Over their heads, the ceiling rose away to an immense height. On their left, the chamber was bounded by smooth, vertical, gently curving walls of rock. On the other side, below and to their right, rose a series of simple columns, beyond which was the indication of a vast adjoining hall and the reddish glow of fire or flame. But it was that which was on the wall directly opposite and slightly below his position that drew Aram’s unmitigated and somber attention.
A throne of stone was set high on a dais protruding from the opposite wall above a vast level floor. It had been fashioned with simple, powerful lines. On it sat a being. Tall and thin, with pale gray skin and a shaven—or perhaps naturally hairless—head, he was dressed in robes of gray. His face was long and gaunt with an imposing nose and a humorless mouth. His eyes, when they moved, appeared to flash fire. He was obviously a god.
“Ferros.” Florm whispered as quietly as possible.
Upon the vast, level floor below Ferros, penned in by swags of heavy iron chains and watched by severe guards who resembled their master on the throne, were collected at least a hundred lashers. Most of them jostled against one another in agitated confusion, clanging their shining black horns together in a terrific tumult, but a few leaders at the front of the pack, near the throne, were expressing themselves with loud words, and gestures of anger.
The being on the throne watched them calmly and listened without response. As he sat observing them, an unceasing flurry of activity occurred to his immediate left. Creatures similar to Ferros in appearance and stature would appear suddenly from the dark doorway behind and speak into his ear or to another being that was evidently a lieutenant, standing just behind his throne.
Each would receive answers or instructions, sometimes spoken by the lieutenant, at other times indicated with a slight movement of Ferros’ head or brow. Then each would turn away and seem to accelerate quickly from the limits of visible sight as they vanished through the doorway. Ferros was conducting the business of his realm even as he contemplated his prisoners below.
The lashers were imprisoned a good distance away from Aram and far below the level where he sat but he turned his head and tried to catch what they were shouting. It soon became clear that they were arguing their case. Finally, one particularly large beast angrily silenced the others and spoke impudently to the god on the throne above him.
“You have no right, Lord Ferros. We are servants of the great Manon Carnarven. If you prevent us further, you risk his anger. We were chasing his enemy when we stumbled into your trap, but I make no excuses for that. We were within our rights. Free us and give us our quarry.”
Ferros stirred slightly and flames seemed to sizzle about him. “You make no excuses to me, Worven Burlgar?”
The big lasher started. “How do you know my name?”
A look of contempt crossed Ferros’ face; he waved his hand in disgust and the big lasher crumpled in a heap, howling in pain. “You do not question me. And, if you wish to live, you will make excuses to me. Believable and acceptable excuses—and reasonable requests. Now rise.”
Two other lashers helped Burlgar to his feet. He gazed up at the throne with trembling, open-mouthed fury, seemingly unable to realize his peril. “If you harm me or any of us, you will answer to the wrath of Manon.”
Ferros leaned forward slightly and smiled a thin, deadly smile. “I have not spoken to my brother in centuries and I answer to nothing from him or his. Is impudence all that you have to offer me?”
Burlgar raised a bulky fist. He was quivering with rage. “My master will destroy you.”
Ferros sat back with a sigh. “I think not.”
He gazed upon the mass of lashers gathered below him for a long moment longer and decided that his time was being wasted. He glanced at another slim, shaven-headed lieutenant standing on a protrusion of stone a few yards away on his left. He nodded slightly. The lieutenant moved and disappeared.
Abruptly, the floor beneath the lashers gave way, sliding apart into two sections, each one slipping to either side and tilting toward the center. Flames and smoke roared up out of the pit and in a moment, the mass of gnarled bodies went howling and screaming into the fiery abyss. The floor closed again.
Ferros looked up and indicated Aram and the two horses. “Bring them.”
