What is the matter with me? He asked himself. Must I always be such an unpleasant barbarian – and will I always be so?
He shook his head, angry now with himself more than with anything – or anyone – else. I need to let Ka’en handle this part of things. Dress her in armor; put her out front – better her voice, and her way, than mine. But he knew that he could never risk her in such a way. No, he must school himself in the arts of diplomacy – spend time sitting at his wife’s feet, learning patience.
Chafing at his social ineptitude, he sheathed the sword and sat quietly. Eventually, the faces reappeared. Aram stood in the stirrups and held out his hands, palms open. “Forgive me. I have traveled far, and I’m tired. I just want to trade with you for silver. Is this not possible? I have gold.”
“Is tiredness a just cause? The making of threats is no way to conduct business.” The voice was more subdued but not submissive. “Why did you hide your face if your only desire is commerce?”
Wearing the hood, perhaps, had been a mistake. Still, he was loath to remove it. Aram nodded. “You are right, of course. What may I say now in order to gain entrance to your land?”
“I am not inclined to grant entrance under any circumstance.”
Breathing deeply, reining in his returning anger, Aram looked around at the juniper studded hills, and then up at the clear sky, where the sun had begun its long fall toward the western edge of the world. After a moment, he sighed and returned his attention to the wall.
“Do you speak for the Hay of Lamont?”
“I do.”
“I would rather speak with him than with you.”
“That fact will, perhaps, be an annoyance for you,” answered the voice. “But it will change nothing.”
Diplomacy, he told himself, diplomacy, but even as he admonished himself, his anger flared again, washing away all thoughts of gentle words. “Would you prefer a further demonstration of the power of my sword?”
“We do not fear magicians. Unless your magic is powerful enough to penetrate the barrier, you will have to go and find someone else to impress.”
“That’s a fine suggestion,” Aram answered angrily, and spurred Thaniel forward.
“Halt! I beg you, sir – halt!”
Aram spoke to Thaniel and the big horse, reluctantly, stopped a few yards from the gate.
Another long silence. Then –
“You wish only to trade for silver?”
“As I said.”
“How do you know of the Hay?”
“I recently came from Duridia.”
“You stated that you came from a place named Derosa.”
Aram peered up into the dim slit. “How very clever you are,” he answered, acidly. “I came here by way of Duridia. The governor of those lands – Boman by name – told me of the Hay of Lamont. I come to trade for silver, and to pass to the east, toward Seneca.”
“To the east is a land of demons.”
Indeed? Aram stared. “Demons?”
“To the east is ‘the lost’ and nothing more.”
Aram stared into the gloomy slit. “And Seneca?”
“Is no more. It is a land of ghosts.”
Aram gazed upward, stunned. Had Manon reached beyond Lamont and devastated the land of Seneca again, settling old scores? Or had he succeeded fully the first time? In his heart, he had held onto the dream of an alliance with Joktan’s old allies. Now –?
He spoke to Thaniel and the horse moved back so that his view into the slit was at a better angle. The face inside remained in shadow. “Have you been to Seneca?” He asked.
“Why would I go to Seneca? I told you – it is a land of ghosts.”
Aram smiled ruefully. “You, my friend,” he said to the shadowed face, “are perhaps the only man on earth more irritating than me.”
“I think it doubtful.”
Aram had had enough. “I will speak with the Hay of Lamont, and not with some lackey.”
The odd, small sound came again, and he was too close. Like the striking of a serpent, Aram reached back and drew the sword. Arrows turned to ash mere inches from his skull; one careened off the side of his hood. Though it did not penetrate, the collision caused an explosion of light and pain inside his head; and for a moment, he slumped to the side in agony. The sword, still clutched in his hand, flashed and sang. Where were the Guardians? He had time to wonder as he shook off the pain.
Then, righting himself in the saddle, he decided – enough.
“To the gate, Thaniel, and through.”
The great horse lunged forward. Aram twirled the sword above his head, washing the strange metal in sunlight, and then thrust it toward the large double wooden gates. Fire flashed forward, like a horizontal lightning bolt. The gates erupted in flame, and blew inward. Thaniel surged through the opening and onto the road beyond.
“Turn!” Aram roared.
He swung in time to prevent another volley from adding to his headache; and the arrows fell to the earth as dust. Swinging the sword in a wide arc, he made fire erupt along the top of the wall. The intense, high-pitched song of the blade and the crashing of thunder caused by its expulsions of fire ended the conflict.
“Please!” Someone screamed. “Please put it away!”
Aram spoke to Thaniel and the horse backed away from the wall toward the interior of the land of Lamont, until twenty or thirty yards separated them from the now-chastened tenders of the barrier. Then, he sheathed the blade. There was the sound of hooves on the road, and Findaen and the others appeared, swords drawn.
Aram waved them onto the road behind him. “They’ve had enough, for the moment. Now, maybe, they’ll talk.”
He removed the hood and looked up at the towers, whose rounded interiors were exposed on this side of the wall. The men of Lamont had thrown down their weapons and covered their ears against the shrieking of the sword.
“Come down now,” Aram commanded. “Let us talk.”
