Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3)

by Robert Ryan

  He drew nearer to the Hainer Lon, and the sentries who lined it. It might be dark now, but the moon would rise later and bathe the park in silvery light. He must be gone before that happened.

  A grove of oaks, ancient and gnarly, angled between him and his destination. It would make good cover if he passed through it, but it was also a place of fallen leaves and branches, the sort of environment where it would be harder to avoid making noises that alerted the guards. Better to move alongside it, than within it. Besides, he did not know what lurked within. The guards watched for something.

  As he passed he heard the rattle of voles in dead leaves, and the hoot of owls. Small insects chirped, and large beetles clicked their wings in the dark. Mosquitoes swarmed. One, more persistent than the others, whined near his face, but he ignored it as best he could. He stalked ahead silently and slowly, until suddenly he froze in place. Something moved in the shadows of the grove.

  A moment later it paced out in front of him, unaware of his presence. It was a fox. When it saw him, it too stood still. They both stared at each other, each as surprised as the other. But then it trotted away, not alarmed or scared, but surefooted and definite in its desire to remove itself from the area. Lanrik smiled. The fox and he were brothers tonight.

  He moved ahead. The grove dwindled to a few large trees, and then there was nothing between him and the Hainer Lon but a hundred or so paces of lawn. And the sentries. He could see their silhouettes by the light of the city behind them.

  It was time for the Raithlin Crawl again, and he slipped down to his hands and knees and then his belly. He moved ahead, palms on the earth, elbows close to his body to provide support and eliminate any chance of being silhouetted himself. His weight rested on his forearms and one leg at a time, and he lifted his body just enough to avoid making scraping sounds as he progressed.

  The grass was short and provided no cover, but at least it was green and not a source of potential noise. He crept onward, aware that from this point he might be visible if he moved too fast or rose too high off the ground. He took care that each of his movements was only the minimum needed, and that they were carried out with patience.

  The minutes passed. The stars twinkled ever more brightly. He breathed slowly, moved slowly, and sought out even the slightest depression in the ground that might help him.

  He had an advantage. The sentries stood, and they would be looking out beyond him into the park. He knew they were there, but they did not know of his presence. They would not think anything could be so close, and the focus of their attention would be out and beyond him.

  He kept his head down, for the shine of his pale face in the faint light of the city would certainly give him away. From time to time, he rested. He could not see the sentries, but he listened. He heard no talking, or steps, or any warning that something was amiss. Noise from the buildings and streets had grown louder as he approached, and that would help him should he accidentally make any noise of his own.

  The sound of a horse-drawn carriage rolled down the Hainer Lon. The wheels clattered against the stone cobbles and the horses hooves clopped loudly. Whoever it was must be someone important, for carriages were seldom seen on the main thoroughfare of Esgallien. It was a place of shops and markets, and the people did not like being disturbed when other roads would serve the driver just as well. But Lanrik did not mind. Not tonight, for it would redirect the guards’ attention from the park to the road behind them.

  The noise swelled. He waited until it was near its peak, and then moved ahead faster. He lifted his head as the carriage drew near level with him. Sure enough, he could clearly see the two nearest soldiers and they had both turned to watch the carriage.

  Lanrik took a deep breath. What he was about to do was risky, but he still had a chance to run if things went badly. If they went well though, he was through.

  He stood up and strode ahead until he was nearly level with the sentries. It took only a few moments. The carriage rattled past, and he put the rest of his plan into action.

  “Eyes to the front, soldiers!” he barked.

  The men snapped around and looked at him. It was too dark to see him properly, and he hoped they could not tell that he was not in a uniform. The order should be enough for them to assume he was a captain.

  “Yes, Sir!” said one.

  “Sorry, Sir!” said the other.

  “Save your apologies for the Witch-queen,” he answered.

  Even in the dark he felt a wave of fear from them. They were solders, not Royal Guards, and he did not think they had any love for her. It was better to slip through this way, if he could, than be forced to harm one of them to make a gap in the line.

  They gave no further answer, and he strode ahead, keeping to his guise. But when he passed out of their sight and into the view of others, he changed his stride from the stiff and upright pacing of a soldier to the staggering walk of a reveling citizen.

  Now, he was on the very edge of the Hainer Lon, and there were pedestrians not too far away. He wanted to be taken as one of them. The soldiers ignored him, and with a few more steps he had cobbles under his feet and was drifting away from the park with a sense of relief.

  He let out a long breath and turned his mind to what was next. He knew this much: he could not spend the night at an inn. They would be watched. And though there were many of them, and they could not all be watched, he could not know which ones were safe and which ones were not.

  Nor could he seek the help of anyone that he knew; even those with whom he had only had a passing association. They might be watched as well. He thought about it as he walked along the Hainer Lon, and soon realized that he could not stay here much longer, either. Even though it was still early in the evening, the streets were far less crowded than during the day. And it would soon grow much quieter. The guards would be sure to patrol it, and an isolated pedestrian had nowhere to hide.

