Findaen sucked in his breath and Lancer’s eyes widened. Gently the Prince lifted the shining steel.
“But this is of the finest quality. Ancient quality. My lord Aram, are you certain you wish to part with this? It must have been in your family for some time.”
Aram nodded gravely and decided to believe, in that moment, that he was indeed Joktan’s heir. “Thousands of years, my lord. Please, accept it.”
Findaen, standing behind his father, looked up at Aram with a different light in his wide blue eyes. Holding Aram’s gaze, he walked slowly around the table until he stood next to him.
“Lord Aram, my friend, who are you, really?”
Aram shook his head. “I told you before, no one of great consequence.”
Lancer looked up at him with gravity deepening his pale blue eyes. “Lord Aram, we are not fools. My son has told me of how easily you slew the wolves that threatened him and his men. We know that you live in the city of the ancient kings. You command the Black Rider—nay, don’t protest, I know that you do.
“And now you give me a gift that is fit for the ancient kings. Indeed, it appears to have belonged to one of them. Do not think me impertinent when I ask this thing.” He stood to his feet, holding the sword next to him as if he feared that it would vanish if he let it go. “Who are you, my lord?”
Aram gazed back at the two of them, uncertain as to what he should answer. It was true that he’d been born the lowest of slaves. It was also true, as Florm was wont to point out, that he was more than he himself could have ever guessed. Perhaps it was the wine or the proximity of the beautiful Ka’en, but he decided to return an answer that surprised even him to hear, and one that, once enunciated, he immediately regretted.
“I have been told,” he said, and he stood very still and looked straight into Lancer’s eyes as he spoke, “that I may be the answer to Kelven’s Riddle.”
Lancer frowned at him and blinked his eyes. “Kelven’s Riddle? I have not heard of this thing. The Lord Kelven has not walked the earth in thousands of years.”
“That is true.” Aram answered carefully. “He was disembodied in the great battle when he failed to destroy Manon. But he left behind instructions for our times, though most of them are yet hidden from my eyes.” He leaned forward and placed his hands flat upon the table and spoke quietly. “My lord, you have resisted Manon for the whole of your life—you and your people—alone. But you are not alone. I am with you now and we have friends in the wilderness—friends that, when the time comes, will matter.”
He glanced around to make sure he was not overheard. “The day is coming, my lord, when we must resist Manon to the death. We must either defeat him or surrender to chains. I will not surrender to chains.”
Findaen, standing by his father stared back at him wide-eyed. “I knew it. You are the Black Rider.”
Suddenly, Aram felt in control of the situation. “If I were the Black Rider, as you call him, would it be wise to disseminate that information, Findaen? Would it not be wiser to rally your people, and others, to action without the belief in a champion? When Manon returns, and he will, everyone must fight. Do you dispute this?”
Findaen shook his head slowly. “No, my lord. But you must understand, we have resisted Manon alone for so long—we have been pushed from our ancestral homes out on the plains. To know that there is someone now, on our side, strong enough to face him on his own terms is the greatest cause for courage imaginable.”
Aram laughed harshly. “On his own terms? He nearly destroyed me.”
“Yes.” Findaen nodded solemnly. “But he didn’t.” Then his blue eyes widened and he looked sharply at Aram. “So, you acknowledge it. It was you—you are the Black Rider.”
The music ended. People were drifting back to the tables. Aram gave his hosts a hard glance and spoke low. “Let’s speak no more of this for now.” He looked at Lancer and bowed. “I’m glad you are pleased with the gift, my lord. And I have one for you as well, Findaen, though perhaps less magnificent.”
Wine was brought to the tables and soon everyone was seated again. Ka’en sat next to her father and the morose young man pushed his chair close to hers, though Aram was pleased to see that she leaned away and did not seem to share in a mutual depth of feeling. She looked across at Aram.
“Did you enjoy the dance, lord Aram?”
He smiled wryly. “I enjoyed watching, my lady. Luckily, I escaped having to join in—that would have been disastrous, I promise you.”
