The sun was just topping the hills slightly to his right, but even with its light in his eyes he could make out the wooden wall of the town’s defenses. The wall completely traversed the narrow valley where the river left the hills and entered the plains. It arched over the stream and there was a gate in it to the left of the running water. A well-used road led away from the gate and wound away toward the southwest, generally following the course of the river.
There were no signs of any people. Evidently, they intended to fight from behind the wall. Aram examined the plain on the near side of the river by the road. It was gently rolling to flat, cut here and there by the rivulets that issued from the hills behind him. He could see nothing but advantage for an army of superior numbers in that eminently maneuverable space.
He looked westward. In the morning sunlight, the dust raised by the approaching army appeared almost white. He estimated the distance and decided that if the army moved at the pace of a normal man’s walk, it would arrive on this spot in four or five days. He had time, therefore, to go west and examine the army and its strength, and discuss possible plans with the horses.
Aram decided to leave the Derosans alone and not inform them of his arrival and his plans but to let them deploy as they would. If there was to be any advantage in the surprise of a mounted man appearing suddenly upon the battlefield, he thought that it might work both ways, for his friends and against his foes. Besides, he was used to operating by himself, at his own volition. Perhaps that aspect of his life would someday change, but not now.
He rejoined the horses and found that Florm agreed with his assessment.
“If there is a weakness we can exploit in the enemy’s deployment,” the horse lord said, “we’d best do it on our own and surprise everybody. They won’t know at first that it is just one man—it might be the thing that turns the battle in our favor and gives courage to your friends.”
Aram remounted Thaniel and the four of them went back up the long ridge to the top of the main spine between the rivers and the plains and turned west. The horses were strong, powerful and fast and ate up the ground quickly; by the end of that day, they had come upon the trail that Aram and Decius had walked years ago and were nearly due north of the cloud of dust out on the plain. They camped at the bottom of a wooded draw.
The next morning, they eased southward through the trees along the top of a ridge, with Aram going ahead to watch for scouts that Manon’s army might have sent among the hills as outliers. But there were none. They made it all the way down to the end of the green hills and stopped in a copse of woods at the base of a slope. The plain spread before them. Looking to the south, Aram felt his blood freeze and his insides constrict. The cold hand of fear reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with fingers of ice.
Out on the plains a mile or so distant, their pikes held high with the metal points glittering in the sun, were three very long columns of soldiers, trudging eastward. It was an enormous clot of humanity, more men than Aram had witnessed during the whole of his life. At the head and rear of each column, the tall, black figures of lashers moved the masses forward. Behind were dozens of wagons, pulled by oxen, no doubt full of provisions.
For one chilling moment he wondered whether he might just as well turn around and retreat into his valley. How could one man, three horses, and seven or eight hundred farmers defeat such a grim host?
But then he calmed himself and glanced over at the horses to see if they were affected as he was and if they had witnessed his spasm of fear. There was no indication that they’d noticed, or had had similar thoughts. Florm gazed intently southward for several minutes and then turned to Aram.
“It seems as if your friends let fear get the better of their eyes.” He said. “There are no more than three thousand men, maybe a few more, about half of what we expected. Still formidable, but less so. There are, however, six lashers. One would be a challenge; six will be daunting, especially if they fight as a group on the battlefield. But—there are only six. Manon must either think this will be an easy thing, or he can’t spare more. If the latter were true, it would be suggestive.”
Aram watched the long, glittering black lines moving eastward across the prairie. “How long before they reach the walls of Derosa? Three or four days?”
Florm nodded. “Just about.”
Aram pivoted and moved back into the trees. “Then there is enough time to return and examine the ground where we will face them.”
The horses turned to join him when Jared suddenly stopped, peering at the wagons following the tramping army. “What is that?” He asked and the others followed his gaze.
At the very rear of the army was a large wagon, pulled by eight oxen. Mounted on the wagon was a tall dark cone, its pointed top capped by shining metal, like a spear point. It was surrounded by tramping guards in black armor, two or three rows deep.
“I don’t know what that is,” answered Florm. “Perhaps it’s a commander’s tent. A new breed of lasher, maybe, or something else. I cannot guess. I know very little of Manon’s chain of command. Aram?”
Watching the unknown object, surrounded by its dark and formidable guards, Aram felt a strange coldness in his belly. Even at that distance, the black cone emitted an aura of evil. He had the sudden feeling that whatever lurked inside it was a thing he would not want to face.
“We should go,” he said, and they started back up the wooded draw toward the distant ridge top. Thaniel had learned to move easily in his armor even when Aram was aboard, so, in order to make better time, Aram rode the tall black horse though for the moment he let Jared carry his own armor as a pack. By nightfall, they were back on the long ridge to the west of Derosa that sloped down to the site of the coming battle. They camped in the copse of trees by the spring again and Aram and Thaniel once again discussed the disposition of the horse’s armor, making final adjustments for the task ahead.
The next day was spent examining the ground where the hills verged the plain for possible routes of egress and ingress, depending upon how Manon’s army was ultimately deployed. Every so often, Aram would climb to the top of the nearest ridge and check on the progress of their enemy. Toward sundown, the advance contingents of the army were in view, dark specks on the distant plain, less than two days away.
