The Sorcerer Knight Page 2

  Faran considered that. It was near impossible to understand, but he had felt the magic. And the land was so different here that what the lòhren said must be true.

  “Why come here? Could we have gone anywhere?”

  “That’s not how the stones work. Few Rings were ever built, and some no longer function. But it’s only possible to Travel from one Ring to another. There were other places I could have chosen, but this one will serve us well.”

  That all seemed to make sense to Faran. Something worried him though.

  “Is it possible that Lindercroft could follow us, or learn where we went?”

  Aranloth grinned. “He would be a very angry man right now, and I can live with that. He does not know how the standing stones work. He cannot use them. He just knows that we escaped him, and that he will have to answer for it to Druilgar, who is not known to be forgiving. I can live with that, too.”

  Faran studied the lòhren carefully. He seemed alert and well on the surface, but underneath were signs of tiredness and strain. Strange that he should show it now for the first time. What had changed?

  Kareste was also looking at him, and Faran saw worry on her face. At least he thought he did, but the moment he seemed to notice it her face became like a mask and showed nothing.

  “Why don’t you and Ferla talk among yourselves for a while. Aranloth could do with some rest by himself.”

  Faran stood up from the stone he was sitting on. The worry may have been gone from her face, but her words betrayed it. She usually referred to Aranloth lightly as the old man. Just now, she had used his name.

  But she was right. He did need rest, and Faran moved away with Ferla to another portion of the wall some distance away.

  “You did it again,” he said to her when they had seated themselves.

  “Did what?”

  “Saved my life. That … thing would have had me. And I haven’t even asked if you’re hurt.”

  “Do I look like I’m hurt?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m one ahead at the moment. I’ve saved you twice, and you’ve saved me once. You’d better take your chance to catch up when you get the opportunity.” She winked at him to let him know it was a joke.

  He grinned in return. But he could not help feel that by the time all this was over he would have that chance, and the thought saddened him. She should not be at risk because of him.

  The circumstances were beyond his control though, and she would not leave. In turn, he knew if the situation were reversed, he would not leave her. There was nothing to be done about it, so he changed the subject.

  “Did you see anything … unusual when Aranloth stumbled before?”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Maybe. I’m not sure. What did you see?”

  He chose his words carefully. “I’m not sure either. I thought that I saw some sort of shadow just glide away from him. It was very strange.”

  “I think,” she answered slowly, “that I saw the same thing. It was just from the corner of my eye, and I thought I must have imagined it. But maybe not if you saw it too.”

  He looked away. It seemed they had both seen something, but neither could be certain. And both of them feared that if they were right, it could only be one thing. Magic. But whose?

  “Do you think Lindercroft managed to send something after us?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Aranloth just said before that we escaped him. He seemed certain of it. So I don’t see how it could be anything to do with him.”

  Faran was not quite so sure. What if Aranloth was wrong? Still, if the magic was Lindercroft’s doing, would he not have sent something to attack them instead?

  “Then what was it?”

  “I don’t know, Faran. Maybe it didn’t even happen, and we only thought we saw something.”

  “That could be. Maybe. But promise me this, anyway. Keep your eyes open. Watch out for anything strange.”

  She flicked back a strand of dark red hair that blew across her face.

  “Everything has been strange lately. But I know what you mean. We’ll both stay alert.”

  They talked quietly for a little while longer. The afternoon sun slanted a little more, sending long shadows down from the hill. But soon Kareste called them over.

  “We can rest and eat at the same time,” she said.

  They broke open some of the new supplies they had received in Nurthil Wood, and ate a late lunch or an early dinner.

  Aranloth seemed his normal self, although there were purple-blue rings around his eyes that had not been there earlier. Faran ate a chunk of dark bread, quite different from the loaves made in Dromdruin. It was heavy and dry, but it did have a deep flavor.

  “That bread will last longer than normal bread,” Aranloth said. “It’s made for traveling, and it’s smoked and salted. The knights use it when they travel the realm.”

  Kareste was chewing vigorously on some. “It might be made for travel, but it certainly isn’t made for good flavor.”

  “You might acquire a taste for it.” He reached out and broke a chunk off the loaf for himself. “I have, and normal bread just seems like empty air once you get used to this.”

  Kareste made a face. “I’ve tasted better, old man. But if I live to be your age, who can say how strange my tastes might become?”

  Aranloth laughed, and Faran was glad to see it. It seemed like the weight of the world had been lifted from the lòhren’s shoulders, and that was reassuring. Without him, they might all be dead by now.

  But the old man’s face grew serious again, and he glanced at Faran shrewdly.

  “We’re safe,” he said, “at least for the moment. Lindercroft has lost us, and not even the elù-drak that serve him have much chance of finding us now. At least for a long time.”

  “But?” replied Faran.

  “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  Faran drew a deep breath. “I know. We’re safe just now, but that doesn’t mean Lindercroft, or the king, will give up the hunt. They never will. I don’t like it, but it’s true. None of this situation was of my making, but the sooner I accept it, the better.”

