“Of course, your highness,” he replied, and made his voice sound, if not subservient, at least compliant, “but your distant friend has needs of his own, and those needs are entwined with yours. I remind you that there are threats at Elam’s door; threats that creep out of the wild lands to the east and push upon your very borders. My lord has recently suffered great loss rebuffing these threats, while the effort has cost you nothing.”
Rahm was surprised at this, not because he hadn’t heard of it before – which he had not, the word “remind” was a device, nothing more – but because it sounded true. He was familiar with Soroba’s gift for lying, having often been subjected to it. Indeed it approached his own. This time, the inflection in the voice, and the straightforwardness of admitting a loss in battle, rang in his ears as truth.
He leaned forward. “What of these threats, Lord Soroba? If you will; instruct us again as to their nature and severity.”
“Gladly, your highness. The barbarian peoples to the east and northeast, those that answer neither to the laws of Manon the Great, nor to those of the High Prince of Elam, have lately begun to seek to expand their influence south and west, to the very borders of your great land. My lord has resisted these incursions, sometimes at great loss of soldiers, many of whom were the fruits of your land’s gifts to him.” He paused. “At the end of summer, not more than ten weeks ago, there was a violent trembling of the earth. Was it not felt in Elam?”
It had been felt, indeed. “Yes.” Rahm answered. “We wondered at this event, for the earth shook, and calm waters became rough.”
“I thought as much. These barbarians, by virtue of a strange magic – the source of which is unknown – have developed a new weapon, one that rends the earth itself, causing it to spout fire, destroying thousands in the process. Now, my lord does not ask of you that you send forth your power to resist these evil men, though he might. His forces are much more capable of facing these threats with success, having had experience with them. But since you directly benefit from his sacrifices, does it not behoove you to add your strength to his in such ways as you may – by simply increasing the size and scope of your gift?”
Rahm leaned back and while keeping his expression carefully severe, smiled inwardly. Soroba had indeed saved him. No doubt it would cost him later, but for now he was grateful to have a legitimate rationale for sending more of the land’s young females north. He himself did not care about the loss of a few young women. Most of those trundled northward in Manon’s wagon trains came from outlying farms and hamlets, or from the poor and unemployed that crowded the cities. Rahm, in fact, had often enslaved an equal number of young men whose prospects in life were diminished by the loss of Elam’s daughters – when he could do so discreetly and quietly, and with the approval of certain members of the council – sending them off to labor in the mines of the Iron Mountains, or impressing them into his Navy.
Now, with the news of this barbaric threat sinking down into the ears of the council, it would be much easier to grant Lord Manon’s requests. Despite the unsettling talk of barbarian “magic” and its dire powers – something Soroba, in fact, might have added simply for effect – the High Prince could save face and placate the northern threat in one stroke. Soroba would leave, taking his horned monsters with him, both he and his master for the moment content, and Rahm could turn his attentions back to the continuing consolidation of his grip on Elam. He was glad also for the information that Manon had problems of his own that required time, treasure, and attention. It put off the hour when Rahm, and Elam, would have to face dealing with the reality of the one who named himself Lord of the World.
Little was known of Manon, other than his power, which had been carefully – but amply – demonstrated, and of his apparent iron-fisted grip on the northern lands of the world, in particular the vast, productive plains. It was often stated, mostly by obscure scholars, that Manon was indeed a god, incredibly old, very powerful, and malignant, and the cause of many of the world’s ancient troubles.
But that was the peculiar way of powerful beings, men or otherwise. Those that would rule often found it expedient to attach ancient legends and myths to themselves in order to facilitate much more immediate lusts. Until more was fully known, he and Elam would have to tread carefully when dealing with the unknown prince of the north.
Rahm didn’t want war, anyway. War, waged for whatever reason, cost a land its treasure, and more importantly for Rahm, sometimes it cost a land the head of its prince. If a potentially dangerous adversary like Manon could be placated by giving up a few stout-limbed daughters of the poorer classes, such a minimal sacrifice was preferable to war. And if that potential adversary had other enemies that kept him occupied, and looking the other way, then the sacrifice was rendered an investment.
He adjusted his robes and nodded toward the members of the council. “I thank you, Lord Soroba, for bringing this matter to our attention, and for elevating the honor of Elam’s gifts to your lord. My peers and I will discuss this matter at length, and return our answer on the morrow. I’ve no doubt that you will find that answer satisfactory, based on what we have heard here today. In the meantime, quarters have been prepared as usual, and any need that you might express to the servants of this house will be readily and gladly supplied.”
In reply, Soroba bowed, and then turning, bowed to the council, and left the room, followed by his tramping entourage of enormous beasts.
As he left the hall, a young man entered at a side door near the back and stared at the retreating backs of the lashers with open disgust and a fair measure of belligerence. Rahm watched the young man, who was tall, fair-haired, and broad-shouldered, as he waited until the monsters cleared the hall; then the young man followed them out, without once looking back toward the high throne at the end of the hall.
Sooner or later, Rahm thought – sooner, I think – I’ll have to do something about him.
