Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (16 page)

It was unlikely the elùgroth had come to attack them
though. Lòrenta’s defenses would render an assault against the fortress futile,
and there would be little to gain from killing an ordinary man outside its
walls. Nevertheless, the skin along his spine grew cold and tight while his
palms dampened with sweat.

He breathed deeply and tried to calm himself by
logically working through the situation. The pivotal question was why the
elùgroth had come. He could not think of a specific reason but knew his purpose
was malevolent. Whatever the sorcerer said he must keep his reaction to it
unemotional and give nothing away about what he thought. His job would be to
listen carefully and pass on any message for the lòhrens.

The elùgroth was unnaturally motionless. He was a
towering figure, seven feet tall, though some of that was attributable to his
knee-length boots. They were iron-shod and midnight black, as were his robes.
His head was deeply cowled, and his face obscured; only his hands showed where
they gripped a dark and supple wych-wood staff. They were bone white and
blue-veined.

Lonfar halted ten paces away. That was close enough.

The sorcerer’s body did not move, but the cowled
head pivoted toward him with purpose, and he felt the pressure of a chill gaze
from the shadowed face. When the figure spoke, his voice was remote like the
rumble of slow thunder on Galenthern and cold as storm-driven rain.

“They sent a servant?”

The elùgroth leaned slightly forward and scrutinized
him. The skin of his face became visible; it was pallid and bloated but the
eyes remained hidden.

“Perhaps I should kill you to demonstrate my
displeasure?”

Lonfar felt a sudden rush of temper but held it in
check.
Pompous fool.

“That would let the lòhrens know what you think. The
only problem is that afterwards they wouldn’t send anyone else.”

“Are they cowards that they come not themselves?”

Lonfar shrugged. “Does it matter? None of this
brings us to the point.”

The elùgroth’s expression sharpened, and Lonfar
understood why people sometimes fainted in their presence. But he could play
games as well as anyone and looked where they eyes would be and waited
silently.

The elùgroth laughed, low and cold like the grinding
of river ice in the spring thaw.

“I will not kill you. I, Elù-Randùr, shall give you
simple words to repeat to your masters instead . . . if you can remember them.”

Lonfar’s temper got the better of him, and he replied
with sarcasm. “I’ll try my best. If I forget, I’ll improvise.”

Elù-Randùr was still and silent for so long that
Lonfar feared he had gone too far. He gave a slight shrug. He would treat the
elùgroth the same as anybody else and damn the consequences. His hand itched
for a sword hilt though.

“You have an insolent tongue.”

“I’ve heard that before. But the sooner you give me
your message the sooner you’re rid of me.”

The elùgroth raised the wych-wood staff in his left
hand and levelled it at him. Blue veins ran spider-like up his pallid forearms,
but the muscles underneath were hard as iron bundles.

“My message is this,” the elùgroth said. “Listen
carefully, for I shall only say it once.”

Elù-Randùr spoke briefly and explained what he
wished the lòhrens to know. When he finished Lonfar backed away. His mind
reeled as he turned and walked to the fortress. He listened for any sound
behind him indicating treachery, but if the elùgroth was going to kill him he
would already have done so.

Each step that brought him closer to the lòhrens
became harder for he bore a burden that weighed him down. What he had learned
could be a ruse, but he did not think so. He had heard both satisfaction and
expectation in the elùgroth’s voice, and he was convinced.

He reached the portcullis, and it lifted smoothly
allowing him admittance. The lòhrens had come down from the tower, anxious with
curiosity, but he dreaded to relieve it. The metal grid dropped behind him with
a mighty clamor.

“Well?” Aratar said.

“The elùgroth is alone.”

“What did he say?” asked one of the others.

Lonfar answered with reluctance. “Lòrenta, the
elùgroth told me, will soon be ruined. He offers us a choice. If we give him
control of the ùhrengai that protects it, he will permit us to leave safely.
Stay, and we will be sent to oblivion.”

The lòhrens were confused and spoke all at once.

“He can’t be serious,” said one.

“The fortress is impenetrable,” said another.

Aratar seemed less sure and wanted more information.
“Did he say anything else?”