Instantly, the tall thin servants of Ferros appeared next to them and gestured for Aram to get up and move down to the front. Aram tried to rise but could not. There was still no pain, but his muscles remained stiff and unresponsive. After watching his efforts for a moment, one of the servants of Ferros touched him on the shoulder. Something like cold fire coursed through his body, making his muscles and joints twitch and jump with pain, but afterward his limbs responded more readily to the commands of his brain.
He got up stiffly, and then he and the horses made their way laboriously down across the seemingly unending courses of stone. The immensity of the chamber around them seemed to expand as they descended. At last they stood upon the broad, level floor below the throne. The view from below Ferros only served to increase Aram’s sense of insignificance.
The vaulted hall rose above them to dizzying heights, yet everything was simple and plain, monochromatic, gray in color, even the robes of Ferros and his people. Aram looked up and found the god’s gaze upon him. Close up, Ferros’ eyes were like burning bronze, fierce and cold. Fear entered Aram’s heart. This was a being that could kill without compunction and would do so at a whim.
Then Ferros moved his attention from Aram to Florm. “Who are you?” He asked quietly.
Florm bowed his head but spoke evenly. “By your leave, my lord, I am Florm, the lord of horses.”
“No.” Ferros disputed him. “I know Boram, the lord of all horses. You are not he.”
“Boram was my grandfather, my lord. He has gone to his long home, along with my father, Armon. They were both of them struck down in the last battle of the great war between Manon and men.”
“And I suppose that you blame my brother, Manon, for these tragedies?”
Aram could feel the terrible tension of fear emanating from the great horse as he struggled with his answer. But finally, Florm lifted his head and looked up into the eyes of the god. “It was his doing, my lord, the blame is his.”
“I am certain that he would dispute such a contention.” Ferros smiled a cold smile, seemingly unaffected by Florm’s temerity, and moved his eyes to Aram. “And who are you?”
Aram gazed back at him with a horrible feeling of utter impotence. He had no power here; he could not even call upon the strength of his own arm. The god sitting on the throne above him could no doubt reduce him to dust with a gesture. But still he would not grovel, even before this great person.
“My name is Aram, son of Clif.” He said. “I am lord of nothing.”
“Indeed.” Ferros answered him. “And what, then, is an insect like you doing here—entering my realm uninvited?”
Aram blinked before the severe power of the flashing eyes but kept his face turned upward. “I apologize for that, my lord, but I was only running for my life, trying to avoid conflict with the lashers. I did not mean to intrude.”
“But you did intrude, nonetheless.”
Aram did not know how to answer and so remained quiet. Ferros studied him in silence. The god seemed puzzled; a slight frown grew in the space above his brow and gradually sent creased lines across the gray smoothness of his features. The heat grew stifling. Finally, Ferros dismissed the frown and stirred.
“Tell me, why were you running from the lashers?”
“Because they are the servants of my enemy.”
Ferros smiled. “Ah, but that cannot be so. They are the servants of your god, Manon. Are you an outlaw, then?”
Aram met his gaze. “Manon is not my god.”
“Nonsense.” Ferros’ smile disappeared. “He is the lord of all humans.”
“Nay, my lord, he is our oppressor. He has deprived my people of peace and freedom for time out of mind.”<
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“There is no such thing as time out of mind, human. I have been on this world since the beginning of its time and all that has happened upon it is still in my mind. Do not deign to inform me of what has or has not happened. There is a thing that has been true from the beginning—the Maker Himself ordained it.” Ferros leaned forward. “It is this: men must be governed.”
“Yes, my lord. But not enslaved. Slavery is not governance.”
Ferros’ eyes flashed. “I suppose you think that is a clever answer. In my presence, foolish attempts at cleverness earn a quick exit from life.” He let the words sink in and then leaned back. “But I care not.” His slight smile returned and he shrugged. “It is Manon’s affair.”
Aram felt driven to speak. “Forgive me, my lord, I do not want to seem impudent. But my life is my own affair, none other’s, certainly not Manon’s. And I will live freely or die defending my freedom.”
