Raging Swords

by Robert Ryan

  He had no answers, and he shrugged to himself. Sometimes, there were no answers. But he looked one last time into her eyes, and her gaze held his own unflinching.

  He slowly sheathed his sword. “I’m Brand,” he told her.

  A moment longer she looked at him, and then the flame at her fingertips died away as she understood his choice.

  “I’m Kareste,” she answered. She held out her hand and he shook it. It was warm to touch as it had been before, although the fire was gone.

  “We’d better move swiftly,” she said.

  They came to the shore in haste and hid the shuffa as best they could in some reeds. Brand doubted that he would ever see it again, yet he still looked around him and memorized the place. The future was dark, and unexpected need might drive him back here.

  But it was likely the enemy would find it, if and when the beasts sniffed out their trail again.

  Without any more words they headed off. Kareste led, setting a long loping pace that he could match, though it was still fast, and the day ahead of them long.

  Swiftly the pine forest thickened around them again. Whatever sun rose in the east was hidden here. It remained a world that belonged to the night. The gray trunks of the trees were still – they seemed as statues in some ancient city. The fog was all about them, though not particularly thick. The needle-like leaves of the pines dripped moisture, slow but sure as the loping strides of the two runners, the only things that moved in the eerie shadow world.

  On they went. Morning passed, if morning it was, and noon eventually came, revealed only by a lifting of the fog and the distant sounds of birds rather than an increase of light. Where they were it remained in perpetual dark, but the ground was soft with the needles of many years and the paths of some forest animal were clear. The running was good, and the walking better when they slowed to rest. For few could run all day without stopping. And even if they could, they would not be fit to fight should they need to if discovered by their enemies.

  So time passed, and they spoke little, but they travelled with a greater sense of comradeship and understanding.

  There were times when words were unnecessary, and this was one to Brand. He had made his decision, and he would not worry about her any longer. His mind was bent on one thing alone now: to put as much distance between him and his enemies as he could. And to this end she led him well, for she ran swift as a deer when need demanded but loped like a wolf with mile eating strides, hour after hour. She was fitter than he was, more used to running. Or else she sustained herself by the power of lòhrengai that she commanded, yet Aranloth had told him that lòhrens shunned such uses of the art, relying on it as only a last resort, and that was one of the things that separated them from elùgroths who used it without discrimination, heedless of the consequences in the pursuit of short term gain.

  Without warning they burst from the shadows of the forest onto sunlit grass. Kareste slowed and came to a stop. He drew up beside her. The sun was blindingly bright above, and the grass seemed brilliant green. The sky was a cooler and deeper blue than he ever remembered. So it seemed to him to see these things for the first time after the long dark, and his spirit swelled within him.

  “Evil cannot endure forever. Not in the face of this,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true Duthenor tribesman.”

  She did not say it with malice, but still he was taken aback.

  “I haven‘t told you that I’m of the Duthenor. How did you know?”

  She did not hesitate. “It’s my job to know these things. You speak well, almost as a native of Cardoroth, but still I hear the slow tongue, deep and rolling of the Duthenor, in your every word.”

  “You’ve been among my people?”

  “I’ve been many places in Alithoras. Even to the wild lands of the Duthenor and the ancient homelands beyond where once the Camar dwelt before they came east and founded realms.”

  “And how do things stand among the Duthenor? I have heard no news in years.”

  At this she gave him a strange look. “How long has it been?”

  “I’m older than I seem,” he answered. “It’s been some while.”

  “Then know this. The Duthenor chieftain is not well liked. Yet the people have little choice but to obey him and suffer his rule. Other tribesmen, not of the Duthenor, support him. They are related, but are not like your people. They are warriors, fell and fierce, without pity or morals.”

  “Do the Duthenor not revolt?”

  “That they have done. But the chieftain is as ruthless as the strangers he invited in to help him. It led only to blood and death. They endure his rule now, waiting for a time they believe will come.”

  “What time is that?”

  “The time when the trueborn chieftain returns.”

  There was a pause. Brand did not speak, and she looked at him with eyes that seemed to read his every secret. If he did not believe she was one of Aranloth’s kind before, he believed it now.

  “Perhaps the trueborn chieftain will one day return. If so, the Duthenor must yet wait a while. But it’s good to hear tell of my people. And know this. They are patient. They will endure. But they do not forget. He who assumed the chieftainship by murder may sleep in the long hall that he stole, but he does not sleep well. Distrust and suspicion surround him during the day, fear assails him at night. For justice will prevail, and for every act of treason there is a price. He dreads that, and he’ll one day learn that his fears are well founded.”

  Kareste gazed at him with the eyes of a lòhren. She knew much, guessed more, but revealed nothing of her thoughts by her expression.

  They paused where they were for a while, resting in the last cover of the forest where its eaves gave way to the grasslands.

  “We have a choice,” she said, sitting down with her back to a tree. “The lands are wide and empty between here and the Angle. Our enemies roam them with freedom, though they are mostly concentrated around Cardoroth.”

