Handing the missile to its owner, Aram met Matibar’s eyes first and then looked over at Andar, who was gazing at the post open-mouthed. The wood was fully ablaze by this time, with flames reaching into the air above the top of the post. Aram turned back to Matibar.
“A fine weapon indeed, Captain,” he said. “I will miss its presence upon the field in the coming struggles.”
He swept his gaze over the astonished faces of the council and turned away. Taking Ka’en’s arm, he made for the hallway leading out into the town, but at that moment a young man came running out of that hallway and into the grove, dodging around Aram and his companions.
Sliding to a halt before the council, the young man pointed behind him.
“Wolves!” He cried. “Forgive this intrusion, fathers, but there are wolves – hundreds of them – gathered in the edge of the forest, on the north. We have called the people in from the fields. We do not know the meaning of this or what the wolves intend. What should we do?”
Pindar simply stared at the young man in confused consternation, but Aram released Ka’en’s arm and stepped forward. “Nothing,” he answered the man’s question. “You need do nothing. They will harm no one – they are here to speak with me.”
Pindar gazed at him, his eyes hard. “Another danger that you bring upon us, out of our own forests?”
Aram eyed him coolly. “The forest is theirs as much as it is yours,” he said in a quiet, commanding tone. Then, deciding that he’d had enough of this twisted old man, he deliberately turned away from him and addressed Andar instead.
“As I said – they will harm no one. Nor will we. By your leave, I will go and talk with them, and then my company will make ready and leave your land.”
Andar stared back at him for a long moment, and then shrugged and nodded, indicating the exiting hallway with his hand. “As you will, my lord.”
They retrieved the company’s weapons as they left the building in the grove at the top of the hill and made their way down through the town toward the open fields. As they passed by the common house, Wamlak and Ruben turned aside, but Aram spoke sharply. “We’ll retrieve our things later. Everyone stays with me.”
Reaching the fields, Aram found a path leading northward alongside an irrigation ditch and followed it toward the tall, dark forest at the northern edges of the cultivated ground. As they drew near, three familiar shadows resolved themselves out of the gloom beneath the trees – Durlrang, Leorg, and Shingka.
Durlrang fell in beside Aram as Leorg looked up at him with his clever eyes. “How went your meeting, master?”
In reply, Aram shook his head shortly and looked toward the forest. “Who are these people?”
“My kin,” Leorg answered.
Aram looked down at him. “Your mother?”
“She is among them.”
Aram nodded. “Let us meet her, then.”
Beneath the trees, they paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the dim light. After a moment, Aram was able to resolve the shapes of dozens of wolves, sitting and standing among the many thick trunks. For just a moment, the old feelings returned, pulling at the hair on the back of his neck, perhaps because of the nearness of Ka’en. But then he remembered that which Leorg had once told him – that these eastern wolves had never succumbed to the influence of the grim lord.
Leorg and Shingka stood nearby with two other wolves – one similar in size and color to Leorg, and the other a slightly darker shade. Aram could not tell for certain in the dim light, but this wolf’s coat appeared to be yellow, or tan.
Leorg looked up at Aram and then at the wolf standing near him. “My mother, Lord Aram. Her name is Piku.”
Aram inclined his head. “I am pleased to meet you at last.”
Piku regarded him for a moment. “You are the man that slew my mate?”
“I am.” Aram glanced at Leorg, who said nothing. “I am sorry for this. Do you bear me ill will?”
Piku made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “No, Lord Aram, I do not bear you ill will. My mate did not run in straight paths. The influence of the enemy had turned him away from the Maker’s laws and order.” After a moment, she added, almost defensively, “I did not know this when first I mated with him. I have another mate now who is unlike him in every respect.”
At that Leorg stepped forward. “I have a brother, Lord Aram, of whom, until now, I knew not.”
He indicated the tan or yellow-colored wolf standing near him. “This is the son of my mother – Padrik.”
Aram acknowledged him with a nod. “I am pleased to meet you as well.”
“We have heard much of you, Lord Aram,” Padrik answered. “The wood lands have a voice that does not heed distance. Though my mother is chief of these people, she has released me to serve you, if needed. We know that you came into these lands seeking allies. How may I serve you? For I will go where you direct me.”
Aram gazed at him in some surprise before turning to Durlrang. Using the old wolf’s title deliberately, Aram asked him, “Lord Durlrang – is there room in the western woods for more of your kind?”
“There is, master. The green hills near your valley could house perhaps twice the numbers that dwell there now.” Abruptly, Durlrang hesitated, causing Aram to look down at him sharply.
“What is it?”
Durlrang looked up. “Master, remember the forests near unto Elam, by the abandoned city?”
“Yes.”
“There were no wolves in that forest.”
Aram thought back, and was surprised to realize that, though he hadn’t noticed it at the time, the vast tract of woodland that separated Wallensia from Elam had indeed been devoid of any of the wolf people. He addressed Durlrang again. “What are your thoughts?”
“May I ask you two things, Lord Aram?”
“Of course.”
“The people of Elam are not your friends, is not this so?”
Aram shook his head. “They are not.”
“And are they likely to become your friends?” The old wolf persisted.
