Contempt trickled in and mingled with the raw terror in her voice. “They never pay – they just take. They always take.”
Aram watched her for a moment. Long ago, he’d thought that there was but one great evil in the earth. Manon was its root and the lashers and overseers were its tendrils, reaching out into the world. Kemul had begun his education about the fallacy of such thoughts. Now he knew that there were many kinds of evil in the world, varied, subtle, and layered. This Burkhed was just another evil, different in scope, but the same in intent – to feed itself at the expense of others.
And Aram needed his help. He spoke quietly to Lora. “All three?” He asked.
“What?”
“Are all three ships Burkhed’s?”
“Yes.” Opening her hand slightly, she gazed down at the golden coin. When she met Aram’s gaze again, her distress was great and growing. “Where shall I hide this?”
“Perhaps your husband will know of a place.” Aram suggested gently.
“Bah! There is no husband.” She caught the look he gave her distended belly and spoke harshly. “I don’t know who the father is for sure – doesn’t matter. Women like me don’t have much say in the things that happen in this town.” She paused, blinking at the distress in her eyes, and seemed to feel that she had to explain herself to this tall, dark, and unknown prince that had walked into her establishment bearing unheard-of wealth. “This place belonged to my father. When he died, he left me here. There was no place else to go.”
She looked down at the golden coin again and all at once, hope crept in at the corners and began to displace the fear in her eyes. “But with this I could go anywhere.” She glanced at Findaen and a tenor of wonder entered her voice. “I could be a lady of substance, couldn’t I?”
“You could indeed.” Findaen agreed.
She gazed at him for a moment longer, glanced again at the darkened stairwell, and seemed to come to a sudden decision. Without another word, she spun away and headed for the kitchen.
Aram rose quickly. “Madam, stop!”
She froze and slowly turned to face him, and the hand with the coin slid behind her back. She met his gaze with defiance and fear. “You want it back, don’t you?”
“No.” Aram said and he remained standing where he had risen. “No, I don’t want it back – it’s yours. I just want you to know that we will not let Burkhed and his men touch you. You have my word.”
A sad smile came upon her face. “You may be a prince, sir” she said, “I don’t know you, so I can’t say. But six men will not stand against that monster, Burkhed, and his men. He has at least twenty with him here, and he can call an army in off the ships. If you have any more of those coins, you’d best leave when I do, before he arises, or you will die, too.”
“I am not a prince, madam, but I do have more monarchs.” Aram looked at the stairwell and then turned back to her. “It is Burkhed that we came to see.”
“Why?” Her eyes widened again. “Whatever for? He is a dark-hearted beast, and a bloodthirsty one at that.”
Aram shrugged. “Because he has three ships. There is something I need that requires transport across the ocean. With three ships at his command, he can easily provide what I need. And he is in this building?”
She nodded, gazing at him in disbelief. “He is upstairs.” She shook her head slowly. “Do you know Burkhed? Have you dealt with him before?”
“No.” Aram admitted. “But, as I said, he has three ships. He can get what I need. So I will deal with him now.”
“No one deals with Burkhed. He kills and takes what he wants. If you came to Durck thinking that you could do business with the likes of him, then you are terribly mistaken, sir. Leave now, before it is too late. That is what I am going to do.” She glanced again at the far end of the room and spun on her heels. “He and his men will awake in an hour or two. Get out now.” She disappeared through the kitchen door.
Aram gazed after her a moment and then sat down and looked across the table at Arthrus. “It seems that we have found our captain – do we still need to talk with Mullen?”
Arthrus’ eyes were wide and troubled. He glanced furtively at the stairwell and then leaned across the table toward Aram, speaking quietly. “My lord, I know that you are a brave, strong man; but I have heard of this man Burkhed. Lora’s right – he is not to be trifled with, nor do I believe that we can do business with him. It might be wiser to go to Mullen’s – he can put us up there – and wait Burkhed out. He will leave in a few days and then we can deal with another, more reasonable man.”
“Are there more reasonable men that put in at this port?”
“Unquestionably, my lord.”