  It did not take him too long to reach a decision as to what he must do. Even in that little time, the streets became quieter. It seemed as though night in Esgallien was even more dangerous than the day, and people stayed at home, behind bolted doors.

  Clouds started to roll in from the east, and their dark masses swallowed the stars. A chill wind picked up, carrying the scent of distant rain, and he knew it was going to be a long and miserable night.

  He passed a narrow side street, and there he paused. A good while he looked down it, but the sudden noise of tramping boots somewhere ahead on the Hainer Lon forced his final decision. It might only be late night revelers, but it might also be guards. Either could be dangerous.

  He stepped down the street. Here, he drew his sword. It was dark, for little light from lanterns spilled out of the tenement buildings. It was the sort of place where thieves and brigands lurked, waiting for their prey.

  A tall building rose to the left, and he glided toward it. The shadows were deeper here, and that would better hide him. More than that, if he was attacked, the wall would stop a group from being able to surrounding him.

  He stopped and listened, but heard nothing. The breeze blew icy-cold down the tunnel formed by the buildings. He heard the pitter-patter of rain on roofs, and then the first droops sprinkled his skin.

  The shower did not last. By the time it had finished he was further down the street, creeping with all the skills he had learned in the wilderness as a Raithlin, for surely the city was a wild place in its own way. And the Raithlin principles of concealment did not change, no matter the surroundings: the eye recognized movement first, silhouette second and color last. So he moved slowly, kept close to the wall to ensure he was not outlined against either end of the street, and stayed in the shadows.

  He came to a corner. It was, as he hoped, an alley. This was even more dangerous, and though thieves were common enough, they could not prowl every pool of shadow.

  The sword felt light in his hand, and for the first time he raised it, but did not extend it too far in front of him. That would only make it ea
sy for someone to knock it to the side.

  When he went around the turn, he stepped wide from the wall for the first time. Spotting a potential threat around the corner was more important than remaining unseen.

  The alley was a river of blackness, and the rough cobbles under his boots were slippery with moisture. But he saw nothing except a cat. It looked at him for a moment to see what he would do, and then it slinked away in the opposite direction. It did not come back, so likely enough, no one else was there.

  He moved back into the deeper shadows near the wall. In the distance, he head singing and raucous laughter, and further away the barking of several dogs. Satisfied that he was all alone, he studied the building close to him until he found what he wanted. It was only two stories high, short for the city, and it was a near windowless place that lacked any cheer. What it did have was a front door: a sturdy construction that was closed, and no doubt bolted. It also had a drainpipe of oven-hardened clay, and this was what interested him.

  He ran his hands along the surface of the pipe. It was slick with moisture, and cold, but seemed strong enough for what he intended to do.

  With a final look around him to reassure himself that no one was watching, he sheathed his sword. He put hands and feet to the pipe and climbed. It was slow and difficult going, but he reached the second floor soon enough. The pipe ended here, coming out from the wall of what was likely a bathroom. He was not done climbing, though. He peered through a narrow window, grated by iron bars. No one was visible inside, and no lantern was lit, either. He climbed some more until he could stand up on the sill, and reached above him until his hands had as good a grip as he could get on the edge of the tiled roof.

  With a sudden heave he drew himself up. The slick tiles were dangerous, and he nearly lost his grip, but he pulled and twisted until he slid up over the edge of the roof. It had been more dangerous than he thought it would be, and he was no good with heights. Had he known, he would have thought of something else. And yet he was here now. It was a safe place, for no one could find him here, and though there were taller buildings nearby, their lights were mostly out, indicating that those who lived there had gone to bed.

  He moved high up the roof, careful not to make any noise, and careful not to go so far as to be silhouetted on the skyline. The view would have been better if he went all the way, but likewise, he would be more easily spotted.

  He lied down on his back and studied what was visible of the city. He could see many streets, and the odd group of revelers. He closed his eyes and slept, but not for long. A cold shower woke him. His face dripped water and the tiles were cold beneath his wet clothes. He turned to his side and then grew still.

  From a street nearby he heard the drum of marching feet, and then a group of Royal Guards came into view. For a moment he saw them turn into the Hainer Lon, their uniforms lit by a lantern hanging at the front of an inn, and then they were gone.

  A while later he saw the charred-man. The strange creature wandered down a dark street to the left, oblivious that the prey it so desperately sought was watching it. Lanrik could not mistake its twitching and lurching gait. He would never forget that so long as he lived.

  For a brief moment the flickering eyes turned in his direction, and his blood froze, but then the creature was gone, disappearing down another street.

  The night was cold and miserable. Sleep was a fleeting thing that came and went, never staying long. It was still dark when a cockcrow signaled the approaching dawn.

  Lanrik sat up, rubbed his eyes and summoned his courage. He would need it today, for at the break of light he would slip away from his hiding place and seek out the Haranast. Getting there might not be a problem; it was not that far away. Finding Erlissa was what worried him.

  What if she did not come?

  13. Swords, Curses and Confusion

  Dawn was newly born when Lanrik made a start of getting down from the roof.

