Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series

by Robert Ryan

  The elug stepped forward, one foot resting on the cairn, and reached with its left hand toward the blade. Pausing, its eyes roved the summit. From where Lanrik watched, he could see fear in its expression, but perceiving no threat it regained a measure of confidence. It tensed, ready to pull out the blade.

  This was the moment Lanrik was waiting for, and he acted instantly. In one practiced motion he drew the bow and loosed the arrow. The shaft flew straight and pierced the elug’s neck. He stiffened and stood transfixed for a moment, then toppled away from the cairn.

  Cries of dismay came from the remaining elugs. Lanrik stood and knocked a second arrow to the string. He pulled and released and another elug reeled and fell. Three remained, and now they knew where their attacker was. They rushed toward him, scimitars flashing wildly as they bridged the gap. Once more Lanrik fired, and another elug screamed and collapsed. The remainder came on.

  They were too close now for the bow, and Lanrik dropped it and drew his rapier. Darting to the left in order to ensure he faced only one opponent at a time he deflected a wild swing and stabbed forward. His blade ran deep and his enemy convulsed. He had only moments to withdraw the blade before the remaining elug would be upon him. Just as he found the right angle of release he heard a wild howl and looked up to see the sixth elug, until now unaccounted for, leaping from the top of boulder under which he had himself hidden. A wicked knife, bent as were their swords, slashed at his throat.

  Lanrik released his sword and rolled. The knife-blade gashed his shoulder, and he felt warm blood seep over his back, but he paid no heed to it.

  Coming to his feet once more in a smooth movement, he stood motionless. Both hands rested easily by his side, and he looked at his attackers coolly. The elugs paused, unsure what to do. They were wary because he had already killed four of their companions, and though now outnumbered and weaponless, he was showing no fear.

  They stood before him, and in the hand of one a scimitar cut slow arcs in the air, and the other held high its bent blade, which still ran with blood.

  Lanrik reached to the sky with his empty left hand and formed a claw as though calling down powers from above.

  “Attend!” he said, his voice resonant with authority. “You have transgressed against a drùgluck and defiled a hallowed place. Death shall march in the shadow of your army. Each soldier will hear doom with their every footfall. The very land will turn against you!”

  The elugs paused. All was still. The hum of insects droned through the air. Lanrik’s hand dropped, and as they watched it fall, his other hand drew a small knife from a belt sheath. In the same action he flicked it forward, and it struck the throat of the elug who had gashed his shoulder. The creature fell. Thrashing and gasping it reached desperately for the blade and pulled it out. This caused spurts of blood to surge from its neck. In vain the elug clamped both hands to the wound to halt the flow, but nothing could stop that deadly stream, and in moments it tumbled to the ground.

  The two remaining combatants looked at one another in silence. All the elug’s companions had been killed, and though it still carried a sword Lanrik read fear in its eyes. A slow smile spread across his face, and he took a step forward.

  That was too much for the elug. It sprang away and fled across the summit and down the southern path of the tor. Lanrik could have retrieved his bow and winged an arrow after it but chose to watch instead.

  He wanted one elug to survive and take word back to the army. In this way the breaking of the drùgluck taboo, and the consequences, would spread and the elug’s superstition be aroused. It would infect them, spread through their ranks and fester. And he would work to deepen their fear. Soon the steps of the army would slow, and though driven on by their commanders, vital time would be won for Esgallien.

  “Fly!” he called after the elug. “Fly, but listen for the footfalls of doom that chase you!”

  The elug crashed down the slope, and Lanrik worked quickly to bandage his shoulder and stop the flow of blood. The wound, though painful, was superficial. He hoped it would not interfere with his plans.

  He climbed the boulder once more and studied the plains. The army was coming closer, and the lone figure of the elug raced toward it. He chuckled. The elug ran as though the fear of death was upon it. His plan had started well, but there was much more to do. He must continue in a like vein until the army marched in dread. Let their masters drive them on! They would go forward, but reluctantly, and each moment they lost was time gained for his people.

  He dropped off the boulder and lit the fire once more, piling it high with green branches until smoke rose in billowing clouds. That would give the army something to wonder about.

  He was grateful to his uncle, for it was he who had taught him the skills put to use just now. How he wished he could tell him, but his uncle was lost.

  Sadness nearly overwhelmed him, and he glanced at Lathmai's cairn. Does your fate await all Esgallien?

  His determination reasserted itself, and his thoughts turned back to the approaching army. There was more that he must yet dare in order to protect his home.

  3. Footfalls of Doom

  Lanrik gathered his weapons and started on his plan. What he did now would give him the opportunity to slow the army. But only if he seeded into the enemy’s consciousness the illusion of a supernatural agency at work that punished them for breaking the drùgluck taboo.

  He dragged the slain elugs to the base of Lathmai’s cairn and positioned them on their knees with their heads bowed to the ground. It made them look as though they offered repentance. He felt these actions were macabre, even if they were necessary. He quickly removed a back scabbard and scimitar from one of the elugs. Adjusting the strap, he fitted the weapon on himself. It felt cumbersome but would serve a vital purpose later.

