Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) (9 page)

The enemy horde moaned. Their drums ceased to beat and
Gilhain yelled in a high, clear voice.
Cardoroth
!

For Brand the days passed in a strange blend of ease and
tension.

He enjoyed riding with Kareste, but he did not appreciate
the feeling of pursuit. Without doubt, the witch was around. If she was as old
as she claimed, she would have learned patience if nothing else. He often felt
that pinprick tightening of skin on his back that crawled to the top of his
scalp – that uneasy sensation of being watched. She was around, and
she was
waiting
,
and
she
would
bide
her
time.

He was confident however that she would not try
anything
for a while. She did not
disturb them, and she made no overt threat. But her presence was a palpable, if
remote thing, and he did not like it. It took away from the sense of
comradeship that he had with Kareste: that it was just the two of them alone in
the wild and beautiful lands of Alithoras.

It was still a peaceful time though, all the more so for the
fact that trouble lay ahead. He wanted it to last, to continue and to allow his
bond with her to grow, but it would
not
last. Durletha would make
another attempt on the staff. Khamdar was likely enough still alive. And ahead
of them lay a trial to try
to
free
the Halathrin warriors transformed into fell beasts by dark sorcery.

Each of these things was a challenge on its own that might
test them to their limits and defeat them. Together, just surviving seemed an
unreachable goal. And behind them all lay Cardoroth and Brand’s quest to save
it. It felt as though the sky had filled with an ocean of dark water that was
about to inundate him forever and draw him into its blackness.

Brand shrugged to himself as he rode. His mistake was to
think of these things all together, but in truth they must be broken down and
faced one step at a time. Even the greatest challenges could be tackled that
way. And right now the only step he needed to concern himself with was finding
the
Great North Road and the ford
that led across the Carist Nien and back into the north of Alithoras.

The river was close by on the right. The long green grass
nearby bent low at the touch of a warm wind, and perspiration beaded his face.
The river, beyond the band of trees that lined its bank, was a silver ribbon.
Long they had followed it, yet they had seen neither its source nor its end.
Alithoras was vast, and even Brand, who had seen more than most, realized that
what he had seen so far was like a single sand grain on the shores of Lake
Alithorin.

“We’re getting close,” Kareste said.

“How far do you think the witch will follow us?”

Kareste flicked the end of her reins at a fly that kept
trying to land on her hand.

“What do
you
think?”

“Well, I guess I know the answer. But I was hoping you’d
prove me wrong.”

She grinned at him, catching his little barb. “I can be a
bit like that.”

In truth, he had no hope at all that Durletha would ever
give up, but he knew so little about her.

“Is she really as old as she claimed?”

Kareste frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t really know much about
her, but there’s mention of her in the lore of the lòhrens.”

She seemed to consider this as she rode, reaching back in
thought or memory to something learned long ago.

“She probably told the truth about her age, but there are
others beside her. She’s not the only creature of magic that wanders Alithoras,
or abides in remote and secret places. There are many powers besides lòhrens
and elùgroths, some older and some younger. Some are aligned to the Light, and
some to the Shadow, but most stay hidden and pursue their own goals. Some are
quite strange, but they do us no harm.”

“The world is a strange place,” he said.

“Truly,” she agreed. She became thoughtful then, and after a
few moments chanted
softly
:

Many things lie

Beneath the sky

Beyond the ken

Of mortal men.

Brand looked at her quizzically.

“It’s an old rhyme of lòhren lore,” she explained. “There
are many such snatches of verse, and there’s truth embedded in them.”

Not long after they came to the Great North Road. Brand
still thought about what she had said of the other powers in
Alithoras
,
and
he wondered
yet
again
what
her
final
allegiance would be,
to the Light or to the Shadow. He did not really believe in anything in
between. And then he began to question himself as he had done ever since they
escaped the tombs of the Letharn: was he right not to try to talk to her and
influence her decision?

As always, he came to the same conclusion – it was
better not to. His best option was to lead by example, if he could. Actions
spoke louder than words, and people had a habit of doing the opposite of
whatever someone tried to talk them into.

