Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  He drew in a deep breath, and blew it out. Then he looked around at the company and grinned. “I have not talked that much in ages.” Abruptly, the grin disappeared and he blinked and turned his gaze downward into the flames. “It’s been a very long time.”

  Ka’en reached across silently and touched him on the sleeve, at which gesture the old king’s eyes welled with moisture.

  Observing this moment, Aram hated to press him, but Joktan appeared to be content to say nothing further.

  “My lord – you know nothing of Lamont?”

  Joktan shook his head. “I’m sorry, my son, but if people have found their way there across the years, or if there were miners that remained and survived, I am not aware of it. As I promised, though, I will go before you and discover what I can.”

  Aram nodded his thanks and turned his gaze downward to watch the fire eat away at the wood, going silent. He was satisfied with that which he’d been told, for now he had a clearer idea of how he would use the winter.

  After a while, Joktan looked up and studied him for a moment. “Is this all you required of me?”

  Aram nodded. “It may seem little to you, my lord, but it is much to me.”

  “Then there are things on my mind, as well.”

  Aram sat up straight, squared his shoulders and gazed across the fire expectantly.

  Joktan moved his eyes to Ka’en. “Some of it will be difficult to hear.”

  “She is princess of her people, and as strong as anyone,” Aram replied, seeing the king’s look; and he reached for Ka’en’s hand. “She can hear it.”

  Joktan hesitated and then gave Aram a reproachful look, though it was accompanied by a slight grin. “I understand that you lost my good sword – in the River Broad, where it is unlikely ever to be recovered.”

  “That was yours, my lord? I thought it might have been.” Aram shook his head in apology. “I am sorry – it was my favorite as well. It was easy to wield and yet so strong.”

  Joktan nodded. “It was forged long ago for Arphaxad the Great – from metal that fell from the sky.”

  “From the sky?”

  “In the early years of his reign. There is no steel on earth like unto it – as you say, so light and strong. Oh, well,” Joktan continued, his grin broadening as he winked at Ka’en. “It’s what I gain for leaving it behind when we came here to the high plains. I should have known what would happen to a prized possession left unattended.”

  His grin faded as he stared into the flames, and he went silent for several minutes before raising his gaze again to Aram’s face. “Things have gotten much more dangerous for you since Burning Mountain,” he said.

  “I know this, my lord.”

  “I understand that you intend to attack his slave trains?”

  “I do.”

  Joktan nodded. “As a tactical move, it makes sense, and I understand your people’s need for women. But Manon will send forces south now, for he needs the produce of those trains more than ever. He may even assault Derosa again, though I doubt it. Rather, I think that he will force Elam to move against you, and that is a serious issue, for there is power in that land – many people, and mighty armies.” He met Aram’s eyes. “And if it came to it, I doubt that you could do that thing again which saved you on the mountain.”

  “It will not be allowed, I’m certain,” agreed Aram. “Nor would I wish to attempt it a second time.’

  Joktan watched him and then let his gaze sweep around the small group, from Ka’en to Durlrang, and over the four horses. All of those present were intent on the conversation. “I believe that your actions – and the attendant loss of much of his army – have engendered a measure of fear in our enemy’s heart. Perhaps this will make him more cautious, and buy you time. But it may make him rash. You need the allies of which we spoke, and you need them quickly.”

  Aram acquiesced to this with silence.

  “You have a thousand men, perhaps?” Joktan asked.

  Aram nodded.

  The king sighed deeply. “The grim lord has a hundred thousand at his disposal, even after Burning Mountain, and Elam can easily match that number, multiplying your foes by a factor of two or more. Manon will not send all that he has against you, nor will Elam. But you are greatly outnumbered, no matter what size the armies that are eventually arrayed against you.”

  “I know, my lord.”

  Ka’en had listened to this exchange with widening eyes. “But Aram has the sword now, and Kelven’s gift –”

  “Gift?” Joktan cut her off. “Gift?”

