Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3) (5 page)

Time slowed, and Lanrik felt the breath in
his lungs catch and cease to flow. For a moment, their fates hung in the
balance, and then, with a brisk wave to his men, the soldier moved to the side.

“Let them through,” he said.

The men parted. Lanrik, resisting the urge
to look behind, trotted through the gap and into the tunnel. Erlissa rode close
beside him, and the clatter of hooves on the cobbled surface rang loud in the
confined space. He thought he heard other noises too, perhaps yelling from
those who pursued them, but it was too faint and dim to tell for sure.

After a few moments, they passed through
the arch in the inner wall and rode beneath the shadow of Conhain’s mighty
towers. They were on the Hainer Lon, and inside the city, but that did not mean
that the chase was over.

The great road ran ahead of them. It
traveled far, all the way to River Gate, and crossed the heart of the city
between. It was central to all Esgallien: thousands of stalls, shops,
businesses and homes lined its sides, and long porticoes to left and right
sheltered people from rain and sun alike. But the Hainer Lon offered little
protection to fugitives.

Lanrik kicked his horse into a gallop, and
Erlissa matched him. They raced ahead, for it was still quiet, but soon crowds
would build and slow them to a walk. They would also be conspicuous, for
hastening bareback as they were, they would draw everyone’s gaze, and among the
watches there would certainly be those quick to suspicion and even some ready
to aid the Royal Guard.

 What they needed now was stealth, rather
than speed, and a place to hide and to disappear within the city, for they
could not hope to evade a pursuit where the mass of people would slow them,
remember them, and willingly or unwillingly, allow the Royal Guards to catch
up.

Lanrik turned left down the first side
street that offered what he needed. There was an inn, and though there were
likely stables down the side or back of the yard, there were hitching posts at
the front to tether horses.

He dismounted and led his horse toward a
post.

“Look casual,” he whispered.

There were several people nearby, and for
all he knew there could also be Royal Guards in the inn. They must not draw
attention to themselves, and yet they must act quickly.

They looped their reins through the holes
in the post and started to walk off casually as though going about their normal
business.

The further they went from their horses,
the stranger it would look, but by the time someone noticed or thought to
question them, it would be too late. However, before they were halfway down the
street, they heard the sudden clatter of many hooves along the Hainer Lon.
Lanrik glanced back over his shoulder.

Riders streamed past, but one abruptly
halted.

“My horse!” the man shouted.

Lanrik and Erlissa ran. Looking casual
would no longer serve them.

He took the lead, but Erlissa kept pace
close behind him. Their pursuers jostled one by one into the street as they
gave chase. For a moment, Lanrik heard them gather speed and close in, and then
an intersection loomed and he took a right turn into an alleyway.

Ahead, the way was confined and buildings
of ancient and crumbling brick rose steeply above them. They were tenement
homes for some of the poorer citizens of Esgallien. This was a dangerous place,
a haven for robbers and violent crime, and the sort of area that Lanrik would
normally avoid, but the darkness and lack of room suited him at the moment.

They raced on. The alley was full of
rubbish, and the cobbles beneath their feet were uneven and in ill repair.
Water and muck gathered in potholes, and a foul smell hung heavy in the air.

Ignoring the signs of poverty and
decrepitude, they raced ahead. Behind, struggling to ride two abreast, came the
first of the guards. They were like two corks in one bottle, squeezing each
other and stopping everything behind.

Lanrik saw another alley and darted left.
This was wider, and there was a small market here. People milled around,
talking or haggling over prices, and Lanrik took advantage of it.

“Royal Guards!” he shouted. “They trying
to kill everyone!”

Panic broke out. People had no trouble
believing his words, a situation that might have surprised him had he not
already met Brinhain and his men.

People, who only a moment before had been
talking and laughing, now fled in a fever of fear. Some entered buildings and
slammed doors shut, others raced along the street. At that moment, the first
two guards turned the corner and their horses, covered in sweat, rushed into
view.

The panic intensified, and Lanrik and
Erlissa, right in the middle of a pack of running people, went with a smaller
group that broke away and dived inside an open doorway.

