Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3) (12 page)

Lanrik watched them carefully. That they
were looking for someone was obvious. They moved along the aisles, checking
faces as they went. They could not go through each aisle though, and they might
or might not come to his. It was a roll of the dice. And if he tried to leave
now, it would only attract the attention that he was desperate to avoid.

He remained where he was, and watched and
waited. The guards stuck together. Although they could cover more ground by
splitting up, they worked as a group, staying in close proximity to each other
at all times.

It signaled to him that they were scared
of the crowd, or, he supposed, scared of him, for he was the one that they were
most likely looking for.

A grim smile came to his lips. If they
were scared of him, it was because he had taught them to be so. But even so,
there were too many of them to fight. And he could not count on any help from
the crowd. Although he could not discount it either. They had helped yesterday.

The people of Esgallien might be cowed,
but the spark of defiance was not gone. He did not want to inflame it. Not
here, not now. The guards had swords and unarmed people would die. He did not
want that.

The guards came closer. He no longer
watched, but kept his eyes on the track. They were near enough now that they
might recognize him. He sat in a casual posture, one leg crossed over the
other. It helped hide the sword sheathed at his side.

The crowd grew still about him. And deadly
silent. They knew this was a moment of potential danger, if not the reason why.
Rumor of a Raithlin on the loose would have spread since yesterday.

He waited, using the crowd’s reaction to
judge where the guards were. They had come very close.

A shadow fell upon him. The first guard
neared. The man looked down at him, and Lanrik suppressed the urge to run.
Instead, he looked up, allowing a slightly annoyed expression to show on his
face. He had no choice but to look. Although it made him easier to recognize,
not to do so was unnatural in the circumstances and would indicate that he
wanted to hide. There was always the chance that the guard had never seen him
in person and that his grasp of a verbal description would not be enough.

The guard paused. He looked to go on, but
then he hesitated and shifted his gaze back.

For a few moments he stared hard, and then
in sudden recognition staggered back to get out of Lanrik’s way. The man drew
his sword. Fear was on his face, but in a moment it hardened as his comrades
rushed to stand beside him.

The game was over. All of the guards were
near. Lanrik drew his own sword.

He held the blade high, and it glinted in
the light. Once more he heard whispers as its famous etching glinted and
shimmered in the sun.

Raithlin
. The crowd murmured it, the word
passing from lip to ear and then to lip again. They backed away from him, but
they did not run.

All of a sudden, he felt like he was in a
sword tournament. A crowd watched. And he had an opposition. Only there were
many of them and but one of him. He stepped forward anyway.

At the same time, an old lady trudged past
Lanrik and approached the group. She held a walking staff in her tremulous
hands. Her skin was leathered by hard work and blotched with age.

“Go back, lady,” Lanrik said. “This is no
place for you. Move away to safety.”

The old lady tilted her head and looked at
him.

“What a well-mannered boy you are,” she
said wheezily. “A pity that these Royal Guards aren’t more like you.”

She turned to them and poked at the
nearest with her staff.

“Stand aside!” she ordered. “I’m too old
to go around. And anyway, why should I?”

“I don’t care what you do, old lady,” the
guard said. “Stay or go. Live or die. It’s all the same to us. But we’re taking
this man to the queen, and she won’t care anymore than we do if you get killed
during the process.”

The old lady trembled and coughed. Her
hands looked like ancient parchment, and yet their grip upon the staff was
firm. Lanrik looked more closely at the timber. It was walnut. It was covered
in dust. Mud caked either end. But he suddenly knew it.

He stood perfectly still. The whole world
seemed to pause. And then he spoke.

“The Witch-queen may not care if this lady
dies. But I do. I care very much.”

He raised his sword and stepped forward.

“Drop your weapon!” One of the guards
said. “Come with us peacefully!”

“Or die,” another added.

Lanrik laughed. He felt something inside
him break free, something that he always held on a tight leash.