  Ka’en was taken aback by his vehemence, but Joktan was suddenly in no mood for gentle words. He laughed harshly. “That was no gift, girl, I assure you. Oh, I’ve no doubt that Aram has not told you much of the matter – if any, but it was no gift. Your husband grasped that weapon, my lady, while surrounded by storms of fire, like those that are reputed to rage in hell, and drew it forth with his own strength. There are few men, indeed – nay, none, that could have gone into that place and drawn the sword from its matrix.”

  Ka’en’s eyes widened further and she turned to stare at Aram. The horses leaned in as it became apparent that a great secret was about to be revealed.

  Still looking at Ka’en, Joktan indicated Aram with a sweep of his hand. “I know that this man does not lightly speak of his own deeds, so I will tell you in his stead.”

  “My lord –”

  “No, Aram,” Joktan cut off his protestations, “these people, at least, should know that of which their leader is capable.” His gaze swept the group. “It was a deed fit to be accomplished by a god – ha!” This expletive came out harsh, and dismissive. “I think that few even of their number could have done it, maybe none. What this man did – what he accomplished – is spoken of with respect in certain places – high places. He went willingly into that fearsome region of flame and tempest and came forth alive. He had aid in reaching the place where the sword resided, it is true, but the rest was done by him. And when he returned, the weapon was in his own hand; it was drawn forth by no other.” He looked directly at Aram then. “Only the strongest could gain it, and only the hand that gained it can wield it, ever.”

  He continued to gaze at Aram for a long moment, and there was an odd, proud look on the face of the ancient king. Then he turned back to Ka’en; and his tone softened, the vehemence died away. “You are right, my lady, in that it is a great advantage that your husband possesses this thing. But with the vast numbers arrayed against us, even that is not enough. We must have allies. He cannot win this fight alone.”

  Ka’en, astonishment on her face, met the king’s eyes, and then turned her head and with the others gazed at Aram, who looked stubbornly into the fire. Of them all, only Thaniel and Durlrang seemed unaffected by Joktan’s words. They had so often been witness to Aram’s powers that they needed no affirmation of his strength and courage.

  Finally, after a long silence, Aram looked up, glanced around and decided that, as secrets were being laid bare, and that everyone in this company could be trusted implicitly, there was yet another thing to discuss. He drew in a deep breath and looked at Joktan.

  “Something flew over us in the night, my lord, in a ravine west of Burning Mountain. Something large and terrible.” He ignored the abrupt increase in tension around the campfire and focused on Joktan’s face, over which there passed a shadow, as of a secret fear confirmed. “It was a creature of some kind, and it was enormous. It smelled of death, it roared like a thousand storms, and it darkened the mind. There were two. Have you ever witnessed such a thing?”

  “Two? There were two? The Maker help us.” Joktan blanched and drew in a sharp breath, even as he shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen it – but I think I know what it – what they are. If so, it is an enemy almost as potent as Manon.” He drained his glass, breathed in a deep, calming breath, lowered his gaze into the fire, and thought for a moment. Then he shook his head slowly. “Nay, more potent than Manon,” he corrected himself.
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  More potent than Manon? Stunned, Aram watched Joktan and waited. The dead king’s face looked very dead indeed in that moment, thin, pale, and emaciated, like skin stretched over a skull.

  Joktan glanced involuntarily out into the deep night that had fallen over the high plains, as if suddenly afraid of that which might appear from its thickening shadow. “If they are what I believe them to be, it is a matter far worse than merely dangerous – if these creatures serve Manon, and it seems likely because of the great mist that preceded the battle – and if he unleashes them…”

  He trailed off, the muscles of his face working, and then he looked back at Aram with widened eyes. Deep inside those steely orbs, terror flickered. “If they are dragons – and I believe them to be – then you will have dire need of that sword and a thousand more like it.”

  Aram frowned. “Dragons?”

