Lore Of The Letharn (Book 2) Read online

  A nagging doubt gnawed away at Lanrik. What if the head-priest was right? What if Ebona really had captured Erlissa?

  He gritted his teeth and rode on. The river streamed by to his left, and the green grass flowed beneath the long gait of the horses.

  The old road of the Letharn soon dwindled to nothing but grass, as he remembered it would. He was not sad to leave the land of that ancient race, and their works, behind. But he was glad of the herenfrak. Now, it was time for Lòrenta and Erlissa.

  23. The Earth Groans

  Erlissa sprang toward the cauldron. Her hair billowed behind her, and the walnut staff was hot in the tight grip of her hand.

  She was only a step from the blackened vessel when Elù-Randùr struck. His own staff, the dark wych-wood implement of the elùgroths, whipped through the air. It struck her ankle like a barbed lash. She reeled, regained her balance, and prepared to thrust her staff into the cauldron’s murky interior.

  Ebona cried out, and flame coursed from the tips of her fingers. Red fire sizzled through the air and Erlissa flung up a wall of blue light. The witchery struck it, knocked it down, but it sputtered to life again and repelled the attack.

  The elùgroth moved like the black shadow of a hawk. His robes flew and fluttered, and he crashed into Erlissa. She sprawled to the ground and hit her head hard against the stone.

  The room swirled with power, and a tremor ran deep in the earth until the whole valley of Caladhrist shook. Lòhrengai, elùgai and ùhrengai charged the air – too much for the confined space of the chamber. Dust and grit rained down from the ceiling and the cauldron tottered.

  With a heave and a reckless burst of lòhren-fire, Erlissa flung the elùgroth from her. She came to her feet, blood dripping down the side of her face, and stumbled toward the cauldron.

  Once more the witch flung fire at her, but she ducked and rolled, closing her eyes to the brightness as the flame roared over her head and thundered into the wall.

  The many-tunneled rock of Caladhrist groaned, and a noise came from somewhere in the stony deeps as though mountains tumbled into the sea.

  Erlissa plunged her walnut staff into the cauldron. Its tip sunk deep and smashed into the bottom. The wood thrummed with power, and a shock travelled along its length as the dark forces of witchcraft and sacrificed blood reacted to the intrusion.

  Fire dripped like water from Ebona’s fingers, and she raised her hands to strike.

  “Wait!” the elùgroth shouted.

  There was fear and desperate urgency in his voice.

  The witch paused a moment, her hands uplifted, and a snarl contorting her once-beautiful face. Her glaring eyes shifted from Erlissa and bored into the elùgroth.

  Erlissa fought a new wave of dizziness, and only the staff in her hand kept her upright. Or was she lying down in a block of ùhrengai in Lòrenta? Her two worlds now seemed as one.

  The elùgroth spoke quickly, but his voice was calm.

  “There’s too much power here,” he said. “One more move from any of us might bring the whole cave down over our heads.”

  Ebona stood still a moment, her arms extended, the madness inside her raging across her face. Erlissa thought it had control of her, but after a few moments she lowered her hands and the flame at her fingertips snuffed out.

  “You are correct, elùgroth.”

  Her gaze turned once more to Erlissa.

  “You do not have the power to destroy the cauldron. It is a relic of an older age, and far beyond your understanding.”

  The witch paused, and a mysterious smile played across her red lips, but her high-cheeked face was void of humor.

  “But know this. Should you assault it with lòhrengai its own powers will stir to life. And they are vast, far stronger than the paltry forces so far unleashed. It will destroy you.”

  Erlissa felt sudden doubt, but she kept it from her voice.

  “Perhaps. But if it destroys me, it’ll destroy us all. And what does it matter if the caves collapse upon us? At least there’ll be an end to this abomination.”

  Ebona laughed. Once more there was a hint of madness about her.

  “Fool! It will destroy you. It will destroy the elùgroth. It will not destroy me. Did you not know? I am as old as the earth, and I shall endure so long as the world spins through the void.”

