Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2), page 12
Hvargil seemed supremely confident. He did not speak to Gilhain or Aranloth, but rather to the men atop the wall, knowing that those who could not hear his words would hear them second hand soon enough.
“I know your numbers – the living and the wounded and the dead. I know where your food is stockpiled, and how much is left, and I know which wells in the city have run dry and which still supply good water. I know that Aranloth was healed last night by the spirit of Carnhaina, she who once ruled this realm but now is dead.”
He paused for a moment, the hover of a smile on his mouth.
“That came as a surprise. The elùgroths did not like it, but the world turns in strange ways, and many things happen beyond the ken of mortal men. So indeed Aranloth taught me himself when I was a young lad, only as high as his knee and fascinated by the stories he used to tell. But that was long ago, and times change, for cities as much as for men. Carnhaina was a great queen, but her time is long since passed. These are our days now. It’s our turn to shine and grow and flourish beneath the sun. It’s now time to befriend the south, to help each other, to put an end to the long years of strife and war and fear. We can make that happen. Can you see it? Can your mind encompass how good it would be? The truth is, if you follow Gilhain, you will die. If you follow me, you will live to see the future you just pictured. Follow me, and prosper! That is your choice. Put down your weapons. Put aside the stories you have heard of the south. They’re lies. Come! Join me, and put an end to fear and the shadow of death. Come now, what do you say?”
Hvargil ceased speaking. He looked up at the Cardurleth, his gaze serene, his posture confident. He looked every bit a king, and a glorious king at that, and the royal banner fluttered proudly beside him.
There was a stir all along the wall. Gilhain remained as he was. He did not answer Hvargil himself. To speak now was to try to take the choice away from the men, and that would be a mistake. He could almost see Hvargil’s chagrin that he avoided that trap. And yet, all along the wall, men spoke to one another. A ripple ran through them, for hope to the hopeless was a powerful gift.
19. The Great North Road
For the next two days Brand and Kareste rode at a fast pace. And they found that the Great North Road was good for riding. It may have been built in ancient times when the Halathrin dwelled in the north of the land as well as their more southerly forest realm of Halathar, but when the immortals built something, it lasted. The turf was green and springy, the path straight, and the gentle slope to left and right from the middle ensured the ground was never wet.
Brand knew there was danger in staying on the road. It was in the open. It was a place that may be watched. And it was a place where any of their enemies would know exactly where they came from, where they were going and how long it would take them to get there. But the speed it enabled was a necessity.
The two days of hard riding had seen them travel far though, and for the moment, in safety. And having done that, they could now veer away from the road and head west. Lòrenta lay in that direction, and the final destination of their quest. The Halathrin that had been trapped in the form of beasts roamed those hills, and when they reached them, well, Brand did not like to think too far ahead.
The riding was harder now. It was still grassland, but there were many obstacles in the form of rough ground, little creeks and gullies, and an increasing feeling of riding uphill.
Lòrenta was close. The hills themselves were visible, wild and gorse covered. And even in the middle of the day many were capped by cloud or fog.
They spoke little as they travelled. Kareste wrestled with something in her own mind, and it seemed at times that she had nearly forgotten that he was there. The days of peace and comradeship that he had enjoyed were gone, and he wondered if he would ever feel their like again.
Another two days passed. The weather was cold and overcast, but it did not rain. Ever they climbed upward, and though the river was now to their west, the ground oftentimes became boggy. Between that, and the upward slope, their speed reduced greatly.
“We’re in the foothills now,” Kareste said. “We must be prepared, for the Halathrin become beasts may roam this far.”
It was more than Kareste had said all day, and Brand took the opportunity to ask a question. He wanted to know more about what they faced.
“What should I expect of these creatures?” he asked. “And if necessity demands it, how best can they be fought?”
She did not look at him as she answered, her gaze roving the lands ahead of them as they rode, but at least she did answer, even if her voice was quiet and her manner brusque.
“There are about twenty of them. They’re strong. And they’re fast, being in the shape of wolves, though bigger.”
“So they’re much like the sendings that the elùgroths set on my trail near Cardoroth?”
She shook her head. “Not really. They might look similar at a distance, but they’re near impossible to kill. These are Halathrin changed by sorcery. They’re strong, fast, intelligent and graceful beyond any wild animal. Almost you can see the Halathrin that is in them, and the Halathrin are immortal. These creatures would be hard to kill, and no lòhren would want to knowing who was trapped inside the sorcerous form that shaped them. The elùgroths knew what they were doing when they conceived their plan.”
“But why create them at all? What’s their purpose, for surely the lòhrens are safe within the walls of their keep.”
“Their purpose is to hinder the lòhrens from coming and going. They would not try to kill the beasts, even if they could, for they would kill the Halathrin inside them. And they have no way to reverse the sorcery, as do I with Shurilgar’s staff. But more than that, I think they did it out of spite. The elùgroths have no greater enemy than lòhrens and, at least in the past, the Halathrin. To subject them both to this abomination, one to endure it, one to see it, would be a satisfaction to them.”
