Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) (3 page)

Brand grappled with the thought of the power that was in
him. He wanted no part of it, and vowed at some point during the night not to
ever use it again. Lòhrengai was for lòhrens, and he was a warrior. Besides, he
mistrusted it for good reason. Magic
changed
the
wielder
.
It
used
them even as they used it. For a lòhren less so than an elùgroth, because they
invoked
the art only at need, but that was beside the point.
He wanted to stay just as he was.

Aranloth knew. He knew the dangers better than any, and he
had
known
that hidden away somewhere inside Brand that power
lurked
.
At
least
he guessed it.
But
Brand did
not really blame him for saying nothing. Just as he himself knew that Kareste
faced a great choice,
and
that
such
choices must
be
discovered
and
faced
by
the
person
,
in
their
own
time. Pressure from outside only got in the way.

Dawn came after a long night. Brand’s choices were made,
though he supposed they
would
yet
be tested. But he thought no more of magic or problems or the dark corners of a
man’s soul. Instead, he reveled in the new day.

The sun shone bright and clear. The sky was a glorious blue,
and the grass was green beneath the hooves of the horses as they got underway.
Afar, he heard the gurgle and rush of the river, and closer to hand the calls
of many types of birds that he had never heard before. But he could not see
them
, for they came from within the many small woods that
dotted the landscape.

The horses travelled quickly. It was good country in which
to ride, the earth being soft and the way clear
of
obstacles. All should be well, Brand thought, and yet
Kareste was withdrawn and thoughtful.

He considered her as they rode. At first, he guessed her
state of mind was because of Shurilgar’s staff. After some while though, he
realized that was not the case. He began to feel something himself, something
which she had sensed earlier than he: a mood of unease that lay over the
land
despite
the
beautiful
day. It was not strong. It was, in fact, barely
there. But he had learned to trust his
instincts
, and
now that they sensed this thing there was no doubt in his mind.

He caught her
glance
and they slowed
the horses to a walk.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You sense it also? I thought it was just me.”

“No,” he answered. “There’s something … not right.
At first I didn’t notice because the weather is so fine and this is a
fair
land. But there’s something else going on.”

Kareste gazed behind them. “Khamdar?”

“It could be,” Brand said, following her gaze. “But there’s
no sign of any pursuit.”

“Whatever it is, it’s unsettling,” Kareste said. She turned
her gaze back to the front
with
an air of determination
, and they continued on.

Now that their misgivings were in the open, their unease
grew. It was like a shadow over the whole land, though they rode in bright
sunlight.

They did not push the horses too hard. It was a long way to
Lòrenta, and it was wise to keep them in good health and with a reserve of speed
should it be needed. To tire them out now was to leave nothing available if
they were pressed hard by a pursuit later.

Every moment that passed seemed like an eternity to Brand,
but he pushed such thinking aside. To rush now might be a mistake, and he knew
that although they did not
hasten
unduly, they were
still making excellent time. Cardoroth could not endure forever, but he trusted
in the
king
and the brave hearts of the city’s people
to hold out until the last. And by then, well, by then his own troubles would
be sorted, one way or the other.

To their left was another wood. It was small, perhaps only a
patch of five
to
ten acres, but
it seemed green and lush as did everything in this land. He realized as they
neared that no birdcalls came from it. But it was not silent.

Drifting through the sunlit air was music: high, wild, and
laden with grief. It was a flute, that much Brand knew, but he had never heard
such a tune before, and goosebumps stood out on his skin.

They came to a halt. “Who lives in these lands?” he asked.

Kareste frowned. “None that I know of. But Alithoras is
large, and many people from the south are on the move. Maybe some have come
here to escape trouble.”

“If so, they’ll be disappointed.”

She looked at him, her eyes giving away nothing of her
thoughts, but there was a catch in her voice.

“When people are desperate, even disappointment can be an
improvement on their situation.”

Brand did not answer. Kareste had suffered in her life, even
more than he, so he took her at her word. He did not know what it would be like
to lose his family as young as she had, and to be taken to some strange place
among just as strange a people. At least he had stayed in his own land, moving
from family to family, hiding spot to hiding spot, but always among his own
kind who protected and taught him while the usurper of his father’s
chieftainship hunted for him.

Brand sighed. The past was a part of him, and he could not
shake it any more than Kareste could distance herself from her own. But now he
must force himself to think of only the present.

“Could it be a trap?”

Kareste shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. It’s not
something that Khamdar seems likely to do, but there are other perils in the
world beside elùgroths.”

Brand made up his mind. “I would meet the person who could
create such music.”

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing,” she said. “You like the
music, but you may not like the maker. And it
may
be a trap, for all
that I know.”

“That’s true, but it may also be a chance to hear news.
We’re wandering in a foreign land, and information helps. There could be elug
armies on the move for all that we know.”

She shrugged. “Very well. But be ready – for
anything.”

“Being ready is easy. It’s making
good
choices that’s hard.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as though considering his words
in a
range
of
contexts, but did not speak.

They moved ahead. The wood was a little bigger than Brand
had thought, but it was still small. Not so small that it could not hide an
army of elugs if it came to that, but he did not really believe that to be the
case. Khamdar must still be behind them somewhere, if he was even alive at all.
And any enemy from the south was likely to be gathered around Cardoroth or one
of the other cities along the coast of Alithoras. There was nothing for them
here in the wild lands.

