Kelven's Riddle Book Two

by Daniel Hylton

  By midday, three thousand people sat in a long line in the shade of the trees at the edge of the fields, gazing about themselves fearfully. Aram gathered his men, letting them eat in shifts, and then set them to work. Some he sent through the town to the crossings of the Stell, to guard against attack – though Alvern was still in the sky and would provide ample warning – so that there would be no nasty surprises.

  Others he put to work making sure that the people of Stell had food and water by raiding the storehouses in town, and using some of the freed slaves to help bring water from the wells. Then he sent for Timmon, who had been with Arthrus, bringing down the supply wagons.

  Timmon found Aram sitting astride Thaniel in the road, his helmet removed, looking over at the people seated at the edge of the trees.

  “You sent for me, my lord?”

  Aram swung around and pointed toward the town. “There are three bridges over the river, Timmon. I want to leave at least one intact if possible, but defensible against attack. Tell me how to defend it and how I may render the other two unusable, even if they must be destroyed. Take some soldiers with you – there may still be some enemy hiding in town.”

  “At once, my lord.” Timmon answered, and the clever man went toward Donnick to gather his retinue.

  Aram sat quietly for some time, letting his mind and body rest, gently rubbing at his damaged shoulder. Finally, Thaniel shifted his weight and swung his head around. “What are you thinking, my lord?”

  Aram looked down at him. “Give me your thoughts instead, Thaniel. How did we do today?”

  The horse looked over at the battlefield, strewn with the bodies of the enemy. He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a blast, rattling the headgear of his armor. “The enemy lost three hundred – we lost but a few, and most of those to foolishness. Our peoples have gained vital experience, for they have seen the face of the enemy and met steel with steel. Most important, there is another free city upon the earth and a few thousand more of your people that you may now add to your principality. It is a good day’s work, my lord.”

  Aram nodded in agreement, but was silent. After a moment, Thaniel continued. “Death will come to some of our own, Aram – it can’t be helped.”

  Aram watched the surgeons, still busy at their sad labors. “I know.” He answered.

  “I am thirsty, my lord, and a bit hungry.”

  Aram looked down at him, chagrined. “I’m sorry, my friend – I should have known.”

  He dismounted and removed Thaniel’s head gear, letting the great horse loose to graze and quench his thirst, and then he went over to where the surgeons had laid out the bodies of the slain Derosans.

  There were five. Besides the four killed in battle, one of the badly wounded had also died. Aram learned their names from one of the surgeons. Aberlon was dead, of course; also Draken, Lackar, Hilbrad, and Hollan. The bodies of the two wolves were there as well. Mallet stood off to one side with his head down, arms hanging limp at his sides, lost in a fog of despair and grief. After a moment’s hesitation, Aram went over to him.

  “I’m sorry, Mallet.”

  The big man looked at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen and the lower part of his face trembled with emotion. There was a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his right arm. “Aberlon couldn’t wait to get here and fight. After we killed the lasher at Burning Mountain, he thought that it would ever be easy and exciting. I tried to warn him many times that it would not always be so.” He stared at his cousin’s body and shook his head in sorrow. “He should have stayed in line.”

  There was no need to reinforce the obvious. Aram reached out and laid a hand on Mallet’s arm and said nothing. After a moment, he glanced up at the sun, slipping past midday, and felt its heat. The day would be warm, if not downright hot. Perhaps that which needed to be said should wait, but this was war, much needed to be done, and there might still be enemies in the area. Subtleties were a luxury he couldn’t afford.

  “It is six days back to Derosa, Mallet.” He said quietly, and paused, hoping that the big man would focus on the intent of his words before he continued. “What do you think we should do with our dead?”

  “Take them home, of course.” Mallet answered, not comprehending. Then the tenor of Aram’s question penetrated his grief and he stared. “Can we not take them home?”

  “It’s the middle of summer, my friend.” Aram said gently. “A week across the plains. We have no means of protecting the bodies. I don’t know how we could do it.”

  Mallet’s eyes widened as comprehension came. He spread his hands wide. “But Aberlon is the only son of his mother.”

  Aram nodded. “And she has a right to bury him – I know. I just don’t know how to bring it about.”

  Mallet looked up at the sun and then at Aberlon’s body. His wet eyes blinked in rapid fashion as he gazed desperately around the battlefield, searching for an answer. His eye fell on Markris. “The horses,” he said, looking back at Aram with rising hope, “the horses can carry our dead back to Derosa in two days.”

  “Yes, they could do that.” Aram agreed, and then he paused for a moment. “Do we want to send our dead back home tied to the back of a horse like a sack of grain?”

  “Better than leaving them here.” Mallet said angrily. His chest heaved as if from great exertion.

  Aram looked away, out across the prairie and waited for the big man to become calmer. Then, without looking at Mallet, knowing the man’s eyes were on him, he began to speak quietly but firmly.

