Kelven's Riddle Book Two

by Daniel Hylton

  Kelven adjusted the view again and the figures became gray men like those Aram had slain before the walls of Derosa more than a year ago. There were lashers with them, gesturing and occasionally whipping them as they learned to move in unison. There were lashers in the town as well but the dwellings of those creatures seemed to be the larger structures clustered nearer the walls of the great tower along the wider streets.

  He knew instantly, by the record of his eyes and the corresponding coldness in his soul, that he gazed upon the heart of Manon’s domain.

  Aram felt his insides fill with ice and constrict as he gazed upon the enormity of the enemy’s might. There were countless thousands, tens of thousands; surely it could not be – but it looked like millions. Peering through a glass from a thousand miles distant he could yet feel the overwhelming power of evil emanating from the dark city that spread across the plain like a cancerous growth. For a very long moment his breath would not come and all his thoughts congealed into one dark, terrible question. How could he ever resist such raw, latent power as he now saw – even if the entire world united behind him?

  Again the view was adjusted and Aram was looking at the smooth black side of the tower, up close. He could not discern its construction; it seemed too smooth to have been built of worked stone. It was as if it had grown there, out of the black plain, or like the fang of a massive viper had been punched straight upward through the skin of the earth.

  Then Aram noticed something peculiar. Exactly in the center of his view there was a small circular opening, fronted with dark glass.

  “Manon watches me as well, Aram.” Kelven stated quietly. “Although I doubt that his eye wanders to this mountain as often as mine goes to his tower. He has not much to fear from me these days.” The last words came out bitterly and quietly, almost in a whisper. But then the god’s voice grew stronger. “Or so he thinks.”

  Aram glanced up at him but said nothing. Kelven stood for a moment, gazing across the room as if he stared into a vast chasm, and then he looked down at Aram.

  “I must go and rest now,” he said. “It takes a great deal of energy to enter the physical world and I haven’t much energy these days.”

  He waved a hand, indicating the cylindrical device. “You may access the looking glass any time you like. It can be adjusted a bit to the left and right as well. There is not much to see to the north of Manon’s tower. You can, however, see most of the land of the horses and even a portion of your own valley, near unto the city.” He turned toward the long hall. “Come with me Aram and I will show you all that you will need to know while I am at rest. You’ll have the run of my house, of course. If you wish, you may explore the valley at large, although there is little to see but the ruins of Manon’s evil beasts.”

  Aram stopped short as a chilling thought entered his mind. Kelven halted as well and turned to look at Aram, his eyebrows raised in question. Aram, his heart suddenly thumping with dread, put his fear into words.

  “My lord, if you can see into my valley with your glass, what is to prevent Manon from doing so with his?”

  Kelven smiled in comprehension. “Do not be troubled, Aram. This mountain is the highest place on earth – more than thirty-four thousand feet above the level of the sea. Manon’s tower is no more than one-tenth of that. He can see me, obviously, for I can see him. But other than the greater part of the land of Bracken to his south and the hills at the western edge of Vallenvale, he can see little else of the world. His valley is surrounded by mountains, less than mine, but greater than his tower.”

  “So he cannot see my valley?”

  “No,” Kelven answered, and then his voice hardened as he turned again toward the house. “He is not so clever as that. Come.”

  Aram followed him and spoke hesitantly. “My lord, about the sword –”

  Kelven raised a hand without turning around, cutting him off. “I told you that you will need the help of four people, only two of whom are present. The others will arrive in a few days at most. Until then, I must rest and you must make yourself at home. There is nothing for you to do anyway – the world below is fully under winter and I can no longer affect the weather beyond this mountain. Come; there is someone you must meet.”

  They went back up the long hall, exited the mountain and crossed the courtyard and re-entered Kelven’s house. The interior of the god’s house – Aram thought palace might be a better word – was all done in muted colors of gold, blue, and green. The ceilings were high and massive lamps hung with countless crystals were suspended at intervals. There were few straight lines; all the corridors curved subtly one way or another.

