Lore Of The Letharn (Book 2)

by Robert Ryan

  She closed her eyes and cast her seeker senses through the valley, reaching out with tendrils of lòhrengai until she knew exactly where the witch was.

  She opened her eyes and studied a point of the slope several hundred paces away and half that high again. There, nearly hidden from view, was a deep cleft between two ragged ridges. It was a place where night had gathered, deeper and darker than the rest of the valley, and it was overhung by an outcrop of solid rock. She turned her steps toward it, but moved even more slowly, one pace at a time.

  The walnut staff grew warm in her hand, and she used it as a prop, for she suddenly succumbed to dizziness. For a moment she sensed the peace of the fountain at Lòrenta, felt the pull of her true body and the formlessness of her shadow-self here in the valley. She felt like she was falling, and only her grip on the staff kept her upright. She opened her eyes, swayed, and then set her jaw tight. She would not yield. Not yet. Her task remained unfinished.

  The slope grew steep, and the rocks larger and sharper edged. It would be a bad place to fall.

  Ahead was the opening that she sought. A cave, or tunnel, led into the side of the valley. Ebona was somewhere down there. But there was something else too, unseen but sensed. The creatures of the otherworld that hunted her had beaten her to it.

  She paused, trembling in fear and frustration, until she realized something. She frowned as she considered it. The creatures were similar to those that sought to kill her, but not the same. She focused her senses on them. They were dogs, two of them, huge beasts of black as were the ones that Ebona had previously had. Even as she sensed them, she knew that they sensed her. One growled deep in its throat, and the other remained silent.

  They were not hunting her but guarding the opening. Nor, did she think, would they abandon their task to pursue her. She sighed and backed away. There would be no entrance for her that way. But she was not put off. Casting her senses deep into the ground she found the network of caves and mineshafts that lay beneath the rock. There were other ways.

  She backed away some more, veered a good way to the side, and then climbed higher up the slope until the guarded cleft was below her.

  A series of fissures broke the slope. Some were little more than cracks while others, large and gaping, were death traps for the unwary. She chose her path carefully and weaved among them, one more drifting shadow in the valley.

  At length, by the use of her seeker senses, she located one that suited her purposes. It was just wide enough for her to fit through, but it ran away up the slope until it was out of sight. She stood above it, alone and unaided, looking down into its blackness while she summoned the strength of will that she needed to enter.

  The black chasm, like a malevolent eye, stared back at her. Thus she stood for a long time, until she mastered herself. Waiting would not serve her. Nor would fleeing. The only thing left was to go forward.

  She eased herself down the crack and entered the earth. She wondered if it would be her grave and if she was destined to be entombed in two places.

  It was dark. The surface of the chasm was rough stone, but it was not a straight drop. It ran at a steep angle into the bedrock of the valley and she slid down it, scraping some of the skin off her arms and legs, until the tunnel flattened out and ran at a smooth but still slightly downward slope.

  It was warmer beneath the earth, but darker than midnight, and she sent a gentle flow of lòhrengai through the staff. Its tip began to glow and she walked forward.

  The tunnel opened into a wider cave. It was empty of all life and perfectly still. Nothing moved except for her, and yet from somewhere came the unearthly voices of the lost. What had happened in Esgallien since she had left? What control did Ebona have over the realm, and what blood was flowing to sustain her growing power?

  The voices assailed her anew. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she trembled. She could not distinguish actual words, but she thought that she heard pleas for help over and above the wails of anguish. She moved on, unsure if that were true or just her imagination

  The tunnel ahead of her widened further, and she paused. Reluctantly, she let the light of her staff fade away. But the passageway remained lit. A dim light, flickering and red, came from the far end.

  She moved ahead again slowly. Once more she felt dizzy and swayed precariously until she braced herself against the rough wall to her left. A long time she stood there, pulled back toward Lòrenta, but at the same time drawn onward. Ebona was close. She sensed it. And her fate, whatever it was to be, was that way too.

  The dizziness passed, and she moved on. The red light flickered, and there was a sense of warmth. She came to a ragged opening at the end of the passageway. The tunnel opened up after that into a cavern of some sort. Shadows writhed in the wavering light. She stared hard, but she could not see with any certainty who, or what, was in there. This much she knew: Ebona was close. And the source of her power, too.

  For a while Erlissa trembled in the dark. She was scared to enter, for she still did not know how, or even if, the staff would help her destroy Ebona’s cauldron. Yet she must go forward and find out.

  She would catch Ebona by surprise. That was an advantage, and she clung to that for hope. She must find a way to use it. She also knew that she was running out of time. The beasts that hunted her were in the valley, maybe even already in the tunnel with her.

  Erlissa held the staff up and stepped forward with seeming confidence into the cavern.

  The chamber was now visible by the red glow that seethed and roiled from its center. A cauldron, knee high and made of gold, sat there. It was a squat thing, shiny in places, but its rim was blackened, and dark stains groped there way down from its lip. The bottom, set on three short legs, was grimed by charcoal and the smoke of many fires. Embers lay beneath it, half black and half red. Curls of smoke caressed the curved sides and drifted upward.

