Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3)

by Robert Ryan

  “Her uncle is Faramond,” he added.

  “Faramond? As in the horse trainer?”

  “How many other Faramonds do you know? Yes. It’s that Faramond. The famous one. The one who trains the best horses to ever race in the Haranast.” He leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Word reached her during the night that he collapsed. He needs her help. He’s an old man, you know.”

  The soldier looked hesitant. Faramond was a beloved horse trainer. And few liked going to the Haranast to watch the races, and drink, better than young soldiers.

  The man seemed inclined to let them through, but one of his companions raised an arm and pointed over their heads.

  “It looks to me like they’re being chased,” the soldier said.

  Everyone’s eyes narrowed and looked back down the road. The Royal Guard were getting nearer, and they were not sparing their horses.

  The young man looked at them hard. His hand was still on the sword hilt.

  “Have you stolen these horses? Is that why you’re riding bareback?”

  “Look at them man!” Lanrik said heatedly. “They’re quality horses. They’re some of the finest you’ll ever see. That should be proof enough that Tamril lives with her uncle, and that he needs her. Needs her now! And that’s no pursuit. The Royal Guard don’t chase horse thieves. They’re our escort, but their horses aren’t as fast as ours.”

  The soldier wavered.

  Erlissa leaned forward. A single tear ran down her cheek, and her face took on an expression of frustration and fury.

  “If my uncle dies, I’ll tell the whole city that it was the guards at the gate who stopped me from getting to him in time. Let us through!”

  The young man paled. It was a dangerous time in Esgallien. Trouble always made the races more popular as people sought a distraction. No one would want to be held responsible for the death of the most respected trainer in the last hundred years. But would that be enough? Lanrik could not tell, and in the distance the pursuit was catching up.

  4. Hunted

  Time slowed, and Lanrik felt the breath in his lungs catch and cease to flow. For a moment, their fates hung in the balance, and then, with a brisk wave to his men, the soldier moved to the side.

  “Let them through,” he said.

  The men parted. Lanrik, resisting the urge to look behind, trotted through the gap and into the tunnel. Erlissa rode close beside him, and the clatter of hooves on the cobbled surface rang loud in the confined space. He thought he heard other noises too, perhaps yelling from those who pursued them, but it was too faint and dim to tell for sure.

  After a few moments, they passed through the arch in the inner wall and rode beneath the shadow of Conhain’s mighty towers. They were on the Hainer Lon, and inside the city, but that did not mean that the chase was over.

  The great road ran ahead of them. It traveled far, all the way to River Gate, and crossed the heart of the city between. It was central to all Esgallien: thousands of stalls, shops, businesses and homes lined its sides, and long porticoes to left and right sheltered people from rain and sun alike. But the Hainer Lon offered little protection to fugitives.

  Lanrik kicked his horse into a gallop, and Erlissa matched him. They raced ahead, for it was still quiet, but soon crowds would build and slow them to a walk. They would also be conspicuous, for hastening bareback as they were, they would draw everyone’s gaze, and among the watches there would certainly be those quick to suspicion and even some ready to aid the Royal Guard.

  What they needed now was stealth, rather than speed, and a place to hide and to disappear within the city, for they could not hope to evade a pursuit where the mass of people would slow them, remember them, and willingly or unwillingly, allow the Royal Guards to catch up.

  Lanrik turned left down the first side street that offered what he needed. There was an inn, and though there were likely stables down the side or back of the yard, there were hitching posts at the front to tether horses.

  He dismounted and led his horse toward a post.

  “Look casual,” he whispered.

  There were several people nearby, and for all he knew there could also be Royal Guards in the inn. They must not draw attention to themselves, and yet they must act quickly.

  They looped their reins through the holes in the post and started to walk off casually as though going about their normal business.

  The further they went from their horses, the stranger it would look, but by the time someone noticed or thought to question them, it would be too late. However, before they were halfway down the street, they heard the sudden clatter of many hooves along the Hainer Lon. Lanrik glanced back over his shoulder.

  Riders streamed past, but one abruptly halted.

  “My horse!” the man shouted.

  Lanrik and Erlissa ran. Looking casual would no longer serve them.

  He took the lead, but Erlissa kept pace close behind him. Their pursuers jostled one by one into the street as they gave chase. For a moment, Lanrik heard them gather speed and close in, and then an intersection loomed and he took a right turn into an alleyway.

  Ahead, the way was confined and buildings of ancient and crumbling brick rose steeply above them. They were tenement homes for some of the poorer citizens of Esgallien. This was a dangerous place, a haven for robbers and violent crime, and the sort of area that Lanrik would normally avoid, but the darkness and lack of room suited him at the moment.

  They raced on. The alley was full of rubbish, and the cobbles beneath their feet were uneven and in ill repair. Water and muck gathered in potholes, and a foul smell hung heavy in the air.

  Ignoring the signs of poverty and decrepitude, they raced ahead. Behind, struggling to ride two abreast, came the first of the guards. They were like two corks in one bottle, squeezing each other and stopping everything behind.

  Lanrik saw another alley and darted left. This was wider, and there was a small market here. People milled around, talking or haggling over prices, and Lanrik took advantage of it.

