Kelven's Riddle Book Four

by Daniel Hylton

He and Gorfang exchanged a long look that the wolf understood implicitly, and then Aram released her, mounted up on Thaniel, and the two of them went toward the south. At the top of the long ridge above where he’d fought the wolves so long ago – the last high place where he could make out anyone standing below the wall – he asked Thaniel to halt as he looked back and raised his hand above his head.

  In reply, Ka’en held her own small hand up and kept it there. He held his hand high as well until Thaniel moved on and the intervening slope took her from his view. With a sharp constriction tightening his chest, he turned and looked south, speaking to Thaniel as he did so.

  “Will she be alright?”

  “The wolves know how precious she is to you, Lord Aram,” the horse replied. “And the hawks in this whole country will watch over her with diligence.”

  It was all the answer Thaniel gave. Since Ka’en’s insistence on residence in this valley remained as solid as granite, and the world and its troubles required him to be elsewhere, it was all he could expect.

  Still, as he passed through the town in the bend of the river, he sought out Oskus.

  “Lady Ka’en is at the city,” he told the stocky leader of the settlers. “She will remain there from this day on. But I must be away from the valley for a time. Would it be possible for someone from the town to check on her without her knowing that I requested it?”

  Oskus considered for a moment and then nodded. “I often go up there myself in order to check on the orchards near the city, my lord. I can easily combine that work with seeing to Lady Ka’en’s welfare – without it becoming obvious what I am doing.”

  Aram leaned down from the saddle and grasped his hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

  49 .

  Ka’en was surprised by the abrupt surge in her emotions as her husband descended the distant ridge and went from her view. Her mind was unchanged; she was as determined as ever that her child would be born in the ancient city of stone. But watching Aram go out of sight, knowing that once again he went to war, made her feel terribly alone. For a moment, anxiety nearly overwhelmed her; she could not banish the thought that that last glimpse of Aram might indeed be the last glimpse she would ever have of him.

  She kept her eyes trained on the southwest, even though there was little hope that she could see him after he crossed the rivers and ascended the wooded slope into the green hills. The distance was just too far. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed, tracing lines down her cheeks.

  Cree, who had moved away to a discreet distance as Ka’en and Aram said their goodbyes, now hopped closer. “Are you alright, my lady?”

  “Yes, I am alright,” Ka’en nodded, though the constriction of her heart belied both the action and the words of affirmation.

  Cree watched her closely. “Lord Aram will return, Lady Ka’en – he will always return.”

  Ka’en shook her head. “As he goes away from me, he goes once more to war.”

  “I know this,” the hawk acknowledged. “Still, he will return. Lord Aram cannot be killed. It is possible that he cannot be harmed.”

  Ka’en turned and frowned at her as the content of the hawk’s words registered. “Aram cannot be killed – how can you say this? I would give anything to believe it – but how can you state it with such certainty?”

  “It is because of what must be.” Cree blinked her dark eyes and studied the woman. “It is his destiny to be king of all the earth. Surely you know this, my lady?”

  “I cannot see into the future,” Ka’en said. “Nor can you. It is my hope, and my belief that Aram will one day become king and rule from this city. But what is to stop the flight of a stray arrow from finding him before all that can come to pass?”

  Cree made a small, soft, sound that might have been laughter. “Forgive me, my lady, but do you mean to tell me that you cannot feel it – you, who are closest to him?”

  “Feel?” Ka’en stared. “Feel – what?”

  “The power of the weapon. The thing that Lord Aram bears with him everywhere – the Sword from the mountain of Kelven. It fills him with power. The power of that thing exudes from him, as if it were an extension of his will.” The hawk cocked her head and studied Ka’en curiously. “You have not felt it?”

  “I have not noticed any difference in him.”

  Cree cocked her head even further to the side and studied the woman. “You must, perhaps, be too close to him,” she finally suggested. “I assure you that everyone else feels it. Have you not noticed that all other men give him space?”

  “Yes.” Ka’en nodded slowly. “I assumed that they did so out of deference.”

  “Of course they defer to him – he is their king,” the hawk agreed. “But that is not why they walk – and stand – at a distance from him. It is because of the Sword. They cannot abide its power.”

  “Why can Aram abide it, then?”

  “I do not know,” Cree admitted. “Maybe it has become a part of him – as it seems.”

  Ka’en went silent and her gaze turned again toward the southeast, where Aram had gone. After a long moment, when her searching eyes found no sign of him, she turned back to Cree. Her tears had dried and her eyes were filled with hope. “You really believe that he cannot be slain in battle?”

  “How could he be?” The hawk said, and there was challenge in her tone. “It is his destiny to be king.”

  Ka’en looked at her long. “Will you stay with me?” She asked then. “Or are there young in your nest that have need of you?”

  Cree laughed. “No – Willet and I have raised our young for this year. They have flown and he goes every day high up on the mountain among the crags – he loves the high places. There is nothing that requires my attention, my lady. I will be glad to keep you company.”