  “Ancient beasts. I know not from whence they came – it is said that they were conjured by Aberanezagoth long ago, in the deeps of time. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard the tales. In ancient times, in the world before ours, they came forth and wreaked havoc across the face of the earth, and even among the ranks of the gods themselves.”

  “How were they defeated?”

  Joktan shook his head. “They were not defeated, only contained, and not by the gods. The Astra subdued them and imprisoned them deep in the earth, causing them to sleep, until their mystery could be resolved.” He shrugged, but the movement became a shudder. “Perhaps the Maker forgot about them, or thought them secure, and in need of no further disposal.” He looked again out into the blackness. “If they have been released from their prison and now move over the face of the earth – whether they answer to Manon or no – then the world has grown dark indeed. Dark – and in danger of utter ruin. Even the grim lord, despite his great power – and whatever hold he maintains upon them for the moment – will not prevent them for long.”

  As the king talked, Aram felt a chill take root in his soul, and Ka’en moved close to him, slipping her arm through his. The horses crowded nearer the fire and Durlrang edged up until his nose pressed into Aram’s shoulder.

  Aram raised his voice, though he knew it to be unnecessary, and let his words ring into the night. “Then the Astra will have to help us now.”

  Joktan glanced involuntarily from Aram’s left shoulder to his right and then gazed down into the fire. “You know as well as I that they will act only if they are ordered to do so or if it pleases them,” he answered, quietly. “Their actions are far outside our jurisdiction or influence.”

  Aram went silent, thinking of the terrible night in the ravine, and the feeling of utter helplessness in the face of the unseen terrors flying overhead. It was bad enough that thousands of lashers and gray men stood between him and a meeting with Manon. If he must face unfathomable demons as well –?

  Joktan held out his cup. “Is there more of that wine?”

  They sat in silence then, with the dark, massive forms of the horses crowding close, and Ka’en and Durlrang leaning against Aram. For his part, Joktan seemed deep in troubled thought, occasionally moving his lips as he gazed into the embers, as if he conversed with someone unseen. After a while, Aram set up the tent Arthrus had provided, and replenished the fire. No one seemed able to get far from its bright, comforting influence. The night, usually so calm and peaceful on the high plains, seemed now to be filled with terror, and with loathsome, incomprehensible dangers.

  Eventually, Joktan uttered a cursory “good night” and faded into the earth, his features still set in lines of worry. Aram gathered more wood and positioned the tent so that the heat from the flames warmed its interior. The horses and Durlrang settled down as near the fire as they dared and despite the unsettling nature of the evening’s conversations, succumbed to the need for sleep.

  In the morning, Joktan took his leave, intending to go into the south and see to the situation in Lamont, while Aram and the others went toward Rigar Pyrannis. He would have liked to show Ka’en the city and especially the great pyramid at its center, but the morning was crisp, almost cold, and the day promised to be cool. The water at the bottom of the gorge would be icy, and getting wet on a day like today would invite illness. Adventure would have to wait for another time.

  At the city, Aram left Ka’en with the others and went into the jungle to retrieve four of the nine bags of monarchs he had stored there in the spring. These he tied across the fronts of Thaniel’s and Huram’s saddles, and they turned west, leaving the plains, climbing into the dark forests, up and over the pass, toward home. After spending one more night in Aram’s city, they gathered Leorg and Shingka, and took their leave of Gorfang. Aram would have liked to see Borlus and his family – a sentiment shared by Ka’en – but autumn was fading, and there was much to do.

  18

  Rahm Imrid, High Prince of Elam, sat on his throne and gazed with barely disguised distaste at Hurack Soroba, emissary of Manon the Great, the “god” who dwelled in the north and named himself Lord of the World.

  The High Prince’s own name was very similar to that of Ram, the First Man, and he liked to think that in disposition, wisdom, and power, the similarity went much deeper and further than just that of a shared name.

