Kelven's Riddle Book Four

by Daniel Hylton

  “I know,” she laughed. “I haven’t gone blind. That one belonged to my mother. I don’t like to use it, because it’s old and fragile – and precious to me.”

  “So you’re missing a hairbrush?”

  She nodded in affirmation. “Yes.”

  He frowned and turned to let his gaze rove to all the other pieces of furniture in the room. “Surely it hasn’t been stolen.”

  “No. I don’t think so – who would steal it?” She looked up at him mischievously. “The only other people that come into this room are you and Cala. And she’s been with me since I was a girl.”

  He grinned. “You think I took it?”

  She smiled back at him as she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair. “There are times when I think you could use a good brushing, my love.” But then she, in her turn, looked around the room as her expression grew serious once more. “It is strange though. I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Maybe it will turn up,” he suggested.

  “I hope so,” she replied. “It’s one of my favorite things.”

  “I’ll help you look again tomorrow,” Aram said. “But right now, I’m hungry. Does your father still take his meals in the hall?” He pivoted and glanced out the window. “It’s late – will he have already dined?”

  She shook her head. “Jena or I usually take supper to him in his room after everyone else has finished. He prefers to eat later these days. Depending upon how he feels, he will sometimes sup on the veranda.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment and then reached down and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, my love; I didn’t know that your father was ill.”

  Attempting a smile that only partly succeeded, she shrugged slightly. “You’re very busy – everyone understands that, my father more than anyone.”

  “Do you think he would mind if we dined with him tonight?” He asked.

  Her eyes filled with moisture and reflected the candle light as she looked up at him. This time the smile was a success. “He would appreciate it, I’m sure. Thank you.”

  A short time later they sat with Lancer – who seemed to Aram to be much thinner than he remembered, but was surprisingly excited at the presence of unexpected company – in the light of two lamps on the veranda outside the Chancellor’s room. Aram ate ravenously but noticed that Lancer barely picked at his food. Afterwards, as they sat and shared one of Fiera Cansel’s fine smokes, the dignified, white-haired former prince of Derosa looked across at Aram. “I knew you were the man.”

  In response, Aram could only frown in confusion. It was a day, apparently, for him to be on the receiving end of obscure statements uttered by those he cared most about. “My lord?”

  Lancer winced at Aram’s use of the title and spoke reprovingly. “A man like you should perhaps not address me thus,” he said.

  Aram frowned. “Why is that, sir?”

  “You are prince of the land – and a king by birthright. I am but your chancellor.”

  “No, my lord,” Aram corrected him, shaking his head. “You are my wife’s father. Your rank therefore, is higher than mine and ever will be. So, with your permission, my lord, or even without, I will always address you thus.”

  Lancer looked at him with a wry smile in his face, glanced at his daughter and then nodded. Drawing deeply on his smoke, he turned away still smiling, and stared out across the darkened fields toward the hills, beyond the unseen Weser, barely visible as black hulks against the starry sky. Aram watched him in silence, waiting for him to explain his statement of a few moments earlier.

  “Findaen,” Lancer said as he turned back, “is great friends with a horse by the name of Andaran.”

  This utterance gave no enlightenment as to his meaning of the first. “Yes,” Aram agreed, still completely at a loss. “Findaen is mounted on Andaran.”

  Lancer smiled at his son-in-law. “Andaran informed my son that the horses view you as the ‘man who will change the world’.”

  “I have been named this,” Aram admitted, still utterly mystified by the direction of the conversation.

  “I confess,” continued Lancer, “that I did not think of you quite in that way – when I stated that I knew you were the man. I was not thinking of the world at large, but of my own people. And I knew that you were the man who could change our fortunes.” He let a cloud of smoke drift from his mouth and watched it dissipate in the darkness beyond the railing. His eyes were serious as he looked over at Aram. “And you have changed them. Stell is free, as are both banks of the Broad all the way to the sea. According to the reports that come to me, not a single blade of grass anywhere in all Wallensia is bent under the foot of an enemy.”

