Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series Page 19

  “You will do it, I think.” For the first time Carnona’s gaze held a hint of compassion, and Lanrik wondered if he had misjudged her. “You would not now, but you will change before your journey with the lòhren is ended. It will be enough if you promise to return.”

  “Very well. Though how will I know when to do so?”

  Carnona regarded her with dark eyes. “You will know. Follow your instincts and you will hear the call.”

  She turned away and toward the east. “It is time!”

  Lanrik glanced at the horizon. The half moon was rising above a jagged line of distant hills. Shafts of moonlight stabbed through the canopy, and Carnona shivered at the caress of each silvery beam. Lanrik realized that the time to pick the berries was now, and it would last but moments.

  17. All that I Desire

  Aranloth dropped his staff and sprang toward the oak. He was an old man, but he moved with the quickness of youth. He leapt effortlessly onto one of the low hanging boughs, gripped a higher branch with his arms, and swung his body up and over it.

  He repeated the same action several times and was half-way up the tree in moments. Then, taking slow and precise steps, he walked along the branch until he reached the mistletoe.

  The berries had responded to the rays of moonlight with a pulsing glow but were already starting to fade. Aranloth knelt, mindful of his balance and the long fall to the ground, and plucked three of them. He slipped them in a pocket while the light of the remainder diminished and finally blinked out.

  He descended the tree with the same ease but less haste than he had used on the way up, and when he was close enough he jumped smoothly to the soft leaf mold below. He returned to the others, not even out of breath.

  “Now we have a chance!” he said. “The elùgroths won’t have everything their own way.”

  Carnona observed him with her nut-brown eyes. “They pose less threat to you at the moment than Ebona. Not lightly did her servants leave my domain. And they still wait for you without.”

  Aranloth ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll deal with them if I must.”

  Carnona considered them all briefly. “We will meet again.” Her gaze lingered on Erlissa. “For now, I have other tasks and you must rest. Sleep in the grove tonight, and do not leave it until the sun rises. Elsewhere, Enorìen is dangerous.”

  She looked at Aranloth. “When you wake in the morning you will find the seeds. They will last a long while – but plant them soon!”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned and strode away. The moonlight glistened on the dark shadow of her hair until she passed from view.

  Erlissa let out a long breath. “So that was the Guardian.”

  “One of them,” Aranloth said. “Our meeting could have been worse . . . they have little love for our kind.”

  Lanrik rubbed his eyes. “Her advice was good though. I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks, and it’s time to rest.”

  They shared some food and then got ready to sleep. It was difficult though. Not long after Carnona left, noise and movement commenced in the dim light at the edge of the grove.

  After a while, a mighty stag came into view. His flared antlers were only part grown, and at times he gave a deep-throated roar even though it was not yet the rutting season.

  An old and solitary aurochs bull moved in the half-shadows as well. His horns were swept forward, and he loosed shattering bellows from his enormous bulk. He used his front hooves to gauge deep scrapes in the ground and flung the loose earth behind him in fury.

  A wickedly tusked boar came last of all, and he grunted in the darkness and thrashed his tusks against root and bush.

  “Pay them no heed,” Aranloth said.

  He followed his own advice and fell asleep quickly. Lanrik and Erlissa found it harder, yet none of the beasts ventured into the grove, and Carnona’s word was true. They were safe within it, and they slept, albeit fitfully.

  The half moon sailed high overhead and faded at the arrival of a hushed and golden dawn.

  When they woke, they were more refreshed than they expected to be. Carnona had returned through the night and silently left a small bark container near the lòhren’s staff. Of the beasts, there was no sign.

  The travelers retraced their steps through the cleft, and then headed out toward the fringes of Enorìen.

  “What of Mecklar?” Lanrik asked the lòhren.

  “He and his followers will be waiting, but whether they will try to find our trail or head us off is hard to say. Either way, Ebona will aid them, and we won’t be able to hide for long.”

  They continued until dusk came. Aranloth led them to the northward edge of the hills.

