Lore of the Letharn Read online

  They moved out of the trees and onto the grass. Aranloth extinguished his light, and pale starlight glittered on pieces of exposed harness.

  “What now?” Aranloth asked. “Shall we rest, or ride?”

  Lanrik studied the Raithlin. They were tired and scared. But they were not injured, nor had they reached their limits. Of Erlissa and Aranloth, he had no doubt. He had endured this sort of thing with them before and knew they could cope.

  “We’ll ride until midnight,” he said. “The Azan can’t track us at night, and that should give us an advantage over them. They’ll find it hard to catch up.”

  He urged his alar stallion into a canter. Just as they did on foot, Hargil and Ruthark flanked him, and as ever, Arliss guarded the rear.

  They moved at a steady pace across the grasslands.

  “Be careful,” he called out. “Night riding is always risky, but the horses are surefooted and the terrain flat.”

  That the Azan would pursue, he knew without question. And in truth, it did not matter that they could not be tracked at night. Musraka would guess their likely destination. But it would slow them down somewhat, and it would make the Raithlin feel more secure.

  Sometime before midnight, Lanrik slowed a little and eased to a walk beside Hargil. He gestured toward Durnlath’s mount. “Shall I take the reins for a while?”

  The Raithlin shook his head, but did not answer, and they rode in silence for a little while. Lanrik knew Hargil was trying to come to terms with things, but some things, death especially, could never be worked out or explained. They must just be accepted. Or not. But the latter approach kept the pain alive longer than need be, and it got in the way of remembering what was important about a person who was gone. But mourning was vital too. It should not be put aside, or hidden.

  “Durnlath was a good man,” he said eventually.

  “The best,” agreed Hargil.

  “He was the first of Lòrenta’s Raithlin to fall,” Lanrik said. “But he left a mark on all of us – one that will last through the years.”

  “That he did. But why did he die? I mean, he was better than I was, better than some of the others. Why him and not me?”

  Lanrik pondered the question. “I’m not sure if there’s an answer to that. The misfortunes of the world are many, and ill luck abounds. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could just as easily have been me. It might be any one of us next time.” He paused and then went on. “Do you think it would have stopped him from becoming a Raithlin if he knew how dangerous it would turn out?”

  Hargil shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. He knew there would be risks. He probably just didn’t expect to meet them this early in his career.”

  “No,” Lanrik said. “I guess that even when we’re expecting problems they always seem to catch us by surprise.”

  “That’s true enough.”

  Lanrik hesitated, and then spoke again. “I’m going to miss him,” he said.

  Hargil looked at him sideway. “Me too.”

  “I know.”

  Silence grew again, but it was companionable. After a little while, Lanrik took a tighter hold of his reins. “I better go up front again.”

  “No problems,” Hargil answered. “And thanks for not trying to tell me that everything is going to be alright.”

  Lanrik nodded. There was no real answer to that. Hargil understood the truth of things as well as he did. He would get over his friend’s death in time, but that was not what he needed to hear now. What was necessary was that he mourned first.

  The alar stallion responded smoothly when Lanrik nudged him forward and took him out to the front once more. Bright Halathgar was riding higher in the sky, and midnight was nearing. It had been a long day, but rest would soon be at hand. At least a temporary one.

  Another few miles went by before he called a halt. He and Aranloth had a good arrangement. In day-to-day matters he was in charge, making these sort of decisions. There were other times when only the lòhren’s expertise would serve, and they seemed able to swap back and forth easily. It was a good relationship. The lòhren valued his skills, and Lanrik, for his part, respected the lòhren. Even if he did hold back information.

  There was more going on with the poison than Aranloth had said, but trust was part of their relationship. The lòhren would reveal the full truth when he was ready. But that did not mean that Lanrik could not try to prod it from him.

  They set up a fireless camp beneath an isolated clump of straggly oaks and shared a cold meal.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Lanrik said.

  The travelers settled into whatever comfortable places they could find to sleep. Lanrik walked around at first, making sure that he stayed awake. The night was not cold, but the Raithlin, wrapped in their cloaks, were near invisible.

  Their current way of life was new to them, he supposed. But he had lost count of the number of times that he had camped in the wild just like this, without even a fire for warmth. At least there were people with him now. Not that he minded being by himself. He enjoyed solitude, but it was better to have company. It was fulfilling to pass on all the skills that he had. The Raithlin were learning fast. Their abilities increased day by day, month by month. And this current situation would harden them mentally. The physical skills of the Raithlin were important, but a calm and dauntless attitude was even more vital. It was also something that no one could teach them. They would either develop it, or not.

  He walked over to the tethered horses. Some of them picked at the grass from time to time, but they mostly stood quietly, thinking about whatever was important to horses. That they actually thought, he knew. No one who was close to horses believed otherwise. And they had personalities, just like people, once you got to know them. He gave his black stallion a rub and scratched its ears, then headed a little way from the camp to keep watch.

