Defiant Swords (Durlindrath #2) by Robert Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

again. It was primal fear given voice, unfettered by thought or hope or
restraint. Other cities had heard it, other cities that had fallen before the
enemy. But they had not fallen without a fight; they had not gone willingly under the shadow, and nor would Gilhain.
    Without word or gesture or haste, the king drew his sword.
He stepped forward to attack, and men followed him. It was no longer about hope
of victory; it was about fighting an enemy, about never surrendering to an opponent. Blades would not work. Lòhrengai would not work.
But that did not mean he would not try to the last, and there was a victory in
that worth more than life. It was life, for nothing else mattered in the
end.
    The great sword of the king hacked and slashed. The soldiers
near him did the same. Yet for all their effort they were like men hewing at a
mighty oak with paper axes: the scales of the serpent were too thick and the
blows were as nothing.
    The massive coils of the serpent rose above the king. The
queen now leaped to his side, stabbing with a knife,
and the shadow of the creature fell over them. Whether by accident, the
intelligence of the creature, or the design of the elùgroths who had summoned
it, the coils crashed down seeking to crush them both.
    But the Durlin were there. In a last great effort they flung
themselves forward, some to attack the creature with pikes, others to pull back
the king and queen to safety. Some died beneath the toppling coils, crushed and
broken, but the king and queen were saved, the pikes holding back the weight of
the monster for just a moment before they slipped away beneath its vast bulk.
    More stone popped, and powdery dust filled the air. Rubble fell. The foundations of the
Cardurleth shook. The coils gripped ever tighter, yet no one fled.
    Gilhain stumbled back. This was it. This was the fall of
Cardoroth. He was powerless to stop it, and the prophecy of old, the
foretelling of destruction that had come down through the long years was
correct: the city would fall in red fire and blood.
    Cold fear stabbed him. Despair smothered him. His own life
would soon end also, and that of his wife. Ruin would take them all.
    He held out a hand to Aurellin, and she took it. They did
not speak. No words were necessary. All that mattered was that they would be
together when the end came.
    He drew his gaze away from the person he loved most in the
world, and looked to Aranloth. He would say goodbye to one of his great
friends. But the lòhren did not look at him. Instead, he strode forth.
    Aranloth lifted his arms high, and there was a look of such
determination on his face that the king’s heart skipped a beat. The lòhren
would not yield. His was a will beyond a normal man’s; a will honed and
strengthened by forgotten ages. He was like a force of nature, and his heart’s
beat was one with the life of the land that he had wandered for years beyond
count.
    The lòhren spoke no word. He gave no sign. And yet every
other lòhren along the rampart instantly looked at him. Something passed
between them, between the students and the master. If it were possible, the
expression on his face of iron-hard will strengthened further. It was a will
that had seen ages of men come and pass. He was a thing of the land
itself – old as the hills, bearing a burden of time and change even
as did they. And he had learned
a thing or two in that time. He had survived.
    Gilhain watched, awed and puzzled. What would the man he
dared to call a friend do?

7. The Flicking Wings
of a Hawk
     
     
    “You cannot tempt me,” Brand said. “I want neither realms
nor armies. I want nothing you offer. Stand aside. You have no claim on the
staff.”
    The witch smiled at him sweetly. Her
glance was long and keen and intimate. With a sudden stab he knew that he
wished to see that same look on the real Kareste.
    “Begone!” he said.
    She tossed her ash-blond hair. “In life you often get what
you don’t want, though few say no to realms or