Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series

by Robert Ryan

  The sun slipped below a cloud-streaked horizon, and its dying rays gleamed like pooled blood on the masses of elugs that seethed behind the captains of the host. Rank after rank they moved across the plains in a heaving multitude, intent on the destruction of Esgallien.

  The foremost of the white robed captains would be the shazrahad, the commander of the army, and his headcloth was scarlet to signify his status. He gestured to a man riding nearby who lifted a twisted horn of some strange desert animal and blew a great blast out of its hollowed mouth. A mighty yell rose from numberless elug throats, parched from the day’s march. It thundered like the crash of the ocean blasting into a cliff, and the army came to a halt while the tumult rolled across the empty plains. The sun died; daylight turned to twilight and hope died in Lanrik’s heart.

  Did he dare to enter the army's ranks and try to slow them? Surely the army was unstoppable, and if he continued with his plans he would die for no benefit. But if he broke his promise to Lathmai, could he live with himself?

  He was preoccupied, and awareness of a noise behind him only came slowly. He recognized it distinctly now, the soft but clear sound of something moving in the bluebells.

  Panic rushed through him and he jerked his body to the right. There was a heavy thud and dirt and plant debris sprayed upward. Rolling to his feet he looked about him with wild eyes.

  A lethrin, with silvered chain mail shining in the near dark, heaved its massive iron mace from the pitted ground. Lanrik saw that behind the monstrous figure a short and thin elug circled into view. No doubt it was the same who had been suspicious earlier in the afternoon. Its companions had not been interested in investigating, but it had found other help.

  The lethrin swung again, and the mace sliced through the air with astonishing speed and power. Leaping back he managed to avoid the stroke and wondered if his blade would have any effect on the toughened hide. He decided if he was to have any chance of survival he must kill the lethrin swiftly or the elug would maneuver behind him and finish him off.

  He edged to the left as the lethrin swung the mace once more, then darting in he stabbed at the creature’s neck. For a moment he thought his blade would strike home but the lethrin, for all its mass, was more agile than he expected. It jumped back and the elug came close behind him but then retreated as Lanrik turned his blade toward it. The lethrin seized the opportunity of momentary distraction and smashed the mace toward his legs. He stumbled away and struggled to regain his composure. Clear like water; cold like ice.

  Breathing steadily and studying his opponents as they edged closer he began to feel that this was an unwinnable fight. He retreated a little more, coming close to the fringe of the tree cover and knowing that if the fight spilled onto the plains it would alert the army.

  He realized that he had made a tactical error. He would not be able to kill the lethrin swiftly, if he could do so at all. He must therefore take care of the elug first. As soon as the thought passed across his mind, he recognized its truth and acted.

  He moved forward and attacked the lethrin, his sword flashing with speed and striking the creature’s arm at least once, but to no effect. As anticipated, the elug closed in behind him and Lanrik swiftly turned and slashed with the blade. Though the elug attempted to back away, he was not quick enough. Lanrik’s sword cut lethally into the unprotected flesh of his neck. The elug slumped to its knees and Lanrik darted to the side and tried to turn around to face the lethrin again.

  He was not quick enough. Searing pain erupted across his upper back. Groaning, he somehow managed to right himself in time to avoid a follow up stroke.

  He gasped as pain shot through his body. It was a bad hit even if it had only been a glancing blow. A cold sweat sprang to his forehead, and he felt nauseous. He could no longer move freely and sensed the lethrin was moving in to deliver a death-stroke. The creature did not speak or show any emotion. The iron mace circled through the air in easy sweeps; no one could survive a full-blooded blow from it, yet Lanrik knew he could no longer trust his body to avoid one. He must turn the strength of the lethrin and the weight of the mace to his advantage.

  The creature circled a little more, and then its massive legs propelled it forward and the iron-like muscles of its arms drove the mace toward him with unstoppable force. Lanrik evaded the blow by stepping to the left but stumbled to one knee. The lethrin sensed its moment had come and heaved the mace high in preparation for a mighty stroke.

  Lanrik regained his poise quickly, the stumble being a ploy, and lunged upwards with all the strength of his legs. The point of his sword sank deep into the lethrin’s armpit. The blow did not have the power that he wished, for his arm was growing numb and his back seemed weak due to his injury. Nevertheless, it struck with considerable force and the creature’s weight was coming forward. Dark blood welled and the lethrin recoiled and smashed a massive arm down over the blade that tore it from Lanrik’s hand and injured his wrist.

  He scrambled to draw a knife. As he did so the lethrin lunged for him once more and he circled sideways out of range. Several times the lethrin attacked but quickly began to show signs of weakness. Its movements became sluggish, and he was able to retrieve his sword.

  The creature let out a deep throated below, and Lanrik responded by flinging his dagger which caught it across an arm. It barely scratched the skin but distracted it and Lanrik, now only able to hold the rapier in his left hand, struck it across the neck. The lethrin flinched from the blow but then dropped the mace and rushed forward catching him up in its arms. He felt crushing force against his ribs and grunted as the air rushed from his lungs. He kicked and struggled but to no effect. Yet the lethrin was weakening rapidly and stumbled to one knee. Suddenly the deadly grip lessened and Lanrik broke free and rolled away. Gasping, he watched as the lethrin toppled to the ground and died.