  “If there is an enemy anywhere in Wallensia,” Aram told him, “he is in hiding.”

  Lancer laughed at this, and his laughter devolved into a fit of coughing that made Ka’en lean toward him with concern.

  He waved her away. “I’m fine, daughter. This poor body is just old and tired.” Looking back at Aram, he said, “I see now that the horses have it right. You will change the world, my son, all of it.” He took another puff of his smoke and continued. “Fin told me what happened at the battle, how –” Abruptly, he broke off and gazed at Ka’en with a flushed face. “Maybe this is not the time –”

  Ka’en shook her head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter, father. I’ve heard – I’ve also been told of what – how the enemy...” Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

  Lancer reached over and patted her knee. “But they didn’t now, did they?”

  Aram looked from one to the other. “I wanted neither of you to know,” he said.

  Lancer shrugged. “That is the point I was trying to make earlier. You are the man, Lord Aram, that will change the world for the better. We know this, but the grim lord knows it as well. That is the reason the enemy army behaved as it did. The thing that cheers me is that our people now fully understand this, also. And they will act accordingly upon the basis of that understanding. Did not that young captain of Lamont become injured trying to reach you on the field of battle?”

  Aram nodded. “He did. And since you mention it – he is coming to Derosa in two or three days. His parents will arrive shortly after. I would like to put him up in your house, if you’ve no objection, my lord.”

  “Of course I’ve no objection.” Lancer laughed again, his good humor bubbling to the surface. “It is your house as much as it is mine.” His face grew serious and he looked at Ka’en. “And speaking of houses – is your house in Aram’s city ready for you?”

  “Yes,” Ka’en replied. “Aram will take me there in a few days.”

  “I will go with you, my daughter; if you wish it.”

  Smiling at him, she shook her head. “No, father. Cala will join me within a few days and Aram assures me that he will not be long in the west.”

  Lancer looked sharply at Aram. “In the west? Does the enemy send another army?”

  “No, not as yet,” Aram replied. “This has to do with Elam.”

  Lancer’s eyes widened. “Elam?”

  As succinctly as possible, yet making sure he told the pertinent details, Aram informed him of the current situation in their neighbor to the west, and what he intended – or hoped – to do about it. As Lancer leaned forward, deeply interested, Aram felt a twinge of remorse that the older man hadn’t been included more often in his thinking and his planning. When he’d finished, Lancer turned away and looked out across the darkened landscape once more.

  After a while, he nodded.

  “I have not felt this secure about the future of my people, and of my family, in the whole course of my life,” he said quietly. He turned and looked at his son-in-law. “I asked you once to watch over my children – remember?”

  Aram nodded.

  “And you have done so. I thank you,” the older man said, and his eyes grew moist.

  “I will do so always,” Aram replied, but didn’t trust himself to speak further.

  Sile
nce fell then. The two men continued to smoke in wordless companionship and Ka’en sipped at her wine. Out beyond the railing, night deepened.

  After a time, Lancer examined the shortened stub of his smoke, and found it lacking. Stirring himself, he rose and said, “Well, it is time that I put this tired old body to bed.” He leaned down to kiss Ka’en on the top of her head. “Bring my grandchild to see me, won’t you, my girl?”

  Ka’en smiled up at him. “I will, father.”

  He laid an affectionate hand on Aram’s shoulder for a brief moment and then, smiling with satisfaction, the elder of the ancient family of Bellisha turned and went into his room. The next morning it was discovered that Lancer of Derosa, the last Prince of Wallensia before the coming of the king, had died in his sleep.

  48.

  Though Lancer’s passing had not been wholly unexpected, it was nonetheless abrupt, and a terrible blow. Ka’en was devastated, and the people of Derosa were in shock. They’d gotten used to the fact that Aram guarded their fate in regions which thanks to him had been pushed far beyond the horizons of their small world; but it was Lancer who oversaw the details of their day-to-day lives. He had done so for more than forty years, through all the harsh, difficult times before the coming of the new prince.

