Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (3 page)

They were too close now for the bow, and Lanrik
dropped it and drew his rapier. Darting to the left in order to ensure he faced
only one opponent at a time he deflected a wild swing and stabbed forward. His
blade ran deep and his enemy convulsed. He had only moments to withdraw the
blade before the remaining elug would be upon him. Just as he found the right
angle of release he heard a wild howl and looked up to see the sixth elug,
until now unaccounted for, leaping from the top of boulder under which he had
himself hidden. A wicked knife, bent as were their swords, slashed at his
throat.

Lanrik released his sword and rolled. The
knife-blade gashed his shoulder, and he felt warm blood seep over his back, but
he paid no heed to it.

Coming to his feet once more in a smooth movement,
he stood motionless. Both hands rested easily by his side, and he looked at his
attackers coolly. The elugs paused, unsure what to do. They were wary because
he had already killed four of their companions, and though now outnumbered and
weaponless, he was showing no fear.

They stood before him, and in the hand of one a
scimitar cut slow arcs in the air, and the other held high its bent blade,
which still ran with blood.

Lanrik reached to the sky with his empty left hand
and formed a claw as though calling down powers from above.

“Attend!” he said, his voice resonant with
authority. “You have transgressed against a drùgluck and defiled a hallowed
place.  Death shall march in the shadow of your army. Each soldier will hear
doom with their every footfall. The very land will turn against you!”

The elugs paused. All was still. The hum of insects
droned through the air. Lanrik’s hand dropped, and as they watched it fall, his
other hand drew a small knife from a belt sheath. In the same action he flicked
it forward, and it struck the throat of the elug who had gashed his shoulder.
The creature fell. Thrashing and gasping it reached desperately for the blade
and pulled it out. This caused spurts of blood to surge from its neck. In vain
the elug clamped both hands to the wound to halt the flow, but nothing could
stop that deadly stream, and in moments it tumbled to the ground.

The two remaining combatants looked at one another
in silence. All the elug’s companions had been killed, and though it still
carried a sword Lanrik read fear in its eyes. A slow smile spread across his
face, and he took a step forward.

That was too much for the elug. It sprang away and
fled across the summit and down the southern path of the tor. Lanrik could have
retrieved his bow and winged an arrow after it but chose to watch instead.

He
wanted
one elug to survive and take word
back to the army. In this way the breaking of the drùgluck taboo, and the
consequences, would spread and the elug’s superstition be aroused. It would
infect them, spread through their ranks and fester. And he would work to deepen
their fear. Soon the steps of the army would slow, and though driven on by
their commanders, vital time would be won for Esgallien.

“Fly!” he called after the elug. “Fly, but listen
for the footfalls of doom that chase you!”

The elug crashed down the slope, and Lanrik worked
quickly to bandage his shoulder and stop the flow of blood. The wound, though
painful, was superficial. He hoped it would not interfere with his plans.

He climbed the boulder once more and studied the
plains. The army was coming closer, and the lone figure of the elug raced
toward it. He chuckled. The elug ran as though the fear of death was upon it.
His plan had started well, but there was much more to do. He must continue in a
like vein until the army marched in dread. Let their masters drive them on!
They would go forward, but reluctantly, and each moment they lost was time
gained for his people.

He dropped off the boulder and lit the fire once
more, piling it high with green branches until smoke rose in billowing clouds.
That would give the army something to wonder about.

He was grateful to his uncle, for it was he who had
taught him the skills put to use just now. How he wished he could tell him, but
his uncle was lost.

Sadness nearly overwhelmed him, and he glanced at
Lathmai's cairn.
Does your fate await all Esgallien?

His determination reasserted itself, and his
thoughts turned back to the approaching army. There was more that he must yet
dare in order to protect his home.

Lanrik gathered his weapons and started on his plan.
What he did now would give him the opportunity to slow the army. But only if he
seeded into the enemy’s consciousness the illusion of a supernatural agency at
work that punished them for breaking the drùgluck taboo.

He dragged the slain elugs to the base of Lathmai’s
cairn and positioned them on their knees with their heads bowed to the ground.
It made them look as though they offered repentance. He felt these actions were
macabre, even if they were necessary. He quickly removed a back scabbard and
scimitar from one of the elugs. Adjusting the strap, he fitted the weapon on
himself. It felt cumbersome but would serve a vital purpose later.

He took the remaining blades and scabbards and
heaped them in the fire. Carefully, he kicked live coals over them and the
hardened leather smoldered and discolored. The hilts of the scimitars were
partly visible, and the next wave of enemy scouts would quickly discover that
one was missing if they dug them out. It would give them a clue to his
intentions, but he doubted they would be so thorough.

He stepped back and surveyed what he had done. It
was a disquieting tableau and would insinuate itself into the enemy’s
superstitious mind. A final touch occurred to him and he retrieved some
charcoal, which he rubbed over each elug’s left palm. He placed their blackened
hands upwards and retained a handful of charcoal to finish off his idea when he
descended the tor. His plan was taking shape.