  There was evil in the chamber, a sense of great wrong, but the voices of the dead were unexpectedly stilled.

  Ahead of Erlissa stood an elùgroth. Elù-Randùr. She shuddered when she saw him and remembered what it was like to be his captive. The last time they had met, he had taunted her by calling her a sister. Hatred for him rose like hot fire through her brain, but he seemed unaware of her, his head bowed, his blue-veined hands resting loosely against his wych-wood staff.

  Erlissa studied the rest of the chamber. She saw no sign of Ebona but still felt her presence. The smoke cleared a little when a sudden breeze disturbed the thick air. It was then that she saw her enemy.

  The witch stood on the far side of the cauldron. She was tall, pale haired, more regal than any queen and cloaked with power. Cold eyes, hard as diamonds, looked straight across the chamber.

  “Hello, my sweetling. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  17. The Wailing Dark

  The days were a blur to Lanrik.

  One after another he and the others rode. And the riding was hard. They were delayed too, for they had to find good pasture for the horses and allow time for their rest and grazing. More than once Lanrik wished he had taken saddles from the Royal Guard, and some of their grain, too.

  It would be futile to complain though. It was a difficult situation, but the only way through it was by endurance. Luck, as always, was two-edged as well. On the positive side of things, the guards had not yet caught up with them.

  Lanrik did not doubt the persistence of the guards though. King Murhain would have charged them with retrieving the sword, killing him and anyone else who was with him. It was a task that they would have little choice but to fulfill.

  Esgallien’s king was not an easy person to work for, and things could only have gotten worse since Lanrik had last been in the city. If the guards returned unsuccessful, they risked punishment. And maybe a hard one at that. For that reason he knew they would be out there somewhere, following. The trail left by the horses was obvious enough, even if it would take soldiers longer than a Raithlin to find it. All it took in the
end was a farmer’s son used to finding and rounding up cattle, or someone with a little experience of hunting.

  The weather grew warmer as the days passed. Summer was well under way. The long grass bent at the touch of hot breezes, and the river, a silver band on their left, provided fresh water and cool camps along tree-lined banks.

  As they travelled, the river widened and slowed. Lanrik marveled at the amount of water that ran down its course, eventually to reach the Angle, and beyond that to make its way down to the sea.

  He thought of the massive falls at the Angle. They were a spectacular sight. That much he knew, but to think that there were tombs buried deep under river and rock was a strange and disturbing thought. He shivered even in the warm summer sun.

  They rode in silence this morning. He was in the lead, looking for tracks or signs of people, but saw nothing. Nor had he seen anything for days and did not expect to until the guards caught up with them. He just hoped they reached the Angle before then.

  As they travelled he showed Caldring what it was to be a Raithlin. The excitement of raiding the camp was a one off. It was something they trained for, but most of what they did was less dramatic. Their job, above all else, was to watch and learn without being seen.

  Lanrik explained from time to time why he chose one route over another, why he kept to low ground and how he avoided being silhouetted. He taught the youth how to track, and what signs indicated the presence of people. He showed him how to read the land like pages in a book, to listen for the alarm calls of birds, to watch for startled animals that could reveal the presence of someone in hiding or moving through cover. Most of all, he taught him how to avoid an ambush. With everything he said, he imparted a love of the land, for only with that would a Raithlin be attuned to all the signs that they must observe and understand.

  Caldring learned quickly and absorbed the many lessons with growing confidence. Lanrik was pleased, but they both knew this was only a beginning. The skills were easy to learn at the start. Progress was swift, but after that, knowledge and skill would be hard won. It was the same with any craft. Yet here there was an urgency, for they were at risk. At any time the guards could find them, or other enemies, and there was the yet unknown dangers of the tombs.

  Lanrik would have taught him to fight as well. Sword and knife skills were vital, as well as the last resort of bare-hand fighting, but there was not enough time.

  Aranloth remained quiet and watchful during this time. His mind was on other things, whether trying to determine how their enemies so often located them or ensuring the seeking mind of Ebona did not find them, Lanrik was unsure.

  Arliss was also quiet. She had withdrawn into herself. She spoke seldom, smiled little and looked as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. In a way, it was, for danger was behind as well as ahead of them. And yet it was not her way, and that was what worried him. The lightheartedness had gone from her, and her sense of humor.

  One afternoon Aranloth approached him as they rode.

  “We’re nearing the Angle,” he said.

  “How close?” Lanrik asked.

  “We’ll not reach it tonight, but probably tomorrow.”

  Lanrik decided to ask a question about a problem that he had been trying to solve for a while.

  “Last time we were there, we came through from the Angle itself. But now, on the southern side of the river, how are we going to reach the tombs?”

  Aranloth smiled. “I told you once that I know this land well. I’ve trod all its paths countless times, even those beset by danger and deep darkness. I discovered its secrets long ago – the lesser, the greater, the concealed and those hidden in plain sight. There is a way. It’s in the open, but like all else in this land, the easier something is to find, the greater the peril. Long ago the Letharn built a tunnel at great cost and labor. It runs beneath the river. Where it ends, the tombs begin.”

