by Robert Ryan
Khamdar looked up at him and grinned. The cowl fell back a little and there was a sudden flash of white teeth and also a high-cheeked but pale face.
“It was no attack – merely a returning of your own. But think on how I came to possess it? See! Aranloth already knows.”
Gilhain turned to the lòhren. Aranloth stood there, his head bowed and his posture limp. Yet in one hand he held a knife, the very knife that Gilhain had given the previous night to Brand. He knew it by the sign of Halathgar that was on it. It had not brought Brand the luck he needed…
The elùgroth spoke again. His voice was cold.
“We know your purpose. We learned your plans. Your hope is lost, and the city will fall. The proof is in the lòhren’s own hand.”
The elùgroth turned on his heel and strode back toward the camp. It was a dismissive gesture, but one that his comrades did not imitate. They backed away carefully, keeping a close eye on the ramparts for any further arrow shot, but it was needless. Gilhain’s command held firm, and the men did not draw their bows.
The lòhren staggered back from the rim of the wall. He looked as ancient as he was, and Gilhain’s own heart sank in anguish. Their last hope was truly lost, and Brand, like a son to him, was gone with it.
The retreating elùgroths merged back into the host. Aranloth stood there, leaning on his staff as though it were all that held him upright.
“We tried,” Gilhain said. “But Cardoroth will fall, sooner or later. And Brand will neither walk its streets nor return to the lands of the Duthenor. I wish now that we had not sent him.”
Aranloth slowly straightened. He lifted up his head, and though his face did not alter, Gilhain saw that some great emotion flowed through him like a river, and the power that he veiled ran near the surface. Then it was gone, and the lòhren went back to normal, but he laughed and a look of merriness was in his eyes.
Gilhain stepped back another pace, but the lòhren raised a hand and stayed him.
“O king! Do not think I am mad. Grief has not broken me, though well it might have through the long years. If I seem other than you expect, it is because the situation is not what it seems. Khamdar is a liar. Thus he has ever been, but this is the happiest lie ever he told. Brand is not dead.”
Gilhain looked at him. Then he looked at what the lòhren held in his hand.
“But he has given us the proof of his words. The knife is the token of death that we feared.”
Aranloth shook his head. “No. It is not. You do not know Khamdar as I do. I said he was evil, and evil shows us what it is by its nature. If he had taken Brand, he first would have learned what he could from him, and then, in order to weaken us, he would have had him tortured and slain before the walls. And if Brand were killed when they tried to capture him, then Khamdar would have brought and then broken his body before us. That is his nature, to inflict pain, both physical and emotional. You can be sure that Brand yet lives, and somewhere out there,” the lòhren gestured widely with the knife in his hand, “he still strives to fulfill the quest.”
Gilhain slowly reached out and took the knife. He studied it carefully. There was no doubt that it was the very same that he had given Brand. Yet it was a thing of luck, and suddenly, despite what the elùgroth would have him believe, he saw many ways that it might come into the possession of the enemy, and yet by luck Brand might have escaped their grasp.
He felt hope surge through his veins once more and looked up. Tears misted his vision and he felt ten years younger. Joy surged within him just as it had a few moments ago in the lòhren.
“But why then this act? Why pretend to believe the elùgroth?”
Aranloth grinned. “Let them think we are beaten. The soldiers on the wall know little of Brand or his quest. They trust rather to their own strength of arms. Let that continue. In the meantime, if the enemy thinks you broken, they will be less swift to try to kill you. That is to our advantage. Never let the enemy know what you are really thinking. You know that.”
Gilhain grinned back at him.
“So I do. We’ll turn this to our benefit, and I’ll make them rue the day they tried to break me.”
Aranloth sighed, and as swiftly as joy had shone from his face, it now faded.
“Alas, joy is always short lived. Brand yet lives, but I do not doubt that they know of him, that they have learned his purpose and hunt him. He is not dead, at least not yet, but neither will he know safety again for a long while.”
Gilhain understood the truth of those words. And yet having felt despair only moments before, he would not allow it to overwhelm him again, no matter what the enemy said or did, no matter that hope was as tenuous as a fluttering heartbeat.
14. Forbidden Lore
Brand drew his sword. The hounds swam toward the little boat. For all their splashing and the froth of water about them, they came on in unnatural silence. But still they came on.
The girl rowed as swiftly as she could, but the shuffa was not a fast vessel. She would never outpace them.
Brand stood up, carefully keeping his balance by spreading his legs. He could not fight properly like this, but it was all he could do.
The shuffa began to spin to the side, taking him away from facing their enemy. The girl tried to right the boat, but all she could manage for the moment was keeping it at the same angle, yet still they drew away from the bank. It was now invisible, swathed in the thick fog.
For the first time one of the hounds made a noise. It was a deep howl, like that of a wolf’s, but Brand heard words weaved through it, and it held something of the timbre of a human voice.
The other two hounds took up the howl, and the girl began to slow her rowing. In a moment, Brand saw why.
The craft was now in deeper water, and the hounds seemed to have come as far as they dared. They were not good swimmers, being heavy set, and their thick wet fur weighed them down. Great tufts stood out in places, while in others only pale skin showed.
