Lore Of The Letharn (Book 2) Read online

  LORE OF THE LETHARN

  BOOK TWO OF THE RAITHLINDRATH SERIES

  Robert Ryan

  Copyright © 2014 Robert J. Ryan

  All Rights Reserved. The right of Robert J. Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Design by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Trotting Fox Press

  1. Mist and Murk

  Lanrik stepped forward cautiously. He made no noise and was nothing more than another shadow in the twilight world of the pine forest. But just as the gloom helped conceal him, it also hid anything dangerous that might lay in wait. And there were dangers. Aranloth had assured him of it, and his instincts told him it was so.

  He continued forward. Each slow pace was carefully measured, every movement hushed, and his eyes ceaselessly studied the gloom, searching for anything out of place.

  A whisper of movement reached his ears. It came from twenty paces to his right, and he glanced in that direction. He saw the figure of Ruthark. The man’s outline was visible, accentuated by the bow he carried. A Raithlin hood obscured his face, but Lanrik could picture his scowl. He was a perfectionist, absorbing everything that Lanrik taught him and hard on himself whenever he made errors.

  Lanrik moved on. Twenty paces to his left, hidden by a cluster of shadows beneath tall trees, was another Raithlin.

  A long trailer of grey moss hung in Lanrik’s way, and he bent low to pass beneath it, careful not to touch it and reveal his presence to anything that lurked ahead.

  Some distance behind him Aranloth and Erlissa followed. They had powers to contend with many types of attack, but it was better to avoid problems than put that to the test.

  The journey through the forest was slow, but they had avoided its perils so far. Now, they drew near their destination, though not even Aranloth could say what they would find when they reached it.

  The screech of a marsh hen ripped through the air, closely followed by a second. Their calls were like a human scream, and Lanrik felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Though the sound disturbed him, at least it meant that the travelers had drawn near to Lake Alithorin and the ruins they sought, for the birds did not stray far from water.

  A vast fog spread from the lake, rolling over the tops of the trees and deepening the forest gloom.

  Lanrik stepped cautiously over a long-fallen tree, surveying the other side before committing himself fully to the movement. Orange lichen flowered over the bark’s rotting surface, and he smelled the pungent odor of decay.

  The Raithlin to his left came into view. Hargil was a cautious man, one of the many reasons that Lanrik had accepted him into the Raithlin. He learned quickly too, finding the scouting skills natural, though his sword-craft was poor and would likely never improve beyond satisfactory. Lanrik shrugged. The skills of the Raithlin were many, and no one excelled at them all.

  The trees thinned, and the twilight of the forest gave way to a fog-dimmed sun. Lanrik paused on the threshold of a massive clearing and studied what lay ahead.

  There was evidence of an ancient road. It ran straight and true, though the cobbles that had once formed a smooth surface were now broken and rough. Grass, even the occasional pine sapling, grew in the many cracks and widened them. The wild was reclaiming its own.

  Long tendrils of mist crept along hollows to the right. Lake Alithorin must be very close now, and on its other side the city of Red Cardoroth. But the lake was massive and the city too far away to offer help should trouble arise.

  The mist did not reach the center of the clearing, and there stood the ruins of a Halathrin town. It was small by their standards, little more than a forest settlement. Stone lay in heaped rubble, and some walls leaned at odd angles, nearing collapse. Many buildings were intact, while others were a litter of shattered stone and choking weeds. Everywhere, scorch marks blackened the stonework.

  The town had come to a sudden and violent end. Lanrik took a long time to study it, the Raithlin to either side doing the same, but it appeared deserted and there was no sign of danger.

  He made a hand gesture, and the two Raithlin joined him. Aranloth and Erlissa moved forward, and the last Raithlin, Arliss, who guarded their backtrail, came up as well.

  Aranloth sighed. “Does nothing last?” He whispered the words, and no one replied, for they sensed it was a statement rather than a question.

  They were all subdued. Only Arliss appeared unaffected. Lanrik noticed that she stood straight as she always did, giving the impression of being taller than she was. Her face showed determination and the brusque self-assurance that he so much liked about her. It was not false confidence either, for she was the best of the new Raithlin. She ran a hand beneath her hood and through her short blonde hair. It was too dim to see the faint red scar that ran across her left cheek, the result of a knife fight in Cardoroth. She noticed him looking at her, and flashed a smile that lit her eyes.

  Lanrik turned to the lòhren. “I can’t see anything except old ruins,” he said. “That doesn’t mean much, though. There are hundreds of places where something could lurk unseen.”

  Aranloth gripped his staff tightly. “We’ve been lucky so far. Let’s hope that continues, but we must be ready for anything.”

  They moved forward in a close group. There was no cover, only the occasional tree, making it futile to try to hide their presence any longer. They strode quickly, but quietly, toward the destroyed settlement.

  The chirping of countless frogs reached them from the wetlands near the lake. The noise was subdued by the mist and the thick belt of trees that lay between. From somewhere faraway came the howl of a single wolf, lonesome and plaintive.

  Arliss glanced at Lanrik. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  She spoke the words so softly that he barely heard them, but her customary smile never left her face, and despite the fact that her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, he detected no fear.

