Donnick continued watching his recruits but a sheepish smile tugged for just a moment at the corners of his mouth. “No, my lord – this is for your benefit, because I wanted you to see that we have not wasted our time. Through the winter, we trained three-to-four hours a day, weather permitting. Since spring, most of these men have had other obligations that keep them busy much of the time.” He looked at Aram then; the tenuous smile gone, his features set in lines of solemn earnestness. “But now that you have returned, my lord, those other tasks will be set aside. We are all at your disposal.”
Returning Donnick’s gaze, Aram made a decision. “Donnick, would you spare me some of your time on various evenings?”
The tall man acquiesced with a slight shrug. “Of course, my lord. What do you require?”
“I have recently had the opportunity to learn about battlefield strategy.” Aram said. “If you are agreeable, I would like to pass that information on to you, along with Findaen and several others, including your son, Wamlak – then all of you can help teach it to the men.”
Donnick frowned. “I assumed, Lord Aram, that you would take over their training when you returned. We are none of us warriors.”
“Warfare is simply a matter of logistics, Donnick.” Aram explained. “Men are born with that ability – men such as you. Look at what you have done here. These men have a sense of purpose and a rudimentary discipline already. It is the result of what you have done. The truth is, Donnick, that warriors are born, and then trained, and thereby made. No, sir, I will not remove you from your responsibilities here. I will oversee, of course, and the others that I mentioned will aid in your endeavors – you will remain as training master.”
“I will gladly continue as you wish, my lord, but –” He hesitated and his eyes sought out the figure of his son, with the archers near the trees. “Will I also be allowed to go to war with you when you go?”
Aram studied him a moment. The man was about forty-five or perhaps fifty years old, and in excellent physical shape. More importantly, he was of a calm and serious disposition.
“Do you know what a general is?” Aram asked him.
Donnick nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve heard of the old days. A general leads men on the battlefield.”
“That is how you will go to war – as a general.”
Donnick’s calm eyes flickered. “But, my lord, I have no experience in war. Such positions are meant for those better trained and more experienced.”
“Whom would you suggest that I appoint then?”
“I assumed that you would lead us, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “I will always be there, Donnick. And for now, when our force is small, that will be sufficient. But later, we may need several generals – that is my hope. You will be one.”
Donnick met his eyes and answered simply. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Infantry or horse?” Aram asked.
“My lord?”
“Do you want to command foot soldiers or horsemen, Donnick?”
Donnick looked away, down across the training ground. “Infantry, I think. I would rather be right down there in the thick of it with these boys when things get serious.”
Aram studied him a moment longer, increasingly gratified by what he saw, and then looked around the area, spying a small rise near the road. He pointed it out to Donnick. “Do you think that I could address the men from that mound over there, Donnick?”
“Of course, my lord. I will summon them.”
When the men had gathered around the grassy knoll in a wide semicircle, Aram looked out over the small sea of faces. “I’m not much for grand speeches,” he began, “but I wanted all of you, the men of Wallensia, to know what it is that we mean to do.
“For three generations, the gray men and the lashers of the grim lord have pushed your people from their homes out on the plains – the right and proper land of your ancestors – killing many and enslaving all that they could. It is time to begin the reclamation of those lands and the liberation of those of your people who languish in chains.” He had expected there to be some kind of response to this statement, but the men just watched him in silent, solemn anticipation. He continued. “Lancer, your prince, has appointed Donnick as your training captain. Know this also; when you go into battle, he will lead you there as well.
“Over the next few weeks and months, you will continue to train under the command of Captain Donnick. Listen to him closely. Get to know your sword and spear well, and learn to work together.” He was quiet for a moment. “One thing more. As you probably know, there are many horses out on the plains before the walls of Derosa. They are here because their people have allied with us in the struggle against Manon.” A ripple of excitement spread through the men like a tide. “This afternoon, I want those of you who wish to ride into battle to go among them, and speak with them – find the one from among the horse people with whom you are compatible. It will be as much the choice of the horse as it will be yours.”
At this statement, the men looked at each other in amazement and some confusion. Donnick turned to stare at him. Aram held up his hands. He nodded and smiled. “Yes – they speak once again to men, as they did in the days of old. Fellowship with the other noble peoples of the earth is being restored. It is only with an alliance of all the free people, men and horses, wolves and the great birds that we will prevail against the grim lord. When Captain Donnick releases you today, those of you who will – go out on the plains among them and find your mount.”
As the men were buzzing with excitement about this statement, Aram looked up into the sky. Far above, a lone eagle circled in the clear blue. Alvern. He sent a thought skyward.
“The wolves, Lord Alvern?”
“ Yes, my lord; they have come.”
Twenty
Aram nodded to Donnick and turned away toward the road, followed by Findaen. As they entered the graveled thoroughfare, a man came running along the rise above the river that led from the west, from the direction of the city gate. Aram glanced at Findaen.
“The wolves have come.” He said.
Findaen raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He had learned long ago that this man had powers – perhaps even magical powers – of perception and knowledge that were beyond the reach of normal men.
