“You said that men and women were taken by Manon for his dark purposes.”
“Yes.”
Aram shifted uncomfortably. “Does this mean that the lashers were made by Manon of the race of humans?”
“Well, they were certainly not a creation of the Maker. No one knows by what horrible means Manon made the lashers, but they are absolutely the result of his tampering with nature. Why?”
“My sister was taken by Manon’s overseers more than eleven years ago.”
Florm was silent for a long moment. “Ah, my young friend, that is a sad and terrible thing indeed. I am truly sorry, my friend, but there is no doubt but that Manon is still engaged in his dark practices.”
They passed through the high gates of the mountain and began to descend toward the valley floor through the tall pines. Aram felt his throat tighten. “Can anything be done for my sister? Can she be found?”
“Eleven years?” Florm asked.
“Twelve this winter.”
“It is almost certain that she no longer lives. I am truly sorry, my friend.” The horse answered quietly and then he was silent for several minutes before he spoke again. “Shall I continue, Aram?”
Aram swallowed at the lump in his throat and nodded. “Please.”
“As I said, Kelven went to war with Manon, but Ferros would not, and there was no help from the gods, who had troubles of their own.”
“Why wouldn’t Ferros help?”
“Because he was too busy trying to discern what was done by Manon in the deep places of the earth. Manon’s ambitions are greater than just a need to be acknowledged by the race of men. It is still not known what the fullness of his intentions may be. But he has meddled in the affairs of both Ferros and Kelven. Wolves went readily into his service. Others, as well, joined him; among them were vultures and serpents.
“Despite the help of Kelven, the war went badly for Joktan and the race of men. Then things grew worse. Men began to defect from Joktan and willingly join Manon. Finally the great city of the kings—your city—was breached and abandoned. Joktan and the remnants of his race came into the high plains where they were closer to Kelven’s power than to Manon’s. For three hundred years there was a sort of stalemate with only scattered skirmishes. It was during this time that Joktan built Rigar Pyrannis, the great city where you recovered the Call.
“Ultimately, however, under the cover of a great storm—for he had also devised means to tamper with Kelven’s dominion—Manon came with a vast army out of the mountains to the northwest and was upon the plains before he was discovered. He came himself to this battle. Rigar Pyrannis was besieged and finally Joktan went forth in desperation with his armies and was defeated and was slain by Manon himself and the peoples of the earth were scattered and killed and taken into bondage.
“But as Joktan fell, cut nearly in two by the sword of Manon himself, he suddenly stood upright, tall and fierce. With the blood of life pouring from his body, he cursed Manon and named him the enemy of the world. He said, ‘today you have slain me but as surely as I die, know this—my blood will arise from the earth where you have sent it and bring your end upon you.’ It is said that Joktan refused to go to his long home after his death and wanders the world to this day, looking for the man of his bloodline that will avenge him upon Manon.
“My father and grandfather were both killed in this great battle upon the plains to the north of Rigar Pyrannis. My father bore Joktan into battle and was killed beneath him. It was at this time that fellowship between my people and yours was broken.
“Then Manon turned his attentions to Kelven and attacked him upon his mountain. Though he suffered great loss, and was weakened for a long time, Manon was ultimately successful and control of most of the world passed into his hands. And there it remains to this day. Unless someone can destroy him or the Maker Himself intervenes, the whole of the world will fall fully into, and remain under, the darkness of Manon forever.”
“But there are still free peoples, like those of Derosa.” Aram protested.
“Not for long, my friend.” Florm answered. “Manon has recovered most of the strength he lost in the final battle with Kelven and he will not rest until all the peoples of the earth are in his chains. He presses upon them even now.”
Aram was silent as the afternoon waned and they came down out of the hills to the river. As they rode up the broad avenue toward the city Aram asked.
“What can I do, lord Florm?”
Florm was silent a moment before answering. “I think that is indeed the question, lord Aram. What can you do?”
XIV
When they came opposite Aram’s vegetable garden and the orchards, Aram dismounted and examined his crops. The apples were making a fine crop, as were the plums, with few worms, and his vegetables had done well. There had been plenty of rain that summer. Even his wheat, which was nearing readiness for harvest, had made enough that there would be flour for bread that winter.
While Aram checked his crops, Florm grazed on the grass near the stream that issued from beneath the walls. Except for the calls of birds and the subtle movements of scattered groups of deer, the valley was calm and quiet. Aram was grateful that there had been no disturbance in his absence. Even the bear in the cave of rubble under the south stairs made an appearance. He was fat and sleek.
Florm and Aram moved on and ascended the stairs onto the great porch.
As they entered the city, Florm looked around in wonder. “It’s been a long time since I was here last, just after the city was sacked. You’ve done much, Aram.”
Aram shrugged. “It’s my city.”
“Indeed.”
Aram could find no evidence that anyone had been inside the city in his absence. The door to the armory was closed and everything inside was as he’d left it. As Aram came out of the armory into the courtyard, Florm turned suddenly away and went toward the lower parts of the city.
“You’re not leaving, my lord, surely?” Aram asked.
