Blades of the Banished - Robert Ryan Page 0,2
of foes to their camp.
He sat for a moment, undecided. And then he made his choice. Without fire, she would likely die. He would take the risks it brought and be ready, as best he could, for any consequences.
A quick search of the campsite revealed dry grass, brittle twigs and dead bushes. He piled them up carefully, placing the finest material at the bottom and working up to the larger items. The sparks from his tinderbox caught quickly and soon flames sprang to life. He added more material as it burned.
A homely fire flickered in the night before him. It would be visible for miles though, and the dry bushes gave off thick smoke that would travel far through the air.
He rubbed her skin again, keeping her as close to the heat as he could without her clothes catching alight.
She had risked her life just now to help Aranloth, and by lighting the fire to save her, he was risking his own. Aranloth, in his turn, would do the same for either of them. He had proved it in the past. Lanrik shrugged to himself. Those we love the deepest bring us the greatest pain.
The fire smelled good. Color returned to Erlissa’s skin, and her pulse steadied. He let her sleep. She needed rest, both to recover from forcing a vision, something that he had never even seen Aranloth do, and for the dangerous days ahead.
He did not doubt that this last time she had found Aranloth’s exact location. But knowing that was only half of what was needed. Getting him out would be the next part, and from what Erlissa had said, strange though her words were, that sounded even harder than they had guessed. A wedge of elùgroths, including Elù-Randùr, was not only beyond their strength, but also beyond any subterfuge that he could think of.
The night wore on. He dozed fitfully, but kept a careful eye on the horses. Their senses were keener than his own, and they would alert him to the presence of anyone come to investigate the fire. To his relief, they remained quiet.
His gaze lingered frequently on the third horse. It was the embodiment of optimism: they had brought it for Aranloth. But getting the lòhren into its saddle was going to be hard. He had no doubt of that, and likely enough, all three horses would soon acquire new owners.
He pulled his Raithlin cloak tighter and dismissed that line of thinking. There was no future in it. Success never came from dwelling on what could go wrong. That must be acknowledged, but never allowed to dominate.
He saw no way to rescue someone from the midst of sorcerers – but that did not mean that a way did not exist. He would not give up. Aranloth needed him. And Alithoras needed the lòhren. He and Erlissa would find a way to do what they had come for. Or at least, they would devise a plan that maximized their chances of success. Being overly optimistic was just as sure a route to failure as pessimism.
The hours passed. Erlissa continued to sleep, and he allowed the fire to burn down to white ashes. He did not think she needed the warmth anymore.
He woke out of a doze and looked straight to the horses. Their ears were pricked and they seemed agitated. He cursed under his breath but wasted no time drawing his sword. The great blade of Conhain felt good in his grip, and that made him surer of himself.
He listened, but heard nothing.
One of the horses picked at some dry stubble, but the other two remained as they were, heads high and ears swiveling.
Lanrik strained to see beyond the rim of the camp. He detected no movement. Nor could he hear anything. Perhaps the horses had merely caught a scent that they did not like; a wolf or some other nighttime prowler of this foreign land.
On the other hand, the prowlers might be of the two-legged kind: Azan or elugs. This was their home, after all, and though it was a vast and empty place, it was not so forsaken that unfriendly eyes could not have seen the fire.
He stood. Stepping with care, he moved to the perimeter of the camp. He made little noise, but if someone was there, they had likely seen him already.
The night was dark. The sound of the breeze running through the dry seed-heads of the sparse grass smothered whatever slight noises he made.
He could not be sure that