“He knew you would doubt him. He acknowledges the
fortress cannot be destroyed, but he claims it can be forced into the spirit
word. They have discovered a way to use a Morleth Stone to do so. Our choice is
to yield Lòrenta, and all that is in it, or face doom when he is joined by
others of his kind.”

The lòhrens fell into debate. Some thought it was a
bluff; others, chief among them Aratar, thought it might be possible.

Lonfar had no doubt. The enemy had devised a way to
get around the defensive ùhrengai. He did not need to understand the whys and
wherefores to appreciate the fact. In the end, the lòhrens could not risk
anything other than to work on the basis that it was true and choose a response
accordingly. Should they hand over the fortress and save the children, or
should they hold fast?

He had already made up his mind. Ultimately, the
decision rested with Aratar though. He was the highest authority in the
fortress. He had a brilliant mind and was a strong-willed man, but Lonfar
worried about the trusting side of his nature.

Lanrik was weary beyond exhaustion. His eyes were
dry and gritty from lack of sleep, and he shifted continuously in his saddle to
find a more comfortable position. But he could not rest, for time was running
out. They had ridden hard and slept little for the two days that it had taken
them to reach Enorìen. The mistletoe berries must be harvested tonight: the
next half moon would be too late.

The rolling hills in front of them were overgrown
with dense forest. The angle of the afternoon sun turned the hillcrests
yellow-green and the valleys below into pools of shadow. The land seemed wild
and impenetrable, yet Aranloth assured them it could be travelled.

The gently sloping downlands lay behind. They had
not sighted Mecklar and his followers until this morning when they saw distant
riders. After they left the road and struck southeast toward Enorìen, the
riders followed suite.

Lanrik was tempted to wait for them. He had scores
to settle and promises to keep, but he controlled the sudden urge. Aranloth and
Erlissa needed him.

They entered the forest and he sensed something
different about it. Unlike the small woods that he was used to, it was vast and
old. He saw no tracks of people or livestock, no sign of timber-cutters or
hunters. They were in a land that was remote and untouched by man.

Erlissa looked about her with wonder. She was
sensing something that he did not feel himself. She was more sensitive than he
was, perhaps because she was a woman, or maybe because of her instincts as a
Seeker. She always seemed to know how he felt too, and when he needed help. He
wished he could do the same for her.

Aranloth found paths where at first there did not
seem to be any and brought them to forest glades and open tracts where they
could ride with speed. The afternoon grew old, and in a clearing with short
green grass they came across a small group of deer. Though they had ridden with
noise, and their scent would have drifted ahead on the wind, the animals merely
watched them, heads held high and ears pricked. They had never been hunted or
learned to fear man.

Lanrik noticed Erlissa looking at him with shining
eyes and a bright grin. She appeared very young, too young for someone who had
endured what she had, but her joy of life and the wellspring of her kindness
seemed unlimited. She was remarkable and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He remembered her words in the ruined tower
of Haladhon.
You and I will
always
be friends. No matter what.

The friendship of a woman like her was
irreplaceable. Would there ever be more though? He had feelings for her and
they were growing. He recognized that trying to save Lòrenta, and his uncle,
were not his only reasons for coming on this journey.

How did she feel? She had called him a friend, but
could she see him as something more? A lot stood between them, not least an
opposed attitude on how to live life, but he wondered if any of that mattered.

Aranloth slowed and dismounted near a massive oak
that dominated the clearing and the deer picked their way into the cover of
nearby trees.

“Why are we stopping?” asked Erlissa.

Aranloth handed her the reins to the roan. “The
Guardian will have sensed our presence when we crossed into Enorìen, and it’s
unwise to travel too far into the hills without performing a special ritual.
It’s the lòhrens way of seeking permission.”

Lanrik glanced behind him. “How long will it take?
Mecklar and his followers can’t be far away.”

The lòhren gestured dismissively. “Mecklar is no
longer our greatest threat. Men aren’t kept out of Enorìen by its reputation
alone. The Guardian is all-powerful in this land and will come to us soon.”

He walked to the oak and touched its gnarled trunk
before gripping his staff with both hands. He stood very still, and the diadem
on his brow gleamed within the deep shadows of the leaf canopy. He lifted the
staff slowly, one end pointed to the sky and the other earthward.

