Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  The horses picked up the pace, and near sunset they reached the area of troubled ground where the ancient battle had been fought and found the circular, pitted meadow where Aram had camped in the early spring. The horses had become skittish as they entered the ancient battlefield and remained so, especially Florm, who had not walked this ground since that day when his father and brothers were slaughtered upon it, so long ago. Durlrang, however, seemed unaffected.

  Aram unpacked their things from Huram and Thaniel and then gathered wood for a fire while the horses milled about uneasily, and Durlrang went into the evening to find supper, and perhaps make contact with some of his people, who still inhabited this region. As Aram knelt down to put flint and flame to the wood he’d gathered and stacked in the pit, he heard Ka’en gasp. He looked up.

  Joktan, the ancient king of men, had appeared, sitting in his usual place beyond the pit, his hood drawn back, and a slight smile upon his face. He met Aram’s gaze and then his face turned toward Ka’en, and the steel-gray eyes frankly examined this woman, the newest member of his ancient family.

  17

  Aram returned the king’s smile gladly, feeling a stirring in him like that which accompanies a homecoming and the long-desired sight of a familial figure. “Hello, my lord.”

  Joktan nodded in reply, watching Ka’en. “I’ve never seen her face this clearly, Aram. She is beautiful, beautiful indeed. Welcome to our family, my child.”

  Ka’en had not recovered from the shock of seeing a dead man appearing out of the mists of night and could only nod her head, one hand upon her breast, and the other covering her mouth. Joktan laughed. “My presence had a similar effect upon your husband when first we met, too.”

  Ka’en gasped again, quietly, and found her voice. “I meant no offense, my lord – but – it was startling.”

  “There is no offense, child.” The horses had drawn near and Joktan turned from her and looked up. He studied Florm for a long moment. “I saw Boram once when I was a boy, bearing Arphaxad the Great, out on the avenue before Regamun Mediar. I never noticed it before, but you look very like your grandfather, young Florm.”

  Florm’s great eyes were wide, reflecting the mounting flames of the fire as the evening faded to night. “I cannot express, my king, what a joy it is to see you and to hear your voice.”

  Joktan winced visibly. “I wish there was more joy to be found in meeting in these times, my friend, but I am afraid that the circumstances are very similar to those when last we talked.”

  “True, my lord.” Florm glanced at Aram, and at the sword rising above his shoulder. “But if you will forgive the impertinence, there is also a hope now that we did not possess then.”

  Joktan laughed again. “Impertinence? Do not be so deferential, Lord Florm. You are as old, nearly, as I am, now – in relative terms – and have done much to bring hope to our current situation, especially in helping our Aram to embrace his destiny. Is this your queen?”

  Florm nudged Ashal forward, out of the shadows. “This is the Lady Ashal, my lord; she is my mate.”

  Joktan inclined his head for a moment. “And she is beautiful as well.” His gaze moved on, acknowledged Huram, and settled on Thaniel. “And the warrior is here, too. Hello, Thaniel, the brave – you are well met. You saved Aram from the lashers on the road. I was there, and though I cannot see much at that great distance, I know what you did, and I am grateful for the life of my son.”

  Thaniel lowered his head and shifted his great frame, uncomfortable with the praise and the attention focused on him. “I did what was needed, my lord,” he answered stolidly.

  Joktan smiled. “Indeed; how modest you are. You remind me of Armon in more ways than one.” He returned his attention to Aram. “Welcome back to my fire,” he said, and he grinned broadly. “And thanks for building it once again.”

  “It’s very good to see you, my lord.”

  Joktan held his hands out for a moment to the flames, and then dropped them to his lap and looked at Aram. “So, you wanted my counsel?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you bring wine?”

  “Yes, my lord – I remembered.”

  Joktan licked his lips. “Pour a glass then, and ask away.”

  Aram retrieved the flask from his pack and tipped the deeply red liquid into a pewter cup, apologizing to Joktan as he handed it across. “I was afraid glass might not survive the trip – and there’s not much of it around these days.”

