“We have too many young men – or rather we do not have enough young women for the men that we have.’
Findaen suppressed a grin and nodded. “This is true.”
“We have enough problems; we don’t need those engendered by such a state.”
“What do you propose to do about it, my lord – or are you seeking my advice?”
Aram studied him. “Do you have any to give?”
Findaen leaned forward. “I’ve thought about those slave villages that you told of, on the fringes of the plains. Perhaps we could begin freeing those slaves, and bringing them eastward?”
“That we will do in time, and it’s something I intend to do on principle, but not now,” Aram answered, as he shook his head. “For doing so only increases the size of our immediate problem, it doesn’t solve it. Every one of those villages has a surplus of young men. No, I think we should turn our attention to Elam.”
“Elam?”
Aram nodded. “Almost daily, wagon trains go northward out of that land, carrying young women toward Manon’s tower, to enlarge his armies.”
An outraged gasp made its way around the table as the meaning of this statement struck home, but Aram ignored it, keeping his attention on Findaen.
“While I am gone, I want you and the captains to develop a strategy for attacking these trains, one at a time, and bringing those young women east. In so doing, we accomplish two worthy goals. We free them from horror, and we reduce our problem.”
Findaen nodded grimly, thinking about his own dear Ella, who, while in slavery at Stell, had somehow managed to escape this most horrible aspect of the grim lord’s designs. “We will apply ourselves diligently, my lord.”
A rising chorus of continuing outrage and suggestions engendered by that outrage arose around the table, but Aram held up a hand, bringing silence. “Talk this over while I’m gone,” he said. “You know my mind, and the issue requiring our attention. Make your plans, make them tight, try to foresee the difficulties of such an operation, and how they may be negated. We’ll move on those plans when I return.”
They discussed other topics, including the good weather, and opinions on how long it might continue, and then Arthrus enlightened them on how money was used at Durck and on what its approximate value was in relation to various goods. But even he, the most worldly among them, did not know where or how denominations of copper and silver money might be acquired in the quantities desired.
After the meeting ended, Aram called Nikolus and Timmon aside. “I want you both to ride with me after lunch,” he told the two men from Aniza. “There is a project I would have you design and build.”
After they had eaten, he took Ka’en with him as he and the two other men rode west across the plains toward Broad River. Two hours later, they sat on top of the hill overlooking the crossing by Dane’s old farm. Aram looked at Timmon.
“How would you build a fortress on this hill?”
Timmon looked around. The hilltop was broad and though it broke off steeply to the north and west; it was fairly gentle on the east and especially the south, even after it fell over and sloped toward the farm and the river. After a moment, he turned and looked northward, at the distant green hills.
“First, I’d have Nikolus here design it;” he told Aram. “I assume that’s why you brought him along. This hilltop is large enough, and level enough, to support a good-sized fortress.” He pivoted and pointed to the north. “There are good trees in those hills, and they’ll make good logs and lumber. We could cut them and trim them there and transport them here.”
“Can Arthrus make the tools you will need for this project?”
“Axes and hammers and nails?” Timmon nodded. “I’m sure he can – I’ll help him.”
Nikolus had dismounted and began to walk around the hilltop. Aram watched him for a moment and then turned back to Timmon. “How will you transport the logs from the hills to this spot?”
“That is a problem, in point of fact,” Timmon replied with a sour grimace. “There aren’t many carts in Derosa, and those are used by the farmers. They won’t need them after the harvest though, I guess.” He hesitated, causing Aram to look at him closely.
“What?”
Timmon sighed. “What I really need are wheels – not carts. To build a fort we need long logs, much longer than the few carts we have. That means we need to remove the wheels and axles from the carts – at least temporarily – and manufacture a longer vehicle for transporting the logs.”
Aram watched Nikolus pacing off distances with his long legs and thought of the slave carts trundling northward out of Elam, and of his intention to rescue their cargo. They might as well confiscate the carts, too, he realized. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you more carts and more wheels, Timmon. You go to work on designing the tools and the transport system, and anything else that you might need. Consult with Arthrus on these matters.”
Timmon was also watching Nikolus. He grinned. “He’s already sorting it out, you know.”
“Good – work with him, and have plans ready to present upon my return from the north,” Aram said, and he glanced around the broad, grass-covered hill, noting its command of the river and of the surrounding plains. “I want a large fortress here, large enough to house several hundred men, and I want it to be strong enough – and designed well enough – to resist a sizeable force.”
“I assure you, my lord, Nikolus and I will design it well, and build it strong.”
“Can it be finished by spring? There are plenty of young men with nothing to do –you’ll have all the labor you need through the winter, provided the weather cooperates.”
“If we can resolve the issues of transport and if the snow doesn’t get too deep – I think so, yes.”
On the far side of the hilltop, Nikolus had found a patch of bare earth and had knelt down and was drawing in the dirt. Aram watched him for a moment and then turned Thaniel’s head back toward town. “I leave tomorrow,” he told Timmon, “and I will be gone four or five days. Will you have something to show me when I return?”
“Yes.”
Aram nodded toward Nikolus. “I’ll leave the two of you with it, then, and I’ll see you in less than a week.”