When the two riders entered the woods the light turned
yellow-green. There were mostly oak trees about them, and the shade soon grew
thicker. But it was a young wood, not so dense and dark as what Brand was used
to.

They moved quietly, and with caution. But for all that they
did not make any noise, the music died almost as soon as they rode beneath the
leaf
canopy, and it did not start
again.

There was a path of sorts, though it veered at strange
angles that no animal would make. But Brand was little skilled at tracking, and
he was not sure of this. But however the path was made, he followed
it
, for it led to the center of the wood, and that was where
the music had come from. So much he realized before it ceased. But whether the
maker would still be there when they arrived was another matter.

A breeze whispered in the high leaves of the oaks, but it
was still and peaceful amid the dark trunks and spreading boughs. The smell of
the earth, deep and rich, was strong in the air and Brand liked it. It reminded
him of the scent of new-ploughed soil, and not for the first time he missed
his
childhood
home where once he had lived and toiled honestly, helping to
raise livestock and crops for those who hid and protected him.

His past, his broken childhood, seemed a long time ago now.
And yet it was not. But much had happened since then, and he had
been
forced
to
grow in
strength and wisdom m
ore
quickly
than he should have.
Now
, instead of crops, he
harvested only death. Many were the enemies that he had left behind him.
Sometimes, he wished for a simpler life. But then he would never have met
Gilhain or Aranloth … or Kareste.

It was a mistake to allow his mind to continue wandering,
and he focused his attention once more on the present.  They neared the center
of the wood. There was smoke in the air, the sweet-sharp odor that was a
camper’s friend. But not all campsites were friendly.

Brand brought his horse to a stop and looked around. He
immediately saw the faint flicker of firelight from a glade a little ahead. The
trees closed around
it
; the path passed to its side,
but within the circle of trunks was a clearing: green-grassed and shining in
the sun.

“Be careful,”
Kareste
whispered.

He nodded, and urged his mount forward. The trunks were
close, but not so close that a horse could not
pass
between them. On the inside, the light was brighter and the blue sky gleamed
above.

It was a beautiful little glade, quiet and peaceful. The
fire burned merrily in the middle, and to
its
side over a bed of
black
-
red
coals was a spitted hare, nearly
roasted through. Behind that a magnificent black mare stood. She remained
still, but occasionally an ear twitched or her tail lashed to dislodge flies.
Against an ancient tree stump, thick but near-rotted by age, leaned a flute of
black walnut, trimmed in gold. But of the flute’s owner, the mare’s rider and
the fire’s maker, there was no sign.

“Whoever it is has good taste in horses,” Brand said.

There was a noise to the left of the glade and a man stepped
from behind a tree trunk.

“There are few things in life better than a fast horse and
sweet music,” he said.

The man was tall and grim. He was also armed. He held a
sword, finely crafted, in his hand, and he looked to Brand’s trained eye like
he knew how to use it, but he made no threatening move.

Brand thought quickly. He did not blame the stranger for
drawing his blade in such a situation, but he did not draw his own. Instead, he
ignored the naked steel. That would send a signal that he did not wish to
fight, but also that he was not scared.

“To that,”
he
answered, “I can only
agree. But I would add this to it – a trusted sword ready to one
hand, and a tankard of beer in the other.”

The other man laughed. It was a deep and rich sound, but he
did not lower his sword.

“You’re a man after my own heart,” he said.

Kareste sniffed loudly. “Enough of this. If I hear
either
of you say that the only other
thing you need is a beautiful girl by your side, there’s going to be trouble.”

“My dear,” the man said in his
rich
voice, “a beautiful girl is
always
trouble.”

Kareste tossed her hair and glared at him. The man pretended
not to notice and
gazed
back, a
slightly impudent smile on his face.

Brand liked him. But then he felt an unexpected pang of
jealousy. He did not know where it came from, and he did not like it.

The man looked from one of them to the other. With a nonchalant
shrug, he lowered his sword.

“You’re not one of my enemies,” he said.

“Nor are you one of ours, I think,” Brand answered calmly.

The man sheathed his blade. “But there’s trouble
nonetheless, and for once it’s not of a kind that beautiful women bring.” He
ignored Kareste completely as he spoke, and she bit her lip, forcing herself
not to
react to his teasing
.

He gazed at them a little longer. “But this you already
know
.”

Brand nodded slowly, unsure of what to say, and thinking it
best to say as little as possible.

“There are enemies behind us. Dangerous enemies. But we
don’t know for sure if they’re still on our trail.”

“I see,” the man said. “Well, you seem able to look after
yourselves; that much is obvious. So too is the fact that you tell me nothing
that I couldn’t already guess by your
attitude
. But
that is no matter.”

He turned to Kareste and gave a well-practiced bow. “My name
is Bragga Mor.”

Kareste
sniffed again as a sign of
irritation,
though whether to the man as a person, or to his shrewd
guesses, Brand did not know.

He gave the stranger their true names – there was
no reason not to. In the pause that followed, he asked a question.

“Where are you from?” He had thought it a simple question,
but Bragga Mor seemed suddenly to lose
a
little of his
poise.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m
nothing
but
a
vagabond
wanderer now, and far I’ve
travelled, and many things I’ve seen.”

Brand was not going to press him on his home city. There was
some darkness there, that much was obvious, but that the man had travelled was
interesting.