When they were near enough that he recognized that their leader was in fact Findaen, he stepped out where they would notice him. They were moving rapidly and resolutely and didn’t see him until they were very near. The second man in line, the dark one called Wamlak, spotted him and swerved toward him, warning the others to a halt.
They drew swords and formed a semicircle as Aram approached, and then Findaen recognized him and lowered his weapon.
“What are you doing here, sir?” he asked.
Aram ignored the question in favor of one of his own. “Where are you going so quickly? What troubles you, men of Derosa?”
Findaen came near him and pointed back toward the dusty blotch on the sky in the southwest. “Do you see that? That is an army of Manon, going toward Derosa. Our scouts tell us it is a body of five or six thousand men and assorted beasts, plus lashers. It may mean our end.”
Aram looked at him sharply. “Your end? Why would you say such a thing? Will you not fight?”
Findaen spat on the ground and returned his gaze bitterly. “Of course we will fight. But seven or eight hundred men, against six thousand? How will we stand for very long against such a host?”
Aram ignored him as he studied the dark smudge in the southwestern sky. It occurred to him that it was the second time in his life that a column of dust hanging in distant air had boded evil things. “When will they approach your city, do you think?”
Findaen followed his gaze. “Well, they seem to be in no hurry. The scouts say that, at their current level of progress, they will approach our defenses within nine or ten days, maybe less. We go now to prepare as best we can.”
Aram studied the men. They were obviously shaken, their faces pale and their eyes haunted by the certainty of the peril. Even the stalwart Jonwood’s features were the color of ash. They appeared to Aram’s eyes as exactly what they were—good men trudging bravely forward through a morass of fear to go and look in the face of death.
He felt the cold thrill of unavoidable destiny arise in him. An opportunity to oppose the will of Manon had come, more quickly than he could have expected. Manon was sending his minions into Aram’s part of the world to bring ruin upon those that Aram wanted for his friends and over whom he had begun to feel a curious sense of proprietorship. With sudden decision, he spun toward Findaen and his voice rang with command, startling the Derosans.
“Go now, all of you, and prepare for battle. But know this—you will not fight alone. I know someone who will help. I will find him and we will return before the army of Manon reaches the gates of your city.”
He pulled the extra sword from his belt and handed it to Findaen, along with two spears and two of the fine daggers from the storehouses of Regamun Mediar. “Take these. Tell your Prince that help will come.”
Without waiting for a response from the men of Derosa, Aram turned and plunged down a ravine toward the north. As soon as he passed from their sight, he drew the Call of Kelven to his lips, and after considering the situation a moment, blew two notes into the small silver reed. He needed Florm, and he needed Thaniel as well, but he hesitated to raise a general alarm until he could consult with the horses and tell them what he had in mind. As he blew into the Call, he heard nothing, but there was a tingle along both his shoulders as if the Guardians were alerted.
After sunset, throughout the night, he traveled eastward along the rivers until he could make the crossings, and then he turned to the north, aided by the last half of the harvest moon. He reached the city before daylight and, before heading inward toward the armory, blew two more notes on the Call.
He checked his armor and helmet and found his heaviest boots. He chose another sword to replace the one he’d given Findaen, then he filled two large quivers with arrows and equipped himself with three spears of the heaviest weight. Afterward, he went down to the stables, gathered the horse-armor and carried it topside.
For the next several hours, as the day wore away, he worked to replace all the leather fittings and catches on the armor, testing them for soundness and strength. Then, as the sun dropped toward the mountain behind the city, he ate a quick meal and went out to the great porch and looked along the avenue toward the river. It was empty.
He went to the south end of the porch so that he could see the grove of trees where the hawks had their nest.
“Willet. Cree.” He called, as loudly as he could.
Within minutes, the hawks came circling down out of the sky. Aram looked in their shining eyes and pointed toward the river.
“Please, if you will aid me, go and see if there are two horses coming toward the city from the eastern hills.”
Without answering, the hawks wheeled away toward the east but came back almost immediately.
“There are three horses, Lord Aram, just now coming onto the avenue.” Cree’s sharp voice rang in his mind and a glance along the avenue confirmed the information.
In a few minutes, Florm, Thaniel, and Jared came clattering up to the walls below the porch.
“We are here, Aram.” Florm’s rich voice reverberated up the masonry. “What is your need?”
Aram went rapidly down the stairs, out the end of the alleyway between the porch and the defensive wall and greeted the horses. “It is my friends, the Derosans,” he said. “Manon sends an army against them and I wish to aid them in their need. Will you help me?”
The horses wheezed with the exertion of their speedy trip across the mountains from the highlands and flecks of foam were spattered back along their necks and shoulders. Florm drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
“An army? How large is the force that Manon sends?”
“The scouts figure it to be between five and six thousand men. I haven’t seen it myself.” Aram answered. “They are led by lashers and Findaen said that there were also some ‘beasts’.”
“Did he? And how many warriors can your friends field?”
Aram shook his head. “I don’t think many of them are ‘warriors’. Just farmers with poor quality weapons, no more than seven or eight hundred, but they are tough and determined and will fight to defend their homes and families. I intend to put at least one experienced fighter on their side of the field. Will you help me, my lord?”
