King's Last Hope: The Complete Durlindrath Trilogy

by Robert Ryan

“And how can we take advantage of that?”

  He waited patiently. He had deliberately not just explained his plan. It would be better to lead them to it, to understand the situation themselves and to make it their own.

  Aranloth also remained silent. He, Gilhain was sure, knew exactly what the plan was going to be; at least the thrust of it, if not the details. And the fact that he remained quiet signified his agreement. If not, he would already have spoken. What he was doing, just as Gilhain himself must do, was time things well. The lòhren would speak at the right moment, and not before.

  It was Lornach who answered Gilhain’s question, and he was, as always, direct.

  “You would send out a sortie to attack them?”

  Taingern rubbed his chin.

  “It’s something we haven’t had the chance to do before.”

  Gilhain looked from one of them to the other, but he did not answer.

  “No,” Aurellin said, adding her voice to the discussion as she always did, with quiet force. “I think he means a little more than a sortie.”

  The two men looked at their king, realization dawning on their faces, swiftly followed by surprise. Gilhain studied their reaction and liked what he saw; if he could surprise these two men he was a chance of surprising even the best leaders among the enemy host.

  “Yes,” he said. “I mean a bold attack.” He allowed his voice to rise a little, allowed the passion that was in him to bubble up. A king could just give orders, but a good king did more than that: he motivated his men and inspired them.

  One at a time, he looked both men directly in the eye and held their gaze.

  “Now is our chance to do damage. Real damage. If we don’t, they’ll just regroup over a period of time and then start the process of wearing us down again.”

  “It’s a great risk,” Taingern said. “It might work, but it could fall apart as well. If they’re not as disorganized as you think, then they’ll counter attack. And we could lose many men, perhaps even have the gates taken by the enemy, and the end would then follow swiftly.”

  “That’s true,” Aranloth said. “Yet we all know that swift or slow, the end will come anyway. Unless we can do something unexpected. Gilhain has hit upon it there. Now is our chance, our only chance to strike, and I advise that we take it. We may lose our gamble, but we may win also. And if so, it would greatly even the odds. Without something else in our favor the enemy will do just as Gilhain says – wear us down.”

  Taingern, Gilhain knew, was naturally cautious. That’s why he watched him the most closely. If he could win him over, he would have the others. Not that he needed to win anyone over. He could just command. Yet that was a slippery slope, and if people did not believe in what, and how, they were fighting, they did not drive themselves so hard.

  Taingern continued to think his way through it. Gilhain glanced at Lornach. That one look was enough to see that he was all for it. After all, that was his way; he was an adventurer.

  Then the two Durlin glanced at each other. They did not speak. Taingern could read the other man’s face and intentions even better than Gilhain could. For all their differences, they were close. A moment Taingern held his friend’s gaze, and then there was the slightest of nods. Few would even have noticed it, but Gilhain was watching. And it was what he had been waiting for.

  “I’ve decided,” he said. “We’ll do it.”

  No one disagreed with him. They recognized that the decision was made, and they trusted his judgement. Especially when it coincided with their own.

  Aranloth ran a hand through his hair. “A word of advice?” he asked.

  “Always,” Gilhain answered.

  The lòhren pursed his lips and tugged at an earlobe. Evidently, he was still thinking his way through something and refining it.

  12. Strange things are Abroad

  They waited. And they waited quietly. No one showed discomfort or nerves, but they all must have felt those things. Brand did, and he did not think the others more courageous than he.

  The figure drew closer. It was, after all, only one person, but nevertheless he relaxed a little as it neared and he could see that it was not an elùgroth.

  There was a staff in the figure’s hand, that much was clear. But there was no black cloak, no sense of menace. Whoever, or whatever it was, it was not a creature of evil.

  They continued to wait. The figure came on, hastening down the road. It used the staff to help it walk, but it did not really need it. Brand was sure of that.