  Joktan put his nose into the cup and breathed deeply, and then he put it to his mouth, closed his eyes in delight, and drank. Without opening his eyes, head back, he swallowed. “Ah, I had forgotten what a delight is the fruit of the vine.” He drank again, savoring the remembered pleasure, and then, finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Aram. “So, what brings you to me?”

  “Where might I acquire silver and copper?” Aram asked without preamble. “Or coin made of those metals, if possible?”

  Joktan laughed. “It’s difficult to spend only monarchs, isn’t it? I thought that this matter might arise.” He sipped at his cup and shook his head. “Coins? I don’t know where coinage would be found in abundance now except for Elam. There is, however, a land to the south of Derosa, beyond the mountains, on the sea. It is called the land of Lamont. Long ago, in my time, these metals were discovered in abundance, at the base of a tall mountain a hundred miles or so north of the sea. A sizeable mining camp grew up, and I caused a road to be built to it, and then from the camp to the sea so that the metals, once extracted, could be transported to cities in the west, and converted to coinage.”

  He laughed shortly. “I was well known there once. In my honor, and in gratitude for the building of the road, the miners built a statue at the entrance to the largest mine that bore my name – and a reasonable similarity to my actual appearance. Both silver and copper were produced in that land, in substantial quantities, and a bit of gold as well. As the camp grew, some of the more clever men abandoned the underground life and built a facility for minting coin locally. There were other places in the world that provided these metals but none with the quantity and quality of Lamont.”

  “Are there people still there, working the mines?” Aram asked.

  The old king shrugged. “I cannot say. Our people – at least the most able of them – were recalled from all parts of the world when the war with Manon broke out and things grew desperate. Some may have stayed, but not many; most came home to defend their families. Elam is far off, and Seneca, to the east, was ravaged. As to what has occurred over the intervening years, I cannot say. Perhaps a few hardy souls have wandered there and discovered the mines. If not, they are there for the taking.”

  “How do I reach this land?”

  “The road that I caused to be built leads to the east, below the mountains, from the junction above the town of Durck. You saw this road when you traveled there. Remember the crossroads in the valley leading toward the sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn east at the crossroads; Lamont is but two days to the east by horse. Find the high mountain with two tops at the north of that land. Search along its base and you’ll find your silver and copper. If there are miners there now – who knows? They might even mint your coin – there was a facility to provide such a service long ago. If not,” he grinned at Aram, “then you will have to learn yet another skill. I doubt that you will find it beyond your abilities.”

  “So there is no one in that land?”

  Joktan shook his head and sipped his wine. “I have not been down that way in thousands of years – there has been no reason to do so.” He shrugged, and a shadow crossed his face. “For all I know, that land is empty now, Aram. You will probably have to mine your own metals.” He thought a moment, and then brightened. “I will go ahead of you, and see what is there, now, if anything. Maybe there was a remnant that remained of our miners, and they managed to survive the troubles that afflicted so much of the rest of the world – Lamont is a bit out of the way,
after all.”

  “If there are people that remain,” asked Aram, “and they yet mine metals, will one bag of monarchs suffice to purchase that which I need?”

  Joktan laughed in reply. “Have you not discerned by now the true value of your inheritance? One bag will more than suffice.”

  “Does the old road go on into Seneca after Lamont, or must that land be accessed from Kelven’s mountain?”

  “No, the road goes on – or used to. As I stated, I ordered the building of that road myself, extending it eastward from Lamont, across the wilderness and into Seneca, in order to bring our allies and friends closer to us.” Joktan studied Aram a moment. “You intend to go into Seneca?”

  “They fought alongside you, against Manon, long ago. Perhaps they will fight with me now.”

