The thick whiskers of the captain’s beard seemed to suddenly jut out from his face in horror. “Why?”
Deliberately, Aram shrugged. “To look upon you and examine you and then to go into Seneca, perhaps? After I’ve seen your Hay, I will go eastward and discover the answer to that question.”
Muray’s eyes became very round. “You will follow the beasts?”
“After I’ve seen the Hay.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Aram, Prince of Derosa, Lord of the northern lands, and the enemy of Manon.”
Muray looked over at the damaged gate, still smoldering from the blast from Aram’s blade. He shook his head dumbly and stared at the ground for a long moment before meeting Aram’s gaze. “These are strange times.”
“And they will get stranger – and more dangerous. Once again – will you take me to your Hay, or must I look for him on my own?”
Abruptly, a wry smile crossed the captain’s face. “There is no need of a further demonstration, my lord. I’ve seen what you can do – and I no longer think you mean us harm.”
“I never did.”
Unexpectedly, the smile became a grin. “You and I, sir, we kind of got started at cross purposes.”
“I apologize again for my impatience.”
Muray shook his head, and the grin faded. “If Manon has truly sent his servants into Lamont, then impatience becomes a virtue.”
“Manon also came, Muray. May I send for my companions?”
“Of course – my lord – and for my part, I apologize for my insolence. My ken told me it would bring me to grief one day.”
Aram looked down at Durlrang, who had stayed throughout. Bring the others through. As the old wolf loped through the opening left by the damaged gate, Aram looked back at Muray. “I’m sorry about the damage.”
Muray shrugged and his grin returned. “We built the whole of this wall, and the one to the east, in less than five years. We’ll have this gate repaired before the next full moon.”
Aram dismounted and walked toward the captain, glancing up at the sun, which had passed well beyond the midpoint of the day. “Tell me, Muray, what do your people know of Manon?”
The captain turned his head as Aram’s companions rumbled through the gate, and came near, forming a semicircle around Aram and Thaniel. He moved involuntarily back as Durlrang came close.
Aram reached down and laid a gauntleted hand on the wolf’s head. “This is Durlrang, an old and trusted friend – and therefore, a friend of yours, captain, if you will allow it.”
“I’ve never seen a wolf this close.”
Aram glanced northward along the wall. “Shouldn’t your men join us?”
Muray looked at him with an odd expression, as if he couldn’t decide whether to grin or frown. “No more violence, my lord?”
“There shouldn’t have been any violence at the first,” Aram answered, and then he hesitated. “And I will take the blame for that, captain. I will pay for the repairing of the gate.”
Muray’s face gave itself completely over to the grin. He shrugged. “Well, that is between you and the Hay.”
“So you will take me to him?”
“I will – I must now that you’re inside, anyway.”
Aram watched the soldiers of Lamont come sprinting up to gather behind Muray and then repeated his question. “What does Lamont know of Manon?”
“Very little. Only what sailors and traders tell us. We know that he has enslaved the north lands – “Muray frowned at Aram as he said this “– where you say you’re from, and that he demands tribute of Elam and Vergon. Mostly young women, I understand.”
“But do you know who he is?”
Muray’s features settled into an expression of troubled doubt. He watched Aram’s face for a long moment as if seeking clues. Finally, he shrugged. “Some say that he might be a god – though they all left the earth long ago.”
“What do your legends say of Joktan, the ancient king?”
The captain’s face brightened. “There is a statue of King Joktan in the great hall of Condon, our capitol city. He was the last king, and he died defeating Manon, and we were left safe. He built this road, you know?” Abruptly, the brightness disappeared. “But if Manon has returned, and we are without Joktan –” Deep furrows appeared in his forehead and he looked at Aram with wide eyes. “Surely, this Manon is but a namesake?”
Aram shook his head. “One and the same. Manon survived the ancient troubles, though Joktan and many others that labored to prevent his evil did not.”
“But that was thousands of years – “Muray blanched. “If he yet lives – he must indeed be a god.”
“Yes.” Aram answered simply, and glanced again at the sun. “How far to Condon? Is that where I may meet with the Hay?”
Muray nodded, looking down, his face white, his brow darkened by that which he’d just been told. Finally, he looked up. “Five days east by oxcart.” He turned to one of the men standing nearby. “Bring me a cart.”
“Wait.” Aram held up a hand. He turned to look at Florm, and the old horse moved forward, lowering his head to look into Muray’s eyes.
Do you hear me?
The captain started and stepped back involuntarily. “Did – did you speak to me?”
Florm’s deep laughter rumbled. “A question I am often asked. Of course I spoke to you. And I am very happy that you can hear me – it says much about your character. I will bear you, if you will. I am much faster than an ox.”
Wonder spread across Muray’s face. He tore his gaze away from Florm and looked at Aram. “You said that it would get stranger.”
Aram laughed. “This is but the beginning.” He looked up at the sun. “I also told you that I have become impatient?”
