Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  He turned and looked at her; the contempt he felt for himself dulling his emerald eyes, making them gray. “I’m no general, Ka’en, no leader of men. If it hadn’t been for Humber’s weapon, every man, horse, and wolf that followed me to that mountainside would now be dead, and Manon’s legions would have swept over this town and slaughtered everyone, including –” He shuddered and shook his head again. “I thought that I was in control, even that I was ordering events, determining the shape and direction of the struggle. Fool!”

  His bitter self-condemnation frightened her. “Aram, please don’t talk like this.”

  “It’s all true.”

  “No – it isn’t. You beat him and you’ll beat him again. Think of it this way; perhaps he did trick you, lure you into battle against overwhelming force, but you won. Manon didn’t win – you did, even when the advantage lay with his army.” She went to him then and took his hands in hers. “This is why they gave you the sword, so that the advantage would be yours in situations like that. In spite of the odds, you beat him, and now you know more about him – how he thinks, how he plans. We just need to be more cautious in the future, that’s all.”

  He shook his head again and kept his gaze averted, fixed on some dark, distant point out across the dim fields.

  She grasped his hands tighter. “Aram – please, look at me.”

  After a long moment, he turned his head and looked in her eyes. She said nothing further, but after awhile, she could see the doubt on his face begin to lessen, little by little. Bit by bit, the green flickered back into the depths of his eyes and the gray faded. Finally, at the end of another long moment, he smiled – it was thin and slight, but it was a smile.

  “Perhaps they should have given the sword to you,” he said.

  Glad to see his dark mood lifting, she smiled back. “No, it’s in exactly the right hands.”

  At that, his smile failed and he nodded grimly. “You’re right about caution; we must consider every move we make carefully, for we know for a fact that he will be cautious.” He sighed. “It undoubtedly means that the war will be longer than I imagined.”

  “But you’ll win it.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll win it. You’re right about that as well. I can’t do this alone. I need lots of help – from those allies that we now have, and from those that we find later. This is not a job for one man.”

  She squeezed his hands happily. “I think that’s the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  He grinned wryly. “That particular bit of wisdom doesn’t come from me – I’m just repeating your words.”

  She leaned close to him and he pulled her into his arms. They were silent for awhile and then they returned to their seats by the table and to the wine. After several minutes, Ka’en looked over at him.

  “We marry tomorrow, my love.”

  “I’m glad for that, anyway,” he answered with a smile. Once again, though, the smile faded quickly. “I just wish that the times in which we marry were different.”

  She reached for his hand.

  “These are the times we have,” she said.

  The day of the marriage ceremony dawned crisp and bright with only a few wispy clouds off to the south above the hills. Ka’en did not show that morning, and Aram breakfasted alone, having been informed by the young woman who brought him his meal that Lady Ka’en was “engaged in preparation”. He was pacing the veranda when Findaen found him. The prince’s son was carrying a bundle of clothing.

  “Good morning, my lord. It’s a nice day for it, isn’t it? Here, let’s make you as presentable as we can.”

  Aram eyed the bundle. “Whose clothes are those – yours?”

  “Yours, of course,” Findaen answered. “You’re the one getting married today.”

  “I’ve never seen those clothes before.”

  “Remember Suven?”

  “The tailor.”

  “The tailor, yes,” Findaen nodded cheerfully. “And he remembers you, as well. He took your measurements once and he never throws anything important away. These clothes are his gift to you; he refused my money. Come, people are already gathering; we only have ‘til midday to get you dressed and walk you down there.”

  The shirt was white, startlingly so, and the trousers were dark – not black but very dark gray, or perhaps deeply green. Aram was grateful for the gift of clothing. He’d never thought very much about how he was dressed, or how he looked, viewing garments as practical necessities only. But on this day, he felt the need to look as civilized as possible, and these clothes fit him very well.

  Findaen looked him over with a critical eye. “You will suffice, I believe, though I have no doubt but that my sister will outshine you. Jaffa’s waiting – let’s go get you trimmed.”

  Aram opted for a bath as well when they arrived at the barber’s place of business; for he was rather suddenly aware of his innate barbarism and he didn’t want to be the wild woodsman on this day – at the end of it he would be Ka’en’s husband. Jaffa trimmed his hair and beard and then Findaen led him across the street into the tavern. As they crossed the thoroughfare, his future brother-in-law glanced up at the sun.

  “We have an hour or so.” He grinned at Aram. “One last drink with the boys before – well, before things change, eh?”

  The tavern was filled with the men of the town. Mallet stood at a table near the center of the room and waved him over with a flourish. There was whiskey already poured and Aram spent the next hour pleasantly, listening to his friends and comrades jesting with him and with each other. It was the first time that he did not feel the uncomfortable gap that usually existed between him and them. The fact that he was marrying a woman – despite the fact that she was their princess – put him, at least for the moment, on their level. Aram found himself wishing, rather desperately, that the parity would last, even as he knew it would not.

  Eventually, a young woman came into the tavern and whispered into Findaen’s ear. He stood immediately and looked at Aram. “I’m afraid we have to give you up, my lord. Ka’en’s waiting, and everything’s ready.”