  They drew near the settlement. It was still. Nothing stirred the green weeds or the dried pine needles that lay in thick drifts against walls.

  Aranloth raised his staff and pointed. “There is the tower of Narvil. At least, what’s left of it. Somewhere inside is the book we seek.”

  Lanrik looked at the building closely. The stonework was the same red marble as most of Cardoroth, only the Halathrin had constructed it well before the founding of that city. Elugs had destroyed it before then, too. Not elugs from the south, Aranloth had told him before they set out, but from the northern mountains. The forests around Lake Alithorin had become a haunt for evil creatures after that. They crept down from the cold mountains in the wake of the battle, attracted by the lingering sense of sorcery unleashed during its destruction.

  The tower was a dark pillar near the middle of the settlement. It stood taller than the other buildings, and its walls were intact. Nevertheless, fire had scorched its lofty parapet, and many of the merlons from its crenellated battlement, which once pierced the high air, lay tumbled and broken on the ground. The door was also gone, and a ragged hole gaped in its stead.

  They walked down the pockmarked road. The ruined town surrounded them. Broken walls loomed to either side, covered with slime and the gleam of moisture from regular fogs. Near the town’s center, the street opened into a plaza. On its far side, the black hole of the tower stared bleakly at them.

  The cobbled surface of the square had endured the passage of time, or the destruction of the town, better than the rest. Its surface was smooth. Stone benches, many still unbroken, lined its perimeter. But it was dark here, even in mid-morning. The tall buildings
cast groping shadows, and the sun was little more than a silver glow in the fog-shrouded sky.

  A single and massive pine grew in the center. Its girth was perhaps a score of feet. Once, it formed the centerpiece of the square, and a border of carved red marble circled it. But the stone was now chipped and cracked, and the tree dead. Its broken crown lay toppled below. Yet it must have survived the destruction of the city, and grown through the long centuries untended and unseen by those who planted it, for a thick wreckage of fallen branches and leaves still lay beneath it.

  Something caught Lanrik’s attention, and his senses sharpened. He signaled for silence and the group came to a halt. He saw nothing. Nor could he hear more than the constant chirping of the frogs and the slow drip of water from a nearby roof. Then he saw at the far end of the square a great white wolf. And then another. In moments, a large pack padded into view.

  The group backed up against a wall. There was no real cover here, but at least the wolves could not surround them.

  Aranloth muttered. “I feared it was so. Ever these beasts are drawn to sorcery and the dark tracts of Alithoras.”

  Erlissa frowned. “But the sorcery was used long ago. Why are they still here?”

  “The scent of elùgai lingers across great spans of time,” Aranloth said. “I can sense its taint now. And Shurilgar, the elùgroth who led the attack on the town, was powerful.”

  Lanrik kept his eyes on the wolves while he listened. He did not care why they were here; he was only interested in whether or not they would attack. Suddenly, they raced over the open square toward him and he knew.

  The Raithlin had notched their arrows and Lanrik, drawing the string of his own bow, gave the command to shoot.

  A volley of white-fletched shafts streaked through the gloom. The wolves scattered. They scrambled away while metal arrowheads smashed into the cobbles all about them. Some struck the beasts glancing blows, but only Lanrik and Arliss brought down their targets.

  The wolves retreated to the far edge of the square. Lanrik guessed they would rally and attack again, and it worried him, for the beasts were many and the archery of the new Raithlin not yet to a high standard.

  “It’s a standoff,” Ruthark said.

  Lanrik notched an arrow. “We’ll think of something.”

  Aranloth leaned against his staff, deep in thought, but offered no suggestions.

  While they were thinking, Arliss acted. She put down her bow, removed her small pack and took something from it, and then grinned at Lanrik. Her teeth gleamed white in the shadows, the smile lighting her eyes. Lanrik noticed, not for the first time, that even her eyebrows were blonde.

  He liked her smile; it was infectious, but it worried him too, for it usually meant that she had a dangerous idea. He started to ask her what she intended, but she was already moving.

  Her lithe figure raced toward the center of the square, and her doeskin boots rapped loudly against the cobbled surface. The wolves pricked their ears and watched.

  Aranloth straightened. “What’s she doing?”

  Lanrik did not answer. He had not seen what she retrieved from her pack, but he knew she had a plan, though he could not guess what it was.

  Arliss ignored the wolves, but they watched intently and began to whine. A few of them paced forward tentatively, and then the others followed. In moments, the whole pack rushed toward her.

  “Shoot!” Lanrik commanded.

  Three arrows winged across the court. But the distance was longer this time, and none of the shots were lethal. The wolves hesitated, yelped some more, and then raced once more toward the girl.

  Arliss had already reached the pine tree in the square’s center. She bent down and fumbled with something, but Lanrik could not see properly. He and the other Raithlin made several more shots, but the frenzied beasts barely slowed.

  The wolves neared Arliss. She straightened suddenly, having finished what she was doing, and raced back toward the others. The wolves would catch her first though, and Lanrik ran to meet her, drawing his sword. Suddenly, there was a flicker of light in the dim square, and he understood what she had done.

