by Robert Ryan
But elugs, Azan and sorcerers were not the only enemy. There were other dark creatures as well, chief among them the Lethrin.
They were few in number, perhaps only several hundred, but their danger lay in their abilities rather than their numbers.
The Lethrin stood over seven feet, and though Gilhain had never seen them before, rumor carried their tale. They were immensely strong and filled with an implacable hatred of their enemies. Legends said that they were born from the stone of the Graèglin Dennath mountains in the south. Maybe that was so, maybe it was not. But he had seen their skin from a distance during some days when they came to observe battles at the wall, and even from afar he could see that it was tough like hardened leather and would resist the hack and cut of blades. They were miners that hewed tunnels in the rock beneath their mountain homes with massive picks and unwearied arms. Because of their ferocity and overwhelming strength, they usually formed the vanguard of an army, though in this case they were still held in reserve. Over black tunics trimmed with precious stones, they wore silvered chain mail vests that left their arms free. Their mighty hands gripped massive iron maces.
Such were the enemies arrayed against Cardoroth, nor yet had the sorcerers thrown all at them. But that would come. They were slow, but they were relentless. Hatred drove them. And the richness of the north lured them. And there was a shadow behind it all. That much was becoming increasingly clear, Aranloth had warned him. A malevolence controlled things: growing, waxing, nurturing its strength, testing the courage and resilience of the north.
So it had been once before. Ancient enmity lay between north and south, stemming from the time of the exodus when the Halathrin came into Alithoras. They sought to redress a great evil, to defeat it, and so they did, though all of Alithoras was drawn into the Elu-haraken, the Shadowed Wars, of that time. Perhaps that evil was defeated but not destroyed. At least Aranloth hinted that it was so.
Yet even all those were not the only enemies he must counter. His half-brother was somewhere outside Cardoroth, hiding after treachery. He wanted the throne; he had always wanted the throne. He would do anything to get it, and had proven so not that long ago.
Maybe it was not so any longer. The line of the kings had come to an end. A fallen realm needed no king – his brother knew that as well as any.
Gilhain gritted his teeth. His own son had been killed in battle two years ago. When Gilhain died himself, he wanted the crown to pass, assuming the kingdom survived, to his granddaughter. But that was against Cardoroth’s traditions. Should he try to force the issue by decree before his death, it might lead to civil war. There would be factions for one side and factions for the other, and his half-brother, much younger, would take advantage of that and assert his claim. But many would never accept him for his past acts of treachery, and his willingness to deal with the enemy.
Gilhain closed his eyes and sighed. The future was bleak, even if the city survived. Unless … unless whoever came after him as king was someone strong, both in a military sense and in the political sense of bringing the people together. His son might have done that, but ill fate had taken him away. There was steel in his granddaughter, but the people of Cardoroth would not be ruled by a woman. Carnhaina was the only ruling queen in their history, yet she was special in many ways, not least of all in having command of a terrible magic.
But his great grandson was a possibility. He was too young of course. He would need a regent, and Gilhain did not trust any save Aranloth or Brand for that job. Any of the nobles would end up assuming the crown in their own name. Yet Aranloth would not be tied down to one place in Alithoras for that long. He would be needed elsewhere. That left Brand, and it was an intriguing thought. He could rule for a time as king, and no other would be better suited, and he trusted him in the end to pass the authority on to his great grandson. Yes, there was an idea there, and though the military commanders would fight it, the ordinary soldiers would all be behind Brand. He had fought with them, spilled blood beside them. Yes, they would be on his side. And that would be enough, assuming Brand was prepared to do it. He had his own problems to solve in his own lands. But ahh! Such thoughts were dust on the wind. It would never happen.
Gilhain started as he saw further movement in the enemy camp. And then the horns began to blow.
Aranloth, standing nearby and looking out, lost in his own thoughts, stood erect. His hands were on the battlements, and they gripped hard until they went white.
“This bodes ill,” Gilhain said softly. “There is no attack – not against us. I think they have seen Brand.”
Aranloth did not relinquish his fierce grip on the stonework.
“If so, it was not by the vision of mortal eyes, but by sorcery. They guessed our plan, as I thought they would, yet too swiftly. They spend their energy on sorcery now. I can feel it throbbing darkly through the earth and reverberating even in the foundations of the tower on which we stand, but it is not directed at us.” He hesitated, thinking with a frown on his face. “The staff gives them powers I do not guess at.” He paused again, and he cast down his gaze. “I should not have sent Brand. The powers raised against him, one man alone, are too great. And they will only get worse if he reaches the tombs. I have sent him to his death.”
Aranloth bowed his head. The strength left his fingers, and for once he looked what he was: an ancient man who had lived so long that misery, evil, despair and sorrow littered his past, and he could not escape from it.
Gilhain drew a deep breath and steadied his voice against the emotions welling up inside him.
