Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) (2 page)

They came to the second bridge. It was of ancient stone,
pitted and marked by uncounted years, but it still had something of its
original grace.

They crossed
and
worked
their way through rocks and scree when they came to the other side. Brand was
not sure there was a path, but Kareste seemed to have at least an idea of where
she was going. Soon, a faded track became visible. It climbed the escarpment,
winding to and fro. The horses slipped on loose rock and steep banks, sending
sheets of scree sliding and clattering behind them, but they made progress,
albeit slowly.

Eventually, they came to the top of the escarpment once
more, but now on the opposite side of the river. Night was drawing on. It had
been a long day, and they were exhausted.

To their right, some distance away, was a building. Brand
saw it clearly, though clouds of fog rolled up at times from the falls. Ahead,
the river flowed past, tree-lined and peaceful compared to what it became when
it
tumbled
over the escarpment.

The building was of stone. It was an ancient thing, seeming lonely
and deserted. It held something of the
same
grace
as
the
bridges below. They did not ride past too closely, but Brand saw that it was
constructed of granite blocks, each one at least as long and as high as a man.
Its gray sides were dirtied by long years of fog, causing moss and
lichen
to
grow
thickly, and yet the building,
the closer they approached it, gave off a feeling of awe. It had many strange
windows, triangular slits in the stone.

The building itself was also shaped as a triangle, and
massive entrances, triangular as well, stood open at each of its three sides.
If there were any doors originally, they were long gone.

“What is it?”
Brand
asked.

“I don’t know, but I sense danger there. Or somewhere beyond
it.”

Brand agreed, and as the sun set they left the escarpment
and the strange building behind. There was something about it that disturbed
him. Perhaps it was a feeling that beyond it waited the Harakgar, though how he
knew that, he could not be sure.

Night drew on swiftly, and the rush of the river dropped now
to a smooth and steady flow, a faint and pleasant gurgle in the background.

They stopped to camp. They could go no further though all
the hounds of the elùgroths were on their trail and an army of elugs to keep
them company. But the land about them was still and peaceful, void of any
obvious threat. Brand liked it. Yet it was
still
too dangerous to light a fire. Their enemies could be
anywhere about, whether there was any sign of them or not. But
neither
was it cold, and no fire was
needed.

They ate a simple and quick meal. And though they had not
eaten in what seemed a very long time, they were not hungry. 

Beside them was a small wood. Moths flew from it, and bats
followed, wheeling and darting through the night. The stars were not bright; a
haze filled the high airs and low clouds scudded, but they were not many and
Brand did not think it would rain.

He liked woods, but he liked better being able to see and
hear far into the distance. If their enemies came, he would have notice from
where they rested. And though he knew they should take turns to sleep, it was
out of the question. No sooner had they finished eating than they lay down on
the green grass, lush near the river, and sought the rest that only sleep could
bring.

Yet for all Brand’s tiredness, he slept poorly. Many times
he woke. Once, sometime after midnight, a noise alerted him. A long while he
listened, hearing a scuffling sound somewhere away in the dark, but it was only
some small creature that sought worms or beetles on the verge of the wood.

The bats were gone. The clouds had disappeared, and the
stars shone bright. It was cooler also, for a breeze played over the grassland
and carried the nighttime scent of the river with it.

For a long while he did not get back to sleep, and he
thought as he lay there, tossing and turning as the stars blinked at him and
the creature wandered away
in
search
of
other
food.

His thoughts turned at first to Kareste. He had been right
to trust her, to give her the staff. Yet she was at risk, for the power in the talisman
would call to her, but how else could she make her choice of Light or Shadow
unless it was offered to her?

And when her moment came, as come it must, he intended to be
there. Perhaps he could make a difference, as he saw now that Aranloth had
tried to do when the other lòhrens would have had her expelled from their
order.

At length, his thoughts turned to where they had shied away
from all through the day. But now, in the deep night, where a man’s troubles
always rose to the surface of his mind, he could avoid it no longer. Aranloth
had misled him. There was no real power in his staff. Brand knew that now. He realized
also that Kareste had known the same thing from the moment they had first met,
and had not meddled in Aranloth’s affairs by
stating
it
directly,
though she had hinted at it.

Aranloth’s staff was different to Shurilgar’s. The broken
staff was a relic, infused of old with enormous power, but with the lòhren’s
there was only the
memory
of enchantments worked
through it,
the
bare
traces
of
things
that
once
were.

