Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  “My name is Ragen – I am also a captain of the wall. And you are a stranger – of whom I know nothing. For all I know, you may have slain Jozef. We saw strange fire in the sky – was that you?” Without waiting for an answer, he dropped his gaze to Thaniel. “What is this beast you ride? It cannot be a horse – their kind left the world long ago.”

  Didn’t we just have this conversation? Thaniel wondered.

  Aram chuckled as the horse’s irritation rumbled through the chambers of his mind. “Would you like to tell him, or shall I?”

  Such a man would not hear my voice, anyway.

  Aram looked up, meeting Ragen’s eyes. “If you truly believe that horses no longer walk the earth, then your world is small indeed, my friend.”

  “I am not your friend.” Ragen retorted.

  “No,” Aram agreed, “but I hope to change that.”

  Ragen glanced westward. “There were bright lights – like fire – in the sky.”

  Aram nodded. “There were. It’s probably best if Jozef explains. He should arrive shortly.”

  There was a silence then, while the guards kept their weapons trained on Aram, and Ragen went to the back wall and shouted instructions to someone on the ground to watch for the approach of the captain from the river. He kept his back to Aram while he waited. A short time later, someone called up to him and he looked west along the wall. Glancing at Aram, he moved to his left and went downward, out of sight.

  Aram waited, basking in the warm afternoon sun. He’d always viewed the weather in its immediacy – in how it affected whatever he was doing at the time. But sitting here in pleasant sunshine, while barely three hundred miles to the north snow lay deep in his valley, he pondered the shape and nature of the world. It was vast and varied, meant to be explored and enjoyed. In the future, when – and if – there was peace, he intended to take Ka’en and do just that.

  There was the sound of raised voices beyond the wall, as if in argument; followed by a lengthy discussion in quieter tones. Then the gate swung open.

  Jozef and Ragen stood in the opening, side by side. Jozef stepped aside, pulling Ragen with him.

  “Welcome, Prince Aram of Wallensia, to Duridia.”

  Aram motioned behind him. “I have companions, including the princess.”

  Ragan, apparently still ill at ease about the whole proceeding, nonetheless deferred to Jozef who evidently outranked the older man.

  “Let them come in,” Jozef answered. He looked beyond Aram. “Where is the wolf?” His ill humor and suspicions of earlier had seemed to vanish entirely on his walk from the river to the gate, replaced by excitement and a hint of self-importance.

  “The wolf will remain outside.” Aram studied Jozef’s broad, open face a moment, and then looked back, indicating the others to follow. Thaniel strode forward, through the gate. The change of scenery was rather sudden and startling.

  North of the wall there had been only open prairie, rolling and wild, flanked by mountains and spotted with small forests of trees. South of the wall, inside the gate, things changed immediately. There was a village crowded next to the wall, more of a town actually, with a main avenue running south, fronted by substantial wood buildings, well constructed, and there were side streets that branched off, running between lateral rows of houses.

  Out on the surrounding plains there were ordered squares of farmland, with newly green crops; others were yellowed and mature, and there were open areas of tilled earth, exposing soil that was rich and dark. And there were farmhouses at ordered intervals. Most of the buildings were of wood but a good many were constructed, evidently – and strangely – of sod. Other utilitarian buildings dotted the landscape. The town itself was not exceedingly large – about like Derosa – but when the rural population was added in, it was a substantial settlement indeed.

  Aram looked down at Jozef and Ragen. “Does your governor dwell here?”

  Jozef shook his head and pointed toward the south, down the length of the main avenue. “Boman dwells in our capitol city, Mandin, to the south.”

  Aram gazed southward. “How far?”

  “Three days by oxcart.”

  Aram shook his head. “We’ll go by horse, and arrive before evening.” He looked down. “Will you take me to Boman?”

  Jozef frowned. “It is three days by oxcart – perhaps two more than that if I walk. I assure you, sir, if you arrive there this evening unannounced, the city garrison will not look upon your arrival kindly.”

  Aram smiled slightly. “I had no intention of preceding you, Jozef. My horse is strong and can easily carry the both of us.”