“If he dies,” he said, “then we also are dead, and the city and all it protects. And the north is more vulnerable. You’re right. It’s too much responsibility for one man to bear – too great a trial, and yet, and yet, not for nothing did I make Brand a captain in the army. Not for nothing did I appoint him Durlindrath. He earned those positions by blood and daring when he first came to Cardoroth. I’ll not give up until I see a token of his death. If they capture or kill him, the enemy will prove it to us in order to subvert our morale. When they bring forth his corpse, only then will I believe that he is dead.”
Aranloth slowly shook his head. “I have seen much death in my long life,” he said. “But seldom have I so erred. I should not have sent him, and his blood is on my hands.”
“Alas!” Gilhain said. “His death would now be like the death of my son, for so have I come to think of him. But courage, Aranloth! We are two world-weary old men. Brand is young. He is strong. He has luck and courage that I have seldom seen. Let’s not second-guess our choices in a moment of doubt. Instead, let’s trust our instincts, as he trusts his. A bright day may yet come after the long night.”
Aranloth stirred. “May we live to see it.”
They spoke no more for some time, lost in their own thoughts once more. But ever their eyes watched the movements of the enemy below. Time passed. Troops moved off into the dark and disappeared from their straining sight. A dim rumor came to them of noise in the distance. Eventually it concentrated, grew louder and clearer, and revealed itself as the rising chant of elùgroths. The sound swelled, and not only were there elùgroths but the fell voices of elugs also.
Aranloth lifted up his head, tilting it as if listening with great care.
Gilhain felt his heart pound. “What new deviltry is this?” he asked. “Will they now attack the wall with sorcery?”
“Nay,” Aranloth answered. “This is sorcery, but not what you think. The elùgroths work some new spell. Some summoning, I think. And they augment their power with others. The elugs possess no sorcery, yet the elùgroths are using them in some manner that I have not seen before. But it is not directed at us.”
“If it’s not directed at us, then—”
“It is for Brand. And may fate grant him mercy.”
10. Speak True or Die
Brand took a firm grip on the hilt of his sword.
The enemy was everywhere, and there were perhaps only moments
before he was seen. There was no hiding from so many. Nor could he fight them all, though the sword felt light in his hand and his heart raced with anticipation. He would wreak such destruction upon them that they would rue finding him – though they outnumbered him a hundred to one.
Some dark form, tall and lithe, moved from within the concealing shadows of a nearby tree. He prepared to leap and attack, but the soft voice that came out of the dark stilled his feet.
“Come with me – if you want to live.”
Brand stood motionless. A dark figure loomed out of the shadows. He saw, revealed now in the dim light, the last thing that he expected. It was a girl, and she was tall and striking. She was clothed in the white robes of a lòhren, yet he saw no staff, but a sword hung at her side.
He hesitated. But the noise of the searchers was loud all around him, and she was no elug. She was as far from that as could be possible. And yet he knew nothing of her, and a mistake now, of any kind, meant death.
He caught the glint of her eyes: anxious, impatient with him and fierce with intelligence. He made up his mind and stepped toward her.
She waited no longer but ducked down beneath a branch and skirted the tree next to her. He followed and found himself racing behind her lithe form along some animal trail that he had not noticed before.
They had gone no further than a few hurried paces when two elugs burst unexpectedly onto the trail from the left. Brand slashed, cutting deep across the throat of the first. It reeled away, but the second shouldered into him, sending him sprawling to the ground and knocking the sword from his hand.
The elug drew its own blade and moved toward him, but Brand whipped out the knife the king had given him and flung it with great force. The gems that formed the sign of bright Halathgar flashed as it flew. It was not a throwing knife, yet it still struck point first, lodging deep in the elug’s leather jerkin and sending the creature reeling away. It was not a deathblow, but a bad wound nonetheless.
Brand gathered his sword and stood. The elug staggered away into the dark, the knife still sticking into its body, and Brand made to follow.
The girl had turned and she reached back, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him forward.
“We have only seconds!” she whispered. “Let’s go!”
Brand knew that she was right, but he felt the loss of the knife as a wrench. It was such a precious gift – gone so soon. Luck and fate were against him this night.
He sheathed his sword and they ran ahead. The trees were dense, and the trail wound through them finding some secret path that no more elugs stumbled onto.
The girl crouched and paused a moment for some reason that he could not tell. Then she stood, tall and still, but seemingly ready to move at the slightest reason. Magic dripped from her fingers as flaming drops, and then she raised both hands and sent flame blasting into a thick stand of bracken.
He could see no reason for her actions, but he had thrown in his lot with hers and must trust to his initial choice.
The foliage was dry, and it erupted in bright fire for several moments, and then thick plumes of smoke billowed from it.
She took his hand and led him into a narrow gully. It was overgrown with more bracken and also many tall ferns. Noise from elugs was all about them. So too was the crackle of flame, but it covered whatever noise they made, and the roiling smoke, spinning, turning and filling the shadowy forest, but especially flowing along the gully, obscured them from view.
They ran ahead for a minute, but then she stopped abruptly again and crouched down. Some way ahead of them a string of elugs crossed the gully, scimitars sweeping through the brush and clearing a way. They pressed on, disappearing into the smoke and shadows, and the girl led Brand forward once more.