She returned his smile. “And I promise you that you will not escape so lightly again.”
This statement caused the young man next to her to deepen his scowl. But Aram ignored him, happy that her attention once again was centered on him. He smiled at her as long as he dared, then glanced down at his glass of wine. Feeling Findaen’s eyes on him, he looked that way and found him grinning knowingly. Aram felt his face go hot.
The conversation turned to lighter subjects with the women back at the tables and Aram was content to listen and join in only rarely. He drank a substantial amount of wine and felt it going to his head. Then Jonwood came around with several small cylinders of a brown leafy substance.
“Have you ever had a smoke, lord Aram?” he asked.
Aram shook his head. He’d never encountered the word in any other context than that of a campfire.
“Well, you’ll have to try one of these. Came out of my patch south of the hills. My Fiera rolled them herself. Ask anyone here, she makes the best smokes.”
Findaen took two from Jonwood and handed one to Aram. “A truer word was never spoken,” he said. “Fiera makes the best.”
Aram looked at the small, five or six-inch cylinder. Then he watched Findaen slide his under his nose, closing his eyes in pleasure. Aram followed suit. It smelled pungent and woody. It was not unpleasant. Findaen lit both of their cylinders and Aram sucked in the pungent smoke, almost choking. Instantly, Findaen slapped him on the back.
“Don’t inhale it, my friend, just roll it around in your mouth to get the flavor and then blow it out. Otherwise, it will make you sick as a dog.”
Aram glanced up at Ka’en, embarrassed, but she only smiled at him. Again, as he looked at her, Aram was struck by the perfect beauty of her features and the utter smoothness of her alabaster skin. No wonder the young man next to her seemed so possessive. He reminded himself again to ask Findaen about their particular situation.
After a while, Lancer excused himself, nodding solemnly to Aram, and went upstairs, carrying his prized sword like a babe in arms. Shortly afterward, Findaen’s sisters also said goodnight. Aram was talking with Mallet and didn’t see them go. Aram looked up to see the morose young blond-haired man sitting alone. Good, he thought, at least the possessive young man, apparently, was not a permanent fixture in the household. The next time he looked up, the blond-haired young man was also gone.
Eventually, Findaen wandered off in the company of a slim, redheaded girl, Mallet left with his small, plump wife, registering an effusive goodbye, and Aram was alone. He was feeling a bit woozy from the wine and Fiera’s smoke so he decided to go upstairs and find his room.
Foolishly, he decided to try and negotiate the interior passageways of the house. It was a large house with a confusing maze of passages. He knew that his room was on the eastern side of the house on the third floor near the back, so he went up and to the right and toward the back whenever he could. Eventually, however, with his head buzzing and his eyes blurring, he found himself at a juncture of two hallways, completely lost.
As he stood there looking one way and then another, a door opened behind him and he heard Ka’en’s soft voice.
“May I help you, sir?”
He turned. She and Jena stood just outside an open door on the left side of the hall, dressed in robes and holding lighted candles. Ka’en leaned her head quizzically to one side and looked at him seriously, while Jena stifled a giggle with her hand. Aghast, he realized that he had wandered into the private co
mpartments of Lancer’s house.
He stared at her. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’ve had some wine tonight and I—that smoke was a new thing, too—I was looking for a way…” humiliated, he trailed off.
Jena burst out laughing. Ka’en shushed her and moved her back into the room, closing the door. Then she turned to Aram.
“May I help you, my lord?”
He looked at her miserably. “I cannot find the way to my room.”
“I understand.” She held out her hand. “Come. I’ll take you.”
He looked down at the hand she offered. It was small with beautifully tapered fingers and nails like clear shell. Like everything else about her, it seemed almost artificially delicate. Even in his inebriated state, it was like being offered the treasures of the world to be offered her hand.
Numbly he held out his own rough hand. She grasped his fingers—it was like being touched by lightning—and led him back along the hallway he’d just traveled. She smelled wonderful. Turning right at the next corner, she led him to a stairway and up. Then they went to the right again, left around another corner and finally stood before the door to his room.
