They made better time in the daylight and by noon found the trail he and Decius had followed so long ago. When they came to a copse of trees above a long ridge rolling into the south where there was a spring, they again rested. Alred looked at Aram with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.
“Why didn’t more of the slaves join us, my lord? I heard what that one man said, but still—why would they choose to remain in such a terrible state?”
Aram glanced at Ruben and Semet resting on the grass before answering. “It really wasn’t a matter of choice, Alred. Most of those slaves no longer even understand the concept of choice. They have been in the service of Manon for so long that they are broken. They and their people have no doubt been slaves for generations, time out of mind. They have been reduced to the point where they can’t grasp the idea of being free.”
The young man looked at Aram anxiously. “Can that happen to us?”
“No.” Aram shook his head emphatically. “It can, but it won’t. We will resist Manon and we will win.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but how do you know for sure that we will win?”
Aram answered him in even tones. “We will win.”
Ruben, the freed slave, had been listening and now he interjected. “Why are we going east, sir? You told the others that you lived in the wilds north of the black mountain.”
Aram laughed. “Yes, I did. And that’s what they will tell their masters as well. It may not divert them for long—it depends on how well they can track us and whether they have anyone among their number who is adept at such things. Although with these oxen we are certainly leaving a trail that is easy to follow.
“My hope is that when they find the bodies and see our tracks going north out of the clearing that they will believe the story we told to the slaves. When they return in force to find us perhaps they will waste time searching the badlands before discovering the truth.” He glanced up at the sun and got to his feet. “Let’s move on.”
When they came to the point where the trail angled off toward the south through the green hills, Aram decided to move the oxen along it in order to make for the better traveling conditions of the plains. If their enemies had managed to track their eastward movement, there was no further need for subterfuge. Speed was more important.
Once he was sure that Dane, Alred, and the oxen would get to Derosa all right, he intended to take Findaen and the rest of the men, go to his city and fetch weapons. The sooner they could accomplish that and start preparing the citizens of Derosa to defend themselves, the better he would feel about everything.
The green hills proved to be as lush a place as they had appeared to him and Decius all those years before. There were acres of tall hardwoods spilling over the rounded hills and filling up the gentle slopes above clear, cold streams. Herds of deer, rabbits and many other creatures bounded through the forests or scurried through the tall grasses of the meadowed bottomlands.
Findaen, walking by Aram, gazed up through the canopy of the trees with a peculiarly wistful look in his eyes. “I remember my father telling of hunting for herbs in these woods when he was a boy before my people were hounded from the plains. My grandfather had a house built entirely of chestnut in Stell, made from logs harvested in these forests.” He sighed. “That’s all gone, now.”
Aram answered him quietly. “You will see the return of those days, my friend, I promise you.”
Findaen glanced at him but said nothing.
Four days later, they came within sight of the walls of Derosa and Aram sent Dane and Alred on with the oxen. The rest of them turned north, traversed the green hills again, sleeping at night under the tall trees, crossed the twin rivers, and came back into Aram’s valley. As they marched up the main avenue toward the city, Ruben and Semet looked at Aram in awe.
“Are you lord of all this, sir?” Ruben asked.
Before Aram could answer, Mallet laughed aloud. “Not just of this place, my lads—Lord Aram is lord of all the lands that you see.”
Aram smiled slightly. “Easy, Mallet. There is far to go before anyone is truly lord of anything in this world.”
The sun had gone behind the mountain. Borlus and Hilla watched with apprehension from the mouth of their grotto as the column of men came up to the walls of the city. Aram sent them a comforting, quieting thought and moved his companions on up the stairs, across the broad porch, and settled them in the great hall. He brought deer hides for blankets and stocks of food from his stores.
That night they had a feast, wiping the memory of the previous two weeks’ short rations away. Afterward, they discussed their adventure, marveling at the things they’d accomplished. Eventually, attention turned to Ruben and Semet, who told them of their lives far to the south by the great ocean and of their years of bondage. Aram listened in silence as Ruben stated with vehemence how he had always known that someday he and his brother would be free.
Ruben looked around the darkened hall until his eye fell upon Aram. He stood and bowed. “We will be forever grateful, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “I am only sorry that you spent so much of your youth in chains. I know what that is like.”
The men turned and gazed at him in puzzled amazement. Findaen frowned. “But how could you know what that is like, lord Aram?” He asked.
“Look around you, Findaen.” Aram answered. “What do you suppose happened to my people after this city fell? Where did they all go? Manon did what he always does—he slew the men and women and took the children away into slavery. It is his way.”
Findaen stared. “You were—?”
“I was a slave as a child.” Aram replied and he heard gasps from the circle of men.
“But how did you—?”
“I would not wear his chains.” Aram answered simply. “I would not be a slave. I will never submit to that. Now,” he said to his gaping companions, “let us sleep, for tomorrow brings stout work.”
Using his store of deer hides Aram constructed packs for the men to carry weapons back to Derosa. He missed the horses during this operation. A few horses could have carried munitions for hundreds of men. He decided that he would talk to Florm of this when he saw him next. For the moment, he and the eight others would have to serve as pack animals.
