“You know of Seneca?” Asked Aram, surprised.
“Only from obscure references in ancient texts. They were, apparently, a great people at one time, long ago.”
“They are yet,” Aram replied. In succinct terms, he told them all he knew of Seneca and its history and of how that nation of woodland dwellers had consented to come west to aid in the struggle against Manon.
Amund watched him for a long moment. “You are gathering all free peoples to you.”
Aram nodded. “That is my hope. All that is needed is for Elam to be free, and for this land and Cumberland to aid in this war, or at the least not hinder us.”
“There is Vergon as well,” Heglund stated thoughtfully.
Aram looked at the older man. “Vergon? I have heard of this land but know nothing in particular of it or its people.”
Heglund motioned with his hand. “A not insubstantial folk to the southwest of Elam, beyond the Iron Mountains, on the sea. It is an ancient land and was civilized when we were yet itinerant tribes. Historically, Vergon has been an ally of Elam, though its current ruling family is no friend to Rahm.”
Amund listened patiently until his father finished but then interjected, “Lord Aram, you were talking of deposing Rahm and placing Marcus upon the throne. How do we go about doing this? What do you suggest?”
“Rahm has suffered a blow by his defeat before Tobol,” Aram replied. “The military loss to his strength, though not insignificant, is less important than the political damage that will have been done him.” He looked from Amund to Heglund. “Are there other of the Great Houses that have refused to participate in the enslavement of their young women?”
“No,” Amund replied. “Though many chafe at this loathsome policy, we are the only House to refuse participation, which is one reason, among many, that we are become the target of Rahm’s wrath. There are several others who have begun to squirm under his rule, but they are nearer to Farenaire than we and often surrounded by Houses that are loyal to the throne.”
“What happened here may alter the thinking of some of them,” suggested Aram.
Amund nodded. “It may give courage to those Houses that disagree with his policies to resist him, and there are those that may reconsider their allegiance. But how do we aid them in their altered thinking?” He looked quizzically at Aram. “Unless you mean to invade Elam proper and assault him directly?”
Aram shook his head. “Open war would weaken both Elam and my own forces. We cannot afford that. The time will come when we need the strength of Elam to help bring me before Manon.”
It was Amund that tendered the question this time. “Lord Aram, I beg you, humor me but this one time. This Manon that rules in the north and names himself ‘lord of the world’ is in fact the ancient god, the ‘First Among the Three’ as he is named in our histories?”
Aram frowned. “The first among three?”
“In ancient documents,” Amund explained, “we are told that there were three of the gods that were given governance of the earth, Manon, Kelven, and Ferros. Little is known of Ferros, but Kelven was given governance of all living things other than man. Manon became the ruler of men, and as such was named the ‘First Among the Three’.”
Aram shook his head. “Manon was not given rule over men. Rather he was named as their guide, to aid the ancient ones in building and managing the earth. He was not given rule over us,” he repeated, somewhat harshly. “Though it soon came to pass that lordship over men was what he desired most. When the ancient kings began to distrust him, and to ignore him and his counsel, he turned to evil, precipitating the great war that nearly destroyed our kind.”
Heglund listened to this with intense interest. “It seems to me,” he said thoughtfully, “that you know more of these matters than our best scholars.”
Amund acknowledged this statement of his father’s with a look and then turned again to Aram. “And this is the same Manon that dwells in the north of the world?”
“He is the same,” Aram repeated yet again.
Amund gazed down at the table for a long moment and then said quietly, “Then he is a far greater danger to us – and consequently to the whole world – than Rahm Imrid.”
“There is no question of that,” agreed Aram. “Which is why Rahm must be removed from power – so I may concentrate on defeating the forces of the grim lord and moving the frontiers of freedom northward without fear of a threat from the south.” Turning to look directly at Amund, he said, “I understand that there is a council of the Great Houses that will occur in a few weeks?”
Amund nodded. “There are two councils every year at the palace – at the end of winter and at the end of summer.”
“But your House will not attend.”
At the head of the table, Heglund shook his head. “Nor did we attend the last three. There was little reason to do so – and not a little danger.”
“But most of the other Houses will attend?” Insisted Aram.
“There are few, if any, that would dare not,” Amund answered him.
“And you have friends among them?”
“Shau to the south and Midvale to the north are both old friends,” Amund replied, “though their regard has necessarily been of a very cautious nature these last two years. Cinnabar and others that are like-minded are all far to the south, surrounded by others loyal to Rahm which of course renders their political situation precarious.”
“Will these two nearby Houses of Shau and Midvale know what happened here?” Aram inquired thoughtfully.
“They will have been watching our struggles with great interest,” Amund replied.
“So they will know the extent of Rahm’s defeat?”
Amund’s eyes glittered with understanding. “We will make certain that they know of it,” he replied. “And that should make for some interesting private discussions at the council.”
“These other Houses that are ‘likeminded’ as you put it; they are scattered throughout the land?” Aram asked. “Are any of them powerful?”
“House Basura is the largest in population,” Amund answered. “The only other House of any size that disapproves of the actions of the throne is Cinnabar, far to the south; and it is isolated.”