  When they arrived at the front gallery that faced the main courtyard, Kelven turned left, toward the eastern side of the house, and after the length of one more passage, came into a dining hall. It was long and broad and no doubt sometime in the past had served a great number of people. There was no dust, nor was anything out of its place, but it was obvious to Aram’s discerning eye that this hall had not been used in a very great while.

  Kelven approached the wall on his right and pulled at a braided cord. Somewhere deeper in the house, a bell rang. Within moments a tall, slender woman appeared through a doorway at the back of the hall. She was fair and golden-haired; her features and her carriage suggested nobility, but to Aram she appeared human rather than a member of Kelven’s people.

  She approached the god, glanced at Aram and inclined her fair head to Kelven.

  “My lord?”

  Kelven swept a hand out, indicating Aram. “Sera, this is Aram from the world below. He is a leader of men such as those that once visited here. He is my guest and will stay for the winter. See that he is well-served – place him in quarters at the front of the house. He has the run of the place while he is here.”

  The woman turned her attention to Aram as Kelven spoke. Aram could not guess her age, but she was old; though still beautiful and strong in carriage, there were subtle but permanent lines in her face and her hair was mixed with gray. To Aram, as he stood in her presence, she felt old.

  “I’ve had potatoes brought up – they are one of his favorite foods.” Kelven continued. Aram glanced at him sharply, wondering at Kelven’s tone of surety as he stated this fact, but the god paid no attention. “Feed my guest when he is hungry, Sera. Talk to him if you like –” His voice softened, “I know that you have been lonely.” Turning to Aram, Kelven fixed him with his piercing blue eyes. “I understand that you are anxious, Aram, and a bit impatient; that you wish for things to move quickly, but there are those that have waited longer and whose grievances are greater than yours.”

  He seemed to read Aram’s thoughts, for he nodded.

  “Yes, I am one of those of whom I speak, but consider Joktan. He lost a mate, a kingdom, and a people to Manon’s malice. His grievance is far greater than yours and it has had an age in which to sink deep into him and darken his soul.

  “Be patient; the others that will aid you will arrive soon and then I will wake and we will see what may be done.” He raised a finger. “The weapon is not mine, nor is it of my making – my house is simply the conduit by which it may be reached. If you are man enough to grasp it, you may wield it and it will be yours for a time.” He gazed down at the floor a long moment and then nodded, as if to himself. When he spoke without looking up, his words bore an undercurrent of what felt to Aram like a sort of spiritual hunger. “May it suffice.”

  Without waiting for an answer from Aram he looked into the woman’s eyes a moment and then turned to leave the room. Sera’s gaze followed him and Aram saw a profound sadness registered there. Kelven faded from view before he reached the doorway. Aram was staring at the empty space where the god had been when he heard the woman’s voice.

  “Lord Aram?”

  She bowed slightly and indicated a pair of chairs in one corner of the room. “If you would sit and tell me of your various needs I will know better how to serve you. Then I will show you to your room.”

&n
bsp; Aram sat in one of the chairs and faced her. Truly, she had once been very beautiful. She was obviously of noble lineage for her features were fine and her bearing proud. He shook his head. “My needs are not great, my lady. I have been hungry and thirsty to one extent or another almost the whole of my life. I am not particular.”

  She raised her eyebrows at this but said nothing. He leaned forward. “May I ask you something, my lady?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you of Kelven’s people or of mine?” He saw her frown and quickly continued. “Does the question offend you?”

  “No,” she answered softly. “But it is a question out of place and time. The answer cannot be precise.” She shook her head. “I am not of the gods. But I am of your people from a time in the deep past when they were greater than they now are. I mean no offense by this statement, it is simply true.”