  He took the remaining blades and scabbards and heaped them in the fire. Carefully, he kicked live coals over them and the hardened leather smoldered and discolored. The hilts of the scimitars were partly visible, and the next wave of enemy scouts would quickly discover that one was missing if they dug them out. It would give them a clue to his intentions, but he doubted they would be so thorough.

  He stepped back and surveyed what he had done. It was a disquieting tableau and would insinuate itself into the enemy’s superstitious mind. A final touch occurred to him and he retrieved some charcoal, which he rubbed over each elug’s left palm. He placed their blackened hands upwards and retained a handful of charcoal to finish off his idea when he descended the tor. His plan was taking shape.

  He looked sadly at the cairn and wished Lathmai a silent farewell. Much had happened on the tor, but there had been too little time for the important things. I wish I could talk to you one more time. I wish I could tell you how I felt.

  Even as that chance had been lost with his uncle, so it was again. In future, he would try to say these things while he still could.

  He turned away and walked down the southern path of the tor toward the approaching enemy. The route twisted around trees and jagged rocks that protruded from the earth like long buried bones exposed by wind and rain. At the bottom of the path was a massive boulder. It was just what he was looking for.

  He ground the charcoal on his left hand and mixed it with a little water to form a paste. Reaching up as high as he could, he spread his fingers and marked the face of the boulder with the drùgluck sign. The imprint of his fingers and thumb were clearly visible, and that it was a left hand was obvious. He repeated the process several times until there was a band of five drùglucks. When the enemy saw them, they would wonder what they signified. But when they found the five slain scouts atop the tor, and their marked left hands, it would unsettle them. Why would the scouts have left a warning before discovering what was on the crest? But having reached the crest and being killed, how could they have marked the boulder?

  It was now past noon and the day was on the wane. The elug army was only miles away, and other scouts would be in advance of it. He must remain
unobserved. Nightfall would allow him to move with less risk, but he could not wait until then. The army would pass close to the tor on its direct march to Esgallien and would establish camp for the night several miles to the north and closer to his home. Soon this whole area would be thick with the enemy.

  It was not enough to leave the tor and stay ahead of the advancing army. When the elug he had allowed to escape returned to his leaders, they would send further scouts and perhaps regular troops to find him. It was vital that they failed. Otherwise, the illusion of otherworldly power would be destroyed. He reasoned they would be expecting him ahead of them. After all, they were approaching enemy territory and they would think that anybody trying to hinder them, natural or supernatural, would stand between them and their goal. He must therefore circle behind.

  His next task would be to infiltrate the army. This could only be done at night, for even disguised he would certainly be recognized during the day. The scimitar on his back would give him the expected outline in the dark but would be insufficient to fool anyone in daylight.

  Once he had penetrated their camp, he would be in a position to cause damage, sow confusion and inflame their superstition. He had to make them fear that the words he had yelled after the fleeing elug were true: that the footfalls of doom followed them.

  He moved northeast across the green expanse of Galenthern. It grew lush once more and was again speckled with vetch and red clover. His passage was clear for anyone with the skill to read it from the bruised grass, though. A good tracker would also know how long ago he had passed by the amount the bent blades had sprung back.

  He would have stayed where he was and allowed the enemy to sweep by him if there was a suitable place to hide. Staying still was usually safer than moving, but there was nowhere he trusted enough on the plains.

  A good way ahead was a large stand of trees, and he decided to skirt its northern side to provide cover between him and the enemy. He walked at a steady pace until he saw tracks and came to an abrupt halt.

  The grass was greatly disturbed, and he smiled to himself. It was a stroke of luck, for the tracks were from a herd of aurochs. The beasts spent most of their time in the scrub-choked swamps, which were common on the plains, but they sometimes moved onto the open grasslands to graze at night or move between wetlands. Whatever the aurochs had been doing did not matter: what was important was that he could follow their tracks and use the trampled earth to hide his own.

  He increased his pace and glanced at the sun. It had begun its downward arc, but hours of daylight remained. He consciously noticed something then that he had been hearing for some time without realizing – drums.

  The elugs always marched to the beat of drums: they were a part of their life and integral to their ceremonies. They also used them to communicate in the mountainous lands of the Graèglin Dennath. These were all things to be mindful of. If he infiltrated the army, he would look to make use of them to inflame its superstition.

  Lanrik put this thought aside, for he saw movement among the trees in the timbered area he was nearing. He could not quite make out what it was then realized it was a flock of birds, probably wood pigeons. They were a common sight in the forested patches on Galenthern, but these were not flying in the high and lazy circles that he often observed or in the direct line they used when heading to feeding grounds. They had been scared and taken off in an abrupt and scattered way.

  It could mean anything, but Lanrik thought it signified something very specific: elugs had arrived. They were passing through the woods, and he would now have to be even more careful.

  He moved off the aurochs’ trail and into taller grass nearby, leaving minimal sign of his passing. Squatting down he watched the woods, only his head visible above the top of the grass. To break up his outline he pulled up his hood and wove the stems of some grass clumps through purpose made holes in the material. It was an old but effective practice, and so long as he did not move, or the enemy come too close, he would remain undiscovered.