  Soon, it was close, and Brand knew, with a sense of relief, that this was a friend rather than a foe. It was a lòhren, and there were few people that he would rather have met.

  The lòhren was an old man. Frail even, or at least giving the appearance of it. He seemed older even than Aranloth, but was no doubt younger. Few, apart from the Halathrin, had seen as many seasons pass as the leader of the lòhrens. Yet regardless of seeming age or frailty, Brand never underestimated the strength of a lòhren, nor judged them for what they seemed. Aranloth had taught him that.

  The old man shuffled near to them, and then stopped. For all his haste he did not appear out of breath. He gave Kareste a curious look, and then he bowed gracefully to the Halathrin.

  “Well,” he said in a matter of fact voice, “this is a surprise. Not a normal situation at all, with Halathrin and a lòhren just standing around on the road. What’s going on?”

  Brand considered him. He had said he was surprised, but in truth he did not look in the least bit startled. And though he recognized the Halathrin for what they were, and Kareste as a lòhren, he had said nothing about Brand himself. Perhaps that was mere random chance, nothing more than an expediency of time. But could it have been that he had omitted any comment because he did not know if Brand was a warrior or a lòhren? If so, Brand thought, he was not the only one.

  Kareste took the lead and explained things to him. She did not hold back, for this man was a lòhren and she trusted him. Even so, Brand was a little surprised, for she said much and showed great respect.

  Quickly, Kareste explained about Shurilgar’s staff, how the Halathrin had been trapped by elùgai into the form of otherworldly beasts, and of their fight with Khamdar and the destruction of the staff.

  The old man looked interested throughout, and he listened carefully, giving her his full attention. But he showed no surprise at anything.

  “There is much news there, and some of it is new to me. I come from the south, the far south, and there is trouble brewing down there also. But that isn’t all.”

  He leaned casually on his staff, but his eyes were intent as he continued to speak to them.

  “Evil is abroad in the land. Beware! Not just elùgroths, but things darker and older. And they are vengeful.”

  For the first time since his arrival the old man looked directly at Brand.

  “Now I know why. The staff drew them, woke them, but not all are yet dormant again. Beware! Strange things are abroad, and for some their hatred of you is personal.”

  “What things?” Brand asked.

  “Just strange,” the old man said enigmatically.

  “Come with us to Cardoroth,” Kareste said suddenly.

  The old man thought about that. He seemed troubled, but that came across more in the time he hesitated to answer rather than in any facial expression.

  “You might need my help,” he answered. “Yet I have my own task. News of the south must reach the lòhrens. They’ll need to hold council, perhaps then we can follow you, though you’ll reach Cardoroth first. Some will come no matter what, that I promise. But at the end of the day Cardoroth will not stand or fall because of lòhrens. There are lòhrens and elùgroths enough there already. Its fate will be decided by other things.”

  The answer fell short of what Kareste obviously wanted, but she accepted the lòhren’s decision with uncharacteristic meekness. Brand knew the old man could do nothing other than he had. Lòhrens were few in Alithoras, and the evils of the world many.
They could not be everywhere at once. What could be done for Cardoroth they must do themselves, that and the soldiers of the city.

  “Time is short,” the old man said. “We’d better go our own ways.”

  The gave their farewells and parted, but the old man looked back over his shoulder at them and spoke to Kareste.

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “You passed your test. This I know – it’s in your eyes. But we all pass such a test. Or fail…”

  The old man walked away, but his words echoed in Brand’s mind. They were said to Kareste, and yet the lòhren had glanced at him just as he had spoken. It was only a momentary flicker of his eyes, but Brand was sure of it.

  The whole thing troubled him. How could the lòhren know that he faced a great choice himself, that he did not know how to proceed with his own future, and which task to take up?

  Then he felt stupid. Of course, it could be more, but Aranloth’s diadem and his staff were symbols, and not just a means to aid him. He should have known as much from the beginning. Symbols of exactly what, he was not so sure. But the old man had read the signs and understood them better than he.