  Over the next several days, as she awaited Arthrus and Cala, Ka’en wandered the valley near to the city, speaking occasionally to Oskus when he came up to check on the progress of the orchard’s crop of fruit. Gorfang was ever nearby, shadowing her every movement and sleeping at her door every night, and she and Cree had many pleasant conversations about the coming birth.

  Florm and Ashal often came up to the city and she went down and walked the orchard with them, talking of Aram, and of the coming child, and in general just enjoying the peaceful days.

  The days became weeks, and the warm days of the waning summer passed one-by-one in a calm and gentle fashion.

  Whenever the winds brought news of Aram’s doings in the south and west, Cree passed these on to Ka’en, as long as that news was of a benign nature. She also kept her informed of other happenings, as when it was learned that Cala would be delayed because both Arthrus and Dane had been abruptly required to go to Durck to retrieve something for which Lord Aram had long sought. The hawk was diligent in her care of the woman and every day she listened to the winds for word of Aram’s return.

  50.

  When Flinneran climbed down the rope and wood ladder and exited the cavern on the west side of the black mountain, the sun had already slid past mid-day, though it was yet high in the sky. For a moment, he gazed down across the foothills and the rocky slopes toward the distant field where he once had labored as a slave. That far patch of green was as overgrown now as it had been when first he’d looked upon it so long ago and hated it for the amount of labor it represented. Even now, for just a moment, a scowl took possession of his features. Then he turned away from the distant, despised patch of green and looked north.

  His master then was his master now, but the circumstances of their relationship were much different. The scowl left his face to be replaced with a look of triumph.

  Somewhere up there was his destination, where life would be richer – and easier.

  The foothills at the base of the mountain were craggy and brush-covered, so he angled slightly west and down the grade to where the slope was gentler and made for easier walking. A rattling, rustling sound arose from back in the shadows under one large bush, and for just a moment, he f
roze. Then he recognized the sound, undoubtedly a warning directed at him to keep a safe distance from one of those serpents that served his distant and unseen lord. He ignored it and kept moving, unmolested. He was on an important mission for him whom they all served. Serpents wouldn’t dare touch him.

  All that day he moved purposefully northward, toward a sharp ridge that rose up before him, knifing away to the west from its matrix in the flanks of the mountain. There were trees clustered in the hollows of that dike-like high ground, and perhaps water as well. The heat of the westering sun made him long for the promise of shade and coolness, and he quickened his pace. Sunset found him at the very foot of the steep ridge, and he climbed upward in the failing light until he reached a copse of trees bunched in a small bowl near a seeping spring. He had hoped for a clear tumbling brook with cool water, but after he dug out a hollow place in the soft mud with his hands, it filled with drinkable liquid, saving the water in his canteen for another time. Finding a fairly level spot beneath the trees, he mounded up some old leaves and lay down to sleep, his thoughts filled with the wonders to come.

  Two days of arduous work got him over the top of the knife-sharp ridge and down the other side, into a winding valley cut by a small river. Though not wide, the stream was too deep to wade and as he didn’t care to swim, he searched upstream until he found a place where it fell and foamed downward through a jumble of boulders. By moving carefully, he was able to safely reach the other side, leaping from rock to rock.

  Beyond the river, there was higher ground though the slope was gentler than that of the ridge behind him and the earth was sandier, less rocky, and made for easier going. There were junipers bunched in all the draws and brush covered the round-topped ridges.

  Five days after leaving the valley, as he rested in a grove of twisted junipers near the end of the day, he checked his supply of food and decided on a regimen of self-denial. There was still plenty of food, especially the dried meat – he’d stuffed his pack and the pockets in all his clothes from the city’s storehouse – but he had no idea how far he must travel until he would reach his goal, so he couldn’t know whether the supply was ample or spare. The detour of going west through the mountain in order to avoid the wolf packs allied with Aram had cost him, and now he must struggle to the north through strange, trackless country. Eventually, he hoped to get north of the black mountain and its daunting vastness and into lower country on its northern flanks where he could angle back toward the east and regain the great road where he was to meet the emissaries of his master. Since he couldn’t know how far or how long would be the journey to where he would meet with his master and claim his reward, he decided on a policy of strict conservation of his food stores. Better to end the journey hungry, with food in his pack, than to fail for lack of sustenance when there was so much at stake.

  The days wore away and still he struggled up along the sandy ridges, though to his right, the black mountain had at last begun to fall away. Never in the course of his life had Flinneran expended so much effort and energy in the pursuit of any one thing. Only the hope of rewards beyond measure at the end of it all could keep him tramping so doggedly along this rough and wild track.

  Another week brought him to the top of the sandy hills and the great mountain was behind him. Off to the northeast he could discern where another road topped the series of ridges and dropped away toward what was probably another large valley to the northwest, on his left. He, however, needed to go the other way, back to his right, in order to gain the road he was expected to travel into the north. As he studied the ground that lay before him, he realized that the road to his front most likely intersected with the road he had been told to travel, but judging from the angle, that junction would likely be far back toward the southeast, where he did not want to go.