Aram gazed at him steadily. “And when might we expect these other captains?”
Arthrus sighed and shook his head. “Not until Burkhed and his ships leave – that’s for certain. If there are other captains sailing nearby, they will undoubtedly hide out somewhere until they are sure he has left these waters. You must understand, my lord; none of those ships out there originally belonged to him – and the bodies of the men they did belong to almost certainly lie at the bottom of the sea. That’s the kind of man he is.”
“So it may be several days – perhaps weeks?”
Arthrus glanced worriedly at the far end of the room. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
Aram studied the filthy, pitted surface of the oak table for a long moment. Then he looked up. “Are all of his men as bad as he is?”
Arthrus laughed harshly. “No one is as bad as he is, Lord Aram. I’m sure that any crew that sails with such a man is by and large rotten and vicious. But I also suspect that he rules with fear. Lesser men will do their master’s bidding – whether for good or ill.”
Aram spoke with quiet decision. “I am not blessed with time – I certainly don’t have weeks to wait for another, more reasonable captain. We will have to deal with Burkhed.”
“But he is a monster, as Lora said, my lord.” Arthrus argued. “In more ways than one. He is a huge man, big and immensely strong. It is said that he can drive a sword into the wooden mast of a ship so far than none – not even Burkhed himself – can withdraw it.”
Aram considered this quietly for a long moment and then he looked slowly around the table, meeting each man’s gaze.
“My friends,” he said, “if I can guarantee your safety – will you stay with me and meet this man?”
Mallet glanced over at the stairs leading up into the darkness and growled. “I will stay with you, my lord, whether you can guarantee my safety or not. I don’t like people that terrorize others – especially women. I’m a big man, too; maybe I can give this Burkhed a surprise.”
Aram nodded and slid his eye sideways to Wamlak. The lean, darkhaired man rubbed at his long, thin nose with one forefinger and shrugged. “I’m with you, Lord Aram. You stay – I stay.”
Next to him, Jonwood met Aram’s gaze squarely as he scratched at his perpetual red stubble. His small blue eyes were serious but unconcerned. “I’ve seen what you can do, my lord. I even helped you kill a lasher once, remember? Besides, I don’t like running from a fight with anybody.”
Sitting at the end of the table near Aram, Findaen grinned, perhaps a bit unsteadily, and shrugged like Wamlak. “You know my answer, my lord. You can forgive Arthrus his doubts – he hasn’t seen you do the things we have seen. I’ll stay, and if necessary, I’ll fight.”
Arthrus stared down at the table, glanced at the stairwell, and then looked at Aram. “You’re the black rider, aren’t you, Lord Aram?”
Aram confirmed this with a silent nod.
Arthrus drew in a deep breath, puffing out the cheeks of his craggy face, and then blew it out slowly through pursed lips. “I still think we’re in a tight spot here – on foreign soil, so to speak, among strangers and enemies – but if you want to try to deal with this man, then I am at your service.”
“Good.” Aram said and he rose. “Let’s go talk with Mullen.”
> Twenty Two
Mullen’s house was a low, rambling shack that appeared to have been assembled from bits and pieces of diverse material over time. It backed up against a sheer wall of rock that rose nearly a hundred feet above it. It was the last structure in the hills to the east of the stream and had an impressive view of the bay that stretched away between the cliffs toward the distant open ocean and of the town below and to the right.
Mullen answered Arthrus’ knock after a few minutes. He was a stout man of medium height with large, sagging eyes, a rounded, bulbous nose, and a full, bushy beard that hid his mouth and most of the rest of his face. His head was bald except for a bit of scruffy hair hanging on at the back, just above his collar. In his right hand, he held a long, wicked-looking curved knife, close to his leg. He didn’t make a show of it, but he didn’t try to hide it either. He didn’t exit the doorway but stood half in, half out of it, and nodded to Arthrus while he eyed the others with a mixture of suspicion and subdued animosity.
“Hello, Artie.”
“Mullen.”