They neared the
ford
where
the
road
crossed
the
river. The sun-bleached sky was pale, yet he saw a speck
wheeling far away and high up. He had the feeling it was a hawk, that it was
Durletha, though of that he could not be sure. It was nothing more than
intuition. But Kareste had become subdued, and he guessed that she sensed the
same thing that he did.

The rush and gurgle of the ford was loud.

“I’m not sure that I want to cross here,” he said.

“Nor I. Yet there’s nowhere else.”

That was true, but it did not mean that he had to like it.

They moved ahead warily. Here, the trees that usually banded
the river gave way to
deep
drifts
of sand
and
to
coarse
gravel.
And there were boulders and hollowed out pits where rushing water had
gouged
the
ground. It was all in the open, and yet there were many places that people
could hide.

The mighty river was wide here, so wide that the far bank
seemed a long way away, and yet the frothy water flowed and bubbled as though
the riverbed were only a foot or so below its sun-glinting surface. But closer
than the far bank, perhaps half way across, was a little island of sand and
driftwood. The Great North Road ran straight and true, and there were signs of
it even on the island.  

Brand was in no hurry. He waited and watched, and Kareste
did the same beside him. His feeling of unease grew, though he saw no sign of
anything disturbing.

The silence built. The only sound was that of the river, and
far away the high-pitched call of the wheeling hawk. Insects flickered through
the humid air, drawn to the water, and a fish leaped high and quick in search
of a
meal
, and then dropped back with a splash into the
river.

Eventually, there was movement. A man emerged from behind
one of the boulders halfway down the slope to the river’s edge.

The man was scar faced and grim. He was tall, his black hair
long and lank. His clothes seemed strange, a patchwork of items gathered here
and there, none of them clean. A sword was belted at his side, and there was a
lump here and there in his clothing where other weapons were likely hidden.
Beneath thick brows his eyes were narrow and dark. Brand read meanness there,
or worse, but the man tried to mask his natural features with a pretense of
friendliness.

“Well met, fellow travelers.”

Brand inclined his head slightly, but he did not take his
eyes off the man.

“Hello,” he said in a voice that was friendly but not
especially encouraging of further conversation.

“Where are you going?”

“Just passing through,” Brand answered. He was attempting to
be as short as he possibly could without being rude. He did not wish to start
anything here, but he knew that the choice of that was not likely going to be
his.

The man showed a flicker of irritation, but he soon covered
it. His strategy, and Brand
knew
it was a strategy, was to lull
suspicion by friendly talk. He was not alone. Others remained hidden, and there
was going to be trouble.

“Perhaps you have some food to share with someone who hasn’t
eaten in days?” The man
said
awkwardly. He had been
forced to come to the point more quickly than he wished. 

Brand had seen the starved and the hungry before. Faces came
to him out of the past, before he had come to Cardoroth. This man was neither
of those things. Still, generosity was never a bad thing, and he would do
whatever could be done to avoid a fight.

“A little,” he answered, with a quick warning look to
Kareste. “We’re willing to share what we have.”

“Then come down by the river,” Scarface said. “It’s cool near
the water.”

There was a pause, and Brand made no move. “Come up and join
us.”

Scarface did not answer. There was a longer pause this time,
and his expression slowly changed. The pretense of friendliness dropped away as
he realized that he had not fooled the two travelers.

“Come out, boys,” he said over his shoulder. “They’re on to
us. Not that it’ll help them.”

Men came out of their hiding spots. Some were concealed in
the declivities; some behind boulders. Several even emerged from the water.
They would have been set there as a last resort in case the riders sped through
before any trap could be properly sprung.

Brand noted that some of the men
did
indeed look
hungry. But not Scarface, nor those who came to stand closest to him. Some were
well armed and dressed, but he was pleased that none carried bows.

Scarface spoke when his men had gathered around him.

“It’s food we want, but we’ll take everything else as well.”
His grin turned to a leer when he looked at Kareste.