Slowly, the six men regained their feet and filed down around the circular stairwells until they stood in a group below the wall, next to the gate. Though no longer burning, the wood of the structure above them yet smoldered.
Another fire burned as well, to the side of the gate, but this one was contained in a circular structure where fuel had evidently been placed for that express purpose. Thick, pungent smoke boiled into the sky, no doubt easily seen for miles. A signal.
One of the guards, a stout man with auburn hair and a thick red beard that covered most of his face, and piercing blue eyes, gazed back at him defiantly. He was beaten down for the moment, perhaps dead in a few moments more, but his spirit was not defeated.
“Who is your captain?” Aram asked.
“I am,” the defiant one answered.
Aram studied him. “My name is Aram. Will you give me yours?”
The man glared back at him, angry defiance defining his countenance. “Couldn’t you have tried civility before all this?”
Aram blew out a frustrated breath and looked over at the ruined gate, one side of which hung askew. He turned back to the captain.
“I have perhaps grown tired of being questioned,” he said. “Especially by those whose borders are guarded by our blood – you could not have known this, but it is true, and I have become impatient.” He leaned forward in the saddle. “I will speak with your prince, and then I will go on into Seneca. My time is short. I am at war with Manon, the grim lord of the world, and he will not wait while I dally with you. Will you take me to the Hay or must I find him on my own?”
The defiant man spread his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and an expression of disbelief clouded his features. “You are at war with Manon?”
“I am.”
The captain stepped to the front of his group of guards and stopped again, adopting the same stance as before, and frowned up at Aram. The expression of disbelief stayed. “You say that you guard our borders with your blood. Does he approach?”
Aram shook his head. “Not a
s yet. But he will. And I told you truly – for the moment, our work on the fields of battle protect you from his power.”
The man seemed genuinely angry at this assertion. He raised his chin. “You do not need to defend us. We are well capable of defending ourselves.”
Aram glanced at the ruined gate. “Indeed?”
The captain flushed, his anger deepening. “Magic is another issue.”
Aram watched him. “You think Manon has no magic to contend with this?”
“I know very little of Manon.”
“Undoubtedly a true statement.” Aram replied caustically.
“Nonetheless, we have defended our borders well enough without you.”
“In this you are entirely wrong,” Aram asserted. “In truth, you have only succeeded in defending your border until me.” He indicated the gate hanging on one hinge. “It is open now.”
The man glanced up at the dark smoke rising into the air, and then he looked both ways along the wall and out into the open countryside of Lamont. From several points at a distance to the north and south along the barrier, and from unseen hilltops to the east, answering columns arose.
The man looked back at Aram darkly. “It will be closed again, and soon enough.”
Aram watched him, standing obstinately in front of his companions and wondered again how things had gone so badly in the last few moments. He did not want war with Lamont, indeed, he had hoped for alliance; at the least he needed to trade with these people. But the captain standing in front of him seemed implacable. The people of Lamont – or at the least this one captain – were not like Duridia. If this man was typical, they were instinctively defensive and perhaps hopelessly aggressive.
He looked at his companions, including Florm and Ashal and the wolves.
“Get beyond the gate,” he said. “Protect Ka’en.”
Mallet, who’d been eager to engage the men that had resisted his Prince, frowned at him. “Lord Aram?”
Aram shook his head. “We don’t want war with these people, Mallet.” He indicated the sullen captain. “If this man and I cannot come to an understanding, we will leave this place before I am compelled to destroy these men, and all those they have summoned to their aid.” He waved his hand, encompassing the countryside. “He sent signals – others are coming.”
Mallet scowled at the distant columns of smoke. “Let them come, and learn exactly who it is that they are dealing with.”
“These people are not the enemy, Mallet.”
Mallet glared at the defiant captain. “Then why do they act like enemies?”
“Please – take Ka’en and the others, and go beyond the barrier.”
Reluctantly, Mallet, Findaen and the others obeyed, angling around the splintered gate and exiting through the wall with Ka’en at their center.
Aram looked at the man. “My captain asks a fair question. Why act like an enemy?”
The man met his gaze. “You come here, armored and ready for a fight, riding beasts the likes of which we’ve never seen, in the company of wolves no less, and demand entrance. Why should we behave like friends?”
“A fair assessment,” Aram agreed, keeping his tone level. “And I have already admitted to impatience. So, tell me – why are you so ready to react with violence?”
The man’s face darkened. “We’ve dealt with our share of strange beasts and unexplained troubles these last few years. How could I know that you were not the cause of these trials – indeed, how can I know it now?”
Aram frowned. “Strange beasts?”
“Great horned beasts, terrifying things. They passed through the land and went east several years ago.”
Shocked at this revelation, Aram stared. “Lashers came here?”
“Is that what they’re called? Yes, they came here – six of the things, huge and savage.”
“How did you resist them?’
“Resist them?” The man’s eyes widened. “There was no resisting such beasts. They passed through the land, killing and eating farmer’s stock as they pleased, and went east, into the lost. We could not refuse passage – the beasts threatened massive death if refusal was attempted. So, they passed through; and that’s one reason that we built the wall, in case more came.”