The running man spied them and came tearing up, sliding to a halt. He bowed his head to Aram and spoke to Findaen. “There are wolves on the plain, sir. A big black wolf came off of the western ridge and stood in the open for a moment, then went back into the trees.”
Aram thanked the man, and turned to Findaen. “Who keeps the gate usually? Do the men take turns or does the duty fall to a few?”
“Mallet is the main gatekeeper. There is no special training but there are about twenty men that, over time, have become the gate keeping squad. Why, my lord?”
“When we go south to Durck – I want the men who watch the gate of the city to be known to the wolves, and to know the wolves in turn. There must be communication. So Mallet is usually in charge of the gate?”
Findaen nodded.
“Then he needs to come with us now. Jonwood and Wamlak as well.”
“At once, my lord.” Findaen moved away and Aram turned his attention to the messenger.
“What is your name, friend?”
“Hilgarn, my lord.” The man was younger than Aram, a few inches shorter and stocky with a full head of thick reddish hair, and stubble of the same shade on his wide face everywhere below his eyes and his nose. That stubble spread down his neck in a ruddy wave and disappeared into his shirt. His eyes were wide but droopy, pale blue, and blinked with the delivery of each syllable.
He stammered when he answered and seemed terrified to find himself suddenly alone in the presence of the tall, dark lord from the valley, about whom many things were suspected that were discussed in hushed tones with solemn nods of the head, but about whom little was actually known – other than the fact that he had scattered an army single-handedly and killed
the tough, strong Kemul with a stroke. Adding to the young, red-headed man’s discomfort, it was quietly rumored that this man would soon become his prince as well.
“How often do you watch the gate, Hilgarn?”
“Five afternoons a week, my lord.”
“How do you feel about talking to wolves?”
Hilgarn blinked at him, failing utterly to understand the question but at the same time not wanting to appear stupid in the presence of his future prince. He swallowed and blinked again. “I did not know wolves could talk, my lord.”
“Not only can they talk, they do so.” Aram suppressed a smile. “And if you are at the gate five afternoons a week – they will no doubt someday need to talk with you. Are you on duty now?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Who else is at the gate? How many men?”
“There are three others, my lord. There are always four. Today, the others are Mardyl, Hengiss, and Shever.”
Aram nodded. “Go back to the gate, Hilgarn, and wait. I will pass through it momentarily. When I return, there will be wolves with me. I want you and the others to come out onto the open plain and show yourselves to the wolves.”
Hilgarn’s droopy eyes widened. He gazed back at Aram in astonishment. At the edges of the astonishment, there was stark fear.
Aram studied him for a moment and thought he understood the man’s thoughts. “Speak your mind, Hilgarn.” He said gently.
Hilgarn regained a bit of his composure; his eyelids drooped again. He swallowed and blinked. “Forgive me, my lord, but wolves are our enemies. They have killed our people in the past – many times.”
Aram nodded in agreement with this statement. “In the past, I killed many of their people as well. But those times are over, Hilgarn; that trouble is past.”
The young man’s face gave way to an incredulous frown. “Do you mean that they are our friends, now?”
Aram thought about it. “Friendship is perhaps too strong a word – alliance would be better. But know this, Hilgarn, I am their master and they will obey me. They will have their part in all of us gaining our freedom from the designs of the grim lord. Therefore, they are to be respected. Always.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hilgarn stared, his head and heart full of amazement. Gazing at Aram, the young man felt a sudden surge of loyalty to this man who commanded wolves and dispelled armies. And he felt suddenly proud to be a Derosan. “I’ll go inform the others of your wishes, my lord.”
“Thank you, Hilgarn.”
Aram watched the young man go back down the road toward the gate and he felt a surge of amazement himself. Florm had told him once that men would follow him. What amazed him was the fact that it no longer seemed strange.
Findaen, Mallet, Wamlak, and Jonwood came up and together they went down through the gate and out onto the plains. There, Aram hesitated.
“What is it?” Findaen asked him as the group paused at the fringe of the grasslands.
The green hills ended almost directly across from the gate, tumbling gently up to the north toward his valley. The broad southern plains of Wallensia stretched out the other way, left, south toward the sea, a sea of grass itself, seemingly without end. On this afternoon, those plains near to the gates were covered with horses. Aram turned to his right and gazed across the narrow open valley that ran away to the north, between the hills around Derosa and the long ridge opposite the gate that defined the limits of the green hills.
Across the narrow valley, back in among the thick dark trees, Durlrang and his band waited. He felt a sudden need for caution. The wolves recognized him as their master – originally out of fear of his steel; now he felt certain that it went deeper than that. But he was about to introduce two disparate peoples – enemies for the last ten thousand years – and he expected them to behave as allies with him as their common denominator.
He could have summoned Durlrang with his mind, but that didn’t seem right to him. Durlrang was a chief, and deserved a measure of deference.
He looked at Findaen and the others. “My friends, I ask you to remain here. When the wolves come out to me, join me also. Remember, treat them with respect.”
The four of them frowned back at him but none argued the point.
