As Aram complied, Keegan lowered the flaming stick onto the wick which immediately began to sizzle and burn its way downward.
The flame disappeared into the hole and a small puff of smoke blew upward.
The men hushed in anticipation and for a long moment nothing happened.
Then the gun jumped backward, yanking against the restraining chains, and the cart shook. There was a roar so loud that for a moment Aram thought he’d been deafened. Acrid smoke poured from the barrel and drifted southward on the breeze. Aram was staring at the gun in shocked amazement, but on the next instant his attention was drawn to the wooden target. The framework of crisscrossing timbers had been nearly demolished by the shot that had been discharged from the front of the gun. On the prairie around the target, and for a good distance out from it, the grass was ravaged and torn, and the underlying soil had been exposed by the impact of the myriad small round balls of iron.
Taking his hands away from his ringing ears, he looked first at Arthrus and then at Keegan. “The wizard wanted no money for this thing?”
“Not even the tiniest bit of copper,” Keegan replied and he shrugged. “His only hope was that you’d use it in some way to get rid of Rahm Imrid.”
“If it becomes necessary, we will,” Aram replied. “We’ve already dealt him a blow. And this thing, if we use it against him, will surely deal him another.” He looked over at Keegan and smiled. “You’ve done well, captain, and you will be rewarded.”
Keegan held his hands out in refusal. “Let us not speak further of money, my lord. I am proud to serve you, whether you know it or not. You have already rewarded me beyond that which I deserve.”
“You say your ship is on its way to Seneca?”
Keegan nodded. “Probably there by now and headed back this way.”
“Then there is time for you to instruct me in the use of the gun.”
Keegan bent forward at the waist in a grand bow. “I am at your service, my lord.”
Aram had intended to go home to Ka’en immediately upon his return to the fortress but he remained there for the rest of that day and a good bit of the next, learning the use of the new, amazing weapon. He gave instructions to Timmon that he and a few of Arthrus’ metal-workers who showed talent were to practice until they became adept in its use.
By mid-day of the next day, he knew that he must go home. He was yet a long day’s ride from the valley, and even though Thaniel was rested, he hated to push the horse too hard. The excitement over the acquisition of the “gun” and the implications for its use on the battlefield against massed bodies of lashers receded as the need to make sure that Ka’en was well and safe surged in him and over-rode all other considerations.
Leaving Thaniel’s armor and his own black armor at the fortress in Arthrus’ care, he decided to wear the golden armor from the mountain beneath his clothes, slipping the hood through his belt. Summer was waning, the night ahead might be cool, and the armor would keep him warm. He wished to waste no time in building a fire when they halted, intending to sleep but an hour or two while Thaniel rested. If Thaniel was agreeable, they would stop just once in the depths of night and then go on.
He spoke his farewells to his captains and the men who’d gone west. Then, as the sun wheeled past the top of the sky and began its slide toward the west, he took his leave. Going east, toward Derosa, he and Thaniel and Durlrang went beyond the limits of the encampment and then angled to the northeast across the prairie.
“We won’t go too deep into the night before we camp,” he promised Thaniel, “but we should at least get deep into the green hills, maybe climb to the top of the ridge, before we stop.”
Thaniel snorted in reply. “My wounds have long since healed, Aram, and I am not a colt. I know that you worry over the safety of Lady Ka’en. Let us not halt. I will gladly go on through the night, if you are willing to stay in the saddle.”
Aram stared down at him in surprise. “You would do that?” He asked.
“I am as strong as ever I was,” Thaniel replied.
Turning to the side, Aram looked down at Durlrang, running easily alongside the horse. “How about you, my old friend?”
Durlrang laughed. “I told you long ago, my lord, that night and distance mean nothing to a wolf. I can go as far as Thaniel.”
Aram gazed ahead at the green hills, beyond which resided the person who alone in all the world held an eternal claim upon his heart. “Then let’s go all the way home. I am anxious to see her and know that she is well. As you said, Thaniel; if I must sleep, I will do so in the saddle. Thank you, my friends.”
Thaniel’s great hooves ate away at the rolling prairie and Durlrang seemed tireless as he loped alongside. Aram allowed himself to consider the shape of things in the world, how things had changed, and how likely they were to change again. The battle before the walls of Tobol had gone better than he’d hoped. Eventually, the end result of that effort, perhaps, would be a radical change for the better in Elam. The contemptible ruler of that land would soon learn, if he had not already, that his plans for the subjugation of his own people would not proceed easily. And after their complete defeat at Tobol, along with the death of their clever general, the men that wore the uniform of the throne would no doubt find it difficult to raise their courage for another attempt any time soon.
He found that he began to hope that the problem of Elam might soon be “settled” as Joktan had advised him, perhaps as soon as in the next year or two. He let his thoughts wander through the possibilities. If Marcus sat upon the throne of that land, and its strength added to his, then the army at his disposal would number close to one hundred thousand men.
