A Spell of Swords Read online

  Aranloth pushed against the doors, which swung easily at his touch, and entered the room. Brand followed. He should have guessed that the lòhren would take him to the king.

  The room was large and filled with cushioned chairs and soft couches. Silk wall-hangings showed more of the strange symbols, and the floor was carpeted with animal furs. It was luxury beyond the imagination of the Duthenor, but Brand could not help wonder if living in this manner made people soft.

  Out of the dozen or so men that looked toward them, one at least was not feeble. He would have been tall if he were standing but was seated at the moment on a chair facing the others. He was old; his once black hair turned silver with age, but leanness and strength were etched into his frame. He had something of the look of a wolf about him; patient, but fierce and bold when necessary.

  He had to be the king, but it was one of the others who spoke first, his voice heavy with a cold.

  “Welcome, Aranloth. All day we have waited for your counsel, but deprived of your presence we nevertheless managed to finalize our plans. Perhaps you had better things to do at the South Gate? Is it true that you have been sitting there since dawn? So my men there informed me, but I cursed them for fools. A lòhren, I told them, wouldn’t waste his time in idleness while the city he served lay in peril.”

  Aranloth’s expression did not change, but a cold light appeared in his eyes.

  “What may be a waste to one man may yet be profitable to another, Gaspur. Had you gone to the gate, the day would have been wasted. I, on the other hand, have found a way to help the king in his need. It is he I serve. By his authority many are lifted up to do so; some even manage it with courtesy.”

  “Peace,” the king said, and his voice was rich and cultured. “I don’t doubt you have used your time wisely. Lòhrens, it is said, act in odd ways, but always for the good of those that they counsel. It was strange of you to remain at the gate all day while we made plans for the defense of the city. However, I should think it obvious you were waiting for someone, even if you didn’t quite know when they would arrive.”

  At the king’s words Brand felt the wolfish gaze settle on him. He stepped forward and bowed.

  “Your Majesty. I’m Brand of the Duthenor. I’ve journeyed this winter over the frozen Careth Nien. On my way here, I espied an army of elugs, and when I left them they were camped only a day’s march from the city.”

  He wanted to say more, but how was he to know whom to trust? He had thought that he might recognize the traitor by his size and dress, but at least half the men in the room were large, and save for the king, all wore crimson capes. It must be part of the uniform of the captains of the army.

  Gaspur laughed. It was not the reaction Brand expected.

  “It seems that Aranloth’s wait was wasted after all. Is this outlander a simpleton? Does he think we’re unaware that an elug army approaches?”

  Brand went red. He came here to help, and to be called a simpleton for his pains was insulting. What was going on? What was the background between Aranloth and Gaspur that ignited such enmity against a stranger?

  “The deed was well done, Gaspur,” the king said in his rich voice, “even if we already knew of the army coming down from the northern mountains. A good deed should not be rebuked, and I offer my thanks.”

  Brand composed himself. The king, if no one else, was courteous. He smiled though as he heard the words about the elugs coming from the north: his news was not stale after all.

  “A simpleton you call me,” he said to Gaspur, “but at least I know north from south. You know of an army coming from the northern mountains, but the army I saw was coming from the south.”

  The room broke into uproar. This was indeed news, and not good news either. He was questioned much thereafter by the king, whose wolfish stare bored into him, gleaning details of numbers, emblems and shield shapes and drawing deductions from them with quick intelligence.

  Brand kept his words to a minimum and said nothing of his own background and found no opportunity to warn the king of the traitor in front of the captains.

  At length, the king finished. “Well, you’ve brought us valuable information, and I’d like to repay you for your service.”

  Aranloth spoke before Brand had a chance to say anything.

  “Brand is seeking to stay in Cardoroth,” he said. “It may be well to allow him to continue to serve. Perhaps, given the perils we face, it would be wise to employ him as a soldier.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed. Not in suspicion, thought Brand, but in recognition that the lòhren rarely spoke to no purpose.