What power Brand had summoned had come from within himself.
The thing that he most mistrusted in all the world was a part of him, inside
him, at his very core. But why had Aranloth not told him that?

He felt a flicker of doubt at the lòhren’s motives. And
though what Aranloth had said could not be called a lie, it was bordering on it
as close as was possible. He shrugged his misgivings aside, for he trusted
Aranloth, and trust was easily eaten away by doubt. He would not doubt him, and
he would not doubt Kareste either. They each had reasons for what they did,
though it occurred to him with unexpected clarity that so too did Khamdar. In
the sorcerer’s own mind he was doing the right thing.

It was a
startling
realization
,
and
it
did
not
make
Brand comfortable.

Gilhain did not know what was happening, but he knew this much:
Aranloth was right. Something was approaching; something wicked beyond the
reach of thought.

The black-cloaked elùgroths sat in their wedge before the
wall. Their wych-wood staffs pointed menacingly at the Cardurleth, and the
rising chant of their spell
smoked
through
the
sorcery-laden
air
.

Beyond the
wedge
was
the enemy host, and
its
multitudinous voice rose also
in some eerie union with the
invocation
of
the
elùgroths, lending them power.

A wind blew, dry and hot, and then suddenly it changed. In
what way, Gilhain could not be sure.
It
now
smelled
of moisture, or mold, or the decaying leaves of a forest that was thicker than
any that grew near Cardoroth. But
it
was
more
than
that.

“It comes!” hissed Aranloth.

Gilhain was sick to the pit of his stomach. He felt a great
evil. It washed over him as did nausea to an ill
man,
in ever-greater waves that took him deeper into misery. Something was coming,
and its arrival was inevitable. He could do nothing but wait.

He did not speak. Aranloth did not move. Soldiers waited all
along the wall, and Gilhain knew that each and every one of them felt just as
he.

The sun dimmed. The sky grew dark. The wind dropped, but the
smell in the air intensified. It was putrid. He knew now that his guess was
right. It was of a forest. A wet forest. A forest layered deep by
centuries
of
rotted leaves and mildew.

There was a growing sound also. It was an eerie thing,
something over and above the world that surrounded him; he heard rain. Not just
any rain – and certainly not the gentle nighttime rain that usually
fell over Cardoroth, but a torrential downpour. It was a sound of watery fury,
a sound that thrummed and boomed and lashed like a hundred storms gathering
together and drawing near.

Gilhain looked around, confused. He did not know what was
happening, nor did he understand why it grew suddenly hot. But hot it was,
and
more humid than he had ever felt
before. The very earth before the Cardurleth began to steam.

Wisps of vapor rose sluggishly from the trampled earth. The
gray tendrils twined about each other, swirling and undulating. His eyes
followed them
upward
for a
moment, and when he looked down again, he saw that the earth was gone. Where
the ground had been, the same ground that he had known all his life and trod
uncounted times, there was now a gaping void.

He saw at once that it was not quite empty. It seemed to be
a valley, even if it had no place in Cardoroth. And within he saw a vague
outline of steep banks, wind-lashed trees and cascading water.

But none of those things held his attention. Something else
filled his vision, drew his gaze even though the horror of it was repellent.

A
shape rose
amid
the steam. It
flowed
and writhed, but it was a thing of substance and not
vapor. And it was massive.

He knew what it was, but his mind refused to accept what his
eyes saw. It rose higher, reaching up and out of the void and into the air of
Cardoroth.

“What is it?” he whispered to the lòhren. “
How
have
they
created
such
a
sorcerous beast?”

Aranloth answered through gritted teeth. “This is not made
of sorcery. Rather, it is called forth by the dark power of Shurilgar’s staff.
It is a beast, a real beast, but drawn from the otherworld, summoned from some
dark pit of horror. It is a serpent, but one such as has never
hunted any dim-lit
forest of Alithoras.”

Gilhain shook his head. “No. It can’t be. No serpent ever
grew so big.”

“Not on
this
earth,” Aranloth answered.

Up the serpent rose, swaying back and forth, yet ever its
eyes, slitted pits darker even than the hollow from which it emerged, fixed on
the Cardurleth – or those standing upon it.

“How shall we fight it?” whispered Gilhain.

“Nay,” the lòhren said. “Men must fight men, and lòhrens
must oppose dark sorcery. This task falls to my kind.
It
is
for
this
that
we
came
.”

He stepped close to the edge of the battlement, a figure
robed in white and clothed in
determination
,
but
a
small
and
frail
thing
compared
to
what
it
faced.