It was a tenement building. There were
already people inside, some crying, some screaming, but the last person to
enter slammed the door and yelled for everyone to keep quiet. He put his ear to
the timber and tried to hear what was happening outside.

Lanrik and Erlissa were already on the
move. The horses could be heard through the door, though whether they had been
seen entering the building or not, they could not tell. Nor did they wait to
find out.

They went straight to a window at the back
of the building, unbolted it, and clambered out into another alley.

It was dark here, even seedier than the
last one if that was possible, but there were no horses and there were no
people, either. They raced along it.

For the next few minutes they zigzagged
through a half dozen more, running through those where nobody was present, and
walking briskly in the others so as not to draw attention. They heard no
horses, but they could hear intermittent yelling in the distance.

They were heaving for breath, and their
legs trembled.

“We need to rest,” Erlissa said.

She was right. They were nearly spent, and
if they kept on going like this there was just as much chance of running into
the guards by accident as escaping them. This part of the city was a maze, and
they could turn into a narrow street at any moment and unwittingly come face to
face with their pursuers.

On the other hand, the longer they delayed
the more chance that troops would be called in to reinforce and widen the
existing search.

They walked slowly now, carefully
inspecting each street and only choosing crowded ones to walk down. The city
was becoming increasingly busy as the day grew older, and that was a help in
hiding them.

They came to a wider street. A roofed
colonnade ran to either side, and for a moment Lanrik though they were back on
the Hainer Lon, but then he realized it was still too narrow for that. It was a
market street of some sort though, and shops lined the way.

“We need a change of clothes,” he said.

Erlissa nodded. “So much for our
disguises. We’ll have to alter our appearance completely again.” She paused and
looked around. “But I know this place. I’ve been here before, although it was a
long time ago.”

She took his hand and led him onto the
portico off the street. They passed a stall that offered various savory breads
for breakfast, and the sudden smell of food made him hungry, but they were
still in danger and he ignored it.

Erlissa led him along a little further,
and in moments they were in front of a small shop. The entrance was narrow, but
inside many clothes hung from pegs in the wall or lay heaped in neat piles. It
was exactly what they needed.

A black-haired woman with a bright smile
approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Just looking,” Erlissa answered
noncommittally.

It was the beginning of a long session of
haggling. Lanrik hated the custom, at least normally. He did not doubt that he
often overpaid for the things that he bought, but he would rather that, and get
what he wanted quickly, than play a game of words. But it served them well now,
for a group of Royal Guards was riding slowly down the street. They looked
carefully at everybody as they went, but though they tried, they could not see
far inside the shops to either side.

He did not realize it for a moment, but
the black-haired woman had come to stand close beside him.

“What’s that noise?” she asked.

Lanrik only noticed it when she spoke, for
it was in the distance. He tilted his head to hear better, and caught the sound
of a long and winding note from a horn. No doubt the Royal Guard were calling
for reinforcements. That might mean the City Watch as well as more of their
own, but he was not going to tell her that.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

Erlissa frowned. “Soldiers, I think.
Probably the Royal Guard.”

The woman hissed. “They’re always looking
for somebody these days.” She looked as though she was about to say more, but
then clamped her mouth shut.

Lanrik had the feeling that few people
spoke freely in Esgallien anymore. It was dangerous, and to speak ill of the
Royal Guard might be especially so.

The woman changed the subject. She was
back to business now, as though the conversation had never started.

“Well, I think this one suits you.” She
held up a green dress, slim and elegant. It was perhaps one of the most
expensive items in the shop, and he could see from Erlissa’s expression that
she liked it, although it was doubtful if the woman noticed the same subtle
signs. 

He relaxed. The haggling would continue a
long time before the price of such a dress came down enough to do a deal, and
they needed a rest.

Out in the street he saw more guards. This
group was on foot, and he was worried that they would start a search of each
shop. But it soon became apparent that they would not. They had no reason to
believe that he and Erlissa were here, and they did not have enough men to
search each street in this part of the city, house by house and shop by shop. Not
yet, at any rate.

Erlissa finally settled on a price, and
money changed hands. Lanrik, with his customary speed, picked out a green
cloak. It would serve to hide his tunic.

