so, other drums answered from afar. Soon many valleys up and down the Graèglin Dennath voiced their own deep-throated song.
Lanrik was in the lead. He stopped and listened before turning back to Aranloth.
“What does that signify? Has the hunt for us begun already?”
“No,” the lòhren said. “At least, if it has begun, the drums are no part of it.” He paused, his expression grim. “You have heard them before.”
Lanrik knew their sound. Once heard they were never forgotten.
“Elug war drums,” he said. “But why beat them now?”
Aranloth continued to look at him. His eyes were deep pools of ancient sorrow, and he made no answer.
Lanrik thought about it, and then the slow realization came.
“They prepare for war. Too long a weak king has sat upon Esgallien’s throne, and strife tears the city apart. Soon the hosts will march against it.”
Aranloth gave a curt nod. “I have seen some of their preparations from the top of the tower. At times the elùgroths would taunt me also, asking how it felt to be trapped while their armies made ready to cross Galenthern and destroy all in their path.”
“Well, we’ll bring back word to Esgallien and warn them,” Lanrik said. “We can travel much faster than their army.”
Aranloth’s expression did not lighten. “Are you forgetting Ebona?”
“I forget nothing about her. But surely, now that she sits upon the throne as queen, it would be as disastrous for her as everyone else if Esgallien fell.”
“Perhaps. It’s hard to know what she wishes. Her mind is ever mysterious.”
“I saw her in Caladhrist,” Erlissa said quietly. “I saw her when she had gathered great power in that ancient place. And having tasted the beginnings of what she could become, she will never turn aside from that desire. I saw a look in her eye that I will never forget. She would become as a goddess – and she would sacrifice every life in Esgallien to achieve it.”
Aranloth looked as somber as Lanrik had ever seen him.
“I fear Erlissa is right. Just as in Conhain’s time, she would cast a net of witchery over whole armies and draw power off the slaughter. She will wax and grow, and care not if Esgallien falls. There are other cities. And who could stop her from usurping their rule?”
“Then we shall stop her first,” Lanrik said, “before that comes to pass. And then we’ll defend Esgallien.”
“Those are two separate tasks, of which neither will prove easy,” Aranloth replied.
Lanrik grinned. “No, they won’t. But we found the Lindrath and brought him out of the city to the safety of Galenthern. That will serve as a good start.”
Aranloth whistled. “Well done! That gives me hope!”
The lòhren considered this new information a moment, and then his eyes narrowed.
“I sense there’s more. Tell me.”
Lanrik slowly drew the sword of Conhain. It glittered palely in the growing light, the faint rays of the new sun running along its length and gathering like golden sparks at its tip.
He tested its weight in his hand and was about to explain what had happened in the tomb when he noticed the lòhren’s expression.
Aranloth sat tall in the saddle. His gaze was bright eyed. It took in all that it saw of the pattern-welded blade, the shimmering edges and the jeweled hilt. There was astonishment on his face, for the sword was a thing crafted with the skill of the Halathrin. No other people could match it. It was a deadly weapon of war, but it was also a work of surpassing beauty, for the immortals crafted everything they made with the deep love and skill that came of life unending.
The lòhren showed more than astonishment: there was recognition too. His eyes widened after the first few moments, and then he gave a final nod. He had seen that blade before. He had seen it in Conhain’s own hand. He had seen the first king of Esgallien draw it and charge, though he was dying, into the battle that birthed the realm. Such a blade could never be forgotten, even if a thousand long years stood between sightings.
“It fits,” Aranloth muttered. “It all fits together. I learned more of the shazrahad sword in the tower. I discovered more of the prophecy infused into its blade, and then many things made sense that had puzzled me before.”
The lòhren looked at him with wise eyes, though there was a certain appraisement there also.
“You are of Conhain’s line. That’s why the shazrahad sword drew enemies and problems about you when you held