Aram glanced over at Matibar, riding alongside. The Senecan Captain simply shook his head without speaking but his dark eyes were brittle and bright with anger.
As they rode free of the town and out into the broad countryside, where burned and ruined farm holds and overgrown, abandoned fields stretched away to the horizon, Aram sent a thought skyward.
“How far ahead is the train of wagons that goes south?” He asked Kipwing.
“At your present speed,” the eagle replied, “you will catch them tomorrow at the middle of the day.”
They camped that night next to the road in a field just south of another blasted town, with Durlrang keeping watch through the dark hours. Before the sun found the sky the next morning, they were again on the move, driving southward along the road. Aram was intent on catching the wagon train, killing any lashers that accompanied it, and taking possession of the wagons and their drivers. Since there were obviously no free towns or villages left in this part of the world into which he could settle them, he had to consider either burning the wagons or moving them eastward into Wallensia. Because the train was going south, there would be no cargo – no women to enfold into the population of free peoples, but at least this one train would be denied to the grim lord for use in such purposes and, if salvaged, made useful in freeing others after the fall’s harvest.
Aram was astounded that such a rich countryside could be so utterly devoid of vibrant human life. But it was so – the land of Aniza was empty of people. Though deer and other animals abounded, it was entirely lacking in humans and in those creatures, like oxen and sheep, so often associated with them. They passed ruined towns and cities whose burned and wrecked buildings lined the roadway every few miles. In between, formerly prosperous farms and once-rich fields gradually surrendered themselves back to nature.
They were riding through some of the most fertile countryside Aram had ever seen, apart from his own valley, and it was inhabited solely by wild animals. The rich ground rolled away to the west and out of sight beyond a far green horizon, while far off in the south the gray peaks of high mountains began to rise above the rolling limits of Aniza. Gradually, the road curved back to the east toward another region of high, forested ground.
Just before the sun reached the apex of the sky, Kipwing’s voice came down.
“The wagons are no more than three miles to your front, Lord Aram.”
“How many wagons?” Asked Aram.
“Fifteen.”
Lashers?”
“Yes,” the eagle answered. “A pair walks behind the lead wagon and four more are positioned along the train. There are six in all. I have seen no others.”
On hearing this, Mallet called out from his position behind Aram. “Let us have a kill, my lord – I beg you.”
Aram turned around and bent a stern gaze upon the big man for a moment but gave no answer.
Looking over at Wamlak, Mallet shrugged. Wamlak grinned but said nothing.
When Kipwing warned him that the train would soon come into sight, Aram turned the company off the road to the east. They crossed a low line of hills, and then turned southward and went along a shallow valley that paralleled the highway. In less than another hour, they had surged several miles ahead and Aram moved them back across the hills. Being assured by Kipwing that they were out of sight of the wagon train, he brought the company back onto the road, and slowed to a walk. He examined the countryside carefully as they went toward the south, searching the ground on both sides of the pavement for a suitable spot to launch an ambush, surveying any and every place where it passed through a wooded area close to the eastern hills.
Informed by the eagle that the road kept swinging eastward from its southerly course until it entered these hills but a few miles on, Aram quickened his inspection of the ground. No more than a mile from where it began to rise into the forested hills, the road passed very close to a steep, thickly wooded hillside. Within moments of spotting the hillside and making a quick reconnoiter of its forested slopes, he decided that it would serve as a place for an ambush. The only possible complication he could see was that the thick forest extended beyond the road and into the valley for some distance.
In the crash of battle, he would prefer that there be unobstructed space beyond the train once they engaged the enemy so that the horses would find it easy to turn and re-enter the fray.
Knowing that there were only six lashers, however; two or more of whom he would dispatch himself, and another of which Matibar would no doubt bring down from a distance, he banished his doubts and decided that he’d found the place to engage.
Rapidly, he aligned his troops out of sight in the wooded area above the road and gave them their instructions. Matibar, Wamlak, and the Duridians would assault the lashers first with arrows, and then Aram and the rest would go in with swords and lances.
Aram moved Thaniel over near where Mallet sat astride Marchris.
“How is your head?” He asked the big man.
Mallet looked back at him in surprise. “It’s fine, my lord. Why?”
Aram’s eyes narrowed. “No lingering effects from the powder?”
“No, my lord – none.”
Aram watched him a moment longer. “Alright,” he said at last. “You may have your kill. Position yourself behind Captain Matibar at the front. When he drops the first of the leading pair, you may go in.” He leaned close and looked into Mallet’s eyes. “Take no unnecessary chances,” he ordered sternly. “And I want no complaints if Matibar aids you by putting an arrow into your opponent.”
Gazing back at him, Mallet realized once again that this mysterious and powerful man sincerely cared about the lives and welfare of all those that followed him. Though he was infinitely more significant than even Mallet – who thought him a god – could imagine, he would nonetheless readily give his own life to save Mallet’s or any other.
Mallet swallowed. “No unnecessary chances, my lord – I promise.”
Aram nodded and looked along the road. “Make ready,” he said. “Here they come.”
