Lore Of The Letharn (Book 2)

by Robert Ryan

  He looked back. The Azan were guiding their boats away from the middle of the current and toward the sluggish edge of the river. They had come to a near standstill. After that quick look, he only had eyes for the river ahead.

  They plunged down the first rim of the escarpment, and a cold spray of water slapped his face. The sudden drop through the air made his stomach heave. Before he was ready for it, they crashed into the river again with a jarring splash. The shuffa bobbed in the water for a few moments, and then the current took hold of it once more.

  They sped along and Aranloth used his paddle to steer the boat away from a massive boulder that rose up like a giant from the riverbed. The shuffa missed it, but it loomed close, and Lanrik, though seeing it for a bare moment, noticed every detail from the green moss that grew all over one face to the sharp and jagged surface that reared above them. Had they hit it, it would have blasted the boat to splinters and flung them into the raging waters.

  Aranloth got better control of the boat, and they copied the way he hung his paddle into the water like a rudder to try and slow their progress. Lanrik was not sure if it worked, for they shot forward anyway like an arrow released from a bow. Arliss yelled from behind him, and then laughed. Whatever her first misgivings were, the wild side of her nature reveled in this mad rush of exhilaration and terror.

  A series of boulders appeared on the other side of a veil of water-spray, and Aranloth desperately used his paddle to try and guide them through a gap in their middle. The shuffa turned unsteadily, and then shot forward again. There was a jolting bump and a scraping noise as the light timber of the boat ground against the side of one of the rocks. The boat tilted, and they bounced away from it. Aranloth nearly fell overboard because of the sudden shift, but his hand gripped the top lip of the boat, and at the same time he braced his legs against the inside. The boat righted itself, and he sat upright again.

  Lanrik glanced quickly over at the side of the boat. The stone had scratched an ugly scar in the timber, but it had not broken it.

  The current took them again. White water was all around them. It frothed and churned about a jumble of smaller boulders. The shuffa spun wildly, and for a moment they faced back toward the direction they had come from. Just as quickly the water swirled them about again. They floated in a deep pool now, the water slightly less fast.

  Aranloth used his paddle to adjust the direction of the shuffa.

  “Hold tight,” he called. “The worst is next.”

  The river gathered up the shuffa again and thrust it forward once more. Lanrik felt ill to the pit of his stomach, and his face dripped river water and cold sweat.

  They raced ahead and without warning passed over the lip of a great drop. The shuffa hung in midair, and then its front dropped. A moment later they speared into a pool of swirling water and nearly capsized. There was a scream. Lanrik turned, but Arliss was gone. He swung his head around wildly in all directions, but there was no sign of her anywhere.

  “Arliss!” he yelled. There was no answer except the roar of the water. The shuffa shot forward again, and they plummeted over another ledge, but it was less steep than the first.

  “We have to stop!” Lanrik yelled.

  The lòhren turned. “I’m trying! We’re nearly at the end!”

  Within a few minutes they had managed to guide the shuffa to the left bank. The rapids were gone and the river flowed calmly. Lanrik looked back and stared in disbelief over the mile or so of raging torrent that they had come through.

  They drew the boat up to a sandy shoal. “Did you see her,” Lanrik asked the lòhren.

  “No.”

  “Could she have survived?”

  “It’s possible. If she managed to swim to the bank quickly. Too long in that icy water would kill her.”

  Lanrik knew the lòhren was right. He flicked his hood up over his head and forced himself to face the reality of the situation.

  “It’ll take the Azan hours to bring their shuffas down the portage trail. I’m going back for her, even if it’s only to find her body.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Aranloth said. “She’ll need the warmth of a fire if she’s still alive.”

  Lanrik turned to go, but Aranloth spoke again.

  “One more thing.”

  Lanrik faced Aranloth again. The lòhren’s expression was grave.

  “Think on this. The Azan have found us wherever we go. And it has not been Ebona’s doing. That means someone else must be helping them, but only the three of us knew we were coming this way.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “You know what I’m suggesting.”

  Lanrik shook his head in denial. “Arliss would never betray us. And even if she wanted to, how could she? She has no means of talking to the Azan”

  Aranloth spoke softly. “None that we know of. But many things are possible, and I’m suspicious of her.”

  Lanrik stood his ground. “You’re a better judge of character than I am. But in this, you’re wrong.”

  “I hope so. But a wise man told me long ago the motto that he lived by, and his advice still serves me well. Like many, but trust few.” The lòhren paused. “Think on it.”

  Lanrik did not answer. He strode up the steep path that lined the bank of the river. He knew Aranloth was wrong. There must be another explanation. Perhaps he was mistaken about Ebona. It was not the first time that he had misjudged her powers.

  He studied the rapids while he thought, searching for a body washed down stream, but saw nothing.

  Sweat trickled down his back and sheened his face. It was hard work walking up the winding track, but Aranloth was right about one thing: the water was icy cold, and if Arliss was still in it she would be dead by now. He had to hope that she had made it to the bank quickly enough. Even so, the cold might still kill her anyway.

