Florm chuckled and his great black eyes shone. “There is wisdom speaking, my friend. I think nothing further need be said. Farewell, lord Aram, I will see you again before winter.”
“Farewell, my friends,” Aram answered, and he felt his heart swell as he watched them canter down the avenue and out of sight.
Aram spent another week checking his crops and making his long-delayed promised inspection of the valley near to the city with Borlus. He visited with Willet and Cree and spoke to Alvern once when he spotted him high in the air above the southeastern corner of the valley.
He harvested his wheat and a few squash and made certain everything else would be fine until fall, and then he prepared to return to Derosa. He wore only the breastplate portion of his suit of armor and he took his best sword, his long bow and one quiver of three dozen arrows.
By traveling fast throughout the long days and resting only a few hours in the depths of night, he came out of the hills and looked upon the river road on the evening of the third day. Before exiting the tall, green hardwood forests, he freshened up in the clear stream.
The guard at the gate knew him and sent a runner ahead of him into town to inform Findaen of his arrival. Findaen met him on the main street in front of the tavern. The copper-haired young man bowed low and grinned.
“Welcome, my lord, welcome. It is good to see you. They are just now sitting down to supper in my father’s house. Please join us.”
Aram grinned back. “Hello, my friend. Yes, I am hungry.”
Mallet came tearing out of the tavern with his plump wife on his arm.
“Lord Aram—you are well met!”
“Hello, Mallet. Hello, Mrs. Mallet.” Aram offered the big man his hand and the latter pumped it vigorously while his wife beamed.
Ka’en was at supper, seated next to her father. Kemul, as if he’d never moved, was seated stubbornly next to her. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered and suddenly the familiarity he’d shared with her in the spring and had hoped would continue deserted him. She smiled at him and he felt his face warm under the influence of a foolish smile as he bowed stiffly.
Lancer stood and offered his hand across the table.
“Welcome, lord Aram, again to my house.” He said graciously.
As the conversation flowed, Aram found no opportunity of speaking directly with Ka’en and was silent for a while. Finally, feeling a need to involve himself verbally he looked over at Findaen.
“What news from the west? Did your men discover anything?”
Findaen glanced at his father who responded only with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. Findaen looked carefully around the table, and then studied his plate thoughtfully for a moment. Finally he looked up.
“I guess there’s no one here that can’t receive this.” He said. He looked at Aram. “There is news, my lord. We haven’t quite decided just what it signifies, but—perhaps it would be better for Jonwood to tell it, as he was there.”
He glanced across at Jonwood, seated two places from Aram’s left and made a motion with his hand. Jonwood finished chewing, laid down his knife and fork, and looked at Aram.
“We went west across the plains as you know, my lord, all the way to the Broad River. There we found a bridge that Manon’s army had constructed. We had orders not to proceed any further than the river but we had encountered no one anywhere upon the plains, and there was no one in sight on the opposite bank, so we crossed over and went on along the edge of the hills toward Burning Mountain.
“A day later we encountered a patrol of six armed men like the kind you defeated last fall. We barely avoided them and hid in some trees until they had passed. A while later, we saw them going back west across the plains about a mile to the south, like they were making a regular patrol. We waited until it was clear and then we went carefully on until we could see the hills around the base of Burning Mountain.”
He picked up his fork and pushed it into a piece of potato. “Have you ever been to Burning Mountain, lord Aram?”
Aram shook his head.
“It sits alone out on the plains at the end of a line of hills that jut out to the southwest at the very borders of our lands. It’s a big mountain, and occasionally spits out molten rock and sets the forests on fire. That’s why we call it Burning Mountain. It’s surrounded by smaller hills made of the same material.
“There was a lot of activity upon the hills around its base, particularly on Flat Butte, a mesa that sits kind of by itself at the southern foot of the mountain. Lots of men. Some lashers, too.
“And there were wagon trains going into the forests to the north. We couldn’t get close enough to see exactly what was going on but it looks like they’re building something on Flat Butte.”
Aram looked at him sharply. “Building something?”
Jonwood nodded. “They’re bringing logs out of the woods by the hundreds. Whatever they’re building—it looks like they mean to stay awhile.”
Aram was troubled by this news. He’d thought that when he’d defeated Manon’s army and avoided the trap of the fellring that Manon would have to fall back and regroup—that maybe they wouldn’t be compelled to defend themselves again for as long as two or three years.
But if Manon was building fortifications within a hundred miles of Derosa it could only mean that he meant to stay in this part of the world and return in force soon to the plain before the walls of the town. And it would be a force that could be re-supplied and reinforced quickly. He looked at Jonwood.
“You say that you saw lashers?”
Jonwood nodded slowly. “I think so. We couldn’t get close enough to tell for sure but there were some much larger figures moving among the men.”
“You look troubled, lord Aram,” Lancer said quietly. “What are your thoughts?”
Aram glanced up at the gray-haired, dignified man. “I just thought that we might have more time to prepare after last fall, my lord. I spent the last two months training horses and hoped by next year to have men from among your ranks to learn to ride and fight. Now it appears that we won’t have the luxury of any time at all.”
