About midday, the road, still running nearly perfectly straight toward the east, came out of the forest and into the outlying farms and fields that surrounded a seaside town. As in Candar, the structures in this town were constructed entirely of wood. A half-mile out from the beach, however, there was an enormous breakwater, and this structure was comprised of stone. Massive and impressive, it curved away from the shore before doubling back upon itself, leaving a narrow passage inward from the sea and creating a calm, protected harbor upon what was essentially a straight shoreline.
Matibar looked over at Aram. “This is Tollumi. It is a new city, with a new name. It was rebuilt because trade with the west has increased these last few years, despite the Eldest’s unease. The old city – the city of stone – was named Sontari.” He pointed out at the wide, curving breakwater. “Sontari is there – we saw no advantage in wasting the stone.”
As the column entered the town, and the buildings grew tall, crowding in upon either side of the thoroughfare, they came to a crossroads where an intersecting street ran toward the waterfront. There was a ship at rest in the harbor, and a crowd of people upon the docks lining the quayside. Matibar straightened suddenly and looked at Aram.
“We need to stop,” he said.
Aram nodded. “Speak to Yvan and he will stop.”
As the column came to a halt, a muscular young man with hair the color of ripened wheat above a broad, congenial face separated himself from the crowd. He stepped toward the mounted group and halted ten yards away, gazing at them with wonder and delight. Raising his voice, he called to Matibar.
“What in heaven’s name is all this, Captain?”
Matibar raised his hand in greeting and slid to the ground. “These are horses, Andar. And this –” He indicated Aram “– is Lord Aram, from a land far to the west. He seeks an audience with your father. He it is that slew Burkhed last summer upon the docks at Durck,” he added.
“Indeed?” The fair-haired young man’s expression of delight widened into an open, friendly smile. “We dealt with that monster but a few times. He needed killing, sir. I’m glad it was done.” Without waiting for a reply, he waved a hand, indicating the horses. “Can I ride one of these things?”
Despite the fact that he instinctively liked this affable young man, Aram found himself once again offended on behalf of his friends. “These ‘things’, as you call them, are horses, one of the noble peoples of the earth,” he answered, perhaps a bit harshly. He turned to look at Florm, bearing Edwar. “This noble person, in fact, is Lord Florm, the lord of all horses. If you ask him politely, he may forgive your crudeness, and grant your wish, but it will be up to him, not to me or any other.”
Matibar started and frowned at the rough way that Aram spoke to the son of his governor, but Andar’s smile did not diminish as he turned to gaze at Florm. “They – talk?” He held up a hand and forced his features into a semblance of seriousness. “Please, believe me – Lord Aram, is it? – I meant no offense, but, really, this is quite a thing, unheard of, certainly unexpected.”
The young heir of Seneca was anything if not quick. He came close to Florm and bowed. “Forgive me, my lord, but might I be allowed the great and fine experience that has been granted to my stern and serious captain?”
Florm could not resist Andar’s effusive personality either. He laughed. Andar’s eyes widened in wonder and delight as Florm’s deep, rumbling tones sounded through the chambers of his mind.
“I can hear you! –” The young man tapped his forehead, “– in here!”
“Of course you can hear me. Why would it be otherwise?”
Staring at the ancient black horse in amazement, Andar spoke to Matibar. “What a marvelous thing you have brought here, Captain!”
Grinning slightly at the good humor of the Eldest’s son, Matibar turned and pointed at Aram, still astride Thaniel. “I did not bring these wonders into Seneca – it was this man.”
Tearing his astonished gaze away from Florm, Andar looked up at Aram. “Who are you, sir?”
Florm stepped forward, lowering his head to the level of Andar’s. “He is the heir of Joktan, the friend of Felspar of Seneca. Does either of these names mean aught to you?”
Andar stared at Aram a moment longer and then frowned at the horse. “I have heard them both. But you speak of a time so long past that the reference is meaningless.”