  “Who was he?” Brand asked Kareste.

  “I don’t really know.”

  Brand found that hard to believe, given how freely she had told him of what had been happening and what their purpose was. That doubt must have found a way to show on his face.

  “Don’t look at me that way. It’s true. I don’t even know his name, but I’ve seen him before. There are lòhrens … and then there are lòhrens.”

  She gave a shrug, and her face was thoughtful as she watched the old man hasten away into the distance.

  “He may not have lived as long as Aranloth,” she guessed, “but I bet he’s wandered farther. Some of us travel, going from place to place among all the lands, everywhere but the far south where the elugs dwell. And he may even go there. That sort are healers and lovers of nature rather than advisors, as is Aranloth. But even they return from time to time to Lòrenta. They seldom stay long. You can also be sure that that old man has power, though I’m not sure if he ever uses it. Lòhrens are a strange breed.” She glances at him sideways. “There’s not really any one type…”

  Brand pondered her words. What she said was true. But still, he had never heard of a warrior-lòhren, nor a chieftain-lòhren, nor a bodyguard-lòhren. He could only answer one call at a time.

  13. Hilk Var Jernik

  “An attack is good,” Aranloth said. “But where should we strike? Some targets are better than others.”

  Gilhain knew instinctively that the lòhren had a specific target in mind, but he decided it was best to wait for him to reveal it.

  “As Brand always says,” Lornach offered, “Strike at the head of the snake. It’s no good cutting the tail off bit by bit.”

  Aurellin flashed a grin at the Durlin. “You’re a bold one, that’s for sure. The elùgroths control the enemy, but they’re secure in the midst of the host. We could pour the entire army of Cardoroth out the gates without hope of reaching them.”

  Lornach grinned back at her. “Maybe so, but if an army doesn’t suffice, the few might accomplish what the many could not.”

  Gilhain knew the lòhren had something in mind, but he did not think it was this.

  “No,” the king said with some force. “I’ll not throw lives away in some mad scheme to try to infiltrate the enemy by stealth. It can’t be done.”

  Aranloth sighed. “It is a mad scheme, my king. But I would not go so far as to say it couldn’t be done. In point of fact, it has been done before. Twice that I know of. Nevertheless, it’s not what I recommend … at least not now, and not by us.”

  “Then what do you recommend?” Lornach asked.

  Aranloth folded his arms across his chest. “You’re right when you say that we must attack the head of the snake, but if that’s beyond our reach, then what is next?”

  They looked at him blankly. Gilhain thought he saw where the lòhren was going, but he was not sure so he remained silent.

  Aranloth laughed. “Come now. If the head is beyond reach, then the next best thing is the heart. Where then is the beating heart of the enemy? What sets its rhythm? Come! The answer is simple enough. You’ve been hearing it now for a long time, and cursing it.”

  “The drums,” Aurellin said.

  “Yes,” Aranloth answered. “The war drums of the elugs. They’re sacred to them. They govern their life, awake or asleep, always beating. And they beat out the rhythm of destiny to that cruel folk. Destroy them, or damage them, stop them or slow them and the elugs will be reluctant to do anything.”

  “But how?” Lornach asked. “The drums are at the back of the enemy host, better protected even than the elùgroths themselves.”

  “Ah, Shorty,” Aranloth said. “You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen, but you’re not a strategist.”

  “No,” Gilhain said. “But I am. And the answer is simply this – cavalry.”

  “Exactly,” Aranloth said. “Cavalry. The war drums are sacred to the elugs. They’re part of their rituals. Part of their life. They drive them on, and that’s why they’re at the back of the host. But cavalry can reach them. Riders could sweep out the gate, swing wide around the enemy, break through the picket lines and strike at the rear.”

  “Yes,” Gilhain said. “Perhaps they could do just that, with luck and the right captain riding at their head, but returning would be harder. Much harder.”

  Aranloth nodded in agreement, but he did not say anything.