“How did the elùgroths achieve it? The Halathrin are mighty warriors, and it’s said that even their warriors have skill with magic.”
“The Halathrin band pursued the elùgroths after they stole the half of Shurilgar’s staff that they guarded. It may be that they were deliberately allowed to do so, to lure them away from their home and toward Lòrenta. It may be that the elùgroths conceived of that part of the plan from the beginning. Yet one way or the other, they were led into these hills. Khamdar made sure of that.”
“But if Khamdar went to Cardoroth from here after transforming the Halathrin, they had the staff right from the start of the siege?”
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t they use it from the beginning?”
“I think they held it in reserve. Perhaps they wished to study it more before they used it. It cannot be used without effects, that much is certain, and they will have discovered so after they used it first in Lòrenta.”
Brand wondered what effect it would have on her, but he did not raise that point.
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
“Because I was there. It wasn’t that far from where we are now. The elùgroths came through with the Halathrin pursuit close behind. I followed, and I saw things that I wish I had not.”
“Why were you even here in the first place? The lòhrens suspended you from their order.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I yearned for what I didn’t have. I don’t know. The hills of Lòrenta have a way of getting under your skin, and this place is home to me. It looks desolate, but there are many beauties here for those with the eyes to see them.”
He did not press her on the point. In truth, he did not have to. He knew better than most what it was like to lose a home, and to yearn for it.
He glanced around. The hills marched away from him, rising higher and expanding. They were desolate, covered in dried grasses and gorse, wreathed in mists and barren of farms, livestock and cultivation. Lòrenta was a wild and remote place, a place of great loneliness. But he thought he might like it too if he explored it.
The damp path they followed curved around a small stand of white-barked birches. It was the first stand of many, for it seemed nearly the only tree that grew on or near the hills.
“What now?” he asked.
“What else?” she replied. “We find the beasts – or they find us first. That’s much more likely. And then I try to reverse the spell the elùgroths used. It won’t be easy, even with the other half of Shurilgar’s staff.”
“Can you do it?”
“You have a lot of questions today, don’t you?”
“Answering a question with a question of your own isn’t much of an answer,” he said with a tight grin.
“If I had a better reply, I would’ve offered you that instead.”
20. By Ancient Right
Hvargil’s words hung in the air. Gilhain remained silent. Yet after a while a soldier gave his own answer. He did not yell, but his slow reply was loud enough to be heard by many. And there was an emotion in his voice that made men listen.
“I lost friends the day you betrayed us on the battlefield, Hvargil. I’ll not bow to you.”
There was silence again, but another soldier spoke into it from further along the wall.
“I lost a brother that day,” he said. “When he was younger I taught him how to use a sword. It didn’t protect him from an elug arrow in the neck, though. If not for your treachery, the enemy might have been defeated before that arrow was ever shot.” He paused, and then added. “I’ll not bow to you, either.”
A third soldier called out, his voice ragged and harsh. “I lost five of my friends that day. Men that I grew up with. Men that I knew all my life. They didn’t have to die. They’d still be here if not for you, so as far as I’m concerned I’d rather bury you upside down in a cesspit than bow to you.”
The men seemed suddenly unleashed. They jeered by the hundreds, and then by the thousands. One voice rose above them all. “Half-brother, and half-wit!”
This caused a ripple of laughter, and the chant was taken up and cast into Hvargil’s teeth.
Gilhain suppressed a smile. He had never had any reason to worry. But the vehemence of the men’s reaction surprised him. It must also have surprised Hvargil, but he endured it unflinching and with no hint of his feelings showing.
The chant eventually died away and Gilhain spoke at last.
“You have your answer, Hvargil. Now go.”
“Not just yet, Gilhain.”
Hvargil drew himself up. He looked proud, every inch a king, and there was something to admire in the strength of his will, for to look like that after the jeering of the soldiers was more than most could manage.
“I have an answer to one question,” he said. “So be it. A king does not rule by the will of the people, he takes the people and bends them to his own. That you will all learn, at least those who live. But this is my second question.” He turned directly to Gilhain and looked up at him with an expressionless face. “Will you honor the customs of our ancestors?”
Gilhain felt a shadow of fear at those words. The question was not idle, but he could not see its purpose, and that worried him.
“What customs?” he asked.
“That is a poor answer. Either you do, or you do not. But I’ll make it easy for you to reply, for by your answer the people shall know you.” He gazed once more along the Cardurleth, seeming to make eye contact with all who stood there. “We are of the Camar. We trace our heritage back to long before Cardoroth was even founded. Our ways, our customs, our rights are ancient. There once was a right of challenge for the kingship of our people, a right of challenge by combat. It ensured that no weakling, and no coward, ever sat on the throne. That law still exists, and I invoke it.”
Things made sense to Gilhain now, but this was tricky ground, and he must answer carefully.
“Maybe,” he said. “But it has not been invoked in the history of Cardoroth. If ever it was used, it goes back to a time before we lived in cities. It may have been invoked then, if legends can be believed, but things have changed since then. So what if you won the kingship that way? I’m an older man by far than you. Beating me in combat would prove only that you’re younger. It would not make you a better king nor make the people accept you. It would achieve nothing.”
