Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (19 page)

Her earnestness and the seriousness of her gaze
startled him.

“Of course,” he said, without hesitation.

“Whatever happens in the future, promise me you’ll
never go inside it. No matter what.”

“Why would I ever want to?” he said.

“I don’t know. But the lòhrengai that gives me the
Seeker sense gives me other gifts as well. Sometimes . . . I can see hidden
things . . . even things that haven’t happened yet. And I have a bad feeling
about it. Just promise me.
Please.
”

He looked at her and was amazed at her intensity.
Could she foresee his future as some lòhrens were supposed to be able to do? It
did not really matter. She had asked him to do something, and he would do
whatever she wanted.”

“I promise,” he said simply.

She nodded, accepting his answer but not making any
move to follow Aranloth to the horses.

“There's something else,” she said.

He looked to the cave, wondering what else she would
ask, but she shook her head slowly and did not take her eyes off him.

“It’s not about that.” She hesitated, searching for
the right words. “It’s the sword.”

His hand reached down toward its hilt as she spoke.

“What of it?” he asked.

“It’s dangerous, Lan. Already I sense the effect
it’s having on you. And I don’t like it.”

He laughed. “Now you’re worrying about nothing. The
sword isn’t dangerous. I just saved Aranloth’s life with it.”

Erlissa kept looking at him. “I’m not saying that it
isn’t useful. You might have saved his life, but what about your own?”

 He did not know what she was talking about. “My
life isn’t in any danger. Mecklar and Gwalchmur, even Ebona, can’t get to us
now. Not for a while anyway. And if they do, the sword will protect us.”

Even though he had not actually touched the hilt he
felt a warm flush of power run up his arm and infuse him as he thought of it.

“What of the Royal Guards?”

Lanrik was at a loss. “What do they have to do with
anything?”

“You killed them,” she said.

“So what? It’s not the first time you’ve seen me
kill.”

Erlissa bit her lip, but she did not look away from
him.

“No, you’ve killed before. When you thought it
unavoidable.”

“So what’s the difference?”

Aranloth glanced over because of his raised voice,
but Lanrik did not care.

“Well? What’s the difference?”

Erlissa face reddened, but she spoke calmly.

“The difference is simple. This time you paid them
no heed. You killed them . . . and then gave them no further thought. None at
all.”

He threw his hands in the air. “They got what they
deserved,” he said. “Let that be an end to it.”

He walked away from her.

“Think on it,” she said, and her gaze followed him.

He did not answer, and Aranloth led them the rest of
the way to the top of the ledge in silence. It levelled out and left them on
flat land again. The escarpment stretched out to either side behind them, and
the Carist Nien on their left flowed toward it, slow and graceful compared to
the roar of the falls below.

“Now we must ride as we have never ridden before,”
the lòhren said. “The danger of Ebona grows behind us, and the threat to
Lòrenta gathers ahead!”

Lonfar’s attention drifted away from the lòhrens’
debate about how to respond to the elùgroth’s demand. Aratar had convinced them
that the sorcerer might be able to fulfil his threat but could not foster an
agreement on how they should respond.

There was only one answer as far as Lonfar was
concerned. It seemed obvious to him, even if the others did not see it.

He was on the outer edge of their gathering and sat
on one of the white granite seats that ringed the Eye of the Storm. Water
sprayed from the fountain, and he tilted his head to watch it. He felt its
peace and was content to wait until the various arguments had run their course,
and then offer his own comments when they would have most effect.

This was a change in attitude. Only a few years ago
he was as reckless of his words and their consequences as he was of the blade
that he had carried. His new life was improving him, both the influence of the
lòhrens and the confidence he gained from keeping his vow not to wield the
sword again.

Sunlight filled the courtyard and played over its
green lawns and many-flowered gardens. It was beautiful and calm, but the
students’ lessons had been suspended, and it was now empty. The students, no
doubt uncertain and frightened, were inside the fortress, and the courtyard was
a lesser place without them.

He noticed a sudden quiet and belatedly realized
Aratar had addressed him.

“Lonfar?”

“I’m sorry, Lòhren Aratar. What did you say?”

Aratar showed no sign of irritation. He never did.
The hands of his long and knobby arms remained peacefully clasped on top of his
lap.

“I was telling the others that I invited you because
you’ve encountered elùgroths before. You’ve also spoken to this one personally,
which we haven’t. What do you suggest we do?”

Lonfar knew he might not get another opportunity to
speak. Aratar valued his opinion more than the others did, but he had not
helped his cause by being inattentive. It made him look disinterested.

“The facts are simple,” he began. “The elùgroth
likely has the means to carry out his threat. If not, no harm can come to the
students unless we lead them out of the fortress. The elùgroth cannot be
trusted to keep his word about safe passage.”

One of the lòhrens interrupted. “What’s to stop us
from using a back exit and slipping out unobserved during the night?”

“Nothing,” replied Lonfar. “Remember though, that
while there’s only one elùgroth now, there’ll be more later. We won’t deceive
them for long. We’re surrounded by wild lands and far from any protection, and
we’d be hunted down and killed.”

