Kelven's Riddle Book Four

by Daniel Hylton

  “What if the enemy employs a rapid charge? Will our men stand up against such a thing, having never experienced it?”

  “You can prepare them, my lord, though with exhortation alone, I admit. But the spikes that your friend Arthrus has made should help to impede such an assault and encourage the men to hold.”

  “Yes,” Aram responded. “I agree.”

  Looking south from the rise where the enemy would probably form his lines once he came up against Aram's troops already in position, he tried to see any advantage that the ground would give his foes, but could see nothing striking. He folded his hands on the saddle and leaned forward, nodding his head in assent.

  “Then this is where we will fight, if the enemy will accommodate us. I'll get down and let's walk it, so that we may be certain of the ground.”

  For the next several hours, as the sun crossed the zenith and sailed west, Aram, Thaniel and Durlrang walked the width and breadth of the small valley, getting a feel for the earth, finding its high places and low spots. The banks of the stream that cut off the valley from the plains to the north were in most places less than two feet high, and were nowhere more than three. Nonetheless, it was a barrier of sorts, and would be easier to defend than to surmount.

  At the northwest end of the valley, where the stream that flowed northward from the wooded hills found confluence with the larger east-west stream, there was a gap of open ground between the end of the rocky ridge and the banks of the stream. It was not wide, no more than twenty feet or so, but it would offer a possible flanking opportunity, however limited, to a more numerous enemy.

  Lamont would be on this wing of his army. Aram walked back and forth over the ground, trying to decide whether it would be better to let the line curve away from the stream as it approached this area, in order to butt up against the high ground or whether there should be a sharp angle in the line of troops at this point. Either plan would result in a troubling weakness in deployment. He finally turned away without having resolved on a solution.

  Other than the troubling logistics on the west end of his proposed position, however, Aram could find nothing about the future battlefield that did not please him. If his exceedingly green army was to be blooded in a fierce fight in its first engagement, then this would be the place. It was eminently defensible and if retreat became necessary, it would not lend itself to becoming a trap. As the sun tipped toward the horizon, he climbed up on Thaniel's back and they went a ways further into the rolling prairie, invading that region for perhaps a mile until Aram spoke to the horse, bringing him to a standstill.

  Up ahead, there were signs of habitations and worked fields to either side of the road. The huts off to the left were undoubtedly some of Manon's slave holdings, but immediately ahead, lying across both sides of the thoroughfare, there were signs of more substantial buildings.

  Most were in ruins and a few appeared to have been burned though it was difficult to tell at this distance. It was probably the remains of an ancient town, but it was surrounded by massive plots of tilled earth. Near to the town, but some distance south of its environs, a large dark mass stood in the road. The figure was easily recognizable as a lasher, and Aram knew by its demeanor that it was looking at them. For a moment, he was tempted to go on and engage it in battle and destroy it, but decided against the action. There would be more than just one in a slave holding the size of that which crouched upon the rolling grasslands before him. Besides, he had other things to consider.

  As Thaniel turned to head back south, Aram instinctively looked into the far north, half expecting to see a dark cloud of ominous dust hanging in the air above the distant horizon, but the enemy army was still too far away. The sky along that far horizon was clear.

  “We'll camp in the trees to the south,” he told Thaniel. “I intend to remain here for a few days.”

  “Why?” Queried the big horse.

  “I want to get to know this ground, to drink of the water, discover its quality, and make certain this place will suit for an encampment.”

  “As you wish. There is good grass here, and I will give you my opinion of the water.”

  13.

  At the gates of Calom Malpas, Marcus and Thom met their first sign of trouble. The gates of every city in Elam had always been manned as a matter of course, but now the troops monitoring the traffic flowing in and out wore the dark blue breastplates of the Royal Guard. More disturbing, in a land where traffic and the commerce it carried had always traveled freely and with relative ease, these troops had brought everything to a halt and were subjecting each oxcart to a cursory inspection.