  He gritted his teeth while an urge to retch slowly subsided. He would live, at least for the moment, but he would not be able to fight for a while.

  He crawled on hands and knees through the churned up bluebells to see if the lethrin’s below had alerted the army. If so, they would swiftly catch him; and capture was worse than death.

  4. Death in Every Glance

  The sun had set, and twilight groped across the plains, yet Lanrik could still see the army and the ring of sentries that encircled it. He must attempt to pass through them. His earlier doubts remained, but his promise to Lathmai drove him. He pictured her broken body and the imploring look on her ruined face; an image that would stay with him forever and push him forward even when his courage failed.

  He also remembered Mecklar’s contempt and itched to show him wrong. The Raithlin had learned their skills from ancient contact with the Halathrin and preserved them all this time; they had value and he would prove it.

  No one headed in the direction of the wood, which indicated the lethrin’s yell had not been heard. It gave Lanrik time to study the host. Officers of Esgallien’s army might question him closely on his return, and he must observe the enemy’s numbers, morale, and organization.

  The host was some ten thousand strong. The leadership fell back to the center of the group for safety during the night, and servants erected tents to shelter them. They tethered the horses and positioned scores of wagons, used for the transport of food and supplies, nearby. The shazrahad established the camp quickly and set it out well. He knew what he was doing, and morale and discipline appeared sound; but the morale of armies was always capricious, especially elug ones.

  The drummers marched at the rear, perhaps sixty elugs who would sleep beside their equipment. An idea occurred to him about how to use them to his advantage, and he decided that he would infiltrate the camp at that point.

  He made some swift calculations. Mecklar was half a day ahead. It was about one hundred and forty miles to Esgallien, and an army marched twenty miles each day. It would reach the ford in seven days, but if he could slow it by half a day news would reach Esgallien a full day ahead. That would
make an enormous difference.

  Marching twenty miles in a day sounded like a lot, but it was even more than it seemed. Soldiers carried not only equipment but also their food. Supplies were in an imperishable form such as grain, cured meat or flour. The elugs would not carry more than seventy pounds, only part of which was food, and therefore had supplies for about ten days.

  The wagons would probably carry additional food as well as equipment and would slightly increase the time the army could spend in the field. Hunting would not supply an army, nor in this case could it obtain supplies from communities along the way: none existed. The enemy must establish a supply line to keep the army in the field for any extended period. Food was essential; soldiers needed at least one meal a day, and unfed soldiers could not fight. A supply line was always a point of vulnerability, but there was no way for him to attack it. Whatever damage one man did would be insignificant, and it was upon the morale of the army that he must concentrate; that was the only way he could slow it down.

  When full night came, it descended quickly, and he could no longer see the enemy. Regretfully, he discarded his bow. It was different in size and design from the type used by elugs, and most of them did not even carry one. It would draw attention and reveal him as a spy.

  He pulled the hood of his Raithlin cloak over his head and walk toward the army. It was going to be a long night, but the sooner he started the greater was his chance of doing what was needed and escaping before dawn.

  He walked quickly but quietly. There was no moon yet, but the stars had sprung into the sky, and their glimmering was bright and clear over Galenthern as it never was above the torch lit streets of Esgallien.

  In the distance, he heard the lowing of aurochs as they called to one another and felt a breeze pick up from the east. It was cool and felt good on his back, but if it continued through the night it would bring rain from the sea by morning.

  He could hear the army as well. Though muted by distance, it became gradually louder as he approached. Sound travelled far over the open spaces of Galenthern, especially at night. He slowed a little and sought lower land on which to approach, not wanting to form a silhouetted against the horizon. Looking back, he noticed low clouds in the east blocking the starlight. The breeze sharpened, and he wrapped his cloak about himself more tightly.

  He continued to slow his pace, and then finally stood still. The sounds of the army travelled clearly: he heard intermittent barks of harsh laughter, the rattle of cooking pans and saw movement around many fires. He was careful not to look directly at the light in order to avoid hindering his night vision.

  Lanrik estimated he was three or four hundred paces from the army and close to the sentries. It was through them that he must try to pass before entering the army, but he would have to wait a little longer. The bulk of the host was still awake, and the sentries would be alert. He must study the darkness and try to locate them and how they operated. Would they remain stationary or rotate around the camp? This was something he must discover, and he settled into a sitting position. If he was close enough, one of the sentries would eventually cough or make another noise and give away their position. If not, he would move a little closer and wait some more.

  His back began to ache where the lethrin had struck him, and his fingertips tingled. It was a bad injury, and he would be in no position to fight for some time. What he hoped to achieve did not rely on fighting though. His plan involved something else altogether, but there was no guarantee that he could accomplish it. He would need luck to remain undetected, and the clouds that rolled in from the east was just the sort he wanted. The night was growing darker, and if it rained, he would look less suspicious with the hood of his cloak pulled up.