They agreed that the next day was to be spent in rest, though Aram went down the ridge alone in the early afternoon and checked on the army’s progress. The men of Manon were barely two miles away. Aram hid on the crest of the ridge and watched them approach.
About an hour before sundown, the army stopped and spread out across the plain in two or three ranks, and they sent scouts into the hills barely a mile from Aram’s position. This was worrisome. He’d hoped to hit the army by surprise, upon its left flank, but if he had to deal with scouts, the element of surprise might be compromised.
By nightfall, the army had camped and fires were burning across the plain. Scattered fires also burned along the ridge tops to the west, in the hills north of the army. On the morrow, Derosa would be assaulted, and Aram would be at war with his own kind for the first time in his life. He slipped back up the ridge toward camp in the darkness with something that felt very much like real fear thrumming deep in his chest.
There was no moon as yet, only stars in the sky, and the physical features of the ridge top were reduced to gray shadows and black shapes. The only serious source of light was the Glittering Sword of God, slashing obliquely up the sky a few hours above the western horizon. As he rounded a rocky spire surrounded by gray-barked trees, he was suddenly confronted by a tall, dark figure, standing alone in the dimness upon the open ridge beyond the trees.
The steel of his blade sang sharply in the stillness of the night as he pulled it from its scabbard and brought it to the ready to challenge the stranger. The man was hooded and cloaked and did not respond to Aram’s threat. He stood perfectly still as Aram eased to his left, searching the ground with his boots for a better purchase.
When he was on solid, level ground and slightly above the stranger’s position, he forced himself to breathe deeply twice and then spoke quietly.
“Identify yourself,” he demanded.
The man stared at him from the deep blackness of his hood while Aram waited with his sword pointed at the figure’s chest. At last the stranger stirred.
“So, Aram,” he said, “you will fight tomorrow, is that so?”
Aram jumped. It was a voice he’d heard before. This same specter had leaned over him that evening in the snow when the wolves had savaged him and he had prepared himself for death. He lowered his weapon slightly and peered into the shadow under the hood.
“You. You seem to show up every time I’m in peril.”
The hood bent forward slightly in assent. “May it always be so.”
“Who are you?”
The cloaked figure ignored the question, and repeated his own instead.
“Will you fight tomorrow?” He asked quietly.
Aram swung his sword over his shoulder and slipped it into its scabbard.
“Yes.” He answered. “I will fight tomorrow.”
“And you are afraid.” It was a statement. “You, who have attacked entire packs of wolves without fear and slain so many of their number, are afraid.”
Aram shrugged. “I am. These are men, and there are thousands of them. There are lashers as well. Yes, I am—afraid of tomorrow.”
“Fear is a wise man’s friend, it makes him cautious. As long as it does not overwhelm him and render him impotent. Are you afraid that tomorrow you may die?”
Aram laughed quietly. “No, I do not fear death. I never have.” He turned and gazed behind him at the gray expanse of the darkened plain, lying indistinct and featureless under the stars. The fires of the enemy camp were further west, out of sight. “I am afraid of failure. I do not want to die and have the homes of my friends plundered, and perhaps cause the death of a horse and have it all mean nothing.”
“You will not fail. And you will not cause the death of a horse under any circumstances.”
Aram looked at him. “But I will be mounted.”
“Yes, but Thaniel goes into battle of his own will. Horses do not go into battle any other way. They are an amazing people, strong, wise, and courageous.” Aram felt the unseen eyes upon him. “What is your plan of attack?”
“I intend to strike them unexpectedly upon their flank, after they are in line but before they can assault Derosa.”
The figure nodded. “These are the servants of Manon and they will fight as they always have. They will be mostly pikemen; each of them will be also armed with a secondary weapon, probably a short sword. They will line up across the field in one or two ranks with reserves in the center. But there will also be archers. After the pikemen are on line and the field to the front secure, the archers will be ordered forward. As they are passing through the lines, then is the time to strike.”
“There are lashers, also; I’ve seen them.” Aram informed him. “Six in all. I intend to go after each of them as soon as I can, if at all possible. Lord Florm warned me that they might be unconquerable if they fight together.”
The cloaked figure shook his head. “They won’t. They will be spread along the line. Manon expects that this will be an easy thing. Of course, he doesn’t know about you.” He hesitated a moment. “About the lashers. Young Florm is right in that they will not kill easily. But they can be killed. And, like any other creature, they do know fear. A lasher will fight ferociously, but, if he sees the imminence of his own death, he will run from it if he can. If you can kill even one or two, the others will not be so certain of victory and your task will be easier. Their armor is of hardened leather and is very strong but it has its vulnerabilities, especially about the head and neck.”
The cloaked figure leaned forward and studied Aram quietly for a moment and then stepped back, standing erect.
“I see that you are not alone. There are Guardians with you. Though you may not command them, they will aid you. Believe me; they are worth more than a company of the best swordsmen. You will not fail tomorrow, Aram, I am sure of it.”
