by Robert Ryan
The lòhren grew more serious as he spoke, not heeding Lornach’s suggestion to enjoy the moment. “And make no mistake,” he continued. “The elùgroths will drive them on no matter what. They’re desperate now. We’ve won a battle, but we haven’t won the war.”
Aurellin spoke little at times like these, but when she did, they all listened.
“But what final stroke can there be?” she asked.
There was silence then, and Gilhain felt, one by one, that the gazes of those around began to rest on him. He was the king; he was the great strategist.
“I’m trying to think of one,” he shrugged nonchalantly. He made light of it, but the same question burned in his soul and he knew it would run through his mind from now on, day and night, waking and sleeping.
“And do you have any ideas?” Aranloth asked.
“Nothing yet.”
“Nor I,” the lòhren said quietly.
It was not long afterward that the elùgroths came. There were three of them, and behind each was a shazrahad, the strange elders of the Azan people who fought with the elugs.
Slowly they walked. Their black robes were so dark that they seemed to absorb all light, yet their skin, pale and sickly, stood out all the more for its contrast. But there was little skin to see; the robes covered all except for hints of their grim faces and their bare hands that gripped tight the wych-wood staffs.
They stopped before the wall, and stood motionless. The silence on the battlement was vast. Into that silence their leader spoke.
“Come forth, old man.”
No one doubted who he meant. It could only be Aranloth.
The lòhren stepped to the edge of the rampart, and he leaned casually against it. Slowly, insolently, he winked at his three adversaries. They were, perhaps, too far away to see it, but they could not have missed his overall mannerism, nor the contempt that dripped from his voice when he answered.
“Have you come to thank me for my little show? If I don’t say so myself, it was impressive. Especially given that it was all illusion. But the elugs believed it, and that was what counted in the end.”
Gilhain held his breath. The lòhren was deliberately insulting the enemy, challenging them. It was the sort of thing that Brand would do, and suddenly he saw the likeness between the two men. Strange that he had not noticed it before.
The elùgroths scowled. That much was visible even beneath their cowls.
“Your time has come,” their leader said. “Khamdar returns. He nears, and so too does the end of Cardoroth.”
Aranloth scratched his chin. “I’ve heard that kind of thing before. And I’ve heard of Khamdar. He has some notoriety. But you three? I don’t know you. Come back and talk to me in a thousand years or so – if you’re still alive.”
The elùgroths made no move, but enmity radiated from them in waves. If hatred alone could destroy, then the Cardurleth would have crumbled to dust.
Aranloth laughed. “I will give to you a warning,” he said. “You seem to think that Khamdar’s return is something to worry about. Know this!”
Suddenly the lòhren was not casual any more. He stood straight and tall and the very air about him seemed charged with eldritch forces. It was one of those rare moments when he revealed the power that was in him, and the elùgroths backed away several paces.
“I am more than a match for Khamdar,” the lòhren declared. But he is not destined to die by my hand, though die he will, and he will wither in flame and great anguish. You, on the other hand, have no particular destiny. I could snuff you out even as we speak.”
Aranloth pointed at them with a white-robed arm, and they stepped back yet again.
“Parley!” they cried. “We come as messengers!”
Aranloth lowered his hand, but his voice rose and swept out, out to the elùgroths and beyond to their army.
“Dogs!” his great voice boomed. “Begone. I will not kill you, at least not now. But beware of Khamdar. You are more likely to die at his hands, for he suffers fools not lightly, and you have failed him. The tide now turns. Cardoroth stands, and the black mass of your host shall recede as the sea before unassailable cliffs.”
Aranloth seemed to stand even taller. About him was a flicker of white light, pale silver as the moon, piercing bright as the midday sun.
“Go!” the lòhren commanded, and the elùgroths fled. The shazrahads ran behind them, stumbling and tripping in their flight.
The moment passed. Gilhain let out a long breath, and then he gave a slight bow to the lòhren.
“That was a nice performance. Even as Jinks has seeded doubt and mistrust into the enemy, you have given greater hope to our own men who defend the walls. Even I believed what you said about Khamdar. But in truth, I think there are none in Cardoroth who can kill him if it is not you, but that will also keep the enemy thinking and worrying.”
Aranloth seemed normal once more. The power that was in him was hidden again, but the remnant of it still lingered in his eyes.
“It was no act. I saw him. In fire and anguish he shall die. And the other elùgroths with him. I gave fair warning to them. They are in great danger, but they will heed me not.”
Gilhain did not know what to make of that. The lòhren’s manner was strange. But he had seen this mood on his friend before.
“Really? You saw the future?”
Aranloth looked away, his bright eyes surveying the host on the ground below, but his expression was one of deep thought.
“I saw one of them.”
“Is there more than one?”
Aranloth looked back. His eyes were an old man’s now, and his posture subtly different.
“Of course. There are many, but as the future draws near, the possibilities dwindle. Things become more certain, and most definitely harder to change. I see glimpses of what may yet be from time to time. Some never come to pass, though many do. The future is not fixed as many believe, but events gather pace now, and Khamdar’s future and our own, whatever they be, rush now upon us. It is just that there are now fewer possibilities. Two only now remain, most likely.”