  He waited, and soon a troop of a dozen elugs moved out of the timber and paused. There appeared to be some discussion about where to go, but they soon made a decision and commenced walking. Lanrik grimaced as they came down the trail the aurochs had left and toward him.

  He sank deeper into the grass and lay perfectly still. It was bad luck that they were coming this way, but at least they did not appear to be scouts: there were too many of them, and they made no attempt to hide their presence. The army had sent out patrols of ordinary elugs, and this particular group would have swept the timber to ensure there were no concealed enemies.

  Lanrik slowed his breathing and peered between the grass stems. He heard their approach before he saw them clearly. They were talking, their boots scuffing the ground and their equipment rattling and creaking. Definitely not scouts, he thought.

  They came into view and filed past his hiding spot. Their scimitars were scabbarded on their back as was usual, and their iron-shod boots crushed the grass. That would further obscure his own tracks. He counted a dozen as they passed nearby, and just when he thought the last one had gone he saw another.

  The final elug, shorter and thinner than his companions, moved along silently and then stopped and peered at the ground. After a few moments the elug’s gaze lifted off the earth and scanned the taller grass. Lanrik went cold. The elug seemed undecided for some moments then called to his companions in their guttural language. Their speech was harsh to an Esgallien’s ears, and though the Raithlin learned a smattering of their tongue, he did not understand anything.

  Harsh replies came from several in the group ahead. The elug stubbornly shook his head and responded at length. His companions laughed, and Lanrik could tell from the receding sound that they continued to move away. The elug shook his head angrily and trotted off.

  Lanrik was relieved. His plans had almost come undone; it was luck alone that had saved him, but he knew he would need still more before the day was done. He waited some time before moving again. The elugs had completely disappeared, swallowed by one of the folds in the plains, and he moved on with speed. The safest place for him now was in the woods. If he reached them, he would find better places to hide until nightfall.

  He walked quickly but frequently looked back. That last elug possessed some tracking skills even if the others did not. If he found additional sign, he would be doubly suspicious. What if he doubled back to investigate?

  The afternoon waned. The incessant beat of the drums seemed very close but would carry across the plains for miles in all directions. It was like a dirge; a death procession marching to Esgallien and all he wanted was for the irksome noise to stop and to find a place to hide.

  The aurochs’ trail continued to the east, heading toward lower land and their preferred environment. Lanrik moved off it and crossed the intervening space of perhaps a quarter mile to the woods. There was nothing to obscure his tracks, but night was coming, and that would make it hard for anybody to follow.

  It was darker beneath the canopy of leaves. The trees were mostly beech with a scattering of ash, and green foliage roofed the columned trunks. Swathes of bluebells flowered within the shade.

  This was a world vastly different from the plains. Galenthern was a lonely place where the wind blew unhindered all the way from the faraway sea. It was a wild land; a land where solitude could weigh on a person as though the immensity of the sky was a crushing weight. So strong was the feeling that some who came to the plains could not endure it and hurried back to the bubbling humanity of Esgallien. But to Lanrik it was a place of freedom.

  Yet he liked the woods too. They were places of mystery with unknown vistas around bends in their aisled tracks or where hidden glades opened deep in their heart. They held sights that perhaps his eyes were the first to see, and the earth upon which his wondering feet stepped was the undisturbed leaf mold of centuries.

  He had no time to explore today and quickly worked his way to the western eaves. He crept forward, and t
he light of late afternoon broke through the ragged edge of the timber. Carefully, he snaked on his belly through a thick growth of bluebells that diminished as the canopy thinned and allowed too much light for their liking. He lifted his head a little to see over their deep blue tops.

  He saw the army and his heart quickened. The blood in his veins felt like churning ice. A watershed moment in the history of Esgallien had come: the future held either the continuation or destruction of a society that had flourished for a thousand years. Yet it was oblivious. He was the sole witness to the enemy’s approach, and a burden of responsibility settled over him.

  He squinted against the setting sun and scanned the leading ranks. At least there was no sign of an elùgroth. In Esgallien there would be a lòhren to oppose a sorcerer, but he had no defense and it was a relief.

  Striding with a mile-eating gait at the front of the host were lethrins. They stood over seven feet, and though he had never seen them before, he had heard many stories. They were immensely strong and filled with an implacable hatred of their enemies. Esgallien folklore claimed they were born from the stone of the Graèglin Dennath. He did not believe that, but looking at their skin, even from such a distance, he could see that it was tough like hardened leather and would resist the bite of a blade. 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. 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 that glinted dully in the sun’s westering rays.

  Behind them rode the leadership. This was a small group, and their black horses paced with a graceful stride. The captains of the host, as was common with elug armies, were men from the tribes of the Azan people. They were white robed and stern, and it was these riders who would drive the army on with fear but also lure it forward with the promise of plunder and loot. They were bearded old men; silvery whiskers spilled over their chests, and tulwars in ornate sheaths hung from their sides. Their heads were wrapped in white cloth, protection against the desert heat of their homes near the Graèglin Dennath.