  “I am not offended, my lady.” Aram glanced at the doorway through which the god had disappeared and frowned as the inherent mystery of the situation crossed his mind. Then he caught himself and gazed about the room as if admiring its beauty, but it was too late; she had seen his expression of puzzlement.

  “Yes, Lord Aram, I am his woman.”

  Uncertain of what to say or if indeed he should say anything at all, Aram waited in silence for her to continue.

  She shook her head again. “Oh, I am not his mate – such a thing is not possible in anything more than a physical sense. And my lord is not so crude as that. But I am, and have been for many millennia, his companion. Our bond is of a higher order than that which is commonly practiced.” She watched him closely. “Do you understand this?”

  “Yes, my lady, I think that I do.” As he returned her gaze, Aram felt a strange sort of compassion for this woman, reduced from the consort of a god to the caretaker of his house and his tenuous remains.

  “Yes,” she said, and a shadow crossed her noble features. “I see that you understand. You need not pity me, however – my life has been fuller than most. Tell me, Lord Aram, do you have a mate?”

  Instantly, he thought of Ka’en again and his heart ached. Oh, that it were so and he could answer in the affirmative. But the state of things between him and the beautiful princess of Derosa would not be resolved until she decided how she felt about his killing of Kemul – the man that had been in contention for Ka’en’s hand before Aram came into her acquaintance. He had been given no choice in the killing, in fact, he had done the deed in selfdefense – but would Ka’en see it that way? He looked up at Sera.

  “There is someone that I love dearly but we are not mated. I hope that the day will come when it is so.” He sighed without meaning to. “There is much to be accomplished before I can even think of such things. Men must be gathered, trained, and raised up into armies. Manon must be routed – if such a thing can be done at all – before I can consider the matter. There is a long road before me and I cannot see the end of it.”

  “How foolishly you speak, young man.” She said sternly. Aram gaped at her in stunned surprise.

  “My lady?”

  The corners of her mouth twitched and her pale blue eyes were brittle. “How do you know that you will destroy Manon – or that you can even try? Many others have tried before you. They were great and they were mighty, and there were many of them. How will you succeed where so many have failed?”

  Aram felt his anger rise, supplanting his astonishment, but he kept it in check. “I mean to succeed, madam,” he said fiercely, “how ever many others have failed before me.”

  “And you will make her wait.”

  He frowned at her.

  Her eyes burned with anger. “You will make this woman wait while you sort out the world, will you? Only, like those before you, you will most likely fail and she will have waited in vain for you to come to an understanding of what really matters in this world. Such is a woman’s lot – I have watched it forever.”

  She spoke of herself, more than of anyone else, he could see that now, but he didn’t want to add to her troubles by pointing it out. He answered gently. “My lady, I cannot lay aside the burden that has fallen to me. I am not noble, nor do I do this to attain nobility. If this war is not waged and won, the lady of whom I speak will not wait in vain – she will die or be enslaved. She and all her people. I cannot allow it.”

  “So you will make her wait.” She persisted.

  “My lady?”

  “You will make her wait for you, for the consummation of her love, while you wage war.” She shook her head sadly. “Do not make her attend always to loneliness in the dark hours, Aram. Time, if it is not spent well, is useless, good only for marking the length and breadth of misery and despair.” She pointed a long, tapered finger at him. “Go to this woman, make her yours. Give as much of yourself to love as you give to war. I am surrounded by regret here, I am awash in it. I do not recommend such a life to anyone.”

  She stood then, quickly. “Come, my lord, let me show you to your room. Later I will prepare a meal.”

  The conversation was ended. Aram followed her through the opulent passages and beautifully furnished rooms to the front of the house. There she led him into a large room, beyond the great hall and on the eastern side of the interior courtyard. Tall windows gave the room a view into this courtyard; others looked southward out upon the broad, paved space where he’d first encountered Kelven. He also had a view of the spring, the stream, and the tall, dark trees beyond.

  There was an enormous bed set against an interior wall and something else that Aram had never encountered – a bath with running water.