  They left the tavern and headed for the western fringe of town, Findaen leading Aram, and everyone else trailing behind.

  The people of Derosa were gathered upon the parade ground. At the northern side, beneath the spreading limbs of the large oak, a raised dais had been constructed. Upon this dais, Ka’en stood with her father and Jena, and two other women. Lestar Hayesh stood alone in the middle of the dais, holding a strip of dark green cloth in his right hand. Findaen posited Aram on Lestar’s left, opposite Ka’en, and then turned and stepped down whereupon he halted and made a motion with his hand. Thaniel and Durlrang came around the edge of the crowd to join him. Findaen grinned up at Aram.

  “You have a right to three companions on this day, my lord, to verify your good character. Will we three suffice?”

  Aram nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. He turned and looked at Ka’en.

  She was dressed in her dark red gown trimmed in black fur. For perhaps the hundredth time, he was struck by how very beautiful she was. Her alabaster skin had a satin sheen, appearing almost translucent in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves of the giant oak. She smiled; it was a quick, bright, nervous smile. Lancer looked solemn as he nodded slightly to Aram.

  Lestar stepped forward, bowed to Ka’en and Lancer and then to Aram. He looked out at the crowd and raised his voice.

  “People of Wallensia – land of Abberly, Ralphon, and Lancer our Prince, ancient home of Wallen the First Prince, father of our people. We gather today at the summons of Ka’en Bellisha, our Princess, daughter of Lancer, to witness her choice of a husband and join her in the designation of a new Prince.”

  The people stirred and murmured at this statement, as pent-up excitement rippled through the crowd. Holding up an imperious hand, Lestar frowned his fellow citizens into silence as he turned to Ka’en.

  “My lady, have you chosen a husband?”


  Her eyes flicked toward Lestar but then settled on Aram. “I have.”

  “After the manner of those that have made this choice before you, have you considered the welfare of your people in this matter?”

  “I have.”

  “Have you considered that our laws adjure you to choose a man that will hold the welfare of this land to his heart, even as you do the same?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will he love this land and its people?”

  “He does – he will.”

  “Will you govern at his side, to encourage him when he is right, and to check him when he goes wrong?”

  “I will.”

  “Is the man present?”

  “He is.”

  “Let the man stand forth.” Lestar looked at Aram.

  Aram stepped forward, instinctively stopping just short of Lestar’s position on the dais.

  Lestar turned back to Ka’en.

  “Identify your choice of a husband, my lady.”

  Ka’en reached out and laid her right hand on Aram’s heart. He could feel her fingers trembling through the fabric of his shirt.

  “His name is Aram, surnamed Adamantum by Durlrang of the wolf people; he is the son of Clif, of the line of Joktan the ancient King.”

  Aram was surprised to hear her grant him a second name, and even more surprised by her choice. Adamantum. Stronger than death.

  Lestar turned to Aram. “Do you accept the burden that our Princess lays upon your shoulders and places into your heart?”

  Aram swallowed at the sudden dryness in his throat. “I do.”

  “Will you defend this land and its people?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you endeavor always to guide this people into prosperity and peace?”

  Aram nodded firmly in answer to this, feeling abruptly overwhelmed by the unexpected solemnity of the occasion and of Lestar’s words. “I will.”

  “Do you love the Lady Ka’en, Lord Aram?”

  “I do.”

  “And do you love this land as you love its Princess?”

  Aram met Lestar’s eyes. “I do.”

  Lestar smiled and unfolded the dark green cloth in his right hand. He reached up and draped it over Aram’s left shoulder. Then he pointed between them, out at the crowd. “Face the people, my lord and my lady, if you please.”

  When Aram and Ka’en had complied, she slipping her hand from his heart to entwine her fingers with his, Lestar stepped around Ka’en and faced the crowd also.

  “By direction of Lancer, now High Chancellor, I present Princess Ka’en and Prince Aram of Wallensia.”

  The people roared. Aram heard Mallet’s cheers ring above the rest.

  As the cheers gradually died away, music rose, and Ka’en pulled on his hand, leading him down the front steps of the dais and out into the center of the parade ground. He pulled back, looking down at her in chagrin.

  “But I don’t know how –”

  She put a tapered finger on his lips, and smiled. “There’s no big secret, my love; you just move your feet to the beat of the music.”

  Frowning back, he yet resisted. “You don’t know my feet, Ka’en. I don’t think they understand such things.”

  She persisted, moving out into the open space; he had to go with her, which he wanted to do anyway, or make a public scene, something he never desired. Releasing his right hand, she took his left hand in her right and then turned to face him, placing her free hand on his shoulder, after positioning his right hand at her waist.

  “Now, then,” she said brightly, “we just move together.”

  Complying as best he could, he nonetheless retained his frown. “I won’t be good at this.”

  “No one will care.”

  “I will.”

  She laughed. “And I won’t.”

  Gradually, his clumsy, uncertain shuffling gained a semblance of order, and he began to lose some of his self-consciousness as other couples joined in the dance. With her firm, slim body so near, moving next to his in time to the music; awareness of the others around him began to fade.