“Meaningless?” Florm snorted. “You willingly speak so lightly of Seneca’s greatest prince and its honored past?”
For the first time, Andar’s face lost its expression of open friendliness, and his features clouded. “We are taught otherwise. Our histories say that Felspar was doomed by his pride, as were our ancestors.”
“I have already been made aware of this nonsense,” Florm answered bluntly, “from Matibar here. But I notice that both he and you do not say that you believe it – only that you “are taught” and that your ‘histories say’.” The old horse gazed into Andar’s eyes. “You apparently possess a mind that is both bright and clever. So, tell me – what do you believe?”
Andar gazed back somberly for a few moments, and then the serious bent of his attitude evaporated and he grinned. “I believe this – that I am talking with a beast – sorry, a horse. How amazing is that?”
Florm turned his head and looked at Aram, who shrugged and said. “We desire an audience with Pindar, the Eldest. I gather that he is your father?”
Andar became abruptly somber again. “To what end do you seek an audience with my father?”
Aram decided on candor. “I seek allies for the fight against Manon the Grim, that you name the Scourge – he that ravaged Seneca in ancient times.”
“You are at war with the Scourge?” Andar asked this question in a flat tone, as if he did not find the idea surprising.
“I am.”
Andar nodded. “We hear things. Well, sir, you may have your audience, though I doubt you will find it satisfactory.”
“Matibar stated this with equal certainty. Might I ask why you say it?”
Andar pivoted and glanced out at the ship lying at anchor in the harbor, and then turned back to Aram. His eyes, for the first time since their meeting, were unquestionably serious. “You must understand, my lord, that for many, many years – indeed, for time out of mind – the people of Seneca thought themselves alone, the last people on earth, except for the Farlongers, of course. Our histories and our beliefs made sense, and seemed justified, because except for occasional troubles along the eastern border, we lived in peace, quietness, and relative prosperity.”
He turned away again and looked out across the water at the ship and spoke to Aram over his shoulder, as if by doing so, he could at least partially avoid something unpleasant. “But then, in my father’s first years as Eldest, men came from the west in ships, and we found that we were not alone, that the world was big, and there were many others in it.” He sighed. “Those of us who will listen –” Here he angled his head and looked at Matibar “– and there are not a few of us – have come to understand that the world beyond our borders is troubled, and that there is a great struggle ongoing in the resistance of evil.”
Falling silent, he watched the ship bobbing on the surface for a moment longer and then turned to face them. The young Senecan let his gaze rove over the group, examining each in turn, hesitating as it fell upon Ka’en, and then came to rest on Aram. “I am not surprised that you have come.”
Aram’s ear caught the unspoken caveat, and he waited silently for Andar to speak it aloud.
Andar drew in a deep breath, expelling it slowly. Moving his hand across his body, he indicated an invisible, arcing line. “My father is a bridge, of sorts, though I doubt that he knows this. His life spans the gap from the age when we were ignorant of the world to the new age, when we know better. You see, we have heard many versions of the ancient times, when the world convulsed, and almost none of them square with our own.” Here, he shot a look of significance at Matibar. “There
are some of us who doubt the old beliefs – about the evils of living among stone, and all that. But we are few, we are young, and except for me, none sit on the council. And the old men of the council still hold tightly to the old ways.”
He looked plainly at Aram. “So, you see, my lord, I doubt that your presence, or your words, will move Seneca towards the action you desire.” Meeting Florm’s eyes again, he grinned. “Nonetheless, if one of those horses that lack a rider will consent to bear me, I will gladly take you to my father.”
Florm chuckled. “The Lady Ashal bears no one, but Jerba is free, and he is strong and fast.”
Andar’s face lit up. “Give me a few minutes to convey instructions as to the cargo of that ship and I will join you.”