With such an army, he could confront the forces of the grim lord directly, and begin to diminish them. If the whole world could be united in the common cause of resisting Manon, the war that he feared would last his lifetime might then be drastically shortened. He might be able to force a general battle like that which had taken Joktan’s life. This time, however, the outcome would be different.
He had the Sword.
These thoughts buoyed him and he turned his mind away from war and to the woman that waited beyond the hills that came closer with every great stride of Thaniel’s long legs.
In a few weeks, he would be a father. Ka’en and he would become parents to either a son or a daughter. He did not care which it would be; the fact that they three would be a family cheered him beyond bounds. As the sun slid away, he settled further back in the saddle and let himself relax. It was only then that he discovered how tired he was. Lazily, he watched the shadows lengthen on the eastern slope of every small hillock as the sun declined away to the west and let his thoughts wander through the more pleasant themes of home and family. In a few hours, perhaps by morning, he would be reunited with her.
More and more, as the days of his marriage to Ka’en lengthened, he discovered that he missed her terribly whenever it became necessary for him to go away from her. And it was the dream of a quiet life with just the two of them and their family dwelling in peace in a small corner of the world that kept him going when the road grew dark before him.
Whenever he thought on it, the circumstances of his life astounded him.
He had never expected such richness.
His wealth was not in material possessions, but in the person of one beautiful woman.
Joktan had provided him with a vault filled with gold; Kelven had allowed him to gain a weapon of immense power, but those things were little more than tools that made it possible for him to accomplish certain ends.
It was Lancer who had given him his treasure.
62.
Since his second self could not carry anything of substance in its ethereal hands, Manon sent a first child named Dugor along with his projection into the deep, narrow canyon in the northern mountains, to the lair of the Laish. Dugor held the hairbrush dangling from the end of a leather thong so as not to contaminate the object with yet another scent. It already bore the essenc
es of four people – the woman herself, the man who had taken it, and the wolf and the vulture that had delivered it to the tower.
Manon wanted the dragons to be sure of their task.
The sun had gone, night had fallen and the canyon was dark and cold. Perhaps this could have waited for the morrow, but once the Lord of the World gained possession of the object of the woman, he discovered that he was impatient for his plans to be implemented.
The god required no aid in knowing where to find the dragons, and he saw well enough in the darkness, as did the Laish. First children, as a rule, required little aid in finding their way in the darkness; nonetheless Dugor carried a flaming torch. Manon wanted to see clearly into the eyes of the beasts as they communed. When they arrived at the limits of the blind canyon where the dragons made their home, he commanded Dugor to lay the hairbrush down upon the cold, desolate floor of the canyon, position the torch in a cleft in the rock wall, and leave.
Up in the darkness on the wall, massive bodies changed their positions, sending rocks crashing to the canyon floor.
“Why come?” Expressed in low, almost whispered tones, the monster’s question reverberated in the dark canyon and echoed along its length.
The frightened lasher dropped the hairbrush and with trembling hands worked the torch into a crevice, dropping it twice before succeeding.
“That will do, Dugor,” Manon said harshly. “Go.”
The dragons moved again, turning toward him as Dugor hurried away.
Looking up, Manon could see the light from the torch reflected like living fire in two widely separated pairs of huge eyes.
“I have brought you a thing of the woman,” he said, indicating the hairbrush. “It has been handled by three others – a man, a wolf, and a vulture. Will such contamination hinder you from identifying the female human I wish you to slay?”
In answer, the male dragon maneuvered his enormous body around, sinking his claws into the rock, and climbed slowly down the wall, sending chucks of it crashing into the bottom of the canyon with each movement. Coming close to Manon’s second self he lowered his massive head, angled it, and peered into the god’s face for a long moment. Then he lowered his head further, dropping near to the object whereupon he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. Lifting his head, closing his great, almond-shaped eyes, the dragon seemed to savor the mingled scents for a long moment.
“Six beings have touched this object,” he informed Manon. “Four of them are human, one is a vulture, and one is a wolf.”
Manon frowned. “Four humans? But no human other than the man I sent to retrieve it has had access to it – unless I have been lied to.”
“One essence is faint; five are stronger. The most recent are that of a human, a wolf, and a vulture. But there is one essence that is stronger than all others, in length of time as well as in concentration.” He opened his eyes, looked at Manon and waited.
After a moment, the god nodded. “The strongest essence will undoubtedly be that of the woman.”
The dragon lowered his head again. “The essence that is strongest is mingled with that of the man with the Sword.”
Manon started at the mention of Aram, delivered as it was with a faint undertone of something that sounded like hesitation or perhaps even respect. Considering that, before rejecting it as simply an odd inflection in an alien voice, he said quietly, “She it is that I wish slain.”
The male backed his vast body up the precipice and then crawled sideways along the wall, making space so that the female might come close and catch the scent and verify his conclusions. After she had lowered her head to the brush for a long moment, closing her eyes and drawing in the various essences contained in the object, she turned away from the image of the grim lord, never once meeting his gaze. The Laish communed.
Their thoughts were closed to Manon. After some time, the female moved away into the gloom and the male clamored back.