  Now he was gone.

  Grief-stricken and mourning, Ka’en, Jena, and Ella prepared his body for burial which according to custom would take place before the second sunset after his passing. Excluded from the company of their wives, Aram and Findaen found themselves in Semet and Goldie’s tavern, surrounded by a host of other citizens, mostly men, tamping down their sorrow by subjecting it to liberal amounts of whiskey. Over in a darkened corner, Mallet alternated bouts of groaning in low tones with shorter periods of overt sobbing. Seated in the chair next to the big man, Wamlak, for once, had nothing clever to say in response to the big man’s emotional state. Next to Wamlak, Jonwood stared at the wall, emptied his glass again and again, and rubbed at the stub of his missing arm.

  Aram gazed unseeing into his glass, feeling a deep sense of loss, as if it were his own father that had passed into the realm of death and the beyond. He was also struggling with a feeling of secret shame for hoping that the passing of her father might dissuade Ka’en from her intention to go to Regamun Mediar.

  Findaen quietly broke the silence between them.

  “I don’t know where to put him,” he said.

  Aram looked at him. “Your father?”

  Findaen nodded, his damp and reddened eyes turned downward upon the table. “Ralphon died in Stell. When my father grew up and married his daughter – my mother, thereby becoming prince – the last of Wallensia had already pulled back into the valley of Derosa.” He shook his head. “We’ve never had a prince die here.” He looked up and met Aram’s gaze. “I don’t know where to put him.”

  Glad to have something of a logistical nature to distract him from his own thoughts, Aram considered for a moment. “We could bury him with the men on the hill above Dane’s farm,” he suggested. “He was as much a part of what they did as anyone.” He hesitated. “Of course, it will be difficult to move all the townsfolk across the plains for the burial.”

  “No.” Findaen shook his head. “That won’t do. Forgive me, my lord; but that burial ground has to do with you – those men followed you as their prince. Many of those dead aren’t from Wallensia, anyway. No,” he reiterated. “I’ve thought of that possibility. But my father’s life was lived in another time – a time before you came to us. I mean no offense, my lord, but I’d like to put him someplace separate, in a place just for him.”

  “I understand, Fin.” Aram returned his attention to the amber liquid in his glass. After another long silence, broken only by another of Mallet’s fits of sobbing, he looked up. “He was the only prince that ever ruled in this valley, was he not?”

  “He was,” Findaen agreed.

  “Then he should be buried where his spirit may look down upon the valley that he kept safe for the whole of his life, and a monument should be raised that may be seen from any location in the valley.”

  As Findaen gazed back at him, a tear formed in each eye, overflowed, and traced a rivulet down his face. “Of course, you are right. Thank you, Aram,” he said, and as he wiped at his moistened cheeks, new eruptions defeated his efforts. He looked down for a long time and surrendered to his emotions, allowing his tears to drip onto the table. When finally he looked up again, he smiled gratefully through his sorrow. “I knew you’d sort it out.”

  Rendered uncomfortable by his brother-in-law’s gratitude, Aram leaned back, sipped at his glass, and turned the conversation to logistical matters. “But where should it be? The high ground to the north of town is very thickly wooded, too thickly, I think, for our purposes, and the eastern hills are too far away. What about the south?”

  Findaen pursed his lips, cocked his head, and gazed thoughtfully into a nonexistent distance. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “There’s that hill directly south of town, across the valley, between the river and Jonwood’s leaf fields. It’s the highest point around and the top of it is rounded, without trees, and not overly rocky.” He pursed his lips and nodded slowly, but with decision. “I’ll take some men in the morning and look it over. If it will serve, we’ll have the grave dug by mid-day.” He smiled at Aram as once again his eyes overflowed and dampened his cheeks. “Thanks, my friend,” he said.

  “I will go with you in the morning,” Aram replied. “If it’s alright?”

  “It’s more than alright,” Findaen answered. “It is right.”