“Of course, my lord.” Said Findaen.
Aram could see plainly that they didn’t quite understand the gravity of the situation at hand, but he had faith in these men’s attributes of perception – when the moment arrived, understanding would come with it.
He turned and began to cross the narrow valley. Almost immediately, a large black wolf glided out of the trees and came toward him. Durlrang. Aram could have stopped and let him come but he wanted to make a subtle point – to everyone watching, the men of Derosa at the gate behind him and the unseen company of wolves in the shadows beneath the trees at the base of the ridge.
He kept moving forward and met Durlrang by the small stream, a trickle of clear water that was barely more than a rivulet running through the heart of the valley. Aram knelt down and gazed into the dark eyes of the ancient wolf.
“Hello, my friend.”
Durlrang bowed his head over, pushing his forehead into the earth. Then he sat back on his haunches and met Aram’s gaze. “You could have called for me, master. There was no need for you to walk this way.”
Aram squatted down, resting his weight on the balls of his feet. His head was on level with Durlrang’s. “My old friend, I want to ask you a question.”
“Speak it, master.”
The wolf ’s dark eyes were clear; the hint of ancient trouble that had been there from their first acquaintance had faded with time. He gazed back at Aram openly. Aram decided to be blunt.
“Durlrang – do you bear me any ill will because I killed so many of your people?”
Aram watched closely, but there was not a flicker, not even the hint of a blink. The wolf ’s eyes remained clear. “Master, you did what you must do to change the world. Because of those many deaths, my people are today wiser, safer, and more natural. I am grateful to you for that. I am at your service always.”
“I want something more than your service, Durlrang.”
“You may have my life, master.” The wolf answered stolidly.
Aram shook his head. “There is something you can give that is even more precious to me than your service.”
Durlrang did not understand and remained silent.
Aram gazed into the ancient eyes. “I want your friendship.”
“Friendship implies equality.” Durlrang answered uncertainly. “A servant cannot be equal to his master.”
“I want your service too, my friend.” Aram answered. “But I want your friendship more. You have heard it said that I am changing things?”
“I have already seen it.”
Aram nodded. “This is one of the changes I am making. I will be your master, Durlrang, but I will be your friend as well. And you must be mine.”
“This is difficult to grasp.”
“You are wise, my friend. Think it over, it can be grasped.” Aram stood up. “Would you call your people, Durlrang? It is time that they met mine.”
Almost instantly, a line of fifty or so wolves emerged like black and gray ghosts, materializing from the shadows. Aram watched them for a moment and then turned to look back toward Derosa. Findaen, Jonwood, Wamlak, Mallet, and the four gatekeepers had also begun to move, coming toward him across the grassy valley.
Aram waited until the two peoples, men and wolves, had closed the distance and stood contemplating each other across the small stream. He turned to the men of Derosa.
“I want you to open your minds, my friends, and learn to communicate with the other noble peoples of the world. It is only together that we will prevail.”
Pivoting to face the wolves, he spoke audibly. “People of Durlrang, chief of the wolves of the north – welcome to your new home. These green hills will be yours forever, as long as you keep my laws.” He paused for a moment to allow them to cons
ider this statement. “I am your master. You have heard rumors that I am changing things – this is so.”
He glanced along the line of wolves, meeting their eyes. “Perhaps you think I do this because I can – because it pleases me. But I do not make laws – or change laws – simply to serve my own ends; or because the strength in my steel gives me leave to do so. That is the grim lord’s way. It is not mine. I change things because I believe that they ought to be changed.”
He glanced at the Derosans and then faced the wolves again. “This brings me to the purpose of this meeting between your people and mine. If we are to face the dark and difficult times ahead, we must be more than allies – we must be friends.”
There was agitation and confusion among the wolves at this statement, but Aram held up his hand, quieting them. “You must make friends among my people, and my people must make friends from among yours. Durlrang, your chief, has told you that you will be our eyes and ears about what the enemy does in the hills and on the plains to the east. But Lord Durlrang and I may not always be available to receive any information you may gather, and you will need to talk with others of my kind.”
He motioned with his hand, indicating the men of Derosa, and turned to face the men as he did so. “I want you to talk to each other, here, now, and get acquainted – men and wolves. Lord Durlrang and I are going to talk privately for a few minutes.” He paused for a moment, looking from the men to the wolves. “Learn to speak with each other, mind to mind, as in the ancient times – learn to be friends. Do this for our common purpose, and our common future. Much depends on this alliance. Durlrang, come with me if you will.”
The ancient wolf fell in beside him as he turned toward the south, toward the mass of grazing horses. He looked down. “I’m going on a journey tomorrow, Durlrang, and I want you to come with me.”
“Of course, master, as you wish.”
“It will be dangerous.”
“Journeys are often dangerous these days.”
Aram laughed. “That is so, my friend, but this journey will be something new for me. I am going to the southeast to a city of men; a city that I have never seen, to acquire metal for weapons and armor. I am told that the men there – with whom I must bargain – are tough and dangerous. I would like to have all the allies I can muster at my side.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Two Page 32