  Erlissa wavered. What the witch claimed might be true. If she tried to destroy the cauldron, its powers might rise up against her, and her skill at lòhrengai was not equal to the forces of ùhrengai bound within it.

  Her lòhren senses probed the cauldron. She felt the latent forces within it. They seethed and roiled, their tendrils reaching out and infusing themselves into earth and air alike. She was no match for those powers. Nor was she any match for the witch.

  It was one thing to face a task beyond her strength. It was another to try and achieve the impossible. For the first time she felt as though the Guardian had sent her on a hopeless quest, and the strength of her will, which had kept her going while she journeyed to Caladhrist, faltered.

  She swayed. Doubt and despair made her weak, and the pull of her body in Lòrenta grew by the second. She could not resist for much longer.

  Ebona smiled again.

  “Yes. I see that you realize the truth, now. Don’t you, sweetling? My sister betrayed you. She sent you here as a sacrifice of her own, a strategy to buy herself a little more time, for time is precious even to immortals. You never had any hope of success, and she had no power to give you anything that would help.”

  Erlissa dropped her head. Her gaze fell upon the cauldron, and she looked deep within it. It was dark and murky, filled with sliding shadows and churning blood. She felt the antiquity of it. It was as old as the staff in her hand, or the tree from which it had come.

  Something stirred in her mind at that thought. Carnona was not like her sister. She was aloof. She was primal; she was less human than Ebona. A long time the witch had dwelled among humankind, trying to dominate them, using them to feed her power. She had grown to be like them. Carnona, on the other hand, lived a remote life, rarely seeing people at all. She did not show anger or anxiety, as did Ebona. Still less did she show fear.

  The more Erlissa considered it, the more her faith returned that the Guardian would not have sent her here as a strategy to gain only a few extra days. She had summoned her, taken her to the ancient walnut tree and sent her to Caladhrist for a reason. She herself had hope, even if it was slight.

  Erlissa had a moment of sudden understanding. It was true that she was no match for the witch. It was also true that her lòhrengai was not strong enough to break the cauldron. But Carnona had never sent her to do either of these things. Her role was to bring the staff, an implement of ùhrengai, a force of nature as old, or older, than the cauldron. The staff might do what she could not. All that was now required was that she waken its powers.

  Erlissa ran her hands along the dark timber. She sent her mind into it, and found its core.

  “Grow,” she whispered, and led the thought deep inside the staff.

  She took her hands from it, letting it rest within the cauldron, and stood unaided. The room spun and she swayed.

  Ebona smiled, and Elù-Randùr approached.

  “There is no escape,” he said.

  The pallid hand of the elùgroth, spider-veined and cold, gripped her arm. It sent a chill into her bones. She remembered his touch, remembered what it was like to be his captive, devoid of hope and facing torment. But she also remembered Lanrik, and saw his face once again just as it was in the dark tent of the shazrahad. He was hope unexpected, and she would never forget that feeling.

  The elùgroth started to move, to drag her away, but at that moment the staff in the cauldron began to glow. They all paused and looked at it.

  The dark grain of the walnut glimmered with waves of light. The cauldron and cavern, until now engulfed in shadow, were suddenly clear and visible.

  A soft radiance, like the dappled light of the forest
, white and yellow and green, flickered and pulsed. For a moment it shimmered, and then sudden light blossomed as though the sun had burst through a tree canopy onto a dark forest floor.

  Shadows fled from the chamber. The dark-cloaked elùgroth was revealed, his pale face and hard eyes, the hooked nose and high forehead. For a moment he reminded Erlissa of Aranloth, and then his eyes shifted. They were black pits of malice, though uncertainty glinted in them now. All semblance to the lòhren dropped away.

  Elù-Randùr looked to the witch. She returned his gaze, her blonde hair shimmering in the bright light, and a flush of doubt was on her face also.

  She lifted a long arm and pointed at Erlissa.

  “What have you done?”

  Erlissa shrugged. “I haven’t done anything.”

  Ebona shook her head. “Don’t play games with me. Where did the staff come from? What is its nature?”