Timmon raised his hand in salute. “Travel well, my lord.”
The following morning, Aram, Ka’en, Thaniel, Huram, Durlrang, Leorg and Shingka, and Florm and Ashal went northward up through the green hills toward his valley. Frost lay heavy, even beneath the trees, though the bright sun rising into a cloudless sky promised warmth for later in the day. The leaves of the trees were mostly brown now with just twinges of yellow and gold here and there, and most had fallen, creating a thick carpet upon the forest floor. Behind the saddles on Huram and Thaniel, Aram had packed their supplies. These included a small canvass shelter which Arthrus had contrived, blankets, and food for the journey.
They crossed the rivers and reached the town in the crook of the sinking river just after midday. Much had changed. When Aram had first seen this ancient place, it had consisted of tumbled down ruins, broken walls, and roofless houses. It was not the same town now at all. Walls had been repaired, roofs replaced, and streets and alleyways cleared of centuries of debris.
Oskus was threshing wheat on the smooth stones of an open courtyard near the edge of town. He laid down his tools and wiped at his brow when Aram and his companions approached.
“Welcome, my lord” Oskus said, removing his gloves, “welcome to River’s Bend.”
“River’s Bend? Is that what you have named this place?”
The stout man glanced around involuntarily before returning his gaze to Aram’s face. In that glance, Aram saw exhibited both pride of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. “If it pleases you, my lord.”
Aram smiled. “It does – a right and proper name. How are things?”
“Warm – for this time of year, or maybe I’m just fat,” Oskus grinned. “It was a good harvest, though; plenty of wheat and potatoes
, a good bit of fruit. And the men have gotten us pretty well supplied with firewood for winter. All in all, my lord, things are in hand. The only –” Oskus caught himself and looked away, across the fields, frowning.
Aram leaned forward in the saddle. “What is it, Oskus?”
“I hate to trouble you.”
“This valley and this town are my responsibility, Oskus. Trouble me.”
Oskus hesitated a moment longer before meeting Aram’s gaze. “Do you recall Flinneran, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“He’s acted strangely for some time now, and a few days ago he was bitten by a snake.”
“By a snake? Is he ill – does he live?”
“He does live, and he is not ill.” Oskus replied, and there was an odd undertone in his voice that matched the odd look upon his countenance. “In fact, he seems not to be troubled by it greatly, yet he stays in bed and will not work.” Oskus glanced away again, chewing at his lip. Then he looked at Aram. “And there’s another strange thing – he knew that you were coming here, or so he said. And he says that he won’t move from his hut until he speaks with you.”
Aram frowned at this. “Then let’s indulge him,” he said as he dismounted and helped Ka’en down from Huram’s back. He looked over at Thaniel. “We’ll return in a while.”
“We’ll enjoy the grass in the meantime, my lord.”
Oskus begged off accompanying them after pointing out Flinneran’s dwelling, expressing a wish to finish his threshing, but it seemed to Aram that there was more to his reluctance than a need to return to work.
Flinneran lay on a cot below a single open window in the back room of a small rectangular house on the west side of town, one leg elevated, the pant leg pulled up to the knee, exposing the flesh. Aram didn’t know what to expect with a snake bite, but other than two tiny pink spots where the fangs had penetrated, the leg looked fine, with no discernible redness or swelling. Flinneran’s eyes were open, gazing up at the ceiling. They moved when Aram entered the room.
“I finally remembered you.” Flinneran said without preamble.
“Indeed?”
“You were in the wagon when we were brought across the plains, opposite me, by the door.”
“Yes.”
“No denial, my lord?”
Aram ignored the insolent tone. “Why would I deny it?”
Flinneran spread his hands wide, even as his eyes narrowed. “Because you are this great thing now – this lord of men.” His gaze rested for a moment on Ka’en, standing behind. “What would your subjects think if they knew the truth – that you are nothing more than an escaped slave?”
Aram felt the flash of irritation but tamped it down, as he thought of those things that Leorg had imparted to him about Flinneran’s odd behavior of the last several weeks. Was the man troubled in his mind? Had the conditions of his life finally broken him, or was he simply envious of the divergence of their two lives? Or perhaps there was something more sinister at work. If so, whatever it was, it begged discovery. Aram watched him for a moment, trying to gauge him, but though Flinneran’s features were unquestionably tinged with bitterness, his gaze met Aram’s openly. After a moment, Aram shrugged.
“I have no subjects. And everyone knows my history, Flinneran, even you, now that you’ve remembered. It’s a small matter. Is this why you wished to see me?”
“What happened to Decius?”
The flash was of anger this time, not at the content of the question but at the insolence with which it was delivered. Again, he tamped it down.
“Decius died, killed by wolves.”
“A lot of people die near you.”
“They do, indeed – enemies, mostly.” Aram had heard enough. “Sit up.”
“Sit up?” Flinneran waved a hand at his elevated leg. “But what of my leg, my lord.”
“It looks fine. Sit up – and tell me what’s really on your mind.”
The man sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and looked up into Aram’s eyes. “Nothing’s on my mind. I just wanted you to know that I know who you are.”