Wamlak leaned around Jonwood to look at Aram in amazement. “You’ve convinced the horses to join us—to carry us into battle?”
“I didn’t convince them of anything. It was their decision. What horses do, they do of their own volition.”
Wamlak glanced around the table. “Do you know what this means? It means that we will be the only mounted army on earth.” He looked back at Aram. “I would like to volunteer to join your cavalry, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “We need about eight hundred volunteers.”
Findaen stared. “Eight hundred! We could put every man in Derosa on a horse!”
“Not me,” Quickly interjected Mallet. “When I fight, I’ll stand on my own two feet, thank you kindly.”
Aram laughed. “There will be many who feel like Mallet.” He said. “And we need an infantry anyway.” He glanced over at Ka’en before continuing. Her lovely eyes and features were serious and stoic but she made no move to leave the room. “War is coming upon us and we must learn to fight with discipline and order. Your people, Lord Lancer, must decide what they will do—in a military sense—in the days ahead.”
The Prince of Derosa smiled gently. “I have spoken with my son, lord Aram, and we have discussed it with the council. You are the only warrior among us and you have the alliance of the horse people. You must lead. The men and resources of Derosa are at your command.”
Surprised, Aram stared at him and then looked around the table. Every man’s eyes were fixed on him in agreement with the Prince’s statement except those of Kemul. The broad-shouldered young man glared sullenly downward at his plate.
“Alright.” Aram nodded slowly. “As you wish, my lord.”
Findaen leaned toward him across the table. “So what do we do now? If Manon moves upon us this year, we are not ready.”
Aram glanced again at Ka’en. She gazed steadily back and he cou
ld not read her expression. He turned to Findaen. “We’ll have to buy time. I’ll go west to Burning Mountain and see what Manon is doing there and—if I can—disrupt his plans. If I can make that location seem too dangerous, he might decide to relocate his activities further west. That would give us some time to train, at least a little more than we might have now.”
Ka’en frowned. “What do you mean—disrupt his plans?”
Aram gazed into her eyes for a long moment, but found that he still could not read her expression, so he looked at the others. “I mean this—if I can kill a couple of lashers and as many overseers as possible, it might discourage the rest of his men. I have no doubt that most of the work is being done with slave labor; perhaps I might even set some of them free.
“Manon will know then that his feet are too close to the fire and that we might be stronger than he supposed. It will make him more cautious and it might buy us a year or two. That’s what I mean.”
Ka’en frowned down at the table but Jonwood spoke with enthusiasm. “I’ll go with you, my lord. I would sure as hell like to see you kill a lasher and maybe learn to do it myself.”
“You’re not going without me,” broke in Mallet, and several others nodded.
Aram frowned and spoke carefully. “There is no need for any of you to go. This is something I can do alone and—”
Lancer held up a hand and replied in calm, measured tones. “My lord, none of us doubt that you can do this alone. We have seen what you can do. But it is perhaps time to start bringing others up to your level. You cannot defeat Manon by yourself and the more experience these young men can gain under your leadership; the more they can pass it on to others. Does this not seem like sound military doctrine?”
Aram felt the sting of the rebuke but knew the words to be true. He smiled. “You are right, my lord.” He thought a moment. “We do not need such a large party that we cannot move undetected, however. Perhaps six or eight men—no more.”
He looked around the table and then at Findaen. “So, who’s going?”
“Me, for one,” Findaen grinned. “I ‘m going for sure.”
A chorus erupted from around the table. Every man except Kemul expressed a desire to be in the party. Aram held up his hands, silencing them. “Findaen will choose eight men. I want to leave as soon as possible.” He glanced at Ka’en but her eyes were directed downward and she did not look up. “We’ll leave tomorrow. We’ll go to my city and equip every man properly, then go west along the river.”
Mallet’s eyes widened. “We’re going to see your city, my lord?”
“The weapons are there.” Aram said simply.
The men then turned their attention to Findaen, each expressing reasons why he should be in the party. Aram returned to his meal, quietly distraught. He desperately wanted to continue trying to develop his relationship with Ka’en but the news that Manon might be constructing fortifications within a hundred miles of the town could not be ignored. He glanced up at her but she was talking quietly and earnestly with her father.
He focused on finishing his meal, which had grown cold but was still better fare than he was used to. Then, suddenly, he heard her soft voice.
“Good night, lord Aram.”
Startled, he looked up. She and her father were standing and obviously quitting the hall. She seemed upset, angry, and uncertain, as if she was unsure of where to direct her anger. He stood and bowed.
“Good night, my lady—my lord.” She smiled very slightly and left the hall on her father’s arm. Aram watched her go and, once again, found himself fervently despising Manon for the havoc he wreaked in the most basic aspects of people’s lives. Instead of more quiet interludes on the veranda that might lead toward the fulfillment of his deepest desire, Aram was forced to once again bend his thoughts to war.
Findaen put him in his old room and promised to have the men assembled and ready to leave at daylight.
XXII
There were seven men gathered with Findaen in the morning. Jonwood, Mallet, Wamlak, Erak, Dane, Mallet’s cousin, a very large man named Aberlon, and Dane’s son, Alred. Through the mists of early morning, Aram led them northward up the long ridge west of town. Four days later, they were gazing about them in awe as they filed up the great avenue toward Aram’s city.