Mallet and Aberlon each carried six of the twelve lances that Aram had made besides dozens of metal spear points that would be attached under Aram’s supervision later in Derosa. The other men carried ten swords each, wrapped in deer hides. It wasn’t much more than a start but it was a start. They left the city as the sun topped the pine-covered hills to the east.
Borlus watched them go. Aram hesitated and then went over to the bear. He knelt down and looked into the small earnest eyes. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much, my friend, and I apologize for the all the disturbances. But there are many things which require my attention just now.”
The bear studied him for a moment and then answered. His voice was firm and determined. “My people are not great, master. And there are not many of us left in the world. But if I can help you fight the bad one, tell me. Borlus will fight.”
Aram stared at him, stunned. “Do you know what this is all about, my friend?”
“All people know, master. All know of the bad one. And all people know that you are the man of hope. I know this, too.”
Aram reached out and ruffled the fur behind the bear’s ear. “I wish that you didn’t know it, Borlus. I wish your life was free of such things.”
The bear gazed back at him with devotion shining in his small eyes and was silent. Aram stood.
“I have to go away again for awhile but I will be back before fall. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave, my friend?”
Borlus looked back toward the interior of the grotto. “I must find a bigger place, master, but that is not a thing for you to help.”
“A bigger place?” Aram frowned. “Has something happened to this place?”
Borlus looked up at him with pride. “Hil
la will have children in the winter.”
Aram knelt back down and grinned. “Well, now that is something to celebrate, my friend. I am very happy for you. But why will this place not do?”
“It is too small for a family. We will go to the hills to the north.”
Aram frowned. “There is no need for that, my friend. You may move into the city. There are many places there.”
Borlus laughed. “Thank you, master, but my people like earth, not rock. We will not go far.”
“Okay.” Aram smiled at him. “I will look you up when I get back. Go with care, my friend.”
“And you, master.”
Four days later Aram and the others returned inside the walls of Derosa. Aram was anxious to see Ka’en again but he also felt twinges of uncertainty. The information Findaen had given to him about the designs of Kemul served to complicate the matter. He was not skilled in politics and he knew very little of the history and traditions of these people. Also, there was the simple fact that nothing had ever been declared between himself and Ka’en and they’d not seen each other in a long while.
It was late in the afternoon when they trudged up through the main street of the town, carrying their burdens of steel. Findaen suggested that they put the weaponry away in the armory and have a drink at the pub before getting cleaned up and joining his father for supper. Aram agreed and spent the rest of the afternoon listening to Mallet and Findaen regaling the locals with stories of their adventures in the west.
Aram was given his old room in Lancer’s house. After washing and putting on his town clothes, he went down to supper. Ka’en smiled at him as he entered and nodded her head slightly. Kemul was seated to her left as usual, accompanied by another, equally burly young man. The broad-shouldered, blond-haired Kemul scowled at Aram as he sat down across from Lancer.
Lancer bent his aristocratic gray head. “Welcome to my house once again, lord Aram. Findaen has told me in general of what occurred to the west. Perhaps you and I could talk further of these matters tomorrow?”
“Indeed, my lord,” Aram answered. “I will be at your disposal. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Aram saw a sneer mar Kemul’s handsome features at the tenor of this exchange.
“It is nothing, my friend.” Lancer’s features grew serious. “It grows daily more clear that our welfare is to be in your capable hands.”
At this statement, the sneer vanished from Kemul’s face. He shifted his weight angrily and scowled down at the table. Aram glanced at him and then at Ka’en, who smiled slightly and looked away. He turned his attention back to Lancer.
“I will be happy to discuss all these matters with you at your convenience, my lord.”
Lancer nodded stiffly, aware of the bit of drama playing out to his left, and the meal went on with Mallet telling all those assembled in wonderful detail of how they had slain three enormous lashers and the four overseers and freed two slaves and eight oxen. Aram ate in silence. After supper, Ka’en stood and excused herself.
“Good night, father,” she said, and then she looked pointedly at Aram and smiled. “Good night, lord Aram—perhaps I could also place a claim on your time tomorrow?”
Aram stood, his heart suddenly pounding. “It would be an honor, my lady.”
She smiled again and left the room.
Kemul exited shortly afterward followed by his burly companion, speaking to no one. Aram glanced at Findaen who simply shrugged. Lancer excused himself then and shortly there was only Findaen, his friends and Aram left at the table. Findaen glanced around, checking to see who remained, and then addressed Aram.
“Dane tells me that we have about three weeks with which to train before most of the men have to attend to their crops, my lord. Will that be enough time to accomplish anything?”
“Certainly,” Aram said. “We can gather ironwood and put some of your best craftsmen to work making pikes while those who are suited to using swords—at least seventy of them at a time—can begin practicing.” He looked down the table at Wamlak. “We’ll need to gather enough ironwood to start making bows as well—and arrows. We can teach men the basics and they can practice through the winter.”