  “There may be enemies ahead,” he said. “But there are sure to be enemies behind, also.”

  She rested the back of her head against the tree trunk. “I’ve not forgotten them. And our journey must be on foot, which will make it hard to avoid them, either those before or those behind.”

  “What of the country that we have to traverse? What’s it like?”

  She closed her eyes. “The Great North Road, which is not that far away, is flat and smooth. It would speed our journey, at least the beginning of it, but it’s impossible to hide there. The other way, direct across the land, will reduce the miles we must travel, but it’ll be slower going for hills, woods and streams will hinder us. But those same things will also provide cover.”

  Brand made his decision quickly. “We should go that way,” he said. “The land is our friend, in all its varied forms. An open road in the wild is no place to meet the beasts that come after us.”

  “No place is good for that,” she said.

  They did not linger long, but soon struck out again across the grass. Of the enemy, there was no sign, but still Brand felt vulnerable in the open. Yet there was no choice in what they did, and to wait until the cover of nightfall was more dangerous still.

  The afternoon waned, and it grew dark. He was weary as he had rarely been before, and even Kareste showed signs of tiredness, she who seemed proof against danger, peril and exhaustion. But neither of them had slept for a long while, and many hard miles lay in their wake.

  They sat beneath a lone pine that towered into the sky. It was, perhaps, the last remnant of a once larger forest that had grown around Lake Alithorin and shrunk over time through the damage of successive waves of migrating men. Or maybe it was the first thrust of the forest to conquer new lands and cover them with a mass of dark-leaved trees. He did not know, but the old needles that lay thick beneath it were a soft place to sit and rest.

  They ate little and spoke less. But it was a comfortable silence, and it enabled him to think. Night cr
ept from the dark band of the forest now far away, but it rolled ever more swiftly over the grasslands and soon swamped all in its vast blanket.

  The stars sprang like sparks from a forge into the blackened sky, and he looked up at bright Halathgar. The two glittering points shone at him like seeking eyes. They looked down also on Cardoroth, and he wondered what was happening there. And lastly, he considered that they also gazed on the lands of the Duthenor far away.

  What was happening to his own people? The Careth Nien, the Great River, offered them some protection against the hordes of elugs that had come into the north. The river was not easy to cross. He knew that better than most. And it would be harder for armies than a lone man, but still they were at risk. Now, more than ever, he wanted to be with them. But his task in these foreign lands was not yet done.

  At length he fell into a deep sleep. He found rest in oblivion, and ease from his many cares and worries, but it did not last. They lit no fire and it grew cold. The leaves were not so soft as he had thought, and the roots of the tree formed hard ripples in the earth. He dreamed that they rose up and took hold of him, shaking him fiercely.

  He stirred, coming to wakefulness with a wrench, and found that the roots were just where they should be, but that there were hands on him nonetheless, and they did shake him.

  It was Kareste, and even in the dimness beneath the great tree he saw the expression on her face. It was one of great urgency.

  “They come,” she said.

  And he knew what she meant, for even as she spoke the beasts that had hunted in silence through the forest, seeking to take their prey by stealth, now howled in frenetic glee as they followed a warm scent.

  16. Called from the Otherworld

  Brand leaped up, grabbed his pack and strapped it on. Without further delay, the two of them loped off.

  “We need cover and height,” she said.

  Brand did not answer. She was right, but even as she spoke their boots trod ground that led them on a steeper grade. They did not see it so much as feel it, but they followed the rise in the land and hoped that somewhere ahead in the dark was cover.

  This proved to be the case. As they ran, trees grew up about them. They were not pines this time, but rather some kind of shrubby evergreen. The cover was not great, and Brand felt in his heart anyway that their time of hiding was over. The time for fighting was near.

  They reached the crest of the rise. It could hardly be called a hill, and the shrubby growth about them dispersed rather than grew denser. From their vantage they saw the black shadows of night spread out below them, yet the sky was gray and the stars fading even as they looked. He might yet see one last dawn, but after that, hope would dwindle swiftly.

  Even as they looked behind them they saw five creatures race amid the trees. The noise of thrashing branches and the crashing of large animals through underbrush came to them loudly in the otherwise peaceful dark.

  And then they heard once more the beasts give rise to their baying din. This time they did not howl. Instead, they voiced deep and bellowing barks.

  Brand looked ahead at something that he had seen earlier. Boulders littered the crest of the rise. They would not help much, but they offered some advantage, and he would take what he could get at the moment. He did not need to say anything to Kareste. They both ran for them at the same moment.

  They leaped onto the largest, clambering over its rough surface until they reached the top, though it was little more than six feet above ground level. Within moments the beasts raced across the grass toward them, tufty fur prickled in rage or excitement, red tongues lolling from slavering jaws.

  The beasts drew close, snuffling and snarling as they circled the boulder. Not yet did they attempt to climb it or leap; they were wary, considering with an intelligence beyond animals what was to be done next.

  Kareste hissed as she studied them.

  “Foul summonings. Dredged from the darkest pits of sorcery. Yet sorcery is not the only power in the world.”