  “We’ll camp here and in the morning strike toward where the Erenian River forks from the Carist Nien. Between the two is an island and a good place to cross.”

  Dawn of the next day found them leaving both hill and forest and riding across the open and flat lands between the two rivers.

  Aranloth swept his arm in a wide arc. “The land in front of us is called the Angle,” he said. “Near the fork itself the ground is sometimes flooded by one or both rivers.”

  They crossed the road that led around Enorìen and down to the coastal city of Camarelon. It was the same road that led back to Esgallien, and Lanrik had a sudden feeling as he past beyond it that he was leaving his old life forever.

  “Ahead and to the east are the cities of Menetuin and Faladir,” Aranloth continued. “They were founded by tribes related to Conhain’s people.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Lanrik said. “Esgallien trades with those places, but more so with Camarelon.”

  “Where’s Cardoroth from here?” asked Erlissa.

  “Red Cardoroth is much further north,” the lòhren said. “It’s near to Lake Alithorin. It too was founded during the great migration of people from the west. But we’ll be veering to the left. One day you may both see those other cities, though you’ll find none better than Esgallien.”

  They travelled on, and Lanrik warmed to the new lands that he was seeing and the names of places that were mere rumor to him, or better yet, never heard of like Cardoroth. He would like to see them one day. Aranloth knew so much, but he sometimes explained little. How had a city come to be called red?

  There was no sign of pursuit, and several peaceful but tiring days passed. The land was deforested and fertile. People had lived here once, though there was no sign of them now except for hints of old roads and the many fruit trees seeded from ancient orchards.

  Two nights out from Enorìen, they established their camp and risked a fire. They used deadwood from a long fallen apple trunk and enjoyed the fragrant smoke as well as the warmth.

  Aranloth took the first watch and woke Lanrik sometime before midnight. The lòhren settled behind him, and Erlissa remained asleep off to the side.

  The fire gradually died to shimmering embers as the night passed, and a chill seeped into the air. Lanrik placed a branch on the coals and sparks suddenly flew. The fire flared, and a tongue of flame rose high in the air and twisted into a human figure.

  Lanrik jumped back and drew his sword. He was going to yell to wake the others, but the blade was so reassuring in his hand that he felt himself equal to any challenge.

  The flame-figure spoke, its voice soft and tenuous like a wisp of smoke.

  “Why do you draw cold steel?”

  The apparition made no threatening move, but Lanrik was unwilling to sheath his blade.

  “Come closer,” the voice asked. “Let me see you properly.”

  He took slow and careful steps with the sword-tip held high. He saw now that the flame-figure was a woman. He could not tell her age, which disturbed him, but she was tall and long haired and wore a white dress cinched with a red belt at the waist.

  She tossed her hair and sparks flew. “Why so untrusting?”

  “Who are you? And what do you want? Speak truthfully, and I’ll trust you more.”

  The flame-figure peered
at him closely. After a moment, she nodded.

  “I think you have grown much in the last few weeks. But it is not so easy to discern truth from falsehood.”

  “Perhaps. But I’ll judge as I can.”

  “Very well! I shall tell the truth!”

  She pinned him with wide-set eyes that flashed fire. “I am Ebona. Some call me a witch. I suppose I am that, too, but once I was something else, someone of greater power. And I will be that again, and more.”

  Her breathing quickened as she spoke, and her chest rose and fell as the fire writhed about her.

  “I see recognition in your eyes. The lòhren has spoken of me.”

  Lanrik took a pace back. “Do you deny that you sent Mecklar and the others to kill us?”

  Ebona laughed, and sparks shot from her mouth. “I deny nothing! I bade my servants to kill you, yet even as we speak, I regret it. I am inclined to change my mind.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She leaned toward him. “Because of you.”

  “Me? What does that mean?”

  “Are you always so modest? No! Do not answer. I can tell that you are, so I will say what you will not.”

