thin. Their victory with the wagons was coming back to haunt them.
Hvargil’s cavalry did not have their own archers to return the attack. Their charge faltered, but they regrouped and when they came again there were too few arrows to halt their charge.
The enemy now came at the Black Corps from three sides, surrounding them, for the rear of the elugs had also stiffened their resolve.
Jinks fought with his sabre, as now did all his companions. They were ringed around, pressed close, and the advantage of their mounts was reduced. Swiftly they began to fall in the face of such an onslaught and of the three hundred there were perhaps now only fifty men left alive. They were close now, all together for their last stand. Jinks was still there among them, his sabre broken and lying on the field but an elug scimitar in his steady grip instead.
The enemy riders closed in. The elugs at the gate were better prepared now, and they had turned a flank to them and commenced to advance, swords crashing against shields in a mighty tumult meant to intimidate.
Jinks glanced skyward, offering a momentary plea to the universe; but he knew no such appeal would be answered. The clouds hanging low overhead were dark. In an abstract way he noted that rain was on the way. Or perhaps even a storm. He squinted. Yes, definitely a storm. He could feel it build, and a gust of wind tossed his scalp lock.
All his men were steady about him. They knew what came next; it took no genius to contemplate that. He looked about him with a certain pride.
“One day is as good as another to die,” he said.
Somewhere a horse snorted and stamped a hoof. Some of the men gave nods of agreement at their leader’s words. Jinks worked his way to the to their front, getting ready to face the advancing elugs.
“One more charge at the enemy!” he shouted. “It will be our last, as well you know, but long will Cardoroth remember it!”
He gathered his reins tightly into his trembling hands, and was about to nudge his horse into a gallop. But at that moment a flash of lightning streaked across the darkening sky. Thunder pealed like the crack of doom and then rumbled away into the distance.
Jinks looked up at the Cardurleth, behind which lay all that he loved. Yet upon the battlement he saw Aranloth. And with him were now gathered other lòhrens. They had come to join their leader from their usual places along the wall, and they now stood in one group behind him.
Aranloth held his arms high. A white light was about him. Jinks looked, and he paused as he watched, the reins forgotten in his hands.
All about him leaves and dust and grass stems swirled in the air. The wind whipped into his face. Lightning once again cracked. This time it struck in the midst of the elugs before the gate. Jinks looked at the enemy. He heard their screams. He felt their panic. And he sensed their primal fear.
Again and again the lightning tore apart the sky and stabbed, dagger like, into the middle of the elug ranks. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. There were more screams, and at last the panic grew so great that the elugs fled. They scattered left and right, for there was no lightning to either side. A gap opened. Jinks saw, as though through a widening tunnel, the soldiers of Cardoroth before the gate.
Yet though he saw a chance of life, a chance to enter the city that he could not have h
oped for, straightaway it was dashed. No man would dare such a storm, for now the lightning struck ever more swiftly, and a vortex of dust and debris spun where the elugs had but recently blocked the way. No man had the courage to risk that road, no matter what lay at its end.
Jinks shuddered, and then looked up at Aranloth. The lòhren in his turn looked down upon him. From all that distance Jinks sensed his gaze, and then something more. Dimly, as though from very far away, he heard the lòhren’s voice. And it was filled with urgency.
“Ride! Ride to the gate! Fear no storm! Fear no lightning. Ride! Ride and live!”
Jinks looked at his men. A moment thus he hesitated, and then he acted.
“We ride!” he called. “The storm is our friend. Ride now and live!” His command echoed the lòhren’s words.
Those of the Black Copse who yet lived looked at him in disbelief, but when he kicked his own horse forward they followed.
The riders gathered speed. Lightning hissed in the air all around them. It sizzled and boomed. And yet … and yet Jinks noticed that no scorch marks showed on the ground. Nor had any fires started amid the dry and trampled grass. Most of all, there were no dead bodies of elugs. Where the army had stood, the field was empty of stricken corpses as surely there should have been.
“It’s illusion!” he yelled to his men. On he rode, and his men rode in a tight group behind him. The vortex of air spun upward and disappeared. The soldiers before the gate retreated back into Cardoroth.
Jinks rode onward. Now there were dead bodies, but these elugs had been killed by steel and not lightning. Their wounds were proof of that.
And then beyond any hope that he had foreseen, Jinks led his men into the tunnel of the Arach Neben. It was dark. Behind him he heard the clang of the great gate as it shut.
Soldiers were now all around, helping him and his riders down. They began to tend the wounded and they led away exhausted mounts. This was not easy, for some of the horses had become terrified and they pranced and shied and only the soft and repeated words of their riders brought any semblance of calm.
Jinks looked around. He saw that less than fifty of the three hundred had made it back alive. But the enemy had suffered a major defeat.
It was worth it. And his men had absolved themselves of guilt; the pickpockets, the confidence men, the burglars and the tricksters. That was worth it too, for guilt was worse than death, and his men, every one of them, knew it. And he knew it too, and even as his legs gave out beneath him he exulted, for his people had become a legend that would endure so long as Cardoroth stood.
20. Tall and Terrible
Khamdar, or at least the image of him that hung in the smoke, grinned. Fire curled from his mouth. His hair streamed rivers of fire.
The sorcery of the elùgroth was great. They all seemed trapped by his power. Some were pinned to the earth by smoke become substance. Some were being choked. Brand was thrown back to sprawl helpless on the ground.
He lay there, half stupefied by the force that had hurled him away, but his mind still asked questions and groped for answers. Why had he been hurled away? Slowly, the answer came to him: to keep him away from the fire.
Slowly but surely, he began to stand. It took all his strength. The smoke tried to pin him down and then, like a seeking hand, it reached for his throat.