  “What!” roared Gaspur. “How can a Duthenor join the finest soldiers in Alithoras? What skills will an outlander have? Hiring a shepherd won’t help us fight elugs!”

  Brand felt an urge to show Gaspur exactly what fighting skills the Duthenor had, but he restrained himself and spoke only to the king. He had a sudden idea.

  “My Lord, it’s true that I come to the city an untested man, and though I may be an outlander, it’s not clear to me that living in stone halls with soft chairs and silk covered beds is better training for a warrior than living in the open fields and secret woods of Alithoras. But I’ve done more than tend sheep in my time. I can fight as well as any among the Duthenor, and they are a strong people. I’m also very good with horses, and if it pleases you, I should like to become a soldier of Cardoroth.”

  The king looked long at Aranloth, who stood quietly leaning against his oaken staff.

  “Very well then,” he said. “A soldier you’ll become, and we’ll find a place for you among those who care for the cavalry. Captain Caldor will take you to his barracks shortly and give you instructions.”

  Brand bowed. “Thank you, my Lord.”

  He was pleased with himself at how things had turned out. He was now a soldier of Cardoroth, and what’s more, he’d created a chance to find the black stallion. If he couldn’t trace the traitor by his clothes then the horse would do just as well. Then he would find a better opportunity to tell the king the rest of his story. It had only been a brief meeting, but Brand was impressed. The king was a leader that a man could follow, and already he sensed loyalty sparking to life.

  The Hunt

  Caldor took him to the barracks adjacent to the Northern Gate. These were a series of connected stone buildings forming a square around an inner courtyard. The style was less grand than many other buildings in the city but not unattractive, and to Brand the stables, eating hall and courtyard used for training were far better than anything among the Duthenor.

  Caldor spoke little and left him in a room he was to share with eleven other men. These were veteran soldiers, and they looked at him disdainfully. That he was an outlander was obvious, but it was just as apparent that he was very poor. Even rough soldiers from Cardoroth dressed in finer clothes, and he felt their stares.

  Brand waited. He knew the time old testing of the new recruit was about to begin. These were hard men in difficult times: never mind the army; they would establish for themselves where he fitted into their ranking system.

  A raw boned lump of a man walked over. He had a red beard and a pallid scar above his left eye. He looked at Brand in disgust, but his words were addressed to his companions.

  “The captain’s not real bright, lads. Last time he gave us a boy who kept pricking himself with his own sword; couldn’t manage to get it up in front of his body when the elugs ambushed our patrol though. This time he’s really gone too far – he’s given us a girl!”

  The soldiers roared with laughter. When the noise subsided Brand spoke steadily.

  “If I were a girl, I’d stay clear of you. Your face looks like the wrong end of a donkey with the runs.”

  The man turned crimson and stepped forward with clenched fists. Brand swung a punch from the hip. It was fast and took his opponent by surprise. One moment the soldier was standing, and the next there was a mighty crack, and he fell to the floor like a dropped sack of grain. He lay unmoving while a bright stream of blood flowed from his nose.

  Brand looked around him. Would the others now turn on him? He watched while somebody fetched a towel and helped the bearded man up. It was one of the other men who broke the silence. “Well, I reckon you don’t punch like no girl.”

  That was all that was said. These were tough men, but they were fair.

  Brand lay down in a bunk, pulled the blankets around him, and promptly went to sleep. As he drifted off, he wondered what the morning would bring. Could he track down the stallion and its treacherous rider? Could he discover which gate would be opened to the elugs?

  Dawn came, but Brand had been up an hour before it arrived. He had been given a burnished helm, hard-soled leather boots, gray trousers and tunic. Captain Caldor, his recently appointed leader, wanted to give him a new sword as well; the shorter and thicker type favored in Cardoroth, but Brand refused. The blade of his forefathers was all he wished for. That, and to identify the man who intended to betray the inhabitants of an entire city.