Standing there on the darkened ridge top in the still of night, listening to the specter’s quiet voice, Aram felt his confidence begin to return and his earlier fear recede. As he gazed with renewed confidence at his advisor, the cloaked and hooded figure began to fade into the blackness of the trees behind him. He realized suddenly that the specter was leaving. He stepped quickly forward and held out his hands.
“Wait, please, sir. Tell me who you are.”
The figure shimmered darkly on the edge of visibility for just a moment. “I am all that remains of what was once a man. Be very careful tomorrow, my son, even as you are brave. I would not have you die now, at the beginning.”
Then he was gone. Aram stood staring into the black and gray tapestry of the night and thought about what Florm had told him of the ancient king, Joktan, who would not leave the earth until he was avenged upon Manon. Then, though he did not know if he was heard, he spoke quietly into the shadows along the top of the darkened ridge.
“I know who you are, my lord,” he said, but the darkness returned no answer.
XVI
After he returned to camp, Aram tried to sleep, but found that the tense anticipation of the events to come on the morrow prevented it. The Glittering Sword had fallen into the west and was sliding beyond the edge of the world when he finally gave up on sleep and concentrated on forcing his body to be still so it could rest.
As soon as it was light enough to see, Aram ate a cold breakfast and eased down the crest of the ridge to the west to watch the movement of the enemy’s scouts. An hour past sunrise he saw them come, three or four of them, fifty yards apart, moving furtively but in a straight line from west to east, cresting the ridges and then disappearing for a time as each negotiated the narrow draws between. The nearest one would pass well to the south of him.
For a moment, he considered killing all of them with his bow, but thought better of it. Such an act might alert the main body to the fact that there was a threat on its northern flank. He did not want to sacrifice the element of surprise; it would be his best friend in the first minutes of the coming struggle.
After the scouts had traversed the ridge where he and the horses had camped and gone out of sight to the east, he returned to the horses. The main body would come into position down on the plains by mid-morning or early afternoon. It was time to prepare for battle.
Florm was grazing calmly on the western slope of the ridge but Thaniel and Jared were standing out on the top, looking stolidly toward the south. Aram went over to Thaniel.
“How are you this morning, my friend?”
Thaniel swung his great head around and focused on Aram. His large eyes were shining and black. “I am…tense. But I am ready. And you?”
Aram placed a hand on the horse’s shoulder and looked south. “Tense is a good word for it.” He drew a deep breath. “The enemy will be in position in a few hours and the scouts have gone by. We should prepare and go.”
“Then let us go.”
As Aram was armoring Thaniel, Florm came up and watched. After a few moments, he spoke.
“I heard you talking in the night, Aram. Were you praying?”
“No, my lord, though probably I should have. I met an old friend; a ghost who seems to show up every time I’m in duress.”
“A ghost?”
“Well, a specter, anyway.” Aram thought about it a moment and then shrugged. “Sometimes I see him, but mostly I don’t.”
Florm studied him. “Indeed. And did he give you advice?”
“Oh, yes.” Aram smiled slightly. “He is familiar with Manon’s methods and he seemed to think that we would not fail today. And he knows you, my lord—he called you ‘young Florm’.”
“I see.” There was an odd tone in the ancient horse’s voice that made Aram turn and look at him.
“What is it that you see, my
lord?”
“How things really are.” Florm answered quietly. He turned to Thaniel. “I know that you and lord Aram have fought together often and well, my son, but today’s effort will need to be perfect and seamless if you are to prevail, or even survive. After the battle starts, Jared and I will move forward and watch from the ridge. I will be in contact with you should the need arise. Do not die before my eyes.”
Thaniel shifted his bulk under the armor. “I will not die, father. Lord Aram and I will not fail.”
When Thaniel was fully armored, Aram checked every fitting and every strap and made certain the saddle was cinched to Thaniel’s satisfaction and comfort. Then he slipped his spears through the rings at the front of the saddle and tied two quivers of arrows to the rings on the back.
He dressed into his armor and pulled his horned helmet over his head, leaving the visor up for the moment. After checking his sword and bow, he slid the sword into the scabbard on his back and slipped the bow over his head. Then he mounted the great black horse and they went to the bottom of the draw and headed south.
Before the middle of the morning, they stopped in a dense copse of trees a quarter mile from the open plain. Removing his helmet, Aram left the horses hidden and crept cautiously forward on foot. From the open plain to his front came the sounds of shouted orders and the ringing of metal and the tramping of many feet. The army was already within an arrow shot of the walls of Derosa and was forming up for the assault.
It was difficult to crawl wearing his armor but he managed it. At the top of a small embankment where the stream at the bottom of the draw made a loop through a stand of willows before flowing out into the level ground, he gazed upon his enemy.
The columns of lean, hunched men were spilling their contents to each side, forming a double line across the plain, bristling with spears. Their discipline was impressive. The line was forming just short of the crest of a small rise to Aram’s left, on the eastern side of the stream. Aram watched, fascinated, as the long columns broke into segments and then spread like water poured on stone, filling the gaps in the line.
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 24