  The old man did not answer that. No answer could be given. But it felt good to Faran to admit out loud the way he had been feeling. And there was something else that he had realized as well.

  “You’ve done a lot for me.” He turned to face Kareste also. “And you as well. Without the both of you, Ferla and I would be dead. I don’t have the skills needed to keep myself alive against the enemies that hunt me. That has to change.” He looked back at Aranloth. “Legend says you were the tutor of the knights. Will you teach me what I need to stay alive? Will you teach me how to protect myself?”

  The old man looked at him solemnly. “Yes. I’ll teach you. But it will need to be more than the martial skills of the knights alone.”

  “Because,” Faran said reluctantly, “the enemies who will come against me possess magic?”

  “Indeed they will. Things of terrible and dark sorcery such as you have never seen.”

  “But I’m no lòhren to wield such powers.”

  Aranloth gazed at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps not, yet even the least of the knights learned magic, of a sort. You have it in you to learn more. And you will need more.”

  The old man paused, as though deciding whether or not to say something now that he had considered before.

  “To that end, you will need fitting armor. And a fitting blade. These must be made to fulfil not just the dints of battle, but the blows of magic.”

  Faran thought on that. It was more than he had asked, but how else did one defend against enemies such as he had?

  “These things that we’re talking about are the weapons, armor and skills of a Kingshield Knight,” he said at length.

  Aranloth nodded silently.

  “And will you still allow all this,” Faran continued, “even if I’m not, nor will ever become, a Kingshie
ld Knight?”

  “Even so.”

  The lòhren’s swift answer was reassuring. But Faran wanted more.

  “Why?”

  “Because it is right. And because your grandfather was a good man. But mostly because you will need these things to live.”

  Faran nodded. He felt the truth of those words, but he was not done yet.

  “Will you do one thing more?”

  Aranloth raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Ask, and we will see.”

  Faran glanced at Ferla, and then back toward the lòhren.

  “Ferla is in as great a danger as I am. It’s even worse for her because she doesn’t have to be. She could have walked away, but she hasn’t. Will you teach her just as you teach me? She needs it every bit as much as I do.”

  It was a reasonable thing to ask, and Faran knew it was right to do so. He was not sure what Aranloth’s reaction would be though. So far as Faran new, a woman had never before learned the arts of the knights.

  Aranloth’s reaction was not what he expected though. The old man grew solemn, and he stood from where he sat on the broken wall. Then he bowed to each of them in turn.

  “I hold the sacred trust,” he said. “I will be Osahka to you, Ferla, and to you, Faran. The mysteries are deep, and the journey long. But I will guide you if you follow.”

  This seemed like a ceremony, but Faran had no idea what to do or say next. But Kareste whispered in his ear, and he repeated the words she gave him.

  “I, Faran, of Dromdruin Village, will walk the path down which you lead me. You are Osahka, and I am Kasellah, the follower who learns.”

  Kareste looked at Ferla. “Is this what you wish?”

  She stood closer, and Faran felt her shoulder brush his own.

  “It is.”

  “Then say the words also.”

  She did so, and the sound of her voice was grave and intent. It seemed like she swore an oath, and perhaps that was what it was.

  “Done!” Aranloth said, and he gave Kareste one of those secret looks they seemed to share.

  “Well, old man,” she said by way of reply. “Where to now?”

  “Now, we go to the one place where we can be sure of quickly finding the weapons and armor that these two most need.”

  Slowly, Kareste’s face paled. “You cannot be serious,” she said.

  3. The Tombs of the Letharn

  Kareste took a step back from the old man. “Now it makes sense why you chose this ring of standing stones.”

  Aranloth nodded. “Yes, it does.”

  “It makes sense, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t too dangerous.” She glanced at Faran and Ferla, and then faced the lòhren again. “They’re not ready for … such a place.”

  “Even so, it is necessary.”

  Kareste looked away, doubt written on her face. And maybe even fear.

  Faran wondered what sort of place could provoke that kind of reaction from her.

  “Where would you take us?” he asked.

  The old man stood. He showed little sign of the ailment that had troubled him before, but with someone like Aranloth, it was hard to tell. He could survive on force of will alone.

  “Time to be walking,” Aranloth said by way of answer. “I’ll think on whether we must go where I plan, or if there’s an alternative. Maybe, as we walk, I’ll see another way.”

  That sounded fair enough, and Faran, for his part, would be glad to get away from the standing stones. They had saved him, but he had nearly died within their circle too. Better to put distance between himself and a place like that.

  Aranloth led them down the hill. Once, there had been a road here. There still was, of sorts. Time had buckled it, lifting paving stones in some places and dropping them low in others. In some, they lay rent apart as though the earth itself had heaved and scattered them. Rain and sun and ice had done their work too. So had floods and erosion, which in some areas covered the stones with a layer of dirt.

  But few were the weeds and patches of grass. Shadows lay everywhere, cast by great buildings that had toppled and yet, ruined as they were, their remnants still stood tall enough to throw shade and stifle growth.

