The ground began to level out and the tumbling stream flowed more gently, descending in short falls from pool to pool. Pines grew here, rather sparsely and the steep mountainside gentled out and crumpled into foothills covered with grasses and wildflowers.
The stream made a sharp turn to the left as it encountered a grassy ridge that bisected the mountainside and the tracks of the wolf pack went up and over the ridge. Aram followed. As he topped the ridge he heard the sounds of an intense struggle immediately to his front. The wolves had found prey.
Just below him and in front was a stand of trees where the stream flowed out around the end of the ridge into a small meadow. The trees masked his view of whatever was happening. He ran down the ridge top to the right until he was clear of the trees and looked into the meadow.
In the center of the small, circular meadow twelve wolves had attacked a very large animal. It looked exactly like the one ridden by the ancient warrior in the fresco on the wall of the great hall.
The animal was enormous and black with a beautiful coat of shining hair and a long tail and mane. Plunging and rearing, it was resisting the attack of the wolves mightily, had already slain two, and injured another so badly it could not walk but lay kicking ineffectively at the ground. But the remaining nine wolves were assaulting the great animal in a circular attack, and they had seriously bloodied the magnificent beast.
Even in the few seconds that he watched, Aram could tell that the great animal was weakening. Strips of flesh hung from its haunches, showing the stark white of tendons and bone and its legs were red with its own blood. The grass around was slick with it. The beast’s attackers were leaping upon it in turns and slashing at it with their teeth. Aram could not bear to see such a magnificent creature die at the will of wolves.
He nocked an arrow and ran into the fray. The big beast was whirling and plunging and kicking with its hind legs and Aram did not want to strike it, so he angled to one side where he could shoot at the wolves without endangering the animal. Quickly loosing three arrows in succession, he killed one wolf outright and eliminated two others from the fight. Then four of them turned on him.
They were much larger than those he’d been used to, massive beasts, and they assaulted him eagerly, without fear. Dropping his bow and drawing his sword he plunged among them even as they attacked. His sword flew as he darted left and then right, parrying attacks from one side and then the other as he drove the steel deep wherever he could. These wolves did not die easily, but Aram’s blood was hot with a lust to kill and a desire to save their magnificent prey.
He slashed forelimbs from bodies and stabbed at necks and drove his sword deep between ribs and into haunches. Finally, with a great swipe of the blade he cracked the skull of the last of the four that had attacked him and turned to find what had become of the great beast. The last two wolves had driven it to its haunches and were shredding its flesh. White tendons shone out through the crimson flood on its legs.
With a roar of anger he leapt on the remaining two wolves and slew them before they could turn and face him so intent were they on their kill. Aram quickly made sure every wolf was dead and then approached the great animal. It had managed to get back on its feet but stood with its head low, muscles quivering, and its breathing was labored and shallow.
Retrieving his pack, Aram set about stanching the flow of blood from its many wounds, working like a madman, making poultices and binding them with leather strips to shore up the torn flesh hanging from its legs and haunches.
He soon ran out of leather strips to hold the poultices in place, so he cut up his pack. In places the animal’s flesh was ripped deep, exposing bone and tendons, but at least most of the tears in its flesh went with the grain of the muscle and not against it.
Some two hours later, he’d managed to bind the beast’s wounds and still it stood with its head low, its nose almost brushing the ground, breathing in great shuddering sighs. Its eyes were half closed and the huge dark orbs were dulled with pain. Aram instinctively knew that if it went down it was finished.
To try to revive it he removed his shirt, dipped it in the stream and washed the animal down all over, removing the blood and grime of the battle. He cupped water into his hands and tried to get it to drink but it was not interested. Carefully, he went around the animal and checked all of his bandaging work, making certain the skin was re-attached properly and that no raw flesh was exposed. He checked its knees, making sure they were locked so that, hopefully, it would not go down accidentally.
Then, crouching down, he examined the great beast.