  Ebona drew herself up. She looked regal; power was in her glance and beauty in her figure that made him tremble. She seemed the queen of the world.

  “Are you not smarter, braver and more handsome than Mecklar? You have shown determination and resourcefulness beyond his reach. You have rare and valuable qualities, but what have they earned you? You have fled your homeland. The Raithlin are disbanded. And Mecklar, a lesser man, prospers.”

  Lanrik thought on her words and did not answer for a moment.

  “He’s done well. What of it?”

  Ebona pursed her lips. “Are you always so direct? No matter! I am direct myself when it suits me. What of it? Simply this. Mecklar is under my influence. You, who are a better man, could achieve more. In truth, I do not think there is anything you could not achieve. As I have helped Mecklar, I could help you.”

  She looked at him, and her eyes were alight with emotion. “Would you like to return to Esgallien? I can make it so! Would you like the Raithlin reinstated? They can be! I can bend the king to my will, weak-minded fool that he is. He attained the position by birth, but he has not earned the right. You, who by your deeds have proven yourself, would make a better king. I, Ebona, could make it so!”

  She raised herself even taller, and fire flashed from her eyes. Lanrik felt hot and sweat beaded his face.

  “Do you doubt me?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Then join me! Leave this business of Aranloth’s behind you. He has dragged you into events that are of no concern to you. What are you doing here, a plaything for lòhrens when you could rule the lands of your birth . . . with me by your side?”

  Her voice softened. “Would you like that, Lanrik? Does the prospect excite you?”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Suddenly swaying with dizziness, he gripped the sword more tightly. He had a sudden urge to leave the camp, to go back to Esgallien and find Ebona. If he did so he knew that they would become allies. And with power such as hers to help him, he could achieve anything. But something at the back of his mind worried him. What would Erlissa say?

  He turned and looked at her. She was asleep; her dark hair was ruffled, and she rested her head carelessly in the crook of her arm. He knew what she would say, heard in his head the very tone of her voice. He felt a sudden and piercing love, sharper than steel and hotter than flame.

  He shifted his gaze back to Ebona. She was waiting for him, her arms crossed against her chest, and thick thumbs pressed against her milk-white flesh.

  “I have all that I desire,” he said.

  Ebona stood still for a few moments, and then stretched a long arm toward him.

  “If you are not with me, you are against me. Would you make me an enemy? I do not wish to kill you, but I will if I must.”

  “I won’t join you,” he said.

  “Then you will die!”

  Ebona towered above him, and her eyes burned with fury. Fire twisted and spun around her, and sparks streamed into the sky.

  Lanrik stepped back and heard a movement behind him.

  Aranloth had sat up. “Do not fear,” the lòhren said. “It’s only Ebona’s image, and it has no power in the camp. She is nothing but smoke and fire.”

  The lòhren did not look sleepy, and Lanrik wondered if he had been awake all along.

  Ebona fixed Aranloth with fiery eyes. “No power? Once you made it so. But I endured. And now I am strong enough to take my revenge!”

  The witch gathered herself, and then stepped out of the fire and into the camp.

  Aranloth snatched up his staff and sprang between her and Erlissa.

  “You surprise me,” he said. “But your image still has no power.”

  Ebona paced like a stalking cat. “She must die, lòhren. It is my will, and it shall be accomplished.”

  Lanrik had heard enough. He lunged forward and thrust his sword into her, but it passed through harmlessly. He withdrew the blade and saw a flicker of firelight where there should have been a wound.

  She spun on him. “Fool! I offered you everything. Now you shall have nothing! Did you think you could injure me with a sword?”

  She turned her back on him and stepped toward Erlissa.

  Aranloth raised his staff. “You cannot contend with me, Ebona. Not while you are so distant from your body. And not in this land where I am strong.”

  She smiled at him. “Are you really so sure, lòhren?”

  Lanrik desperately wanted to do something, but he was at a loss. The witch took another step forward, and Aranloth looked as though he was about to bring lòhrengai to bear. If he was forced to do so, Erlissa could be hurt in the confrontation.