  Florm stepped forward. “I will bear our new friend, Lord Aram.”

  Aram looked at him sharply, and Thaniel scraped furrows in the earthen street with his massive hooves as he turned to stare at his father.

  “Come now, Lord Aram,” Florm said, ignoring his son, “the world has changed much in your presence. There is no reason for me to remain of little use on this journey.”

  “Of little use? Nay, my lord, you came that I might have the advantage of your counsel – not to bear strangers through unknown lands.”

  Florm laughed. “This man needs to ride. If you like, you may transfer Yvan’s burden to me, and put this man on him instead.”

  If anything, this suggestion was even less palatable. The thought of the ancient and honorable Florm carrying baggage was simply unacceptable. Aram gazed at the lord of horses, feeling Thaniel’s rising discomfort, and his own chagrin at the inappropriateness of the situation. Why didn’t we bring another horse for situations just like this?

  Jozef looked from one to the other, awed by the fact that the man in the armor seemed to be conversing with these magnificent beasts, but sensing an impending conflict, the reason for which he could not understand because he did not hear the horse’s part in it. “If your horse doesn’t want to bear me,” Jozef said, quickly picking up on the astonishing fact that the tall man was, indeed, communing with these amazing creatures, “I can walk, or find an oxcart. I’ll go as fast as I can.”

  “Nonsense!” Florm almost growled with frustration. “There are larger issues at stake. I will bear the man.’ He looked at Aram and then at his son. “Forbid it, if you think it is your proper station to do so.”

  Aram reached down and laid a hand on Thaniel’s quivering neck muscles. “I would forbid nothing to which you set your mind, my lord. That is not my – or anyone else’s – station.” He looked at Jozef and spoke audibly. “This great horse has borne no man in ten thousand years. He is the lord of all horses on earth.” Jozef stared at Florm and his eyes widened. “This honor is above you, young man – indeed, it is above me. And yet, it is granted. Swing up, take a handful of his mane, and dwell upon your amazing fortune. Come; let us go into the south.”

  Jozef climbed up on the massive horse as instructed and then looked around at his fellow citizens. It became obvious that, while he was indeed overwhelmed at his good fortune, there was ample pride bubbling to the surface of his demeanor as well. He grinned over at Aram. Aram smiled in return, and then spoke to Thaniel, who reluctantly turned away from his honored father and his offensive cargo, and moved southward along the avenue.

  There were other towns fronting the road as they went south through the waning afternoon, and farms were thick upon the plains, from near at hand all the way to the mountains on either side. The people they saw – and there were many – were stolid and open-faced, and oddly enough, somewhat shorter in stature and more compact in build than the men of Derosa. Jonwood would feel at home here, Aram thought.

  The mountains to the west grew higher and broader, though no rougher and the sun slid down and rested on those peaks just as Aram saw to his front a sizeable city begin to take shape and darken the grassland. It was much larger than Derosa, though smaller than Stell, and there were two- and three-storied buildings, constructed of wood, clustered at its heart.

  The river, grown into a substantial stream, meandered alongs
ide the road, and then turned and looped away into the prairie to the west of the city. The road had become gradually better maintained as they had come south, and now was surfaced with small rock and gravel, ground down by traffic and set into the earth. Where it entered the town, there were no walls, but there were guard towers on either side of the road.

  Jozef looked over at Aram as they neared these structures. “How do I stop?”

  “Speak to him.”

  “Speak to – the horse?”

  Aram smiled slightly. “Yes. Ask him very respectably if he will halt. Use your mind.”

  Jozef frowned in confusion as the guard towers drew closer.

  Aram glanced at the towers, noticing the clustered men manning each of them. “Speak to him.”

  “I can simply stop.” Florm suggested.

  “I want these people for allies, my lord. It is time that we started opening the world beyond their wall up to them.”

  “Undoubtedly wise.” Florm agreed. “Though less so with each step.”