“No,” he said. “I’ll kill you all before I
go to the Witch-queen.”

He stepped forward another pace. His every
movement suggested defiance. They read it in his eyes. And yet he made no move,
nor did blade touch blade before the battle began.

The old lady, or Erlissa, for he now knew
who she was, brought down the end of her staff against the stone paving. Caked
mud sprayed everywhere. A great boom thundered through the Haranast. Blue flame
turned and twisted, running across the stone before leaping high into the air.

The guards cursed and reeled back. The
crowd screamed and fled. All was confusion, and people were everywhere, running
and stumbling.

Lanrik, with Erlissa right next to him,
jumped down to the next row of seats. Together they moved down several more
rows. People fled from them toward the guards. People fled from the guards
toward
them. In the mass of movement, they ran along a suddenly empty aisle and toward
the arched exits. But escape was far away, and the guards close, even if they
were momentarily hidden by the turmoil.

Lanrik and Erlissa raced ahead. The path
between seats was wide, and they moved swiftly, catching up to those who had
fled before them.

Abruptly, a wall of people blocked their
path. And yet there was a wall behind them too, pressing forward. The guards
were somewhere within it, though Lanrik could not see them

Progress was now very slow. Higher up, at
the crest of the hill, many people streamed out to safety beneath the arches.
And yet where Lanrik was now, the crowd only shuffled, one desperate step at a
time.

Those who had seen them earlier were
elsewhere now, swept away in the wild surge of the crowd. No one recognized
Lanrik or Erlissa, or knew that they had been at the center of the disturbance,
nor that he was a Raithlin and she a lòhren. They were just two more people
struggling to flee. The crowd seethed. It pushed and shoved, sped up and slowed
down. But they stayed together.

“Over that way,” Lanrik said.

He took Erlissa’s hand, and they changed
direction slightly. They could not get ahead any faster, but they were able to
drift sideways, a little at a time. He wanted to ensure that the guards did not
find them. They would have seen the direction that he and Erlissa had
originally taken, and that was where they would follow.

Lanrik heard a lot of yelling and curses,
but no screams. It seemed as though the guards were not using their swords to
force their way through. That choice was probably a matter of self-preservation
more than anything else. In such a crowded space, where people had nowhere to
go to escape, necessity would compel them to fight back. And though they were
mostly unarmed, and it would be muscle against steel, the mass of their numbers
would prevail in the end. And the guards knew it.

He kept a tight hold of Erlissa’s hand. He
did not think he would ever let go of it again. It felt so good to be with her
once more. And suddenly, hope filled him. The Lindrath was still alive. They
would find him, and surely none knew better than he how things stood in the
city, and what the queen’s weaknesses were, and which of her enemies were
willing to fight. They would escape with him and meet with Aranloth as
arranged. After that, the end of the Witch-queen’s reign would come swiftly. Of
that, he was sure.

A gap opened in the crowd before them as a
line of people further ahead surged through the exits. They moved into it.

“I still don’t see any guards,” Erlissa
said.

“They’re there somewhere,” he answered.
“We’ve been lucky so far.”

The crowd started to move even more
quickly. The arches were close now, and people were streaming through them.
They started to run again.

In moments, they stood beneath the shadow
of one of the great archways themselves, near to the stele that commemorated
the building of the Haranast.

“Where to?” Erlissa asked.

Lanrik looked down the Hainer Lon to the
right. A troop of guards was coming up that way against the rush of the crowd.
He looked to the left, and saw the same. The Royal Guard were converging here
to see what had caused the disturbance. He felt trapped yet again, for though
there were many people here, the chances of slipping through unnoticed, with so
many watchful eyes about, was slim. 

He glanced at Erlissa. “We might have to
run for it. Either way, it’ll probably turn into a fight.” He squeezed her
hand. “Be careful.”

A moment she looked at him, as though
undecided about something, and then her face set hard with determination.

“There’s another way,” she said.

