Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (4 page)

The sun slipped below a cloud-streaked horizon, and
its dying rays gleamed like pooled blood on the masses of elugs that seethed
behind the captains of the host. Rank after rank they moved across the plains
in a heaving multitude, intent on the destruction of Esgallien.

The foremost of the white robed captains would be
the
shazrahad,
the commander of the army, and his headcloth was scarlet
to signify his status. He gestured to a man riding nearby who lifted a twisted
horn of some strange desert animal and blew a great blast out of its hollowed
mouth. A mighty yell rose from numberless elug throats, parched from the day’s
march. It thundered like the crash of the ocean blasting into a cliff, and the
army came to a halt while the tumult rolled across the empty plains. The sun
died; daylight turned to twilight and hope died in Lanrik’s heart.

Did he dare to enter the army's ranks and try to
slow them? Surely the army was unstoppable, and if he continued with his plans
he would die for no benefit. But if he broke his promise to Lathmai, could he
live with himself?

He was preoccupied, and awareness of a noise behind
him only came slowly. He recognized it distinctly now, the soft but clear sound
of something moving in the bluebells.

Panic rushed through him and he jerked his body to
the right. There was a heavy thud and dirt and plant debris sprayed upward.
Rolling to his feet he looked about him with wild eyes.

A lethrin, with silvered chain mail shining in the
near dark, heaved its massive iron mace from the pitted ground. Lanrik saw that
behind the monstrous figure a short and thin elug circled into view. No doubt
it was the same who had been suspicious earlier in the afternoon. Its
companions had not been interested in investigating, but it had found other
help.

The lethrin swung again, and the mace sliced through
the air with astonishing speed and power. Leaping back he managed to avoid the
stroke and wondered if his blade would have any effect on the toughened hide.
He decided if he was to have any chance of survival he must kill the lethrin
swiftly or the elug would maneuver behind him and finish him off.

He edged to the left as the lethrin swung the mace
once more, then darting in he stabbed at the creature’s neck. For a moment he
thought his blade would strike home but the lethrin, for all its mass, was more
agile than he expected. It jumped back and the elug came close behind him but
then retreated as Lanrik turned his blade toward it. The lethrin seized the
opportunity of momentary distraction and smashed the mace toward his legs. He
stumbled away and struggled to regain his composure.
Clear like water; cold
like ice.

Breathing steadily and studying his opponents as
they edged closer he began to feel that this was an unwinnable fight. He
retreated a little more, coming close to the fringe of the tree cover and
knowing that if the fight spilled onto the plains it would alert the army.

He realized that he had made a tactical error. He
would not be able to kill the lethrin swiftly, if he could do so at all. He
must therefore take care of the elug first. As soon as the thought passed
across his mind, he recognized its truth and acted.

He moved forward and attacked the lethrin, his sword
flashing with speed and striking the creature’s arm at least once, but to no
effect. As anticipated, the elug closed in behind him and Lanrik swiftly turned
and slashed with the blade. Though the elug attempted to back away, he was not
quick enough. Lanrik’s sword cut lethally into the unprotected flesh of his
neck. The elug slumped to its knees and Lanrik darted to the side and tried to
turn around to face the lethrin again.

He was not quick enough. Searing pain erupted across
his upper back. Groaning, he somehow managed to right himself in time to avoid
a follow up stroke.

He gasped as pain shot through his body. It was a
bad hit even if it had only been a glancing blow. A cold sweat sprang to his
forehead, and he felt nauseous. He could no longer move freely and sensed the
lethrin was moving in to deliver a death-stroke. The creature did not speak or
show any emotion. The iron mace circled through the air in easy sweeps; no one
could survive a full-blooded blow from it, yet Lanrik knew he could no longer
trust his body to avoid one. He must turn the strength of the lethrin and the
weight of the mace to his advantage.

The creature circled a little more, and then its
massive legs propelled it forward and the iron-like muscles of its arms drove
the mace toward him with unstoppable force. Lanrik evaded the blow by stepping
to the left but stumbled to one knee. The lethrin sensed its moment had come
and heaved the mace high in preparation for a mighty stroke.