  He went ahead. The path twisted back and forth. Boulders and rocky ledges forced it to veer often, and stands of stunted trees, mostly some kind of cedar, threatened to choke the trail. But there was a way forward.

  It would be hard going for the Azan to carry a boat through here, but he did not doubt that they had already started doing so. Musraka would never give up, and it was yet another reason to find Arliss quickly.

  He paused in the deep shadow of a stand of cedar. Something had disturbed him, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. And then he knew. Over and above the crisp scent of the trees he smelled smoke. Could the Azan have gotten down this far so quickly? Or was it someone else?

  He continued carefully along the path. It was quiet. There was no sound except the hum of insects and the rush and gurgle of water from below. Keeping in the shadows, he peered beyond the trees.

  Ahead of him lay a small glade. The river rushed by on the left, and on the right another stand of trees closed it in. Beyond that, the path continued up onto a ridge and twisted out of sight.

  Lanrik only had eyes for the clearing. A fire burned in its center. Clothes were stretched out on a small outcrop of rock beside it. They still dripped water. Just as he saw them, he felt something at his back. He leapt into the glade and rolled, and then surged up with the shazrahad sword in his hand.

  He looked straight into the eyes of Arliss. A sword was in her hand. Her short blond hair was wet. The clothes on the rock were hers, for she stood naked before him, her only adornment a small silver medallion. Her skin was pale except for the slight scar on her face and others across her arms and stomach. Droplets of water still clung to her, and she shivered. Nevertheless, she laughed loudly.

  “Do you always raise a sword against naked girls?”

  Lanrik clumsily sheathed the shazrahad blade. “I wasn’t expecting someone behind me. I wasn’t—”

  “Hush. Just admit it. I got the better of you.”

  Lanrik turned his back to her. “You definitely did that. Your Raithlin skills are good – better even than I realized.”

  “That’s no way to offer congratulations, you know. Wasn’t it
you who told me never to turn your back on someone carrying a drawn weapon?”

  “It sounds like good advice. But how about this? Put on your clothes, and then I’ll face you.”

  She gave her usual throaty chuckle. “But my clothes are wet. I can’t put them on, even if I am cold.”

  Lanrik turned around. She stood unmoving before him, except for her shivering. Quickly, he took off his Raithlin cloak and wrapped it around her. Her bare skin felt like ice, so he picked her up in his arms and strode to the fire. He laid her down close to the flames.

  She looked up at him, her eyes dark, and her expression unfathomable.

  “That’s how you treat a lady. I knew you had it in you.”

  Lanrik shook his head. “Stay close to the fire. I’ll get some more timber.”

  He quickly retrieved a few dry branches and added them to the flames. Smoke rose in a column, but it did not matter. Arliss needed the heat, and the Azan already knew where they were.

  Arliss rubbed her hands together, but he saw that she shivered less and that color had returned to her skin.

  “You were lucky to get out of the river when you did.”

  “Lucky? Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m a good swimmer.” She paused. “And I don’t give up. Not ever. Not if I want something badly enough.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it. In truth, I didn’t think I’d find you.”

  She looked at him seriously. “It’s nice to know that you came looking anyway.” She gave him a sly glance. “I see that Aranloth didn’t come. Just as well – he might have got a bigger shock than you.”

  Lanrik looked away and tried not to grin. “Yes, I think you’d have surprised him. But he stayed behind to build a fire.”

  She turned her palms toward the flames of her own fire. “I’m happy just as things are at this one.”

  “We can’t stay here, Arliss.” Lanrik said. “We have a lead on the Azan, and we’d better keep it that way.”

  He stood up and offered her his hand.

  She seemed reluctant, but rose and gathered her clothes.

  “They’re still damp, and the boots are wet,” she said.

  “The life of a Raithlin is hard,” he answered. “Put the boots on and let’s go.”

  “You want me to walk around in the forest, naked except for a pair of boots and a borrowed cloak?”

  Lanrik grinned at her. “You won’t get far without the boots. The cloak is optional.”

  She punched him playfully, and he turned around. She pulled on the boots, and when she was done he faced her again. She was a strange sight, but the fire and cloak had done their job. She seemed warm.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  She ran a hand over the cloak. “Is it really?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  They moved back into the trees. It was quicker going downhill, and they made good time back to the bottom of the escarpment.

  The shoal near where Lanrik had left the lòhren was close.

  “You’d better get changed here,” Lanrik said.

  He stepped a few paces forward and kept his back to Arliss.

  “Don’t you want your cloak back?”

  “When you’re done changing will be soon enough.”

  Arliss placed it over his shoulder anyway, and she laughed at his refusal to turn around. Nevertheless, she changed quickly into her half-dried clothes while he refastened the cloak about his shoulders with its pin.

  She walked past him when she was done with another laugh.

  “Come along then,” she said, and glanced back at him.

  He caught up and they walked into the clearing together. Aranloth leaned on his staff near to the fire he had built. He looked to be deep in thought as they approached.

  “Why so glum, Aranloth?” Arliss said.

  “Ill fortune has that effect on me,” He answered. “But I wonder why our luck has turned on us.”

  Lanrik knew where this conversation would end up, and he wanted no part of it. He refused to believe that Arliss would betray them, even if she had some means of communicating with the Azan.