  “It is true that they stood with us against Manon,” Joktan agreed. “But I know nothing of the disposition of that land now. Lashers ravaged the people into near annihilation, so Kelven says. The Senecans may not even remember their history,” he shrugged, “or they may not exist. There might be only scattered bands of savages in that great forest now.”

  Aram felt a pang of disappointment. “You think it a waste of time?”

  Joktan sipped his wine, thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, actually, I don’t. You need allies, Aram, wherever you can find them. And you can probably enter Seneca and get back inside of the winter – depending upon the condition of the road.”

  “What about Duridia?”

  “Ah, now there I can give you good counsel,” said the ancient king. “You should certainly go into Duridia. The Duridians are near cousins to Lady Ka’en’s people and are – to my limited knowledge – the only truly free people left in the world. They are fiercely independent as well; more importantly, they remember the dark age of the earth, and by whose hand that age came.”

  He held his cup out for a refill, and then leaned forward. His brow became furrowed and his eyes darkened with hard memory. “Before I offer you of my limited knowledge of the current state of things, I want to impart something to you that will help you understand and may serve to guide you as you journey among strangers.” He sat back and sipped the cup. “I want to tell you of our history, of how the world came to be as it is. I will be as concise as possible.”

  Looking down at the fire, he gazed into the flames for a long moment and then began to speak.

  “It is important that you understand the extent of the calamity that Manon brought upon our people. First, in the days of my father, Peleg, he engendered the great civil war that slew thousands and destroyed whole cities. Then, after the war ended and peace was made, when he came to understand that I would not treat with him, he himself made war upon the whole of the world.” His gray eyes moved upward and stared hard into Aram’s. “You must understand this – he did not go to war with me alone, but with all of humanity. It was his intention to either enslave or destroy us all.

  “I told you once that lashers had not been seen before this time. We knew then, why it was that nothing came out of Bracken. Long before Manon released these demons upon the world; the people of that land had fallen into horror – into slavery, and foul usage in the creation of his terrible armies.”

  The hardness abruptly left the old king’s eyes and they grew sad. “He destroyed the plains, you know. Once, there were great cities there, surrounded by vast farmlands that were, by and large, the producers of food for the world. But Manon obliterated everything on those broad plains. And you’ve seen with your own eyes what he did to Vallenvale.

  “Here’s the important thing, Aram – all the world in those days answered to the throne at Regamun Mediar, even those with a measure of autonomy – Vergon, Elam, Vallenvale, and Seneca. Only the city of Panax, probably the greatest city outside the capitol in those days, had made the decision to ignore official writ, but before I could deal with them, Manon fell upon us and the war consumed everything.”

  Joktan sighed. “Except for Elam and Vergon, which were little more than distant outposts of civilization in those days, and Seneca, which was something far greater, humanity gradually concentrated toward the capitol, especially as our losses mounted. By the time we abandoned the valley of the kings for the high plains, more than half the race lay dead or was enslaved.

  “When Manon and his armies appeared upon the high plains, every able-bodied man and boy – and not a few women – came out to meet him.” The king glanced involuntarily out along the darkening ridge top. “They are here yet.”

  His eyes hardened again. “After the slaughter that occurred here, and later in Seneca, our people were effectively reduced to women, children, the elderly, and the infirm. Except for those small outposts in Vergon and Elam, and perhaps a few scattered tribes, humanity had nearly vanished from the earth.”

  Aram stared at him in astonishment. “I did not know it had ever come as close as that. Elam is so great now, that I thought –”

  Joktan nodded. “It is, now, and it’s had ten millennia to become so, and until lately, before the return of Manon’s potency, Elam was largely untroubled. But at the time of the great war, Elam was little more than a few ports of trade along the fringes of the southern ocean. Well off, yes, but not nearly so wealthy, or so great in number as now.”

  Aram shook his head in wonder. “So – how did our people survive?”