Despite Aram’s doubts of earlier, it went quickly and without adverse incident. Mallet got his kill. After Matibar dropped the first of the leading pair with a missile to the skull, he kept another arrow nocked and trained upon Mallet’s opponent. Having been made privy to Mallet’s desires, however, he refrained from robbing the big man of satisfaction.
Most of the drivers sought safety beneath their wagons when the armed men exploded from the wooded hillside. A few fled into the trees on the other side of the road. One by one they were rounded up and Aram questioned them, discovering that as usual they were young men from poor families who’d been impressed against their will into rendering this vile service for the High Prince’s northern ally.
The lead driver was an older man named Bryen. Upon learning that he wasn’t about to be slain but had just been made free, he looked at Aram with moist eyes.
“I know who you are,” he confessed. “We all of us have heard the rumors about what happened last fall upon the road in Cumberland. Whatever you will have me do, my lord – I will gladly do it.”
Aram met his gaze and nodded. “You are free to do as you like, sir – go home to your family, if you have one. But if not – I want you to go eastward with these wagons and become part of the free peoples of the earth. If this is your decision, we will secure safe passage for you. There is no one upon the road behind you and we will go in front of you to make certain the way into Cumberland is clear before you. Have you traveled this road before?”
Nodding, Bryen flushed with shame. “I drove north this way once before – in the spring.”
Aram noted the flush of red in the man’s face and correctly interpreted its meaning. “You are not to blame for what you have done before this moment,” he told him quietly. “You are only responsible for what you do now and in future. Where does this road meet with the northern route out of Elam?”
“Near Plimuth, a few miles north of the gates.
” Bryen told him.
“Plimuth – that is a town of Cumberland?”
Bryen nodded. “More like a city, my lord. It is the second largest city in Cumberland, if I am not mistaken.”
Realizing an opportunity to gain knowledge, Aram asked him, “What is the largest city in Cumberland?”
“It is called Harlan, my lord,” Bryen answered.
“And where in Cumberland is Harlan found?”
“It lies just to the west of the main road, perhaps one day north of Plimuth by oxcart.”
Aram looked away from him and considered that it might not be wise to trust in the goodwill of the people of Cumberland until their governor was settled in his own mind about the nature of his future relationship with the throne of Elam. Therefore it would be best to avoid large centers of population. He turned back to the driver.
“Is there another route to the east across Cumberland, which will pass to the north of Plimuth and Harlan?”
Bryen frowned and squeezed his eyes shut, mentally traveling the road as it passed beyond the eastern hills. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and looked up at Aram. “There is a road that joins with this just beyond the hills. It trends away from the junction toward the northeast.” He shook his head. “But I do not know whence it comes or where it goes.”
“Is it a good road?” Aram pressed him.
Bryen nodded. “It seemed so, when last I looked upon it.”
“Alright,” Aram reached out and laid a decisive hand on the driver’s shoulder. “When you come to that junction – take the northern road. We will trust that it is a northern route that will bring you safely through Cumberland and away from the cities of that land. But we will not trust to fortune alone. I will watch you as you travel that we may prevent difficulty from finding you and your companions.” He moved his hand, indicating the rest of his company. “We will stay on this road and go toward Plimuth and see whether we may find others like you. Do not fear as you go east. I will watch your progress and come to your aid if needed.”
Bryen frowned and asked hesitantly. “Forgive me, my lord, but how will you watch us when you are so far away?”
Aram smiled slightly and pointed upward. “Do you see that eagle?”
Tilting his head back, Bryen squinted up into the blue. After a moment, he shook his head and looked at Aram in puzzlement. “No, my lord. I see no eagle.”
“No, you cannot see him.” Aram agreed and his smile widened. “Yet he is there and sees you, and he will watch over you as you travel and report to me.” Bending his thoughts to the sky, he stated aloud. “Kipwing, I would like you to speak to Bryen, who will be taking these wagons eastward into Wallensia.”
Bryen gazed at Aram with a myriad of emotions vying for control of his features, alarm, puzzlement, and doubt; but then his mouth fell open as the voice of the eagle sounded in his mind.
“Greetings, Bryen – I am Kipwing. I will watch over you as you go to the east as Lord Aram commands, and will warn you of any danger.”
Bryen turned his amazement toward the sky and stared into the blue.
Aram watched him for a moment and then suggested, “It would be polite to render an answer.”
Bryen swallowed and nodded, still squinting upward, and said, “Thank you – Kipwing – I am most grateful.”
When he looked back at Aram, an expression of glad astonishment had taken full control of his features.
Aram allowed the wonder of the moment to run its full course and then returned the conversation to the business at hand.
“You have traveled the eastern route into the north before, have you not? The one that runs through the gap northeast of Cumberland?”
Again, there was a flush of shame on Bryen’s cheeks as the driver replied, “Yes, my lord, many times.”
Aram ignored the distress that the man’s memories caused him. “Then you know of the dry valley that lies to the east of Cumberland?”
Bryen nodded. “Yes. There is a black mountain that often sends fingers of smoke into the sky at the far end of it.”