“But it’s better that you saw Khamdar die than us.”
Aranloth sighed. “It was good to tell the enemy that. But I must say to you that I have also seen Cardoroth fall to ash and firebrands, and the booted foot of Khamdar on your slain body while he proclaims his victory to the heavens.”
22. Stealth
Long days and long nights passed. The Halathrin kept a keen guard, but no further attack was made against the group.
“Khamdar hastens,” Harlinlanloth said one morning as they all prepared to set out again.
“How can you tell?” Brand asked.
“The length of his strides has increased. That means he is walking faster.”
Brand was not much of a tracker, but he understood that. He also knew that there were no other tracks: the elugs and hounds had scattered and were no longer under the elùgroth’s control. Either that, or their master had sent them elsewhere, perhaps even sent them to flank their pursuers and come against them from behind in another attack.
Brand studied the ground. The imprint of the elùgroth was clear, the drùgluck sign clearer still.
“What of his servants?” he asked. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”
The girl shrugged. “As you already guess, they may have fled, or they may yet seek to ambush us. There’s no way to know.”
“Small wonder that your scouts are anxious.”
She smiled at him. “You couldn’t track a bear up a snow slope, but you don’t miss much else of what’s going on. My people are on the alert for an attack from behind as much as the front, and rest assured, they will not be taken by surprise.”
Kareste joined them, leading her saddled horse. “You both worry too much. Khamdar knows of the skills of the Halathrin.” She turned to Harlinlanloth. “Your people have better sight and hearing that men. No elug is going to sneak up on you, and not likely the hounds either. Khamdar kno
ws that, and that’s why he hastens. He has nothing to fear from our little band. But if his army has taken Cardoroth, then when he reaches them he will turn the whole lot loose to find us.”
That was a disturbing thought, and not one that Brand had really considered before. In his heart he knew that Cardoroth still endured, but if not, the small group around him was heading toward the biggest ambush in history.
“What do you think, Harlinlanloth?”
The Halathrin girl tugged absently at her hair. “It could be even as she suggests, Brand of the Duthenor.”
“That’s a cumbersome title. Just call me Brand.”
She let her hair go and smiled. “Brand it is then, Brand.”
He laughed. “And I think I’ll just call you Harly.”
She gave a bow. “A short name for one who has lived as long as I, for we Halathrin tend to gather names to us as the years pass rather than discard them. But I like it.”
Kareste mounted her horse and began to move forward. She did not say anything. The Halathrin formed up their travelling positions: some to the front, some to either side, and some behind. One loped far ahead and disappeared. He would scout for them.
Brand and the Halathrin girl stayed in the middle of the group, and she strode beside his horse.
“It’s long since I’ve been here,” she said. “But we must be close to a great lake.”
“We are,” he answered. “Lake Alithorin is close. Its southern shores are only a little way over there.” He pointed the direction with Aranloth’s staff. “That means we’re somewhat hemmed in,” he paused before going on. “Perhaps we should stop following the elùgroth’s trail. We know where he’s going, but if we continue to follow, our enemies will find us all the sooner.”
The morning passed, and Brand was undecided. To their left marched the flank of the forest that surrounded the lake. It was dark and silent. To the right were more open lands. Behind lay many things that he would rather forget, and ahead was danger.
Danger. It was a feeling he knew all too well. It seemed that since his childhood he had always been pressing forward against it. He was sick of that fight, sick of pushing against the unknown, of taking on enemies and finding ways to defeat them. One day he would lose, for though he had more luck than most, a time came for every man to die. And the more he pushed the sooner that day was likely to come.
Did he really have to go to Cardoroth? Had he not already played his part? Surely not even Aranloth or Gilhain could ask more of him than he had already given. And the diamond, the massive diamond the king had given him was a just reward. He was a rich man, a man who could find a life of ease and pleasure in other places besides Cardoroth.
The morning passed in silence, and he turned his mind to what troubled him most. There was power in him, magic that he had not asked for nor wanted. He guessed it had always been there, a latent thing that maybe gave him greater insights from time to time and helped him survive his encounters with sorcerers before. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing. While latent he was still in control, but magic had a life of its own, for it came from the land. Aranloth had seen it in him, and put him in a position where it had a chance to come to the fore. Thinking about things, this quest may not have been the first time that the lòhren had done that.
But things were different now. The power inside him had been used, used consciously and deliberately. It was awake, and not easily, if it all, would he be able to suppress it. One thing he knew for sure was that if he went ahead he would be forced to use it again to try to survive. And that would give it greater power, bring it closer to the surface. Even now he felt it run through his body as he considered it. It was a part of him, linked to his body and mind, yet he knew that in some strange way that he was just as much linked to it. It was an entity of its own, and now that it woke it placed thoughts in his mind, gave him knowledge and instincts of how to use it. How else could he have learned so fast and contended with the creatures that he had, and lived?
