The Sworn Knight by Robert Ryan (romance book recommendations TXT) 📗

Asana he now saw, as the child he had been when Aranlothfirst met and advised him. Frail he was, and scared of being bullied. There wasgreat anger in him also, but matching all this, even surpassing it, was aspirit of nobility and endurance that befitted his lineage. Was he not of thesame blood that also gave rise to Brand of the Duthenor?

Quickly Asana had prospered, and Aranloth had intervened tohave him taught by the great masters of the Cheng. At first, they had done sogrudgingly and only as a favor for what Aranloth had done for them in the past.But that changed swiftly as the boy grew to a man and his rare skillsblossomed.

Few there were in his youth who could have stood againsthim, and he was better now as a swordsman than he was then, for his was aspirit that found harmony in the blade and ever sought to perfect it. He hadoutstripped all the masters, and his skill was become greater than theirs.There was no one to teach him now, yet still he practiced and increased hisskill each day.

But death would steal him away, too. It nearly had. Dimly,Aranloth beheld the scenes of battle in Danath Elbar. Asana had led thedefense, and he had not fled to avoid the death he thought was coming. Aranlothwas proud of him then, and his friend Kubodin. That little man had more to himthan the others guessed.

Kareste also had been brave, and she was burdened with greatresponsibility. She thought him dead, and she had assumed the task that hadbeen his. Well did he know the weight of that. It was a suffocating feeling,and it would break people of lesser stature than her. But she had endured, andshe could fulfil his role into the future. She had the heart.

But it was of Ferla and Faran that he felt most proud. Theyhad learned, and they had endured, and they had shaped themselves into toolsthat destiny could use. Yet still the chances of the world were against them,for their enemies were strong, and the sorcery that supported the MorlethKnights gave them powers that even lòhrens would fear to face.

Faran and Ferla needed him, and he felt the pull on hisspirit to go to their aid. But he was tired, bereft of strength, and he driftedagain on the dark currents of the void.

Now he saw, as though from a great distance, the marching ofsoldiers through the streets of Faladir, and the sound of their passing was asthunder. Homes were charred, and people lay dead and dying in the street. Thesky burned red with old smoke, and the air was rank with ash and death.

Through the dark skies, creatures of the old world flew, andat times they dipped down low and were lost to sight. Yet still the screamscame to him moments later of some unfortunate soul caught without shelter orunable to defend themselves.

Faladir was become a place of death. It stank of it, andhigh above in the Tower of the Stone a baleful light shone, casting darkshadows across the city, and beyond. The evil there would not cease. City aftercity would be turned into this nightmare, realm after realm until all Alithoraswas the same.

Aranloth drifted again, and mercifully the scene faded. Yet hewondered if it were a vision of the present or of the future. When all thingswere one, it was hard to tell. Perhaps it was neither, and merely a warningsent to him by the land itself, for he felt the sorrow of the Lady of the Land all around him.

Mercifully, no new vision came. This was memory, and he sawhimself now in the cabin by the lake. The others had escaped through thetunnel, and he had intended to follow. But Lindercroft had pressed home hisattack, and the opportunity was lost. Instead, he had collapsed the tunnel,ensuring the others could elude their enemies and he had turned to face themall by himself.

The memory of that was bitter. He was weak from long yearsof toil, and his last battle with the dark creature that had pursued them tothe cabin. But he had fought, and where he could not fight he had used magic toconceal and trick.

The end was the worst though. The cabin had been fired, andLindercroft waited without. Again he had fought, but wounded by magic and swordhe had managed to flee. Yet the enemy pursued him, and well that it was so.

The time Lindercroft spent on that, deeming that if he couldkill Aranloth his standing before the king would rise, helped the othersescape. And several times Lindercroft had caught up to him, sensing victory.But he knew nothing of the death-sleep, and little about the tombs. The memoryof his chagrin as he saw his quarry slip into their protection, and when herealized that it was death to him if he tried to follow, was a picture ofmental anguish.

Lindercroft had been foolish, and driven by pride. He soughtto enhance his reputation rather than fulfil the task given to him. It had beena mistake, but not his worst.

The knight had underestimated Ferla, and she had used thatto her advantage. Their duel Aranloth now saw, and he was proud of her for shehad the heart to seize her destiny. He wanted to be with her, for her quest hadonly begun and she would need help.

But the void called to him. It beckoned like cool water to athirsty man, or sleep to one who was bone-weary. He was too old, too fatigued inspirit to do what must be done. What he needed was not the death-sleep, buttrue death. That alone would carry away his burdens. It was time to leave toil,trouble and regret behind. His thought reached out to Kareste. She must assumehis responsibilities, and she was a fitting replacement for him. She wasgreater than she knew.

Once more he drifted on the currents of magic, and in theabyss the harakgar passed him by and gave him no attention.

2. Seeking Destiny

Faran was alone. The others were inside Danath Elbar,but he was outside and would heed Kareste’s