19
Autumn waned; winter crept southward out of the north. The days grew increasingly cool; this day, in fact had announced its advent upon the earth with frost on the grass, and rimes of ice along the edge of any pool of still water. The morning sun seemed reluctant to climb the chill sky as twenty horses created yellowish-green and tan furrows in the grasses of the plains as they plowed through a white crust of frost, driving westward, away from Derosa and the timid sun, toward the River Broad.
Aram, Thaniel, Findaen, Wamlak, Jonwood, Mallet, Ruben, Erak, and thirrteen other men, all mounted, rode toward a meeting with one of Manon’s slave trains. Due to the diligent work of Arthrus and his son, Jamarth, along with the help of any others who had shown aptitude for working with steel, all the horses wore breastplates and headgear, while the men were equipped with helmets and nearly full suits of armor. The only thing still lacking was armored footgear, something Arthrus had not yet succeeded in devising, leaving it for later when, hopefully, there would be more time to invest in its discovery. Durlrang, Leorg, and Shingka loped alongside – there would be need for the wolves’ keen senses, especially at night – and Alvern sailed the clear sky above.
As he rode westward, Aram was tense with anxiety – not because of the coming confrontation with the gray men and lashers that guarded the trains, but because of the very real possibility that it had gotten too late in the year and there would no longer be any trains rolling northward along the roads leading out of Elam. The anxiety was born of his own conviction that what they intended, the freeing of women from the horror of Manon’s dungeons, was more important than he himself had first thought.
It had started as simply a desire to save others from the fate that had claimed his sister so long ago, and to provide the young men in the ranks of his troops with opportunities to find mates, thereby defraying social pressures and giving them further incentive to resist Manon. There was more to it, now. He was convinced now that the war would be protracted, lasting years, perhaps decades, and would require sizeable armies in order to clear a path to Manon. T
herefore, it was vital that everything be done to increase the size of the free populations of the world.
But if they had waited too long, and the servants of the grim lord had ceased operations for the winter, then everything rolled over into the next year, when larger, more immediate issues might intervene. Aram found himself consumed with impatience, and a strong to desire to strike blows at his own volition, and for his own purposes. He still felt violated by the realization that the grim lord had manipulated him into the confrontation on Burning Mountain. There needed to be an assertion of his will, a blow struck that Manon did not expect, and for which he could not prepare. The slave trains provided that opportunity. Aram knew it couldn’t last – Manon would adjust, as always – so it was imperative that they strike quickly and often before the adjustment could be made.
At Broad River, they crossed over by Dane’s old farm, and turned north, toward Flat Butte. Besides this way being the most direct route toward the northern approaches to Elam near the valley of dry lake, where, hopefully, they would strike, Aram also wished to avoid the slave villages scattered across the plains to the south of Burning Mountain and west of the Broad, north of Stell. These, he would free in time, and soon. But as they undoubtedly contained more men than women – like all slave villages – he was far more interested, at the moment, in the slave trains.
He also wanted to look again at the burned ruins of the fort atop the butte. Despite the fact that he had been maneuvered into taking the action, the fact remained that the fort was gone, and no longer menaced Derosa directly. For reasons that touched upon his own mental well-being, he needed to see this. And he wanted to look upon the battlefield on the slopes of Burning Mountain, symbolically putting that episode behind him as well.
He studied the charred ruins atop the butte as they followed the road up its western side and then, satisfied, he turned due west along the flanks of the larger mountain toward the valley of the dry lake. When they came around to where they could see the western slopes of Burning Mountain and into the valley that stretched away toward the dry lake and the lands north of Elam, Aram and Thaniel stopped in astonishment, followed by the others.
Where before there had been a rocky slope covered with bunches of grass traversed by a spine of lava outcrop; now, below where that spine had severed the slope, there was a new surface to this small part of the world. A vast wide field of shiny black rock, looped and piled, rough in spots, in places slick and smooth as the surface of water; it began at the rocky spine – now a rupture, with plumes of smoke escaping from it here and there – and spread down the side of the mountain and out into the valley. The area of new rock was perhaps a mile wide, and also quite thick. Judging from the newly formed contours of the mountain’s lower slopes, the lava flow was perhaps a hundred feet deep, deeper in places, and just below where Aram and his companions had stopped, it had overspread the tangent of the dirt track for the distance of a half-mile.
There were fresh flows of hardened rock above, too, higher on the mountain. In fact, the entire western side of Burning Mountain had been substantially re-shaped. No one spoke, just wordlessly gaped at the results of the wound Aram had dealt the earth. Aram himself was stunned at the results of his simple action. The earth had vomited up an astounding amount of shiny, black, new rock, and was even now, based on the smoke pouring from vents in the ground, still recovering.
After a few moments, he spoke to Thaniel and they moved on, down to where the road disappeared beneath the glistening blackness. Gingerly, Thaniel stepped onto the shiny surface, found the footing secure, though uneven, and slowly and cautiously, they traversed the new stone, found the road beyond and continued down the valley.