Hvargil looked at him smugly. “And yet it is my right. Will you deny it?”
Gilhain thought hard. There was a trap in this, and Aranloth leaned slightly toward him and spoke softly.
“Beware,” the lòhren said.
“What does he hope to achieve?” Gilhain asked quietly.
“Not the kingship, for as you say the people would not accept him. I think you can take this at face value. He wants to kill you, either in combat or through foul means. That would be a great blow to the morale of our defense. I cannot guarantee your safety from sorcery if you accept the challenge and go out into the field.”
Gilhain considered that. “But if I don’t accept, that will undermine morale.”
“So it would, and certainly the enemy always tries to paint us as cowards, but it would not impact morale as much. No one would really expect you to fight him. There’s a twenty year age difference.”
For the first time in a long while Gilhain wished he were young again. He had accepted old age, but at times like this his mind wanted to make promises his body could not keep.
“I don’t like to suggest this,” Gilhain whispered. “But there might be another option beside accept or decline. I’m an old man – under the ancient customs that Hvargil’s invoking I’m allowed a champion to fight for me.”
“That’s true, but whoever you chose as champion would face the same dangers, and there would still be a loss of morale if he was beaten.”
“But to refuse is to allow them an uncontested victory, and they would try to build on it. It’s morale that holds this defense together, as much as, perhaps even more so, than swords.”
To that, Aranloth gave a slight nod, but he did not answer.
Gilhain straightened, but what he was going to say to Hvargil was forestalled.
“I’ll do it,” Lornach offered. The Durlin was close by, although Gilhain had not thought him close enough to hear what was said.
“I’ll do it, and I’ll do it gladly. I lost friends on that same battlefield the other soldiers mentioned. I have my own grudge against your brother.”
Gilhain looked at him earnestly. Brand knew how to choose his men, for the Durlin were loyal even beyond the normal for handpicked troops.
“I need you to guard me,” Gilhain answered.
Lornach shook his head. “Even as Brand is still guarding you, albeit in a different way through pursuing his quest, so too must I. I’m short, but I can fight. And if it comes to it, it would not be the first time that I’ve faced sorcery. I feel it in my bones – I was born for this fight.”
Gilhain bit his lip. It was not like him to be indecisive, and he became aware that all the men on the wall now waited on whatever answer he would give to the challenge.
“What do you think, Aranloth?”
The lòhren did not answer. Instead, his eyes seemed to gaze into the distance as though he was trying to peer into the shadow-shrouded future. What he saw there, if anything at all, Gilhain did not know. Aranloth gave no sign.
And yet, within the space of a handful of heartbeats the lòhren looked back at him sharply.
21. Impending Doom
Aranloth spoke. “I cannot see the future. I’m weak, and foresight comes and goes to rhythms of its own. The choice, O king, is a hard one. I discern the potential for great harm, but also the chance of great good. It hangs in the balance.”
Gilhain thought about that for a moment and then raised an eyebrow.
“They say a lòhren’s advice can be two edged. Now I know what they mean.”
“Advice is a serious business, my King. It’s easy to give, but harder to get right.” The old man sighed. “But since you press me, I’ll add this. I cannot foresee the outcome of a fight between Lornach and Hvargil, and without that I can offer nothing that you don’t already know. And yet, Brand chose the Durlin. He chose all of them, and whatever twist of fate made him who and what he is, made him someone to whom you would entrust the fate of the kingdom, may well also touch those he chose to surround himself with. Luck gathers luck unto itself.”
Gilhain considered that. He was not sure if it added anything to the lòhren’s previous comment, but time to decide ran out on him.
“Gilhain!” his half-brother called. “Enough of this! Will you gossip and talk all day like an old washerwoman with her cronies? Fate waits for no man. Decide, and be done with it!”
Gilhain grinned at him “I’m in no hurry, Hvargil. There’s nowhere pressing I have to go, and fate, like death, comes when you least expect it. So you will discover when you’re older – if fate is kinder to you than you deserve. But as it happens, I’ve made my choice.”
Shorty wore the white surcoat and armor of the Durlin. He looked resplendent, as they all did in the uniform. But he did not feel like it, nor did he care to be. They all insisted on calling him Lornach now, even Brand when they were not alone, but he had been Shorty all his life, and there was an attitude that went with his true self even if it did not match his true name. He did not give a damn for wealth or position or influence. What excited him was adventure, and that was something that he felt now. Adventure, risk and exhilaration all coursed through his veins. He felt alive.
He was outside the Arach Neben, the west gate of the Cardurleth. The steel emblem that decorated it, the representation of the Morning Star, was the last thing that he saw before he turned to face the horde. The entire mass of the enemy, and the single man that for just a moment embodied it – Hvargil, was before him.
Nothing stood between him and the great mass of foes who would like to tear him to pieces, and never had he felt more alive.
But they would not tear him to pieces. At least not just yet. And he would do his best to ensure that Hvargil did not either, for the king had agreed to make him his champion, and he therefore represented, at least for a little while, the entire city of Cardoroth.