  From time to time, rubble blocked the road and the old man led them around it to come back onto it on the other side. Faran did not like the road much, but he liked walking within the ruins of the buildings even less. Here, they might pass through a door that remained standing and into a room that people had lived in long, long before Faran was born, and it made him feel strange. In rooms like those, families had sat and talked. They had feasted and laughed. They had cried at bad news and celebrated good. But they were all dead now.

  The whole city stank of death. Not to Faran’s nose, but to his mind. He wanted to be away from here and to feel the green, living grass beneath his feet once more. Or to see the branch of a tree move in the breeze. Everything in the ruins was still, and stillness meant death.

  Down the long hill Aranloth led them, but the city was far vaster than it looked. The road kept going, and there seemed no end to it. Nor to the buildings on either side. Occasionally, one of these stood relatively undamaged. Some were five stories high, but Faran was sure from the size of some of the piles of rubble that others had been even taller.

  The shadows lengthened. A cold wind sprang up from the north, and Aranloth called a halt. It surprised Faran. Perhaps the old man still suffered from whatever ailment the Traveling had brought on, though he looked well enough now.

  Faran would have preferred to keep going and leave the city behind. But everyone, not just Aranloth, could do with some rest. And at least here the buildings offered shelter from the wind.

  “This will do,” the lòhren said.

  He led them through a doorway, the wooden door of which had long since succumbed to the weather and all that remained were rusted hinges attached to the stone casing of the frame.

  The walls had collapsed too, but a square perimeter remained of its base. This was about five feet high. Tall enough, Faran surmised, to block out the wind. But tall enough also to make a good defense against attackers. Not that Aranloth gave any indication that he was worried about any. It was just wise to be prepared, and Faran approved.

  Most of the rubble had fallen outside the walls. But inside there was some, and this they worked quickly to clear out except for some larger stones that would serve as seats.

  They ate then, and it was a cold meal for there was no timber at hand in this ancient city to burn. And Aranloth told them of where he intended to go.

  “Ordinary weapons and armor will not serve against the things of sorcery that may attack you,” he said. “You need things crafted with the skill of the ancient world and imbued with magic of their own.”

  Kareste shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Just tell them where you intend to go, old man.”

  Aranloth went on. “This is the city of the Letharn. Nearby, are their tombs. All the Letharn that ever lived and died are buried there. It is a vast network of caves and tunnels, buried beneath the ground. But it isn’t just a burial place. There also are stored the treasures of the nation, and the Letharn empire was immense, and it endured for thousands of years. The wealth in treasures, and objects of esteem, is incalculable.”

  Kareste looked pointedly at the old man. “And tell them why this wealth is still there after all these years, and why the tombs have never been plundered.”

  “Because the tombs are guarded,” Aranloth answered quietly.

  Faran was mindful of Kareste’s wariness. Yet curiosity had a hold of him.

  “Magic,” he said to the old man. “Magic guards the tombs.”

  Aranloth gave him a sharp look. “You catch on quickly, where magic is concerned. And you’re right. Magic of a deadly kind guards them. Perhaps the greatest magic ever invoked. Certainly one of the most dangerous.”

  The old man did not seem to judge the ancients for their choices. He neither said what they had done was good or bad. But the sense of power, raw and p
rimal, in the magic they had invoked was clear to be heard. He respected them, or at the very least respected their accomplishments.

  “This much you have to understand first,” Aranloth went on. “The Letharn held strong beliefs. The tombs were sacred to them, not just for reverence of the dead that were interred there but because of the magic of the place itself. They believed it a gateway to another world. They believed it the gateway to an afterlife. It was their custom to be buried there in order to access that gateway. So, no matter where they died, no matter if it was a thousand leagues away, they were brought to the tombs for interment. The greatest punishment of all, handed out to those who committed the wort crimes, was to be buried elsewhere.”

  Faran thought he understood. “So they protected the tombs with magic as dearly, even more dearly, than they guarded anything in life.”

  “Exactly so. And they intended that guarding to last for eternity. Great as their empire was, they knew it would not last. Nothing lasts forever, and they would protect their earthly remains, as well as the treasures buried with them that they would use in the afterlife, for as long as the world should endure.”

  Ferla pulled the hood of her cloak up against the remnants of the cold breeze that still found its way into their enclosure.

  “What magic did they invoke, Aranloth? And what is the protection against it? Surely there must be one, otherwise the Letharn could not have entered their own tombs to bury their dead.”

  Faran was impressed. He had missed that entirely.

  “There are two things that they did, and you must be mindful of it every moment we are there,” Aranloth said. “The first is this. Most of the treasure you will see is powdered with a deadly poison. It will kill you as surely as a sword stroke. On no account, ever, touch any treasure unless I say that it is safe. Do you agree to that?”

  Faran and Ferla both nodded, and the lòhren continued.

  “The magic invoked is more dangerous still. It guards the tombs like a dog guards its master’s property. It can take any form, and its power is immense. Usually, though, it takes the form of three women. They are known as the three sisters, or the harakgar.”