Brand wondered what the man would think if he knew of the
massive diamond that was stashed away in one of his saddlebags. It was a kingly
gift from Gilhain; and a gift that Brand had no intention of losing to the
likes of Scarface and his men. Yet he and Kareste must cross the ford.

In the silence that ensued, Scarface spoke again. “Most
especially, I like your helm and sword.”

Brand looked at him coolly. When he answered, his voice was
neutral. He did not wish to provoke anything here if it could be avoided.

“Both those items come at a high price.”

Scarface laughed. “I have men enough to help me pay. More
than enough.”

Brand studied them with a casual glance. “No, you don’t.”

The carnyx horns sang their unearthly song. It ran through
Gilhain’s blood and made him feel young again. The retreat of the enemy buoyed
him, and he held Aurellin’s hand. It was good to be alive, and though there
could be no such thing as winning the war against an enemy that overpowered
them, no one and nobody could take away this victory, no matter that it would
be short lived.

He felt a sense of overwhelming love. Aurellin’s hand in his
felt warm and soft, and it was a bridge for the love that existed between them.
They needed no words, no glance, and in truth did not even need to hold hands
to express their feeling for each other. Gilhain felt it in the very air around
him just by her presence, and he knew that she felt the same. But it was still
nice to hold hands.

“They’ll come again. And soon,” she said softly.

“I know,” he answered. “I would do the same in their
position. They cannot let their troops ponder the defeat of the lethrin for
long – that would sap morale. They must now throw everything they can
against us to distract their own from defeat, and to show us that no matter how
many times we throw them back, they’ll come again. By doing that they’ll sap
our own morale.”

Aurellin nodded. “But is it possible to undermine the morale
of an army that already acknowledges its ultimate defeat, and fights anyway?”

Gilhain considered that. It was a good question. While he
thought, he saw the first movements of the enemy.

“That, we shall soon see,” he replied.

Aurellin did not answer. She watched as did he, as did all
the defenders, while a great wave of elugs came from the horde and surged
toward the wall. Fear came before them, and among them were some of the lethrin
who still lived, shamed by their earlier retreat and eager to regain their
prestige as invincible warriors. But the defenders now knew that they were not,
and fighting was
always
played
out in the mind before ever a blow landed.

The enemy crashed against the wall. The war drums thrashed.
Up the
elugs
climbed
;
down were cast rocks and
spears,
and swift were the
hissing arrows of the archers dispensed.

On came the enemy. Ladders were toppled. Climbing ropes were
severed. But still they came in a seething mass, intent on reaching the top and
destroying all that Gilhain loved.

The enemy
crested
the
Cardurleth
like
a
flood
. Driven by sorcery or fear, compelled by their
masters
, they would not retreat this time. Either they were
killed
, or all would fall beneath their onslaught.

The men met them. Sword crashed against sword. Cries filled
the air. Red blood flowed, and the glint of weapons flashed like a thousand
wicked
suns.

The great maces of the lethrin smashed all before them, but
they were few and the elugs many. Yet the many filled the gaps the few
provided, and together they pushed back the defenders, inch by inch.

There was no respite. There was no mercy. Even in the long
course of the siege there had never been a fight as
this:
desperate beyond desperation, filled with a vicious kill or be killed attitude
that made all else
that
had
gone
before it seem as a game.

The enemy seemed possessed, and well they might be. Gilhain
wished that Aranloth were here, but he was not. A quick glance along the
Cardurleth showed that the lòhrens held back. If this fight was going to be won
by the defenders, force of arms and courage of heart alone would achieve it.

The noise was deafening. Cries of fear and pain melded with
the clash of blades and the tramp of boots. Over and above that the elug war
drums vied with the carnyx horns. The din of it all together was hideous.

But the horror before
Gilhain’s
eyes was worse. The stone was thick with gore. There seemed
to be so much that it looked like the heavens had opened and rained blood. And
through it were severed limbs and dead bodies and the innards of
men
and
elugs
spilled
into the bright sunlight. The slaughterhouse of the Cardurleth was grotesque.

