Lore of the Letharn Page 10

  The steady thrum of the water as it passed beneath the boat was more lulling than he realized, and he soon slept.

  10. The King’s Men

  The river was quieter, and the night old and dark, by the time Aranloth placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Lanrik was a light sleeper, and the instincts of his Raithlin training were honed to a sharp edge. He woke swiftly, immediately assessing his surroundings. There was nothing out of place, and after he realized that, another thought occurred to him. It seemed to him that all his life was spent this way: sleeping outdoors, pursued by enemies and dogged by danger. He did not like it, and just as swiftly as he had woken¸ a melancholic mood swamped him.

  Aranloth did not speak. The lòhren lay down, hastily drawing his white robes about him, and Lanrik had a clear view of the river ahead. He could not see far, but there was enough light to ensure that he could guide the boat and keep it to the center of the current.

  Long hours passed, and he had time for serious thinking. His life had not turned out as he had once thought. And yet, he could not complain. For all the problems and hardships that he had endured, there were unexpected pleasures too.

  Erlissa came to mind. She was remarkable, and he had a feeling that when she came into her own as a lòhren, she would achieve great things. He was not certain that he would still be with her when that happened. Just at the moment, he was not sure if she would even live, or if she would remain trapped in the ùhrengai of the fountain. There was much that was uncertain, and he hated that. But he could not plan for everything. Arliss was living proof of that point.

  He glanced back to where she slept. He could see little more than a gray outline, but he pictured in his mind her ready smile and the way her quick humor lit up her face. There was a dark side to her as well, rarely seen, but he knew it was there. Everyone had secrets, he supposed, but in her case he sensed that they were a burden. But even as they weighed her down, they also shaped who she was and what she stood for.

  When it was time, he shook her shoulder and woke her. She sat up and took his place guiding the boat, and he stretched out on the smooth planks of the hull and went swiftly to sleep.

  There was little change in their routine for the next several days. There were endless hours of riding the river, interspersed with brief periods on land. Tension simmered between them, and they spoke less than was their wont. Arliss knew that Aranloth suspected her of treachery; she was astute to other people’s moods. Aranloth, for his part, remained aloof. And though he said little, his speculative glances at her did not go unnoticed.

  Lanrik was caught between them. He trusted them both implicitly, and it was disturbing that they no longer trusted each other.

  They saw little of the land as they passed down the river, for the overhanging trees along the riverbank blocked most of their view. Nevertheless, he could tell that the land was changing. It was growing flatter and lower. The river widened and the current, though it continued to sweep them along at a steady rate, had slowed.

  One morning there was a change to their routine. The sun was warm and bright. Far away and high in the sky, vast flocks of ducks circled and wheeled. There were wetlands ahead. The slowing of the river indicated it, and the ducks confirmed it. Lanrik thought that they must be large, for even in the swamps of Galenthern he had never seen so many birds clutter the sky at the same time.

  He was watching them when something lower on the horizon caught his attention. First, he noticed a flash of color, and then as he studied the area that it came from he saw a figure run down the right bank of the river. It dodged between shrubs and momentarily disappeared behind a thick belt of trees, and then appeared again right at the bottom of the bank. The figure was a man, and he splashed his feet in the water as he wove his arms high and furiously, trying to get their attention.

  Aranloth saw him too. “Do you think it’s some kind of trap?”

  Lanrik studied the man, and realized that he was a youth.

  “I can’t see how. It looks like he needs help, and I just don’t see how the Azan could have gotten here ahead of us.”

  “I think you’re right. He looks pretty anxious about something.”

  Aranloth raised a hand and waved back at the youth to signal that he had seen him.

  “There’s only one way to find out what’s going on,” the lòhren said.

  They angled across the river, and when they drew near to the shore Aranloth stiffened.

  “I know him,” he said.

  “Who is he?”

  “He belongs to a family that lives by the river. There are several such groups in small villages along this stretch. Some people would call them poor, and while it’s true that they have little money, they live very well off the land. They raise stock, tend well-watered gardens, hunt and of course they fish. They don’t trade much, for they produce nearly all they need themselves. There are people like them all over Alithoras.

  The youth waited for them as they approached. When they bumped up against the bank he helped them pull the shuffa higher onto the sand, and though he was young his arms were tanned dark by the sun and corded by hard muscles.

  “Hello, Caldring,” the Lòhren said.

  The youth seemed shy in the presence of the lòhren, but looked him in the eyes at the greeting.

  “Aranloth,” he said quietly.

  “I can tell something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Caldring went white, and Lanrik thought he would faint, but the youth clenched his fists and forced himself to speak.

  “They killed my family, Aranloth. They killed everyone.”

  Aranloth went suddenly still. “Who killed them?”

  “Men from the south. We’ve never seen them before, but one of the other families said they were from Esgallien.”

  Lanrik felt dizzy and he gripped the hilt of the shazrahad sword. It was warm to the touch, and he was momentarily taken back to when the Royal Guards pursued him for the blade and he had to kill their leader. He felt the power of the sword stir, and he no longer had any doubts about what he had considered in Lòrenta. History was repeating itself. And the sword was at its center.