“When wish to slay her?”
Manon’s second self waved its hand impatiently. “This very night.”
The dragon raised his head, closed his eyes, and drew in massive amounts of air into his nostrils, and again he seemed to savor it for a moment. Then, lowering his head once more, he looked at Manon.
“The human with the essence contained in this object is far away to the south, for it has traveled a great distance over many days,” he stated.
Manon frowned. “It is no great distance for you.”
“No,” the dragon agreed. “A matter of hours. Still, this night is not new. The star that lights this world will be near the horizon, perhaps even above it, at the time we find her.”
“What difference will that make to you?” The god demanded.
“It breaks your demand that we never fly in daylight,” the dragon reminded him. “We will be seen.”
“I wish you to be seen,” Manon informed the great beast. “I no longer care about that stricture. When you are seen, all will know why the woman is slain. I want the man with the Sword to know who it was commanded this.” Manon watched the dragon for a long moment. “When you have finished this task, I will release your child. You may take your child and go – to wherever it is you will go. You may return to the hollow spaces, if you so desire.”
“We go where we wish,” the dragon stated, and there was unmistakable menace in its tone.
Manon narrowed his eyes. “I have always kept my word to you – now you must give me yours. I want you to leave this world.”
The dragon’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, as if, somewhere deep inside the body of the beast, a fire burned. “You have kept your word, Manon Carnarven, this is true. But first you kept the child from us. This is a thing hard to forgive.”
“Then keep your forgiveness and grant it not,” Manon replied coldly. His second self leaned toward the dragon. “But hear me – if you do not give me your covenant that you will leave this world; then I will not release the child. I will destroy both it and you and find others to aid me.”
The dragon lowered its head until it almost touched Manon’s projection. The enormous eyes burned with terrible fire. “We will destroy you.”
Deliberately, Manon laughed. His projection leaned further until its outline flickered inside the dragon’s open mouth, highlighting the sharp ends of the massive teeth. Quietly, dropping his voice almost to a whisper, the Lord of the World said, “I have become more powerful than even your kind can imagine. Threaten me but once more and I will slay the child and destroy you both.”
His voice dropped further.
“Try my hand, if you cannot control your fury. Test my words. There are others of your kind, asleep in the caverns that lie below the Deep Darkness. If you wish to cease to be; then tell me.” The god’s voice was terribly soft and soaked with malice. “I will destroy you and your child and awaken others like you. To those others I will grant the freedom to aid me in my endeavors, just as I did you.”
Inside the dragon’s eyes, the latent flame churned and blazed. “Our anger is great,” the great beast said. “It has endured long.”
Manon straightened up. “Then expend it upon those in the countryside round about the place where you will find the woman. Kill as many as you like in the day that follows.”
“Our anger is strong,” the dragon reminded him. “We will slay many.”
Manon leaned forward again. “I do not care. But when the morrow is done, you will take your child and go from this world. Give me your covenant.”
In that moment, the monster made its decision. Though the fire still smoldered in the depths of its gaze, it blew out a massive breath and agreed. “You have our word. We will slay to shed our anger. Then we will leave this world – with the child.”
“I accept your word,” Manon replied calmly. “You may take your child when the woman is dead and your fury has dissipated on the morrow, but remember; you will not consume the woman nor burn her body. She must be recognized.”
“As you wish.” The dra
gon shifted its massive bulk; anxious to at last be freed of the being that had imprisoned its offspring and kept it and its mate in thrall. “We will go now?”
Manon waved his hand impatiently as he turned away. “Yes – go.”
Moments later, as he hurried his projection southward along the rough, dark floor of the canyon, the dragons’ humming and buzzing began and grew as their massive bodies rose up and into the black sky overhead in preparation for flying to their appointed task. The noise grew until, deep inside the tower, Manon was obligated to cut off the sensory input from his second self.
Gaining the open sky, the two huge beasts flew toward the southeast, gaining speed as they soared over the valley. Among the dark huts of Morkendril, first and second children awakened and went to their doors, staring up at the enormous shadows that blunted the last vestiges of light from the smoke-shrouded stars.
63 .
Ka'en awoke abruptly to a fierce whisper so stark that it pierced her mind like fire, jerking her from slumber into confused awareness of fear.
“Wake, mistress, wake! Something comes.”
She sat up heavily and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, abruptly frightened, scanning the darkness of her room for even darker shadows. Then something cold pushed urgently against her leg, causing her to jump. It was the nose of a wolf. Gorfang.
“Quickly, mistress, we must get you someplace safe.”
She shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind of the mists of sleep, even as her fear mounted. She looked down but could not make out the figure of the wolf in the gloom. “What is it, Gorfang? What comes?”
“Something terrible, mistress. Kolgar and the wolves of Vallenvale have entered the valley, intent on blood. Leorg and his people resist them but are even now being pushed back toward the city.”
Still lost in the fog of slowly receding slumber, Ka'en frowned into the blackness, in the direction of his voice. “The wolves are fighting?”
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 52