The lòhren frowned. “But if the elùgroth can carry
out his threat, then to stay here is to suffer the same fate as the fortress.”

All the lòhrens looked uncomfortable.

“We’re at an impasse,” said one. “No course of
action is better than another.”

“That’s one way to look at it, Carangar,” Lonfar
said. “It’s not how I do, though. To accept that is to remove our ability to
act.”

Aratar leaned forward. “And how can we do that?”

Lonfar knew he had their attention. They were
listening carefully, but he guessed that only Aratar had an idea of what he
would suggest.

“We have to hold fast and hope for help from
outside. And we must take the fight to the elùgroth and attack him before the
others arrive. He’s their leader, and to harm him is to disrupt their plans.”

The lòhrens looked at him in dismay, but Aratar gave
a slow nod of approval.

“Lonfar is correct.”

“We’re no match for an elùgroth master!” Carangar
said.

The lòhren gathered himself and went on more slowly.
“There aren’t enough of us to challenge his power. Let’s be honest – only the
weakest are left here. That’s why we’re teaching instead of wandering over
Alithoras.”

“What you say is true,” Aratar said. “Yet it doesn’t
lift the burden that chance has laid on us. We cannot stay idle while our
enemies work to destroy Lòrenta. We must hope for help from outside, but in the
meantime do what we can to resist. If we delay too long, the elùgroth’s
brethren will arrive and deprive us of our opportunity.”

Aratar surveyed them all with the dispassionate gaze
of a leader. Lonfar could almost see him calculating which of them would give
the venture the greatest likelihood of success. The old man’s glance fell on
him, and an unvoiced question hung in the air.

He had vowed not to use his sword again and kept
that promise despite temptation. His decision to lay it down was a symbol of
his new life, and if he picked it up now, he was scared that he would never be
able to put aside his old ways. But the idea to act was his, and he could not
let others risk their lives while he remained safe.

He nodded his acquiescence at Aratar, wondering if
there was a solution to his dilemma.

“It’s settled,” Aratar said. “Some of us will attack
the elùgroth and some remain with the students.”

His gaze swept over them again. “I’ll take on this
venture, but I’ll need five volunteers to go with me.”

Two lòhrens put their hands up straight away, and
after a few moments thought, another did as well.

Aratar waited a little while longer. “Anyone else?”
he asked gently.

His words were unanswered until Carangar cleared his
throat.

“I’ll go,” the lòhren said.

Lonfar was surprised. Carangar always seemed fonder
of talk than action, and he appeared timid and nervous. It proved that you did
not really know people until they were put under pressure.

He sighed and stood up himself. “I’ll go too, if you
think I can help.”

“Your help is welcome,” Aratar said. “You may not
have lòhrengai, but you’re a survivor.”

The lòhren tilted his head, and his eyes went vacant
as though his words had triggered an inner vision. He then dismissed the
remaining lòhrens with instructions to mix among the students and offer comfort
and guidance.

When they were gone, he looked straight to Lonfar.

“You have the most experience with this sort of
thing. How exactly should we go about it?”

A weight of responsibility settled over Lonfar, but
he had guessed the question would be asked and prepared for it. He leaned
forward and explained his plan in detail.

****

Lonfar waited nervously with Aratar and Carangar
near the portcullis. They had been there for a long time, but when the signal
from the tower finally came that the gate was going to be opened, it seemed too
soon. All of a sudden his heart raced, and his skin prickled coldly.

The portcullis rose, and they sprang through the
dark opening and onto the brightly lit ground between the fortress and the
birch wood. The elùgroth saw them and straightened. He gripped the wych-wood
staff in his pale hands and raised it high.

They sprinted ahead. The lòhrens’ robes flew wildly,
but Lonfar’s Raithlin cloak was tight about him. His plan was working so far.
As intended, the elùgroth’s attention was focused only on them.

Lonfar was surprised at the speed of the lòhrens. Old
they may be, but he struggled to keep up. He ran as fast as he could, his
breath ragged from fear as well as physical exertion.

He caught a quick glance behind the sorcerer of fog
rolling down from the moors and filling the wood. It was no accident. It was
called by lòhrengai, and its seeking tendrils spilled out toward the elùgroth.

The other lòhrens who had volunteered for the attack
had exited the back of the fortress and swept around behind the birches. It was
their task to summon the fog. The strategy relied on the elùgroth reacting to
the frontal attack while they assailed him from the rear. By forcing him to
face one group at a time, they hoped to reduce his advantage. Everything
depended on timing though, and on the lòhrens getting close enough under cover
of the fog before being detected.

Lonfar felt the plan was without honor, but he had
devised it because it was all they had. The elùgroth was too strong for them
otherwise, and they had to do whatever they could to protect Lòrenta. What was
the good of honor if it cost innocent lives and imperiled Alithoras? And as the
elùgroth’s own actions had put him in this position, was not anything that
happened to him consequently his own fault? Yet it still rankled, and Lonfar
wondered why doing the right thing felt wrong.