The captain moved cautiously toward Florm. “What do I do?”
“Climb upon his back and take a handful of mane. Then just hang on – he will do the rest. I’m sorry we don’t have another saddle.” Aram looked in Florm’s eyes. “Five days by oxcart – a hundred miles, more or less. Can we make that this day?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Aram, but even with this good road, it will be full dark long before I go that distance. Thaniel might do it, but I cannot. We will have to find a place to pass one more night.”
Muray, hearing this exchange, stepped forward. “My ken’s farm is but half that distance, and he has room to spare.”
Aram frowned. “Your ken?”
“Aye, that would be my father.”
Aram smiled. “Then let’s go meet your father.”
24
The ancient road went nearly straight into the east, arching over occasional streams and cutting between steep banks of rock as it passed through the corrugations in the landscape, and the hills to the north mounted higher. But as those hills climbed into the north toward a single, broken-topped distant mountain, they also moved away, and the country nearer at hand settled out. They passed through wide, gentle valleys, dotted with farms, and over long, smooth ridges where deciduous trees and other trees, evidently evergreen, but with long trunks and strange high crowns, like inverted bowls, grew in copses and small forests.
Now and then, they passed through a village, with houses clustered along both sides of the ancient road, but as Muray kept looking forward, he and Florm leading the way, they did not stop, thundering through, leaving the wide-eyed citizens staring after them. As they passed over the broad flat crests of the increasingly gentle intervening ridges, and looked toward the south, they could see the ocean, never more than twenty or thirty miles distant, deep and blue and vast, running away to the edge of the world.
Just before sundown, Muray spoke to Florm – the man seemed amazingly adept at something only recently learned – and the great horse left the road and turned aside onto a narrow dirt track that led southward along the broad top of a ridge, passing between plowed fields, richly brown. As the sun settled upon the western horizon, they could see a cluster of buildings ahead, a large ho
use, a barn, and two or three granaries.
Aram looked down at Durlrang, Leorg, and Shingka loping alongside. “It might be best if you three went into one of these stands of trees until morning.”
“Until morning then, master.” Durlrang replied willingly, and the wolves turned aside, fading into the evening.
Moments later, the group of horses and men rumbled into an open area devoid of grass between the buildings, startling a man who was then crossing from the barn to the house. He froze, staring up in shock at the sight of his son sitting astride an enormous black beast. For this man was surely Muray’s “ken”, so like the younger man in looks and build, but older, stockier, and, if anything, bushier.
“Muray –!”
Muray let loose Florm’s mane and swung to the ground. “Hello, ken.”
“What –?“
At a look from Aram, his companions dismounted, and he went over to help Ka’en down from Huram’s back. He smiled at her as he set her feet gently upon the ground. “It’s been a long day, I know, but we’ll rest soon, and eat.”
Her lovely eyes were luminous in the evening, but edged with weariness. Nonetheless, she smiled. “I’m not complaining. You promised me adventure.”
He glanced around at the encircling buildings. They were constructed of stone, for the most part, with thatched roofs, solid and a bit imposing. There was a distinctly prosperous air to the whole place.
He looked back at Ka’en. “There’ll be a comfortable bed soon,” he promised.
Murray moved toward them, leading his father. “Lord Aram, this is my father, Eoarl.”
Aram inclined his head. “I am Aram – this is my wife, Ka’en, of Derosa.”
Muray laughed. “There is no call for modesty, my lord – I’ve already told my ken who you are.”
The older, grayer version of Muray bowed. “Welcome to my house, my lord, and my lady. I hope that our simple furnishings are to your liking.”
Aram smiled. “We have been on the road for some time now, sir, and yours is the finest we’ve seen.”
“Good – well, then welcome – “He looked around in some confusion. “This is all very new – unusual beasts – horses, Muray says – that talk. A lot to take in, but, come in – my Dunna will have supper hot and waiting.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Aram answered. “Let us see to the welfare of our horses, and remove their saddles and their burdens. Might they graze on your grass – and is there water about?”
At the mention of such familiar things, the older man recovered some of his composure. He turned and pointed beyond the furthest outbuilding, situated a bit lower on the ridge. “There is a spring just there, and your beasts – your horses may eat whatever pleases them.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, where, far away to the south over the ocean, lightning flickered in the depths of piled clouds. He pointed back toward the building he’d just left. “If your horses don’t mind sharing space with my oxen, there is shelter in that barn. It can be accessed from the field just beyond.”
Aram thanked him and then he and the others set about relieving the horses of their packs and saddles. He led Thaniel a short distance away from the rest of the group.
“The wolves are just up the ridge, in the trees,” he said, “and they’ll keep watch. I feel that it’s safe here, but stay together, anyway. Will you stay in the trees, or go into the barn if the weather worsens?”
“In the trees, unless a storm comes,” the horse answered. “I’ve seen lightning kill horses caught out in the open. Don’t worry, Lord Aram, we’ll remain close to this farm.”