  Aram watched Jozef. The stocky man closed his eyes tightly. A moment later, they popped open and he gazed down at Florm in amazement. “I – heard you speak. I heard your voice!”

  “Indeed.” Florm answered and he came to a stop, followed by Thaniel and the rest of the party.

  Aram looked at Jozef. “What now?”

  Jozef was still gazing wide-eyed at the back of Florm’s head as he slid to the ground. Finally, he jerked his gaze away and looked down the avenue toward the town. His manner became abruptly apprehensive.

  “I have to report to the captain of the guard, and explain the reason for your presence. They will not be pleased.” He looked up in apology. Along with the apprehension, there was respect that bordered on reverence in his tone. “I can convince them, my lord, if given the time.”

  Aram nodded. “We won’t press.”

  With another amazed glance at Florm, Jozef strode away toward the towers. Pulling a round object from beneath his shirt and holding it up to the view of the soldiers in the towers, he stopped in the center of the road. Another man came down to the level of the street and he and Jozef conversed for a moment. This second man gazed at the strangers halted upon the road with narrowed eyes, and then both he and Jozef walked toward town, eventually disappearing into a large structure near its center.

  The sun slid behind the serrated western horizon; evening fell and the air grew cooler.

  Aram glanced back at Ka’en. “Are you still chilled?”

  “No – not anymore,” she answered in surprise. He has known all this time?

  As the evening began to deepen toward twilight, five men reappeared from the distant building and made their way toward Aram and his companions. At the center of the group was a man with a confident stride, slightly taller than the others, with thinning sand-colored hair. He wore a simple jacket of deep blue material. This article of clothing was the only discernable thing that distinguished him from the others.

  As the group approached, Aram dismounted in a sign of deference.

  The five men came to within a few feet of the company and halted. The man at the center possessed clear blue eyes, a strong jaw line, and features that appeared, on the whole, untroubled by fear or anxiety. He met Aram’s gaze openly and without apprehension.

  “You are Lord Aram, I am told – “He glanced sidelong at Jozef, on the outskirts of the group “– who names himself Prince of Wallensia? I am Boman, Governor of Duridia.”

  For reasons he couldn’t rightly fathom, Aram instinctively liked this man. “Others name me prince,” he answered, “because it is a circumstance of my marriage. But I was born a slave on the plains, far to the northwest.” Ignoring Boman’s surprise, he turned and indicated Ka’en. “This is Ka’en, my wife, rightful Princess of Wallensia, daughter of Lancer, now High Chancellor.”

  Boman’s surprise deepened and he looked up at Ka’en sharply. “But I know this name! Benaman, father of Lancer, led a regiment against the horned monsters of Manon when they ravaged Stell. My own grandfather saw him fall. I’ve heard the story many times.”

  Findaen leapt off Andaran’s back and strode forward. “Your grandfather was at Stell?”

  Boman nodded. “When he was barely more than a boy. He was visiting an uncle when the armies of the evil one encompassed the city. He fought like any other man, until the city was lost, then he fled across the mountains with others and escaped into Duridia. Our people were ever allies of Wallensia. Beneman’s youngest sister is – was – my grandmother.”

  Findaen stared. “We are cousins, then. Lancer is my father.”

  Boman gazed at him, then at Ka’en, and finally turned to Aram. “I cannot think of what to say. We thought Wallensia lost beneath the heel of the grim lord.”

  Astonished by these revelations of lineage and their portent, Aram nonetheless nodded brusquely. “Stell was lost for a time, it’s true. But the remnant of the people pulled back to Derosa, a town in the far northeast, and there they have resisted Manon unto this day. They took me in from the wilderness after I escaped the chains of my bondage.”

  Findaen turned his head and stared at him for a long moment, and then shook his head in protest. “Nay, Lord Aram, this will not do. I can see that others will have to speak for you.” He turned to Boman, ignoring Aram’s frown. “This man is named Aram – he is our prince by virtue of marriage to my sister, Lancer’s daughter. But in truth, he is the son of Joktan, the ancient king of all men.”