As an afterthought, he also bought a
wide-brimmed hat that caught his fancy. He was not used to wearing hats,
preferring a Raithlin hood, but it would change his appearance nicely.

There were no guards in the street at the
moment, and it was a good time to leave. He paid for his items swiftly,
ignoring Erlissa’s frown and the black-haired woman’s faint smile, and they
moved back out onto the portico.

“We need another alley,” he said. “We have
to change clothes as quickly as possible. We’re still in the search area.”

“I’ve seen several groups,” she said.

“They’re everywhere,” he agreed.

They found an alley and moved down it.

Tenement houses rose up all around them,
steep and dark and grim. It was filthy here, as it often was away from the main
streets. Lanrik did not like it, as he did not like much of the city, and yet
there was a kind of splendor and humanity to most of Esgallien that attracted
him in a way that the wild lands that he loved could not.

Washing hung over low ropes, cheap and
coarse clothes that seemed little improved by the cleaning process, and Lanrik
put on his hat and cloak quickly. There was no one in the alley, but that did
not mean that there were no eyes on them.

Erlissa changed too, even more quickly
than he, and she hung her old garments up on the line.

They moved briskly away. At just that
moment two Royal Guards turned into the alley. For a moment, Lanrik hesitated,
but a moment only.

There was no going back. That would only
alert the guards and instigate a chase.

He casually put his arm around Erlissa.
She felt like a tense deer about to spring.

“Keep going,” he whispered calmly.
“Pretend nothing is wrong.”

They walked forward at a leisurely pace.
The guards scrutinized them. Despite their cold-eyed gaze, they were young men;
too young, Lanrik thought, to be Royal Guards. He wondered if Ebona had
deliberately filled the organization with new recruits. She would not be the
first to build a personal army of impressionable young men, and to indoctrinate
them into unquestioning support for her goals and methods.

The guards said nothing, evidently fooled
by the change of clothes and the pretense of a casual attitude.

Lanrik and Erlissa moved out of the alley
and turned into a much wider thoroughfare.

“We were lucky,” he said.

“I know,” she replied with a shudder.
“They gave me the creeps the way they looked at me. And that was without even
recognizing us.”

“There seem to be more and more of them
all the time,” Lanrik said.

“Do you think we should find somewhere to
hide? Or should we try to get away from this part of the city altogether?”

Lanrik thought about it. “There are too
many guards to stay here. They seem to be coming in from elsewhere, and I’m
sure they’ll have our descriptions. It can’t just be because of what happened
at the inn. They
know
I’m a Raithlin, and they’ll keep on searching
until they find me.”

“Do you think they know who you are, apart
from just being a Raithlin?”

“Brinhain might have recognized me as I
dropped from the window. I’m sure he realized that I was a
Raithlin – why else would the person who was attacked be the one to
flee? But it was more than that. I think he figured out a bunch of things in
that last moment, our identities among them. If so, Ebona will spare no effort
to catch us. We can’t hide here. Each hour might bring more men, and eventually
they’ll search every building. I think we’d be better off taking our chances on
the street and getting as far away as we can.”

They walked ahead. Lanrik did not try to
conceal his face with the broad-brimmed hat. That would only make it obvious
that he was trying to hide. Instead, he walked with his head high. Better to be
seen, and not recognized, than to be less easily seen but looked at more
closely.

The morning passed, and the city filled
with ever-larger crowds. There were guards too, standing on corners, walking down
streets, mounted and on foot. The City Watch was everywhere too, but they
seemed less keen on the search.

After a while the racket of blowing horns
died down. They sighted the guards less often, and then suddenly there were
none at all. They had finally broken free of the net that sought to contain
them, and they abandoned pretense of leisurely walking for a brisk pace as they
strode through the thick crowds.

“Do you know where we are?” Lanrik asked.

“I’ve got a fair idea. I don’t know this
part of the city well, but I’ve been here several times before. The Hainer Lon
should be a few streets to our right.” She paused a moment. “But the real
question is this – where do you want to go?”

Lanrik did not hesitate. “The Merenloth.
We need to see Bragga Mor. And the sooner the better. It should be a good place
to hide too. It’s always crowded there.”