“Your death can be easily managed.” Ferros replied softly.
“As I have witnessed, my lord.” Aram admitted and he bowed his head for a moment before looking up again. “But before you kill me, pray allow me a question.”
“I do not like being questioned.” Ferros answered and his posture exuded sudden menace as he gazed down at Aram. Finally, however, he shrugged and moved his hand slightly. “Alright, one question. Ask what you will.”
Aram looked up into the blazing eyes. “I understand your disdain for my kind, my lord. But why did you not help Kelven in the war with Manon?”
The god studied him a long time before answering. “I will tell you, human. It is because I care for nothing that happens on the surface of the world. My domain is here, in the deep. Besides, why would I fight against my own brother?”
“I have heard you state that Manon is your brother. But you are a child of the Maker, as is Kelven. Is not he your brother as well?”
“Not like Manon.” The tenor of Ferros’ voice had hardened. He was losing patience but still he answered. “Manon and I were made at the same time and we are much alike.”
“I would hope not, my lord.”
Anger flushed through the god’s gray face. “You have seen how I reward insolence. I can make your death very unpleasant and enduring, if you like.”
He raised his hand and looked to his left. At that moment, the air to either side of Aram erupted in stunning bursts of light that crackled and flashed like lightning, illuminating the entire chamber as if the sun had suddenly burst in upon them. The Guardians became visible. Ferros lowered his hand, jumped to his feet and stared.
“Why did you hide yourself from me?” He demanded.
“Forshetha, Ferros, kindretha san.” The voices of the Guardians roared like soft thunder through the vast hall. “El zebetha carre un deves.”
Ferros gazed at the Guardians in astonishment for a long moment, then sat back in his chair and looked at Aram. The expression of shock on his features was obvious but despite that he did not seem unduly dismayed and his anger was gone. He glanced back at Tiberion, on Aram’s right.
“Shethesh mor en senulthca?”
“Non.”
“Eren ish sekoya fincas donen?”
“Shuretha. El dantha.”
Ferros nodded and his gaze came back to rest on Aram. The brilliant light of the Guardians slowly faded from the great hall, flickered and went out. The strange, otherworldly bodies of the Guardians dissolved from view. Ferros studied his prisoner curiously.
“You have powerful friends, human.”
Aram returned his gaze. “If so, I am at a loss to explain it. I did not earn their friendship, my lord. I do not know why it has been granted.”
“Do you not?”
“No.”
“Your words have the ring of truth.” Ferros mood had undergone a subtle but profound change. When he spoke there a hint of something that was almost respect in his voice. “I believe you. But the friendship of these people has been granted to you, nonetheless, whether you earned it or not.” He frowned in remembrance. “You asked me a question, young man—would you still like an answer?”
“I asked why you refused to help Kelven in the war, my lord. It should be obvious to you that Manon has frustrated the will of the Maker.”
“Many creatures frustrate His will, Aram. My brother is not alone in that.”
“But he is a god. He should know better.”
“Perhaps,” Ferros agreed mildly. “But it is not my concern.”
“So you did not help because Manon is your brother?”
Ferros irritation returned, as sharp as before. “Do you not listen? I did not engage myself in those affairs because they do not concern me.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but we all share the same earth.”
“No, we do not. Look around you.” Ferros waved a hand about the vast chamber. “This is my realm—what your kind calls the underearth. The council gave the care of it to me alone. The deep engines of the world are my concern. I care not what happens above me. Because of my work in the deep places of the earth, life is possible on the skin of this planet. If my brother cannot keep his minions in tow, I care not.”
Aram looked up at him. “It is the Maker’s desire that all life be vibrant and constructive. If the world above is reduced to ruin and despair—pardon me, my lord—but what is the value of all that you do?”
A cynical smile crossed Ferros’ face. “So now you propose to speak for the Maker?”
“No, my lord, of course not. But isn’t His will obvious?”
