Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (6 page)

He looked closely at her. Even in the dark he could
tell she was Esgallien rather than Azan. Her hair was black but her skin milky
pale. He could not see her eyes, but they would likely be green. What he
could
see was her expression. She was awake, and her alert gaze scrutinized him,
showing neither surprise nor fear. There was merely a sense of waiting to see
what would happen.

Lanrik was at a complete loss to understand the
scene before him, but he raised his finger to his lips and gestured for
silence. Slowly he let the dividing wall close until it was completely dark
once more. In the distance he heard a loud commotion. He guessed that far on
the edge of the camp soldiers had discovered the slain elug, and the drùgluck signs,
and that word was spreading. There were calls of
ghash,
the elug name
for a malevolent spirit. Lanrik smiled grimly in the dark. Things were going to
plan. Or at least they had been. They were falling apart now though. The calls
would soon grow louder, and the shazrahad and his aids would waken. He had very
little time left in which to act.

He now faced a dilemma that he could not have
foreseen and for which no amount of Raithlin training would prepare him. His
whole purpose in coming here was to kill the shazrahad and disrupt the march of
the enemy. Yet regardless of the inexplicable elùgroth regalia and the girl’s
bizarre circumstances, it was clear to him that she was not an elùgroth but a
prisoner. And she needed help. The purpose of the hangman’s noose, if nothing
else, was plain enough: it was to remind her how easily her life could be taken
and to intimidate her. He did not know what she had already endured, but her
future in the hands of an enemy army was unthinkable.

Should he move to kill the shazrahad? If he did so
it could cause a noise and wake the aids, assuming the commotion from outside
had not already done so. There probably would not be enough time after that to
free the girl and escape. Or should he release the prisoner and abandon his
plan? That would mean jeopardizing the future of a nation in order to help one
person.

The calls of ghash were growing loud and frenetic;
he had just moments in which to make up his mind. Already he might have left it
too late.

Lanrik made up his mind and acted. He did not know
if his decision was right, and he doubted that anybody else would either,
though many would still judge his choice.

He had seen the room when there was light and knew
where the obstacles and clear paths lay, so he moved with purpose and trusted
the woolen rugs to obscure any noise.

In the complete dark there was no need to crawl, and
he walked at full height. His eyes strained futilely, but his hearing became
attuned to every slight noise.

The faint sound of a person’s breathing warned him
that he had neared his destination. He reached out with his left hand until he
felt what he sought, and gripped the knife handle firmly with his right.

“Be easy,” he whispered.

The Raithlin blade cut through the ropes that bound
the girl. She gave no answer but he sensed her silent nod in the dark.

The cords fell away and she stood, though she was
unsteady on her feet. How long had she been tied to the chair? Who was she, and
why had she been made a prisoner and not killed? He had no answers and knew he
never would unless he got her out of the tent and away from the encampment.

His mission had failed. He had made a choice to save
one person that could condemn an entire nation. But would a nation be worth
saving if it were willing to sacrifice a girl to captivity among an army of
elugs? He did not think so, and he considered that many in Esgallien would
agree. They would want him to save the girl, and they would take their own
chances. His uncle had a saying that he had never understood.
The good of
the many outweighs the one: the good of the one outweighs the many.
It made
sense to him now.

His mind turned back to the present problem. Could
he still salvage something of his initial plan in the next few seconds? He
retrieved charcoal from his pocket and rapidly made the drùgluck sign on the
base of the chair. It made a rasping noise but was much quieter than the yells
growing like wildfire in the camp.

If they managed to escape, the shazrahad and his
aids would know that a person had entered the tent, but the elugs would see it
as the work of a supernatural agency, a ghash. It would also ensure the
shazrahad lost credibility. What army could have confidence in a commander from
whom a prisoner, under his personal guard, had been spirited away? He realized
that his mission might not have completely failed after all.

He took the girl’s hand and guided her toward the
exit flap. Even in the dark he knew where he was going. A brazen idea came to
him, and he reached to the left. He found the table where he expected it and
quickly took the shazrahad’s tulwar, leaving the elug scimitar in its place. He
felt for the scarlet headcloth as well. There was noise on the pallet, and the
sleep-heavy voice of the shazrahad broke the quiet. Lanrik did not understand
and did not answer. He snatched the headcloth and quickly pulled open the flap.

After the blackness of the shazrahad’s room the
candlelight seemed bright. One of the aids stirred, and feeling panic rise,
Lanrik walked the girl straight to the point of the wall where he had entered.