But the smell that assaulted his nose was perhaps even
worse. He retched. The stench was near overpowering, and battle-hardened though
he was, he had not
experienced
its
like before.

Yet beside him Aurellin looked on, her face a mask that hid
her feelings. He
knew
she felt as he did, but there was steel in her.
And whatever she felt she kept
it
in
one part of her mind and allowed another to assess the battle dispassionately.
And so must he.

Things hung in the balance. No battle could long continue at
this ferocity. One side must soon gain the advantage. And the defenders were
being pushed back. More and more elugs came to the wall, and when one fell, two
took its place. Yet the lethrin, now few in number, were not immune to death.
They fell and died, though it took many men to bring them down. While
the
men did this, the elugs gathered about them in their turn
and killed them.

Gilhain wondered what he could do next. Had the time come to
wield his own blade? Could he rally the defenders by joining the fray? Yet
there was risk in that, for the enemy would be drawn to him like moths to a
flame: if they killed him the heart would go out of the defense.

He fingered the hilt of his sword. Then Aurellin put a hand
on his shoulder.

“Wait,” she mouthed, for her voice would not carry above the
screaming mayhem of battle.

He followed her gaze, for though her hand was on his
shoulder she did not look at him. 

A large man caught his eye. He was part of a group that
surged forward against the enemy. But the group was soon hammered down by the
broad sweeps of a lethrin mace and the quick stabs of elugs that darted in and
out, swords flashing, in their massive companion’s wake.

But the man had not fallen. Alone now, and nearly as massive
as the lethrin, he strode forward, his eyes bent on his great adversary with
grim determination.

Gilhain did not know who the man was. He was just an
ordinary soldier. But there was an air to his movements, in the intent look on
his face, that signaled that something extraordinary was about to happen, and
the hair prickled all the way up the back of the king’s neck.

The man threw down his blade. It rang against the stones and
shattered. Hundreds of eyes turned to him, and hundreds more when his mighty
voice boomed out.

“Fight me!” the big man called, and his challenge rose above
the mad din of the battle.

The elugs darted in to kill him, but he shrugged them aside,
his mail protecting him from the worst of their blows.

He went straight for the lethrin. The lethrin raised high
his mace. As a thunderbolt it fell, hurtling through the air, but the big man
was quicker than he looked. With a slight move, only just enough, he stepped to
the side. The mace smashed into the stone and sent chips flying, but the big
man was moving again.

Incredibly, the lone soldier reached out with his meaty
hands and grappled with the lethrin. One hand pinned the arm that held the
mace, the other gripped the creature’s throat like a vice.

There the two of them stood and strained against each other.
The elugs began to land blows against the man, but he ignored them. And then an
archer let fly arrows that sang through the air and stuck in
several
elug throats in the space of two heartbeats.

The elugs hunkered down. The man and the lethrin continued
their struggle alone. The great creature tried to raise his mace, but the man
held his arm pinned with a strength that Gilhain did not think a man could
possess. All the while the breathing of the creature grew labored, and what air
it could get whistled in loud rasping gulps down its throat.

The lethrin hammered his other arm against the man, smashing
his fist into head and body, but the helmet and mail offered some protection,
and grimly the man endured the blows. Soon the lethrin turned instead to trying
to prize away the death grip from his throat, but nothing loosed it.

Eventually, the lethrin dropped the mace. He could not bring
it to bear, but by letting go of its great weight he now had a better chance to
lift up his pinned arm. This he did, slowly but surely, reaching up to try to
break the grip that suffocated him.

But the man, not quite able to match strength for strength,
was not done yet. He swiftly changed his grip, letting go of both throat and
arm, and then in one swift motion he shuffled closer and took the lethrin in a
bear hug.

There the two combatants stood. The man tightened his grip.
The lethrin rained mighty blows upon him with both fists. Bright blood ran from
beneath the soldier’s helmet, and then the helm flew loose from his head
revealing a shock of red hair and a battered face, swollen and cut.