“And how many men does Cinnabar have at its disposal?”
Amund thought. “Perhaps half, or a little more, as we, and we have something just over eight thousand.” Amund looked carefully at Aram as the thrust of Aram’s questions suggested to him what the man of the east was thinking. “Still, my lord,” he said, “eleven or twelve thousand, when denied to the throne and added to your fifteen thousand, begins to approach the strength of that which Rahm can put in the field, when you take away those that he lost before Tobol.”
Aram held up his hand, shaking his head. “I am thinking of the situation in political rather than military terms,” he said. “But unless Rahm is a fool, he will realize that his hand has been weakened on both those fronts. And even if he remains obstinate, others will come to the conclusion that he has been weakened, which perhaps gives you and those that agree with you an opportunity – of a political nature.”
Amund answered slowly. “I see what you mean. It would be best to depose Rahm, if at all possible, without full civil war.”
Aram nodded his agreement. “Elam must be settled, if I am to focus on defeating Manon. And I would prefer to have the entire strength of Elam added to mine when I finally go north.”
Amund frowned at him. “You would accept the aid of men like those currently in our custody, knowing what they have done to our people?”
“They will not all be guilty of committing atrocity,” Aram suggested. “Most will have followed their general simply because that decision was made for them by those who have a claim upon their loyalty,” he explained. “I have no doubt, sir, that with the aid of those among them that abhor such behavior, you may separate the criminals from their ranks and mete out justice. I suspect that when the political situation changes in Elam
, the rest will follow our standard as willingly as they followed Rahm’s.”
Heglund leaned forward, inserting himself into the conversation. “I ask you again, my lord – how will you defeat a god? Even with a weapon such as that you bear, whose power I feel keenly – how will it be done? Kelven is not here.”
“Kelven has already helped us all that he can in that regard,” Aram replied. “It will be enough.”
Everyone at the table stared in frozen astonishment at this astounding statement.
“How?” Amund finally blurted out. “How has he helped? Have you seen him as well, Lord Aram?”
In that moment, Aram realized that he’d said too much. He’d forgotten that the people of the west had been removed from events that he no longer thought remarkable but must seem more than unbelievable to them, even absurd. He drew in a deep breath, trying to think of the words to say to alleviate the sudden tension in the room, but by the time the breath was released, he decided that it didn’t matter, after all. The truth was the truth and it would come out no matter what. He decided to be blunt and honest.
Clearly and simply, he told his hosts of his birth, his many journeys in the world, of his meetings with all three gods, and the “finding” of the sword upon the mountain of Kelven. He did not tell them of the Astra nor of his relationship with the spirit of Joktan, and the fact that he was descended from that ancient king. As he talked, the four people at that table listened in rapt silence and growing amazement.
For despite the astonishing content of what this man from the east stated, his words bore the unmistakable ring of truth, and had already been attested to by his actions.
The evening wore away. When Aram finished his tale, the two men of Basura, the scholar and his father, plied him with questions, which Aram answered truthfully when he could, and carefully when he could not.
Eventually, the stiffness in Aram’s muscles told him that the hour was late, and he was reminded of his wish to be on his way early on the following morning.
He rose, ending the evening.
On the veranda, with the vault of the star-filled universe arching above them, Amund and Heglund bade a reluctant farewell to Aram.
“Thank you again, Lord Aram,” Heglund stated. “It has been a remarkable week, and an even more remarkable evening.”
“I thank you for your hospitality,” Aram replied as he inclined his head to Heglund. “But I must get home. Alvern will be above you for some time. I will instruct him to make contact with you before he leaves these skies. Call me at need.”
With that, he turned and went down the steps and up the slope toward the dark forest. Heglund and Amund Basura stood in silence and watched long after their champion from the east had melded into the night.
61.
Five days later, Aram and the bulk of his army had retraced their steps through the land of Wallensia, up the banks of the Broad, across its dark and powerful current, and once again rode under the southern wall of the fortress. Aram was surprised when Arthrus appeared from out of the shadows of the wall to greet him.
“Lord Aram – you really must see this!”
Aram, tired from the journey, missing Ka’en and anxious to go to her, scowled as he dismounted. “What is it that must I see?”
Arthrus grinned and pointed to the east, toward a group of men standing on a small hillock at the edge of the encampment. “It’s Keegan. He’s over there.”
“Keegan?”
“Yes, my lord – and believe me, you’ll be glad to see him.”
If anything, Aram’s scowl deepened. The sun had just slid past mid-day. He intended to leave the command of the army with Findaen, thank the men that had gone west with him, release them, and then go straight on to the valley. He was anxious to see Ka’en and know that she was alright. The eagles and hawks had kept him informed, at least intermittently, of her welfare. Still, he felt the need to look upon her face with his own eyes, and know that the woman who inhabited the very center of his life was safe and well.
Arthrus turned away and began walking toward the group of men clustered on the high ground. Reluctantly, Aram went with him. “Dane is with Keegan, my lord. What we have to show you is both strange and wonderful.”