Despite the terrible wounds it had suffered in the fight for its life, it was beautiful, the most beautiful animal he had ever seen. The graceful lines of its body exceeded in the beauty of their form even that of deer. Its coat was as deeply black as a starless night. At its shoulder, it was at least a foot taller than he stood. The long mane and tail were thick and, if anything, blacker than its coat. It was exactly the same kind of animal depicted in the fresco in the great hall. In fact, it appeared to Aram as if it could very well be the same animal depicted in the fresco, as if this very beast had stood for its portrait with the ancient warrior on its back. Studying it, it seemed obvious to him that it had been created for the express purpose of carrying a man.
It seemed an obscene thing to him to allow the carcasses of the beast’s attackers lie so near it in the hour of its agony—suffering that they had caused—so Aram hauled the bodies of the wolves one by one down to the bottom of the meadow and stacked them away from the stream. If the vultures did not do their work, then in a few days time, he would burn them. At least the area around the great animal was clear.
About mid-afternoon, when he approached it again to check that the bleeding had been contained, he noticed that the great animal was shivering. The loss of blood had reduced its body temperature. Aram gathered wood from the stand of trees on the small ridge and started a fire, near enough upwind that it would get the advantage of the heat but far enough away that it wouldn’t frighten the animal. He couldn’t be sure of the state of its consciousness. Since the end of the fight for its life, it hadn’t moved from the spot where it stood and its head remained down, with its eyes nearly closed.
He tried before nightfall to get it to eat some of the new grass from the meadow but it showed no interest. That night he encircled the animal with a ring of small fires that he tended between fits of sleep. Every so often throughout the night, he checked the animal, always with the same result. It was no better, but if it was worse, Aram could not discern that either.
At sunrise, he ate breakfast and held an apple under the nose of the great beast. It did not eat, but for the first time exhibited signs of life by moving its nose at the scent of the fruit. Its large eyes, however, remained dulled with pain and again that day it did not raise its head. Toward evening, when Aram again tried to give it water, it succeeded in sucking in a small amount from the palm of his hand.
Over the next several days Aram did nothing but patrol the area for dangers and tend to the animal’s wounds, changing poultices, cleaning the wounds to halt infection, and giving it water as often as it would drink. Finally, after more than a week, the beast lifted its head slightly and took a bit of grass. Aram was elated at the progress and became increasingly hopeful that the beast would not die.
After several days passed the animal eventually moved haltingly, painfully, down to the stream where it drank its fill. There it stood nearly motionless again for the better part of a day. On the days that followed its move to water, however, there were perceptible signs of improvement. Occasionally the animal would lower its head to the ground and bite a mouthful of grass and a day came soon after when it accepted an apple from Aram’s hand. Slowly, but surely, the light of life came back into its large black eyes.
Aram continued to change the poultices, scrounging on the slopes about the small meadow for medicinal herbs. One spot just above the animal’s knee on its right hind leg worried hi
m. An inflamed swelling had appeared and instead of diminishing, grew ever larger and more inflamed. Finally, he decided that it must be lanced.
He sterilized his knife in the fire and prepared to do the deed. But he was unsure what the huge beast that had submitted to his ministrations in a docile manner thus far would think of his actions when he approached it with the sharp steel.
He approached the great beast head on and looked in its eyes, holding out his hand and showing it the knife.
“Listen, my big friend, I’ve got to do something that you may not like and I’d prefer it if you didn’t kick me into the next life when I do it. I’m not trying to hurt you, understand?”
The great animal raised its head and looked at him with its luminous black eyes.
“I understand,” it said.
X
Aram stumbled backward and stared at the big animal in astonishment.
“Did you just speak to me?” he asked incredulously.
“I did.” The great beast answered. Aram heard its voice clearly, a rich deep baritone, colored by age and wisdom. But when the animal spoke, its mouth did not move. Its voice seemed to originate inside Aram’s own mind. He studied it for a long time.