  Now in his new clothes he was walking through the stables and checking on the horses, mucking out stalls and helping with the feeding. His companion, showing him what was to be done, was the raw boned man that he had knocked down last night. His nose was swollen, and one of his eyes was a black pool.

  Ruthlaan, for so he introduced himself, said little. When he spoke it was as though the events of last night had not occurred, and Brand left it at that also.

  During the course of their work he spotted the massive black stallion. There could only be one horse like that in Cardoroth, and checking its tracks in the sand-lined stall, he saw as he expected that the shoe on the rear left leg was worn down more than the others.

  “This one’s a beauty,” he said to Ruthlaan, stroking its long neck.

  His companion grunted. “That’s the captain’s very own horse, that is. It’s fast as the wind but a mean and nasty piece of work. Kick your head off if you’re not careful.”

  Brand did not answer. He could now put a name to the traitor, though he liked Captain Caldor and it was hard to picture him consorting with elugs, but the evidence was there. Now, he must work out what to do about it. His thoughts were interrupted by distant yelling.

  Ruthlaan went out to see what was happening and came back a few moments later.

  “We better finish up. We’ll be wanted on the walls soon. The elugs are in view, and there’ll be fighting before the morning is finished.”

  The Storm Breaks

  They heard as they worked the commotion going on all about them. Women were hurrying along the streets, soldiers were racing to and fro, and there was a sense of urgency. Brand did not detect signs of panic though. These people had been through sieges before.

  Their chores passed swiftly, and when finished, Brand and Ruthlaan joined the rest of their troop on the walls. The men had not seen any action yet as they were being held as reserves. The fighting had started though and wave after wave of elugs had rushed toward the defenses. Most charges had been broken by an unremitting hail of arrows. A few had reached the next stage where the elugs were able to throw scaling ladders and grappling hooks against the wall and climb the ramparts. These were soon slashed down by the sharp blades of the soldiers.

  One group, particularly fierce, was now coming up the ladders like swarming spiders. They burst through the defenders and cut and thrust with wickedly curved swords while men fell about them.

  Suddenly the tall figure of Captain Gaspur was among them. His sword flickered delicate death at one moment, and the next swept in mighty arcs hewing off heads and limbs. One elug, clambering over the wall, threw a spear at him. The long length of wood shivered through the air with the force of the throw. Gaspur turned, saw the elug, but had no time for evasive action. Instead, his free hand flickered out and swatted the spear away so that it clattered harmlessly onto the stone. Then in moments the soldiers rallied, and the elugs were killed.

  At dusk the last wave of attackers had been rebuffed. Brand followed his troop toward the barracks and paused when he saw Aranloth stride toward him.

  The lòhren came to a halt and leaned on his oaken staff, appraising him with those sea-gray eyes.

  “Well, you now look almost like you were born in Cardoroth. Have you discovered anything of note?”

  “Only this,” answered Brand. “Watching battles is much less interesting than drawing steel and matching your skill against enemies.”

  “That may be so,” the lòhren said, “but all the swordsmanship in the world will not save us from treason.”

  “Very well then,” Brand said reluctantly. “I’ve discovered this. The owner of the black stallion is Captain Caldor.”

  Aranloth frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Brand looked at him. He did not wish to be sure, but he was.

  “I may not be a lòhren, but I know horses. It was one and the same. And the captain owns him and fits the looks of the rider that I saw. He’s a big man and wears a long crimson cape. What’s more, he’s Captain of the North Gate.”

  “I don’t like it,” Aranloth said, “but evidence is evidence.”

  He leaned on his staff and thought for a few moments.

  “At the moment you’re the only witness against him. As a stranger, he’ll cast suspicion on your word, and others will come to his defense. If we’re to prove his guilt beyond doubt we must catch him in the act. If I don’t misjudge the king, that’s the only evidence he’ll accept against one of his most trusted.”

  Brand frowned. “It’s a pity that not all men show the same loyalty as the king does.”