When they were outside he held up two fingers, and
then pointed to the front of the tent to warn her about the guards. She nodded
her understanding, and they huddled low to the ground while he drove in the peg
that secured the wall.

The shadows were leaching away, and the pale light
of dawn was growing. Only the cloud cover saved them, for on a clear day they
would have been seen. He had taken too long to get into the tent, and even
alone the chances of escape were remote: with the girl they were near
impossible.

The clamor of the encampment was increasing, and the
cries of ghash were coming from all around. Within the shazrahad’s room there
was a sudden yell. Loud movements followed as the aids scrambled up, and there
were questioning shouts from the lethrin guards. A moment later he heard their
heavy tread as they ran into the tent.

What could he do? There was nowhere to hide in a
camp of enemies, and only moments left before discovery. To make matters worse
the girl was looking at him. She had not panicked and seemed to take everything
as it came, but there was trust in her eyes, and the thought of letting her
down pricked his soul.
To give her hope of rescue and then watch it wither
would be worse than failure.

He made his final choice of the night and wrapped
the shazrahad’s scarlet headcloth around his head. Suddenly he smiled in the
dark, and a wild sense of recklessness flowed through him. He recognized it as
a response to intense strain but did not care: it was all he could do not to
laugh. The girl caught his mood. She looked at him and her eyes gleamed. She
was ready for what came next even though she had no idea what it was. He did
though, for a plan had been taking shape in his mind, and though the chance of
escape was remote, nothing would stop him from trying.

He took the girl’s hand once more and led her along
the side of the tent. He had no choice but to trust to the deeper shadows along
its edge to hide them. They came to the front where the horn was propped
against the canvas; it would be the key to what happened next.

He snatched it up, surprised at its weight. Up close
the beaten gold mouth gleamed in the flickering light of the fire, which now
exposed them. The twisted horn was detailed with scrimshaw, and there were two
gold bands wrapped around it connecting it to a leather carry strap. He flung
it onto his back and guided the girl toward the horses. Speed was essential,
but running would only attract attention.

It began to rain. There was enraged shouting from
within the tent and harsh cries from all over the encampment. Most were
indecipherable, but Lanrik repeatedly heard the call of ghash.

They reached the horses. The whole camp was
beginning to boil with frenzied activity, but as yet, nobody paid them any
heed.

“Take a saddle and choose a horse,” Lanrik told the
girl. She did as asked with speed and competence and wasted no time on
questions.

Lanrik stroked the neck of the black stallion he had
seen before and readied his own saddle. He had thought they would have to ride
bareback, but as they had not been discovered yet, he would take advantage of
it.

An elug worked up the courage to approach the
shazrahad’s tent and shriek the word ghash at the top of his voice. The lethrin
guards emerged and were followed by the shazrahad, bareheaded but carrying the
scimitar Lanrik had substituted for the tulwar. He stepped forward and beheaded
the elug with a single swift stroke.

Lanrik had seen enough. The girl had chosen a fine
chestnut mare and dawn was at hand. It was time to go, and he guided the
stallion out of view to the rear of the picket line. She followed and the two
of them mounted. In the growing light he saw the army that stood between them
and freedom. The soldiers were awake, agitated and alert.

They nudged the horses forward, and a wall of elugs
watched them with hostility and suspicion. Only the Azan rode, but Lanrik knew
the headcloth he wore was not enough to fool them.

Sometimes the easiest way to hide was in plain
sight, and the best way to avoid suspicion was to do draw attention. He reached
for the horn and drew a deep breath. The sound of it grew as he winded it. It
rose in volume and took on a deeper timbre, rolling in a thunderous wave across
the entire encampment. It was a noise like no other: the twisted horn, its
curves, and the gold mouth, made it unique. It rang across Galenthern and
filled him with a peculiar thrill. It was music, a call to arms and a challenge
all at the same time. It stirred his blood and fuelled his recklessness.

The sound rumbled and finally ceased as Lanrik ran
out of breath. All was momentarily silent except for the splash of rain. He
swung the horn over his shoulder, noticed an unreadable look on the girl’s face
as she studied him, and kicked the stallion into a gallop. She followed without
hesitation.

“Ghash!” he bellowed as he rode. He picked no path
between the elugs; there was none, but they parted as the horses surged toward
them, and fear and confusion spread. Some took up the call themselves, and
others fled wildly. The army roiled and seethed, and those who were calm before
became infected with panic. Through the turmoil ran the horses, galloping over
the trodden earth, leaping the remnants of campfires and discarded equipment
while elugs scrambled all about them.