By evening, they could see the small pool of glistening water at the center of the sandy expanse of the wet weather lake, and the narrow gap between the hills and the wide green lands north of Elam beyond it. Here, Aram swerved aside, to the south, and followed a stream along the bottom of a ravine that led up into the hills until, well away from sight of the valley; they found a reasonably level area verged with scattered trees. They camped for the night, with Alvern settling on the heights of an outcropping of rock, and the wolves melting into the sparse forest.
Before morning, Aram awoke with the feeling of anxiety still strong inside him. Would there be a slave train moving north out of Elam today, or tomorrow – or had he delayed too long? As he hurried through breakfast, his anxiousness translated itself to the others. The camp was broken quickly; and all nineteen of his companions were mounted and ready by the time Aram had consulted with Alvern, sending him down the valley to look upon the northern approaches to Elam, and then climbed into the saddle on Thaniel’s back.
With the wolves leading the way, they went down and out into the valley and turned west, along the flat sandy shore of the dry lake. By the time they reached the junction with the ancient paved road that went southeast toward Stell, Alvern called down into Aram’s mind with news that defrayed his anxiety. There was indeed a train of wagons on the road, moving toward the gap in the hills that led northward toward the great plains.
“How many?” Aram asked.
“Ten wagons, my lord.”
“Lashers?”
“Six.”
“Is it a slave train, then?”
“You have a habit, my lord,” the eagle replied, “of asking questions to which I cannot possibly know the answer. I can, however, tell you this – the wagons are very similar in construction and comportment to those that have borne slaves aforetimes. It would perhaps seem reasonable to assume that these bear slaves also.”
Despite his sense of continuing tension, Aram smiled at the gentle rebuke. “How far are they from the gap?”
“The road comes north out of Elam and makes a curve near a small town set against the hills, perhaps three miles from the gap,” Alvern answered. “The wagons are just now reaching the walls of that town.”
“I’ve never seen this road. What is its disposition as it leaves the town and approaches the gap?”
Having been questioned many times about the lay of the land as viewed from his position in the sky; Alvern had grown to know Aram’s mind and knew precisely what was desired of him. The new Prince of Wallensia, the eagle had long ago discovered, was extremely adept at taking his overhead descriptions of the world and transposing that view to ground level where he could exploit it to advantage.
“From the town the road runs near the hills until it curves to the south around a small lake, from which a stream flows southward. The road crosses over a bridge and joins with the road you are on, and then turns northward into the gap that leads toward the northern plains.”
“How far does the junction of the roads lie from the wooded hills to the south?” Aram asked.
“Perhaps a mile, my lord.”
Too far, thought Aram. “The gap to the north, as I remember, is narrow and rocky, with few trees.”
“You remember correctly.”
Closing his eyes, Aram considered what he’d been told, trying to see with his mind’s eye the best place for an ambush. After a few moments, he looked up. “The road out of Elam runs near the hills to the north between the town and the small lake? Are there many trees on those hills?”
“Yes, my lord, many. Once you leave the valley of the dry lake and enter the regions north of Elam, the land grows green and lush in remarkably quick manner, and becomes ever more so as you go west toward the borders of Aniza and south toward the gates of Elam.”
“Is there a broad land north of the gates – and are there many people?”
“Yes, my lord. In fact, the land is named the Land Beyond the Gates. It has its own Prince, though in ancient times he answered to the High Prince of Elam. I do not know how the land is governed now, or by whom.”
Aram drew the column of men and horses to a halt and gazed westward. They were now perhaps two or three miles from the place where the hills to the north and those to the south closed to within a mile or so of
each other, pinching off the valley of the dry lake. The broad land beyond that gap showed deeply green in the morning sun, though in the lands behind them and to the north, autumn had retreated in the face of impending winter. The leaves of the broadleaf trees on the higher slopes of the southern hills were colored with the hues of fall, but most still clung to the branches. Winter would come later here than in the hills around Derosa.
As he looked through the gap into the Land Beyond the Gates, Aram saw a dozen tendrils of smoke rising into the air over near the hills to the right – the town. According to Alvern, the slave train – if indeed that’s what it was – just now approached this town. Moving at the speed of oxen, it would arrive at the gap in another hour or so. With only a rudimentary knowledge of the landscape at his disposal, he would have to decide where to strike, and then deploy his men for action, all within the next half-hour.
Their plans were fairly well-laid and had been rehearsed, based on a tactic devised by Wamlak and Jonwood. If possible, the slave train would be attacked from the side and by surprise. Aram and Thaniel would kill the lasher nearest the front of the train while any others would be assaulted by arrows from Wamlak and five archers, and then attacked by tandem warriors. The wolves were given discretion to exploit any opportunity. Aram would then give aid in any difficult conflict, while Ruben rode to the front wagon and brought the train to a halt, killing the lead driver. It was Aram’s intention to kill all the drivers, for he believed them to be overseers.
Afterward, they would drive the wagons eastward along the dry lake valley and over the plains to Derosa. It was his hope to salvage the oxen and the carts, while rescuing the slaves – women, he hoped.
He sent a question skyward. “Lord Alvern – what moves through the gap that leads north?”
“At the moment, nothing. There are wagons far to the north, many miles from the gap, moving south. But these wagons will not pass between the hills until late this day.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 16