  “It’s from a walnut tree.”

  For the first time Ebona dismissed her entirely. Erlissa felt the witch’s attention shift and focus on the staff.

  “It’s from Enorìen.”

  Her eyes flashed with fire, and she turned to the elùgroth.

  “Remove it from the cauldron.”

  Elù-Randùr looked at the staff. He hesitated, and even as he watched its light intensified and a quiver ran along its length.

  “Remove it!”

  The elùgroth let Erlissa go, and it was a relief to be released from his clammy grip. What happened now was beyond her control. Still, she doubted that Elù-Randùr would find removing the staff as simple a task as it seemed. His hesitation told her that he knew that as well.

  His pallid hands settled over the timber. The staff thrummed and writhed at his touch; the wood, like a living sapling, began to bend.

  He pulled, but nothing further happened.

  “Remove it!” the witch screamed.

  Elù-Randùr looked at her. His dark eyes glinted.

  “I cannot. It is stuck … almost as though it has grown roots.”

  Erlissa felt heady with excitement. Ebona’s face twisted in fury, but whatever she was about to say was stilled in her throat.

  The wood quivered once more. It was no longer a staff, but a growing tree. Smooth bark filmed it, twigs and leaves sprouted from it. High it shot, branches and leaves unfurling until it reached the domed ceiling of the cavern.

  A harsh groan tore the air. The metal of the cauldron rippled. There was a high-pitched shriek that pierced ears like a knife, and then the bloodstained sides buckled and broke. Shards flew everywhere.

  Ebona screamed. Elù-Randùr wheeled away. The earth trembled and dust and rocks fell from above.

  The elùgroth fled. Swift he ran, a dark shadow that flitted past both Erlissa and the witch, and he was gone. He sought to escape the destruction that was coming, for surely now the cavern would collapse. Little did he know that the creatures of the otherworld that hunted her were near, and Erlissa smiled. Even if he escaped, he might yet be attacked when he least expected it.

  The two left in the cavern ignored him, and made no attempt to flee.

  Ebona’s eyes raged with hatred and the need for vengeance. Erlissa stepped back, and the witch followed.

  The ground heaved beneath their feet. Erlissa felt sick. There were only seconds left before the cavern collapsed, before they were both buried beneath the rubble.

  She reached out and gripped the walnut tree. It was warm to her touch, just as the staff had been. She felt its power ranging into earth and air, felt the souls of the damned sigh and sink. Ebona’s victims had freedom, and with a final sigh they faded from the world.

  Ebona screamed again. Fire dripped from her fingers as she raised her hands for a final attack. The cavern shook, and the rock of the far wall slid like a wave of water and collapsed.

  Erlissa gave in to the pull of her true body. She leaned against the tree, and began to fall. Her vision spun. Flame erupted around her. A boom thundered in her ears, and blackness took her.

  24. As it Began, so it Ends

  Lanrik sat astride his alar mount. Ahead, a silvery veil of mist lay over the land. He saw little, and heard less. If Musraka and his men were nearby, their presence was impossible to detect.

  He shifted his weight, trying to relieve the deep aches that had penetrated flesh and bone. It was futile. No momentary shift in position could relieve him from the accumulated soreness of many days of hard riding. He felt tired and filthy as well, but nothing would ease any of his discomforts until he was inside the fortress of Lòrenta.

  Yet he knew, with a certainty born of instinct more than logic, that Musraka was somewhere ahead. What had started in a dark tent hundreds of leagues away was not finished. The shazrahad wanted his sword back. He had sworn an oath to reclaim it, and nothing except success, or death, would turn him aside.

  Lanrik, in his own way, without oath or wild words, was just as determined that Musraka would not have it. He clenched his jaw and nudged the horse forward.

  The others followed. They looked worse than he, for he was better used to the demands of long days and short nights in the wild.

