He leaned against a small tree on the crest of a small corrugation in the slope and drew back his bow. The lasher was still facing away from him towards the interior of the village and Aram realized that this was problematic. He knew very little about the backside of a lasher’s physique. If he struck shallow bone that kept his arrow from penetrating, it would be a lost shot. And he couldn’t afford lost shots. There were no arrows to waste. He had to get the lasher to turn around.
He wedged a rock from the loose soil of the hillside and tossed it down toward the middle of the road that bisected the ridge to his right. It landed with a thump and rolled into the brush beyond the track, rustling the dried leaves there. Instantly, the lasher turned and came over to the low wall of the tower and peered down.
Aram drew back his bow to its limit and studied the lasher for the best shot. He knew from experience that the eye was a weak point for the great beasts, but the lasher was a good thirty yards from him. He could not risk having his first shot strike the broad forehead bones or one of the horns and risk accomplishing nothing more than raising the alarm. He had to do some serious damage with his first arrow.
He decided to aim for the upper torso just below the neck. He steadied himself while the lasher moved slowly along the wall of the turret until it reached the corner and paused. In that instant, Aram released his arrow and was pleased to hear, a moment later, the satisfying sound of the steel tip thunking deeply and solidly into prodigious flesh.
The lasher grunted, staggered slightly, and looked down at the slender cylinder of wood protruding suddenly and offensively from his chest. Then, instinctively, he looked up at the slope from whence it came. Aram already had another flying toward him. The second arrow pierced the great chest just below the first.
The lasher howled in pain and leapt over the wall, charging toward the stand of small trees where Aram stood. There was no point in any further attempt at concealment. Aram stepped out with one arrow nocked and another at the ready in his bow hand and sent them quickly on their way. Both found their mark.
The lasher stumbled as it reached the base of the slope and gaped up at Aram as it tried to scrabble up toward him. The beast was close enough now and was slowed by pain and loss of blood. Aram nocked a fifth arrow, leaned forward and sent it into the lasher’s left eye. The great beast made a low rumbling sound deep in its throat, pawed its face with one clawed hand, and collapsed.
Aram spun and slid down the slope to his left with all his weaponry to prepare for the second lasher’s imminent attack. When he reached the level, he laid the pike and the lance down on the ground to his right and the swords and the quiver with the remaining arrows to his left. Then he nocked an arrow, holding another with two fingers of his bow hand, drew the string back with his right until the ironwood groaned, and waited.
There was a great commotion inside the village. Over by the stream, the overseer topped the rise, gazed quizzically at the gates, and then saw Aram standing in the meadow below the ridge and a little further on, the first lasher writhing in the throes of dying agony. He turned and sprinted clumsily toward the gates just as they crashed open.
Aram felt his blood freeze.
Two lashers—not one—came charging out of the enclosure and immediately made for the man standing alone out in the open. Aram had no idea where the third lasher had come from. For one moment, he considered running. But that idea collapsed beneath the weight of its own hopelessness and the raw force of the sudden fury that rose in him. All the bitterness and heartache of the last several days coalesced into a terrible anger.
He dropped to a knee and drew down on the lasher on the right, which was closer to him than the other by a step. He sent two arrows flying toward this lasher in quick succession, then, without waiting to see their effect, reached for two more. These he also sent into the lasher on the right, which by now had fallen behind the other. But the gap between them and Aram was closing dangerously.
He drew down on the lasher on the left, letting loose two more arrows in quick succession, only one of which found its mark. He was down to three arrows and both of the great beasts were still erect and still charging, though the one on the right had slowed and slipped further behind his companion.
Aram grabbed his remaining arrows and stood up, drawing back the bow with his might and sending them all into the leading lasher. The last arrow caught the beast in its throat and finally it stumbled, clawing at the offending shaft of wood. The second lasher—more slowly, but still determinedly—came on. And Aram was out of arrows.
As the great monster charged upon him, at the last instant, Aram dropped to his knee and raised the steel tip of the pike into the body of the beast. The force of the lasher’s charge impaled its torso upon the pike but drove Aram backward to the ground. He rolled quickly to his left and gained his feet. The lasher was roaring with anger, but was badly injured by the steel-tipped pike stuck deeply into its body and had gone to its knees.
Careful to avoid its slashing claws, Aram retrieved one of his swords and slowly circled the beast. It was only then that he realized that, though the species was fierce and they were strong and fast runners, they were not particularly deft. This one was badly wounded, it was true, but at this close range, Aram observed that its movements were deliberate and somewhat clumsy.
The lasher was attempting two things at once. With one hand, it was pulling at the pike buried in its body while with the other it stabbed fiercely at its enemy with a short sword. Aram glanced over at its companion. The other lasher had regained its feet and though it was covered in black fluid streaming from the wound in its throat, its opaque eyes were fixed on Aram and it was approaching doggedly.
He had to make a decision.