  Thom brought his cart to a halt in line behind the others. The inspections were actually going quickly, except that occasionally a cart and its driver would be moved off to the side for more extensive scrutiny.

  Thom glanced back at the square bulge beneath the tarp at the front of his wagon. “Lie low in there, Marcus,” he stated quietly. “Don't move about; and I'd appreciate it if you didn't suddenly decide to take up singing.”

  When it came their turn for inspection, a smooth-faced but taciturn and uniformed captain, barely out of his youth, stepped forward and gazed up into Thom's face.

  “Who are you, sir, and what is your business?”

  Thom frowned down at the captain's young face, which was so youthful as to be utterly devoid of stubble. “I've never been asked such a thing at the gates of any city in Elam in the course of my life.”

  The expression on the officer's face remained cool and placidly official. Young though he was, he had steel in him. “I'm asking it now, sir.”

  Returning the young man's flinty gaze, Thom abruptly decided that there was wisdom in being cooperative. “My name is Thom Sota, recently from Farenaire. This is my wife, Kay. I'm a tavern owner.”

  “You're a long way from home, Mr. Sota.”

  “Forgive me for correcting you, officer, but you'll notice I said that I was from Farenaire. I'm moving north and haven't found just where it is that I'm going yet. As a consequence I can't be sure whether I'm far from home or actually very near it.”

  No change of expression marred the cool professionalism of the officer's youthful features. “Is there a reason for this move? You say that you're a tavern-keeper. Why would you abandon your business?”

  Thom shook his head. “I'm not abandoning my business – I'm following it.”

  At this, the young officer simply raised his eyebrows.

  “My business came north three months ago,” Thom explained, “and so far shows no sign of returning. You see, Captain, very little of my business is derived from the good folk of the city. The bulk of it comes from the lads who wear the colors. They went north, and my flow of cash went with them, dropping nearly to nothing.” He shrugged and indicated the rear of the wagon. “Most of my value is in bottle form rather than in buildings or furnishings, so I loaded up my business and headed north.”

  The captain glanced back at the tarpaulin-covered bulge in the wagon. “And where do you intend to set up shop?”

  Thom shrugged again. “As I said, I don't rightly know. Somewhere up near the gates, I suppose, where I hear that the troops are camped. Midvale, maybe, or Shosk.”

  “I'd like a look at the contents of your wagon, I think,” the officer stated.

  Thom settled a concerned gaze upon the cluster of uniforms gathered near the gate. “And will I be able to keep it, Captain, after that lot gets a look at it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's whiskey, Captain, gallons and gallons of it. A few furnishings that have meaning to me or to Kay, yes, but mostly it's whiskey.” He treated the officer to a steady look. “You may want a taste yourself, for that matter.”

  “I don't drink, Mr. Sota, and I won't allow others to drink while on duty.”

  They gazed at each other for a long moment, while Thom entertained a look of mild distrust upon his features which he gradually allowed to fade. Then, finally, he nodded and looked toward the r
oadside. “Where would you like me to unload?”

  But the Captain had become satisfied in that moment, and no doubt also considered the disruption that might attend the sight of generous portions of liquor piled alongside the road. Furthermore, there were many wagons jamming up behind Thom's. He stepped back and motioned toward the gate.

  “Move on, Mr. Sota.”

  It was Thom's turn to be surprised, or at least to give the appearance of it. He looked at the officer with raised eyebrows.

  A slight smile crossed the young man's face. “I don't need the difficulties presented by the contents of your cargo. Move on.”

  Thom nodded. “Thank you, Captain. It would have been a hell of a job, loading and reloading. When I get settled, if you take up drinking, it'll be on my silver.”

  “I won't, Mr. Sota. Move on.”

  That evening they stayed with a friend of Thom's named Rammel Stine, whose house lay on the west side of the city, in a rather rough and shoddy neighborhood that huddled up against the wall. Leaving the wagon in Rammy's outbuilding, Thom and Kay went in to spend the night.