Aranloth raised his arms, and all along the wall a dozen
other lòhrens, apparently waiting for some such
signal
,
lifted high their staffs.

The serpent rose
higher
still, and its
shadow fell over the
Cardurleth. It looked down upon the lòhrens and soldiers. Slime dripped from
its pale belly. The scales that formed its skin were large and smooth,
shimmering luminously from beneath but
gleaming
darkly along its top. Near its midsection was a massive
bulge
; the remains of what it had last eaten.

The chanting of the elugs reached a new height of frenetic
madness. The drums beat wildly. But the spell of the elùgroths soared above
all
else
, and
yet gathered all in and drew it into its own power, shaping it to its own dark
will.

On the battlement, all was still and no sound was made. Men
flinched when the shadow of the serpent
touched
them, but they made no cry of fear. Though terror menaced
them, they held their ground; the longer the
siege
endured, the greater their defiance
grew
.

Gilhain gave a signal. Perhaps this attack was beyond mortal
strength, but that did not mean the soldiers could not attempt to fight anyway.
No
one
should
just
meekly
await
their
fate
.

A carnyx horn sounded
at
the
king’s
gesture,
and
its deep-throated voice sent a command to every captain
along the wall. And they in turn gave their own commands.

Within moments the air was dense with arrows – the
red-flighted arrows for which Cardoroth was famous. They whistled as they flew,
blazing through the air like a spray of blood. But when they struck the massive
serpent they
shattered
or
glanced away. Some few stuck, but they did not penetrate the thick scales into
the
softer flesh beneath. The
creature ignored the attack, swaying ever higher.

The next volley of arrows flew. These were better aimed,
seeking the two places that were likely more vulnerable: where the great angular
head joined the body, and the eyes.

Arrows stuck thickly in the skin at its neck, but they had
no effect there. Those that struck the eyes seemed to trouble it, and it rose
higher with a jerk, but then two great inner-lids, thick and leathery, came
across from the
sides.
These offered protection, but
seemingly no hindrance to its sight.

A ripple
of
movement
ran through those on the
battlement. Gilhain looked, but he did not at first see the cause, though he
noticed a change. The men stepped back, but not in retreat.

It was only when the lòhrens took a pace forward that he
realized the time for another type of attack had come. They would soon see if
lòhrengai proved more effective than steel-headed shafts.

In unison the lòhrens raised their staffs. Aranloth reached
forth with his hands. Lòhren-fire flared. A light, brilliant and flashing,
sprang into being, dazzling
and
shimmering
with
its varied colors: silver, white, green, blue and
many hues beside.

The lòhrengai struck the serpent, and the air all about it
wavered with heat. Those who watched turned their heads away from the stabbing
brightness. A moment later there was a crack
as
of thunder; it rolled and boomed, drowning out the drums of
the enemy and their chanting. For long moments the noise throbbed, sending
shivers through the rampart and deep into the earth. Light and thunder roiled
over
Cardoroth, and then slowly
receded.

Gilhain lifted his gaze,
but
t
he serpent was
still
there
.

“How is it
possible
?” he muttered.

Unaffected
, the
creature
swayed higher.
The
arrows that
had
prickled its skin
were
now
burnt away, and
their
ashes
drifted
like black snow through the air. The slime
on
its
belly steamed, but
the
monstrous
thing
was unharmed, oblivious to the
mighty power
unleashed
upon
it.

Gilhain struggled to think of something to do, but
he
,
the
supposed
strategist,
the war-leader with a thousand tricks,
was powerless and void of ideas.
Truly, Aranloth was right. The serpent was from another world, for powers that
would destroy a thing born of this earth were
as
nothing
to
it.

Aranloth looked ancient and weary, but he spoke with
unexpected determination in the face of what had just happened.

“Long has been my battle against the Shadow,” he said.
“Mayhap it is ended, and Cardoroth with it. And yet know this, O king, the
lòhrens will fight, no matter that they lose.”

Gilhain knew it. He felt it in his bones. He looked around
and sensed the same in the soldiers all along the wall. They would fight. Every
one of them would
carry
their
blades
until
the end. But if lòhrengai had not harmed the creature summoned to break them,
nor swift-flighted arrows shot from strong bows, then swords would not either,
no matter how defiant.

“The great dark is coming,” he answered slowly. “Yet now I
feel better about sending Brand on his quest. He at least has a hope of life,
and it may be a long time before the
same
darkness overshadows him.”