Kelven's Riddle Book Four

by Daniel Hylton

  A change had occurred in the High Prince. There was a new air of determination about him, malignant and cold; and Marcus was suddenly certain that his uncle’s altered attitude would affect him in one very real way – he means to have me killed.

  The last member of Waren’s family was to be removed from the palace – permanently.

  Probably, Rahm wouldn’t have him cut down in the open, but neither would he worry so much about public sentiment, as had always been the case before. Whatever it was that had brought the High Prince to this new place, Marcus figured in it only as an impediment to be removed, as quietly as possible perhaps, but quickly, too.

  Keeping his face as placid as possible and his voice calm, Marcus replied, “No, my lord, there is nothing else.” After a moment's hesitation, when Rahm's vindictive glare did not move away or subside, he continued. “I'd like to go out in the town and see a few friends – take a little rest, and relax, if you have no further need of me.”

  Rahm watched him for a time with his hardened, menacing eyes. In that long moment, Marcus felt very much like the mouse must feel when confronted with the sharp attention of the serpent. “No, it seems that I do not,” the High Prince stated finally, and then he moved toward the interior of the palace. As he stalked off, he uttered a contemptuous dismissal over his shoulder. “Go away.”

  Marcus watched him leave and then turned to go down through the family quarters and thence into the side street, but stopped. There had been something terrible in Rahm's look, as if the decision he’d reached concerning his nephew had gone beyond the planning stage and had entered the realm of execution. And while the overarching substance of whatever had engendered this decision likely had little to do with Marcus, the part of it that touched him directly – and insidiously – was already in play.

  Things were about to change dramatically in the ancient green land of Marcus' ancestors. And it was intended that he should not live to see it.

  Abruptly, he turned the other way and went down the main staircase toward the great hall at the front of the palace. Although no official business was being conducted on this particular day, there would be a small crowd of people there, like always, and Rahm almost certainly preferred that the devilry he intended toward his nephew be wrought in secret, if possible. Marcus intended to survive and escape before that preference changed.

  As he walked down through the hall to the great front doors, he attempted to appear as casual as possible, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his shoulder muscles tingled in anticipation of the knife. He nodded to the guards by the entrance. It was unlikely they would be involved in the dirty deed to come – that particular bit of nastiness would be accomplished by darker servants of the throne, the kind that never wore a uniform. Passing the guards, Marcus went down the steps and out onto the main avenue.

  Gaining the second intersection further along, he turned left onto High Street, passed along it for three blocks and then, still unmolested, turned right into a dark, narrow alleyway. If he was followed, this was a dangerous locale, so he quickened his step and found a tall, narrow opening into the back wall of the building on his left. Stepping into the gloom, he eased around a tight corner and stepped over a steel grate that led down into the storm sewer at the end of a dark alleyway between two tall, windowless buildings.

  He waited for a moment, listening for sounds beyond the corner by the opening to the street. After a few minutes, satisfied that he was not followed, he lifted the grate and slipped downward into the darkness, resetting the steel grid after him. By memory, he moved along the lightless passage, keeping his hand upon the wall to the right. There had been no rain for a few days and the floor was relatively dry so he was able to move quietly. Eventually, he came to a corner where he turned to his right and continued on, now with his hand upon the left wall. Up ahead, a slight glow began to dispel a bit of the gloom.

  There was another grate. After listening for a long moment, he eased it up and to the side. Then he stayed still and listened for a longer period of time. It would not do to stick one's head up into the path of a swinging sword or the thrust of a pike. Finally, reasonably satisfied that no one lurked in the dimness above him, he peered above the opening, doing a quick pivot so as to view the alleyway above in both directions. It was deserted.

  Marcus pulled himself up, replaced the grate and found a door a few feet away along the farther wall of the alley. Feeling across the top of the rough and ragged jam, he found the key and inserted it in the lock. He replaced the key, went in and pulled the door shut behind him, turning the lock. It made a very slight noise but it was enough to elicit a response from further along the dim hallway, where a stern, rectangular face beneath a shock of close-cropped gray-blond hair peered around a corner at the sound of the door being latched.

  “Marcus! – my favorite prince!”

  Marcus waved his hand in greeting and frowned as he carefully checked the door for soundness. “Please tell me that you're not busy today, Thom.”

  Into the opening moved a very tall, muscular man. “Not a soul in the place. Why? Hey – you look as if there's a ghost on your tail.”

  “If Rahm's men catch up to me, I'll be the ghost,” Marcus returned dourly.

  The bartender's demeanor became abruptly serious. “Many of us have thought for a long time that your attitude was a bit cavalier where your bastard of an uncle is concerned,” he said.

  Marcus grinned ruefully at his friend's profane utterance. “You're alone in the place, Thom?”

  “As I said. Ever since most of the lads in uniform went north to roust your barbarian lot, my business is reduced to men trying not to go home to their wives at the end of the day. And there are a few more hours to kill before those pathetic souls show up. What do you need?”

  Marcus nodded gratefully at his older friend's prescience. “To get away from Farenaire – unseen and unknown.”

  Thom frowned at him. “To where?”