The wych-wood staff was pointed in his direction
like a finger of death. A blast of wicked red flame seared the air. He and the
lòhrens dived and rolled, avoiding the bolt that scorched the green grass. They
came to their feet and ran again while smoke drifted up from the ripped and
blackened earth.

They were closing the gap. Aratar had warned them
that this was their moment of greatest risk. They must get close to bring
lòhrengai to bear, but the elùgroth, being more powerful, would strike sooner.

Lonfar raked his gaze over the wood but saw no sign
of the other lòhrens, and the elùgroth’s deadly attention remained fixed on
them. The wych-wood staff came to bear once more. The sorcerer paused
momentarily then flung a bolt of elùgai to Lonfar’s right. Too late did
Carangar dodge, and a blast of crimson fire against his chest knocked him down.
He staggered to his feet but was hammered down again. He screamed as fire
ripped through his cloak like a knife and drove into his flesh, which smoked
and withered. He went still, and Lonfar and Aratar ran on.

The tall figure now sensed the danger behind him and
spun around as the lòhrens closed on him from the wood. They were dim figures
moving between the fog-shrouded tree trunks. Long tendrils of mist curled out
ahead of them, and on touching the elùgroth they firmed like rope and tightened
around him.

He struggled against the bindings and forced the
staff up. He cast a sheet of red flame in their direction, and they dived and
scattered, then came to their feet and flung lòhren-fire back. The cords about
him gripped harder, and he was driven to the ground, kneeling on one knee as
lòhrengai struck him repeatedly. The wych-wood staff dropped from his hands.

He bowed his head and remained still for a moment,
and then bunched his shoulders and drove himself up on his long legs. Red flame
flickered around him. While he struggled with the bindings, the lòhrens behind
worked in unison to send a sheet of fire at him. It flashed and fluttered in
the air before landing on him like a blanket.

He turned and twisted. For just an instant Lonfar
thought they could win, but with a surge of elùgai that sparked in all
directions, he burst the bonds. Cords of fog burnt away in wisps of steam, and
the lòhren-fire faltered.

The elùgroth stood still for a moment. He was tall,
dark and angry. His robes, tattered and burnt at the edges, smoldered. Aratar
closed on him, and Lonfar was only a few paces behind. The sorcerer raised his
hand, and fire streamed from his fingers knocking them sprawling.

He picked up his staff and spun back to the lòhrens.
He sent a succession of shattering bolts at them until the white trunks of the
birches were scorched, and smoke roiled upward through their branches. The
lòhrens dodged behind cover, but he probed them out with bolts of flame.

While they fought, Lonfar crept past the unconscious
figure of Aratar. He dared not stand and draw attention to himself. The mist
around him had turned to vapor and rose with the smoke from the burnt grass. It
offered little cover, but with the Raithlin cloak it could just be enough to
get him closer.

The elùgroth sent jagged fire at one of the lòhrens.
It knocked his legs from beneath him and pinned him to the ground relentlessly.
His robes smoked and burned, and he shouted in agony as he died. The other
lòhrens desperately flung fire at the elùgroth, but their strength was fading,
and he shrugged their weakened attacks aside. He swept a wall of flame at them,
and they reeled back and fell. They crawled for cover, but the red elùgai ate
away at their bodies while they screamed.

Their cries tortured Lonfar. These were the weakest
lòhrens, ill-suited to opposing such an enemy, and though they could have
turned and fled they were fighting with all they had to try to save Lòrenta. He
could do no less, and moved by white-hot anger, he surged to his feet only a
dozen paces from the elùgroth.

The sorcerer sensed him and spun, red fire flickered
at the tip of the wych-wood staff. Lonfar had kept his vow and left his sword
behind, but he could not make himself face an elùgroth empty handed. He drew
one of his Raithlin knives, doubt tugging at him that he had still broken the
spirit of his promise, and hurled it with the skill of long years of practice.
It wheeled and cut through the smoke and steam-laden air.

The knife struck the sorcerer in the upper arm
instead of the neck. Nevertheless, bright blood spurted from an artery. He
reached for a second knife and felt its weight in his hand, but the enemy was
too swift. Red fire burst toward him and beat into his chest. It sent him
flying to the ground and pinned him. He felt the stab of burning flesh and
smelled it in his nostrils. Consciousness flickered and he prepared to die, but
as quick as it came the flame ceased, and he felt the sudden release of its
pressure.

He looked up through nauseating pain and streaming
tears.

The elùgroth had thrown down his staff and clamped a
hand to his wound. Red fire erupted from his palm, and he loosed a high-pitched
scream from his throat. It was more animal than human and was filled with rage
and pain.

Lonfar realized the sorcerer was cauterizing the
wound to stop the bleeding that might otherwise kill him. In moments he would
be done and would pick up the staff and continue the attack. Lonfar tried to
rise but fell back to the ground. Suddenly bright fire burst from behind him.
Aratar was up again, and the lòhren-fire hit the elùgroth, but the dark figure
merely shrugged it aside as he concentrated on his task.