The howling ended in vicious snarls, and the beasts turned back toward the shore. The girl did not stop rowing.
In the following moments they ventured further out into the lake. Shore and elugs and hounds were gone. He was alone with the girl in a world of water and thick fog.
It was eerily quiet, and she was obviously unsettled. Whatever the beasts were, they were not natural. They were a product of sorcery, and he thought it must be a great sorcery at that. But it did not bear thinking about too deeply, for however it was done he guessed that not just beasts were involved, but also men. In some manner the elùgroths had fused both together, and it was an abomination such as only they could conceive. He remembered Aranloth’s words that even among elùgroths, Khamdar was the worst. If he did not believe it before, he did now.
The girl turned the boat southward. How she knew which direction was which, he did not know. But she told him so and he believed her.
They took turns at rowing. He found it cumbersome, but soon grew competent after her terse instructions. It was not that difficult, but neither was their rate of progress fast. Still, the enemy could not see or track them, and so far as he knew, they could not discover in what direction his quest lay. Only Aranloth and Gilhain knew that, and in them he trusted.
Only the distant sounds from shore kept them from straying too far out over the lake. He could not tell himself in which direction they were headed, but at least he knew they were not getting lost on the vast expanse of water. At first they heard elugs, but when the noise of their tramping through the brush and calls to one another faded, there was only the occasional hoot of an owl or yelp of a fox.
When the silvery dawn finally glimmered through the fog, they could dimly see the shore again and struck out toward it. As the light grew, Brand could see his companion better. Her eyes were green with flecks of brown. Or else they were brown with flecks of green. He could not tell which. And what he had taken for white lòhren robes were not. Rather, she wore a flowing tunic, all of pale gray and tied at her waist with
a black belt.
He studied her closely now, for suspicion rose in him, and a terrible fear that he had made the most dreadful mistake – notwithstanding that he had not had any choice.
Her hair was long and ash-blonde, bound by a black ribbon. She gazed back at him with eyes that sparkled not just with intelligence but also secrets. But for all her fierce gaze she was even more beautiful than he had thought, though it was beauty of a high and remote kind.
With an insight that surprised him, he realized that few people ever got close enough to her to discover what she really thought or felt. She held everyone at a distance, even as she was doing with him.
She grew annoyed at his scrutiny, but before she could say anything he spoke.
“Are you not lonely? You know, independence is a fine thing, but sometimes it’s nice to be able to lean on others when you most need it.”
She gazed at him with such fierceness that he thought she was going to attack him, and Aranloth’s diadem felt hot against the skin of his forehead.
“What business is it of yours?” she snapped.
“Oh, I know a thing or two of loneliness. I’m a Duthenor tribesman, the only of my kind in a great city with a recorded history stretching back into what my people think of as legend. My family is dead. And they did not die of old age. And what was theirs was stolen from them. Yes, I know a thing or two of loneliness. But if you’re content so, then there is no need to speak of it.”
“I’m content,” she said, but for a moment it seemed to him that she drew a veil over her face, and yet he glimpsed a little of what lay behind it. And a flicker in her eyes gave the lie to her words, for he momentarily saw a yearning in them every bit as fierce as her independence.
He let the matter drop. They were getting close to the shore now, and he trained his attention on it.
“The enemy could be out there,” he said. “We wouldn’t know if they were swarming beyond the beach and in the trees.”
The girl shrugged with nonchalance, as though what he said did not matter, or was wrong.
“Maybe,” she replied. “But they can’t know where we’ll make land. Lake Alithorin is vast, and I’m pretty happy with our chances of avoiding them – at least for now.”
“If they’re not here, and I agree with you for the moment, they’ll sooner or later find our tracks wherever we come to shore, and follow.”
“That’s a given,” she said, flicking her hair impatiently. “And don’t forget those beasts. I guess they’ll have your scent, and the water won’t put them off forever.” She paused, and stared straight at him. “Are you scared? Do you wish to abandon your quest so soon, even though I’m babying you through it?”
That made him angry. She seemed one of the few people able to draw that emotion out of him with ease.
“You’ve helped me,” he said with deliberate slowness, “and I thank you for it. But I don’t take the names of scared or baby from anyone. Not from a warrior. Not from a lòhren. And not from you, who say you are a lòhren, but aren’t.”
He stood in the shuffa and drew his sword. “Now speak! Twice you have lied to me, which lòhrens don’t do. Your staff isn’t broken. That was your first lie. And you said you were heading in the direction of the Angle. That was your second. Now, speak truly. Why were you waiting by the lake, and who are you?”
The girl glared, her eyes boring right through him, but he did not flinch. At length, she smiled, or at least bared her flashing white teeth.
“Well, the young kitten has claws after all. But are you not afraid? I have lòhrengai at my command that could blast you to a cinder.” As she spoke, flame played across her fingertips, ready to leap at her will.
“I mistrust magic,” he said without hesitation, “but I don’t fear it. I’ve faced it before, from greater threats than you, and survived.”
She eyed him again for a long while, and a frown creased her face.
“Maybe you have.”