He brooded on this a long while as he rode. The Halathrin loped at a matching pace, easily maintaining it the whole morning. At times they ranged out, at other times they closed in, all depending on the terrain.
As Brand worried these ideas around in his mind the same way that a dog might gnaw at a bone that had long since been stripped of flesh, a new thought occurred to him. To where could he run to avoid his fate? If Cardoroth fell, which city would be next? The enemy wanted them all, would destroy everything in the north if it could. The more he ran from things the faster might they catch up with him. It was something to think about, for no one knew were the enemy in the south would strike next.
The Halathrin gathered in close. It was noon, and it was time for a rest and a meal. The horses needed a spell also, for it seemed that they tired more easily than the Halathrin. Brand was sure the immortals could keep on going for the rest of the day.
They stopped on a small hillock. It had a rocky outcrop at its top and a litter of boulders and loose stones spilled over its near-barren sides. From here, they could see far. On the other hand, they could also be seen. Every decision had consequences, and there was rarely a wrong or a right way to do things, just an acceptance of which consequences were preferable.
They finished their meal and then remained silent. They all knew a decision must be made, and they waited on the outcome.
Harly spoke first. “We cannot keep following the elùgroth,” she said. “We know where he is going, and we should not make ourselves targets by staying on his trail.”
“Agreed,” Brand said. “But where shall we head? To the left of his trail or to the right?”
Harly looked him in the eye. “We should go to the right. The lands are open there, and we cannot be ambushed.”
Kareste shook her head. “We should go into the forest to the left. We can hide there and sneak close to the enemy host unobserved.”
Harly kept her gaze on Brand. “That is an unwholesome forest. It is dark, it has always been dark, and I sense that it is still so. There are many stories of that place, some from of old when my people dwelt there. Dangers lurk amid the shadowy trees, and it would be hard to guard against ambush.”
So the argument went for some time, back and forth between Kareste and Harly. At length, they grew quiet.
Harly kept her steady gaze on Brand. “You lead us. It is your choice. You have heard the arguments for and against. You lead, and we shall follow.”
Brand sat on a slab rock. The day was dark and gloomy. The clouds above were heavy and pregnant with rain, but none fell yet. That would change, he knew.
He considered things. Was life always like this? So many choices? And each choice had consequences, and he could not see them all.
Nevertheless, he looked at the situation logically. Their small band could not launch a frontal assault on the enemy host. They must work by stealth. And though to the right felt better, to the left offered the concealment of the forest. It offered what they had most need of: secrecy and the ability to come into reasonable proximity of the enemy without being seen.
He made his choice, and he felt better for having done so.
“We go into the forest,” he said, agreeing with Kareste. Harly showed little emotion, though he sensed that she was taken aback by the decision. Still, she was as good as her word and without further argument prepared her band to fulfill his choice. Kareste said nothing, but he felt her brown-green eyes searching his face.
The group began to move once more, and they turned left into the forest. The Halathrin stayed close now, and none of them ranged out. Nor was there a scout. Harly herself spear-headed their progress, and they moved at a walk once they passed the tree-line.
The day wore away and they rode toward the vast expanse of Lake Alithorin. Harly led them along a path so faint that Brand doubted anyone but a Halathrin could have found it.
The trail, such as it was, snaked to and fro. It did not seem to head anywhere in particular, but it always took them deeper
into the tall stands of pine. It swiftly grew dark beneath the tree canopy, and the air was humid and pungent with the fresh smell of pinesap and the fetid odor of decomposition. Bright orange fungus flowered in lush growths on fallen trunks and hoary lengths of gray-green moss trailed from overhead branches.
The travelers slowed even more. Here, in the shadowy dark amid the trees, it felt like another world. And not a pleasant one.
Brand swayed in the saddle to avoid a low hanging trailer of moss.
“There’s definitely something creepy about this place,” he said quietly to Kareste.
She ducked under the same trailer of moss. “Woods are woods.”
“Not in this case, they aren’t. There are things in this forest to fill you with fear. At least as much as Khamdar.”
She gave him a sideways look, an appraising kind of glance, but did not answer.
Not long later Brand saw the first signs of fog. There was always fog near the lake, and it contributed as much to the gloomy feelings of the forest as the shadowy paths beneath the trees.
The fog reached out, drifting from the water and stretching forth groping tendrils amid the tree trunks. Moisture clung in a film over the pine leaves and dripped from their needle-like ends. It was deathly quiet, and they saw no wildlife.
It grew darker still. Not because the woods thickened, but because the barely seen clouds far above became heavier and deeper. The silence became so oppressive that Brand felt the need to talk loudly. Yet he dared not talk at all, for who knew what was about them, watching even now, or that would be drawn by the sound of his voice?
And then the rain began. It was soft at first, little more than the fog that already creeped around them. But soon it increased. At last there was a sound, but it was only the drip-drip noise of water drops falling from the ends of leaves.
The leaf mould soon grew muddy, and the smell of fungus and decay grew strong. Even the dark green leaves of the pines looked mournful, and the wet trunks of the trees took on the appearance of a host of tall warriors, grim and determined.