Renown of the Raithlin: Book One of the Raithlindrath Series (24 page)

Erlissa shuddered, and her eyes flicked open.

“I have it!”

She turned to Aranloth. “You can destroy it now.”

Aranloth leaned on his staff and looked at her with
pity.

“I cannot.”

Her eyes narrowed and bored into him. “What?”

“The lòhrengai that found the stone is yours. I
cannot use it.”

“Then
why
bring me here?”

Aranloth held her gaze and searched for the right words.
Lanrik realized that Erlissa was the only one who could break the stone. She
would not have come if she had known though. To destroy the stone was to kill
the elùgroths, and that went against everything she believed in.

Erlissa shouted. “I won’t do it!”

“I cannot make you break the stone,” Aranloth said.
“You must choose to do so, or opt to walk away. I brought you so that you could
see Lòrenta’s need.”

“I can’t do it!”

“Then how will Lòrenta be saved?”

Erlissa trembled all over. “I
won’t
do it,
even if I have to stay and suffer the same fate as the fortress.”

Aranloth shook his head. “You needn’t do that.
You’ve eaten a mistletoe berry and can leave. If you choose not to break the
stone I‘ll have someone guide you back to your horse.”

Erlissa studied him for a moment. “And then?”

Aranloth took a firm grip on his staff. “Then I’ll
attack the elùgroths by myself.”

Lanrik did not think he could succeed. There were
too many of them, but he would not have to make the attempt alone. He too could
leave the fortress. And the lòhrengai in the shazrahad sword would give him a
weapon. That way there may be at least some chance of defeating them.

Elù-Randùr glared up at them from far below and
spoke again.

“I perceive what thou hast done, old man. Thou
wouldst turn the Seeker into a lòhren, but if she accomplishes thy design, she
will instead be an elùgroth.”

The sorcerer slowly lifted his wych-wood staff and
pointed it straight at her.

“I told thee on Galenthern that thou wouldst join
our order. I welcome thee, sister.”

The elùgroth moved back to the edge of the wood, and
Erlissa reeled away. Her eyes were bright with tears, and Lanrik put an arm
about her shoulder.

“I wish they’d killed me in the shazrahad tent! Why
did you save me?”

He cast his mind back to that time. “Because the
need of the one can outweigh the good of the many.”

She closed her eyes, and her breath shuddered
through her chest. When she opened them again she was more composed.

“I trust you, Lan. What should I do?”

His heart broke for her, and he realized that she
might destroy the stone and kill the elùgroths if he asked her to. But he could
not do it. He knew her beliefs and understood them. They were reasonable in
their own right, but the sacrifice of her parents had made them sacred. They
gave meaning and purpose to her life. Should she betray them the emotional
damage might be intolerable. It would be better for him and Aranloth to fight
the elùgroths, though he would not tell her this. It would only push her toward
breaking the stone.

He took her hands in his. “The old me, the one you
first met in the dark of the shazrahad tent, would be sure of the answer. Now,
I won’t pretend to know what you should do. I’ll tell you this, though. Follow
your heart and do what you think is right. One thing is certain. I’ll support
you – whatever you choose.”

Erlissa stared at him. She took deep and slow
breaths. “What will happen if I don’t break the stone?”

“Aranloth, the other lòhrens, and the children could
be lost.”

“And if I do?”

“You’ll go against your beliefs and kill. The
elùgroths, though killers themselves, are people that might yet be redeemed.”

Erlissa bowed her head. All along Lanrik had
expected that the end of their quest would be a simple physical act, the
breaking of the stone, but it had turned out to be more complex than he could
have guessed. It hinged on a choice. Some would call it a moral choice, others
spiritual. He knew that in her case it was an impossible one.

Erlissa straightened. “I was right to trust you,
Lan. You’ve told me the truth.
Both
of them.”

She looked away over the battlements and ordered her
thoughts. The wind stilled, the elùgroths watched from afar, and the lòhrens
gazed on her in silence.

She squeezed his hands firmly and let go. “You said
the need of the one can outweigh the good of the many. But the reverse is just
as true.”