He struck the tip with sudden force into the leaf mold
and lòhren-fire ran along the staff’s length. Once more he raised it, then
struck again with greater power. Fire flared to life from both ends; it speared
deep into the earth and spumed upward. Slowly he lifted it again, then slammed
it against the ground.

The earth rumbled and lòhren-fire traced millions of
oak roots. The dark soil glowed and power surged up through the tree. It flowed
through trunk, branch and twig. Each leaf shivered and then flashed with
brilliant light. It flickered out as quick as it came and left the whole tree
astir as though caught in a breeze, but not a single leaf fell.

Aranloth came back to them. “It is done,” he said
formally.

“What now?” asked Lanrik.

The lòhren took back the roan’s reins from Erlissa.
“The Guardian will come and give us the permission we need, though some sort of
bargain will be involved. We cannot wait here though. Darkness is coming and we
must be in the oak grove by midnight.”

He mounted and led the way again, picking a path
uncannily through the tangled growth.

Lanrik noticed that the lòhren was right. Darkness
was coming. Already it was dim in the forest and travel would soon be harder.
What worried him most though was Aranloth’s statement that a bargain with the
Guardian must be struck.

They did not stop to eat or rest. They maintained a
steady pace even when darkness fell and the forest woke to life all about them.
There were weird grunts and barks, screeches and hoots, and there were thumps
and unidentifiable noises that came from near and far. It was not a place that
Lanrik would have liked to travel by himself, but Aranloth seemed to know where
he was going and Erlissa enjoyed it. As long as he was with her, he did not
really mind where he was.

He had begun to think that they would have to
dismount and lead the horses by hand when the forest opened. They were deep and
high in Enorìen now; the hills had become steeper, and rocky outcrops regularly
broke the ground. The stars glittered through the canopy, and the half moon
would soon rise above the skyline. When it did, their time would swiftly run
out.

Aranloth stopped and dismounted. “The Guardian has
come,” he said.

Lanrik and Erlissa secured their horses before
standing beside him. A massive hill bulked in the dim light to their left. To
their right was another, not as large, but covered with boulders and tangled
scrub. Between the two ran a narrow cleft and a path hemmed by trees. It led
downward, but he could not see far in the darkness.

He watched and waited for a long time before a
figure came into sight. It strode down the right hand hill with the easy gait
of someone who walked all day. There was confidence and purpose in their
bearing as well as surety of power.

The Guardian swiftly approached and stood before
them.

Lanrik had kept an open mind about what to expect,
but he was still surprised. That the Guardian was female was likely enough, but
that she was not human took him aback. It hit him suddenly that he had left his
homeland, the Raithlin, and all that was familiar behind. He was groping about
in a world of lòhrens, dark sorcery, enchanted swords and creatures of whom he
knew nothing.

The Guardian had a disquieting presence. There was
authority in her posture, the tilt of her head, and the broodiness of her dark
glance beneath coarse eyebrows.

Her eyes were deep pits, but the starlight revealed
them as nut brown. So too was her skin, though it was paler and tinged
leaf-green. Her long hair spilled over broad shoulders in wild cascades like a
dark waterfall, and her limbs and body were slick with taut muscle. When she
bent her glance upon him he felt her power. In this land she ruled; all things
bowed to her will or were broken. And yet there was a hint of shyness about her
too, something of the wild animal.

She turned her eyes to Aranloth. “Long has it been
since last you came, even by the reckoning of my kind. Yet ever you want
something, and it will be no different now. Speak!”

Aranloth showed no offence at her abruptness. “I do
as I must, Carnona.”

She flashed him an unexpected grin. Her teeth were
very white and her deep eyes glittered.

“Few use my old name. It is good to hear it.”

Her smile came and went swiftly, and Lanrik realized
she could change mood in a heartbeat.

“What do you want?” she said.

“Lòrenta is in danger and—”

“I care nothing for Lòrenta or the affairs of
lòhrens,” she interrupted. “Tell me your request and I will consider it. That
is all.”

Aranloth was unperturbed. “Very well. I need three
berries; three fruit of the mistletoe that grows in the oak groves and waxes
ripe under the summer half moon.”

Carnona eyed him for a long time without speaking.