  Fire licked over the debris at the base of the tree, and the old leaves, dry and brittle, caught alight swiftly.

  Arliss raced on, but the wolves, which were closing on her quickly, shied as the pile of pine needles erupted in flame and illuminated the square.

  The wolves yelped and retreated, moving out of the plaza and into the dim side streets.

  Arliss stopped running and sauntered back to the group. Her hood had fallen back, and her blonde hair took on a ruddy cast from the flickering light. Flame raced up the tree, and smoke and sparks billowed high into the fog-filled sky.

  Lanrik sheathed his sword.

  “Good work,” he said.

  Arliss gave him a cheeky grin. “That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?”

  Lanrik could think of no response, and Aranloth wasted no time in moving toward the tower. The group followed, the heat from the burning pine pressing against the bare skin of their faces and hands.

  The lòhren strode ahead and spoke without turning.

  “The tree is dry and it’ll burn swiftly. We’d better get what we came for, and then get out as fast as we can.”

  Lanrik could not agree more. He wondered if the book they sought was worth all this trouble, but it was an opportunity to give the Raithlin some real-life training. Most of all, Erlissa wanted it. She had done so the instant that Aranloth mentioned it by chance, for it contained the rare knowledge of a Halathrin healer, famed throughout Alithoras. His skill was unrivalled, and it was an opportunity that she could not pass by. And the lòhren had agreed, even though he knew there were dangers, because it was also good training for her.

  Erlissa was becoming more of a lòhren every day under Aranloth’s tutelage. It disturbed Lanrik, for she seemed to have time for nothing else, and her studies consumed her. Still, he had thrown himself into his new role as well since the events of last summer. Their ambitions were driving them apart, and he did not like it.

  Aranloth halted before the tower’s opening. It gaped before them, a black maw of broken and ragged stonework. The wooden door was long since gone; only a few rotting slivers remained. Thick brass hinges lay on the cobbles, twisted and dented by the force of a battering ram, or Shurilgar’s sorcerous power.

  The lòhren lifted his oaken staff and a faint light gleamed at its tip. It brightened as he stepped over the rubble and into the dark tower. The others followed him.

  When Erlissa crossed the threshold, she paled and swayed. Lanrik reached out and steadied her.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She shivered all over. “I don’t think so. I had a fleeting vision of something bad.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, Lan. None of it made any sense.”

  They moved ahead, following Aranloth’s light. He led them along the stairs that wound up the inside of the tower, and Erlissa spoke no more. Lanrik noticed Arliss frowning, as though she mistrusted Erlissa’s lòhren senses. It was no surprise, for the two of them disliked each other.

  The undisturbed dust of long years carpeted the stairs, and the air was close and dank. The doors to each level were thrown down, and the rooms inside destroyed. The scattered remnants of ordinary household items lay covered by mold. Timber furniture was splintered and broken, tapestries shredded and windows of rare stained glass shattered. The elugs had long ago destroyed all that was beautiful, and what remained was now only the haunt of vermin.

  Lanrik’s thighs burned while he followed Aranloth up the long stairs. The tower was tall and many-roomed, but the lòhren seemed to pay little heed to anything. He strode toward the highest room, where he hoped to find the book.

  At length, they neared the top of the tower. Lanrik looked out of yet another broken window and saw the town spread out below. The great pine was still alight, but the easily consumed leaves and branches had bur
ned away. Now, only the trunk remained. Fire had caught in several places, but there was less light and smoke than earlier. He could see little of the shadowy streets beyond the square and could not tell if the wolves remained.

  “This is it,” Aranloth said.

  The lòhren stood in the doorway of the room immediately under the open summit of the tower. It had once been a library, but books and toppled shelves lay strewn across the floor. Fire had burned much, and what remained had long since succumbed to moisture and mold.

  “It’s hard to believe anything could survive this,” Erlissa said.

  Aranloth sighed. “These books contained the accumulated knowledge of centuries. The survivor told me that the Halathrin kept a record of their history since the exodus that brought them to Alithoras. That alone would be priceless.” He paused and looked around bleakly. “Knowledge is hard gained . . . but swiftly lost.”

  Ruthark nudged the remnant of one of the books with the toe of his boot.

  “I guess our trip has been for nothing, then.”

  Aranloth shrugged. “Perhaps, but the book we seek was special. The others were completed, but the author was still writing this one. He used a small room set aside from the main library. It was cramped, but it offered the peace and quiet that he liked.”

  Hargil looked around. “I don’t see any other room.”

  “Just as well,” Aranloth said. “That’s what gives me hope that it wasn’t discovered by elugs.”

  The lòhren picked his way through the debris toward a spider-haunted tapestry on the far wall. They trod carefully after him, for the floor, though made of thick timber planks, was fire-damaged, and rain had often wetted it through the windows.

  The wall on the other side of the room formed part of a circle, following the outer perimeter of the tower. The stairwell led up to the crenellated summit behind them. Ahead, Lanrik knew, the wall was either very thick, or the tapestry hid a doorway. The survivor had told Aranloth the latter was the case. Now, they would find out.