  There were tales about lòhrens who could walk unseen in the midst of their enemies. Many stories were told about them and the powers of lòhrengai that they learned in their fortress of Lòrenta. Lanrik did not believe them all. But he did believe in the Raithlin skills and would prove them. He must, for if he failed, the king might disband the organization. The shame of playing a role in that was unthinkable.

  Something to the left attracted his attention. Though he did not know what it was, it triggered his instincts, and he trusted them. Moments later, he heard a noise from the same direction. He did not look at the area directly: at night, it was easier to spot something in peripheral vision than by a direct gaze. Sure enough, he saw movement. It began as a deeper shadow amid the darkness, then grew distinct. An elug walked slowly along the perimeter of the picket line, closer than he had anticipated, and he cursed himself. Such mistakes could prove costly.

  The elug drew level with his position. It spoke, and his first instinct was that the sentry had seen him, but he forced himself to remain motionless, and another form emerged from the darkness. It was the next sentry in the line, and he realized that had he not stopped where he had, he would have walked straight into him.

  The two elugs spoke briefly before parting, and no doubt there was an exchange of passwords. The one he had first seen remained where it was, and the other one moved away. In this way the ring of sentries circled the encampment, and there would be a long while between movements. This was his opportunity to pass through the picket line, and he must do so soon in order to escape before dawn.

  He stood very slowly and watched the vague image of the sentry carefully. He was grateful for the increasing cloud cover. Without it, even the shine of starlight would have silhouetted him. He stepped back slowly, feeling his way with the toes of his soft doeskin boots for anything that might make a noise, before easing his weight backwards and then starting the process again.

  Moments passed, and the indistinct form of the elug receded into darkness. Lanrik edged back just a little more then moved carefully to the left. He did not know how far apart the sentries stood but decided to move only just enough to stay out of view of the one he had located.

  He moved forward again. The wind rose, and he felt raindrops on his hands. He hoped it continued for the noise would help cover the sound of his movements, but the squall died as soon as it started. Warily he walked onwards, continuing to feel the ground with his toes before committing weight to his step.

  He passed through the picket line, and because of luck or skill, no sentry saw him. The scattered fires of the army grew bright, and the encampment came into view. Soldiers sprawled haphazardly all over the ground as far as the eye could see, but few were now awake. Yet he felt utterly vulnerable for it needed only one enemy out of thousands to unmask him.

  His footsteps faltered. He felt a sudden urge to retreat but Lathmai’s face haunted him, and his promise to her ran through his mind. To move stealthily now would only mark him as an intruder, and he forced himself to step forward into the ring of light about the encampment and walk with confidence. He covered the ground quickly but without haste. The drums were a little to his left, and he veered in that direction. There were a dozen, and each was a large construction of sun-bleached animal hide stretched over a wooden frame. Rusted iron rings hung from the sides, and long poles passed through them enabling four bearers to lift and carry the drums. A fifth elug served as the drummer.

  The elugs near the first drum slept. Without hesitation, but as quietly as he could, he withdrew a knob of charcoal from his pocket and marked the taut skin with the drùgluck sign. The black symbol stood out against the pale hide, and he moved on. The drummers would refuse to touch the instruments in the morning and the army would not march until they set the pace. It would take some time for an Azan commander to force them to do so.

  He finally walked toward the last drum, but as he neared it, one of the elugs stirred. Looking up the soldier stared directly at him, and then spoke in their hoarse language.

  Was it a question or a command? Lanrik did not know, but he guessed it to be some sort of query about what he was doing. He muttered an inaudible reply and walked away.

  The camp was still, but he did not know if anybody was watching the exchang
e. The last thing he needed now was a confrontation; it would draw attention to him. But what he dreaded most happened. He heard the elug get to its feet and move toward him. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him around. Lanrik did the only thing he could and hoped it would work. He did not resist the pull on his shoulder but turned compliantly to face the elug, and in the same movement jerked his knee into its groin. He clamped one hand over its jaw, muffling the scream that was beginning, while his other grabbed the side of its head. He applied all his strength in a twisting motion.

  The elug’s yell died before it really began, and a crack of bone signaled the end of its life. It slumped to the ground and Lanrik looked around. Nobody had raised an alarm.

  With trembling hands and a pounding heart, he bent over and placed some charcoal in the elug’s lifeless left hand. Walking back to the drum he marked it then moved away as quickly as he dared. That would give them something to think about in the morning.

  He felt ill. His stomach churned, and a cold sweat filmed his skin, but he braced himself for what he must do next. He intended to thread his way through thousands of elugs until he reached the center of the encampment and the tents of the army’s leadership. The drums were just the first step in his strategy, and each successive action would be more dangerous than the last. It was going to be a long night, and he wondered if his promise to Lathmai was a death sentence. But the thought of what she had endured for her people strengthened him.