“Should we risk the Hainer Lon, or stay on
the back streets?”

“The Hainer Lon would be quicker, but I’ve
got a feeling that plenty of Royal Guards will be travelling down it to
reinforce the search for us. Better to avoid them because there’s no way to
know if they’ve already got our description.”

They kept to the side streets as the
morning wore on. They were tired, not only physically but also mentally, for
fear was just as exhausting as running.

After a while, Lanrik recognized where
they were.

“The Merenloth is close,” he said.

He led the way and slipped up a side
street. Almost immediately the crowd swelled, and the noise of many people
talking, the din of traders selling wares and children playing grew loud. They
stepped onto the Hainer Lon and pressed ahead.

The great road of Esgallien seethed with
people. It was a good place in its own way to hide, at least while they were on
foot and there was no immediate pursuit. Walking along it reminded him of how
large the city was. Tens of thousands of people dwelt here, and if they were
somber at the inn, they were less so here. And yet he still caught an
undercurrent of fear that he had never seen before. Some of the shops were
closed and boarded up. Fire had reduced others to dilapidated shells, and
private guards stood watch in front of the homes and shops of the wealthy.

At that moment, Lanrik stopped dead in his
tracks. To the right, a once-grand building smoldered. Smoke curled up from the
ends of several long beams of blackened timber, and the smell of wet ash made
the air acrid. What once was a two-story house, with elaborate balconies and a
plastered portico, was now a ruin of cracked bricks and collapsed roof tiles.

“What is it?” Erlissa asked.

“It’s burnt down,” Lanrik said softly.

“I’ve seen several others like that,” she
replied.

“Yes, I saw them too. But this was a
Raithlin home. I knew the five men who lived here. They rented the house from a
nobleman.”

“Do you think Ebona did it?”

“Who else? She hates us.”

Erlissa frowned. “I know that she hates
the two of us. We’ve given her plenty of reasons. By why does she hate the
Raithlin so much?”

“We have skills. Skills that can be used
against her.” He thought about it a bit more. “Also, I suspect that it’s
because we stand for everything that she hates. We’re an old organization. We
date back to Conhain himself, and if the stories are true we were devoted to
him. She wouldn’t have liked us then, and she sees us now as a rally point for
the people, for we represent the things that Esgallien admires the most. She
would want to ensure that no Raithlin lived who could rouse the people to fight
her.”

They moved on, their mood somber now,
until they passed the middle of the city. The ground sloped upward slightly,
and they soon came to the Merenloth. It stood on the left side of the Hainer
Lon. Massive columns of carved granite flanked its entrance. Beyond, were
hundreds of curved rows of stone benches terraced into the slope overlooking
the stage. Thousands of people could sit here, and see and hear every movement
and word of the performers.

A large crowd gathered inside now. The
Merenloth was not full, but nearly so. Behind the stage the large surface of a
many-storied building threw back the voice of the current speaker onto the
crowd. Even as Lanrik and Erlissa stood at the entrance, they caught the words
of an ancient lay telling of the Halathrin and their struggles against elugs
and other enemies in the years predating the founding of Esgallien.

Lanrik did not know the performer. It was
not Bragga Mor, nor could he be seen anywhere, but there were dozens of men
seated on special benches near the stage, several of them wearing the
distinctive many-colored cloak of the bards, and he could easily be among that
group.

Lanrik and Erlissa passed inside. It was
warm here, the heat from many people filling the amphitheater, and yet it was
eerily quiet, for Esgalliens considered it rude to speak when a performer was
on the stage.

The bard finished, and his words echoed
back into the crowd from the brickwork behind him. It remained quiet for a
moment longer, and then a loud applause rose and swelled strangely in the
Merenloth.

The clapping died down, and then another
man took the stage. He wore the simple white robes and customary oak-leaf
brooch that Esgallien’s philosophers favored.

Lanrik held Erlissa’s hand. The crowd was
thick as they worked their way down a long aisle between rows of stone benches.
They could get no closer than the top level of seats, high above the stage.

The philosopher was a good way below them,
and yet they saw and heard him clearly. He had started to speak. His voice was
soft, but buoyed and magnified by the Merenloth, it rang with quiet surety.