  Brand watched them closely also. Where skin showed, not covered by the bristly fur, the muscles beneath rippled with size and strength beyond any beast he had seen before. These things were not quite hounds, and they were not quite wolves. They looked back at him with an expression that unnerved him. He saw malice, and believed that his earlier fears were founded.

  “Are these creatures part man?” he asked Kareste, not taking his eyes from their roving forms.

  “Of course,” she replied. “They’re called from the otherworld, but held in place by the transformed bodies of men.”

  “The elùgroths sacrificed some of their own soldiers?”

  She shrugged. “These are more valuable to them than any soldiers. The staff is their greatest concern, greater even than taking Cardoroth. It wouldn’t surprise me if one or more sorcerers came after the beasts. We’re lucky that they ran ahead of the hunt, though the rest cannot be far behind. Men, elugs and elùgroths all.”

  Brand looked around. He saw nothing else but the hounds. These still circled below, biting and snapping and growling. Suddenly, one leaped high. It scrambled over rock, the great forepaws heaving its vast bulk upward like a man climbing a ladder.

  Kareste did not hesitate. Flame, blue as the midnight sky, roared from her fingers and smashed into it.

  The creature howled and dropped off the boulder, but it merely lumbered into the shadows and glared at her with bared lips. It did not die.

  That was a shock to Brand. He did not expect her powers to obliterate the creatures instantly, but he saw clearly that they would not be enough. The beasts could be hurt by lòhrengai, but killing them all would take time. And of that they had little.

  Even as the beast snarled at them from a safe distance, the others drew closer, studying the boulder and analyzing the situation for a better way to attack.

  And in the distance, the new-risen sun shone golden light on the last thing Brand wanted to see. Azan riders. Light flared from their naked swords, and it flashed from spears and polished helms. Yet there were only six, and that gave him hope, and the spark of an idea.

  He shivered, part in fear and part in excitement. Whatever was to be done must be done soon. Otherwise, more and more of the hunt would gather.

  He looked at Kareste, tall and proud and calm on the top of the boulder.

  “We need those horses,” he said

  She returned his gaze. “Yes we do. But are you mad? We have to worry about the hounds first. They’re a greater threat than the riders.”

  “We can’t delay. Others will likely soon come. Either hounds or elugs or elùgroths. We cannot wait any longer.”

  “Wait for what?” she asked.

  But Brand did not answer.

  17. Not for Nothing

  Brand remembered the words of Aranloth. The staff will help you. He had no magic of his own, yet the staff did. His question was, how much did he trust the lòhren? For surely he could not attack the beasts with his blade. He would need more than that to survive against them.

  Kareste still looked at him questioningly, unable to guess what he was about to do. He sheathed his blade, shook off his pack and smiled at her fiercely. The thrill of battle pumped in his veins. And then, without warning, he turned and leaped from the boulder into the very midst of the hounds.

  The girl screamed. It was a sudden cry of shock and fear. It pierced the air and brought all eyes to her. All except for Brand’s.

  He landed lightly, even as the hounds turned toward him. He spun among them, smelling their fetid breath and hearing up close their throbbing growls. The very earth beneath his boots seemed to thrum to their deep-throated rumbling and the padding of their massive paws.

  But he did not wait for them to attack. They were as shocked as Kareste had been, and that was the moment of opportunity he hoped for. Fortune favored the bold.

  Aranloth’s staff sang as he swung it. With all the strength of his will he brought it down upon the skull of the nearest beast. To his sur
prise, there was a flash of magic. It sputtered to life, and he felt a strange power tingle through his body and flare in the timber. After a faltering moment, as though of a kindled flame that might yet be snuffed out, it roared in a fury of fire that blazed like the sun, though the light was silver, shot through with blue.

  He nearly dropped the staff. The hound leaped in pain and surprise. It landed, stumbling and disorientated. With a howl it thrashed in rage as fire caught in the great ruff of fur around its neck, sending curls of putrid smoke into the air.

  The beast shambled away, howling and rolling in the grass to try to put out the flame that burned it. The other hounds held back, growling. A moment they studied him, uncertainty in their eyes.

  That moment was all he needed. He was off, sprinting straight at the horsemen. He saw from their faces that they did not believe what he had just done. With luck, it would take them a few seconds to realize what he would do next.

  All was caught in a net of confusion and surprise, and he was at the center of it. But the hounds, after their initial reticence, bounded after him. Brand feared they would reach him before he could accomplish his true aim, but just then he heard a wild yell from behind.

  Kareste had left the safety of the boulder, and with the hounds before her, oblivious to what she did, she sprayed blasting fire among them.

  He saw the streaking light flicker all through the air, heard the yelps of pain and noticed the pounding chase falter and grow disordered.

  Before they grasped what was happening, Brand was among the horsemen. Their steeds were wild with fear, both from the nearing beasts and the sudden flame. They bucked and kicked and screamed with fright.

  Some of the men lifted their swords, and the bright blades flashed as they swept toward him. But he was fleet of foot, and they must also try to control their mounts and avoid falling.