  If he had left it too late, and people walked into the alley, he would be taken as a thief. But if he had moved sooner, he would have been at risk of running into a patrol of guards on the streets, with nobody else there to distract their attention.

  He hoped that he had judged it just right.

  One thing that he was not counting on was the danger of being seen from within the tenement building. He had heard no noises, and assumed none of the occupants were up yet, but he was mistaken.

  Just as he started to move down the drainpipe, he looked through the grated window. A middle-aged woman was there, half naked, watching him. One moment their eyes met. One moment they both remained still, and then she screamed. The sound was so high pitched, so shrill, that he feared it would carry for a half-mile in every direction and bring the entire city down on his back.

  He turned bright red, realizing that he had been taken for something worse than a thief, for surely no woman ever cried out like that for fear of burglary – not when an iron-grated window barred the way.

  He half climbed, half fell down the rest of the pipe. His feet were moving before they even touched the rough cobbles, and then he was racing down the alley. He went back the way he had come last night, not knowing what was down the other end.

  A door slammed, there were shouts somewhere behind him, and then with a rush he turned a corner into the Hainer Lon.

  He should have risked the other end of the alley, even though he did not know what was there. For what he saw now turned his face from red to white. Two Royal Guards stood just ahead of him, looking at him strangely. In his haste, he had run straight at them.

  He did not hesitate. In one quick motion he used all his forward momentum and rammed his left elbow into the face of the nearest one. There was a dull thud. The man collapsed, unconscious, and blood streamed from his nose onto his chest.

  Without pause, Lanrik moved onto the other guard. The man attempted to draw his sword, but Lanrik was quicker. He struck out with his right fist. The smack of the sudden blow resounded like a whip-crack on the Hainer Lon.

  He followed up with three more punches, fast and well placed. Then he was off again, racing away even as the man fell to the ground.

  It was not a good start to the day. And yet, in its way, luck had favored him. There had only been two guards, and he had disabled them. They could not chase him. Or if they did, his lead would be too great for them to do any good by the time they managed to get up.

  He turned down a side street and sprinted as fast as he could. There were people here, but not many, and no one interfered.

  Zigzagging through a succession of streets, he came to a sudden stop. There was nobody behind him. He had not heard any sort of alarm – the guards might be unconscious – and to keep on running now would only draw attention to himself. It was time to walk.

  Inadvertently, he had gone in the wrong direction. Before running into the guards, he had meant to head toward the city’s center and go straight to the Haranast. But he had been disoriented in his mad dash and now must be somewhere near the park from which he had escaped yesterday.

  As his breath came back, he grew hungry. Soon, it felt as though hollowness gnawed away at his insides. He decided to do two things at once.

  The Hainer Lon was close. He still stayed off it, but followed a parallel course until he was level with where he thought the middle of the park would be. At that point, he carefully made his way back.

  There were more people on the Hainer Lon now, although it was not busy yet. He walked along it swiftly until he found what he was after.

  He approached a baker’s shop and ordered a loaf. Casually glancing around while the bread was retrieved from the back, he studied the guards. The picket line remained in place, and it watched and waited for something, though what it was, he still could not guess. And yet it must be vital to expend so much manpower on it. They had been there for at least a day, and that was just what he knew of.

  He gave the baker some coins and jerked his thumb back at the guards with his thumb.

&nb
sp; “How long have they been there?”

  The baker, a jovial man with red hair and an easy smile, looked suddenly wary, but he answered after a pause.

  “Two weeks,” he said slowly. “Maybe more. And my sales went down from day one.”

  Lanrik understood. No one wanted to go near soldiers in Esgallien. Not since the Witch-queen controlled them.

  He thanked the man and headed down a side street. He had seen and heard enough.

  He ate the loaf as he walked. It was still hot inside, and truly, he thought, there was nothing better than freshly baked bread. All it needed was butter. Then again, hunger was the keenest inducement to flavor. Either way, he ate it with enormous relish.

  He moved along the side streets, and the city grew increasingly busy. He saw no more guards, or soldiers, but knew they were about. There was still no alarm, and he wondered if the guards that he had attacked even knew it was him that had done it. It could, he supposed, have been taken as a random attack from a criminal escaping the location of his crime. That would especially be the case if someone from the tenement building came out onto the street to chase him.

  The Hainer Lon was always close; all streets in Esgallien led to it, or from it, and when he was ready he maneuvered his way back. But he did not intend to follow it for any great length.

  The Haranast was very close, and he arrived there after only a few moments.

  An extended series of granite arches opened before him. Nearby was a basalt stele dedicated to Conmur, the king’s grandfather, who had ordered the facility’s construction at vast cost and with great labor.

  He passed through the ancient granite arches and was instantly met by a low hum of noise from the people already gathered there, although no race had yet been run. The Haranast accommodated ten thousand people, and though there were perhaps only a thousand here now, it seemed near empty. He picked his way down several long aisles of the terraced hillside, heading toward the stables where he had asked Erlissa to meet him.