She turned to Aranloth. “I should hate you, but you
did what was necessary to help Alithoras, and I think it’s hurt you as much as
me.”

Her glance went back to Lanrik. “All along you’ve used
violence to protect me, and I accepted it. Just as all over the land there are
those who fight so that others may enjoy peace. Who living in Esgallien could
sleep at night except for the vigilance of the Raithlin and the readiness of
our army? Yet those who value peace must be prepared to fight for it . . . if
the fight comes to them.”

Her face was white as snow, and her eyes red-rimmed.

“I’ll break the stone,” she said, “but I’ve only
sensed things before and never done anything with lòhrengai. I don’t know how.”

Aranloth looked at her solemnly. “You must imagine
it,” he said simply. “Wherever the mind goes the lòhrengai follows. Sense the
stone and shatter it in your thought. The lòhrengai will do the rest.”

She gazed far out over the battlements. Lanrik knew
she was not seeing the wood or even the faraway fells but concentrating on some
inner vision. Suddenly her hands clenched into fists and she sagged.

He caught her before she fell. Wind rose up like an
angry snake that hissed and spat venom. It howled around Lòrenta and gripped
the birch wood, bending trunks toward the ground and thrashing branches. The
wedge of elùgroths moaned. They staggered to their feet, but then screamed and
toppled like hewn trees. The morning sun flashed through jagged rents in the
cloud, and fresh air washed over the ramparts.

The wind stilled. Nothing moved now except
Elù-Randùr. He picked his way carefully through his dead comrades, and his
voice was cold as death when he spoke.

“Thou art become an elùgroth,
sister.
Do not
forget it. And thou, old man, art not the only one with the sight. I know
Esgallien shall fall. I have seen Cardoroth run red with blood and Kûn Dennath
burn to firebrands and ashes. Lòrenta will surely follow.”

Aranloth gave no answer, but his face was stern and
his posture stiff with defiance. Elù-Randùr turned away and walked slowly into
the woods.

The lòhren glanced at Erlissa. There was great
compassion in his eyes, but it gave way to surprise. She was made of sterner
stuff than even he had guessed, and she stood straight and tall, unmoved by the
elùgroth’s taunt.

“I’m not one of them. And never shall be,” she said.
“I’ve now killed, as have they, but I took no joy in it. That separates us.”

Aranloth nodded, and Lanrik held her hand tightly.
Her grip was firm and strong as she rested her head lightly on his shoulder.

He was exhausted but felt at peace for the first
time in a long while. It would not last though. Even as he relaxed he sensed
change in the air. He knew that his future was different than it had ever been
before. Erlissa’s was too, but for the moment he would enjoy their feeling of
closeness. There was something special about her. She could endure the worst
that fate offered, and neither the changing fortunes of life nor an elùgroth
could break her.

High summer swept northward over Lòrenta and the
balmy days held a mood of celebration and relief. The sky was clear, the sun
hot, and the air that drifted over waterfalls, crags and deep tarns was like
wine. Lanrik’s long days of ease and contentment were interrupted though.
Aranloth brought him to the Halls of Lore and retrieved a leather-bound tome.
He sat at a table and looked soberly over the top of the unopened book.

“Do you remember the inscriptions on the shazrahad
sword?”

Lanrik doubted this conversation would bring good
news. “It was made for the Hakalakadan, some kind of over-king in Azan
prophecy, which they hope will one day rule the conquered north.”

“Indeed,” the lòhren said. “But there were two other
inscriptions that I couldn’t read.”

Lanrik glanced at the book. “I take it you can
translate them now?”

“Yes, but I no longer need to,” the lòhren said. “In
studying Azan languages I learned more about the Hakalakadan and the sword. I
already know what they say.”

Lanrik had no idea what Aranloth was about to
reveal, but it would be important. Not for nothing had the shazrahad pursued
him across Galenthern and finally cursed him.

The lòhren did not even look at the book. “Assurah, the
smith who crafted the sword, was an elùgroth, and he imbued it with elùgai. The
second inscription confirms this. He foresaw among the many possible futures
one that most appealed to him, and the sorcery reaches out to it, pulling it
back to the blade. It’s a physical embodiment of the prophecy, an attempt to
bridge the gap between reality and possibility, and to make them one.”