Leaving the nearest lasher, which remained on its knees and was gradually focusing all its attention away from Aram and onto the pike grinding away at its insides with every attempt to dislodge it, he carefully approached the other. The lasher stopped a few feet away and set its legs wide apart. The sword it carried was longer than that of its companion and though the great beast was badly injured, it was still intent on killing and was still fully capable of accomplishing its intent.
The lasher’s size and height made single combat a dangerous affair for Aram. He realized that his best chance of reducing the great beast would be by inflicting a series of small wounds to its legs and arms. He would, in effect, have to cause death—or at least debilitation—by a thousand cuts. And so began a long, cautious duel. The lasher was too badly wounded to simply risk rushing the man, but the beast was not wounded badly enough for that tactic to work for Aram.
They circled each other, looking for advantage, thrusting and parrying, both taking damage but not enough to decide the issue. The effort began to wear on Aram. If the other lasher had succeeded in rejoining the fray, he would have been overwhelmed. But when Aram glanced at the other great beast, it had ceased struggling and was kneeling with its head forward, breathing heavily. It was not yet dead, but the fight had gone out of it.
He had only to kill the one.
The lasher facing Aram was also breathing heavily but still seemed vital. At one point, it backed away and stood still for a moment, studying Aram.
“Who are you, little man?”
Aram stiffened. The deep, harsh voice was startlingly familiar, as was the inflections with which it spoke. Another lasher, long ago, had called Aram, “little man”. Aram gazed at his opponent and slowly nodded.
“I know you.” He said.
“Do you?” The lasher snorted with contempt. “And are you anyone that I should know?”
Aram stepped forward with cold deliberation, recommencing the duel. “I am the last man you will ever see.” And he slid suddenly to his left but as he went, slashed through the thick muscles of his opponent’s right thigh.
The lasher grunted and swung his heavy sword in reply, but his injuries were taking their toll and his movements were growing slower. As Aram circled again, he looked be
yond the lasher and saw that the inhabitants of the village had gathered outside the gates and were watching the conflict. He attacked again, this time slashing across the beast’s left thigh. Blackish blood poured from the deep lateral wounds and the great legs began to tremble.
Moving with renewed speed and strength Aram hacked and sawed at the coiled muscles of the beast’s thighs and calves. Finally, the lasher dropped to its knees and Aram was able to attack its arms. Within minutes of going down, the beast was defenseless. Aram retrieved his lance and with deliberate aim, drove the steel point into the lasher’s neck, feeling the tip grind to a stop against the spine. The lasher gazed at him a few moments as its life poured from the wound and then slowly toppled over.
Aram picked up his sword, looked at all three beasts a moment and then approached the villagers. There were about a hundred men, women, and children. He stopped ten yards away and studied them.
“How many overseers are here?”
A tall, thin, black-haired young man stepped out from the others. “There are two.”
“Where are they?”
The man glanced around at the others, and then looked back at Aram. “They must be in the council house. I think they fear you.”
Aram nodded savagely. “They have reason to fear me. Bring them.”
“Sir?” The tall man stiffened in surprise.
Aram studied him a moment. “I asked you to bring them to me. Are you a man, or have you been a slave so long that you have ceased to be a man?”
The man’s brow darkened in anger. “I may be in slavery at the moment, sir, but I am a man.”
“Prove it.” Aram growled. “Take a few others and bring me the overseers. Tell them if they don’t come out to me, I will come in and kill them where they are.”
The man stood motionless for a moment longer, then gathered four companions and went into the village. Aram waited quietly, watching the crowd. They were exactly as he remembered the villagers of his youth—ragged, thin, and frightened.
In a few minutes, two overseers, the fat one he’d seen earlier and a taller, thinner companion came marching importantly, if uncertainly, out of the gate in front of the five men who’d gone after them. They stopped at the front of the assembled villagers and glared insolently at Aram. The taller overseer spoke.
“Who are you, criminal, that you dare attack the servants of the great Lord Manon?” But even as he spoke these words, a bit too loudly, his eyes darted nervously toward the ruin Aram had made of the three lashers.
Aram ignored him and addressed the villagers as he paced back and forth near the overseers. “Look upon those that would oppress you. Look at what you fear.”
He raised the point of his sword and approached the taller overseer. Men just like this man had taken his young sister, all those years earlier, into the horror of Manon’s evil designs. Anger surged in him as he gazed at the man. The overseer stepped slightly back. Aram smiled grimly.
“And now watch how easily it is removed,” he said, and he drove the sword suddenly into the man’s belly, slashing to the side as he removed the blade from his victim’s body, disemboweling him and severing the major arteries. The man collapsed in a startled, mangled heap, spewing a sudden dark flood of blood, dying as he hit the ground.