  “It’s a risky thing to attempt,” Taingern said. “All the more so for the elùgroths will be aware of this weakness in their troops and will have taken precautions against such an attack.”

  Aranloth nodded, but again did not speak.

  “No doubt there are precautions,” Gilhain said. “But in all this time we haven’t attempted such a thing. If we’re quick, we can take them by surprise. Perhaps.”

  There seemed no real disagreement with the plan. Nor were any others offered. It was time to cast the dice, and Gilhain knew who he would risk such a plan with.

  He gave orders to a nearby soldier, and the man scurried off in search of the person his message was for.

  “So,” Taingern said. “Which cavalry unit did you choose? And which captain did you send for?”

  Gilhain glanced at Aranloth before he answered, and he saw that the lòhren was also interested in the response.

  “None of the five.” He said.

  “But there are only five units,” Taingern said with a frown.

  “There are five regular units. Each a thousand riders strong, each with a well-respected captain. But for this mission, we need something different. We need someone bold, someone who knows that they may not come back, but who won’t let that stop them. And better a few hundred of the most daring riders you’ve ever seen than a thousand ordinary horsemen. Speed will be their weapon here, not numbers. That is their only chance to get back in the gate when their job is done.”

  No one answered this. None of them knew there was a unit of irregular cavalry. Only Aranloth did, and judging by the serene look on the lòhren’s face, he agreed with the decision.

  It was not long before the captain came. Gilhain gave him his instructions privately, but he sensed the eyes of the others on this new man, assessing and judging him. And well they might, if they could, for this was no ordinary man.

  Hilk Var Jernik looked him steadily in the eye while he was given his orders. He was one of the few men that Gilhain had to look up to when he spoke, and that was something that he was not used to.

  The captain towered above six feet, and his shaved head with the long scalp lock trailing down his back made him seem taller. The jagged scar down one side of his face, and the heavy gold earring added to the picture of a man who did not blend in to any crowd.

  He was certainly different from most men, not least in his express
ionless face when told of the mission. Instantly, he understood the great dangers, and the great benefits if it could be accomplished, but he gave no sign of emotion at all.

  Gilhain finished speaking. “One last thing,” he said. “I’ll not order any man, or those he leads, into such a dangerous mission. Will you do it?”

  The man looked back at him. For the first time there was some emotion on his face, even the slightest of grins, as though he looked forward to this challenge.

  “Of course, my king. I’ll do it. It’s what I’m here for, what my men are here for, exactly this kind of mission. But I’ll offer them the same choice that you just offered me.”

  “Good man,” Gilhain said. “And good luck.”

  They shook hands and then the man was gone, his long strides carrying him away with seeming eagerness.

  When he was gone the others came over and discussed him.

  “An unusual looking man,” Lornach said.

  “And not of the aristocracy, as the other cavalry captains all are,” Taingern added.

  “None of that is relevant,” Gilhain said. “Tell me what you think of him as a man, as a leader of other men.”

  “He didn’t inspire me with confidence,” Taingern said. “He was too quiet, too withdrawn into himself. But a man may be like that and yet still be bold at need.”

  “And you, Lornach?”

  “I feel the same as Taingern. But time will tell.”

  “Indeed it will,” Gilhain answered. But there was a slight smile on his face, and when he turned to Aranloth there was a knowing look in the lòhren’s eyes.

  The sun was lowering, but much of the afternoon remained. The enemy host still showed no sign of attacking. The elugs at the forefront of the horde milled about nervously. Of the Lethrin, there was no sign. They remained hidden away somewhere in the host, licking their wounds from their previous humiliation. The elùgroths made no move. Their tent was dark and still. No one entered and no one left.

  Hilk Var Jernik watched the enemy through the bars of the West Gate, the Arach Neben as the people of Cardoroth called it. He watched and waited while his men, three hundred of the best riders in Alithoras prepared. It was quiet in the city. It was quiet out among the enemy.