“How are you speaking to me?” he asked, finally.
“Mind to mind,” it answered. “It is an ancient art. My kind spoke to your kind, mind to mind, long ago before the dark ages came.”
“What are you?—I’m sorry, forgive me, who are you?” Aram asked.
“My name is Florm; I am the third of my kind and—in the absence of my father and grandfather—the lord of all horses. I am grateful to you for saving my life. You are a great warrior and I owe you a great debt.”
Aram shook his head slowly, in wonderment. “No, my lord Florm, you owe me nothing. I am honored to know you. I’m very glad to meet you. I’ve seen depictions of your kind before in the great hall of my city.”
“Your city?”
“I didn’t build it, but I found it deserted and I live there now. In the absence of its rightful owners, I guess its mine.” Aram pointed to the west. “It’s in the next valley.”
Florm’s head jerked upward and his neck arched. “The city in the mountain—the city of stone?”
“Yes. It’s carved into the mountain. I think it’s quite ancient.”
Florm snorted. “It’s more than ancient; it’s one of the oldest cities in the world. It was the city of the great kings, long ago, and no one has lived there in more than ten thousand years. When last men resided there—and they did so in splendor—I was barely more than a colt.”
It was Aram’s turn again to be amazed. “How old are you?”
“I have walked the earth for more than eleven thousand years, since before the coming of the evil of Manon. Do you have any more of those apples?”
Aram laughed. “I have several, my lord, and I can go home and get more if you wish. But I am loath to leave you here without an adequate defense until I’m certain that you are well.”
Florm looked downstream at the pile of wolf carcasses. Aram had dragged them and piled them far enough away so that the odor of rotting flesh wouldn’t overwhelm them.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s talk about that. Did you slay them all?”
“No, my lord, you killed three yourself.”
Florm studied him a long moment. “Who, may I ask, are you?”
Aram shook his head. “No one of consequence. My name is Aram. I was born a slave out on the plains but when they brought me to the edge of the wilderness to help open up new fields, I escaped. I could not bear to be a slave. After escaping and wandering awhile, losing a friend to wolves, and getting lost inside the mountain, I found the city of stone. As no one was living there, and it appeared to have been deserted for some time, I took up residence. That was seven years ago.”
Florm glanced down across the meadow again at the piled carcasses. “No one of consequence, you say?”
“No,” Aram replied. “Now I really must lance your sore.”
He went around behind the horse and probed the swelling gently until he found a place between the tendons. Then he carefully pushed the blade into the skin and pressed out the foul infection with his fingers. When he was satisfied that it was clean, he applied a poultice to the wound and then washed his knife and hands in the stream.
“That should heal now.” He told Florm.
Florm nodded his gratitude. “And how did you learn to fight so well, and to kill wolves with such impunity?”
“I had to survive.” Aram answered simply.
Florm didn’t respond but moved stiffly to the stream and lowered his nose into the cold, clear water. Then he grazed for a bit on the lush grass of the meadow. Aram took it as his cue to make his rounds on the ridges above and through the forests surrounding the meadow to check for signs of predators. When he returned, Florm was standing with his head down as if he were sleeping. Aram started a fire and rolled out his bed. The sun was behind the tall mountains to the west and a pleasant evening had settled over the meadow.
After a while, Florm stirred and walked over to the fire. He stood quietly while Aram ate, then he spoke.
“I was coming to find you, you know.”
Aram looked up, startled. “To find me? Why?”
“Because you are the wolf-slayer and rumor of your deeds has gone about the land. The people of the free towns to the south speak of you with great admiration and wonder.” Florm looked up into the deepening twilight of the sky. “The wolves used to be a natural part of the cycles of life on this world, but Manon touched them with his evil and they have become a blight on all life. They have increased dramatically in number over the last few centuries and have begun killing our colts. When two or more horses are together we can handle a sizeable pack of wolves, but when they catch one of us alone, well, you have seen the result.