  The night grew old. Halathgar glittered coldly above, and then began its downward slide across the nighttime sky. A breeze quickened from the north, cold and sharp. It came from the mountains, either Auren Dennath or Anast Dennath. He wondered what they were like, and his old yearning to travel, to find and explore new lands, woke in him. Suddenly, he wondered how Erlissa felt about that. Did she share his love for it? Or would she travel only where she had to go as a lòhren. He knew her well, but not so well as he had once thought.

  After a while, he woke Arliss.

  “Your watch,” he whispered.

  “Is there any sign of the Azan?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It’s as quiet as an inn without ale.”

  She tossed her hood back and grinned.

  “If people can’t drink, they usually find something else to do.”

  She gave a throaty laugh and walked away before he could reply.

  He lied down, and a dreamless sleep came swiftly. He knew nothing more until Ruthark gently woke him the next morning. And morning it was, for though the grass was still wet with dew, the sun was a roiling globe of fire that climbed the rim of the world.

  There was activity all about him. The horses had been fed a ration of grain, and a small fire, set in a slight depression and smokeless, was being readied to cook breakfast. He felt embarrassed and rose swiftly. All this had been done without him and while he slept. He must be getting older, for hard as yesterday was, he had never slept this late in the past.

  He walked to the edge of the camp and looked back over the ground they had covered last night. There was no sign of the Azan. Not much of the forest was visible either, but he saw a few dark smudges where it reached out beyond the tight clump of trees that hugged Lake Alithorin.

  “Breakfast!” Aranloth called.

  That the lòhren was the best cook among them everyone knew. He gave them each a slice of bread, several days old and quite dry now, but he had transformed it by warming it and smearing it with wild honey from the high fells of Lòrenta.

  He offered some to Erlissa, but she shook her head.

  �
�No thanks. I don’t feel like anything but water this morning.”

  Aranloth looked concerned, but did not try to force her to eat. His glance strayed to Lanrik and they both knew what the other was thinking: the poison was beginning to work.

  They swiftly finished breakfast.

  “Let’s go,” Lanrik said. He was the last to wake but the first on his horse, and he led them off at a good trot.

  The grass was long and green, for spring had come even to northern Alithoras. There were few trees, meaning little cover, and though Lanrik was confident that Arliss was watching for any sign of pursuit, he still checked for himself from time to time. He stopped when she started to roll her eyes at him.

  It was good to have other Raithlin with him. That was rarely the case on Galenthern, and though it was true that the Raithlin of Esgallien had been better skilled, these new recruits had handled themselves well in difficult situations.

  At noon they found the Great North Road, which the Halathrin had built. It served not just the settlement at Lake Alithorin but other places where once they had dwelt in the north of the land. It was strange to think that armies had marched along the same route that he now rode, even though that had been before the founding of Esgallien. The Halathrin needed to respond quickly to war, and this road brought them into the southlands swiftly. It was disturbing to think, however, that since the Halathrin had withdrawn to their forest home in Halathar, this same road would serve to bring the enemy quickly into northern Alithoras if they ever broke through the league of the free cities, Esgallien and Camarelon.

  Lanrik led the others onto its smooth surface without hesitation. It might be older than the city of Esgallien, but the Halathrin built to last. Even now it was free of potholes, the gentle slope from a slight rise in the middle running water off into the fields by the side. The grass grew shorter on the hard and dry surface, and he nudged his mount to a faster pace. The great stallion responded with ease, but he was mindful that the other horses could not match him either for sped or endurance, so he did not push the pace too hard.

  He bent low to the horse’s withers and scanned the ground as he rode. He saw no sign that the Azan had beaten them here. That did not mean much, for Musraka might cut in front of them at a later point. But he thought they had a lead, and he intended to keep the pace up to ensure it stayed that way.

  When the other horses showed signs of tiring, he called a halt. They tethered their mounts and ate another cold meal. The horses picked at the grass, the sound of their grazing a comfort to someone who had grown up with it, but Lanrik knew they could not long maintain the pace he was setting. Still, Lòrenta was not that far away, and horses could be hard ridden for short periods without hurt.

  “The sooner we get home the better,” Aranloth said to him when they were a little away from the others.

  Immediately, Lanrik shifted his gaze to Erlissa. She looked pale and subdued.

  “The poison is taking effect, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.” Aranloth leaned on his staff. He looked the veritable picture of an old man, but that did not fool Lanrik. The lòhren was strong, both in body and in mind.

  “What do you really know about the poison, Aranloth?”

  The lòhren did not move. He continued to gaze at his student.

  “Not much that I haven’t already spoken of.”

  “What about the cure, then? I know you haven’t told us everything.”

  Aranloth straightened and shifted his gaze to Lanrik. After a moment, he shrugged.

  “You’ve become more perceptive since you’ve wielded the shazrahad blade. Lòhrengai can do that.”

  “True enough,” Lanrik replied. He held the lòhren’s gaze and waited.

  Aranloth did not say anything further at first. Lanrik was not sure if he would answer the original question at all, but then the lòhren broke his silence.