Lanrik frowned. “So the elùgai acts like some kind
of lodestone, drawing events toward it that will lead to the future Assurah
wanted?”

“That’s it. Like a snowball that starts small but
gains size and momentum as it rolls down a slope.”

“Will it actually work?”

“A good question.” Aranloth leaned back and folded
his arms. “It’s an ingenious idea. I can’t say more at the moment.”

“I see why the shazrahad wanted it so much.”

The lòhren flashed him a smile. “He’d have done
anything to keep it in his family. He still might too, so guard it. Always.”

Lanrik nodded. “What of the third inscription?”

“It’s a curse that if ever a king of the north
should hold the blade his realm will be ruined.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Not really.” Aranloth shrugged. “But Assurah was
powerful, and his elùgai remains in the sword. It has a purpose and intent of
its own. If a king of the north was to hold the blade – it just might trigger
the sorcery to work in some way against him.”

“Perhaps it should be destroyed then,” suggested
Lanrik.

“Maybe,” Aranloth said. “But it’s a complex
situation, especially now that lòhrengai infuses it. And there might even be ways
to turn the blade to our advantage. I need to think on it more. Much more.”

“Then it looks like I’ll be staying here for a
while.”

“Yes.” A glimmer of a smile came to the lòhren’s
eyes. “But you needn’t be idle.”

“What do you mean?”

Aranloth leaned forward. “You have skills that could
be used.”

Lanrik was not sure what he meant. “Only those of
the Raithlin . . . and they don’t even exist anymore.”

“Not in Esgallien. But during our journey, I saw
firsthand how useful they are. I will re-establish what Murhain foolishly
disbanded. Only this time they’ll be based in Lòrenta and benefit all of
Alithoras instead of a single city.” The lòhren looked at him intently. “What
do you say?”

Lanrik was dumfounded. “That’s the last thing I
expected.” He paused to consider things. “It’s a good idea, though. But you
won’t find it easy to persuade the Lindrath to come here – everything he loves
is in Esgallien.”

Aranloth raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t thinking of
him. I want
you
to be the Lindrath – to recruit, train and lead the new
Raithlin.”

Goose bumps stood out on Lanrik’s skin. He suddenly
recalled what Arawnus had said to him at Esgallien Ford after he returned from
Galenthern:
You’ll be the Raithlindrath one day.
He also remembered his
promise to Carnona, which had seemed futile at the time, but now he felt as
though everything fitted together properly at last, albeit in a way that he had
never have seen coming.

****

The brief days of high summer waned, and the march
toward autumn quickened. The ling flowered profusely and turned the hills
purple while stags roared during the rut. The moorland was fog-ridden, and
frost had browned the bracken in the rocky hollows that it favored. Word came,
as expected, that the enemy’s attacks along the frontier had been repelled, and
the elug armies had withdrawn southward.

Erlissa spent much of her time learning the ways of
lòhrengai. Now that she had used it once, that door was open and could not be
closed. Nor did she any longer want to. Using it had woken in her a thirst for
knowledge that she had long suppressed. And she had reconciled her conflicted
emotions about her parents. The confrontation with the elùgroth had taught her
that there were many ways to serve.

When she was not occupied by her studies, she
explored the hills with Lanrik, roaming long and far. He told her of his plans
for the new Raithlin, and she spoke of lòhrengai and her growing desire to
learn more.

On a cold day when incessant rain kept them indoors,
Lanrik showed her the new Raithlin motif. It was the same trotting fox as
always, looking back over its shoulder, but a half moon had been added above.
He told her that it signified the hidden powers that existed in Alithoras
beyond the usual recognition of men. It brought back memories of their journey
to the fortress and she grinned.

****

Lòhrens started to return to Lòrenta, and the
lengthening nights were spent talking before warm fires. One traveler gave
Lanrik and Erlissa word of an emerging legend. There was a man, silent and
grim, whose dark past drove him to risk his life fighting for the innocent weak
against the evil strong.

“What’s the man’s name?” asked Lanrik.

“He’s called Gwalchmur.”