“People of Esgallien,” he said. “These are
troubled times. And in such days, there are few who give better counsel than
the wise old men and women who have seen turmoil before and passed into calm
again. These oldsters know how the bad days begin. And how they end.” He
paused. “I speak to you now not as a philosopher, but as a messenger, for I
have spent much time listening to our grandfathers and grandmothers, and I will
report their words to you now.”

The man spoke fluently. Everyone listened,
and a deep hush fell over the crowd. Yet in that moment of perfect quiet,
Lanrik saw something that he did not like. There were Royal Guards near the
stage. He did not think they were looking for him. They were seated, stony
faced and straight backed, on their benches. He realized that there must be
twenty of them, and their expressions worried him. They looked void of emotion,
their eyes staring and their mouths clamped into tight lines.

The speaker paid them no heed. “The
oldsters tell me that there are beautiful women. Smart women. Kindhearted
women. And, for myself, I do not doubt that most husbands here know their wives
are all three.”

This brought a chuckle from the crowd, but
when the philosopher continued, his voice carried a new note.

“The oldsters also tell me that there is
yet one more type. The beautiful one. The one with skin that glows and eyes
that shine and a voice that makes a man want to sing. But for all her beauty,
there is darkness in her heart. It is a cold thing, heavy with malice. It beats
to the rhythm of wickedness. Trouble, suffering and woe are its lifeblood.”

The crowd stirred, but remained deathly
silent. They knew of whom he spoke, and so too did the Royal Guards. One by
one, they stood.

The speaker did not look at them. “We have
one such among us. Her name is Ebona. And she is as wicked as she is
beautiful.”

“Enough!” yelled one of the guards.

The philosopher turned to him.

“Can the truth no longer be voiced in
Esgallien?”

The guard drew his sword. “See this blade?
It’s the only truth that I know. And its word is final.”

“Will you kill me then, just for
speaking?”

The crowd, quiet until then, began to
stir. There was anger in their sudden shouts.

One voice rose above them all, though
Lanrik could not see him.

“Let him speak!” the voice said. Others
took up the call, until it became a chant and the Merenloth thrummed with it.

Let him speak! Let him speak. Let him
speak!

The guard looked around, doubt and
surprise on his face. He spoke quickly to his comrades, and then they all drew
their blades.

The guard, resolved now to act, stepped
toward the philosopher, and the other guards faced the crowd.

The philosopher stood still. Whether in
fear, disbelief, or defiance, Lanrik could not tell. Too late he moved, trying
to step back as the guard darted toward him. The long sword ran him through in
one quick motion.

The guard withdrew the blade, and when he
did so the philosopher reeled away, blood staining his white robes, while red
drops dripped from the still raised blade.

The philosopher fell to his knees. His
hands clamped tight against the wound. He did not utter a sound, and remained
that way for several seconds. Then the life went from him. He dropped to the
ground and lay still.

The crowd, for a moment shocked and
silent, suddenly began to scream. Some made for the exit; some edged closer to
the guards. But the guards began to swing their swords in a defensive motion,
and moved forward themselves.

The crowd backed off. Everything was in a
state of flux, and then the momentum shifted. Now, the crowd just wanted to get
out of the Merenloth.

Lanrik watched in horror. He had never
seen anything like it before, nor even heard of it. The Merenloth had always
been a place where people freely spoke their beliefs. Arguments were common,
but violence, especially a killing, was unthinkable. He knew things were bad
under the influence of Ebona, but to see something so callous with his own eyes
was shocking.

He broke out of his stupor and took hold
of Erlissa’s arm.

“Let’s go!” he said.

She did not need any convincing. Nor was
there much choice. The crowd was moving. It flowed like a great river and
rushed out between the pillars at the exit like a fountain. They were swept up
within it.

Erlissa nudged him. “There!” she said. She
pointed to a tall figure ahead in the crowd.

Lanrik did not know what she meant at
first, but then he saw what she had seen. Bragga Mor was ahead of them. His
face was red, and his expression thunderous. He was clearly in a rage at the
turn of events, and yet even he, influential as he was, dared not stay. He must
flee with the rest of the crowd.