  For his part, Soroba returned the feeling of disdain, and he didn’t put much effort into disguise. His master was more powerful than this fine prince – despite the grandeur and size and population of the realm he governed – and he himself did not fear him. Forty lashers, champions all, stood behind him. Though Rahm Imrid surrounded himself with dozens of prettily dressed guards with shining helms and polished swords, there was no question, if it came to a test of real strength, but that the champions would clear the room easily, while leaving Soroba untouched. He looked up and met the Prince’s gaze.

  “Are you not yet an ally of my great lord?”

  Rahm allowed his scowl to deepen. He, too, knew the true nature of the disposition of power in the room. But he also knew that, outside the hall, there were five thousand of the most highly trained troops in all the land. The tricky part, of course, if it came to it, was for himself to stay alive and out of reach of the ensuing carnage. And that would be a tricky thing indeed, for during each of his occasional visits to the principality, Soroba never let the enormous lashers that accompanied him get very far away, insisting always, much to Rahm’s disgust and dismay, that they enter the great hall itself.

  Rahm did not dare, at least for the moment, deny this irritating – and potentially dangerous – demand. More must be learned of Soroba’s master, of the true reach of his power and the real nature of his intentions.

  Imrid did not regret many of his bargains, the decade-long accumulation of which had served to elevate him to – and maintain him in – his current exalted position. He was the High Prince of Elam, the Protector of Vergon and Aniza, and of The Land Beyond the Gates, whose various princes paid him homage. Aniza, it was true, had been ravaged by Soroba’s lord, ostensibly without Rahm’s consent, but both he and Soroba knew that was a falsehood. Lately, Rahm found himself regretting this one bargain made with Soroba’s lord, not for what he had gained from it, but for that which it continued to cost him. Rahm’s consent for what had happened to Aniza had been insisted upon by Soroba, not to satisfy a debt that Rahm had incurred but to obtain a promise to hide that debt – and the act that had created it – from the High Prince’s people. The threat of exposure of that debt, while not explicit, was nonetheless readily understood.

  He gripped the side rails of his throne, steadying his hands and his nerve. “Elam remains an ally of Manon the Great, of course, and this will never change.” The truth contained in the first half of that sentence, though tenuous, had to be pushed by force of will through his teeth, but the lie contained in the second slid out easily. Rahm was nothing if not an accomplished liar. “But your master asks much. Double the gift?” – He would not call it ‘tribute’ – “That seems a rather extreme request, does it not?”
r />   “But Elam gives so little, now,” Soroba returned. His oily voice was calm, smooth, and his smile came readily, if venomously. “This is a great land that you govern, your highness – rich, and full of people. You cannot miss the little that you grant my master now; doubling the size of your gift will surely not be felt in a land of such plenty – a land whose vast resources you are fortunate indeed to have at your gracious disposal.”

  And there it was again. The reference, subtly presented in the inflection on the spoken word, of the debt. Without turning his head, moving his eyes only, Rahm glanced over at the panel of counselors, trying to gauge in the space of a moment what they might be thinking of that to which they were witness, and more importantly, what they heard. Most of those finely dressed counselors were in his pocket, bought and paid for – or, in a few cases, kept there by the threat of exposure of some foul deed of their own. There were some, however, especially among those from Calom Malpas to the north and Eremand to the south, who sat there by virtue of ancient ties to ancient families. They were powerful – and rich – in their own right, and their loyalties, if anything, were to themselves and to their immediate constituencies. All of them, however, feared the distant and mysterious lord of the north as much as – if not more than – Rahm himself.

  His gaze flicked back to Soroba. “There are towns and cities in this land, even now,” he answered, “that complain of a lack of women of marriageable age. I must look to the welfare of my own people first, must I not, before granting the requests of distant friends?” That last sounded petulant, causing him to wince and immediately regret it, but Soroba, ever aware, came skillfully to his rescue.