  “Royal Guards!” he shouted. “They trying to kill everyone!”

  Panic broke out. People had no trouble believing his words, a situation that might have surprised him had he not already met Brinhain and his men.

  People, who only a moment before had been talking and laughing, now fled in a fever of fear. Some entered buildings and slammed doors shut, others raced along the street. At that moment, the first two guards turned the corner and their horses, covered in sweat, rushed into view.

  The panic intensified, and Lanrik and Erlissa, right in the middle of a pack of running people, went with a smaller group that broke away and dived inside an open doorway.

  It was a tenement building. There were already people inside, some crying, some screaming, but the last person to enter slammed the door and yelled for everyone to keep quiet. He put his ear to the timber and tried to hear what was happening outside.

  Lanrik and Erlissa were already on the move. The horses could be heard through the door, though whether they had been seen entering the building or not, they could not tell. Nor did they wait to find out.

  They went straight to a window at the back of the building, unbolted it, and clambered out into another alley.

  It was dark here, even seedier than the last one if that was possible, but there were no horses and there were no people, either. They raced along it.

  For the next few minutes they zigzagged through a half dozen more, running through those where nobody was present, and walking briskly in the others so as not to draw attention. They heard no horses, but they could hear intermittent yelling in the distance.

  They were heaving for breath, and their legs trembled.

  “We need to rest,” Erlissa said.

  She was right. They were nearly spent, and if they kept on going like this there was just as much chance of running into the guards by accident as escaping them. This part of the city was a maze, and they could turn into a narrow street at any moment and unwittin
gly come face to face with their pursuers.

  On the other hand, the longer they delayed the more chance that troops would be called in to reinforce and widen the existing search.

  They walked slowly now, carefully inspecting each street and only choosing crowded ones to walk down. The city was becoming increasingly busy as the day grew older, and that was a help in hiding them.

  They came to a wider street. A roofed colonnade ran to either side, and for a moment Lanrik though they were back on the Hainer Lon, but then he realized it was still too narrow for that. It was a market street of some sort though, and shops lined the way.

  “We need a change of clothes,” he said.

  Erlissa nodded. “So much for our disguises. We’ll have to alter our appearance completely again.” She paused and looked around. “But I know this place. I’ve been here before, although it was a long time ago.”

  She took his hand and led him onto the portico off the street. They passed a stall that offered various savory breads for breakfast, and the sudden smell of food made him hungry, but they were still in danger and he ignored it.

  Erlissa led him along a little further, and in moments they were in front of a small shop. The entrance was narrow, but inside many clothes hung from pegs in the wall or lay heaped in neat piles. It was exactly what they needed.

  A black-haired woman with a bright smile approached.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Just looking,” Erlissa answered noncommittally.

  It was the beginning of a long session of haggling. Lanrik hated the custom, at least normally. He did not doubt that he often overpaid for the things that he bought, but he would rather that, and get what he wanted quickly, than play a game of words. But it served them well now, for a group of Royal Guards was riding slowly down the street. They looked carefully at everybody as they went, but though they tried, they could not see far inside the shops to either side.

  He did not realize it for a moment, but the black-haired woman had come to stand close beside him.

  “What’s that noise?” she asked.

  Lanrik only noticed it when she spoke, for it was in the distance. He tilted his head to hear better, and caught the sound of a long and winding note from a horn. No doubt the Royal Guard were calling for reinforcements. That might mean the City Watch as well as more of their own, but he was not going to tell her that.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  Erlissa frowned. “Soldiers, I think. Probably the Royal Guard.”

  The woman hissed. “They’re always looking for somebody these days.” She looked as though she was about to say more, but then clamped her mouth shut.

  Lanrik had the feeling that few people spoke freely in Esgallien anymore. It was dangerous, and to speak ill of the Royal Guard might be especially so.

  The woman changed the subject. She was back to business now, as though the conversation had never started.

  “Well, I think this one suits you.” She held up a green dress, slim and elegant. It was perhaps one of the most expensive items in the shop, and he could see from Erlissa’s expression that she liked it, although it was doubtful if the woman noticed the same subtle signs.

  He relaxed. The haggling would continue a long time before the price of such a dress came down enough to do a deal, and they needed a rest.

  Out in the street he saw more guards. This group was on foot, and he was worried that they would start a search of each shop. But it soon became apparent that they would not. They had no reason to believe that he and Erlissa were here, and they did not have enough men to search each street in this part of the city, house by house and shop by shop. Not yet, at any rate.

  Erlissa finally settled on a price, and money changed hands. Lanrik, with his customary speed, picked out a green cloak. It would serve to hide his tunic.

  As an afterthought, he also bought a wide-brimmed hat that caught his fancy. He was not used to wearing hats, preferring a Raithlin hood, but it would change his appearance nicely.

  There were no guards in the street at the moment, and it was a good time to leave. He paid for his items swiftly, ignoring Erlissa’s frown and the black-haired woman’s faint smile, and they moved back out onto the portico.

  “We need another alley,” he said. “We have to change clothes as quickly as possible. We’re still in the search area.”