  “North, I think. Basura. And then I have to find a way to go see the barbarian king, if I can manage it.”

  Thom’s frown disappeared as his eyebrows slid upward. “King? You – go see a king? What are you talking about?”

  “We're alone?”

  “I don't waste words, lad,” Thom growled, “and I don’t appreciate the need to run my tongue over ‘em more than once. We're alone, as I said, and I'll lock the front door if you like. In fact, I'll just do that, and then,” he stuck one stiffened forefinger in Marcus' chest, “you have some explaining to do.”

  While the bartender went to the front of the dim establishment, Marcus slipped behind the bar and poured a liberal glass of whiskey. He wasn't really much of a drinker, but his nerves had taken a shock, and the more he thought back on his uncle's demeanor at their parting, the more he felt the firmness seep from the earth beneath his feet.

  Directly, Thom returned and leaned over the bar, watching in silence until Marcus choked down the last of the amber fluid.

  “Alright, lad, what's going on?”

  Marcus met the bartender's pale blue eyes. “Rahm is going to rid himself of me.”

  “Yes,” Thom nodded shortly, “he is. Your friends have all known it for quite a while. Most of us are surprised you're still alive. But what finally convinced you?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Nothing in particular. But he looked at me in an odd way, intent and determined, you know, like he'd made up his mind about me. I just got a feeling.”

  “Good – trust that feeling. It's a sound one. We'll get you safely to Basura, I promise. Now what's this about a barbarian king?”

  Marcus told Thom all that had occurred north of the gates, including things he had left out of his report to the High Prince. The only thing he did not tell Thom was the “barbarian” king’s instructions for making contact with the wolves. He’d decided that relating such a thing might make his pragmatic friend doubt his sanity. When he had finished, the older man's eyes were wide and he whistled low. “Now t
hat's astonishing news and good news too, I might add.”

  Marcus frowned. “Why is it good?”

  Thom spoke bluntly. “Ever since your father died, Marcus, and that bastard brother of his took the throne, I’ve known the country would not survive as the land we love. And I've had this hope that somewhere out there in the wide world there might be someone stronger than him that might come to our aid if and when things go badly.” Seeing the cautious look that came into Marcus eyes, he held up his hand. “Civil war is coming, lad, of that there is little doubt, at least among those with whom I associate. The problem for us lately has been that most of the armed men in this country now wear the uniform of the throne. Even with Cinnabar and Basura drawing in their people, the numbers won't favor us. But if there is a strong leader out there who disapproves of Elam's policies, well then, our hope finds a little better footing.”

  He looked hard at Marcus. “And he's not barbaric, you say?”

  Marcus laughed shortly. “No, my friend, there's nothing barbaric about him. There's something ancient about him, and extraordinarily powerful, but not barbaric.”

  “Wonderful.” This enunciation came out quietly as if Thom spoke to himself. Looking past Marcus, the bartender gazed thoughtfully into the dimness of his place of business. “We need to get you out of here, my boy, and north of Calom Malpas, quickly. But I’ve got to load up a few things first – as soon and as quietly as possible. Also, Mrs. Sota will need time to pack.”

  “Why would your wife need time to pack?”

  Thom reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “Because we're going with you. I’m done with Farenaire, and besides, I wouldn't mind meeting this barbarian king of yours.” He straightened up with abrupt decision. “Now, let's get you down to the basement, back into the tunnel and to a safe house until Kay and I are ready.”

  11.

  Aram stood on the parapet of the fortress and alternately looked northward at the men training on the rolling grasslands and then turned the other way and gazed down the slope that angled away toward the river crossing to watch the activities of Dane and Bertrain, who were overseeing the loading of the supply trains and the surgical wagons respectively. Aram had seen to it that Bertrain's business in particular was carried on out of the view of the soldiers. For the moment, it was best if Bertrain and his contingent of surgeons, augmented greatly by men from Duridia and Lamont who were trained in the medical arts, remained out of the sight and thoughts of those that would need their services in the days ahead.

  For many of the men tramping and wheeling across the prairie beyond the fortress, death was even now marching down out of the north.

  On this particular day, the army was being trained to answer the instructions of a bugle, something already well understood by the men from Lamont. Scattered among the ranks, buglers sounded “advance”, “hold”, “fall back”, “form lines of battle”, “cover”, and “retreat”. Aram listened carefully to the calls reverberating over the prairie so that he, too, would know what his commanders were asking of their men when the bugles sounded.

  After another glance down toward the river, he looked at the sun and then scanned the northern sky, sending a questioning thought into the blue and watching for the large winged forms of Alvern and Kipwing. Every evening for the past month, one or the other of the eagles had faithfully reported on the movement of Manon's army as it made its way south out of Bracken and down across the vast northern expanse of the great plains. At last report, it had approached to within a day’s march of the outflow of the river that ran through the long valley beside which Aram had long ago been hauled eastward in the slave train. According to the eagles, and the hawks that aided them, the army was moving without supply wagons, living off the produce of the plains and as a consequence was making rapid progress.