“Of course we will aid you,” Florm said, and he seemed strangely pleased. “What is your intention?”
Aram sat down on the large stone at the edge of the orchard. He was tired from the lack of sleep, but at the same time, energized by the decision to engage in the coming action. He considered Florm’s question a few moments, then decided to ask one of his own.
“My lord Florm,” he asked, “when was the last time that any of Manon’s servants went into battle against an armored, mounted man? When was the last time such a thing was seen?”
Florm gazed at him for several moments and his large, dark eyes seemed to smolder in their ancient depths. “Very good, very good. I told you this day would come, my friend, and I am happy to see it. The last time anyone faced a mounted warrior on a field of battle was more than ten thousand years ago. It was a fearsome thing then, and now that it is unheard of, and unseen, I suspect that the impact of a knight on horseback would bring an unhealthy measure of fear to the ranks of any enemy.”
Aram looked at him steadily. “I intend to bring more than fear to the enemy, my lord. I intend to bring death.”
Florm studied him for a long moment. “And so you shall. Let us prepare my father’s armor and I will bear you.”
“Not you, my lord.” Aram shook his head firmly. “Thaniel, if he will. He and I know each other well, we have fought together, and you told me yourself that your father’s armor would more readily fit your son’s frame than your own.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence while Aram and Florm gazed at each other, finally broken by Thaniel. He stepped forward and looked into his father’s eyes. “Lord Aram speaks the truth, father. It is my time that has come.”
Florm hesitated a moment longer and then sighed. �
�Yes, youth must prevail. And it is true that the two of you have experience in battle. Go, my son, bear lord Aram with honor.”
“A moment, my lord.” Jared moved forward and spoke impatiently. “I would go as well. You have said that the day would come when we must all resist the evil of Manon. I would do my part. Do not deny me.”
Aram stood, pre-empting any answer from Florm. “You may go with us, Jared, and help with preparation and the devising of strategy, and the day will come when you will fight as well. But for now there is armor for only one horse, and I would not have anyone die or be injured unnecessarily. I have an idea, and if it works, Thaniel and I, and most of the men of Derosa will escape death. Many of the servants of Manon, however, will not.”
He approached the horses and knelt down and drew a line in the dirt. “If Manon’s army moves forward in a line, and I suspect that it will, his men will be vulnerable to an attack from the side.” He drew an arrow in the dirt that impacted the line from the left. “A well-armed man attacking unexpectedly from the side would, in effect, face only one enemy at a time, at least at first. And if he caused enough death and confusion, the superior numbers of the enemy would be negated somewhat.”
Florm nodded his great head in enthusiasm. “You are a natural warrior, my friend, I always knew it. That particular tactic is called a flank attack. Joktan used it many times against the armies of Manon—though usually with much more than one mounted man—and it does precisely what you think it does, if executed well.”
Aram looked up at him. “Thaniel and I will do more than execute it well, my lord. We will shock and surprise them.”
The great horse had been quivering with tension, but now he calmed himself and bent his head toward the ground. “I am pleased, my friend, that at last there is someone to lead the fight against Manon. Thaniel will bear you. Jared and I will follow in reserve, if needed. We are at your service, lord Aram. What are your orders?”
Aram stood. “My armor is ready, as is Thaniel’s, though his needs some checking to make certain that I have interpreted its disposition properly. I want to go south in the morning, at first light.”
He looked up at the sun, just then preparing to slip behind the mountain. “I’ll get apples from the granary. We should all eat well and then rest. I’ll make a pack of extra weaponry and provisions.” He looked at Jared. “If it is not too great an imposition, perhaps my friend Jared will carry these extra supplies?”
Jared, still disappointed by his disbarment from the coming fight, nonetheless nodded his head in agreement.
“Good. Thank you.” Aram turned and looked intently at Florm. “And I would never think of going into battle without the benefit of your wisdom, my lord. Perhaps when we have looked upon the enemy and seen his intentions we may discuss how best to affect those intentions to his dismay.”
“The world is about to witness something it has not seen in a long time.” Florm answered thoughtfully. “A mounted knight in full armor. It will have an effect, perhaps enough for this battle. But there will be more battles. You understand that we are going to war and there is no turning back? If we survive this and have any measure of success in rescuing your friends, Manon will not let it stand, he will return and he will seek you.”
Aram smiled grimly and turned to go up the stairs into the city. “From what you told me yourself, my lord, the world of men has been at war with Manon for ten thousand years. We will fight this battle and then we will see. I will bring apples for supper and then I will join you, my lords, at first light.”
He sprinted up the south stairway and went first to the granary, then to the armory. After preparing the pack that Jared would carry, he took apples down to the horses and went back and laid out the armor for him and Thaniel for the morrow. Then he tried to sleep but it was deep into the night before he was successful. He felt like a man who had embarked upon a broad, dark, and unknown ocean in a small craft, unsure of his destination, or of his return, certain only of the righteousness of the journey.