“Here you are, my lord,” she said and to his regret, released his hand. She turned her head to one side and looked up at him. “Will you be alright, now?”
He nodded while trying desperately to gain control of his feelings. “Thank you, my lady. I—thank you.”
The wine had hit him hard and the unfamiliar strength of the smoke had contrived to muddle him, but it was the nearness of her that was blinding. His senses were overwhelmed. He tried to think of something clever or at least reasonably intelligent to say in order to salvage the situation, but in the end just stared at her in mute and unabashed admiration.
She smiled gently. “Goodnight then, my lord.”
She turned and moved away down the hall.
He watched her until she turned the corner out of sight and then went miserably into his room. Besides feeling ill from the excessive partaking of unaccustomed delights, he’d ruined a chance to get to know the beautiful Lady Ka’en better. And her younger sister had laughed at his ineptness.
He flung himself onto the bed and lay on his back, staring up into the darkness. He felt an utter fool. Ka’en—even just her existence—confused everything for him just when he was gaining some clarity of the meaning of his own life. Seven years ago he would never have guessed that he would become anything more than a vagabond in the earth, trying desperately for the rest of his life to stay one step ahead of Manon’s servants.
Instead, he’d become something else. Men and horses and wolves called him lord and master. He had discovered within himself a prowess for waging battle. Manon, who already ruled most of the world and intended to govern the courses of all life, had seen him and no doubt by now considered him a personal, and special, enemy. That thought sobered him and he sat upright.
If Florm was right and the battle of the plains was Manon’s attempt to draw him out and discover his base of support, then his proximity to Derosa placed that town and its inhabitants in special danger. Which meant—the realization of this appalled him—that his acquaintance with Ka’en would not mean just slavery for her and her people if Manon had his way, but death.
He went out onto the balcony and prowled back and forth along it like a panic-stricken cat, tormented by the idea of the beautiful Ka’en being killed or reduced to slavery. Gradually, though, his mind cleared and he was able to sort his thoughts intelligently. He realized that there was no hope for remedy now, anyway. Manon probably meant to destroy Derosa all along.
Aram had no knowledge of what kind of resistance Manon faced along his other frontiers but the people of Derosa had certainly struggled to retain their freedom for some time. Probably, Manon meant to kill the adults in any event and put the children to work producing for his empire. This was no doubt what had happened to Aram’s own people sometime in the distant past but the certain knowledge of that event was lost in the deep wells of time.
None of this mattered. Manon knew now that he and Derosa were in league with one another and whatever else he was doing throughout the world, he would certainly bring his power and his evil plans to bear here on the southern plains as soon as possible. The fight would come and it would come to Derosa. He must use whatever time he had to prepare for it.
He walked to the end of the porch nearest the town and looked southward over the moonlit valley to the hills beyond. Somewhere, far to the south, was the sea. He’d always heard that there were great cities there. Were they aligned with Manon, under his boot, or were they yet free? These were things, he realized, that he must discover. Seven or eight hundred farmers, no matter how well armed, would never withstand the might of Manon when it was brought fully to bear. They needed allies.
Finally, as the moon wheeled west and the shadows grew long in the dark streets, he tired and went into his room. He lay for awhile, trying to sort out his thoughts but now that he was relaxed, found that he could think of nothing but Ka’en, of her gentle kindness and her astounding beauty. A feeling rose up strong inside him—though he’d never felt it before, he recognized it instantly. It was desire. Desire for this lovely, elegant, and graceful woman. It was spiritual, intellectual, and physical. He wanted to know her, to have her, and to be loved by her. For there in the darkness, he knew that he loved her.
XX
He awoke after a few hours to find the rising sun streaming into the room through the window. It was just past dawn. He went to the washbasin, stripped off his shirt and bathed. Then he went out onto the porch. Here and there in the valley, in the flat, orange light of early morning, men were making their way to work in the fields.