“There are such groves of oak and such berries as
you seek. Yet they are potent. Do you understand their power?

“Yes.”

She studied him again. She was like a hawk that
cocked its head and searched for food.

“Why should I let you take ùhrengai from my land?”

“Because I need it.”

Carnona laughed and the sound was like the bark of a
wild animal. “As good an answer as any. And what of Ebona? I sense her
influence in Enorìen. Does she also covet the berries?”

“No. She wishes to obstruct me.”

Carnona folded her arms. Fat thumbs pressed and
twitched against the bulge of her muscles while she contemplated the situation
silently.

Lanrik noticed that Erlissa fidgeted next to him and
he too was alive with strain. He had not realized that so much depended on the
will of the Guardian or that success or failure was under her sway.

Aranloth, who had most to lose, was surprisingly
calm. He leaned on his staff in the casual posture he often adopted, but Lanrik
was not fooled. Just as the lòhren made no outward show of power, he was adept
at veiling his emotions during a crisis. Erlissa had said that he was a man who
felt deep compassion for others, and Lanrik believed it. Irrespective of his
appearance he would be thinking of the people in Lòrenta and the consequences
should he fail them

Carnona reached a decision.

“I will allow you to harvest the berries.”

Aranloth nodded gravely and waited. Lanrik’s relief
at the Guardian’s answer was washed away when she went on.

“But a price must be paid.”

“That is expected,” the lòhren said. “What do you
wish of me?”

“It is not only you who must pay.”  She pointed
toward Lanrik and Erlissa. “So too must they.”

Aranloth straightened. “These are merely my
companions, Carnona. They have nothing to do with our bargain.”

The Guardian went rigid; her muscles trembled like a
horse whose flesh shivered at a strange touch.

“They have everything to do with it.”

“I will do what you require of me,” Aranloth said,
“but they have only come because of me.”

“Do you not seek
three
berries? And will your
companions not use the land’s ùhrengai, just as you will?”

Aranloth was still for a moment. “It is as you say,
but—”

Erlissa interrupted him. “What Carnona says is fair,
Aranloth. If there must be a price, I am willing to pay it, if I can.”

Carnona flashed her a sudden grin from bright teeth,
but by the time her glance flickered to Lanrik it was gone. She looked at him
intently, and he felt the strength and authority of her gaze. She was queen of
this land, and no other power, even lòhrengai, held sway.

Lanrik was overcome with doubt, but Erlissa had
shown him the way. “I too will do as I must.”

Carnona studied him for a few moments then turned
her back on them all and walked away.

“Follow!” she commanded. “I will consider the prices
as I lead you to the nearest grove.”

“What of Ebona’s servants?” Aranloth asked.

“My sister and I strive toward different goals. She
had her own realm. Her presence in mine is neither needed nor wanted, and those
who bear her mark will be cast out.”

Carnona strode ahead and they led the horses after
her. The Guardian was short, but she took them swiftly to the steep trail that
descended the cleft between hills. They were forced along a path that snaked
between rocky outcrops, but she gracefully gathered herself and leapt from
stone to stone as delicately as a deer that picked its way between tree trunks.

The trees grew close together and blotted out the
starlight. It was still and quiet. Lanrik wondered if they were the first
people to tread this path. Lòhrens might have been to Enorìen before, but
certainly not often, and he doubted they had explored even a fraction of it. A
thrill of excitement ran through him, and he walked with eagerness. His eyes
were alive to each new plant or tree that loomed in the dim light. At the same
time, a deep-seated anxiety gnawed at him. What price would Carnona demand?

The night wore on. Shadows and trees closed about
them as they passed deep into the cleft. Lanrik wondered if even during the day
sunlight filtered into this remote valley.

It was oddly silent. Nothing moved or drew breath
here except them. There were only trees; oaks so old that they might have seen
the first dawn of Alithoras.

There was something about the vale that made Lanrik
nervous, a feeling that humans were not meant to defile it, and only the
presence of Carnona, the embodiment of the land itself, protected them.

Who was she?
What
was she? And what was the
history between her and Ebona? He understood little of what was happening but
began to be aware that there were powers in the world to which men were
oblivious. Nevertheless, they were at work and shaped the land and its life in
ways he could not grasp.