  Caldring wiped a tear away from his face, but then he straightened and determination etched his every feature.

  “I saved myself by hiding in a pigsty. It was there, crouched in mud and filth among the swine, that I overheard their leader, and I know why they came. They know you’re coming down the river, and they’ve set a trap for you. That’s why they took the village – so that you wouldn’t have warning of their ambush.”

  Aranloth hissed through his teeth. “They will pay for that, and the king of Esgallien after them.”

  “Revenge would be good, but it won’t bring my parents back.”

  “No, it won’t. But evil must be fought wherever it is found. Otherwise, it grows.”

  Lanrik stepped forward. “Why are you warning us? You realize that you’re still in danger? You’ve taken a risk for us, when you could have hidden until everything was over.”

  The youth shook his head. “Aranloth has often helped us, and I’m in less danger than you think. I can run faster than the soldiers can, and I know these lands as they never will. Even if they saw me, they would never catch me. Not outside the village, anyway.”

  Lanrik did not answer. He liked the youth’s confidence, even more so because he had backed it up by his actions. Not only had he skillfully evaded the soldiers, but he had also shown character by risking himself to help a friend. He might make a good Raithlin, and without his family, he would need to feel that he belonged somewhere. The Raithlin might offer him exactly what he needed.

  Aranloth tapped his staff with a finger while he thought, and then looked up at Caldring.

  “Which side of the river are they on?”

  “Both,” the youth said. “And they’re in the middle too.”

  Aranloth nodded slowly, but Arliss looked puzzled.

  “How can they be in the middle as well?” she a
sked.

  Aranloth glanced at Lanrik briefly, and then shifted his cool gaze to Arliss.

  “Just ahead the Great North Road crosses the Carist Nien. There’s no bridge, but none is needed. The water is only a few feet deep, often shallower in summer. And though there’s no man-made structure, there is an island. It’s only small, but it would provide sufficient cover to conceal a group of soldiers.”

  He turned to Caldring. “I take it the soldiers are armed with bows?”

  “Most of them,” the youth answered. “It’s a complete ambush. If you continue ahead, even knowing where they are, they’ll still get you.”

  Aranloth grunted. “Maybe. But if we wait until nightfall, they’ll find it difficult.”

  Caldring shook his head. “You know the crossing Aranloth. Even at night it’ll be risky.”

  “We don’t have much choice, lad. There are enemies behind us too. The only way for us is forward, and we’ll just have to take our chances one more time.”

  Caldring looked at the lòhren earnestly. “There’s another way. I can guide you.”

  Aranloth raised an eyebrow. “You mean through the swamp?”

  “Exactly.”

  The lòhren considered the offer for a moment, and then shook his head.

  “No. We can’t go that way. It’s a maze in there, and it’s a dangerous place too. You know that better than I. It’d take far too long, and we’d have to leave the boats behind.”

  Caldring stood straighter. “It is a dangerous place, and most people would get lost trying to cross it. But not me. I’ve known it all my life. I’ve hunted there, and fished, and explored it when I had nothing else to do. I know all its tricks, all its trails - the false and the true. I can lead you through, and no one would be able to follow. And I could do it quickly.”

  Aranloth looked at him long and hard. “I don’t think so, lad. Thank you for the offer, but you’re too young to get mixed up in this. We’ll give you a little food, and then we’ll go on our way. You’d best make your way to one of the other villages.”

  “I don’t want to live in another village. It’d be too much like my home. Please don’t send me away.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aranloth said. “What we’re doing is too dangerous—”

  “Wait,” Lanrik interrupted. “I have an idea. Walk with me for a moment, Aranloth.”

  Lanrik strolled a little way along the bank and the lòhren followed reluctantly. Arliss remained with Caldring and put an arm around his shoulder. She spoke to him, but Lanrik could not hear what she said.

  “It’s not safe for him to join us,” Aranloth stated.

  Lanrik did not disagree. “I know. But he’s not safe by himself either. I don’t think he’s got any intention of going to another village. He came here to warn us, and after that, I think he might go back to his old home.”

  “His home is gone,” Aranloth said. “The soldiers are there now.”

  “Exactly.”

  Aranloth let out a long breath. “You don’t think he would try something? He couldn’t take them on.”

  “I think that’s precisely what he’s thinking about. And he’d get some of them, too. He’s got obvious skill. He hid from them after all, and I don’t think that was as easy as it sounded. And he made it here to warn us afterward. Everything he did took skill as well as courage. I don’t think he’s got a definite plan, but I’m sure he’s thinking of it.”

  “Maybe so. But what we have to do next, and after, if we make it through, is still too dangerous. I’ll talk to him. I think I can convince him to give one of the other villages a go.”

  Lanrik looked over at the youth while he spoke.

  “He said it himself, Aranloth. He doesn’t want that. He’s just lost his home. But he could have a new one. He might become a Raithlin in a few years. We need people like him, and just now, I think, he wants us. He needs a sense of purpose rather than a place to go where people will feel sorry for him.”