  Glancing back, Kay whispered in her husband's ear. “What about the prince?”

  Hushing her with a look, Thom nodded toward his friend's retreating back and returned her whisper. “He has food and water in there and knows how to get out if he needs to stretch his legs.”

  “I was terrified when you offered to unload,” she confided. “I couldn't believe it when he let us through.”

  “That's why I offered. If he became convinced that I just wanted it over so I could move on, then it would seem that I had nothing to hide.”

  Kay looked up fondly at her much taller consort. “You are either very brave, husband, or very foolhardy.”

  “I’ll lay claim to the first attribute and refuse the second,” Thom replied, chuckling. He grinned and shrugged. “It worked out alright, anyway. Let us hope that there is no more need of either.”

  In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast, they bade Rammy goodbye, collected their wagon with its noble cargo, went back to the main thoroughfare and headed north. There were guards at the northern gates of Calom Malpas as well, but none were checking wagons, going either in or out. Evidently that particular item for which they sought was expected to be coming northward out of the interior of Elam. Thom smiled to himself, for he suspected that the cargo they wanted was enduring the trip in the cramped space beneath his desk.

  Two days later they passed the crossroads where a broad, well-paved thoroughfare led toward the east into the province of Basura. There was a large group of soldiers encamped here, at least a regiment, that wore the colors of the throne. Down the road to the east, a mile or so away, there was a cluster of the red and yellow coats that were the uniform of Basura. Passing the crossroads, ignoring the temptation to go east, Thom and Kay went straight on into the north.

  They found the main body of the army that had gone north with Marcus a few weeks earlier encamped two days north of the Basura crossroads in a large open area a mile or so west of the main highway. As they passed by that massive encampment, Thom took note of it but kept moving. Driving away from such a large group of potential customers, he realized that his interest in tavern-keeping had waned. Life in general, he suspected, was about to become much more interesting, if difficult.

  Five days later, after stops at other towns along the main road, sometimes with friends and sometimes at inns, the great gates loomed up before them. Three miles south of those immense structures, the road into Midvale led eastward, up over a small wooded ridge and down into a wide valley beyond. They turned onto that narrower passageway and went east. Thom continued through the town whose dilapidated structures clustered along the edge of a stream that wound southward through the rather desolate valley and kept moving eastward. Eventually, he stopped at a farmhouse several miles further on that sat at the edge of the darkly wooded hills on the eastern borders of Elam. Thom pulled into the bare place between the house and barn and let out a bellow. After a moment, an enormous man swaggered out of the barn that stood to the right of and a bit behind the main house. After gazing at them suspiciously for a moment, he threw his arms wide and shouted.

  “Captain Thom! And Kay!”

  Thom grinned. “Hello, Woody.”

  The big man rumbled up, blinking his large eyes in welcome and surprise. “What are you doing here, Captain? Do you need me to help you whip the lads into shape again? I hear there's going to be a war, you know. With some barbarian lot. They say there's a big mess of troops camped out on the main road.”

  “There might be war,” Thom agreed, “but maybe not the kind you mean. I need your help with something far more important than the training of troops.”

  Jaklee Woodhollow frowned up at his friend but said nothing.

  Thom looked around the apparently deserted place. “Are you alone, Woody?”

  “My wee daughter's inside – the wife's gone into town to visit her folks. Her dad's gone ill, and not just with drink this time. Why?”

  Thom jerked his head toward the rear. “The prince is in my wagon.”

  Alarm spread across Woody's face. “You've got Rahm! – in there?”

  Thom laughed. “Not him; the real prince – Marcus.”

  “Marcus! What? – he's hiding?” Alarm gave way to absolute puzzlement. “Why?”

  “Because he's finally become convinced that Rahm intends to rid himself of any...uh, encumbrances.”

  Woody shrugged his enormous shoulders. “Well, we all figured that, didn't we?”