  Her eyes were soft, deep pools of liquid amber as she gazed up into his, and her lips, slightly parted from the exertion of dancing, glistened like red rose petals. Her breath brushed across his cheek, as cool as the gentle breeze of spring, and in a sudden, overwhelming flood, the realization came, swelling his heart.

  She’s mine.

  Following that thought, there came a feeling of utter astonishment.

  How did this happen? I’ve wanted it so badly, for so long – what did I do to deserve it?

  The melodies changed, and changed again; still they danced, lost in each other. After a while – it must have been hours, for the sun had gone and evening had settled over the meadow – it seemed as if the music came from far away; that the world in which they moved and swayed together had somehow become disconnected from the world of others. It was as if they danced in an evening that only they shared, beneath shy, discreet stars just now beginning to show in a deepening sky that looked down on just the two of them.

  Then, as Aram twirled her, a soft, golden glow fell on her features, startling him with the otherworldly effect it wrought on her beautiful face.

  He stopped, gazing at her in wonder.

  Behind him, a woman exclaimed, “Oh! Look at the moon!”

  And abruptly, they were both aware that they were not alone. He glanced around at the crowded parade ground, now lit by torches that surrounded the area. There were raucous shouts of laughter coming from the shadows to the side, the celebratory eruptions of happily drunken citizens, and smiling couples wheeled all around them. He met her eyes again.

  “Are you hungry?” She asked.

  “A little,” he admitted.

  She moved close, and spoke softly, almost shyly. “Let’s eat, then, and then go home.”

  He nodded, wanting her to himself, wanting the feeling to return that they were alone in the world. “Yes,” he agreed.

  A buffet, served up by the best cooks in the town, had been set up near the dais, and they moved in that direction. Lancer was there; he hugged Ka’en, and then to Aram’s astonishment, hugged his new son-in-law as well. Behind Lancer, rather suddenly, a line formed – not for the purpose of getting at the food, but for the expedient of bestowing best wishes on Wallensia’s new Prince and his bride.

  Woman after woman kissed Ka’en, and, with varying degrees of shyness and trepidation, Aram also. Man after man hugged Ka’en, or kissed her, and wrung Aram’s strong right arm until it went numb and felt as if it might very well remain in that state. Mallet, who had imbibed deeply of Goldie’s best whiskey, grabbed Ka’en and hugged. Aram was alarmed to see his new wife disappear into the folds of the huge man’s arms, and his alarm grew when Mallet turned and reached for him.

  The big man’s eyes shone with moisture as he embraced Aram. “I wish you much joy, my Prince!”

  Aram returned the embrace with familial pleasure. “Thank you, Mallet.”

  Eventually, they were allowed to eat, and then, as others broke into groups to partake also, and some couples went back to the dance, Aram and Ka’en found themselves alone in the shadows at the edge of the torchlight. He turned to face her, took her into his arms, and looked down into her eyes.

  “You said we should go home.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  He took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and turned toward the main street that led up through the town toward Lancer’s house. Behind them, the people dined and drank, and prepared to dance the night away; because for this one night, at least, the troubled darkness beyond the horizon would remain beyond the horizon. Ahead, the moon had risen into the sky, full and round, and seemed to gaze down upon them with satisfaction.

  At the house Ka’en led him aside, to the exterior stairs leading up. She did not turn aside at the first landing, toward her room, nor did she ascend to the third
level, to his room. Instead, she turned aside at the second level and led him along the veranda to the rear of the house, where double doors opened into an apartment which he had never entered.

  This room stretched across the whole back of the house and looked eastward, toward the dark, forest-covered hills above the valley, and the higher mountains beyond. Those hills and the mountains were featureless now, black against the huge, yellow disc of the moon, whose discreet light shone into the apartment through sheer curtains.

  There was a large bed along the interior wall opposite the window. As Aram secured the door, Ka’en went to stand beside this bed and stopped, with her back to him. He stood quietly, watching her, wondering what to do next, marveling at the richness of her dark hair, limned with moonlight, and the slender curve of her figure beneath her gown.

  Desire for her surged in him, but was hindered by another emotion.

  Uncertainty.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  Well, that wasn’t true. He knew what he wanted to do – he just didn’t know how to go about it. Suddenly, he was keenly and painfully aware of his barbaric, unsophisticated nature.

  Everything about the moment lay beyond the bounds of horizons with which he was familiar.

  This was not war, or battle; it was no sort of conflict at all, where he would be guided by experience and instinct. This was new country, and there was no map. He would have to depend on instinct alone.

  She still had not turned to face him, but he saw her shoulders rise and fall as she drew in quick, short breaths. It occurred to him, all at once, that she was nervous, too, at least as nervous as he was, maybe more so. In the instant that brought that realization, another emotion washed over and through him, mingling with desire, and took away the uncertainty.

  “I love you, Ka’en,” he said.

  She turned then, and her large dark eyes shone in the ambient moonlight.

  “I love you,” she answered softly.