“You heard that fool ask me if I knew who he was – he was too simple to understand his error and ask the proper question. Now I will ask the proper question of you. Do you know who I am?”
They stared at him wide-eyed, the greed gone, replaced by fear. None answered. Finally Keegan swallowed. “Who are you, sir?”
“I am Aram, son of Clif, son of Joktan the ancient king, and I am lord of all these lands, from these hills all the way west across the plains of Wallensia and then north to Vallenvale and the white waste beyond, including this town –” inspiration took him and he pointed with his left hand at the bay, “– and these waters as well. My word and my law govern these regions. There will be honor and justice, or there will be penalty.”
The ghost of a frown crossed Keegan’s face. Aram looked at him. “Speak, Keegan.”
Keegan hesitated. “I’m sorry, my lord, forgive me, but I – I thought that Manon the Great was lord of everything.” The young man’s face froze then into an expression of terrible realization. “My lord – are you Manon the Great?”
Deliberately, Aram laughed. “No – I am not he. And Manon’s greatness is found only in this – he is as great a fool as your former captain, who now lies dead back there. It may be true that Manon imagines himself to be ruler of these lands – you may think the same, Keegan. But if so, then you, and he, are both greatly mistaken. I will educate him about his error in time, but if you like, I can commence your education here and now.”
The young man’s features went white and he shook his head in short, quick movements. “I believe you, my lord.”
“Good.” Aram said calmly. “Now, when will my steel be in this port?”
Keegan glanced at the other captains and then looked down at the dock, breathing hard, thinking. After a moment, he looked up. “We can have it here in a month, my lord.”
“No.” Aram answered. “Two weeks.”
Keegan’s eyes widened and he gasped audibly. “My lord, we cannot even sail to Corvalsea and back in two weeks, especially if there is bad weather in the straits of Kolfaria – and there is usually bad weather in the straits of Kolfaria.”
Aram gazed at him with hardened eyes. “Three weeks, then. Bring my steel in three weeks and I will double your payment. Fail me and I will find you – I will find you if I have to pierce the sea with my sword and turn its waters to vapor. Do not fail me.”
He let his gaze wander around the assembled seafarers. The stark greed, he noticed, was gone, at least for now, replaced by awe and fear. The proof of this strange man’s words lay in a steaming heap on the dock behind him. With the incentive of more gold, enhanced by threats he suspected that they now believed he could easily fulfill, Aram hoped that his goal of getting the steel he needed quickly might be served by these unruly men, despite their natural penchant for dishonesty.
He reached out and removed one coin from the stack on the pylon, leaving the others there, verifying his word. He looked at the two captains and then at Keegan. “I will return for my steel in three weeks. Make certain that it is the best that you can find.”
He glanced up at the sun, just moving past the midpoint of the sky. “There is time left in this day. I suggest that you go to your ships and begin the journey. Every moment you use wisely brings your reward closer.”
Pivoting without waiting for an answer, he stopped and gazed down for a moment upon Burkhed’s remains. Then he turned his head and addressed the seamen.
“Take this man and bury him in whatever way is your custom.” He said. He glanced at the two shards of Burkhed’s massive sword lying a few feet apart on the planking and then looked up at Mallet. “Sorry, Mallet; that might have been a good sword for you but I ruined it.”
“I wouldn’t want anything that vile man touched anyway, my lord.” The big man answered carefully.
Aram studied the two pieces of the beautifully adorned shield. Then he looked at Arthrus. “Maybe you can fix this for Mallet – and the sword as well, Arthrus.”
The metalworker looked at the scattered pieces of steel in doubt. “I can perhaps repair the shield, my lord, but I am no sword smith.”
Aram watched him a moment. “That, perhaps, is something for you to work on, Arthrus. We will need more swords eventually.”
Arthrus cautiously met the gaze of the fierce eyes of his future prince, still smoldering with subsiding wrath, and simply nodded. “You are right, my lord.”
The far end of the dock was clotted with people; it seemed as if the whole town had witnessed the astonishing events of the day. As Aram and his men approached, they melted away into side streets and alleys, except for Mullen and Lora and her son. Mullen watched him come and bowed low, still clutching his wounded arm with the other.
“You are a lord, indeed, sir.” He said. “I am ashamed of my doubt.”
Aram stopped and looked around. “Who governs this town, Mullen?”
Mullen frowned. “The privateers, my lord. This town only exists because they come, and when they come – whichever one of them it is – they govern as long as their ships control the harbor. So, it is a bad town or a worse town, depending on who is in port.”
Aram shook his head. “That is unacceptable.”
Mullen’s voice was laden with cautious deference. “Forgive me, my lord, but are these lands really a part of your kingdom?”
“I am not a king, Mullen.” Aram answered sharply.
Confusion reigned on Mullen’s face. “Pardon me, sir, but that is an odd thing to admit. Anyone watching you today would rightfully assume that you were, in fact, a king.” He glanced at Findaen and continued hesitantly. “Most lords wouldn’t mind assumptions like that being made about them.”