He looked around at those remaining at the table. All of the men who’d been with him in the west were there except for Ruben and Semet, who were lodged in a room above the tavern. Besides Findaen and his companions, there were also three elders of the town, Lestar Hayesh and his brother, Rayj, cousins of Lancer, and Wamlak’s father, Donnick, a tall, dark, and solemn man.
“If we are not molested before winter—and I think now that we will not be—the horses will come in the spring and we can begin creating an armed force that can take the field against Manon. In the meantime, we need to make as many weapons as possible and begin the training of men in their basic uses. In the spring, I will have the horses bring enough swords to arm every man in Derosa.”
Jonwood leaned forward. “How will we know which men suit which weapons?”
“Trial and error.” Aram answered. “Let every man take a shot with the bow and see which ones have talent. Some men will be more comfortable with pikes and lances, whether they are mounted or not, and some—like Mallet—won’t want to be mounted under any circumstances.” He raised a cautionary finger. “Every man, however, will be issued a sword as his most basic weapon and be expected to gain a certain proficiency with it. Those gathered at this table will need to learn quickly so that you can teach others.”
Donnick spoke thoughtfully. “Young Kemul is a very good swordsman. He is not here now but perhaps he could be persuaded to serve as a teacher.”
Aram glanced at Findaen who simply frowned down at the table, and then he looked back at Donnick. He nodded slowly. “That is a good idea. Anyone who can help the men get up to speed quickly in basic skills should help.”
It was getting late and Aram wanted to be alone. He stood. “Alright then, first thing tomorrow morning, the men should be assembled on the open area near the road south of the town and we’ll begin. Good night.”
In the morning, seven hundred men of the town gathered in the street. Findaen ordered them into groups and marched them south into the grassy field. Kemul did not show, so Aram set Wamlak to helping each man discover whether he had talent with a bow while he instructed everyone else in the basic use of a sword. Mallet and Aberlon he sent with four others to search the river bottom for ironwood suitable for making pikes and lances.
The morning wore away and just before noon a man came from Lancer requesting Aram’s presence at lunch. He told Findaen to send everyone into town to find refreshment with instructions to return in two hours. Then he went into town himself, climbed to his room and cleaned up and went down to the hall. Lancer was alone. Not even Findaen was with him. With regret, Aram saw that Ka’en was also absent.
He bowed. “Good day, my lord.”
“Hello, lord Aram. Please, be seated.” The elderly Prince seemed distracted and kept silent until the meal was served. “Shut the door,” he told the servants as they left the room.
Aram waited, eating in silence while the old man pushed his food around the plate with his fork. Finally, Lancer looked up.
“I am not a warrior, Aram. I never have been. None of my people are good at war.”
Aram gazed back at him and slowly shook his head. “No one should have to be good at war, my lord. It’s not what the Maker intended.”
“That is not the point.” Lancer said in sudden irritation and then seemed to immediately regret his behavior. “I apologize, lord Aram. I am getting old and I’m afraid that the times are moving beyond me, that’s all.”
Aram allowed the expression on his face show that he was not offended and waited in silence. The older man sighed and nodded.
“I am getting old, Aram. I feel it.” He looked into Aram’s eyes. “I want to know that my people will be alright when I am gone.”
“You have a fine son, my lord. Findaen will do
well.”
Lancer shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. The governance of my people descends through the female line. It always has. I became Prince when I married the eldest daughter of Ralphon of Stell. Whoever marries Ka’en will become Prince of Wallensia—that is the proper name of this land—when I am gone.”
Aram felt his heart jump but remained silent. Lancer held his gaze for a long moment.
“Lord Aram, you seem to know much of the history of the ancient world.” The old Prince let the statement hang in the air between them. Aram wasn’t sure whether it was meant to be a statement or a question. He nodded slowly.
“I was told most of what I know by a reliable source—someone who was there at the end of the last great war. He is the lord of horses; his name is Florm. From him I have a general idea of how the world came to be as it is.”
Lancer shook his head sadly. “We know very little. The history of my people is limited and does not spring from deep in the depths of the well of time. Before the coming of the tyranny of Manon, we were simple farmers for as long as anyone can remember—time out of mind.
“We had heard the ancient stories of Manon, Kelven, and Ferros—and of the great king Jogdan. But we thought them to be little more than myth based upon scattered shreds of someone else’s history. Nothing had ever touched us. Then Manon came and we knew that there was more to the ancient stories than tales told over drink at night by old men. Now, danger crouches at our very door.
“We always thought that we were fighting alone—fighting against a foe we had never seen, whose servants behaved mercilessly but one that, ultimately, when he’d gained enough, might let us be. When word came of the host that was marching against us last fall, I saw our end coming upon us and I despaired. I prepared my people to die upon the thresholds of their houses.
“And then you came upon the field like a warrior out of legend. You scattered and routed the forces of the enemy and frustrated his will. You saved my people. I believe that now it must fall to you to guide and protect them forever.” The lines of the Prince’s face set. “I must know, my lord Aram—who are you?”
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 37