He looked sadly at the cairn and wished Lathmai a
silent farewell. Much had happened on the tor, but there had been too little
time for the important things.
I wish I could talk to you one more time.
I wish I could tell you how I felt.

Even as that chance had been lost with his uncle, so
it was again. In future, he would try to say these things while he still could.

He turned away and walked down the southern path of
the tor toward the approaching enemy. The route twisted around trees and jagged
rocks that protruded from the earth like long buried bones exposed by wind and
rain. At the bottom of the path was a massive boulder. It was just what he was
looking for.

He ground the charcoal on his left hand and mixed it
with a little water to form a paste. Reaching up as high as he could, he spread
his fingers and marked the face of the boulder with the drùgluck sign. The
imprint of his fingers and thumb were clearly visible, and that it was a left
hand was obvious. He repeated the process several times until there was a band
of five drùglucks. When the enemy saw them, they would wonder what they signified.
But when they found the five slain scouts atop the tor, and their marked left
hands, it would unsettle them. Why would the scouts have left a warning before
discovering what was on the crest? But having reached the crest and being
killed, how could they have marked the boulder?

It was now past noon and the day was on the wane.
The elug army was only miles away, and other scouts would be in advance of it.
He must remain unobserved. Nightfall would allow him to move with less risk,
but he could not wait until then. The army would pass close to the tor on its
direct march to Esgallien and would establish camp for the night several miles
to the north and closer to his home. Soon this whole area would be thick with
the enemy.

It was not enough to leave the tor and stay ahead of
the advancing army. When the elug he had allowed to escape returned to his
leaders, they would send further scouts and perhaps regular troops to find him.
It was vital that they failed. Otherwise, the illusion of otherworldly power
would be destroyed. He reasoned they would be expecting him ahead of them.
After all, they were approaching enemy territory and they would think that
anybody trying to hinder them, natural or supernatural, would stand between
them and their goal. He must therefore circle behind.

His next task would be to infiltrate the army. This
could only be done at night, for even disguised he would certainly be
recognized during the day. The scimitar on his back would give him the expected
outline in the dark but would be insufficient to fool anyone in daylight.

Once he had penetrated their camp, he would be in a
position to cause damage, sow confusion and inflame their superstition. He had
to make them fear that the words he had yelled after the fleeing elug were
true: that the footfalls of doom followed them.

He moved northeast across the green expanse of
Galenthern. It grew lush once more and was again speckled with vetch and red
clover. His passage was clear for anyone with the skill to read it from the
bruised grass, though. A good tracker would also know how long ago he had
passed by the amount the bent blades had sprung back.

He would have stayed where he was and allowed the
enemy to sweep by him if there was a suitable place to hide. Staying still was
usually safer than moving, but there was nowhere he trusted enough on the
plains.

A good way ahead was a large stand of trees, and he
decided to skirt its northern side to provide cover between him and the enemy.
He walked at a steady pace until he saw tracks and came to an abrupt halt.

The grass was greatly disturbed, and he smiled to
himself. It was a stroke of luck, for the tracks were from a herd of aurochs.
The beasts spent most of their time in the scrub-choked swamps, which were
common on the plains, but they sometimes moved onto the open grasslands to
graze at night or move between wetlands. Whatever the aurochs had been doing
did not matter: what was important was that he could follow their tracks and
use the trampled earth to hide his own.

He increased his pace and glanced at the sun. It had
begun its downward arc, but hours of daylight remained. He consciously noticed
something then that he had been hearing for some time without realizing –
drums.

The elugs always marched to the beat of drums: they
were a part of their life and integral to their ceremonies. They also used them
to communicate in the mountainous lands of the Graèglin Dennath. These were all
things to be mindful of. If he infiltrated the army, he would look to make use
of them to inflame its superstition.

Lanrik put this thought aside, for he saw movement
among the trees in the timbered area he was nearing. He could not quite make
out what it was then realized it was a flock of birds, probably wood pigeons.
They were a common sight in the forested patches on Galenthern, but these were
not flying in the high and lazy circles that he often observed or in the direct
line they used when heading to feeding grounds. They had been scared and taken
off in an abrupt and scattered way.

It could mean anything, but Lanrik thought it
signified something very specific: elugs had arrived. They were passing through
the woods, and he would now have to be even more careful.

He moved off the aurochs’ trail and into taller
grass nearby, leaving minimal sign of his passing. Squatting down he watched
the woods, only his head visible above the top of the grass. To break up his
outline he pulled up his hood and wove the stems of some grass clumps through
purpose made holes in the material. It was an old but effective practice, and
so long as he did not move, or the enemy come too close, he would remain
undiscovered.

He waited, and soon a troop of a dozen elugs moved
out of the timber and paused. There appeared to be some discussion about where
to go, but they soon made a decision and commenced walking. Lanrik grimaced as
they came down the trail the aurochs had left and toward him.

He sank deeper into the grass and lay perfectly
still. It was bad luck that they were coming this way, but at least they did
not appear to be scouts: there were too many of them, and they made no attempt
to hide their presence. The army had sent out patrols of ordinary elugs, and
this particular group would have swept the timber to ensure there were no
concealed enemies.