He watched silently as she took off her
wig, cast it aside, and removed the outer layer of her clothes. They were
raggedy and filled with some kind of stuffing that made her look bigger.
Underneath, what she wore amazed him. 

It was as though the Witch-queen herself
stood before him. Erlissa, tall and athletic, always of a likeness to Ebona in
build, now wore the same white dress, cinched by a red belt. Her hair, dyed
blonde by Aranloth before they entered the city, completed the effect.

She now looked so similar to their enemy
that his heart fluttered in his chest. The disguise was uncannily accurate, and
it scared him. It might also scare others, which was a two-sided situation. She
might fool the guards, but at the same time it was a way to get killed, for the
crowd, who surely hated their newest ruler, might turn on her.

But she showed no hesitation.

“Take this,” she ordered, handing him her
staff. “Stay behind me.”

He did not argue. It was as though she had
adopted not only the likeness of the Witch-queen, but her commanding presence
also. She strode ahead, straight toward the group of guards coming from the
right.

When they were close, she raised a long
arm and pointed at them.

“Fools!” she said. Her eyes flashed, and
her voice dripped venom. She lowered her hand, but as she did so red drops of
flame dribbled from the fingertips. She shuddered, as though battling some
inner desire to wreak havoc and unleash her temper upon the world.

The crowd screamed and ran. But the
guards, held by duty, faced her, though their expressions showed fear. Lanrik
did not blame them.

“Fools!” she repeated. “This is a
diversion. Our enemies seek to free the prisoners at the palace.”

One of the men stepped forward. He did not
look at her, but kept his gaze to the ground as he spoke.

“But aren’t all the prisoners dead?” he
queried.

Erlissa tilted her head, and her blonde
hair swung in front of her eyes. She ran her hand through it, placing it behind
her ear, and stared at the man until he eventually looked up.

“Do you know all my secrets?” she asked in
a soft voice.

“The man dropped his head again, and his
shoulders trembled. “No, My Lady.”

“No. You do not. There are yet prisoners
alive. The most important of them all. And while you tremble before me like a
cowering dog, they might even now be escaping.”

Erlissa paused. Sparks kindled in her
eyes, and a dark shadow fell from her tall figure. She lifted her arm again.
Red fire flared to life on her palm, like a ball of light that writhed and
twisted, straining to break away into a stream that would burn all in its path.

“Hasten!” she commanded. “Go to the
palace. There are Raithlin there. Kill them. Kill them all – or die
yourselves!”

She pulled back her arm as though to fling
the witch-fire, but she need not have bothered. No one saw this final threat.
The guards were already sprinting toward the palace, fear driving them faster
than duty ever could.

Lanrik was amazed. Erlissa looked at him,
and her eyes were still ablaze. She seemed queen of the world, her face filled
with power and authority. She was remote, like a beautiful figure of carved of
ice, but without passion or thought or heart. Only power. And then she winked
at him. The slight movement seemed so strange on that face, so bizarre, that he
laughed.

She flashed him a smile in return, and
Ebona was gone. She was Erlissa again. She undid the red belt, and tucked it
within a fold of her white dress that hid some kind of pocket.

She looked at him again. “Let’s go,” she
said.

They followed in the wake of the guards.
The white dress could not be hidden, but with the red belt gone, she appeared
normal enough and passed for an average citizen. He kept hold of the staff.

The guards were well out of sight. Behind,
the other troop of guards must have stopped at the Haranast. There was no one
near them now except the usual citizens of Esgallien. The people were less
desperate than they were before, but not by much, and he knew the streets were
no longer safe. Too many eyes were on them; too many that might have seen what
Erlissa had done. And it only took one to report it to the first guard that
they saw.

He took her hand once more. “Time to
disappear,” he said.

Without seeming to hasten, he led her off
the Hainer Lon. Several people watched them go, but no one followed. He made
sure of that.