  “It is essential that we leave some men here, Mallet, to help these people that we have freed organize their lives, and organize a defense, and learn to live in freedom. And so we split our forces. The infantry and the carts with our wounded and our supplies will take at least a week to get home. There are still enemies in these lands, Mallet. To the north, just beyond the river, there are other villages, with lashers and gray men. And – there is an entire army of the enemy at Burning Mountain, no doubt soon to be alerted as to that which we have done here.”

  He turned his head and met the big man’s eyes. “If we send our dead home with the horses, we will need to send all the horses – with their riders – so that if they are ambushed by the enemy while crossing the plains there will be enough to mount a defense or effect an escape. So, we split our forces yet again, and by doing so, we blind ourselves. Alvern cannot be everywhere at once, nor can the wolves.”

  He held Mallet’s troubled gaze. “I must employ Alvern here, to watch over those we leave behind to aid the people of Stell, and to come for us if they are threatened. The rest of the army must go home together, with horses and wolves as outriders. Anything else is unwise, even foolish. Someday these plains will be free and safe, but that is not yet the state of things.”

  He sighed as he saw the light of understanding flicker reluctantly in the depths of Mallet’s eyes. “I do not mean to simply leave them behind, my friend. No, I want to bury them with honor, here, where they accomplished so much.”

  Mallet pivoted away slowly and gazed down upon the body of his cousin. His huge frame shuddered, and he did not speak.

  Some of the other dead had relatives on the field as well, brothers, and fathers, and sons. One by one, Aram gathered them, along with Findaen, Donnick, and Arthrus, and explained his concerns, asking for advice.

  In the end even Mallet agreed; they should be buried in the field next to the site of the battle. And Durlrang and Shingka gave their consent – the wolves would be buried with them. The ground would be protected; eventually a monument would be built to those that had fallen in the fight for the liberty of Stell. In the months and years ahead, their loved ones would be brought to the small sacred plot of earth beside the road where these seven had died to free the people of the ancient capitol of Wallensia.

  Thirty

  After the burial, Aram ate, and then found Thaniel. It was now two hours past midday. He climbed up on the horse, collected Findaen and Andaran and went over t
o the three thousand citizens that waited by the trees. They had been fed and given plenty of water, but had been told nothing. As yet, they did not know what to expect from the violent men that had come into their midst and destroyed their overseers and masters. The tall man on the huge black horse was obviously the master of the situation, and therefore of their fate.

  They rose, almost as one, as Aram rode up, and to his eyes they looked as all their kind looked, fearful, ragged, and starved.

  He sat on the mighty black horse and studied them in silence for several moments. He wasn’t trying to make an impression; rather he was trying to get an impression of them. One thing especially surprised and saddened him – their numbers. He’d had it in his mind that there were many thousands, perhaps as many as ten thousand or so citizens of the ancient town that he could free and add to his strength; after all, once upon a time Stell had been a sizeable city. But though Findaen had scoured the town and the villages round about, very few more were added to the three thousand. This, then, beside a similar number in Derosa, was all that was left of the ancient people of Wallensia.

  Another thing he noticed immediately was the disparity in the numbers of young women to young men.

  For every young woman just entering her prime child-bearing years, there were easily two men in the same age group from whom she could choose a husband. Most of the women were small, slight, and thin. Manon’s soulless servants had taken the robust, healthier women. Aram understood something now that had evaded him as a youth – the overseers didn’t take for themselves but for the designs of their master, and they didn’t choose for beauty but for strength.

  A few of the people gazed back at Aram defiantly, but most found the courage to look at him only when he wasn’t looking at them. There were people of all ages, but by far the largest single demographic was younger men. This was not surprising, Manon regularly winnowed out the weak and aged – the slaves he needed most were stout workers that could produce food for his growing empire and his hungry armies. It would also work to Aram’s advantage, for hopefully, many of these young men would be willing to join the fight against their former lord.

  Aram moved Thaniel closer to the people of Stell and stood up in the stirrups.

  “I am Aram, son of Clif, son of Joktan, lord of the north.” He said. He paused to let this declaration sink in. “Most important – I am the enemy of Manon.”

  He moved his eyes along the line, meeting any gaze courageous enough to withstand his own. “You are now free.”

  There was a delay, a pause, as if the sun blinked and the wind checked itself in its courses to make certain of that which had just been uttered by the man on the horse. Then there were gasps from many of the three thousand throats.

  Aram held up his hand, causing silence. With his other hand, he indicated Findaen. “This is Findaen of Derosa, son of Lancer, Prince of Wallensia. Do any of you know these names?”

  After a moment, a thin, elderly man separated himself and took a timid step forward. “I know Lancer – we were boys together. He still lives?”

  Aram examined the old man, surprised that the servants of Manon had allowed him to live until this moment. He was terribly thin; his wispy hair was long and straggly, and his shoulders were hunched as if he stood in a chill wind rather than the fierce fullness of the summer sun. Perhaps he was a much stouter worker than it appeared. “Who are you, sir?”

  The man nodded meekly. “I am Kinwerd. My father was Ralphon. The family of Lancer took my sisters north with them when the city was threatened.”

  Beside Aram, Findaen stiffened and then slid from Andaran’s back. He walked up to the elderly man and dropped to his knees, looking up. Kinwerd stepped back uncertainly. Reaching out, Findaen grasped his bony knees and stopped him from retreating.