  In twenty to twenty-five days, that army would approach the gap that led southward into Cumberland. Aram intended to meet it somewhere north of that gap, upon the southern fringe of the plains, where there would be room to maneuver, yet allow him to keep the bulk of his supply train behind him in the valley of the dry lake. Then, if things went badly, his troops could retreat into the wooded hills on the northern frontier of Cumberland while Aram found a way to delay the enemy, giving his own army an opportunity to escape and regroup south of the gap.

  The reports he'd received had been disquieting. Alvern, as usual, could make no good guess as to the size of the force coming down out of the north, but Kipwing, cleverer than his ancient ancestor in such things, put it at “perhaps as large as the army of Elam, maybe larger”. Manon, then, had sent twenty thousand, more or less, of which, again according to Kipwing, a tenth or so were lashers.

  Just as the sun touched the tops of the hills across the River Broad to the west, Alvern's voice came down.

  “The enemy is preparing to camp on the northern bank of the river that comes out of the long valley, Lord Aram.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Aram replied shortly. He considered for a moment, judging the distance the enemy army had moved in the last few weeks and applying that rate of advance to what he knew of the intervening ground. Three weeks, he decided, no more, and the enemy would then be at the southern edge of the plains, at the place where he meant to make his stand. His own army was two weeks from that point, so it was time to move.

  He turned to Edwar and Boman, who were still standing a few feet away to his left watching their men at work. Immediately, he gained their attention.

  “The men should organize their things and get some rest,” he said. “Have the captains relay the order. We march in two days.”

  Boman simply inclined his head, but Edwar took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They're getting close, then?”

  Aram nodded. “Twenty to twenty five days from the plains north of Cumberland at their current pace. It will take us twelve to fifteen to reach the northern end of the gap.” Aram had already discussed his plans in fine detail with the two generals but he repeated one of those details anyway. “I want to beat them to the place where we will do battle, but only just. I don't want the men to have too much time to think about what's coming.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  While Boman and Edwar turned to their staff officers to send instructions to the troops, Aram went down the stairs and found Thaniel. The big horse was waiting expectantly outside the gates to the fortress.

  Aram looked at him. “You heard?”

  “Yes.”

  Aram lifted one hand and motioned out toward the plains. “Do you think they're ready?”

  Thaniel swung his head around and gazed out at the wheeling troops. “No,” he said after a moment. “But no one ever is.”

  “Will they stand and fight or will they run?” Aram asked.

  The horse gazed northward for a moment before answering. “Some will run, that is probably inevitable, but most will fight.”

  “What makes you think this?”

  Thaniel turned back and looked at him. “Because you will be there, my lord.”

  Aram frowned. “Yes, as will the sword. So?”

  “It has nothing to do with the sword; it has to do with you. Men will fight for you.”

  Aram scowled. “I would rather that they fight for their freedom; for their homes and their families.”

  “Their homes, for the most part, are far away, and their families will not be with them on the field. You, my lord, will be with them. I have seen it – men will fight for you, or perhaps because of you.”

  Aram digested this silently, gazing north, and then looked over at Thaniel. “Will you take me to Derosa, my friend? I want to spend this evening with Lady Ka'en,” he explained, “for you and I need to go west at first light.”

  “Of course. May I ask why we go west tomorrow?”

  “I want to find a good place to fight,” Aram answered simply. As he spoke, he glanced up toward the top of the walls and to the horse it seemed as if he froze for an instant. Turning back to Th
aniel, Aram said, “Wait here for a moment, and then we’ll go to Derosa. I need to see Timmon.”

  The engineer was on the far parapet, facing westward toward the river and the wide grasslands beyond, overseeing the installation of a wooden brace for what would eventually be a viewing platform at the very center of the fortress. Timmon was on his hands and knees, leaning over and inspecting the underside of the new construction. Hearing Aram’s step, he looked up and then stood.

  The clever man waved one hand toward the prairie beyond the Broad. “A man standing here will have an unobstructed view of whomever or whatever approaches.” He said, and he stomped down hard with one foot. “And it’s strong enough to support a cohort of archers, as well.”

  Aram nodded, glanced out at the distant rolling green, and then met the engineer’s eyes. “There is something else I want placed here,” he said.

  Timmon waited, watching him expectantly.

  “Have you chosen a mount?” Aram asked him.

  “Bonhie bears me when needed.” Timmon replied; then he grinned and shrugged. “Which is not too often, I admit.”

  Aram nodded approvingly. “Take some men, go to Regamun Mediar. There is a tower at the top of the city – I used to sleep there.” He held his hands wide with the palms open, indicating a large circle. “In the topmost floor of the tower, there is a round glass, encased in brass, which, when a man looks through it, brings distant things near.”

  Timmon’s eyes went wide. “A starglass?” Amazement saturated his voice.

  Aram frowned at him. “You’ve heard of such a thing?”

  “Yes,” Timmon affirmed. “There is one at the great academy in Eremand, in the south of Elam. Men use it to study the stars by night. I saw it once, when I was a boy.” He gazed at Aram with an odd light in his eyes. “You possess one, my lord?”

  Aram nodded. “I want you to remove it from the tower and set it up right here, on this platform, where we may see even farther into the west.”

  Timmon’s eyes shone. “With pleasure – I will go at once.”