“Why bring strangers to my house, Artie? I don’t like strangers coming to my house.” Mullen turned slightly to one side, opening the door a bit wider, and re-positioned the knife.
“I was a stranger when I first came here.” Arthrus answered quietly.
Mullen acknowledged this with a slight twitch of his eyebrows as his heavy gaze roved to and fro among Arthrus and his companions. “True. But you didn’t show up with a gaggle of folk, either.” His eye fell on Aram and lingered. As he looked at the tall man, the animosity in his eyes gave way to caution. He pulled his gaze away and settled it back on Arthrus. “What do you want?”
Arthrus flicked a quick glance sideways at Aram. “To buy steel, Mullen, and in the process, make you rich.”
“I’m rich enough, Artie.”
Arthrus looked again at Aram and Aram realized where he wanted to take the conversation. He nodded slightly. Arthrus turned his gaze back to Mullen. “How many monarchs do you have, Mullen?”
The large, droopy eyes crinkled slightly. “Why don’t you ask me how many I’ve seen?”
“How many have you seen, then?”
Mullen shook his head. “None. Nobody’s ever seen one.”
“I have.”
Mullen’s unseen lip curled in a sneer, evident despite the bush on his face. “Have you now?”
Arthrus studied him a moment. “What would you do if you had even one, Mullen?”
Mullen laughed without mirth. “What do you think? I’d buy this town and make it respectable.”
Aram took it as a cue, slipping a single golden coin out of the bag under his jacket and handing it to Arthrus, who held it up to the morning sun. Mullen’s eyes opened until there was a broad swath of white all the way around each dark center. Those eyes flicked from Aram to Arthrus and back to the coin. His voice was low and husky.
“Is it real?”
Arthrus reached out and dropped the gleaming golden disc into the stout man’s hand.
“See for yourself.”
Mullen gazed at the coin for a long time, then, using his thick thumbnail, he pushed at the edge, then twirled it around and scraped gently at the opposite edge with the blade of the knife. He stared for a moment at the tiny nick in the coin inflicted by the knife and when he looked up again, there was a shrewd light in his eyes.
“Okay,” he said, “how do I earn this?”
Aram stepped forward, causing Mullen to shrink back into the doorway, clasping the hand with the coin close to his chest, and dropping the hand with the knife down along his leg. Aram stopped. “Help us acquire a shipload of steel, and you not only keep that but there will be another.”
Mullen’s eyes slid over to Arthrus. “Who is this dangerous-looking fellow?”
“He is Aram, lord of the valley of kings, and soon to be the prince of my people.” Arthrus answered. “And you’re right, Mullen – he is dangerous; more dangerous than you can imagine, but he is also just and fair – and extremely rich. He would like to deal with Burkhed. Will you help?”
At the mention of the seaman’s name, the droopy eyes blinked and once again became cautious. He nervously rubbed the precious, greatly desired coin between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve never dealt with Burkhed. When he’s in harbor – I stay here. It’s much safer. Burkhed doesn’t deal anyway – he takes.”
“We’ve heard that already.” Aram answered. “But he will not take from us or from anyone with whom we can claim friendship.”
Mullen gauged the tall man before him. “You, sir, had better be every bit as dangerous as you look.” He kept his eyes upward, on Aram’s face even as they wished to return to the golden disc clasped in his hand. After a moment, he nodded cautiously. “I could probably set up a meeting without getting myself killed but I cannot promise that you will escape that meeting with your lives.” The droopy eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should give me the other coin before you attend?”
Aram smiled, although his eyes didn’t join the effort. “If you are successful in setting up a meeting with this man, you may have the other coin before we go to him. If he agrees to acquire our steel, you may have a third for helping to see that it is delivered. What do you say?”
Once again, a broad band of white appeared around each of the man’s dark irises. “Three monarchs?”
“If all these things come to pass – yes.”
“Alright, sir, I’ll get you your meeting.” He held the coin up but did not unclasp his fingers. “Perhaps you’d better give me one of these to take to him. It will help buy my escape and if I can tell him that you have more – then I have no doubt that he will wish to meet you. After that, you’re on your own. Acceptable?”