As Aram approached, the men parted to let him through. At the center of the crowd, Keegan stood next to an oxcart, grinning broadly as he watched Aram come toward him. Aram acknowledged him with a curt nod and went up to look into the oxcart. Inside, resting on a frame of heavy wooden beams, there was a large iron or steel tube, so dark gray in color as to be almost black. The tube averaged perhaps a foot in diameter, though it was larger at one end than the other, and was six or seven feet long.
The tube was closed on its larger end but there was an opening at the smaller – and this end projected beyond the edge of the cart. It was set into the stout oaken frame by virtue of pounded steel straps that wound up and over it at three separate places, one near the far end, where the tube jutted over the end of the cart, and two at the nearer, larger end.
Aram gazed curiously at the thing and then looked up at Keegan’s grinning face.
“What is this?”
The young sea captain stuck his chest out proudly. “I found the wizard that you sent me to find, my lord – at least the man I sent to look for him found him.” He pointed at the round steel tube in the oxcart. “I acquired this for you, after informing Da’nisam – that’s what the wizard is named – that you were an enemy of Rahm – whom he hates almost as much as me and my brethren do.”
Aram glanced back at the object in the cart and then focused his attention on the privateer. “Where is your ship, Captain?” He asked with narrowed eyes.
Unabashed, Keegan nonetheless stifled his grin and bowed respectfully. “Ah, Lord Aram; you never forget anything, do you? Have no fear, my lord; it is even now on its way to Seneca, under the command of my second, to help bring the remainder of that land’s strength of arms to you. His Worthiness himself will make this journey with the last of his kin in my ship.”
Aram’s eyes narrowed further. “And this ‘second’ of yours – he is trustworthy? You trust him with your ship – and with the ruler of Seneca?”
“As trustworthy as any of my kind, my lord,” Keegan assured him. “And he is made more so by your formidable reputation and your gold.”
Aram nodded his curt approval and then studied the metallic object in the cart. “What is this?” He asked once more.
“It’s a gun.”
“A gun?” Aram looked at him in surprise. “Like those you have on you ship?”
“Nay – bigger, and much more powerful.” Keegan’s grin re-appeared. “It’s an odd thing, that – almost like it was fated. Da’nisam, the wizard, built this more than a year ago, and was hoping to find someone he could convince to use it against Rahm Imrid. He had heard of you, my lord, and how you destroyed Burkhed, whom he also despised, so it was an easy thing to convince him to let me bring it to you. I offered to pay, but he would take no money. Apparently, he is rich enough – either that or his hatred of Rahm knows no bounds.” His grin widened. “Would you like to see it work?”
Aram nodded.
“You’re going to like this, my lord,” Arthrus stated as he came up, and then he shouted out toward the clumps of curious soldiers. “Make way there, boys; we’re going to light this up again.”
“Again?” Aram asked.
In answer, Arthrus pointed in the direction that the gun was pointed.
As the men moved back from the area directly in front of the end of the “gun” that extended out of the cart, Aram saw that a target of wood had been constructed about fifty yards distant. The target already showed signs of rough use. The timbers that held it in upright were splintered in many places and the target itself sported gaping holes.
Immediately in front of the cart, in the direction that the muzzle was pointed, two long chains stretched forward for a distance of about twenty feet. At the end of their length they were anchor
ed to the earth by huge metal spikes.
Seeing Aram eyeing the chains, Dane explained, “When the gun is discharged, there is a tremendous backward push. Keegan calls it the ‘recoil’. The chains keep it from running away towards the rear – and maybe killing folk standing behind it.” He laughed. “Even at that, the cart and the frame the gun is mounted in both take a pounding.”
Aram frowned. “What is it that is discharged?”
Keegan knelt down and wrestled a leather bag out of a large box on the ground by the side of the cart. “This,” he said, lifting the bag with an effort. “Go ahead, my lord, look inside.”
Aram went over and opened the top of the bag that Keegan held with bulging arms. Inside there were dozens of small round pieces of iron.
“It’s called ‘shot’”, Keegan explained. He shook his head. “These will make a mess of anyone – or many, many anyones – unfortunate enough to be standing in front of the gun.”
“Show me,” Aram said.
Keegan nodded his head toward one side and a bit to the rear of the cart. “You’ll need to stand over there, my lord.”
After Aram moved away, Arthrus and Keegan poured some of the iron “shot” into a smaller cloth bag which they then tied shut and shoved deep into the muzzle of the gun with a long pole. Then, while Dane checked the anchor chains for soundness, Keegan pulled a length of small rope or string from another box and worked it down into a small hole on the top of the gun near the back. He looked at Aram as he lifted another sack filled with black powder and shook it slightly. “The nixite is already in there,” he explained, pointing at the area of the barrel beneath where the length of string had been inserted. He indicated the string. “This is called the wick.”
Keegan walked over to a fire that was burning a short distance from the cart where he retrieved a long stick that smoldered and then flamed as he lifted it and blew on it. Then he stepped to the left-rear side of the cart and waited until Dane and Arthrus had also moved out of the way. Keegan glanced over at Aram. “You may want to cover your ears, my lord.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 51