  “Can Kay stay with you and Maddie for a while?” Thom asked and as he did he raised his eyes and looked toward the forest-covered hills.

  “Of course she can. Maddie will love having company when she gets back tonight or tomorrow. Why do you look east?”

  Thom grinned. “The prince and I need to go up there into those hills to meet with a barbarian king.”

  Woody stared until he became convinced that his friend played no joke. “It seems as if you have much to tell, Captain. Much – and I’d like to hear it. Well, get him out and come in. You can put the wagon in the barn and let the oxen into the pasture. The fences are good, no matter what they look.”

  Jaklee's wife returned by evening and there followed a late night of relating to their hosts all that had occurred. The next morning Thom and Marcus prepared to take their leave, with Thom holding Kay close for a long moment.

  “I'll be back,” he said.

  “You'd better.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you, tall man.”

  “And I love you, small woman.”

  As they turned to go, Woody separated himself from the women and walked with the two of them for a distance, speaking low. “Do you have any weapons, Captain?” He asked, looking at Thom.

  Thom patted a barely perceptible bulge running down the left side of his jacket. “A short sword and a dagger. Plus, Marcus has a dagger as well. Why?”

  Woody indicated the tall, dark forest. “Be very careful in there, lads; I saw a wolf at the edge of the trees not three days ago. First I've ever seen in these woods.”

  Thom gazed with hardened eyes at the wooded hills. “You're certain it was a wolf?”

  The big man nodded with fierce affirmation. “I swear it.”

  Thom whistled low, but Marcus simply nodded and started off again. “We'll be careful,” he said. Thom watched Marcus stride off with upraised eyebrows, and then shook Woody’s hand, looked long in the direction of his wife, and followed.

  They entered the rough uplands by means of a long wooded ravine that began just to the east of Woody's enclosed pasture and wound up into the thicker forests of the higher ground. Upon gaining a deeply-shadowed height crowned with giant hardwoods, Marcus stopped and motioned for Thom to stay behind him. Bending his mind to the effort, he sent his thoughts out into the deep gloom of the forest.

  I am Marcus, I seek him that is named Aram.

  He waited for a
long moment and then tried again.

  Thom was watching his friend's facial contortions with a bemused expression upon his features. “What the hell are you doing?” He finally asked.

  “Quiet!” Marcus hushed him. “For the moment, I'm listening.”

  Despite his great fondness for the young scion of Elam, Thom didn't approve of being shushed. He frowned and spoke aloud, making no attempt at being cautious. “For what? I've heard nothing since we entered these woods and I'll warrant that my hearing is a sight better than yours, Marcus.”

  Marcus turned and frowned at him. “Not what – who.”

  “What?”

  “No – who. I'm trying to hear the wolves – to see if they answer me.”

  Thom gazed at him for a long moment with a stricken expression upon his face that was only partly in jest. “Has your mind been broken, lad?”

  Marcus indicated a fallen log that angled across the gloomy hillside. “Sit down, Thom. I've got something to tell that you need to hear.”

  For the better part of an hour, Marcus once again told his friend of all that had occurred beyond the gates, and this time included the part about how he was to make contact with the wolf people when he needed to talk with the king named Aram. When he finished, Thom sat quietly, studying the wooded slopes around him and staring into the shadowed depths of the forest. After a while, when they continued to be unmolested, he moved his attention back to Marcus.

  “The noble peoples, eh?”

  Marcus nodded. “I read a bit about such things in the ancient volumes at the academy, but Dean Amund and Chancellor Heglund knew immediately what was meant when I stated it to them.”

  Thom continued to gaze at him quizzically. “You're supposed to make contact with them with your mind?”

  “You can try too, if you like.”

  At this, Thom's eyebrows went up his high forehead to dangerous heights, nearly into his closely-cropped hairline. “But I'm not crazy, lad.”

  Marcus smiled. “And I'm as sane as you are, my friend. The world is bigger than Elam, by a long distance, and there are great and ancient things in it.”