  After some thought, he decided to pass beyond this intersecting road and angle to the northeast, along the top of the ridge. He would stay on the higher ground, as close to the top as possible rather than turning eastward along a road that might lead him into regions that were patrolled by Aram’s wolves. It meant trudging through yet more wilderness. But that was preferable to risking discovery. Hopefully, he could stay out of the canyons as he went forward, until he made the distant north-south road that was his target. He’d had enough of traversing difficult, rocky hollows and climbing unforgiving slopes.

  As he stood there, reaching his decision, his eyes were drawn upward to a couple of small objects tracing slow circles in the sky.

  Hawks. Their kind were known to be allied with Aram, and these two could no doubt see him easily – had, perhaps even watched him as he struggled up the long, sandy slopes for the last several days.

  As he studied the hawks, he began to doubt his decision and wondered if he should go lower and try to move through the cover of trees, stealthy, hopefully unwatched. Perhaps, in order to avoid prying eyes, he should sleep during the day and journey at night when those eyes were shunted.

  Tired, hungry, caught in the throes of indecision, he glared at the hawks.

  In the end, out of anger and deference to his innate revulsion for the expenditure of unnecessary effort, he decided against either of those more arduous choices. He was, after all, far north of the valley by now, perhaps even beyond the range of those wolves allied with “Lord Aram”. What did he care if he was spied upon? Surely, by this time, he was nearer to his master than they were to theirs.

  Deliberately taking his gaze away from the hawks, he looked into the north, letting his eyes rove to the right and left along the far horizon. Where was his master’s domain? Was it nearer than that distant horizon, or farther? How many more miles must he walk to reach his reward?

  He lowered his eyes to the ground nearer at hand, adjusted his pack, and then moved northeast along the top of the ridge. He ignored the pair of hawks. Let them watch; he would simply continue on. Every step brought him closer to places they dare not go.

  For ten days more, as his muscles hardened under the duress of unaccustomed strain and his food supply dwindled, he trudged northeast. Eventually, he came to where a long and fairly level ridge top angled away from the summit and went straight into the east, toward the unseen road that was his goal. Leaving the main ridge behind, he took this undoubtedly shorter route to the wolves that were to meet him and guide him in. And the day finally came that he looked across a deep ravine with a stream frothing along its bottom and spied the road on the other side, and a bridge that arched over a bisecting hollow. With a grateful eye, he let his gaze roam along that roadway. After crossing the bridge, the road curved around the ensuing ridge to disappear from view.

  Toward the unknown north.

  Where dwelled his master.

  At last, he was getting closer.

  Once he got over there, atop that ancient pavement, the walking would be easier, the reward for all the struggles of the last days and weeks brought nearer.

  As he stood there in the shade of a tall, sweeping fir, studying the slope for the best way down, and the river in its bottom for the easiest way across, shadows abruptly moved in the gloom nearby. He stiffened and sharpened his gaze, staring into the deeper shade of the underbrush, stiffening further as the shadows resolved themselves into the shapes of wolves.

  On the instant, his heart began racing. Had Aram’s allies found him – or were these the minions of his master?

  One, a large, short-bodied black wolf with long, thick fur, came near to him. Without preamble, the animal asked a question of him that answered his worries and allayed his fears.

  “Are you he that has the object the master desires?”

  Swallowing the remnant of his receding alarm, Flinneran nodded. “I am.” Then he asked a question of his own. “Will you take me to him?”

  The wolf showed its teeth, seeming almost to smile. “Oh, certainly. I am Kolgar, chief of the wolves of Vallenvale, our home in the northern reaches of the world. Long have we journeyed into the south, seeking you along the great road �
�� without success. Then we find you here, skulking in the shadows of the wilderness.”

  The wolf came closer and looked up into his face.

  “Show me the object,” Kolgar demanded.

  Despite the irritated tone of the wolf’s reproachful words, and the sharpness of his command, Flinneran did not move, nor did he reach beneath his cloak for the hairbrush. Silently, he counted the wolves.

  There were eight. Enough, he suspected, to give a toughened warrior more than he could handle – and Flinneran, though hardened by unaccustomed labor, was not a warrior at all. Still, it was he that had been commissioned to bring an object of the woman to the great lord in the north, and not them.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I was told that you would meet me and take me to the master,” he protested, and let out the breath. Then he took a gamble. “Undoubtedly, the master would not like his instructions countermanded.”

  Kolgar made a sound that could have been laughter. “The master’s tower is far to the north, many days run for our kind – an impossible distance for a man. Would you make the master wait and delay his exertions on behalf of all his people while you dally?”

  Flinneran lifted his chin. “I have grown strong in my journeying. I perhaps cannot keep up with you, but I can take that which the master wants to him, however far it is.”

  Kolgar made no sound or motion that Flinneran could see, but suddenly the wolves had formed a circle with him at the center.

  “Do not fear, we will take all of you to him, including your bones, except for that which is eliminated along the way. First we must be certain that you are he whom we seek. Show me the object.”

  The ferocity with which this was delivered, coupled with the menace of a circling wolf pack, and the inherent threat in Kolgar’s words, finally compelled Flinneran to comply. With a shaking hand, he reached beneath his cloak and produced the brush. “This is hers – the woman’s,” he said and he lifted his trembling chin in defiance. “So you can see that I am the man.”