Aram’s eyes narrowed. “There has not been a king upon the earth for thousands of years, nor is such a thing likely to return anytime soon. Hear me, Mullen. Did you witness what occurred on the dock?”
“I did, sir.”
“Then that’s what is true – every witness here today can attest to it – and the truth of it underpins my words and promises. To say that I am a king when I am not would put the lie to everything. Do you understand this principle?”
An odd light came into Mullen’s eyes as if he found himself gazing upon something marvelous that until now he had suspected existed somewhere on the earth but had never seen. He nodded, so deep that it almost became a bow. “I do, my lord. I understand.”
“Good. Will the people accept you as governor?”
“My lord, after today, I think this people will accept anything you say.”
Aram studied him in silence long enough that Mullen began to fidget under the inspection.
“Tell me honestly, Mullen. Should these people accept you as governor? I do not pretend to be more than I am – or less. You must be the same with me. What kind of governor would you make?”
Mullen glanced away from the fierce gaze. “Ask Arthrus, my lord.”
“I’m asking you.”
Mullen straightened his back and faced him. “I will try my best to be like you, my lord.”
“Don’t attempt to fldatter me, Mullen – it has no effect. Let’s assume that you will simply be you. Describe that person to me.”
Mullen sighed. “I’m afraid that I am not the best of men, my lord.”
“Really? What evil have you done?”
“I have a temper – I’m sorry to say that I killed a man once over money that he owed me. In fact, I don’t particularly like my fellow man, which is why I live at the edge of town.” He glanced at Lora and then down at the scrawny boy standing beside her. “And I haven’t taken very good care of my responsibilities.”
“So – you are an irrevocably evil man?”
Mullen’s droopy eyes went wide. “No – no, my lord. I don’t think so.”
“A flawed man?”
“That is undoubtedly accurate.”
“Then, you are really not much different from any other man.”
“Well, perhaps – but I
can see plainly that there is a great difference between me and you, my lord.”
Aram smiled slightly. “I am simply trying to gain an assessment of your basic character, Mullen. No one is exactly like anyone else.”
Mullen smiled an unseen smile, lost in the wilderness of his beard. “I think a more accurate statement, my lord, is that no one is exactly like you.” He held up his good hand, grimacing as the other fell free. “And that is not flattery, my lord, just a statement of observation.”
“It is a true one, Mullen.” Arthrus said.
Aram let his eye rove over the buildings of Durck and the land round about, the steep, rocky slopes with their sparse tufts of brush and scattered trees rising above the town to end in a semi-circle of crags here at the end of a deep narrow arm of the sea. He brought his gaze back to rest on Mullen. “I will answer your question now. Yes, these lands are under my jurisdiction – because I desire them to be, and I can exert my will to make it so, if necessary. I would rather it be so because you and the others here desire it.”
“What about privateers, my lord? I mean, there are others besides these.” Mullen glanced out at the bay, where the smaller boat that had been tied to the dock had pulled away and was approaching the ships that lay at anchor. “When they come, they will not know of what transpired here today. Unless you intend to stay – what do we do then?”
“Answer my question first,” Aram insisted. “Will you govern these people in my absence?”
Mullen rubbed his sore arm ruefully. “I will do my best, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “Good enough.” He turned and looked up the slope at Mullen’s house, tucked up against the cliff. The roof line was nearly flat, with only a slight pitch in it as it sloped back toward the rock face. “Look at your house, Mullen.”
After a curious search of Aram’s face, which told him nothing, the man complied.
Aram pointed. “If ships come, and give you trouble, don’t contest them yourself – until you and the people of this town are stronger and more unified. That will take time. Until then, if you need me, put a large square of red cloth flat on your roof – it can’t be seen from the harbor but I will be alerted. I am but two days away.”
Mullen stared at him in confusion. “But how will you see the piece of cloth, my lord?”
“I will know that it is there.”
“Are you a sorcerer as well, my lord?”
Aram ignored that and turned to look out at the bay. The three ships were already unfurling their sails; long oars had appeared through holes in the near side of one and were working to turn it out toward the gap leading to the distant sea. “How likely is it that others will come before those ships return?”
Mullen shook his head. “Not likely. Burkhed arrived two days ago and he usually stays a month or more. The others no doubt knew that he was coming here – they fear him and track him – tracked him, that is – better than he liked. They will likely avoid us for a while, until they’re sure he’s gone.”
“One thing more, Mullen.”
“My lord?”
“I want to talk to everyone here at once, now – settle the fact that you will act for me in my absence. Can you assemble the town?”
“At once, my lord.”
An hour later, Aram stood on the roof of a small shed at the eastern edge of the town and addressed its citizenry, gathered in the street outside the public house. He told them of his decision to name Mullen as governor in his stead and laid down some ground rules for social behavior that he expected them to follow. Based on what they’d witnessed that morning on the dock, he knew that fear of him would make them obey for a time, but he doubted that it would last without his continued attention. And he needed this port. He must return to this town again and again, until it was imbedded in them to act civilized. He realized that day, even as he was speaking to the ragged people of Durck, that this same scene would no doubt be repeated in other places at other times.