Aram smiled. “I cannot say, but it is perhaps not likely.”
“Then wouldn’t it be wise to have allies living upon their borders?”
“It would indeed,” Aram answered thoughtfully, and he glanced at Piku and Padrik. “How many of your people could that forest sustain?” He asked Durlrang.
“Many – there are rabbits and quail in abundance in those forests; I had no trouble finding food there.”
Aram turned to Padrik. “Would you willingly leave your homeland and go into the west in order to aid our cause?”
Padrik looked pained. “Perhaps you are unaware, Lord Aram, but we have been your servants, at least in spirit, since news of Leorg’s allegiance to you was known, for he is our chief. The voices of the woodlands brought word that Leorg, our chief and eldest son of our ancient mother, served a man that is named the Fire That Walks and is Stronger Than Death. There was some doubt of this at first, it is true. But then you slew the bal’dantum, and there was no further doubt. You are our master. Direct us, and we will go.”
Aram frowned at him. “The bal’dantum?”
“The deathmaker of the western wasteland, beyond the deep river, in the land that must be entered by the man’s road that defies the sky.”
“Ah, the bridge,” Aram stated, perceptively. “And the bal’dantum was the beast that I killed?”
“He was the deathmaker,” Padrik answered. “As long as he lived, no wolf would dare enter that land. But you slew him, and he is dead, for the voices of the forest say it.”
“Are there no others?” Aram asked.
Padrik gazed at him without comprehension. “Others?”
“Of the bal’dantum.”
“The old ones among us say that once, in ages long past, after the death of Lord Kelven, there were four that arose in the wilderness, but that three went north long ago, into the service of the enemy. After that, there was ever only one deathmaker that ruled the wastel
and. Now there is none. You removed him, and you are our master.”
Aram nodded, both in recognition of the wolf’s words and in satisfaction that he could now lead his company back across the lost without undue fear that he would face another beast. He turned to Piku, but she was gazing up at Ka’en with a curious expression in her blue eyes.
“Are you the ghost wolf’s mistress, my lady?” Piku asked.
Ka’en frowned. “The ghost wolf?”
“Gorfang,” Leorg interjected. “Among my people, he is known as the ghost.”
“Why?”
“Because he was dead, and yet he lives.”
Ka’en’s frown deepened. “How can this be?”
Leorg sat back on his haunches. “It was long ago, mistress, when even Durlrang was young, and Gorfang dwelt in Vallenvale. For reasons his kin never understood, Gorfang left his people and attached himself to a human woman and to her family. When her children would walk in the deep forests at the feet of the mountains, he would go with them, to guard them. He hunted with the man, the woman’s mate, and even slept in their house, away from the moon.”
The silver wolf lifted his head and looked up into the trees, remembering. “When the evil one made war upon the humans of Vallenvale, the wolves of that land allied with him, against the people of the woman – the family that Gorfang loved. What followed was slaughter. The woman and her mate and her children were all slain, and Gorfang was savaged by his own people – until there was nothing left of him but torn fur, bones, and blood.
“Later, when all was done, they went to look upon his body, as that of one who had betrayed his people. But his body was gone. The footprints of a wolf led away from the scene of his death, marked in blood. They followed these footprints southward, into the high places of the mountains, but they vanished among the ice and stone, and he was never seen by them again.”
Ka’en’s eyes grew moist as she looked at Aram. “I knew that he had been hurt.”
Aram nodded. “I remember that you said this.” He turned back to Leorg. “How was he found?”
“Many years after his death, when I was young, I went into the mountains of Aram, to the north of the land of the horses, to be with Lord Durlrang’s band. One day, deep in the winter, as I was hunting in a canyon, I came upon a gray wolf lying in the snow. He was exceedingly thin, so that his bones showed through the fur. I thought him dead, but then he moved. I had taken a rabbit, so I brought it near to him, that he might taste the blood, and find his life again. He lived, and has been my faithful companion ever since. I name him my cousin, but he is truly a brother.”
He paused and looked up into Ka’en’s face. “He told me once, my lady, that you were his mistress, returned. I could not know the truth – or the untruth – of it, so I said nothing, for he is certain.”
“Do Kolgar’s people know who he is?” Aram asked.
“Yes, and they fear him, for they think him cursed. They will not look at him, for they fear that if they see him, they, too, will be dead.”
Aram looked again at Piku and Padrik. “When I go back into the west,” he said, “I go to war with the evil one.”
“The voices say this,” Padrik agreed. “What will you have us do?”
Aram thought for a moment about the broad forested hills that lay between Elam and Wallensia. Addressing Padrik, he asked. “How many of you are there?”
“Many hundreds, more than a thousand. There are so many of us, that we have never counted. There was no need.”
Aram considered what Durlrang had told him – that the green hills could sustain twice the number that dwelt there now. Then he thought of the hills that lay to the west of Panax, and compared the two regions in his mind. He looked at Padrik again.
“Will some of you go with me?”
It was Piku that answered. “You are our master. If you wish it, we will all go into the west.”
Surprised, Aram nonetheless shook his head. “Will three hundred go with me?”
“Number us, master, and we will go.”