Andar was not as readily at ease astride a horse as Matibar had been, but he was a willing spirit. They went slowly on toward the east while he became familiar with this newly acquired ability. The sun had slipped past midday when the company came to another seaside habitation, this little more than a fishing village, and then the road turned sharply north, into higher ground and even thicker forest. The trees grew broad and tall, and when they came upon another village, the fields that surrounded it appeared to cringe in fear before the gloominess of the deep woods.
An hour or so later, they came out onto the top of a broad, flat-topped ridge, paved with massive stones, with a wide, level avenue that ran to the left and right, ending in huge, pillared buildings, also of stone, obviously ancient but still intact.
As Aram examined the enormous stone constructions, and then looked quizzically at Andar, the young man shrugged. “They are too big to move,” he stated simply, “and no one lives nearby.”
From the top of this ridge, they could see into the north, into the broad valley of Seneca, covered with trees that Aram had looked upon long ago from the heights of Kelven’s mountain. Gazing into the far north, Aram could just make out the faint ghost of that massive mound, barely glimpsed from the corner of his eye.
Throughout the afternoon, the road stayed mainly true to its northerly tangent, but then, as the sun slid toward the western horizon, angled slightly eastward, toward a section of higher ground that could be seen from the occasional open ridges. They crossed several wide, gently-flowing rivers, over arched, wooden bridges that like everything else in this land, whether of wood or of stone, were remarkably well-constructed.
They began to pass through more villages, and even a few towns, where the forest had been pushed back to make room for fields. Then, as the sun sank into the west, and its orange light filtered through the dappled canopy, they came out once again into a wide, open area, and saw Mulbar.
The city sat on the crest of a low but very broad hilltop. There were many buildings of more than two stories – some with four or five or more. The roofs and gables of one in particular, at the city’s very heart, rose up into the majestic crowns of a small forest, of which this building had obviously been designed to appear a part. The city’s rather impressive environs ended abruptly where the angled ground leveled out into the surrounding fields, but there was no wall or gate. It was true what he’d been told, Aram realized – this land had known no war in ages. Little wonder, then, that its inhabitants could imagine nothing but peace.
Andar, who had carried on an almost endless conversation with Jerba and Florm throughout the afternoon, reveling in the newness of it all, looked over at Aram. “The common house is on this edge of the city, my lord. Matibar will see you settled while I go to my father.” At the sound of his own words, the young man’s expression became decidedly sober. “I have no doubt that he will attend you in the morning – albeit reluctantly – and I will call back for you then.”
“The horses need food,” Matibar told him. “Grasses and water.”
Andar looked around. “There is plenty of water in the ditches, if that will suffice, and wild grass grows often between the fields.” Turning from Matibar to look over at Florm, he asked, “Will this serve your needs, Lord Florm?”
Florm laughed. “Yes, it will suffice, my young friend. And we will do our best not to disturb the crops.”
Andar waved this off. “Eat them if they suit your tastes.”
“No, there will be none of that,” the old horse answered. “Grass will be fine, and you are correct, there is an abundance of it.”
The young heir left them at the common house, which was as large, and nearly as sumptuous in its own way as the Silver Arms in Condon. It was also fully staffed, and there were other guests who could not but stare in some astonishment at the strangers who had come into their midst. Matibar settled them all in rooms, showing Aram and Ka’en into a spacious, well-appointed apartment that looked south. Gazing around at the fine state of things when Matibar left, Aram smiled ruefully at his wife.
“I didn’t know that we were so poor,” he said, “or that everyone else was so rich.”
Ka’en shook her head. “Better off, maybe, but not richer. Treasure comes from things other than pleasant rooms in fine houses.”
Aram’s thought’s went to the rectangular space beneath the sarcophagus inside the pyramid at Rigar Pyrannis, and his eyes twinkled. “Such as many, many monarchs?” He suggested.
But Ka’en was in a serious mood and ignored the jest. “Such as fullness of the heart,” she replied.
43
In the morning, they shared a cup of kolfa – which had only recently become known but was evidently well appreciated in Seneca – with Findaen and the others in the common room, a broad area used for dining with a very high, beamed ceiling supported by carved pillars. After breakfast, before they were deep into conversation, Andar swept in, accompanied by a cadre of men dressed in fine robes. His smile was ready and wide.