Aram waited for a moment but Flinneran shut his mouth and appeared to have nothing further to say on the matter. Aram nodded. “Fine – you know who I am. I understand that you spend a good deal of time walking the wilds?”
“Is that forbidden?” Again, the words dripped with insolence.
“No, but I wonder if you’re doing your share here in this town?”
“Town – this collection of tumble-down shacks?” Flinneran’s eyes widened in mock horror, and then his face twisted with sarcasm as he nodded toward the window. “I hear there’s a very fine city just over there, next to the mountain. I wonder why we can’t live there?” His eyes narrowed. “And what’s this about my share? Is there a quota, like there was – before?”
“No,” Aram answered, once again tamping down rising anger at the man’s implication, “of course there is no quota. You are all free. But if you are slack in improving your situation in life, you place yourself at the mercy of other people’s kindness. Is this wise, you think?”
“Maybe I’ll become a lord, like you.”
Aram sighed and turned away. He’d had enough of the man’s pettiness and insolence, and there seemed to be no intelligence to be gained, other than the obvious fact that Flinneran was bitter in his circumstances. “Do that if you can, Flinneran, but you will have to do so on lands other than these. Whether you approve of it or not, these lands are mine.” He glanced back before going out. “Is there anything else?”
Flinneran did not rise but sat gazing up at Aram. As the moments passed, his features became gradually calm and expressionless, as if they had hardened into a mask. He did not speak again.
“Fine,” Aram said, “then I’ll go. Be careful walking the wilds – there are other dangers besides serpents.” He led Ka’en out through the door into the roadway without waiting for an answer. As they passed out of the town into the fields, Aram stopped and looked around making sure no one was nearby.
He met Ka’en’s eyes. “What should I make of that?” He asked.
Ka’en gazed back toward the street containing Flinneran’s dwelling. “Is he jealous of you because of the different paths your lives have taken?” She asked in reply. “He seems eaten up with bitterness.”
“Those were my thoughts,” he agreed. “But is there more to it than that?”
She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know, nor can I imagine what it would be if there were.”
“I can imagine many things, but most don’t make much sense. Maybe he just thinks his life ought to be larger – if he does, he ought to try and make it so.” He glanced back toward town once more and then turned toward the grazing horses. “We’ll have the wolves watch him and maybe we’ll learn if there is more to him than just a sullen disposition.”
They decided to stay that night in the house inside his city that Ka’en had chosen and then go over the mountains in the morning. Ka’en went out through the abandoned garden to stand at the railing while Aram went down among the trees along the avenue and gathered wood for their fire. Cree was overjoyed to see Ka’en and came down out of the sky to sit near her and talk as the evening fell in the valley. The horses grazed and the wolves, except for Durlrang, who never left Aram except to hunt, went into the hills to the north to visit with their own kind.
Aram moved enough wood into the house in the city that he might keep one room warm through the night and then he moved his old bed down from the room below the tower. After sundown, he started a fire off to one side of the avenue, near the orchard, and prepared supper for the two of them. Durlrang faded into the darkness in order to find something to eat, and Leorg and Shingka returned, accompanied by Gorfang, who went immediately to Ka’en and bowed his head over to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and drew one hand gently along the side of the rangy wolf’s neck. He gazed at her for a long moment and then lay down near her, watch
ing her face as she talked with Aram. The twilight deepened and became night. Eventually, Aram and Ka’en bid goodnight to the others and went up through the city to the house that, according to her wishes, and if future events complied, would one day be their permanent home.
In the morning, Aram, Ka’en, Thaniel, Huram, Durlrang, Florm, and Ashal crossed the river and went up into the hills to the east. Leorg, Shingka, and Gorfang accompanied them as far as the river and then turned back to the north, fading into the hills. The morning, though cloudless, was quite cool, especially in the deep shade of the pines. It grew cooler as they climbed despite the ascent of the sun toward midday and when they came out above the timberline between the peaks and up through the high pass, there was a skiff of snow on the bare, open rock. Here, where the mountain tipped over and fell away and the view to the east opened up before them they stopped, and Aram looked over at Ka’en, watching her expression as she gazed out upon the broad rolling vistas of the high plains.
Her wide eyes swept slowly over the country, from the terribly high snow-draped crags in the north all the way southward to where some gentler – but still impressive peaks – marked the limits of the high plains in the south.
“Lovely,” she said. “Marvelous – and so big. And still green though it is near winter.” Her eyes narrowed as she peered eastward. “Aram – the Inland Sea? I cannot see it.”
He laughed. “It’s far to the east, more than two hundred miles away. I’m sorry, my love; I doubt we’ll have time for such a journey this time. But we will go there when we return on another occasion, I promise.” He looked down at Thaniel. “We should go on.”
They made good time, descending through the majestic fir trees, coming down onto the high plains and into the pleasant warmth of an autumn afternoon. Aram turned the party slightly south of due east, toward the ridges above the central stream that ran eastward north of Rigar Pyrannis. As they went, every so often, he sent his thoughts out across the plains, seeking Joktan. Toward evening, he received his answer.
Come to my place, Aram; I’ll meet you there.
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 13