Aram shook his head again. “You are the ancient mother, Lady Piku, so you will stay.” Then he turned to Padrik. “If your son will, he may choose the three hundred that will go. As Lord Durlrang said, there is a vast forest between me and my enemies. I would like my friends to inhabit this land.”
“Servants,” Padrik corrected him.
Aram looked down and met Durlrang’s gaze for a long moment, and then he nodded at Padrik.
“And servants,” he agreed, “but also friends. When will you go?”
“Upon your word,” Padrik answered. “If you wish, we will leave today.”
Aram acceded to this readily. “My companions and I are leaving for the west this very day. If you are ready, number your three hundred and we will go.’
Findaen looked at him sharply. “We are leaving Seneca?”
Aram indicated the gathered wolves. “We came seeking allies, which we have found in great numbers. As for the human inhabitants of this land, maybe they will decide to defend themselves when Manon comes, but they will not help us.”
“But Andar, and some of the younger ones –”
Aram cut him off. “That is an internal matter and not for us to resolve. And though I was wrong to hope for help from the humans of Seneca; we will nonetheless leave in success. For we will go west with new allies from among the brethren of wolves.” Addressing Padrik, he asked. “Will you travel with us? There was not much food in the wasteland.”
“There is a northern way, not used in centuries – since the coming of the Bal’dantum – that runs along the edge of the mountains to the north of the lost. There are forests there and ample food for wolves that pass through swiftly. We will go into the west by this route.”
Aram nodded and turned to Leorg. “You and Shingka will go with them, to bring them onto the plains and thence through the green hills and down into the forests on the edge of Elam.”
“As you wish, master.”
Aram knelt down and gazed into Piku’s eyes. “When I go west, my lady, I go to war. If your children fight with me, it may be that some will not return.”
She regarded him stolidly. “You serve the Maker, Lord Aram. All the voices say this. Any who die with you die for right, and they will go to the long home that He has prepared for us all. I will see them there.”
“Seldom have I encountered such faith and trust,” Aram said quietly.
“I trust what is right,” she answered.
“Farewell, my lady.”
“Farewell, master.”
“Alright,” Aram said, and standing up, he turned away. “Let’s gather our things and quit this land.”
Returning to the common house, they gathered their belongings and without speaking to anyone, left the city and headed southwest through the fields to rejoin the horses. After arranging their packs and mounting up, they turned their faces toward home. Aram did not look back at the city on the hill.
Where the fields ended and the dark woods rose up, a clot of men blocked the road. Andar stood in the middle of the thoroughfare, flanked by Matibar and several others, all young men.
Ordering the others to wait, Aram and Thaniel went forward.
“You’re leaving us so soon, Lord Aram?” Andar asked without expression.
“There is no point in delay,” Aram replied. “There is war in the west, and it demands my presence before spring.”
Andar glanced around at his companions. “I would ask you to not give up on Seneca so easily. There are many of us that do not wish to be left out of the affairs of the earth.”
Aram leaned forward and fixed Andar with hardened eyes. “And what will you do – those of you who feel this way?” He asked harshly.
Andar flushed. “We will try to change minds, if possible. If not –” He glanced at Matibar and did not finish.
“War will not wait for those that dally,” Aram answered. “The ‘affairs of the earth’ continue to move even if all men were to s
tand still. The war that will come to you has already come to us. So we will go then and fight, and leave you to change minds.” He turned and motioned the others forward.
Andar held up a hand and asked in a chastened tone. “Lord Aram – may Matibar go with you and return to his family?”
“Yes, of course.”
When Matibar had mounted up and the column began to move away, Andar spoke again. “Lord Aram?”
Aram brought Thaniel to a halt and looked back at the fair-haired, sturdy young man.
“Is it your intention to resist the Scourge ever?”
“No,” Aram answered shortly. “It is my intention to destroy him.”
Andar’s eyes widened for a moment, and then narrowed and hardened. He nodded once and turned away toward the city.
Aram watched him go and then spoke to Thaniel and the column moved along the road toward the south and west, shadowed by the dark forms of many wolves flowing through the darkness under the trees.
44
Rahm Imrid strode through the arched entry hall of his winter palace that sat on the height of a rounded hill in the easternmost reaches of the feet of the Iron Mountains, and out into the bright sunshine. Moving with princely purpose, he continued on across the marbled paving stones of the magnificent porch and toward the carven balustrade, also of marble, that surrounded it. Behind him trailed a gaggle of councilors, advisors, and selected guests. The High Prince of Elam made a habit of striding about imperiously, followed by those who were lesser, both because he enjoyed it, and because it declared the differences between him and them.
Halting at the railing, he placed his hands upon it and gazed eastward, down over the lush greenness of southern Elam. The Great Southern Ocean, far away to his right, could not be seen, but made its presence felt in the warm, pungent, and desultory breezes that arose over its vast waters, blew northward, and graced the magnificent grounds upon which his palace was situated. After an appropriate amount of time had passed while the others behind him jockeyed for position, he turned and found his highest ranking general, a thin, balding man dressed in a blue and gold tunic named Arne Edverch.
“What about these barbarians upon our northeastern borders?” He demanded without preamble.
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 49