“When I heard of your deeds, I sent my nephews, Haveng and Melchor, to find you and watch you and verify that you could do the things that were claimed. When Haveng and Melchor did not return, I came to find the answer to what had happened to them.” Florm looked sharply at Aram. “Have you seen them?”
Aram stared into the fire and thought of the lonely, desolate skeletons beyond the mountain. He nodded sadly. “I believe I have seen them both, my lord.” He looked up at the great horse. “They were killed by wolves on my side of the mountains. I was tracking their killers when I came upon you in the midst of your battle.”
He looked down the darkening meadow toward the piled carcasses.
“Their killers are there.”
Florm lifted his head, gazing out into the darkness, and was silent for a long time. The night deepened, stars filled the sky, and the Glittering Sword of God rose above the eastern horizon. Finally, Aram broke the silence.
“What is it that you sought me for, my lord?”
Florm stirred. “I already owe you a great debt, Aram Wolfslayer. I hesitate to ask anything further.” He fell silent again.
Aram got up and went around the fire to stand by the horse and looked up into the deep sapphire of the eastern sky. The Glittering Sword of God hung at an angle just above the horizon.
“My lord,” he said. “You have been alive longer than I can imagine. Your stature on this world is more than I could attain in a thousand lifetimes. If you wish me to kill wolves, it is a simple thing, I can do it easily. I will happily slay or drive out the wolves from all the lands that you designate. In return, if you wish, you could tell me, now and again, things that I do not know but wish to know. Perhaps we could make a bargain of that sort?”
Florm looked at him curiously. “What is it that you wish to know?”
Aram shrugged. “Everything. Who lived in the great city and why did they leave? What was life like before the tyranny of Manon? I don’t even know the history of my own people.”
“So, you are more than a talented killer. You wish to be a scholar.”
Aram laughed. “That is probably oversta
ting the case. I would say that at the least, I would like not to be ignorant.”
“An accomplishment, indeed; one that few attain. My friend, I will tell you all that I know.” Florm promised. “But still, I cannot ask you to risk your life further in the service of my people.”
Aram laughed again. “Forgive the nature of this statement, my lord—but there is very little risk to my life. I was almost slain by wolves once, but I was not. I killed them, even in my extremity, when it appeared that my life would surely end. I believe that I have become a man that is difficult to kill. You need not ask, my lord. I will hunt and destroy every wolf on these plains of my own will. That is my promise. But I would like to have your friendship, nonetheless.”
“You have my friendship, Aram, and you will have it always. I should tell you that none of my kind has spoken to yours in thousands of years, since our peoples broke fellowship, so you and I have already established a precedent.”
Aram frowned at him. “Why was fellowship broken?”
“Long ago, many of your people joined Manon when he rebelled against the gods and altered the affairs of earth. My people joined those that rebelled against him. But the men who were our allies were all slain or enslaved, and the others began a long descent into madness, slavery, and barbarism, so we horses broke fellowship and went away from the rule of Manon into the wild. Since that time, no horse has communed with a man or carried a man on his back. Now you and I have altered the first constriction. When I am well enough, the second will be altered as well.”
Aram was silent for a time. Then he went and lay down on his bedroll and looked over at the horse on the far side of the fire.
“Lord Florm?”
“Yes, Aram?”
“Sleep well, my lord.”
Florm cocked one hind leg and lowered his head.
“And you, my friend.”
While stars still shone overhead and the eastern sky barely colored with the promise of the coming day, Aram awoke to a distant thrumming in the ground. He leapt up and crouched, seizing his sword and looking about the meadow. He could hear nothing and could see nothing in the pale light of very early morning. He leaned his head back close to the earth. From a great distant, the ground throbbed, but whatever created the sound was almost certainly approaching. He stood and looked around for Florm. The horse lord was down near the stream, grazing quietly and unconcernedly. Quickly, Aram strode in that direction.
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 15