  Aranloth gazed at the ground while he thought and tapped his fingers absently against his staff. After a while, he sighed.

  “You may be right. Anyway, you’re the Raithlindrath, so it’s your decision.”

  The lòhren walked back and Arliss dropped her arm from Caldring’s shoulder.

  Lanrik did not hesitate, even though his decision was a great responsibility. He knew that whatever choice he made now would shape the youth’s future for the rest of his life. He understood that better than Caldring did. None knew better than he that a small change in the present could have a massive effect on the future. It was only by looking back that a person understood the significance of their choices. The youth would learn that for himself in time.

  “You know a way through the swamp?”

  The youth looked at him earnestly.

  “I do.”

  “And you understand that there’s danger behind as well as ahead?”

  Caldring shrugged. “Tell me someplace where there isn’t danger – sooner or later.”

  Lanrik felt sorry for him. He had learned a fact of life that many only discovered when they were older. He held out his hand.

  “Then you’re welcome to join us.”

  Caldring shook hands with him solemnly, and Lanrik thought he detected a sense of relief. The boy knew well enough that he was going to be in danger, even if he did not grasp its exact form or extent. But he also realized that he was getting away from something worse.

  “When we’ve got to the other side of the swamp,” Lanrik said, “I’ll give you another choice.”

  “What’s that?”

  Lanrik pointed to the Raithlin symbol on his cloak.

  “Do you know what this represents?”

  The youth peered at it thoughtfully.

  “A trotting fox looking back over its shoulder. Sure, I know what it means. Everyone does. You’re a Raithlin.”

  Lanrik nodded. “Yes. And I want you to come with us, even after the swamp. If you’re willing, I’ll take you on as an apprentice. I’ll teach you how to be a Raithlin. If you succeed, there’ll be a place for you in our band. Would you like to try that?”

  Caldring seemed surprised. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about being a Raithlin. It just never occurred to me before. But there’s nothing for me here. I’m willing to try, if you’re willing to teach me.”

  “Then it’s a deal.”

  The two of them shook hands again. Lanrik could almost see tension lift from the boy’s shoulders. He had a future again, even if it was one that he had never thought of before.

  “Now, how far away is the trap?” Lanrik asked.

  “Only a few miles.”

  “Right then. Where do we leave the boat? Is it worth going on for a little while, or should we start for the swamp from here?”

  The youth did not hesitate. “Leave the shuffa here. The swamp is close, and the sooner you reach it the sooner you’ll be free of your enemies.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Lanrik said. “But we won’t just leave the boat in the open. Help me take it up onto the bank so that we can hide it.”

  The two of them lifted the shuffa. Lanrik was surprised anew at just how light it was. The villagers upstream possessed a great deal of skill to craft it. The old man had made light of it at the time, but it was strong enough to withstand the rapids and light enough to lift easily. That was no easy feat. He could even have moved it by himself. That was impressive, and he wondered what use the Raithlin could put such boats to. It was a question for another time, but he would not forget.

  They reached the top of the bank and eased the shuffa into a ditch overcrowded with tall ferns. They placed it upside down, in order that water would not gather at its bottom and rot the timber. Someone might retrieve it for use at another time.

  A few patches of timber still showed and Caldring gestured toward them.

  “Should we hide the last of it with some broken off ferns?” he asked.

  Lanrik pursed his lips. He might as well st
art the training now.

  “We could. But we don’t know how far our enemies are behind us. If they collude with the king’s men ahead, and realize that we haven’t gone along the river, they’ll come back and search for where we left it. That might take them a day or two, assuming they come here at all.”

  Caldring considered that. “So the broken off branches would wilt, or even turn brown. Then they’d stand out among the greenery even more than the patches of timber.”

  Lanrik nodded. “Good thinking. That’s exactly right.”

  He picked up an old tree branch. It left an imprint in the soil from lying there for weeks.

  “Do you see the mark that’s left?”

  Caldring looked at the ground and nodded.

  “Remember this. Anything that you move or touch can leave a sign. When I’m done, we’re going to put the branch back in exactly the same place.”

  “What are you going to use it for?”

  “Watch and see.”

  They walked back down the bank. Aranloth and Arliss waited in silence. They did not even look at each other, and the tension between them was tangible.

  “Up to the top,” Lanrik said.

  They followed his direction without speaking.

  Lanrik turned to Caldring. “Now stand behind me and watch what I do. I’m trying to remove any sign that we left the river here. Nothing I do now will totally hide our passing, but it’ll deceive the casual observer.”

  Using the branch, he smoothed over the marks on the sandy bank, particularly where the boat had been run aground. He worked slowly and methodically, always keeping an eye on the river to make sure the Azan were not in sight.

  Eventually, they reached the top again. “That should do it.”

  He handed the youth the branch and they walked over to the spot where it came from, taking care to leave no tracks on the harder ground. Caldring replaced it carefully.

  “Good. That’s exactly as it was.”

  They joined the other two and Lanrik placed a hand on Caldring’s shoulder.

  “You’d better take the lead,” he said.