  “Lancer and your sister were married.” He said, his voice trembling. “They are my parents – you are my uncle.”

  The old man’s eyes widened in disbelief and grew moist. “You are my sister’s son?”

  Findaen nodded, his own eyes streaming. “I am, sir.”

  “My sister lives?”

  Findaen shook his head in sadness. “She died in childbirth when I was a boy, as she was bringing my younger sister into the world.”

  The old man looked up and gazed around at his fellow citizens in wonder. “I have a nephew and a niece – I have family.”

  Findaen looked up at him. “Two nieces, uncle. My eldest sister, Ka’en, is princess of Wallensia.”

  Kinwerd’s eyes were streaming wet with tears of unexpected joy. He put out a palsied hand and laid it on Findaen’s head. “And you – my family – you came for us.”

  Findaen nodded and pointed back toward Aram. “Because of him.”

  The old man raised his eyes to Aram. “After all these years, we are free?”

  “Yes.” Checking his own rising emotion, Aram raised his voice again and addressed all the people. “Because of the actions of your kinsfolk – including some that died this morning – you are now free of the tyranny of Manon, but not of your responsibility to resist him and his forces. If you are to remain free, you must join us. You must help us watch the border – in this case, the river – and your young men must fight with us.”

  He paused, watching them. Here and there along the line of scruffy slaves, he saw hope begin to shine. More importantly, a few of the younger men stood up straighter and gazed at him more boldly than before.

  “Wallensia must be one again,” Aram continued, “and its people one. You must rebuild this city and tend your own fields for your own benefit.” He lowered his voice to a fierce undertone that yet carried. “And you must stand with us to resist the grim lord.”

  “Will you stand with us?”

  The people of Stell stared back at the dark-haired, hard-faced man sitting on the back of the huge, metal covered beast. In one morning their world of misery and heartache had ceased abruptly to exist because of this fierce man of which none of them had ever heard. It was as if a legend – heretofore unknown – had appeared like magic out of the north, slaying lashers and destroying the army of the grim lord of the earth.

  Kinwerd straightened his thin shoulders and stood as tall as his ancient bones would allow. “Yes, my lord, the people of Stell will stand with you.”

  Aram nodded. “I will stay long enough to make sure that the river crossings are secure against incursion. Afterward, I will leave a contingent of men here to help you organize your town – its defenses and its fields. Look to your fields. We will have need of the bounty of your harvest, but we will not steal from you as Manon has done. We will trade with you for what we need that all of us may prosper.”

  Findaen had risen to his feet and was standing quietly, but he wasn’t looking at Aram, nor was he looking at Kinwerd. His gaze was fixed on a point further back in the crowd of people standing in the shade of the trees. Aram looked along the trajectory of his friend’s gaze.

  Standing between two young, blond-headed men was a thin but very pretty woman in ragged clothes. The three resembled one another and the two young men seemed almost aggressively protective of the woman, standing so close together in front of her that she was nearly hidden. Aram recognized familial ties when he saw them. The three were siblings, a sister and her two protective brothers. Somehow, probably due to her appearance of frailty, this woman had escaped the clutches of Manon’s overseers. She appeared too fragile to survive the rigors of malignant pregnancy and childbirth in the dungeons of the dark tower, so she had been passed over – left behind, hopefully, to produce more slaves.

  Aram glanced back at Findaen and saw an expression on his friend’s young face that surely must have crossed Aram’s own features the first time he looked upon Ka’en’s beauty. He smiled to himself and reached an instant and obvious decision. Once again, he stood in the stirrups.

  “From this day forward, you will answer to the governance of Lancer, Prince of Wallensia, as your fathers did in the days of old. For now, Find
aen, the son of the Prince, will remain with you, to help you establish local order and secure your defenses.” His eyes hardened. “Also, he will seek to recruit willing men from among your ranks to fight with us in the days ahead. We need men. Anyone willing to fight will be equipped and trained. Those that choose to remain behind will be expected to serve as a militia.”

  He turned Thaniel sideways and let his hardened gaze sweep along the ragged line of people. “You are all free people now, and you must learn to defend your freedom. The evil of the grim lord must never again be allowed to cross the river Broad. That stream is the new border of the free lands. In the days ahead, you may be forced to make a choice between freedom and death. Choose well, my friends. Freedom is worth fighting for – and the freedom of your people is worth dying for. You must never again submit to chains.”

  He let silence descend as he looked at them, and then he turned and went back toward town, leaving Findaen to organize the people into their new lives. He found Timmon standing at the edge of the river by the main bridge in the center of the town. The man was standing beneath the bridge and to one side, gazing up, studying its design.

  Aram dismounted and squelched down through the mud to join him.

  Timmon grinned at him as he came up. He stuck one thumb into the air, indicating the timber work of the bridge. “These people were good engineers and builders, my lord.” He pivoted and pointed out into the wide current of the river. “See those stanchions there – the pillars that hold the bridge up – the stone pylons that the posts rest on?”