They moved faster, for the smoke grew thin and the gully widened. The noise of the elugs was mostly behind them now, somewhere near where the fire had been started.
They moved ahead some more, and then cautiously she led them out of the gully, clambering over some rough ground and then she circled about, heading back to the north and away from the direction Brand wanted to travel, and yet also toward the shore of the lake.
Within several minutes they came to the beach again. She paused there, looking around. She seemed satisfied that the elugs still searched the area of the fire, though it was now fading. Much noise came from there, and it was not that far away, yet there seemed no sign of the enemy just where they were now. Yet still it seemed to him that all she had done was trap them between the water and the forest.
“What now?” he whispered.
She looked at him, and her expression changed. Her hands trembled at her sides, and once more fire dripped from her fingertips.
“Now, you speak the truth or die. You carry Aranloth’s staff, and you wear his diadem. Is he dead? Did you have something to do with it? Speak! Or I will blast you to ashes where you stand.”
Brand was taken aback by her sudden ferocity, but he held his ground and spoke calmly. This was no time for misunderstandings.
“He gave them to me.”
She shook her head and stared at him, if it were possible, even harder.
“That’s a lie. You’re no lòhren – that much is plain. He would not give you these things. They are precious beyond your understanding.”
Brand felt anger surge within him, and his hand found the hilt of his sword.
“Kill me, or try to, if you must. But don’t call me a liar.”
She considered him. “Kill you I may well yet do. And if I choose so, you will surely perish even as the sun must rise tomorrow. Understand that, and tell me all.”
Brand thought hard, and all the while his hand squeezed tightly around his sword hilt. He could not trust anyone with the truth of his quest, least of all a stranger that he had just met. And yet he sensed that her words were not idle. If he tried to deceive her, or tell her less than the truth, one of them would die.
Could he prevail against her? Perhaps. She was confident of her abilities, but she had never met him before and knew nothing of him. He was not easy to kill, magic or no. Yet if she did kill him, and well she might, then Gilhain and Cardoroth were lost.
He looked into her eyes. He read many things there. She was young, but her gaze was that of someone much older. She was a person of great passion, someone who always believed she was right even when she was not. But he also saw concern there. Not for herself; she believed she could kill him easily, but rather for Aranloth. And that was what decided him.
“I told you the truth. Aranloth lent them to me. Why? You had better ask him if you ever get the chance. I don’t think they’ll do me much good. But he gave them to me for a purpose. That, I will tell you, though once I do, you are at risk of death by not only elugs … but others also, including sorcerers. Think carefully before you insist.”
She looked at him sternly. No flicker of doubt crossed her face. All he saw was disbelief – either at all or part of what he said.
“I insist. And don’t think that your veiled threat carries any weight. I have little fear of elugs or sorcerers. And less fear of you. Speak!”
Brand told her what he must. He spoke swiftly of the siege of Cardoroth, of an artifact that the elùgroths used to enhance their power. He explained that Aranloth must stay there, with the other lòhrens to hold the enemy off. She seemed doubtful at all this, not convinced that Aranloth would do such a thing, but she did not interrupt.
He told her all that he could, even saying that he must retrieve the second half of Shurilgar’s staff, but he did not tell her where he must seek for it.
She listened, but did not lower her hands. “That isn’t everything. Tell me all, and then I will decide your fate.”
Brand hesitated. Here was a dilemma that none in the city foresaw, not even Aranloth. Yet it was for him to decide now what must be done, and the lòhren and the king could not help. But if he misspoke, then secrets long held could be revealed to the wrong people. Yet there was little in any of
it that the enemy did not already guess.
“The second half of the staff has long been hidden in the tombs of the Letharn,” he revealed.
At that name a hiss escaped her lips. She stared at him, doubt showing on her face for the first time.
She shook her head. “What could Aranloth possibly be thinking? I don’t understand any of this,” she said slowly. “You have certainly not revealed all, but you have said enough, at least for the moment. Few know the name that you have just uttered. If nothing else is true, then at least I believe that he told you that. But the staff and the diadem…”
As she spoke she lowered her hands. The fire at her fingertips snuffed out and she straightened.
“Well,” she said. “It seems that I must save you after all. But you’ll not survive the tombs. That place is dangerous beyond your reckoning, no matter how much Aranloth warned you. The quest will not succeed. You should turn aside from it now, while you still can.”
Brand let go of the hilt of his sword, but he did not take his gaze from her.
“I’ll not turn aside,” he said, suddenly riled. He glared at her for a moment before adding, “And I will succeed.”
She looked back at him squarely. “So sure?”
“I must be sure,” he answered. “Too much depends on it for me to fail, and I will not. Now, what of you? You have magic at your command—”
“Lòhrengai,” she interrupted. “The power of lòhrens. Magic is a term which the uneducated use.”
Brand gritted his teeth. He had heard the word before, but even Aranloth seemed content for people to say magic.
He shrugged. “Call it what you will. Yet you name yourself a lòhren, and seem keen to prove the point, but where is your own staff? Are you really a lòhren? The better now that I see you, and the longer that I talk to you, the more I begin to doubt it.”