  “Long ago, the Letharn used the plant that Musraka calls King’s Poison. That much I already told you. They were fond of such things, and assassinations were not uncommon. They favored it for that purpose due to the same properties that Musraka listed. Although I doubt that he is aware that it has healing properties too, under certain unique circumstances. The Letharn learned much about it. One thing that they discovered was that when the leaf of the plant is dried and ground into a dust, its potency is multiplied. To inhale just a few grains of it, or to get it onto your hand where it can then swiftly be transferred to the face and enter the body by the eyes, nose or mouth, is more lethal than entering via a wound.”

  Lanrik nodded but did not speak. He did not want to interrupt the lòhren.

  “All that was in the far past,” Aranloth continued. “But not so long ago you were on the very threshold of the place where the Letharn used it more than anywhere else.”

  Lanrik frowned. “Where was that?”

  “At the origin of the Angle. Do you recall where we climbed the escarpment and stopped at a monument halfway up?”

  Lanrik remembered the place well. Mecklar had pursued them there, but they had rested momentarily in front of a tunnel that ran into the side of the escarpment.

  “I know the place you mean. You translated some of the writing on the monument.”

  Aranloth nodded. “I’ll repeat what it said.” He tilted his head as if in thought, and then spoke again.

  “Attend! We who mastered the world are become dust. We possessed the wealth of nations. Gold adorned our hands; priceless jewels our brows; bright were our swords. The world shuddered when we marched! Now, our glory lies unheeded in the dark of the tomb. Servants mutter secret words as they walk the hidden ways. Death and despair take all others!”

  The lòhren looked at him gravely, and Lanrik wondered how sharp his memory was to repeat that, seemingly word for word. Or did he know it for some other reason? Had it been imprinted on his mind by some great event?

  “The Letharn meant those last words literally. All the wealth they possessed was buried with them, but even in death they were jealous of it. All the gold and jewels are covered with a layer of King’s Poison. It rests upon it as a thick dust. To breathe it in, to touch their treasure, is to die.”

  Lanrik thought about it. “That says a lot about the Letharn, and a lot about the poison, but what about the cure?”

  “The tombs needed attendants,” Aranloth said. “Whenever a Letharn was interred, new treasures were brought in. The attendants came and went often, performing a multitude of ceremonies, and inevitably accidents occurred. A mere brush against the dust might kill them. So in addition to cultivating the poison, they also grew the cure. Many fields were devoted to it, and though it was from the dry south it grew well even in the wetter climate of the Angle.” Aranloth paused. “This much I indicated in the tower, and what I said was true, yet it will be difficult to find it now. It does still grow there, for I’ve seen it. But it might take weeks, or even longer, to find it.”

  Lanrik was thinking while the lòhren talked. He guessed where this was going.

  “If the attendants used the cure they would want a supply that was close to hand. It was kept in the tombs, was it not?”

  Aranloth nodded. “Yes, it was stockpiled deep inside them and far away from the living.”

  “So, the quickest way to retrieve it will be to go there. But how can you be sure it survived through the years?”

  “The poison and the cure were both used as a dust. The tombs are dry, and I know the poison still retains its power. I believe the cure will retain its virtue as well.”

  “Well, that makes it simple then. We’ll go there and come back all the sooner instead of looking around the Angle for weeks.”

  Aranloth studied him. “It’s not quite that simple. The tombs are a dangerous place. There are many perils – the poison is just one. If you recall, not even the Halathrin entered and came out alive.”

  Lanrik cast his mind back. He remembered what Aranloth had told them about the Halathrin who had gone inside. Then he thought of
his conversation with Erlissa afterwards and knew what disturbed Aranloth.

  “Now I see,” Lanrik said. “The best place to find the cure is the one place that Erlissa made me promise never to go.”

  Aranloth nodded. “What exactly she foresaw, I don’t know. She didn’t tell you then, or me afterward. But I think it was your death. She won’t want you to go there, even to save her life. But to save it, I’ll need your help. You must break your promise and challenge fate.”

  6. Time is Your Enemy

  They rode all that afternoon and into the evening. It drained them, even Lanrik, who was used to pushing himself hard. But the new Raithlin, though obviously tired and sore, made no complaint.

  Aranloth looked as resilient as usual. Erlissa, though she made no comment, was greatly taxed. She became increasingly quiet and withdrawn. Not only did she contend with the rigorous journey, but she also fought an inner battle. Her command of lòhrengai might help her, but it was evident that at best it would only delay the inevitable. Yet that could mean the difference between life and death.

  Their first goal must be to reach Lòrenta. They could sort everything else out after that. Reluctantly, he called a halt, and everyone wearily dropped from their mounts and carried out the tasks of setting up camp. It was a subdued evening, with little talk and less laughter.

  Lanrik hoped that it would be their last night on the road. By this time tomorrow they should reach Lòrenta, and there would be time enough then to consider his next course of action. How much faith could he put in the ùhrengai of the fountain? Could Aranloth really use it to place Erlissa into some kind of enchanted sleep? He had his doubts, though given the things that he had seen in the lòhren’s company, he supposed that he should not. Aranloth would do exactly as he had promised. But that, by itself, would not save Erlissa. Nothing but the cure could do that.