“No,” Florm answered. “I’m going to view my old guest quarters. If you have any lamps, you’ll need to bring them.”
“I have a few resin torches I use in winter.”
“Good, bring them.”
Aram followed him wonderingly. Florm descended to the lowest level and went around behind the great hall along the wide avenue. At the end of the avenue, where it split and wound up to either side into the heights of the city, Florm went straight ahead, down the broad, central passageway into the dark. Aram had never paid much attention to this part of the city because it was so dark. He’d always assumed it contained storage rooms for crops.
“If you would light the torches, we could see.” Florm stated pointedly.
Aram put flint to steel and flames blazed forth in the reeds of his torch. He lit another from the first and held them aloft, one in each hand.
The large subterranean room was, in fact, a stable with rows of what once had been well appointed stalls to either side. Florm went to a large stall at the rear.
“This was mine, once—” he stopped in amazement. “Well, look at that.”
Aram stepped around him to see what had engaged the horse’s attention. Florm was gazing at a pile of black metal trimmed in gold that gleamed in the light from the torches.
“My father’s royal armor. I did not know it was still here.” He turned to Aram. “My father was not here when the city was breached and new armor was created for him for the battles that were fought on the high plains. This was evidently abandoned along with the city and never used, for no horse ever fought with Manon.”
The horse returned his wondering gaze back to the pile of armor. “This is a magnificent development, Aram, for if you and I ever go to war together, I will be armored.” He was quiet a moment, and then continued in a thoughtful tone. “I have to admit, however, that it is more likely to suit Thaniel’s frame than mine, for his build is more like my father’s than my own.”
Florm walked slowly around the lar
ge compartment. “This brings back pleasant memories, Aram. I was a guest here many times with my father and mother when Joktan sat the throne. I was very young then—ages have passed and much has happened.”
Aram sat on a bench along the wall and watched his friend wander the gloomy stable. Finally, Florm turned to face him. The ancient horse spoke in calm, measured tones, but there was youthful ferocity in the old voice. “This city,” he said, “must rise again. The Maker meant for men to govern this earth, not to be slaves in it. The Maker’s intentions must be reasserted. And for that to occur, Manon must be pushed from the world.”
Aram answered him just as quietly, but with as much conviction. “Both of these things seem to me to be beyond the reach of the most outrageous ambition, my lord. Why do you speak to me of them?”
“So that you will know,” Florm answered, and his voice seemed to expand beyond the reaches of Aram’s mind and fill the room. “That should you find the desire and the will to attempt either, or both, I will aid you in every way that is possible.”
Aram studied him for a moment. “It appears that you expect that I will involve myself in these grand schemes in some way. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t expect you to involve yourself, my friend, I expect you to lead the effort.”
“Again, my lord, why?”
“Because,” Florm’s great dark eyes glowed in the light of the torches. “I have come to suspect that you embody the answer to Kelven’s Riddle.”
Aram leaned forward. “You mentioned this ‘riddle’ to me before, and I let it go unquestioned. What do you mean by it?”
The great horse came close and spoke earnestly. “Long ago, after the battle in which my father died but before the meeting with Manon in which he was disembodied, Kelven spoke to us, the horses, and said to remember this:
‘He comes from the west and arises in the east,
Tall and strong, fierce as a storm upon the plain.
He ascends the height to put his hand among the stars
And wield the sword of heaven.
Master of wolves, friend of horses,
He is a prince of men and a walking flame.
“There was once another line to the riddle; somehow we’ve forgotten it and it is lost. But think of it, my friend. Your coming from the west into the east, breaking free of the chains of Manon to become a mighty warrior, and then gaining the mastery of wolves and the friendship of horses, all this speaks to the heart of the riddle. Kelven must have foreseen your coming.”
Aram shook his head slowly. “I have no sword of heaven, I have never been to the stars, and I assure you that I am not a prince among men. And I doubt that I resemble fire when I walk.”
“Perhaps some of it was meant to be allegorical,” Florm answered. “I don’t know. I do know that your coming has changed things. We are no longer without hope.” The big horse stopped pacing and stared out into the darkness of the stable. “I was very young when Manon defeated Joktan and my father was killed. When the battle on the mountain between Kelven and Manon occurred, it seemed as if the world had exploded—mountains cracked and fire plunged down the sky. It was a horrific cataclysm of sound and fury, as if it signified the end of all things. And then afterward it was quiet for a long time, for centuries.
“For a while it seemed to me that horses were the only people left in the world. Then, gradually, others appeared, small animals, hawks, and finally, even a few of your people here and there.” The horse hesitated and glanced at Aram. “Including some that I had known before.”
He turned away again and gazed into the gloom. “We did not know whether Manon had survived the battle—for a long time it seemed he had not. We came to be certain, sadly, that Kelven had not survived it. We thought that a new age had arisen, a wild age, one that would be unstructured by the guidance of higher powers.
“Then Manon began to make his presence felt. We discovered that he had indeed survived the confrontation with Kelven but that he had been reduced. He was, however, slowly regaining his power and working to rebuild his armies. He still intended to rule this world at his own whim and now there would be no one to oppose him.