When they were several streets away and
the crowds were normal once more, he put his arms around her and picked her up,
swinging her in a full circle. When he put her down, he kissed her hard on the
lips.

She kissed him back. A few long moments it
lasted, both oblivious to anything else, and then he let her go.

She looked at him. “So, you missed me,
then?”

“You bet I did.”

They moved on down the street, but now
they walked arm in arm and she leaned against him as they went.

“Where to?” she asked.

“An alley,” he said. “One that’s dark and
quiet.”

She looked at him strangely, and he
laughed.

“We need to hide,” he said. “Although
privacy wouldn’t hurt either. I’ve discovered a good way to get off the
streets, but we have to stay clear of windows.”

She gave him another strange look, but he
kept on walking. He did not want to tell her about what had happened to him
this morning.

They wandered through the streets. As they
headed away from the Hainer Lon it grew less crowded, but he would have to find
a very quiet alley indeed for what he intended to do during daylight hours.

The roofs were a good place to hide. They
offered views of the city streets, and no one would look for them there, but to
get on top of one was the hard part. The climbing was difficult, and most of
all to be seen trying to get there was to risk being taken as a thief and
having the City Watch called. Yet, if he could find a place quiet enough, they
could disappear that way. And disappear they must, for it was far too dangerous
at the moment. Also, it would give them a chance to talk and to work out what
they intended to do next.

The streets grew narrow and winding. They
were passing into one of the poorer areas of the city. The buildings rose tall
and gray about them, like cliff faces overlooking a dark river that ran between
steep banks.

Rubbish, both old and recently discarded,
lay everywhere, and they picked their path carefully. Lanrik loved the city,
but some parts were an eyesore, and dangerous as well. He would not normally
come to an area like this, especially with a girl, but it served a purpose now.

It was not only the buildings and streets
that were different. The people had changed too. There were few markets, few
friendly eyes, but many dirty children playing in the corners. And men and
women who stared at them suspiciously.

Lanrik realized that he and Erlissa, for
all their recent troubles, were well dressed. Far too well dressed for a poor
neighborhood like this.

He had better find what he wanted quickly,
or they were at just as much risk of being robbed as they were of discovery by
Royal Guards.

He turned down each narrow street that he
could find, and this seemed to bring him to the kind of place that he wanted.
They were now come to a maze of winding lanes and very narrow alleys. He walked
past a few, but kept on going as there were people in each one, though not
many. After a while, he came to one that was empty. It was also dark, smelly,
and filled with the rubbish of long years of neglect.

“Just what I’m looking for,” he said.

Erlissa looked ahead with some distaste,
but did not answer.

They walked into the alley, and he kept a
close eye on things. No one followed them. No one was ahead of them at the far
end, either. And as best as he could see, no one looked out of the few narrow
windows that had a view of them.

“Here,” he said.

It was another drainpipe, like the one
that he had climbed last night. Only this time it would not be necessary to
ascend very far. It led up only one story, and it came straight out of a
windowless brick wall. However, there was a balcony next to it, and the pipe
would give them access to its small roof. Above that again, the real roof of
the building was within reach.

“You want me to climb that?” Erlissa did
not look happy about the situation.

“I’ll push you up from behind,” he said.
“It won’t take long. Just be careful not to make too much noise when you step
on the balcony’s roof. 

She frowned, but reached up to take hold
of the drainpipe. It did not take long for her to climb, and he did not have to
offer much help. When she was on the roof, he handed her the staff and made the
climb himself.

There was noise now; the sound of scuffing
boots and muffled talk, and they both hunkered down low and went still. Someone
was close by, but it appeared to be a group of people in the nearby street,
rather than the alley. The sounds soon drifted away.

“Quickly,” he said. “We’re too easily seen
here.”

They stood up on the balcony and Erlissa
reached for the real roof above it. She deftly pulled herself up so that her
head was above it, and then with a final heave she slithered her whole body
over the rim and disappeared from sight.