  “That may be,” Aranloth said, “but the king has a greater heart than most. Anyway, midnight of the second night is the hour of testing, and I’ll tell him what you held back. He’ll no doubt want to see things with his own eyes and will come with his personal guard. We’ll go to your barracks and keep watch. Then we shall see what we shall see.”

  The Curse of Cardoroth

  The lòhren left him, and Brand went back to the barracks and slept deeply. The next morning was dim and eerie. Fog, almost thick enough to cup in the hands, had swept out from Lake Alithorin during the night, and men could see no more than a dozen paces ahead. It felt like the clammy hands of a host of dead men reaching toward life, and everywhere the red stone of the city seemed to glisten with drops of blood.

  Brand stood atop the battlements and listened to the talk of the soldiers. Some spoke of signs and portents, and how blood would be spilled during the day. Others whispered of the ancient curse of Cardoroth; of how the king was doomed to be assassinated and the city destined to fall in blood and ash. Brand did not know anything about the prophecy, but he knew this: he and many others were armed, and if the city were to be saved it would be by men who fought for their home; who struggled with all their mortal strength and with their wits as well.

  His regiment was allocated to defend another part of the wall this morning, but there was no fighting. While the fog was thick there was little chance of any attack from the elugs. It would be madness to attempt scaling the walls. Everything was wet and slippery, and the lack of visibility would hinder attackers as much as defenders.

  At noon, he and his men were ordered off the walls. The fog was thinning to wisps and blowing away on a cold breeze driving from the north.

  Brand was disappointed. He had not yet been involved in even the smallest skirmish or had a chance to show these city folk how the Duthenor fought. He was in the barracks when battle broke out once again and cursed his luck. Throughout the long afternoon all he could hear were the sounds of fighting; the screams of the dying, the curses and swearing of hard-pressed men and the bloodcurdling yells of elugs.

  At dusk, the last attack was rebuffed, and many men started to come back to the barracks. Only a reserve was left on the walls, sufficient to sound the alarm and hold off any surprise night attack until reinforcements came. Brand decided it was time to get some sleep. While men caroused in the barracks, celebrating that they were still alive, he lay his head on the cloak that he used as a pillow and slept. When he awoke, an hour or so before midnight, all was silent and still. The lights were out, and the men turned into their beds.

  Fire and Blood!

  He dressed swiftly and went to the now empty eating hall. Pulling up a chair near the door he also had a good view of the gate out of the window.

  He did not have long to wait. One by one, so as to avoid any chance of suspicion, soldiers of the king’s guard came to the door. Brand silently let them in. Soon twenty-five men stood about him, and last to enter were the lòhren and the king.

  The king was dressed as a common soldier, and Brand could see by the look in his eye that he felt both anxiety and excitement.

  Aranloth pulled up a chair and joined him by the window. “I saw Ruthlaan sporting a black eye today.”

  Brand smiled. “I noticed that too. Someone must have hit him mighty hard!”

  Aranloth nodded. “He gets a bit big for his boots sometimes, that one. He’s a good fighter though.”

  Brand would have said more, but at that moment Captain Caldor came into view. He was walking down the street, and they would not have known him except for the dull light coming from a brazier used by the six gate guards for warmth. Two of them stood to attention near the gate while the remaining four sat on chairs a little way behind them.

  The king’s guard grew silent, and Brand sensed the keen attention of the city’s leader and glanced up. There was a new glint in the king’s eyes. They held an even harder edge than normal, and Brand instinctively knew this man lived for one thing only; to see the city well protected and prosperous. He did not take kindly to those who dealt with the people’s enemies for their own reward.

  Captain Caldor and the seated soldiers exchanged some joke. Brand could not hear what it was, but then one of the men got up and offered his chair. The soldiers were gambling to while away the hours, and one of the men threw dice, one at a time, to the captain. Caldor made a clumsy attempt to catch them, and they spilled from his hands to the red cobbles. He laughed as he reached down to pick them up.