Lanrik regained his poise quickly, the stumble being
a ploy, and lunged upwards with all the strength of his legs. The point of his
sword sank deep into the lethrin’s armpit. The blow did not have the power that
he wished, for his arm was growing numb and his back seemed weak due to his
injury. Nevertheless, it struck with considerable force and the creature’s
weight was coming forward. Dark blood welled and the lethrin recoiled and
smashed a massive arm down over the blade that tore it from Lanrik’s hand and
injured his wrist.

He scrambled to draw a knife. As he did so the
lethrin lunged for him once more and he circled sideways out of range. Several
times the lethrin attacked but quickly began to show signs of weakness. Its
movements became sluggish, and he was able to retrieve his sword.

The creature let out a deep throated below, and
Lanrik responded by flinging his dagger which caught it across an arm. It
barely scratched the skin but distracted it and Lanrik, now only able to hold
the rapier in his left hand, struck it across the neck. The lethrin flinched
from the blow but then dropped the mace and rushed forward catching him up in
its arms. He felt crushing force against his ribs and grunted as the air rushed
from his lungs. He kicked and struggled but to no effect. Yet the lethrin was
weakening rapidly and stumbled to one knee. Suddenly the deadly grip lessened
and Lanrik broke free and rolled away. Gasping, he watched as the lethrin
toppled to the ground and died.

He gritted his teeth while an urge to retch slowly
subsided. He would live, at least for the moment, but he would not be able to
fight for a while.

He crawled on hands and knees through the churned up
bluebells to see if the lethrin’s below had alerted the army. If so, they would
swiftly catch him; and capture was worse than death.

The sun had set, and twilight groped across the
plains, yet Lanrik could still see the army and the ring of sentries that
encircled it. He must attempt to pass through them. His earlier doubts
remained, but his promise to Lathmai drove him. He pictured her broken body and
the imploring look on her ruined face; an image that would stay with him
forever and push him forward even when his courage failed.

He also remembered Mecklar’s contempt and itched to
show him wrong. The Raithlin had learned their skills from ancient contact with
the Halathrin and preserved them all this time; they had value and he would
prove it.

No one headed in the direction of the wood, which
indicated the lethrin’s yell had not been heard. It gave Lanrik time to study
the host. Officers of Esgallien’s army might question him closely on his
return, and he must observe the enemy’s numbers, morale, and organization.

The host was some ten thousand strong. The
leadership fell back to the center of the group for safety during the night, and
servants erected tents to shelter them. They tethered the horses and positioned
scores of wagons, used for the transport of food and supplies, nearby. The
shazrahad established the camp quickly and set it out well. He knew what he was
doing, and morale and discipline appeared sound; but the morale of armies was
always capricious, especially elug ones.

The drummers marched at the rear, perhaps sixty
elugs who would sleep beside their equipment. An idea occurred to him about how
to use them to his advantage, and he decided that he would infiltrate the camp
at that point.

He made some swift calculations. Mecklar was half a
day ahead. It was about one hundred and forty miles to Esgallien, and an army
marched twenty miles each day. It would reach the ford in seven days, but if he
could slow it by half a day news would reach Esgallien a full day ahead. That
would make an enormous difference.

Marching twenty miles in a day sounded like a lot,
but it was even more than it seemed. Soldiers carried not only equipment but
also their food. Supplies were in an imperishable form such as grain, cured
meat or flour. The elugs would not carry more than seventy pounds, only part of
which was food, and therefore had supplies for about ten days.

The wagons would probably carry additional food as
well as equipment and would slightly increase the time the army could spend in
the field. Hunting would not supply an army, nor in this case could it obtain
supplies from communities along the way: none existed. The enemy must establish
a supply line to keep the army in the field for any extended period. Food was
essential; soldiers needed at least one meal a day, and unfed soldiers could
not fight. A supply line was always a point of vulnerability, but there was no
way for him to attack it. Whatever damage one man did would be insignificant,
and it was upon the morale of the army that he must concentrate; that was the
only way he could slow it down.

When full night came, it descended quickly, and he
could no longer see the enemy. Regretfully, he discarded his bow. It was
different in size and design from the type used by elugs, and most of them did
not even carry one. It would draw attention and reveal him as a spy.

He pulled the hood of his Raithlin cloak over his
head and walk toward the army. It was going to be a long night, but the sooner
he started the greater was his chance of doing what was needed and escaping
before dawn.

He walked quickly but quietly. There was no moon
yet, but the stars had sprung into the sky, and their glimmering was bright and
clear over Galenthern as it never was above the torch lit streets of Esgallien.