  Aranloth, however, had regained much of his strength. Each day brought him renewed vigor, and the color was creeping back into his face. He still looked weak, like a man who had suffered a life-threatening illness, yet the worst was over. He would need to be in good health, for Lanrik doubted releasing the enchantment that protected Erlissa would be easier than its establishment had been. It was another worry. There was a long list of them, but only one course of action: return to the fortress and save Erlissa.

  Aranloth now rode beside him, for they were in the hills of Lòrenta, a place that the lòhren knew far better than he. The old man chose the paths, and Lanrik studied them for signs of ambush.

  “We’re getting close,” Aranloth said.

  Lanrik relaxed his scrutiny of the trail long enough to glance at the lòhren.

  “How can you tell? Everything looks the same in this mist.”

  Aranloth shrugged. “I could find my way to the fortress through a nighttime blizzard – with my eyes closed.”

  “Well, we’ll soon put that to the test. Maybe not with snow, but with rain. There’s some on the way, and it might be heavy.”

  The lòhren glanced at the sky. There was nothing to see except mist, but he nodded.

  “I sense it too. It rains here a lot. If it’s not raining, a gale blows or a fog covers the land more thickly than a forest. The clear days of summer are few and short, and yet when they arrive, there are no fairer places in all Alithoras.”

  Arliss pulled her hood up and shivered. “I can think of fairer places right now. A hot bath is one. And a warm hearth another. I’m sick of all this riding. Most of all, I’m sick of the dirt. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel clean again.”

  Lanrik did not answer. She had been short with him lately, though what he had done to upset her he did not know. But they were all on edge, even Caldring who never complained, though he had more reason than any of them.

  “Which entrance are you heading for?” Lanrik asked the lòhren.

  “I haven’t quite decided yet. We’re coming at the fortress from the south-east, so perhaps the front gate is as good a place as any.”

  Lanrik thought about it. He supposed that if Musraka were waiting, he would have all the entrances watched, even if he had to divide his men to keep lookouts all around the castle.

  “Do you think we can use the birch wood for cover, and then make a dash for it?”

  “That’s what I’d suggest, but it’s more your field than mine.”

  Lanrik turned the idea over in his mind.

  “It’d have the advantage of surprise,” he said. “The woods offer better concealment than anywhere else close to the fortress. I think it’ll be the best way.”

  He glanced back at Arliss. “What do you think?”

  “I think Musraka will be waiting for us. We left six of his men behind at the Angle
. That leaves about fourteen. He’ll have the castle watched at every side, and he, or some of his men, will try to stop us no matter where we come from or what entrance we use.”

  Her comment was probably true, but it was unlike her to be so resigned to the situation. Still, her assessment was correct, and there was little point dwelling on it. The woods would provide the best cover, and if Aranloth was right, they were close.

  Lanrik thought about it some more. He was not going to wait until nightfall to try and get inside. He did not know what was happening with Erlissa. Was the head-priest’s claim believable? There was no way to know for sure, and he had no intention of waiting any longer than necessary to find out. The sooner she was given the herenfrak, the better he would like it.

  “The front gate it is,” he said to the lòhren.

  They rode on, and the mist faded under the influence of a chill breeze that blew from the northern mountains. Yet even as it dissipated, the flow of cold air drove clouds, ominous and low, before it. A drizzle started, faint at first, but it grew steadily stronger. The travelers pulled up their hoods. It was a mark of defiance rather than a practical solution, for the cloth offered little protection against the weather.

  When they reached the birch woods the drizzle turned to rain. The leaves above them constantly dripped, and it was as dark as dusk beneath the trees.

  At least the timber offered shelter from the breeze, and it felt warmer. Lanrik thought once more about waiting until nightfall, but dismissed the idea again. It was too long to wait, and they would be wet and miserable all the while. Moreover, he knew the Azan would feel the conditions more keenly, for they were a desert people and unused to this climate. It would hinder their watch, and the rain would subdue noise and reduce visibility, especially if it grew heavier. And it showed signs of doing so.

  They passed quietly through the wood. There was no need for Lanrik to ask them to be alert. They all knew the risks and that that the Azan might be near.