At dawn, he lugged the mounds of armor down the steps a bit at a time and, with Florm’s guidance began to assemble it on Thaniel’s powerful frame. There were adjustments that had to be made and some of the fittings needed retying but, when he was done, shining black metal trimmed with beaded gold overlaid and protected every portion of Thaniel’s body, including his head, ears, eyes, and hooves.
Across the horse’s chest and just above his knees, wicked-looking spikes protruded from the armor. Long, sharp, and curved, they looked like they would do severe and obscene damage to any infantryman unlucky enough to be impacted by the passage of the great horse. Aram felt strange as he examined them. Florm was watching him and spoke quietly.
“You said you wished to bring death to the field of battle, my friend. You will be two against very many—you will need all the advantage this armor grants to your mount. It makes of Thaniel a weapon.”
Aram nodded solemnly. “I understand, my lord, it’s just that I’ve never killed my own kind before.”
“If this is truly an army of Manon,” Florm answered. “They will not really be your own kind.”
Aram looked at him sharply. “The Derosans said it was an army of men.”
There was sadness in the voice of the horse. “They once were—or those they came from were—but they have been altered by Manon, reduced to animals that follow orders and do not think for themselves. They are called ‘gray men’ but in truth they are not men at all. They are, however, dangerous. They will fight like a pack of maddened wolves.”
“Do they know fear?”
“Oh, yes.” Florm answered. “Manon cannot breed that out of them. They will not be your match in any aspect if you are able to inflict enough damage right away. Kill enough of them and the rest will run like rabbits. But there will be lashers also and they will not run, nor die easily.”
Aram nodded and began to don his own armor, black like Thaniel’s but without the gold trimming. “Actually, my lord, I’ve thought about that. I intend to attack the lashers first, if possible. If I can kill one or two of them, it might demoralize the army and give the Derosans a chance.”
Florm was silent for a moment, studying the disposition of Thaniel’s armor. Then he turned to Aram and spoke with frank directness. “Lashers are not like wolves, my friend. They are strong, fierce, and intelligent and they fight for Manon as sons fight for their father. A lasher can be killed, but only with great difficulty.”
Aram looked at him steadily. “But they can be killed.”
“You and Thaniel are a deadly team, I’ve seen it myself, but these are greater enemies than either of you have ever faced. I would not want to lose my son, or you, at the very beginning of the war.”
Aram finished strapping on his armor and began deploying his weaponry in the places provided by Thaniel’s. “We will not do anything foolish, my lord, and you will be there to advise us. I don’t intend that Thaniel and I will prevail on our own, just that we will even the odds a bit. You told me that others must do their part and the men of Derosa will do theirs. They will fight.”
The sun was topping the wooded ridges to the east when they set off to the south. Borlus sat forlorn at the entrance to his grotto and watched them go. Aram rode Thaniel and the two of them spent the morning’s journey becoming familiar with the art of moving in tandem while being so heavily armed.
By midmorning they had negotiated the shallow crossings in the rivers and started up through the long draws that led into the hills to the south. After several hours, Thaniel and Aram had become comfortable with being so heavily armored and were both functioning more easily in the confines of the thin metal.
It was the middle of the afternoon when they topped the wooded ridge south of the twin rivers and saw the cloud of dust to the southwest. It was closer, farther east, but still some days away from coming up due south of their position. Since Aram had never seen the gates of Derosa or the plains to its front where the battle would occur, he decided t
o check that out first.
They progressed southeast down the spine of a long, broad-topped ridge until, toward evening, they rounded a spire of jumbled rock and saw, two or three miles away, the rolling southern plains. There was plenty of grass where they were standing and a spring that issued from a grove of tall beech trees, so they decided to pass the night in that spot.
After removing his and Thaniel’s armor, and discussing with the horse some necessary changes in its disposition for the morrow, Aram scaled one of the taller trees and gazed out upon the plains. Off to his right, to the south and southwest, the plains went away from the verge of the green hills into the haze of the evening toward a distant flat horizon.
To the east and southeast, on Aram’s left, the wooded hills arched away from him in a gentle curve into the south. In the middle of the curve, a few miles distant, a large stream issued forth upon the plain to be joined at intervals by the many smaller tributaries emanating from the hills around Aram. The river coiled lazily southwestward through a broad but shallow valley in the gently undulating plains until it disappeared into the line of the horizon.
At the point in the southeast where the river flowed from the hills, his eye could make out hints of human construction, as if the river flowed from beneath a wall. Beyond the hills, smoke rose from disconnected fires. He decided that the smoke must come from the homes of Derosa.
Turning back to his right, to the southwest, he tried to make out the movement of the army, but the hour was too late and the sun too far gone. There was only an indistinct orange haze along the horizon in that direction. As he descended the tree, the wind came up from the south and brought with it the subtle smell of the sea.
In the morning, they continued on down the diminishing ridge until they stood at the edge of the hills upon the plains before Derosa. There were scattered buildings and fenced areas, evidently farmsteads, but they were deserted and the plain was empty of people. Aram walked to the top of a low, grassy ridge above a small stream and gazed eastward.
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 23