Aram had always hated his lot of tending the earth but now he wondered if he would feel differently about it if rather than wearing the chains of bondage; he had always been able to work his own piece of ground at his own volition. Thinking about it, he doubted it. He didn’t mind attending to the few crops he grew in his valley but they were nothing compared to the labors of these farmers. These men worked large pieces of ground every day. Watching them bend into work that would undoubtedly last the day, Aram realized that he would rather go into battle a thousand times than face such an unending task.
Hearing boots ring on the deck of the porch, he turned. Findaen came toward him, bearing two steaming mugs.
“Good morning, my lord Aram.” He extended one cup toward Aram. “Kolfa?”
Aram frowned at him.
“Your morning cup of kolfa, my lord.” Findaen shook the mug slightly. “You know what they say—never start the day without it.”
Aram took the mug and looked inside. Thick, black, pungent liquid sent steaming acrid aromas into his face. He smiled sheepishly at Findaen.
“I’ve never had kolfa.” He confessed.
Findaen stared back at him, grinning. “By the land and all its bounty, you really are a barbarian, aren’t you? A splendid barbarian—it’s true—but a barbarian nonetheless. Go on—try it.”
Aram brought the cup up and tipped it into his mouth. It tasted bitter and was very hot but to his surprise, he liked it instantly. Findaen’s grin broadened.
“See? It’s good stuff. Gets your blood pumping.” He sipped from his own mug and then tapped it gingerly with his forefinger. “Used to be—we could drink this stuff like water but it’s getting hard to come by now. We have to trade for it in secret. Comes from Kolfaria, an island in the ocean, I think. And the more power the grim lord has, the harder it is to do business. Back before he showed up, when we farmed all the plains, we—”
He stopped suddenly and leaned on the rail and gazed out over the valley with his head turned toward the west. When he spoke again, there was a tone of wistfulness in his voice.
“Lord Aram, I don’t know of your history with Manon but until the time of my great-grandfather we had never heard of such a person. Our people lived out on the plains south of the green hills. Though there were a few
towns, including Derosa, which has not always been our capital, my ancestors were mostly farmers. They traded with the seaports to the south—our leaf and wheat for their kolfa and exotic fruits.
“Then, the overseers of Manon showed up and with the protection of the lashers, began controlling all the trade routes. We had to pay taxes in goods and gold—then they began demanding young people as slaves.” He glanced at Aram before continuing. “Our people had never encountered the concept of slavery—time out of mind—and they resisted. They fiercely believed that it was wrong for people not to be free. Then the killings began.
“At first it was small parties of traders that were ambushed and slain, but then whole families would disappear from outlying farms. The parents would be found dead and the children missing. So we fought back. We traded for weapons from Durck, a port city to the southeast, known for avoiding the official law, if you know what I mean.
“My ancestors organized patrols to fend off the overseers of Manon, but he sent an army with lashers, who were too fierce and strong to be resisted. Our fighters were slaughtered. Stell, our capitol, was lost. Finally, our people pulled back from their western lands behind the wide river that flows out from under Burning Mountain and destroyed all the bridges. We still couldn’t kill lashers but we made any attempt at crossing extremely unpleasant for them.
“Then, somewhere on the other side of the world, there was a rebellion, and we did not see the servants of the grim lord for sixty years while he was occupied elsewhere. We half hoped that he’d been defeated. The first warning that he’d returned was when the cities along the coast stopped trading openly with us and our people reported that there were lashers among them. Then, bands of the gray men came and began killing our people, taking their children, and burning our farms and villages. That was ten years ago.
“There were a few of our people that tried to farm lands in hidden dales and hollows of the plains but most of us pulled back into the hills to avoid the roving bands of gray soldiers, and occasionally, lashers. Last year was the first time Manon sent an organized force against us since the fall of Stell. After what you did,” he glanced sidelong at Aram, “some have gone back out to their farms on the plains, but is it safe to do so? How long will it be before he returns with an even larger army?” He turned and looked full at Aram. “Or was he destroyed in that explosion?”
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