“Good morning, my lords, and my lady,” he stated effusively, and then without further preamble looked at Aram. “My father will see you at once, if you are so inclined.”
Aram stood, gazing at him in surprise. “Now?”
“If you like, yes.” His smile gave way to a frown of concern. “Have you breakfasted?”
“I have.”
Andar’s frown deepened. “One thing, my lord.”
Aram looked at him and waited. Andar’s gaze flicked upward, to the hilt of the sword rising above Aram’s shoulder.
“I apologize for any offense,” Andar said in tones of genuine regret, “but you cannot come into the presence of the council armed.”
Stung by sudden disappointment, Aram nonetheless shook his head. “This sword cannot leave my presence, nor can I lay it aside. It cannot be wielded – or even touched – by another.” He picked up the gauntlets from the table. “And even I cannot touch it without the protection of these. If it does not go with me, then I cannot meet with the council.”
Andar stared at the weapon. “I confess that I have felt its power – indeed, I feel it now. What is this thing, Lord Aram?”
Aram hesitated only a moment. “It is an ancient heirloom of my family.”
“And you will not go into the council without it?”
“I cannot.” Fighting down bitter chagrin, Aram glanced at Ka’en, and remembered his thoughts when he and Thaniel had stood before the walls of Lamont. “Perhaps the Lady Ka’en might go in my place?”
Andar looked at Ka’en thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. “The voices of women are respected in Seneca; but I believe that my father will want to see you, Lord Aram.”
Aram shook his head, his disappointment deepening. “Then I have come all this way for nothing. The sword cannot leave my possession, not even for a moment.”
“I cannot imagine such a burden,” Andar answered somberly, gazing at the hilt of the weapon. Then, abruptly, he brightened. “Did you not say that you cannot wield it without the use of the gauntlets?”
Aram looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “I cannot.”
Andar spread his hands. “There, perhaps, is our answer. Will you at least allow another – say Matibar here – the posses
sion of them until your business with the council is complete?”
Aram thought it over. Without the gauntlets, the sword, while safe, was unusable. Still, Matibar had already impressed him as a man of integrity, whose words and actions might be trusted. After a moment, he nodded. “If this is acceptable to you father, then it is to me as well.”
Andar beamed with relief. “I will explain this matter to the council. I am hopeful that this remedy will be found acceptable.”
He returned about an hour later, explaining that, while there had at first been reluctance, even rejection, he had convinced them of the wisdom of the agreement – with one stipulation. Matibar would take temporary possession of the gauntlets, but he and one other man, selected by the council, would also be armed and at the ready. Aram had no objection to this and gave the gauntlets into Matibar’s possession. Andar stepped aside, sweeping his hand out wide.
“Shall we go up, then?”
The center of the city, crowned by a palatial structure surrounded by trees, seemed to tower above them, but the perspective was deceptive. Though it was in fact higher, the distance up through the city was so great that while the road did indeed rise along a straight tangent, the angle was actually quite gentle. Striding up along the street flooded with bright sunshine, Aram abruptly hesitated and turned to Andar.
“What about Lord Florm – and Thaniel?”
Andar gazed back at him without understanding.
Aram shook his head. “This meeting with the council is too important not to benefit from the presence of the Lord of all Horses. Besides, he was alive during the time of Seneca’s troubles. If I am to have any hope of convincing the council of the rightness of my need, I prefer that he, at least, be present.”
Andar raised his eyebrows, as if suddenly inspired. “Yes, Lord Aram! I see the wisdom of this. My father is old, opinionated, and irascible – but Lord Florm is even more so. He would be an asset to any discussion.” He smiled ruefully and turning back, indicated the common house. “Will you and your companions consent to wait again and perhaps have further refreshments while I bring this matter to the council’s attention?”
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 47