  “This is the king’s room,” Sera said. “It will be yours for the length of your stay, though as Lord Kelven said, you have the run of the house and grounds.”

  Aram walked to the windows and gazed out at the lamp-lit courtyard and the dark barricade-like wall of trees.

  “My lady, is Lord Kelven often away?”

  “Away?” She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “He is never away. He is always present in this house. But he must rest a long time just to be visible for a short period.”

  She joined him at the window. After a moment, she looked up through the glass at the night sky above the dark forest beyond the courtyard. “He could go to his long home and be whole if he wished but he stays. He does not stay for me – though I wish it were true.” The quiet ferocity in her voice intensified. “He stays for the same reason that fool Joktan stays – to find someone like you to wreak their vengeance upon the monster Manon.”

  She placed her hand on his arm and turned to face him. Her hand was cool, almost cold on his flesh. “Young man, you must live. Don’t waste your life on a fool’s errand. Manon most likely will win in the end, anyway, unless the Maker Himself intervenes.”

  Aram looked down at her in shock and dismay but he did not respond. He understood the depth of her anguish and loss. She had watched as her great love, a magnificent being who had once governed life across the face of the world, reduced himself to a shadow and had seen it come to nothing. Still, he was surprised. Either she did not fully comprehend the hideousness of Manon’s intent, or she was resigned to its eventual inevitability. Perhaps – and he found this thought disturbing – she was simply above whatever fate awaited the earth and therefore immune to its consequences. Or maybe she had already lost all that there was for her to lose.

  Aram had climbed the great mountain expecting to find encouragement and strength. There was a bit of both to be had from Kelven, it was true, but mostly this great mountain was cloaked in bitterness, confusion, and despair. He had come to find strength and now knew that instead he must lend his own. He put his hand on hers and spoke gently.

  “I will heed your words, my lady. I will not waste time. If Ka’en is accepting, I will make her mine as soon as I see her again. But I must also do what is set before me to do, as foolish and pointless as it may seem to you.”

  “Ka’en. That is a beautiful name.” Sera removed her hand from his, folded both han
ds over her breast and gazed out at the darkness beyond the courtyard. “I’m certain she is as beautiful as her name.”

  “She is.”

  Sera turned and walked to the door. “Supper will be ready in about an hour, my lord. It will be served in the hall where we met. There are clothes through there.” She pointed to a doorway beyond the bath. “I’m certain there will be something suitable.” She went through the door that led into the interior hallway, closing it behind her.

  Aram sat on the bed and considered. Gods, he’d thought, were strong and wise, high enough in thought and power to govern men. Ferros had certainly proved to be so. But Florm was right. There was only a step between the gods and his kind, and that step was not broad. They made mistakes, sometimes terrible mistakes, and sometimes, apparently, they even sought companionship with human women.

  Curiously, none of this dismayed him. It cheered him in an odd sort of way; it put Manon within reach. It was true, as Sera had pointed out, that many had failed before him, including the mighty Joktan and the great Kelven. But powerful people were coming to aid him in recovering a mighty weapon, one that no doubt would grant him a measure of equality in facing Manon. Kelven had called it a weapon of destruction.

  Who had created the weapon, he wondered, and who were the beings of power that were coming to aid him in its recovery? A thrill coursed through him as he thought on these things. He’d come up the mountain, hoping to find something to aid the world in frustrating the will of Manon. It appeared now that those hopes might, after all, have a chance of being realized.

  Four

  In the closet he found clothes of all kinds, suspended from hooks and folded on shelves, most too fine for him. It appeared to be a storage room of several of the long-dead high princes of the earth. Finally, he found a pair of trousers and a shirt of cloth, like those worn by the men of Derosa. He dressed out of his ragged clothes and into these. He also found a good pair of boots but they were made – mysteriously enough – of new, stiff leather and though they fit, his feet simply would not accept them; in the end he wore his deerskins.