Blades of the Banished - Robert Ryan Page 0,57

As he did so, he noticed the lòhrens do the same.

His heart gave a sudden leap. Royal Guards, lòhrens and Raithlin were all forgotten. Something else held his attention and made his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth.

Conhain was there. The great king, mounted on his massive warhorse. No sword was by his side, nor any scabbard. Lanrik was suddenly aware of the weight of the blade in his own hand. And though the king was weaponless, the glint of battle was in his eyes. His horse snorted impatiently.

The east wind blew, cold and chill, and it ruffled Conhain’s ghostly hair. His horse shook its head and the light all about it shimmered.

Aranloth stiffened. “So much for plans,” he whispered to Lanrik. “Our destiny is to ride in the open, rather than to use stealth. The final confrontation comes sooner than expected.”

The lòhren turned to the front. Straight he sat on his horse. His white robes flowed and glimmered about him. He spoke loudly to the Royal Guards.

“Open the gate!” he commanded. “Your king is come to the city!”

For a moment they stood in dismay. Many trembled in fear, and then some bowed while others fled. The captain drew himself up. He looked as though he would defy Aranloth, and then he sagged. Without taking his eyes off Conhain, the man loosed the great bars that held the gate in place and then swung it open. After that, he kneeled and bowed his head. The men left with him did likewise.

Slowly the travelers rode through the way opened to them. No one spoke. The only sound was the clatter of hooves on the cobbles. It echoed back from the confines of the dark tunnel.

They paused as they came out from beneath the shadow of Esgallien’s wall. Sunlight fell upon them again. They were inside the city and upon the Hainer Lon; the Heroes Way as men called it.

Aranloth addressed the Raithlin. “Stealth will no longer serve us. Now, we have a surer road to the palace, though not a safer one. Put on your cloaks. Wear them with pride, for you have earned it. We will all ride now to the palace. And the king, I deem, will come with us.”

Lanrik drew his cloak from the saddlebag and put it on. It felt good. It had been long since he openly declared who he was in this city.

Already eyes were on them, for those citizens going about their ordinary business had stopped to watch. Awe held them in its grip, for they saw Conhain. None could fail to recognize him, and none failed to see the ghostly shimmer of light that fell from him and his otherworldly horse like a mist of water from a fountain.

Aranloth urged his roan forward. The others followed. They moved in a solemn procession along the Hainer Lon.

Lanrik looked back as they rode. Many in the crowd followed them. He saw something else, also. One of the Raithlin drew an object from her saddlebag. It was not her cloak, which she already wore. It was the twisted talnak horn that long ago he had given to the Lindrath after freeing Erlissa from the shazrahad’s tent.

The beaten gold encasing the horn’s mouth glimmered. The two gold bands about it shimmered, and the scrimshaw carved upon its polished surface flickered and twisted like a live thing in the shifting light.

The Lindrath took it. A moment he held it tentatively, and then with sudden conviction he raised it to his lips. The horn sang a long and winding note. It was a challenge that filled the city streets and ran far ahead. But it was more than a challenge. It was also a call to arms. Before the last echoes died off, men and women who had been watching from the side streets joined the growing procession.

Thus did they progress through the city. At whiles the Lindrath blew the horn, and the crowd behind them ever increased. A multitude was now before them also, but it parted and let the company through, and then joined the throng after the riders passed.

So they continued along the Hainer Lon and passed by the great places of the city. The crowd behind them was at first hushed, but after a while some began to sing. They murmured softly in the beginning, snatches of old songs here and there, and then a few voices rose up high and clear and sweet. They settled on an old ballad that recounted the