  A thin tendril of smoke linked Ebona to the fire, and an idea occurred to him. Instead of attacking her, he slashed at it with his sword. She flinched but continued forward and the smoke rejoined.

  Aranloth raised his staff higher, and white flame ran along its length. The diadem on his brow glittered, and his eyes narrowed with concentration.

  Lanrik knew the smoke somehow connected Ebona to the fire. It was in it that she had first appeared and must be the key to her presence, but what use could he make of that knowledge?

  The witch moved forward. Her arms lifted, and her fingers formed claws in the air.

  Lanrik raced to the fire and kicked away the branch he had put in it earlier, and then dropped the sword and kneeled. He used his hands to frantically fling dirt over the flame.

  The fire sputtered and went out. Ebona screamed and turned toward him. She flung out her long arms, but her image turned to smoke and drifted apart in the air.

  Lanrik tried to stop himself from shaking. “Did I kill her?”

  “No, but destroying her image will have caused her pain.” Aranloth slowly lowered his staff. “If she was your enemy before, she is doubly so now.”

  Erlissa came to stand beside the lòhren. “What’s going on?”

  Lanrik told her what had happened.

  “Could she really have hurt us?”

  “I don’t think she could have done anything,” Aranloth said. “Her power has grown greatly since last I saw her though.”

  “What is the history between you?” Erlissa asked.

  The lòhren shrugged. “Ebona was once a power in the world. She wished to maintain authority over the tribes that worshipped her, but Alithoras had other needs, and I broke her influence.”

  “When was that?” Lanrik asked.

  “A long time ago,” the lòhren said. “What matters now is that she has found us. I should be able to prevent her from entering our camp again, but she will soon put Mecklar and the others on our trail.”

  “There’s nothing to be done about it tonight,” Erlissa said. “We need rest, and so do the horses. I suggest you both get some sleep. I’ll keep
watch until dawn.”

  Lanrik knew she was right, and the lòhren’s expression showed he was done talking, so he lay down and made himself comfortable. He ensured his sword was close to hand and drifted to sleep with his fingers curled around its hilt.

  ****

  The next few days of travel passed without incident, and whatever steps Aranloth took to ward off Ebona worked. He was withdrawn and tired though, even more so than could be accounted for by the six days of hard riding since he had harvested the mistletoe berries.

  The effort had been worth it, however. The fork where the River Erenian split from the Carist Nien was now before them, and they had crossed a great stretch of land that had separated them from Lòrenta.

  Ahead, there was an immense escarpment. It was a steep ridgeline of ragged cliffs and stone buttresses, barren of vegetation except for dwarfed bushes that clung to life against wind and sun.

  The two rivers were visible to either side. So too was the beginning of the Angle, and at its center where the rivers diverged was a great waterfall a quarter of a mile wide that cascaded over the escarpment with a roar and spume of white water.

  Lanrik looked at Aranloth. “Are you sure there's a way to the top?”

  “I know this land as you know Esgallien,” the lòhren answered. “I’ve explored every nook and cranny, witnessed every splendor and danger, trod every path. There is a way.”

  They continued, and the two rivers hemmed them in. Each had their source from a lake below the waterfall that churned and frothed perpetually. At its center was an island, all shattered rock and tumbled boulder that was cluttered by flood-deposited driftwood. A many-arched bridge of ancient stone spanned the roiling water toward it.

  Aranloth dismounted and hand-led the roan onto the bridge. Lanrik and Erlissa followed suit. It was wide enough for them to ride, but the roar and swirling spray from the waterfall made the horses skittish.

  Lanrik looked closely at the slick stone beneath his feet. It was rutted and crumbled like the ruins in Alonin, and he guessed it had been constructed before the founding of Esgallien.

  They reached the other side and stepped onto the island. His tracker’s eyes noticed heel marks from a boot in the gravel, and he realized that someone had been here recently. The land was isolated, and he had a sudden idea who it must be.