  “Arliss made her own fire,” he said. “So we won’t need this one.”

  Aranloth kicked sand into the flames and looked at her steadily.

  “You’re quite resourceful, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been well trained,” she said.

  Lanrik walked over to the boat. “Let’s go. We have a lead now, and I don’t intend to lose it.”

  The other two said no more. They pushed the shuffa back into the water and guided it toward the middle of the current again. It took hold of the boat, and they glided downstream.

  The afternoon wore away with little talk among them. There was no sign of the Azan; it would take them many hours to carry their boats down the portage trail.

  At least the quiet gave Lanrik time to think. He had not known that Arliss was attracted to him. That much was now obvious, if nothing else. It just made Aranloth’s suspicion of her all the more ludicrous. But what was he going to do about her feelings? That he liked her in turn was just as obvious. She was the complete opposite of Erlissa in many ways, and in so many ways more suitable for him. She was brash and eager, courageous to a fault, and willing to try anything. She was also a planner. She left nothing to chance if she could avoid it, but when circumstances altered she could adapt. She could be kind too, and he admired that quality above all the others.

  Erlissa, on the other hand, could not be more different, except for her kindness. And yet there was no doubt of the love that he felt for her. They had each risked their lives for the other, and the bond between them was unbreakable, even if it had been strained the last few months.

  He thought of Erlissa as he had last seen her, laid to rest almost like it was a funeral. The thought of never seeing her smile again, or hearing how she spoke his name, was unthinkable. He knew he would listen for her voice all the days of his life.

  The dying rays of the sun struck yellow-pink lights off the glistening surface of the Carist Nien, but they did not stop their journey. Their quest pulled them forward, and their enemies drove them on. Night fell. It deepened around them until all they could see was the glint of starlight above. River noises grew loud. Water slapped against the light timber of the boat and gurgled over stones along the riverbank.

  Lanrik stretched his legs often and moved around as much as he dared. He did not want to rock the boat, but he was getting sore all over.

  “There’s a good place coming up where we can rest,” Aranloth said.

  “We need it,” Lanrik agreed. “But maybe we should just keep on going anyway. We can take turns to guide the boat.”

  “I expect the Azan will stop for the night,” Aranloth said. “They’re not good with boats, as there isn’t much water in their homeland.”

  “We can’t be sure of that,” Lanrik said. “If we stop, they may catch up to us, even get ahead in the dark without either of us knowing that they’ve done so.”

  “That’s true,” Aranloth said. “What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s keep going.”

  Aranloth nodded. “I’ll take the first watch, then. See if you can get some sleep.”

  There was little free space in the shuffa, but Lanrik and Arliss managed to lie down. They could not get comfortable though, even using their Raithlin cloaks as pillows. But they managed to find positions where they could at least try to sleep.

  They did not speak. Nevertheless, Lanrik felt at ease with the silence. He was glad that he had made the choice to bring her. She had good skills as a Raithlin, and she was always humorous company. Both were important attributes under stressful situations. Aranloth’s suspicion of her was unfounded, and yet it did disturb him that the lòhren was suspicious. Lanrik believed his earlier assessment that Aranloth was a good judge of character, but he was wrong to doubt Arliss. She was many things, but a traitor was not one of them.

&
nbsp; He remembered the first time he had met her in Red Cardoroth. He and Aranloth sat at a small table in an inn. It was a rough place: the drink watered down, the food poor and the patrons rowdy. But they were not interested in any of that. They had learned earlier that day of a knife fighter, of a girl who had no equal with a short blade, who frequented the Crimson Hand tavern. And they had come to find her.

  They were told also that she had no living family, and that she was young and courageous. Lanrik thought she might be suitable as a Raithlin. They watched her for a long time, seeing how she drank with friends and strangers alike, and spared a good-natured word for all. He saw that she was fast witted and easy going. She had rebuffed many of the men who approached her with a self-effacing joke or a deft change of topic. She did it with practiced ease, and Lanrik admired that she managed it without causing offence. Many of the men who had sought her favor at least thought that they had found good companionship, rather than disdain.

  Yet one man was not turned aside by kind words. Drunk and insistent, he had clinched her arm and tried to pull her away. She grabbed his hand and twisted the wrist back, using her body weight. The man screamed and reeled away. That she could have broken bones, Lanrik knew. Instead, she let him go, but when he spun to face her again a knife glinted in her hand. She held it with the firm but relaxed grip of an experienced fighter. The blade hovered between them. After a moment, the man spat on the floor and staggered out of the Crimson Hand’s door and into the wintery night.

  Lanrik rose and spoke to her, impressed enough to offer her a job immediately. She had accepted with her usual speed of decision. He had known at the time that he could train her, but she had turned out even better than his expectations.

  It occurred to him that it was when they returned to Lòrenta with Arliss that he first noticed the distance between him and Erlissa. Had she seen something of the future? Did she guess that Arliss had an interest in him? Was she jealous? He tried to put these thoughts away, for they would only prevent him from sleeping. He would think about them another day, though he doubted that he would ever figure things out.