The two of them staggered back and forth beneath the strain
of the forces they brought to bear.

“Watch!” hissed Aurellin.

Gilhain could not have taken his eyes off the scene even if
he had wanted to, but he felt the first inkling of an idea of what would happen
next, just as had she, and time seemed to slow.

The lethrin drove the man back a step, but the man was not beaten.
As he retreated he sunk his weight lower, and then, incredibly, beyond the
anticipation of all but a few, he heaved the lethrin off the ground.

There he stood a moment, his legs near buckling under
enormous strain. The battle all around had ceased and it seemed as though the
struggle between the opposing masses was now centered on the two combatants
alone.

And then the man staggered forward, still holding the
lethrin above the ground, ignoring the blows landed upon him by the desperate
creature. 

He tottered forward, his grip unbreakable, and drove the
lethrin into a section of the battlement wall that was not yet repaired.

The lethrin ceased his useless striking and took the man in
a headlock. For just a moment, as the creature’s arms moved, Gilhain glimpsed
the beaten face of the soldier. It was a bloody mess, and the flesh around the
eyes had swollen so much that Gilhain doubted the man could even see any more.

There the soldier stood for several long moments. The
stonework crumbled. A crack ran through it, and all the while the man not only
held the lethrin up, but also continued to drive forward with his failing
strength.

With a final heave the man pushed the lethrin through the
crumbling wall. He knew what would happen. He knew, and the lethrin soon
realized it. The massive creature screamed, perhaps the first of his normally
silent kind to voice terror atop the walls of a besieged city.

Slowly, surely, inexorably they tumbled over together,
locked in their embrace. The man was silent. The fear-filled below of the
lethrin invoked a sense of sympathy – even among the defenders. But
Gilhain’s thoughts were mostly of the brave soldier, now slipped from sight.
Who was he? Was he married? Where had such courage come from?

But Gilhain knew the battle hung in the balance, and he had
no time for sentimentality. The soldier had chosen his own time to die, now
Gilhain must use that sacrifice to save his people a little longer, for he saw
now how it could be done.

The battle had come to a standstill. Men, elugs and lethrin
stood in shock. Gilhain was the first to act. He signaled quickly for the
carnyx horns to start again – they had fallen silent. But without
waiting he leaped toward the enemy taking all by surprise, even the Durlin who
stood near.

His great sword swung. Blood flowed. Elugs died, and he
cried
Cardoroth!
at every stroke of his blade. The defenders saw their
king smite the enemy, and they followed suite. Courage swelled their hearts,
and dismay fell upon their opponents. They could not believe what they had just
witnessed, and they could not rally.

The defenders drove into them. They pushed them back. The
windrows of dead and dying lay thick on the battlement; the living were caught
between a plunging death behind them and a storm of flashing blades ahead of
them.

The king was not alone. Aurellin was with him, her own short
sword slicing and stabbing, and around them, trying their best to protect them,
were the Durlin.

The white surcoats of the Durlin were stained with blood.
But none of it was theirs. They slew with skill and speed that astonished even
Gilhain, and the enemy fled before them, fighting among themselves to find the
ropes and climb down the battlement to safety.

But the ropes were few, and elugs were climbing up them from
below. None escaped that way. The swords of the defenders cut them down until
none were left save those starting to climb, and these began to turn and flee.

Gilhain looked along the Cardurleth. It was the same
elsewhere. The enemy had been routed once more, and yet it had come at a price.

Men hurled the dead bodies of the elugs over the wall. They
piled down below, burying the serpent. Gilhain wondered if the enemy intended
to build a ramp of their own dead in order to reach the top of the wall. They
had the numbers to do it. But in any civilized war, if there was such a thing,
the besieging army would take away their dead at prearranged times without fear
of being shot by arrows. But the enemy had made no such request of Gilhain.
Rather, their leadership preferred to use the stench as a weapon, hoping to
make the defenders uncomfortable, no matter that it did the same to their own
soldiers and provided a breeding ground for disease.