“For centuries, we were left alone, far from the frontiers of Manon’s influence. But the evil grew, men were enslaved, many were altered, and lashers appeared again. Still, it did not touch us, until the wolves were changed, and then Manon’s evil began to ravage our people. The world has grown increasingly darker and more savage these last few centuries. Manon must be nearing his full strength again. I tell you, my friend, lately I have known the terrible despair of overwhelming hopelessness.
“And then, when it seemed that all hope would be driven from the world, you came. Out of nowhere, you came, like one of the kings of old reborn, and you began to alter the will of Manon. You fight with the skill and the strength of the ancient warriors. And with your coming, Kelven’s riddle is being answered, line by line. That is why I say that we are no longer without hope.”
Aram frowned with chagrin at these astonishing assertions. “Don’t expect me, my lord, to be anything more than I am. I despise Manon, I always have, and I would willingly resist him anywhere. But I have no armies, I lead no one, and I am certainly no prince.”
The great black horse quivered with irritation. “You ask me not to expect more of you, my friend—I would warn you not try to be less than you are. You cannot escape the consequences of what you’ve already done. You wrested the mastery of wolves from Manon after having slain many of their number. Do you think he will not learn of this?
“The free peoples to the south talk of the return of one of the kings of old, living in the high city of the kings. Do you expect that these things will not come to the ears of Manon? Do you think that his eye will not fall upon you? Believe me, he already knows that he has an enemy and he will want to know who that enemy is.
“As to your lack of armies, Aram—the oppressed will always be drawn to the strong that are willing to lead the fight. Men need someone to follow. This has always been true and you are the strongest man I have ever known. Men will follow you.” The horse gazed at him curiously for a moment in the dimness. “By the way, as to the part in Kelven’s riddle about a ‘walking flame’, well, Thaniel says that you are as fast as lightning in battle, and, even now, the Guardians to either side of you lend you a certain glow. Perhaps that part of the riddle is allegorical after all.”
Aram had forgotten about the presence of the Guardians and he glanced self-consciously to either side. He could make out no figures in the gloom but there was a faint sliver of pale light on both his right and his left.
He stood and walked over to Florm. “My lord, I don’t care about Kelven’s riddle, but I will tell you this—if it were even remotely possible to bring about the downfall of Manon, I would forfeit my own life to accomplish it.”
Florm shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t talk lightly of forfeiting a life that you have only just begun to live. I cannot see the future, my friend. I don’t know what will befall any of us. But I believe that your life—your being alive—may be the thing that the whole world has been waiting for.”
“How am I supposed to consider such a statement?” Aram asked and again he shook his head in consternation. “I am nothing extraordinary. I am just a man who does what he finds it is necessary to do and what he thinks is right—no more.”
“Yes.” Florm agreed. “And I can tell by looking in your eyes that you don’t know what a rare thing such a man is.”
Aram turned away. “I’m hungry, my lord, and I’ll bet you are, too. There might be some ripe apples on the smaller trees.”
They went topside and made their way down out of the city. The sun had gone behind the mountain and evening had settled over the valley. While Florm grazed in the grass near one of the springs, Aram checked his trees for ripe fruit, finding five apples that were just beginning to color. He picked them, and turned to see the bear, sitting carefully near the safety of its grotto, watching him closely.
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He chose one of the apples for himself, two for the horse, and rolled the others along the ground in the direction of the bear. Then he walked down to join Florm.
The horse sniffed the apples offered to him and refused them, his low laughter rumbling in Aram’s mind.
“If I ate those, I assure you I would regret it. They are still too green. Give them to the bear. His insides are not as sensitive as mine.”
Aram complied and then sat on a rock while Florm continued to graze, and watched the eastern hills color with the orange light of the waning sun. He realized suddenly, with a start, that he had been homesick. It seemed to him, sitting there in an evening saturated with the pungent scents of late summer, that he had lived in this valley for the whole of his life and that there had been nothing before. His old life had receded into the realm of vague memory.
Florm wandered up and they watched silently as the sunlight left the earth and the blue of the sky deepened toward black. Eventually, the stars came out and pierced brilliant holes in the dark fabric of the night.
Aram turned to Florm. “Surely you’ll stay the night here, my lord?”
“Yes. I’ll go home tomorrow. I thought I would sleep in the orchard.”
Aram nodded. “It’s a pleasant night—I think I’ll join you.”
“I wanted to tell you about the Call, Aram, how it works.” Florm said. “You simply blow into it like a reed and it renders a note that I can hear for a thousand miles or more. One note means that you need to see me. One note and I will come alone. Two notes means that your need is urgent and I will bring help, Thaniel certainly, and probably Jared, or maybe Huram. Three notes will tell me that the situation is dire and I will come quickly with all the help that I can bring. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord. One note if I need to see you. Two, if I’m in trouble. Three, if it’s desperate. But tell me, does it work the other way? What if you’re in jeopardy and you need me?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Florm chuckled. “But don’t worry, my friend, I won’t let myself get into another situation like the one that introduced us. I am, after all, quite old enough to know better.”
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