“Did they return?”
“No, and damn them if they try, now. There is a barrier to the east of Lamont, as well. And we are no longer so compliant.”
Unwillingly, Aram smiled. “So I have seen. One reason you built the wall, you said? And the other?”
The man looked past Aram for a moment, out across the jumbled hills to the east before answering. Aram followed his gaze. As yet, no help appeared on the horizon. He looked back at the captain. “And the other reason?”
The man scowled. “After the beasts passed through, strange things began to happen. Ships were abandoned on the shore, people came out of the lost, seeking asylum, telling stories of terror and death. So the Hay of Lamont commissioned the land to be closed, east and west, between the mountain and the sea. Still, rumors of horror come out of the lost.”
“What is this ‘lost’?”
He shrugged. “It is a land that is lost. There used to be nomadic tribes that wandered the lands to the east of Lamont, and came into our border towns to trade. Since the passage of the beasts – no one goes east, and no one comes out. It is lost.”
“What is your name?”
The man was still looking eastward every few moments and glancing north and south along the wall. Despite himself, Aram was impressed. He still thinks this situation can be salvaged.
The man glanced up at Aram. “My name is my own business.”
Alright, thought Aram again, enough of this.
He pulled the hood over his head and drew the sword once again. The sun was bright in the heavens and the song of the blade arose immediately, accompanied by flashes of fire that leapt into the clear blue as if they would cleave the sky. The guardians of Lamont’s wall went to their knees, holding their ears in agony. He kept the sword pointed upward, at the shining orb that gave it birth until, even through the hood, he could hear its strange sound, and the men gasped and writhed on the ground in pain. After a few moments more, he lowered the sword into its sheath.
Glancing along the wall, he saw tiny figures crest a distant hill. They appeared to be moving quickly. Time was running out. Aram watched the defiant captain, who was just now getting up onto his knees, his face red, and his eyes streaming from the pain inflicted by the song of the sword. The man put a finger to his right ear and then examined the smear of blood that soiled it. When he looked up, defiance was gone, but anger yet smoldered.
Frustrated beyond endurance, Aram waved his hand in a semicircle. “I can easily slay all who come to your aid. Is this your wish?”
The man stared, panting, still on his knees. “What do you want?”
Aram removed his hood and folded his hands on the saddle. “To be friends.”
The captain gasped for breath and rubbed at his ears as he stared up at Aram. “Your manner of making friends leaves much to be desired.”
“That is as much your fault as it is mine. Will you tell me your name?”
Slowly, the man found his feet, weaving unsteadily as he came erect. “It’s Muray.”
Aram nodded. “Thank you. Now, Muray – would you prefer that I slay those that come to your aid, or can we find another way?”
Muray stared at him; his eyes still dark with sullen anger. “Would you kill them all?”
“Only if I am attacked.”
“What do you really want?”
“Find a way to prevent further violence, and I will tell you.”
Muray gazed a moment longer, and then turned to his five companions. “Go out beyond the range of an arrow shot – you north, you south, you other three toward the east, and tell them everything is under control. Wait until I call you.”
With a glance at Aram, the men complied, jogging off in the appointed directions. Muray turned back to
him. “Alright?”
“Fine,” Aram answered. “I want silver. I have gold to trade. If possible, I will speak to your Hay of an alliance between your people and mine against the grim lord and his beasts – like those that passed through your land. Then – I will go east toward Seneca.”
“I told you –”
Aram held up a hand. “I know. Nonetheless, I will go into the east. Wouldn’t you like to know why the beasts of Manon went there, and what they do?”
“We know what they do – they kill and maim, burn and terrify.”
“And yet they passed through your land without doing any of this.”
“They killed our livestock, as I stated,” Muray asserted; nonetheless, he nodded in agreement. “But at the time they seemed more interested in guarding whatever was in that wagon than troubling with us.”
Aram felt his heart freeze. “They guarded a wagon?”
“A wagon, yes. They guarded it closely.” Muray had stiffened at hearing the undercurrent of shock in Aram’s voice. He stared. “Why – what was in that wagon?”
Aram ignored him, gazing out across the sun-flooded landscape in stunned wonderment. Had Manon sent a fellring to this remote and distant land? And if so – why? He looked back at Muray. “Tell me, what did the wagon convey? Was it a cone-shaped object with a metallic tip?”
“Yes.” Muray nodded slowly. “It was a strange, dark thing – disturbing and unsettling. You’ve seen such a thing before?”
“Once,” Aram answered. “You say it passed through Lamont – and went toward Seneca?”
Muray snorted. “I told you, there is no Seneca. Even the legend of the existence of such a place has faded. Nothing but a few wild savages roam that land now. To the east there are only evil spirits, dark rumors, and whatever was in the beasts’ wagon.”
“It was the grim lord’s wagon, Muray. The beasts are his servants. The eyes of Manon were in that wagon. Evidently, there was something to the east of Lamont that he needed to see.”
Muray paled at this. “The Maker help us! So – he has come to our borders.”
“He has gone through the whole of your land.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 24