  That evening, Aram held Ka’en in his arms as they watched the eastern hills fade into the twilight and told her of Findaen’s plans for the dispensation of her father’s body. She lifted her head and looked toward the south, at the chosen hill which still held a bit of ambient light from the sunset just then past. She nodded as she cried softly.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  The hill top proved to be everything Findaen had hoped. The ground was not so hard as to forbid the digging of a grave and there was enough broken stone around to facilitate the construction of a monument of sorts. While Findaen oversaw the digging of the grave, Aram scouted the slopes for the best and easiest way to bring all the townsfolk who desired and were able to be present up to the summit. On the valley side where it fell toward the river, the slopes were too steep. South of the bridge that crossed the Weser and along the road that led to Jonwood’s fields, however, where it bent around to the southern side, the hillside was gentler as it rose toward the summit.

  The next evening, with the exception of those that were too infirm or were limited by the strictures of age, everyone from Derosa gathered on top of the hill as the sun dropped toward the western horizon. Despite her grief, Ka’en could not help but notice that she and Aram were given a discreet space in which to mourn. Even Findaen stayed a pace off from them as they all stood near the grave.

  Lestar Hayesh was chosen by Lancer’s children to say the appropriate words over their father after he was settled into the place prepared to receive his remains.

  As the sun touched the horizon, Lestar stepped forward, looked around at the hushed crowd, nodded briefly to Findaen, Ka’en, and Aram and then began to speak.

  “Long ago,” he said, “the Maker created our kind and placed us here, upon the earth He had prepared for us. From the beginning of our kind’s sojourn through this world, there have been troubles, war, disease, and famine. But also, from the beginning, there were those among us more capable and wiser, who willingly watched over their fellows, to give aid in times of trial, and counsel in times of distress.” He looked down upon the shrouded figure in the ground. “Prince Lancer of Derosa was one such man.” Lifting his gaze, he focused for a moment on Aram, standing on the opposite side with his arm around Ka’en, before dropping his attention once again.

  “Through all the dark years before hope came to us,” Lestar continued, “Lancer helped us to keep the faith
that one day the Maker would remember us and send us aid. And he was right. Until the advent of that aid, the prince kept us strong and hopeful. He led us through all the long, lonely years of uncertainty by the simple virtues of his own strength and faith. The Maker could not have given us a finer example of manhood and leadership than the man we say farewell to today.”

  At the word farewell, Ka’en began to sob quietly. Aram pulled her closer.

  Lestar also felt compelled to dab at his eyes and clear his throat before continuing. Once again, he looked at Aram. “There is now hope for better times.” He let his gaze rove around the assembled townsfolk. “In the days and years ahead, as we find and hold onto freedom and peace, if the Maker grants us these things; let us all, now and then, lift our gaze to this mound and remember him who kept us together through all those dark times before the coming of hope.”

  Reaching down, Lestar picked up a handful of earth. Holding it out over the grave, he let it dribble slowly through his fingers. “Farewell, my Prince, and my friend. May the Maker Himself welcome you to those distant shores that we all desire to reach one day. Farewell.”

  Ka’en, Findaen, and Jena followed Lestar’s example, each letting a handful of earth fall from their hands onto their father’s body. Ka’en gazed sorrowfully downward for a long silent moment and then turned and buried her face in Aram’s chest.

  Aram held her close while tears slid down his face.

  As they turned away, Aram nodded at Lestar and then looked down upon the body of the man who’d given him the greatest gift he’d ever received – the hand of his daughter.

  “Farewell, my friend,” he said.

  The sun was gone, and the Glittering Sword of God shone above the hills to the east by the time the people of Derosa crossed the valley and were home.

  Two days later, Muray came across the prairie and was settled in Aram’s old guest room in what was now Aram’s house. The captain from Lamont was in more pain than he would admit, and was very pale, an attribute rendered stark by his huge red beard. When informed that he was to be housed in Aram’s own house, his pale countenance flushed and darkened and he resisted in harsh tones.