In the distance, he heard the lowing of aurochs as
they called to one another and felt a breeze pick up from the east. It was cool
and felt good on his back, but if it continued through the night it would bring
rain from the sea by morning.

He could hear the army as well. Though muted by
distance, it became gradually louder as he approached. Sound travelled far over
the open spaces of Galenthern, especially at night. He slowed a little and
sought lower land on which to approach, not wanting to form a silhouetted
against the horizon. Looking back, he noticed low clouds in the east blocking
the starlight. The breeze sharpened, and he wrapped his cloak about himself
more tightly.

He continued to slow his pace, and then finally
stood still. The sounds of the army travelled clearly: he heard intermittent
barks of harsh laughter, the rattle of cooking pans and saw movement around
many fires. He was careful not to look directly at the light in order to avoid
hindering his night vision.

Lanrik estimated he was three or four hundred paces
from the army and close to the sentries. It was through them that he must try
to pass before entering the army, but he would have to wait a little longer.
The bulk of the host was still awake, and the sentries would be alert. He must
study the darkness and try to locate them and how they operated. Would they
remain stationary or rotate around the camp? This was something he must discover,
and he settled into a sitting position. If he was close enough, one of the
sentries would eventually cough or make another noise and give away their
position. If not, he would move a little closer and wait some more.

His back began to ache where the lethrin had struck
him, and his fingertips tingled. It was a bad injury, and he would be in no
position to fight for some time. What he hoped to achieve did not rely on
fighting though. His plan involved something else altogether, but there was no
guarantee that he could accomplish it. He would need luck to remain undetected,
and the clouds that rolled in from the east was just the sort he wanted. The
night was growing darker, and if it rained, he would look less suspicious with
the hood of his cloak pulled up.

There were tales about lòhrens who could walk unseen
in the midst of their enemies. Many stories were told about them and the powers
of lòhrengai that they learned in their fortress of Lòrenta. Lanrik did not
believe them all. But he did believe in the Raithlin skills and would prove
them. He
must,
for if he failed, the king might disband the
organization. The shame of playing a role in that was unthinkable.

Something to the left attracted his attention.
Though he did not know what it was, it triggered his instincts, and he trusted
them. Moments later, he heard a noise from the same direction. He did not look
at the area directly: at night, it was easier to spot something in peripheral
vision than by a direct gaze. Sure enough, he saw movement. It began as a
deeper shadow amid the darkness, then grew distinct. An elug walked slowly
along the perimeter of the picket line, closer than he had anticipated, and he
cursed himself. Such mistakes could prove costly.

The elug drew level with his position. It spoke, and
his first instinct was that the sentry had seen him, but he forced himself to
remain motionless, and another form emerged from the darkness. It was the next
sentry in the line, and he realized that had he not stopped where he had, he
would have walked straight into him.

The two elugs spoke briefly before parting, and no
doubt there was an exchange of passwords. The one he had first seen remained
where it was, and the other one moved away. In this way the ring of sentries
circled the encampment, and there would be a long while between movements. This
was his opportunity to pass through the picket line, and he must do so soon in
order to escape before dawn.

He stood very slowly and watched the vague image of
the sentry carefully. He was grateful for the increasing cloud cover. Without
it, even the shine of starlight would have silhouetted him. He stepped back
slowly, feeling his way with the toes of his soft doeskin boots for anything
that might make a noise, before easing his weight backwards and then starting
the process again.

Moments passed, and the indistinct form of the elug
receded into darkness. Lanrik edged back just a little more then moved
carefully to the left. He did not know how far apart the sentries stood but
decided to move only just enough to stay out of view of the one he had located.

He moved forward again. The wind rose, and he felt
raindrops on his hands. He hoped it continued for the noise would help cover
the sound of his movements, but the squall died as soon as it started. Warily
he walked onwards, continuing to feel the ground with his toes before
committing weight to his step.

He passed through the picket line, and because of
luck or skill, no sentry saw him. The scattered fires of the army grew bright,
and the encampment came into view. Soldiers sprawled haphazardly all over the
ground as far as the eye could see, but few were now awake. Yet he felt utterly
vulnerable for it needed only one enemy out of thousands to unmask him.