Again, he was surprised at how easy it came to him to do this, how natural it felt; but he knew that this arose largely from the fact that Ka’en loved him and that the people of Derosa had gladly and willingly decided to accept him as their future prince. As he looked out over the few hundred inhabitants of Durck, a town that he had not known existed before a few days ago, it occurred to him, once again, that he knew very little of the lands that – upon his marriage to Ka’en – would be his to govern. He knew then that there was something that he had to do, and that he would have to do it alone. Soon.
Twenty Three
Two days later, late in the afternoon of the first really warm day of the year, they once again approached Derosa, with the horses making good time along the pavement of the ancient road, and Durlrang padding along in front of them. Alvern sent Aram a thought from the depths of the sky, telling him that all was quiet to the west, and that he would report fully later that evening.
As they swung to the west, out onto the open plains where the road ended south of the river, Thaniel turned his head and looked at Aram with his left eye.
“What troubles you, Lord Aram? You have been very quiet since we started north.”
The horses and Durlrang had been told of all that had happened in the seaside town – Findaen and Arthrus doing most of the talking. Since leaving Durck, after witnessing Aram’s actions there, the men of Derosa had begun to treat him with an ever greater deference, the result being that the gap that had come to exist between him and them grew wider. It occurred to Aram that he had never been allowed the chance to be a part of natural society, to have simple friendship in common with other men.
Though it had been spread over the course of almost a decade, it seemed to him that the transition from slave to warrior, and then from lone warrior to leader of men had occurred too quickly. He’d gone from field-tender to lord with almost nothing in between except for years of living alone in the wilderness, learning to survive. When Decius had died, robbing him of human company, he had been a ragged outcast, running for his life. Then, when next he came into the society of his own kind, he had already achieved legendary status, based on actions which he saw as simply necessary but that others found mysterious, and had risen to a station that placed him above the rest of men.
Ka’en and the horse that carried him westward toward the crossing were the nearest things to his equals on earth, and his only confidants. Probably, it would always be so and he often pondered that fact with regret. But it was not this that troubled him now.
He met Thaniel’s gaze and closed his mind to all but that of the great black horse. “You know that man that I killed?”
“Yes.”
“That troubles me.”
“Why, my lord? From all accounts, he needed killing – and would have slain you had you not acted. Why does it trouble you?”
Aram thought about it. “Because I could kill him at will, and I knew it. The man had no understanding of his peril. I could have demonstrated my strength to him in other ways and perhaps led him into reason. Yet I cut him down like a dead tree.”
“How does this alter the fact that his death was justified?”
Aram shook his head. “It doesn’t. It’s not necessarily his death, Thaniel, that troubles me – it is the ease with which I did the deed, and the lack of any depth of feeling about it afterward.”
“But you have killed many times, and justly so, my lord. Perhaps you have become used to it?”
“Exactly so, Thaniel, and that is what worries me.” He was quiet for a moment as the horse looked to his front and entered the shallow water over the gravel bar of the crossing. He checked his mind again, making certain that it was closed so that none but Thaniel could hear him. “Am I becoming like Manon?”
Thaniel’s great head snapped around and he nearly came to a stop. “My lord?”
“I fear that I kill too easily, and without remorse or even contemplation. Such is the behavior of our enemy. Am I becoming like him?”
Thaniel looked back for
ward and surged through the river to the other side, where he turned east, toward the gates of Derosa.
“Did the man deserve killing, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy the act of killing him?”
“No – I never do – but I do it so easily.”
“That is because you are a warrior and your judgment is quick and certain. The man needed killing and you killed him. I understand that his death improved things for many people?”
“Yes.” Aram affirmed. “At least it would seem so.”
“Does the grim lord worry over those whose lives he takes and whose lives he ruins?”
“No.”
“And he kills for his own benefit.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever killed for your own ends, my lord?”
“No – I don’t think so – I’m sure I haven’t.”
“And yet you are troubled.”
“I am.”
“This is why you will never be like Manon, my lord.” The horse said stolidly. “He is capable of great evil – you are capable of none. He is untroubled by the deaths of the innocent while you and I have just spent several minutes debating the killing of a criminal. You and the grim lord stand in opposition on this matter. You are nothing like him. Trouble yourself no longer with these thoughts.”
Aram was silent for several minutes as they went on toward the gates. “Thank you for that, my friend.”
Thaniel was also silent for a few long strides; then he turned again and looked at Aram. “I would bear no other man but you, my lord, ever – for what it is worth.”
Aram reached out and laid a gauntleted hand on the horse’s neck. “You are a great friend, Thaniel.”
“It will always be so.”
Ka’en waited for him at the gate, having been warned by Alvern that the travelers had returned. She came to him quickly and he took her into his arms, hugging her to his chest, putting his nose into her hair and breathing deep.
Kelven's Riddle Book Two Page 37