“Yes.” Aram said and he reached under his jacket. “Here is a coin for Burkhed, and you may have your second coin when the meeting is set.”
Mullen accepted the coin from Aram and pushed the door wide. “You gentlemen had better wait here, at my house. If I come back alive, you’ll have your meeting.” Then he went rigid and peered westward down the slope toward the town. He stepped to one side and leaned forward as if the extra effort would help him to see better across the distance. “Where the hell is she going?”
Aram and the others turned to look. Below them, across the stream, Lora and a small boy, both laden with heavy packs, were trudging up the footpath that cut off the angles of the switchbacks, making for the gap that led northward into the valley beyond. She grasped a long walking stick with one hand, which she used to aid her in ascending the slope.
Findaen whistled softly. “She meant it. She really is leaving.”
Mullen looked at him and then transferred his attention to Arthrus. “Leaving? Leaving town?”
“I guess so.” Arthrus answered. “She mentioned it earlier.”
Mullen watched the pregnant woman’s progress for a long moment as she and the boy struggled towards the heights. “Where will she go? There’s not another bit of civilization for a hundred miles in any direction. And it looks like she’s going to drop that baby at any minute.”
Wamlak glanced at Mullen. “Doesn’t seem to me like there is any sort of civilization here, either. She might as well go into the wilderness.”
Mullen scowled at his words, but kept his eyes on the woman. “I can’t let her do this. I don’t know about the baby, but the boy, I think, is mine.” He waved his arm toward the house without looking back. “You gentlemen go on in – I’m going to talk to her.”
“Mullen.” Aram’s voice, though calm, nonetheless stopped the man in his tracks. He turned to look at the tall stranger. Aram indicated the woman with an inclination of his head. “She leaves out of fear – of Burkhed mostly, I think. You may believe this and tell her – there is no reason to fear as long as I am here. And I believe that I may be able to convince Burkhed to leave this place in peace before I go.”
Mullen features were a study in incredulity. “If you c
an do that, then you are a lord indeed, sir. I doubt that you can do it, but I will tell her.”
Aram nodded and entered the house.
The interior of the dwelling was constructed in the same hodgepodge manner as the exterior, but was surprisingly neat. There were only two rooms; the main room which contained several chairs, some cabinets along the back wall, and a table, and another room accessed through an open doorway where they could see a bed. A stove below a bright window at the eastern end still gave off heat. The remains of Mullen’s breakfast lay on the table.
The men sat down and as they waited for Mullen to return, Aram thought about what lay ahead. He felt a measure of apprehension, though not for himself. He was not armored except for the gauntlets that he always wore on his hands, but he did not fear for himself if things deteriorated into conflict. The sword of heaven, he knew, gave him an advantage beyond that which anyone could imagine.
He did, however, fear for the others. If conflict broke out between them and Burkhed and his men, some of his own people might be injured or perhaps killed. The thought of this possibility tightened his stomach. He had always known that there would be battles ahead and had reminded himself time and again that people would die on those future fields of tumult and blood. As yet, however, he had not faced a situation where his actions and decisions put others in harm’s way.
Sitting there in a stranger’s house with his head leaned back and his eyes closed, he realized what it was that Ka’en saw in him and was troubled by – a reluctance to let others help shoulder dangerous burdens. Examining himself now, he knew that she was right; the reason he so often took up challenges alone was because he did not want others – especially those he considered friends – to be hurt or killed on his behalf. And she was right in another thing – he would have to conquer such fears if he was to lead free men against the might of Manon, and he had not yet succeeded in making that conquest.
Finding no distraction in such thoughts, he instead simply thought of Ka’en and the fact that soon they would be together as husband and wife – whatever else happened in the world, his heart would own its greatest desire. With his mind occupied by more pleasant things, he dozed, the room was warm and he was tired from the journey. Sometime later, he opened his eyes as the door moved on its hinges. Mullen had returned. The stout man stood framed in the light of the doorway until his eyes found Aram. He spoke without entering.
Kelven's Riddle Book Two Page 35