He left them wandering the great porch in amazement while he led Findaen through the city to the armory. Findaen’s head swiveled from side to side as he gaped at the great stone magnificence that surrounded him on all sides.
“You are lord of a magical place, my friend.” He told Aram.
“This city has had greater lords than I.” Aram answered.
Findaen looked at him with a new light in his eyes. “That remains to be seen, does it not?”
Aram shrugged. “One of the former masters of this city was an ancestor of mine and he was most certainly greater than I.”
Findaen watched him a moment and then spoke soberly. “And was he defeated by Manon?”
“Yes,” Aram acknowledged. “Manon slew him with his own hand.”
Findaen stopped and looked at him with widened eyes. “What does such a history bode for you, my lord?”
Aram swung around and faced his friend, returning his gaze without expression. Then he smiled slightly. “My ancestor did not die easily, Findaen.” The smile slowly disappeared as he looked up and around at the multi-hued stone mansions and towers. “And I don’t intend to die at all.”
“But you or Manon—one of you must die. Is this not true? How else can it end?” Findaen watched his friend through narrowed eyes. “How will you kill someone like him?”
Aram shook his head slightly but the wry smile returned and he continued on toward the armory. “I have not discovered that as yet.”
As he followed his friend, Findaen gazed at the splendor of the amazing city around him. “I don’t understand any of this—I’ve never heard the history of this place.” He lowered his gaze to Aram’s face. “Where did all the people go? Did Manon kill them all?”
Aram nodded. “Most of them, yes.”
“When?”
“A long time ago—thousands of years before you and I were born.” Aram glanced over at him. “We are part of a very old and very long story, Findaen.”
Findaen stopped walking again and faced him. “You told us once that you were the answer to something called Kelven’s Riddle. Kelven was a god—I know that much from the legends. Were you sent by the gods?”
“No.” Aram answered simply. “And I don’t know what to think of Kelven’s Riddle. All I know is that the horses believe in it.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
Aram studied him for a moment. “Sometime, yes,” he answered finally, and he turned to continue on but Findaen put out a hand and stopped him.
“Lord Aram, what strange power did you employ to stop the lances and arrows of the enemy that day on the plain? We all saw it as it surrounded you, flashes of brilliant light—it looked like lightning.”
Aram studied the ground for a moment, considering, and decided that the Guardians were something he was not willing to discuss. He looked at his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “Someday, my friend, I will tell you all about it. Suffice it to say that the power is something I don’t control. Come, let’s go on.”
Obediently, Findaen followed him up through the streets to the armory. A while later they had chosen a selection of swords to be distributed among the men and one of Aram’s long bows with arrows for Wamlak. As they were preparing to transport them down to the great porch, Aram paused and looked hesitantly at Findaen. Findaen caught the look and gazed back with raised eyebrows.
Aram took a deep breath and let it out. “May I ask you about Ka’en?”
Findaen sat down on the long table at the center of the armory. “What about her?”
Aram turned away and began to pace back and forth without looking at his friend. “You told me that Kemul has ‘designs’ on her. What did you mean?”
/> Findaen sighed. “Before we quit the plains entirely and abandoned our capitol of Stell, Kemul’s family governed, under the lordship of my father, in Derosa. His father is dead but his mother lives there to this day.
“They are a wealthy family and have had among themselves for a long time an understanding—not necessarily shared by any of the rest of us—that Kemul and one of Lancer’s daughters would marry and Kemul would have claim to the throne of my people.”
Aram stopped pacing and looked at him. “Does your father share in this ‘understanding’?”
Findaen shook his head but looked away and gazed out the door across the city and sighed again. “My father is old and tired and up until now Ka’en has not overtly objected to Kemul’s attentions. I think my father is willing just to let it play out however it will.”
“And does Ka’en object to Kemul’s attentions now?” Aram stood very still and watched his friend closely.
Findaen looked back at him and grinned. “Come now, lord Aram, don’t tell me you don’t know where Ka’en’s interests lie?”
Aram shook his head. “I don’t. Not for sure.”
“With you, my friend—with you.”
“How do you know?”
Findaen snorted in exasperation. “I’m her brother and I pay attention.”
“Has she said anything to you?”
“No,” Findaen admitted. “Ka’en isn’t like that. But I know that she prefers you to Kemul.”
Aram resumed his pacing. “What do I do about him?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Findaen answered quietly but then his voice assumed an undertone of ferocity. “But I’m not thrilled about the future he sees for himself—and that includes my people as well as my city. I don’t want to see that weasel in charge of anything.” His face lit up in a sudden bright smile and he looked at Aram. “But now that you’re here—he won’t be.”
“So Ka’en isn’t promised to him?”
“Not in anyone’s mind but his own.”
Aram frowned. “How much support does he have among the people?”
“As long as my father is alive—none.” Findaen answered. “He and his mother intend that their plans should come to fruition after my father’s death. And if Kemul is married to Ka’en by that time—well, then,” Findaen shrugged. “Who knows?”
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 34