Lanrik slowed his breathing and peered between the
grass stems. He heard their approach before he saw them clearly. They were
talking, their boots scuffing the ground and their equipment rattling and
creaking. Definitely not scouts, he thought.

They came into view and filed past his hiding spot.
Their scimitars were scabbarded on their back as was usual, and their iron-shod
boots crushed the grass. That would further obscure his own tracks. He counted
a dozen as they passed nearby, and just when he thought the last one had gone
he saw another.

The final elug, shorter and thinner than his
companions, moved along silently and then stopped and peered at the ground.
After a few moments the elug’s gaze lifted off the earth and scanned the taller
grass. Lanrik went cold. The elug seemed undecided for some moments then called
to his companions in their guttural language. Their speech was harsh to an
Esgallien’s ears, and though the Raithlin learned a smattering of their tongue,
he did not understand anything.

Harsh replies came from several in the group ahead.
The elug stubbornly shook his head and responded at length. His companions
laughed, and Lanrik could tell from the receding sound that they continued to
move away. The elug shook his head angrily and trotted off.

Lanrik was relieved. His plans had almost come
undone; it was luck alone that had saved him, but he knew he would need still
more before the day was done. He waited some time before moving again. The
elugs had completely disappeared, swallowed by one of the folds in the plains,
and he moved on with speed. The safest place for him now was in the woods. If
he reached them, he would find better places to hide until nightfall.

He walked quickly but frequently looked back. That
last elug possessed some tracking skills even if the others did not. If he
found additional sign, he would be doubly suspicious. What if he doubled back
to investigate?

The afternoon waned. The incessant beat of the drums
seemed very close but would carry across the plains for miles in all
directions. It was like a dirge; a death procession marching to Esgallien and
all he wanted was for the irksome noise to stop and to find a place to hide.

The aurochs’ trail continued to the east, heading
toward lower land and their preferred environment. Lanrik moved off it and
crossed the intervening space of perhaps a quarter mile to the woods. There was
nothing to obscure his tracks, but night was coming, and that would make it
hard for anybody to follow.

It was darker beneath the canopy of leaves. The
trees were mostly beech with a scattering of ash, and green foliage roofed the
columned trunks. Swathes of bluebells flowered within the shade.

This was a world vastly different from the plains.
Galenthern was a lonely place where the wind blew unhindered all the way from
the faraway sea. It was a wild land; a land where solitude could weigh on a
person as though the immensity of the sky was a crushing weight. So strong was
the feeling that some who came to the plains could not endure it and hurried
back to the bubbling humanity of Esgallien. But to Lanrik it was a place of
freedom.

Yet he liked the woods too. They were places of
mystery with unknown vistas around bends in their aisled tracks or where hidden
glades opened deep in their heart. They held sights that perhaps his eyes were
the first to see, and the earth upon which his wondering feet stepped was the
undisturbed leaf mold of centuries.

He had no time to explore today and quickly worked
his way to the western eaves. He crept forward, and the light of late afternoon
broke through the ragged edge of the timber. Carefully, he snaked on his belly
through a thick growth of bluebells that diminished as the canopy thinned and
allowed too much light for their liking. He lifted his head a little to see
over their deep blue tops.

He saw the army and his heart quickened. The blood
in his veins felt like churning ice. A watershed moment in the history of
Esgallien had come: the future held either the continuation or destruction of a
society that had flourished for a thousand years. Yet it was oblivious. He was
the sole witness to the enemy’s approach, and a burden of responsibility
settled over him.

He squinted against the setting sun and scanned the
leading ranks. At least there was no sign of an elùgroth. In Esgallien there
would be a lòhren to oppose a sorcerer, but he had no defense and it was a
relief.

Striding with a mile-eating gait at the front of the
host were lethrins. They stood over seven feet, and though he had never seen
them before, he had heard many stories. They were immensely strong and filled
with an implacable hatred of their enemies. Esgallien folklore claimed they
were born from the stone of the Graèglin Dennath. He did not believe that, but
looking at their skin, even from such a distance, he could see that it was
tough like hardened leather and would resist the bite of a blade. They were
miners that hewed tunnels in the rock beneath their mountain homes with massive
picks and unwearied arms. Because of their ferocity and overwhelming strength,
they usually formed the vanguard of an army. Over black tunics trimmed with
precious stones, they wore silvered chain mail vests that left their arms free.
Their mighty hands gripped massive iron maces that glinted dully in the sun’s
westering rays.

Behind them rode the leadership. This was a small
group, and their black horses paced with a graceful stride. The captains of the
host, as was common with elug armies, were men from the tribes of the Azan
people. They were white robed and stern, and it was these riders who would
drive the army on with fear but also lure it forward with the promise of
plunder and loot. They were bearded old men; silvery whiskers spilled over
their chests, and tulwars in ornate sheaths hung from their sides. Their heads
were wrapped in white cloth, protection against the desert heat of their homes
near the Graèglin Dennath.