  “There were times,” Joktan answered solemnly as he gazed into the heart of the flames, “especially during the first several hundred – nay, several thousand – years, when I feared that they might not, in fact, survive. Oh, I knew that there were people far to the southwest, in Elam and Vergon, but they struggled with their own issues of survival. Disease and hunger, especially with the loss of the produce of the great plains, ran rampant across the face of the earth. For many generations, the future of the remnant of Regamun Mediar – indeed, of the whole of the race – was very much in doubt.

  “There were strong woman in those scattered bands, but no men, except for the very old and the very young. Because of the state of things, there were no tools for working the ground, no shelter, no extra clothing. They scattered from the high plains in terror, without preparation or the means to carry supplies. Sickness, starvation, extremes of weather – over the years, they all took their toll. Many times, generation after generation, it appeared that not enough children would grow to maturity to continue the race. And life spans began to plummet then, yet another difficulty added to the sum.

  “They scattered far and wide and had no means of communicating with each other, or with the surviving outposts in Elam and Vergon. I’m certain that most of those small tribes thought themselves utterly alone, the last people on earth.”

  He looked up and his features softened as he studied Aram’s face. “You will understand that I especially worried over my own small family, out on the plains.” He smiled slightly. “It was a miracle, a blessing from the Maker, but there was always a child, and somehow that child always survived – all the way across the centuries, to you.”

  The king’s narrative engendered strong emotions in Aram, for he had not known the perilous state of humanity’s history. When he glanced over at Ka’en, her eyes were moist, and streaks of tears on her face reflected the light of the fire. He pulled her close and looked back at Joktan.

  “When were Wallensia and Duridia established then, my lord?”

  “Strangely enough,” Joktan answered, “I knew Wallen – both of them, actually, for there are two men of that name in the history of the southern plains. The first was a teacher in Rigar Pyrannis. Because of his great age, he left with the refugees while the battle raged and came southward, across the hills into the southern plains. Because he and his companions, mostly women and children, feared pursuit by the enemy’s beasts, they crossed the river and went west into the forests north of Panax, which was by this time abandoned.

  “He was evidently still quite virile, and believed – rightly so – that the race was in mo
rtal peril, for he took a young wife and fathered several children by her. Surviving her, he took yet another wife after her death and added to his already impressive family. During this time, he compiled a written history, which became known as the Book of Wallen, and taught every one of his children to read, and made them vow to continue the practice of literacy through every generation.

  “He obviously came to believe that his small band was the last remnant and that if humanity survived then future generations had a right to know what had been wrought in earlier times.” Joktan smiled again. “The one thing he got wrong in his book was that I prevailed against the grim lord even in the hour of slaughter. I suppose it was natural for him to think it, because there was no pursuit by Manon’s beasts. When no word at all came from the north, either from me, or in the form of Manon’s army, Wallen assumed that though we had fallen, Manon must have fallen, too. The world had grown unquestionably harsher, but at least there was peace, and he mistakenly attributed this to me.”

  He laughed a small laugh. “One thing more – he began to call me the ‘father of the race’, perhaps because he didn’t want that title attached to himself, though at the time, he was busily, and rightfully, earning it.”

  Joktan finished his wine, and waved off Aram’s offer of a refill. “Three thousand years ago, there was another Wallen, descended from the first, and inheritor of the now-ancient book. This Wallen brought his tribe – larger now, and more secure, eastward out of the forests to establish a settlement at Stell.” He looked at Ka’en. “You and your family are descended from that tribe, my lady.”

  He looked down at his cup, pondered it a moment and then held it out. “Perhaps another few drops.”

  After another sip, he continued. “Stell prospered, and became an anchor of sorts for the early settlers of these plains. Others came out of the wilderness to attach themselves to its people, while others went out from it, to establish new outposts. One of these was a man named Durid. He crossed through the hills to the east and discovered a broad, wide valley, leading down to the sea, where he founded his own principality, as it were. Being from Stell, part of Wallen’s tribe, he and his descendents naturally maintained close ties, even as, over time, they became a separate people. They remain there until this day – and free, as far as I know.”