  Boman stiffened, and frowned. A hint of suspicion came into the clear blue eyes. “Perhaps you mean Jogdan. If so; this name is also known to us. But it is an ancient name – from the times before the trouble of Manon came upon the world.”

  “How is this name known to you?” Asked Aram.

  Boman studied his face, still frowning, and spoke cautiously. “It is written in the Book of Wallen, in a section named The Peace of Jogdan. I’ve read those passages myself.” Abruptly, he asked bluntly. “Why do you say that you arise from his blood? The whole earth arises from his blood. The Book of Wallen tells us that he defeated Manon in ancient times and gave us an age of peace. When he left the world, his children scattered across the face of the earth.”

  “The Book of Wallen? Does it still –?” Aram caught himself in time. He turned to Findaen. “Is not this the name of the first Prince of Wallensia?”

  Findaen answered while keeping his eyes on Boman. “It is, my lord, in fact the land is named for him.” He addressed the governor. “I have never heard of this book. From what source does it arise?”

  “From Stell itself,” answered Boman. “When the city fell, many died, many were enslaved, but some fled to the winds. A few came here, to Duridia. Among them was a man named Boutwel, the High Chancellor of Wallensia. The book came with him. He died long ago.”

  Aram tamped down his rising excitement. The ancient volume of history that described times and events of his own ancestry and that of Ka’en’s not only existed, but was in this man’s possession. “May I see this book?”

  “I suppose you may,” Boman answered doubtfully. “If you are indeed the Prince of Wallensia, it is rightly yours. But you’ll forgive me, your highness, if I point out the obvious.” He hesitated, looking around at each of them before settling his gaze back on Aram. “We are not acquainted with you, nor your companions, nor have we heard of you aforetime. It’s true that you know names from the past with which we are also familiar – indeed, those names touch very strongly upon our history. But you could have learned them by means other than rightful means. For all I know, there might be armies encamped to the north even now, awaiting your signal to invade this land. I don’t know you.”

  Despite the onset, once again, of frustration, Aram felt his admiration for the man grow. He was careful, cautious, straightforwardly blunt, and the welfare of his people, and of his land, was uppermost in his considerations. And he must have been told of Aram’s inexplicable actions with the sword. Despite that, he faced th
em courageously. I came here to find exactly this type of ally, Aram thought.

  He met Boman’s earnest gaze. “It matters not – to anyone – whether or not I am of the line of Joktan. But I am recognized by these men, and by the few that remain in Derosa, as their Prince. And there is no army to the north.” He looked around at the city, much larger than Derosa and at the multitude of scattered outlying farms fading into the deepening evening. He smiled. “Any army I might have would pale beside yours in numbers, anyway.”

  He looked back at Boman. “What can I do to gain your trust?”

  Abruptly, Florm stepped forward. The group of men moved back at the approach of the huge animal. The ancient horse lowered his head and looked into Boman’s eyes. “Do you hear me?”

  The governor’s eyes widened. “What strange magic is this?” He glanced at Aram in alarm, and at an unseen signal, his companions readied their pikes. After a long, tense moment, and when no threat developed, Boman blinked once and met Florm’s gaze. “Yes – I hear you.”

  “Then hear this. I was there when Joktan fell, slain by Manon.” – At this Boman’s eyes widened further, but Florm continued without pause – “There was no age of peace, only a time of the grim lord’s reduction. He went up to the mountain of Kelven after destroying Joktan and all but a few of his people. Upon that mountain Manon and Kelven met in mortal combat, and they were both reduced.”

  “All but a few –? But the Book of Wallen states that we are all the children of –”

  “Not so.” The fierceness in Florm’s tone silenced the governor, though Boman’s features retained a look of mingled amazement and skepticism. “Nearly all the people of the Great King were slaughtered, either upon the field or in the streets and houses of the city. A few escaped into the south. Only two of Lord Joktan’s family survived. I, myself, carried a woman with child away to safety. She was the spouse of the great king’s descendent.” He swung his head around and looked at Aram. “That woman was this man’s ancestor. He is the son of Joktan as no one else on earth can be.”