“That’s the one. There is a road that goes eastward up through that valley, next to the hills on the south,” Aram told him. “It is paved with stone for a distance and then becomes dirt where the stone turns toward the southeast and goes into the hills. Follow that road when you pass through the other side of Cumberland. Leave the pavement and stay on the dirt track as it continues to the east. Go toward the black mountain. We will join you before you have gone far along it. How are you outfitted for provisions?”
“We are provided with food and water enough to get us ten days southward into Elam.” Bryen glanced at the bodies of the lashers. “Plus, there is their portion, now. They usually catch small animals to eat, but we carry grain for them also.”
Aram nodded. “Alright, then; go. We will join you on the other side. If anyone asks your purposes, tell them you are on business for the Lord of the North.” Seeing the look of confusion of Bryen’s face, Aram smiled. “It is a title by which I am known in some quarters, but those with whom you speak will assume it to mean the grim lord.”
Bryen turned to go, but then pivoted back to face Aram. He gazed at his new lord hesitantly. “My lord – I thank you.”
Aram nodded shortly. “We will meet you on the other side.”
When the drivers had resumed their seats and were moving once again, Aram and the others mounted up and rode ahead of them southeastward through the last few miles of the broken and blighted Land of Aniza.
Boman, riding next to Aram, looked over at him. “More men,” he stated simply. “But no women.”
Grimacing, Aram replied, “Yes – I wish we’d found them coming north rather than going south. Still, we need these wagons to move the people from the plains after the fall harvest.” He indicated the road ahead. “Maybe we’ll find another train coming this way.”
“You mean to begin freeing the people of the plains, my lord?”
Aram nodded firmly. “I do.”
Looking ahead, Boman asked, “And what if we find loaded wagons coming through the land of Cumberland? Will we attack them there, on that soil?”
“Yes,” Aram answered simply. “It’s time for Cumberland to make up its mind.” He met Boman’s gaze. “The women in those wagons – if we find them – deserve to be free, as do their drivers. And the free lands need women. Any consideration of Cumberland’s policies must be subjected to those more important principles.”
Boman, quiet and decisive as always, simply nodded in agreement.
Aniza spread out before them, rolling and green, to the west, north, and south. A breeze freshened out of the southwest, but its movement through the trees and the tall grasses only served to heighten the sense of ancient tragedy and loss. The mountains to the south rose ever higher as the road completed its long slow curve back toward the east. Just beyond the ruins of another town, whose wreckage bespoke of resistance, death, defeat, and enslavement, the road had come around until it was oriented almost due east. There it left the rolling green land of Aniza and went up a long narrow valley that led into the hills. As they turned their backs on Aniza, Aram looked once more over his shoulder and was struck again by the terrible emptiness of such a rich and fertile place.
Evening found them deep among the wooded hills, where clear brooks tumbled down through fern-covered ravines beneath grand tall hardwood trees. Kipwing’s last report of the day told of an empty road ahead of them, so Aram made camp in an open clearing next to the road where there was some grass for the horses. In order to stretch their own supplies, Aram and his company had accepted a portion of the lashers’ grain from Bryen. Now it found its way into their supper, boiled in a pot and mixed with a bit of dried venison.
The next morning as they continued up through the highlands, Kipwing went on ahead, into the skies above Cumberland, to see if there might be wagons coming their way. When he again made contact, just after mid-day, it was to disappoint Aram’s hopes.
“There is but one train of the grim lord’s wagons ahead of you, my lord, and it goes away from you.”
“Where is it?”
“Far to the south of Cumberland, near the Gates of Elam.”
Before Aram could enquire as to the possibility of catching up to it, the eagle spoke again.
“My grandfather is here, Lord Aram, and he brings news of Elam.”
Aram looked up. “”Alvern?”
“Smoke arises from one of the provinces named by your young Marcus as belonging to his friends, Lord Aram,” the eagle stated without preamble.
Aram felt his heart catch in his chest. Speaking to Thaniel, he drew the column to a halt. Had civil war already come to Elam? Had he miscalculated? Had his desire to end the vile tribute that Elam paid to his enemy blinded him to more urgent business nearer at hand?
Dreading the answer, he forced himself to tender the question. “Does it appear to be a general engagement of forces?” He asked.
“Not as yet, my lord,” Alvern replied. “The soldiers of the throne burn towns and farms near to the great north-south road, but the forces that bear the colors of Marcus’ friends have gone eastward and do not resist.”
Relieved, Aram asked, “How much distance lies between the opposing forces?”
“Many miles of distance. The people have fallen back to a city in the eastern half of the province. The people are abandoning their farms and villages and fleeing to the safety of its walls. The enemy comes toward them but slowly.”
“How long, do you think before they come together?”
“I do not think the soldiers of the throne will reach the walled city before the passage of at least a month,” Alvern answered.
“Thank you, Lord Alvern.” Aram looked around at the company. “I need volunteers to wait for the wagons at the entrance to the dry lake valley, in order to come to their aid if it is required and to lead them in.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 33