The fat overseer shrieked in fear and tried to run but the tall, black-haired villager tripped him. The overseer curled up on the ground, covered his eyes with his pudgy hands and sobbed like a child, begging for his life. Aram thought of his sister, taken by men like this into certain torment and probable death, and ended the man’s life with a quick stroke.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he walked back across the meadow to the lasher that still lived, leaning heavily forward on the pike protruding from its body. Walking around behind him, Aram hacked at the broad neck until the head was severed. It took six heavy strokes before the great horned head came free and tumbled down upon the dry grass.
He went back to the assembled villagers. Driving his sword into the ground, he folded his arms across his chest and looked at them.
“I am Aram,” he said, “son of Joktan. I am lord of all these lands. Your village stands upon earth that belongs to me. All the lands that you see are inside my borders. No servant of Manon will be allowed to live within those borders.”
He waited for these words to have their impact, and then his eyes sought out the tall villager with the black hair. “Who are you?” He asked.
The man stepped forward. “My name is Nikolus Mathan.” He hesitated, glancing around at his fellow villagers. Then he looked back at Aram. “What do you want of us, my lord?”
Aram shook his head. “Nothing. You are free.”
The man’s eyes widened at this stunning statement.
“All of you are free,” Aram continued, “no slavery is permitted on my lands. You may live—or leave—as you wish.” He settled his gaze back on Nikolus. “Where are you from?”
The tall man’s eyes were wide with amazement. “Some of these people were already here, my lord, but most of us are from the city of Craun in the land of Aniza.” He pointed roughly toward the southwest. “I think it is that way, hundreds of miles from here, near to the sea. Those of us here were enslaved by Manon’s servants after a great battle in which the city was destroyed and then we were transported to this place.” He frowned at Aram. “Do you also have armies, my lord?”
Aram thought briefly of the horses before answering. “Yes.” He pointed deliberately to the north rather than east. “My capitol is beyond those hills, far to the north among the mountains, but these are my lands as well.”
Nikolus gazed back at him, puzzled. “But we were told that Manon’s capitol is in the north.”
“So it is.” Aram nodded. “But only until I destroy him,” he added savagely. He pulled his sword from the earth and sheathed it. “Now—what will you do?”
Nikolus glanced at the others before answering. “What should we do my lord?”
“Why ask me?” Aram shrugged. “Whatever you want. You may return to Aniza if you like or you may remain here.”
“Our homes in Aniza are gone and all that land is under Manon’s heel.” Nikolus shook his head sadly. “We have no place to go.”
Aram’s eyes narrowed. “Then stay here—work this land as your own.”
“The servants of Manon will return, my lord.”
“I will return as well, Nikolus. If there are lashers here when I return, I will destroy them. If they are too numerous, I will bring an army.” He raised his voice so that all could hear. “I told you that these are my lands and I am lord of them. That is true and no one can change it. You may live here and better your lives. I will cede you the lands that you work as your own.
“If overseers and lashers return, and you do not wish to confront them, tell them what happened here and that you had no part in it. If you desire slavery over freedom—you may have it until I return. But know this—I will return, and no servant of Manon’s may live on my lands.”
Nikolus clenched his fists. “I will not be a slave if there is another way, my lord.”
Aram looked at him coldly. “There is another way. Don’t be a slave.”
“But we have no weapons like yours with which to resist.”
Aram indicated the sword lying on the earth near the lashers and the pikes and the arrows stuck in the bodies. “You have these and I will bring you more if you wish.” He looked at Nikolus and around at the others. “Do you wish it?”
Nikolus did not consult the others. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Then I will bring them within the week.” He looked towards the river. “What is it that you build there?”
“It is a small dam. We do it that we may control the water and direct some of it into a supply of fresh water for the village.” He smiled slightly. “I was an engineer before I was a slave, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “Then you may want to find a way to isolate this village—destroy the bridge at the bottom of the
canyon, or find a way to close the road completely.”
Nikolus gazed down the road that wound out of sight down the canyon and nodded slowly. “You are right, my lord. We will see to that.”
Aram turned and looked significantly toward the north. “I have business in other places. I will go now but I will return in six days with ten swords and enough steel points for twenty or thirty pikes and lances. I will show you how to make them.” He glanced back at Nikolus. “Are you the head of these people?”
“There is no head of these people, my lord.”
“There is now. I appoint you. Lead them. Decide together what way you will take—whether you will stay or go—and you will be their leader.”
Nikolus nodded. “I understand, my lord.”
“Where did the third lasher and the second overseer come from? They were not here two days ago.”
Surprise at the extent of Aram’s knowledge showed on the tall man’s face. “They arrived last night, my lord. They came to oversee the harvest.”
“As I thought.” Aram nodded. “I will go now and return in six days.”
He crossed the bridge and angled up into the sandy hills to the north of the village as if his path lay directly north. The people watched him go out of sight.
Once on top of the main ridge a couple of miles beyond the village, Aram turned to the east and when he came to the flanks of his mountain, went south to the cave and the passage to his city. He did not want anyone to know where he truly dwelt. The less reliable information Manon had about him the more difficult the task of finding him would be. And Aram intended that everything should be difficult for his enemy.
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 40