His footsteps faltered. He felt a sudden urge to
retreat but Lathmai’s face haunted him, and his promise to her ran through his
mind. To move stealthily now would only mark him as an intruder, and he forced
himself to step forward into the ring of light about the encampment and walk
with confidence. He covered the ground quickly but without haste. The drums
were a little to his left, and he veered in that direction. There were a dozen,
and each was a large construction of sun-bleached animal hide stretched over a
wooden frame. Rusted iron rings hung from the sides, and long poles passed
through them enabling four bearers to lift and carry the drums. A fifth elug
served as the drummer.

The elugs near the first drum slept. Without
hesitation, but as quietly as he could, he withdrew a knob of charcoal from his
pocket and marked the taut skin with the drùgluck sign. The black symbol stood
out against the pale hide, and he moved on. The drummers would refuse to touch
the instruments in the morning and the army would not march until they set the
pace. It would take some time for an Azan commander to force them to do so.

He finally walked toward the last drum, but as he
neared it, one of the elugs stirred. Looking up the soldier stared directly at
him, and then spoke in their hoarse language.

Was it a question or a command? Lanrik did not know,
but he guessed it to be some sort of query about what he was doing. He muttered
an inaudible reply and walked away.

The camp was still, but he did not know if anybody
was watching the exchange. The last thing he needed now was a confrontation; it
would draw attention to him. But what he dreaded most happened. He heard the
elug get to its feet and move toward him. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and
tried to turn him around. Lanrik did the only thing he could and hoped it would
work. He did not resist the pull on his shoulder but turned compliantly to face
the elug, and in the same movement jerked his knee into its groin. He clamped
one hand over its jaw, muffling the scream that was beginning, while his other
grabbed the side of its head. He applied all his strength in a twisting motion.

The elug’s yell died before it really began, and a
crack of bone signaled the end of its life. It slumped to the ground and Lanrik
looked around. Nobody had raised an alarm.

With trembling hands and a pounding heart, he bent
over and placed some charcoal in the elug’s lifeless left hand. Walking back to
the drum he marked it then moved away as quickly as he dared. That would give
them something to think about in the morning.

He felt ill. His stomach churned, and a cold sweat
filmed his skin, but he braced himself for what he must do next. He intended to
thread his way through thousands of elugs until he reached the center of the
encampment and the tents of the army’s leadership. The drums were just the
first step in his strategy, and each successive action would be more dangerous
than the last. It was going to be a long night, and he wondered if his promise
to Lathmai was a death sentence. But the thought of what she had endured for
her people strengthened him.

He walked onwards and the army swallowed him. The
edge of the encampment was now out of sight, and elugs were everywhere around
him. Most were asleep, but some were alert and watchful. He felt death in every
glance, yet he made himself walk smoothly and with confidence as though on some
errand.

At times there were paths through the host, and at
others he stepped over sleeping soldiers. Here and there a fire flickered and
about it a group of elugs sat and talked. He caught many of their words, harsh
and guttural, but few held meaning for him. He guessed they were no different
from the soldiers he knew and were probably telling stories of the great
fighters they knew or the exploits of other elug armies. By morning, he hoped
they would be talking instead about what had happened during the night and that
superstitious dread mired their steps.

He kept going and adjusted his scimitar so that it
stood out clearly on his back. It was this more than anything that enabled him
to walk through the camp, for it gave him the look of an elug in silhouette.
But he quickened his pace for night was passing, and he must be gone before
dawn.

Suddenly he saw a group of a half dozen elugs
approach. It was too late for him to angle away without appearing suspicious so
he looked downward and kept going. The elugs quickly bridged the gap.

He realized that something was wrong, for the elugs
kept to a tight circle about one of their own – perhaps a prisoner caught
trying to desert or steal equipment. Lanrik moved a few paces to the side, all
he could manage without stepping into a group of sleeping soldiers, and waited
for them to pass.

They eyed him carefully as they neared, and the
prisoner took the opportunity of this distraction to attempt an escape. Like a
leaping deer he tried to slip through the circle, but a hairy hand reached out
at the last moment and caught his elbow then a steel shod boot smashed into his
knee. There was a distinct crack and the elug fell in a wailing heap. The elugs
closed round him once more, and their boots flew as they kicked and stomped
him. The wailing soon stopped as the creature lost consciousness, but the
punishing blows continued for some time. This was cruelty beyond anything
Lanrik had seen, and enemy or otherwise, he fought down a nearly overwhelming
urge to intervene.