  This did not quite make sense to Lanrik.

  “I understand the idea of hiding things in plain sight, but everybody must have known where the tombs were. Didn’t the Letharn worry that people would find a way in and steal the treasures?”

  The lòhren shook his head. “They weren’t worried. Many went in seeking the wealth that lies there. None returned. The people soon learned that the tombs were guarded.”

  “Guarded by what?” Arliss asked.

  “By something powerful. I’ll say no more until we reach them.”

  The lòhren was true to his word and made no further mention of it as they travelled, nor did he add to his comments when they camped that night.

  The next morning Lanrik could tell for himself that they were close to the Angle. They were walking the horses to rest them for a while, and in the relative quiet he suddenly heard the great falls. They were little more than a distant thrum, but the noise was unmistakable.

  He looked at Caldring but saw that the youth was troubled.

  “What is it?” Lanrik asked.

  “I’m not sure. I could be imagining things because of all that you’ve been teaching me, but I thought I saw movement behind us.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  Caldring did not answer straight away. When he did, his response was hesitant.

  “It might have been a horseman. Whatever it was, it was far away, and just as I looked it went under cover. Maybe it was a deer.”

  Lanrik studied him and could tell that he was not convinced by his own explanation.

  “Was that all that you saw?”

  “I saw a bird as well. It took flight from the same thicket just moments later.”

  Lanrik looked, as casually as he could manage, over their backtrail. There were several woods behind them, but he saw nothing out of place. He turned to Arliss.

  “Did you see anything?”

  She shrugged. “If I had, don’t you think I’d have said something?”

  Lanrik ignored her tone. She had a right to be upset at the question, but something still nagged at him. Caldring might be inexperienced, but he was not foolish. He had seen something, and while it could have been a deer, Lanrik did not think so.

  They continued to ride their horses at a slow walk and Lanrik thought about the situation. He glanced back at Aranloth.

  “I think it’s wise to assume the guards have caught up with us at last.”

  “What do you think we should do about it?”

  “We can keep on going like this, but they’ll soon realize that we’ve caught onto them. When that happens, they’ll give chase.”

  “What do you suggest, then?”

  “Let’s take the timing of any chase out of their hands. We’re close to the Angle as we are, and we have a lead. We can make use of that and race the last mile or two. If we catch them by surprise, we’ll reach our destination with some time to spare.” Lanrik paused. “But I want to know this first. Is the entrance to the tombs defendable? And is it hidden in such a way that we may be able to disappear from the guards?”

  Aranloth thought about it. “The entrance isn’t hidden, but it’s defendable. If we reach there first, it would be better to just go straight inside, though. The guards might pursue us, but not for long.”

  Lanrik made up his mind. It was time to race, and if they were pursued, so be it. It troubled him though that the entrance was not hidden. If there really were so many treasures inside, why had the Letharn not concealed it?

  “What about the horses when we get there?” Lanrik asked.

  “We’ll have to leave them behind. The tombs are no place for them. And we won’t be coming back this way either. We’ll leave by another way.”

  Lanrik did not like the idea of leaving the horses behind. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to get them.

  “Is everyone ready?” he asked

  The others nodded.

  “Then let’s ride!” he yelled. He kicked his mount into a run, and the others followed.

  The deep thrum of the falls was overtaken by the thundering of ho
oves over turf, but not for long. They swiftly approached the falls, and Lanrik could see clouds of water spray in the distance.

  He looked back. As he feared, the guards were there. They peeled away from the thicket, one by one, and gave chase.

  “They’re after us!” he cried. But it was less a warning than an acknowledgement to Caldring of his observation.

  The grass beneath them and the tree-lined river on their left blurred. The wind blew from the north and swept water spray toward them.

  Within a mile the roar of the falls was loud and the land began to change. Ahead of them was a stone building, ancient and deserted, yet obviously something of grandeur.

  They approached it. The structure was made of great granite blocks, each as long and as high as a man, and Lanrik wondered how the ancients had shifted even one of these, let alone the scores that went into the making of the building.

  The grey sides were scummed by centuries of water spray, moss and lichen, and yet the building still engendered a sense of awe. It had many strange windows, triangular slits in the stone.

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

  Beyond the building was the edge of the escarpment. Lanrik leaped down from his horse and glanced over the precipice. Far below was the Angle, and to either side two bands of silver water. The one on the left a continuation of the Carist Nien, and the one on the right the newly formed Erenian River. He remembered being between the two once before, and then, even as now, guards pursued him.

  Regretfully, he took off the bridle and smacked his horse on the rump. It ran, but not far. The others did the same with their horses.

  The guards were gaining on them in the distance. They did not let up their ride, but Aranloth gave them a dismissive glance.

  The travelers followed the lòhren into the building through one of the triangular entrances. The noise of the fountain grew subdued. It was a quiet place inside: dark, and yet some areas were well lit by light that streamed in from the many openings. The inside was bare of all ornament except for strange carvings on the walls and a four-sided stone monument on the far side.