  “I’ve seen several groups,” she said.

  “They’re everywhere,” he agreed.

  They found an alley and moved down it.

  Tenement houses rose up all around them, steep and dark and grim. It was filthy here, as it often was away from the main streets. Lanrik did not like it, as he did not like much of the city, and yet there was a kind of splendor and humanity to most of Esgallien that attracted him in a way that the wild lands that he loved could not.

  Washing hung over low ropes, cheap and coarse clothes that seemed little improved by the cleaning process, and Lanrik put on his hat and cloak quickly. There was no one in the alley, but that did not mean that there were no eyes on them.

  Erlissa changed too, even more quickly than he, and she hung her old garments up on the line.

  They moved briskly away. At just that moment two Royal Guards turned into the alley. For a moment, Lanrik hesitated, but a moment only.

  5. The Voice of Doom

  There was no going back. That would only alert the guards and instigate a chase.

  He casually put his arm around Erlissa. She felt like a tense deer about to spring.

  “Keep going,” he whispered calmly. “Pretend nothing is wrong.”

  They walked forward at a leisurely pace. The guards scrutinized them. Despite their cold-eyed gaze, they were young men; too young, Lanrik thought, to be Royal Guards. He wondered if Ebona had deliberately filled the organization with new recruits. She would not be the first to build a personal army of impressionable young men, and to indoctrinate them into unquestioning support for her goals and methods.

  The guards said nothing, evidently fooled by the change of clothes and the pretense of a casual attitude.

  Lanrik and Erlissa moved out of the alley and turned into a much wider thoroughfare.

  “We were lucky,” he said.

  “I know,” she replied with a shudder. “They gave me the creeps the way they looked at me. And that was without even recognizing us.”

  “There seem to be more and more of them all the time,” Lanrik said.

  “Do you think we should find somewhere to hide? Or should we try to get away from this part of the city altogether?”

  Lanrik thought about it. “There are too many guards to stay here. They seem to be coming in from elsewhere, and I’m sure they’ll have our descriptions. It can’t just be because of what happened at the inn. They know I’m a Raithlin, and they’ll keep on searching until they find me.”

  “Do you think they know who you are, apart from just being a Raithlin?”

  “Brinhain might have recognized me as I dropped from the window. I’m sure he realized that I was a Raithlin – why else would the person who was attacked be the one to flee? But it was more than that. I think he figured out a bunch of things in that last moment, our identities among them. If so, Ebona will spare no effort to catch us. We can’t hide here. Each hour might bring more men, and eventually they’ll search every building. I think we’d be better off taking our chances on the street and getting as far away as we can.”

  They walked ahead. Lanrik did not try to conceal his face with the broad-brimmed hat. That would only make it obvious that he was trying to hide. Instead, he walked with his head high. Better to be seen, and not recognized, than to be less easily seen but looked at more closely.

  The morning passed, and the city filled with ever-larger crowds. There were guards too, standing on corners, walking down streets, mounted and on foot. The City Watch was everywhere too, but they seemed less keen on the search.

  After a while the racket of blowing horns died down. They s
ighted the guards less often, and then suddenly there were none at all. They had finally broken free of the net that sought to contain them, and they abandoned pretense of leisurely walking for a brisk pace as they strode through the thick crowds.

  “Do you know where we are?” Lanrik asked.

  “I’ve got a fair idea. I don’t know this part of the city well, but I’ve been here several times before. The Hainer Lon should be a few streets to our right.” She paused a moment. “But the real question is this – where do you want to go?”

  Lanrik did not hesitate. “The Merenloth. We need to see Bragga Mor. And the sooner the better. It should be a good place to hide too. It’s always crowded there.”

  “Should we risk the Hainer Lon, or stay on the back streets?”

  “The Hainer Lon would be quicker, but I’ve got a feeling that plenty of Royal Guards will be travelling down it to reinforce the search for us. Better to avoid them because there’s no way to know if they’ve already got our description.”

  They kept to the side streets as the morning wore on. They were tired, not only physically but also mentally, for fear was just as exhausting as running.

  After a while, Lanrik recognized where they were.

  “The Merenloth is close,” he said.

  He led the way and slipped up a side street. Almost immediately the crowd swelled, and the noise of many people talking, the din of traders selling wares and children playing grew loud. They stepped onto the Hainer Lon and pressed ahead.

  The great road of Esgallien seethed with people. It was a good place in its own way to hide, at least while they were on foot and there was no immediate pursuit. Walking along it reminded him of how large the city was. Tens of thousands of people dwelt here, and if they were somber at the inn, they were less so here. And yet he still caught an undercurrent of fear that he had never seen before. Some of the shops were closed and boarded up. Fire had reduced others to dilapidated shells, and private guards stood watch in front of the homes and shops of the wealthy.

  At that moment, Lanrik stopped dead in his tracks. To the right, a once-grand building smoldered. Smoke curled up from the ends of several long beams of blackened timber, and the smell of wet ash made the air acrid. What once was a two-story house, with elaborate balconies and a plastered portico, was now a ruin of cracked bricks and collapsed roof tiles.