Lanrik laughed as he rode for he had unleashed
mayhem on the army. The dead drummer and drùgluck signs had already been found,
and word would soon spread about the prisoner who had been spirited away from
the shazrahad’s own tent. The loss of the tulwar, horn and horses, treasured
possessions as they were, and the headcloth symbolizing his rank, would insult
him. All of this would make him furious, and therefore susceptible to errors of
judgment. Even more so for he would have no superstitious dread: he would know
that it was a person, and not a spirit that had shamed him.

Lanrik glanced often at the girl. She was a good
rider, but who was she? How had she been taken prisoner when the army was so
far from Esgallien, and for what purpose?

He had no answers and no opportunity to think. They
reached the edge of the camp, but the perimeter guards gathered to block their
path. These had observed but had not been infected by the commotion of the
army. They were oblivious to its cause but mindful of their role. They were
there to ensure that nothing moved in or out of the camp except scouts using
the correct password.

The elugs drew their scimitars and formed a long
wall. Lanrik winded the horn once more. The sudden sound rang across the plains
and smote the elugs as a weapon. It was something surprising, so far outside
their experience that they began to falter. Through a gap the horses leapt and
out onto the green grass of Galenthern.

The horses galloped, the man and the girl laughed
with the release of enormous tension, and the army receded behind them. Even
the opening of the heavens, and a cold downpour of rain that fell in thick grey
sheets, failed to subdue them.

Eventually the cold and the wet crept upon their
awareness, and the thrill of their flight subsided. They had escaped, at least
for the moment, for as yet there was no sign of pursuit.

What should they do now?  Before making any
decisions Lanrik wanted a rest and a talk with the girl. She was obviously
important to the enemy, otherwise they would have just killed her, but now he
must find out why.

He pulled the stallion up, and she did likewise with
the mare.

“Time for a rest,” he said. He dismounted and tied
the reins to a low growing bush. The girl did likewise and then flung away the
black cloak. She was dressed in pants, and a green tunic belted with soft
leather. The only ornament she wore was a bracelet of twisted gold.

They looked at the army, and though obscured by rain
and distance, it was clear that it had not commenced to march nor was there any
pursuit. He glanced at the girl. She was tall and lithe, and the expression on
her face intrigued him. She looked like a happy person resigned to the fact
that the world was a sad place.

She met his gaze and grinned. “Now that’s what I
call havoc!”

Lanrik thought things had turned out well. “That was
the plan,” he answered with satisfaction.

 The girl held out her hand. “I’m Erlissa.” Her grip
was firm but her skin was soft.

“I won’t flatter myself,” she said. “You rescued me,
but that can’t have been what you were in the encampment for. What exactly
was
your plan?”

Lanrik told her of his plan to slow the army. The
expression on her face barely changed, but her eyes reflected a measure of
astonishment.

“You’ve been busy,” she said

“That’s the truth,” he agreed.

He ran a hand through his damp hair and explained
what he had originally intended in the shazrahad’s tent.

She looked at him in silence for a moment. “You
would have
killed
him?”

He realized that he had fallen in her estimation,
and it stung him. “I would have done what was necessary.”

He was dirty and hungry and in no mood to debate
philosophies, so he changed the subject.

“How were you captured?”

Erlissa shuddered. “It was my fault. I received a
message that old friends of my parents wanted to see me. The messenger was
supposed to lead me to a country estate, but it was a ruse. When we left the
city he hit the back of my head and tied me.”

She looked as she always did, resigned to the state
of the world, but a hint of anger colored her words.

“He changed direction then and headed across
Esgallien Ford. I didn’t know why we were going onto the plains, but I knew it
wouldn’t be for anything good.”

“How did he get you across the ford?” Lanrik asked.
“It’s guarded.”

He was a Raithlin. The guards knew him, and he told
me that he’d kill me if I betrayed him.”

A shiver past over Lanrik. He had to ask a question
even if he knew the answer.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“It was Gwalchmur.”

Even though he expected it the confirmation came as
a blow. What could motivate a person to commit such treachery?

Something else occurred to him. He had heard
Erlissa’s name before, but it was the mention of her parents that sparked his memory.
They had been remarkable healers who had travelled the kingdom but had
tragically died in a small community overwhelmed by an epidemic. This had left
their daughter an orphan. Other healers had fled, but her parents had stayed,
and children were saved that otherwise would not have lived. They had spread
the remarkable story.