“And how do you know that Manon’s intent is ruin and despair? The fault of that could easily lie with those that oppose him.”
“The loss of freedom is ever ruin and despair,” Aram answered. “Any of the Maker’s creatures will oppose all attempts to put it in a cage. Manon’s idea of governance is to place my people in the chains of bondage. Many of us would rather die than be enslaved.”
Ferros studied him in silence for several moments. “Tell me, what will you do if I let you go?”
Aram answered honestly. “I will continue to resist, by whatever means I can find and put to use, the forces of Manon.”
“A straight answer—so be it.” Ferros inclined his head slightly. “Well, you must do what you must do.”
“Will you not aid us, my lord?”
The god stiffened. “You press most unwisely upon the boundaries of your good fortune, little man.” Ferros voice was brittle with anger. “I will not.”
Aram kept his voice calm. “I do not wish to anger you, my lord. But if you release me, I will fight Manon until he is destroyed or I am. I will not consider the fact that he is your brother. My people must be free as the Maker intended.”
Ferros smiled cynically. “And when they are ‘free’—then I suppose that you will rule them?”
“I have not tried to see beyond the end of the war with Manon.”
Ferros’ smile broadened. “Oh, there is a war? Does not war require armies? Where is your army, Aram?”
“You are looking upon the beginnings of it, my lord.”
Surprisingly, Ferros did not laugh. He glanced at the horses standing silently to either side and then studied Aram for several minutes longer while he stroked his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger. Finally, he stood. “You may go. Before you do, I will grant you a thing.”
Aram stared up at him in surprise. “My lord?”
“I said that I will grant you something.” Ferros leaned forward with his hands on the railing before his throne. “If ever you are in great peril, Aram, get underground—in a cave or even under an overhanging rock. If you can get beneath the surface of the world, my power will protect you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Aram answered in amazement.
Ferros waved his hand dismissively. “I do not do it for you alone, but for the will of the Maker, as well—something that I understand most clearly, despite what you think. Now, Bendan will escort you above the earth. Go in peace and bother me no more.”
He turned and was gone. One of his thin, gray servants appeared beside them. He pointed back up the many courses of concentric curving levels carved into the stone with a long arm. “That way, if you please.”
Bendan escorted them up and out of the great chamber, down a long corridor and into a square vault. A door slid shut, encasing them in a small room of stone. There was a floor but no ceiling. Looking up, Aram could see only darkness above. The floor began to move. It rose upward. After a long time, during which their rate of ascent grew to a sickening speed that pushed his body to the limits of its endurance, the floor slowed and stopped. A door opened into a broad, low-ceilinged, dimly lit corridor that ran away out of sight in either direction.
Bendan looked at Aram. “East or west, my lord?”
“We have a choice?”
Bendan nodded.
“East then. Does that mean we will come out of the mountain to the east of where we entered?”
“It does.” Bendan turned and led the way left along the corridor. When they crossed over a bridge spanning a small stream, he stopped and indicated the water. “Drink, sirs, if you like.”
They did so gratefully. After the oppressive heat of Ferros’ hall, the water was marvelously cool and refreshing. Aram filled his hands with its healing coldness and let it wash down over his head and neck. As he waited on the horses to finish, Aram looked along the corridor. Everything in Ferros’ domain seemed to be built for function rather than beauty. Aram decided that it suited the god. Despite his harshness and arrogance, Ferros did not seem to suffer from the sin of indulgent pride.
After leaving the stream, they traveled eastward through the marrow of the mountain for several hours; occasionally crossing other small streams flowing from left to right through conduits in the rock. Always the stifling heat drove them to revive themselves in the cool water.
On they went through the heart of the mountain along the narrow, smooth corridor lit by reddish light, the source of which Aram could not determine. Then, at last, they came to an intersection. To the right another corridor extended away from them toward a small distant point of white light. Bendan stretched out his arm and indicated the intersecting corridor with its distant glow.
Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 44