Nevertheless, he pushed forward. Having come to his feet he stepped, and his steps, though each one seemed like climbing a mountain, were inexorable.
The force thrown against him redoubled, but he pushed forward anyway. He had a grudge against Khamdar. The sorcerer had dogged his steps for a long time now. Khamdar had killed many innocent people. The conflict between them had become a contest of will against will, and that was what really lay behind the struggle. The smoke was little more than illusion.
Sweat broke out all over Brand. He was dripping wet by the time he neared the fire and gasping for breath.
Khamdar rose in a plume before him, tall and terrible. Brand ignored the image. He knew that his blade could not hurt such a phantom. Instead, he deliberately struck into the fire itself and scattered embers wide and far.
Again and again he struck, and then he was kicking as well. The fire flared brightly. He felt the heat of it, and then it was gone. Khamdar simply evaporated. Smoke clogged the air, but now, though thick, it was nothing more than a reeking cloud that drifted without intent.
Brand looked around. Some of the Halathrin were dead. This was yet another crime added to Khamdar’s long tally. One day, Brand knew with sudden certainty, there would be a reckoning. Khamdar would be held to account, or Brand himself would die. There was no doubt in his mind that that time would come, and he had a feeling it would be one day soon. Brand knew that he did not have the sorcerer’s skill, perhaps not his power, but nevertheless that day of reckoning would come, and the elùgroth would know fear as he had never known it before. Silently, Brand swore it.
The living Halathrin looked bleak. Harlinlanloth, grim as the others, looked determined also.
“We will make him pay for that,” she said, as though she had read his thoughts. “It is one more evil against us, one more call for justice that will one day be answered.”
He realized that she had not perceived his thoughts at all. It was just that she felt about the sorcerer exactly as did he.
“You and I both,” he answered. “I have my grudges, and you have yours. He shall not escape us.”
Kareste shook her head. “Dreaming of revenge against such as he is sweet, but that’s all it is – dreaming. Khamdar is greater than us, and he nearly beat us all through he was but now a phantom. The real him is miles away. If you would oppose him, bear that in mind. Fear him, and fear him greatly. Fear him, and you might yet live. Fear him the more so, for our band grows weaker after every encounter.”
Brand cocked his head. “You’re right, and yet why did he send a phantom against us? Perhaps he is scared even as are we?”
None of them had any answer to that, and soon they moved on to the ceremony for the funeral of the fallen Halathrin. This was not so elaborate as the earlier one, yet still it had that somber feel to it, that sense of otherworldliness that the Halathrin brought to everything they did.
Without making it obvious, Brand studied Harlinlanloth. She showed little overt emotion, and yet he saw the deep sorrow in her eyes. Nobody understood death, and the immortals, who experienced it so rarely, must understand it less.
When she was done she walked past Brand, and her momentary glance stabbed him to the heart. She was hurting, and there was nothing he could do to take the pain away. It was one more mark against Khamdar, one more crime for which Brand would hold him to account – if he could.
They struck out to the east and toward Cardoroth. Ever they watched for Khamdar, or for some trap that he had left for them to spring, some ambush of beasts or men or elugs. But they saw nothing. Nothing at least until the Halathrin pointed out to Brand the tracks of the elùgroth.
Khamdar, like all elùgroths, wore boots. And a design was worked into their soles: a drùgluck sign. Brand had heard something of it before, but the Halathrin warrior traced the marks with his fingers and then spoke to him quietly.
“The mark of ill-omen. He wants us to see it. It is a warning.”
They went on, and sure enough the marks became much plainer. Khamdar had made no attempt to hide his passing, even at times going out of his way to deliberately stand in damp earth to leave a trail. Evidently, the drùgluck was a warning, but a warning of what? That he was nearby and would attack again? Or that his prints led in one direction only – to Cardoroth, and that he would wreak havoc there by way of revenge?
21. The Future is not Fixed
The enemy host was in rampant turmoil, and Gilhain enjoyed it.
“Not since this siege began,” he said, “have they been in such disarray.”
Aranloth grinned. “No, and it’s worse even than it looks.”
“How so?”
�
��Because the elùgroths know that Khamdar returns. And though he failed in his attempt to stop Brand, that does not mean that he will accept their failure. He would have hoped that Cardoroth would have fallen by now, and he will blame them that it hasn’t, and he is no easy master to serve.”
“Why should they fear him?” asked Taingern. “He is only one and they are several?”
“In this case the one is more powerful than the several joined together.”
Gilhain scratched his chin. “It poses a question though. Brand is resourceful, but how could he have succeeded with the likes of Khamdar trying to stop him?”
Aranloth looked away. “We always knew that Brand’s quest was near impossible. But there is more about him than even you guessed. If we are ever reunited, I think you will see a change in him.”
Gilhain did not ask further questions. He caught the faint sense that he was broaching a subject about which the lòhren would not reveal more. Clearly, there was something going on that only Aranloth or Brand knew. Or perhaps only Aranloth. Sometimes the lòhren kept secrets just for the sake of it. Gilhain stopped himself there; that was an unworthy thought. The lòhren said and did what he could. When he kept secrets, there were always reasons for it.
Lornach chuckled. “We’re always too serious here. Let’s just enjoy the moment instead of analyzing it. What matters most is that we pulled the enemy’s beard, and they don’t like it – not one bit.”
Taingern grinned and put an arm around his Durlin brother.
“That’s the truth. Between us all we’ve disrupted the plans of the enemy more than they ever thought we could. And Jinks has just landed a mighty blow.”
“And yet not a killing blow,” Aranloth said. “The elug host will suffer in morale and loss of supplies. Hunger will weaken them, but there is still some food, and more supplies will arrive in time.”