Her words were calm, but the air was charged with tension. Anything could happen at any moment, and he could not read her except for a sense of bafflement. Nor, he suspected, could she read him. They were opposites, as unalike from each other as possible, and that was dangerous.
They stared at each other, unmoving, while fate and destiny swirled around them like currents in the misty air. Then suddenly she smiled, and it was genuine this time, though flame still darted and danced at her fingertips.
“Very well. You’re right, but you’re wrong also. I was drawn to Lake Alithorin. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I found myself studying the battle, though I knew that wasn’t what drew me. And I saw no way to get through to the fortress to help anyway, and that confirmed my instincts. I was needed, but not for what was most obvious. A lòhren’s feelings often work that way. A hunch, a momentary vision, a whim that turns out to be something more. So I waited, unable to help the city, but unable to go either. I didn’t know for what I was called until I saw you flitting through the trees, and a merry chase you gave me until finally I caught up. I can say no more than that. I acted on instinct, and it has never yet let me down.”
He thought about her response, but never lowered the point of his sword. What she said had the ring of truth, but it did not really answer his most pressing question.
“Why did you lie about your staff? It isn’t broken, that much I know, and a lòhren without a staff … isn’t really a lòhren.”
A shadow of remembered pain crossed her face.
“That isn’t true. A lòhren doesn’t need a staff. It just helps, and in the eyes of the people all across Alithoras it acts as a symbol. But the lòhrengai of a lòhren…”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then changed what she was about to say. “All you need to know is this – I was a lòhren. I had a staff. And as you say, it wasn’t broken. It was taken from me – taken away by the Lòhrenin, the council of lòhrens. Too deep I delved into forbidden lore. They thought I was turning down the paths of an elùgroth. At least so they feared.” She gave a shrug. “Maybe they were right to stop me, maybe not. But no lòhren is the same as any other. Anyway, they would have expelled me from the order, but Aranloth persuaded them otherwise. They confiscated my staff, but they did not break it. For that, I owe him, and for other things beside. And I do not forget my debts. Had you killed him, you would not have seen this dawn. Yet still for five years they sent me away. Five long years, and only two have passed. When my punishment is ended, then I can return and they will judge me anew.”
She said these last words with bitterness, and he glimpsed some of her great pride. And he understood also that she had no desire to tell him any of this, yet still, just as he had been forced to tell the truth before, so was she now. Fate or circumstance had caught them both in a tight grip. And just as he needed her help before, so now he knew that for some reason she would do anything to come with him to the Angle. But why?
She had not told him everything, but she had still told him much.
“And what of your second lie? You were not heading to the Angle or anywhere near it, until you knew that I was going there.”
“That was no lie. It’s true that I didn’t intend to go there, but when you said that you would, then I knew that I must also. It is, as I said, what I’ve been waiting for. I didn’t know what I was waiting for, or where I would end up going, but when you said that you must go there, and why – well, that was where I was going too. There was no lie in that.”
She stared at him again, but this time it was not in anger, and when she spoke he felt that she was trying to tell him something different than what her words said.
“It’s true that lòhrens don’t lie. And maybe I’ve erred in telling you that my staff was broken. Maybe so, but a lòhren can weave greater deceptions by far, and yet still tell the truth.”
He did not understand what she was getting at, but there were more important things to discuss.
“Tell me why you want to help,” he asked. “You
owe Aranloth, which I can understand. But why help me?”
“Because Aranloth would want me too. And I do owe him. But more is at stake than one city. All of Alithoras stands upon the brink. This is not the only battle. And there are other forces in the world besides swords…”
She had told him precious little. Then again, how much did she know and understand herself? A lòhren’s intuition she had said. Perhaps he should just accept that, and her help. Certainly he needed it, but only if he could trust her.
Time was slipping away. He must be up and going, for the Angle was far away and the elugs and sorcerous beasts would find his trail sooner or later. The faster he moved now, the greater his lead would be, but on foot he could not count on keeping things that way.
The girl stared at him, assessing him even as he assessed her. The moments flitted by, and he knew he could not stand here talking all day until he learned and considered every detail of what was going on. He must either trust her, or not.
15. Troubled Sleep
Brand felt the weight of the sword in his hand. He also felt responsibility, and it was heavier. He and the girl faced each other, both ready to spring to defend themselves if necessary.
And yet both hesitated. Neither wanted a fight, that much was obvious. What Brand wanted, he knew in full. What she wanted, he knew only in part. And yet her words came back to him: she trusted in her instincts.
So must he. Whatever she was hiding, and he was certain that she was hiding more than one thing, he did not think she meant him harm. Or anyone else, for that matter, however abrasive her attitude.
Also, though he might part with her here if he chose to, she was obviously powerful, and would help him at need. And no greater need had he ever had, for to fail in this quest was to doom the king he served, and also Aranloth and the friends he had made. And an entire city.
What would Aranloth want him to do? Dare he risk taking this strange girl into the tombs with him? Had she even offered that? And what about revealing the charm Aranloth had taught him to protect himself once inside? He saw no way that he could keep that secret from her. Yet they were words that the lòhren had kept back even from Gilhain.