Aram laid one hand on Thaniel’s muscular neck for a moment, watching the distant lightning flicker and flair, and then wished him goodnight and went back to Ka’en. With the others, they followed Eoarl and Muray into the interior of the house, entering a brightly lit, warm room, with lamps burning along the walls and a roaring fire at work in a large fireplace at the opposite end. Eoarl called for his wife.
“We have guests, Dunni!”
Dunna turned out to be a very small, very round woman, with streaks of gray and white running through a thick shock of brown hair that was swept straight back from her round face, exposing cheery features and twinkling black eyes. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she immediately went to Ka’en, smiling up at the taller woman.
“Hello, dearie, and welcome,” she said, in a voice that seemed to chuckle over each word. “Aren’t you a lovely thing, now?”
“A princess, too, Mem – from the north,” Muray stated importantly.
Dunna’s twinkling black eyes flew wide. “A princess!” She looked around in dismay at her simple, clean room, which in fact was quite respectable in all its aspects. “A princess in my house!”
Ka’en smiled as she edged close to the fire. “I assure you, mistress, that this is as splendid a room as I have ever set foot in. It’s warm, cheerful, and fine, and I’m very grateful for your hospitality.”
A broad smile swept over Dunna’s face, puffing out her round cheeks until the black eyes nearly disappeared in folds of cheerful flesh. “And you’re as kind and sweet as you are lovely, my dear.” The smile faded into lines of concern as she noticed Ka’en inching step by step toward the fire. “You’re cold, my lady, aren’t you? Well, that’s the way of it this time of year – the days are warm, but as soon as the sun fails, it goes as cold as true winter. And there’s a storm brewing tonight, too. Eoarl, bring a chair close to the fire for the lady.”
When she had gotten Ka’en settled to her satisfaction, with a thick blanket draped across her legs, Dunna turned toward the others, standing uncertainly inside the door. “There’ll be more supper in a bit,” she said. “Let’s see now – five men more, besides my Muray – who can eat like two of his ken – and a lady.” Her small black eyes roved over Mallet’s enormous frame. “And another who looks as if he can eat like two of my Muray. Alright then, get to it, Dunna girl,” she instructed herself and she moved in quick, birdlike steps toward a doorway that led into the depths of an adjoining room.
Ka’en stood. “May I help, you, mistress?”
Dunna swerved toward her, clucking in motherly annoyance. “You sit yourself right back down, and stay by the fire until you get warm. Dunna cooks for lots of men, often enough. Tis no chore at all.”
Ka’en gratefully settled back in, smiling happily at Aram as Dunna fairly skipped into the next room. Eoarl indicated a large table surrounded by chairs at one end of the room and invited the men to sit.
He grinned at Aram. “You all have certainly made my Dunna’s day,” he said as he pulled the top from an oaken drum set in the corner of the room. “Do you enjoy beer, lads?”
“Beer?” Aram looked around at his companions, letting his gaze come to rest on Findaen, who appeared as mystified as Aram felt. Sitting just beyond, Mallet grinned.
“No – but it sounds like something I’d like to give a go to,” the big man said.
Eoarl glanced around the table. “A mug for each, my lads? Alright, then. Help us out here, Muray.”
When the large pewter cup was set in front of Aram, an aroma wafted up into his nostrils, pungent, sweet, and yet sour, like a wheat field after the end of harvest, when the rains have fallen and settled the chaff, beginning the process of decomposition.
Mallet swung his mug up immediately and downed the contents in a few large gulps. He grinned at Eoarl. “Yes, sir,” he said, “now that’s a drink for any man who’s a man!”
Eoarl’s blue eyes twinkled. “Get our friend another, Muray.”
Aram sipped at his and found it, while not unpleasant, nonetheless as pungent in taste as in aroma. He took a deeper drink and looked up to find Eoarl’s gaze on him.
“I understand that my son was the cause of some unpleasantness today, my lord.”
Aram glanced at Muray, who sat gazing down at the froth near the top of his mug. “It could be as easily stated, sir, with some accuracy, that I was the cause of the unpleasantness.”
/> “No,” the older man disagreed, “I know my son. His irascible disposition is the main reason the council chose him to captain the western gate in these, uh, unusual…times. I suggested him for the job myself.”
Aram looked at the older man with sudden interest. “This council of which you speak. Is my business to be conducted with them?”
Eoarl sipped at his beer, and met Aram’s gaze. “Muray says that you wish to acquire some of our silver?”
“I do,” Aram affirmed. “I brought gold in trade. The lesser currencies of our country have grown slim in these times of hardship and war, and I wish to replenish them.”
Eoarl frowned at him. “War?”
Aram nodded. “We have been at war with Manon for some time now.”
“Lord Aram says that Manon is a god,” Muray interjected. “The same that fought with King Joktan and that he has returned.”
Eoarl glanced at his son. Then he stared into his mug and shook his head slowly. “Actually, I had suspected as much. The council is gravely concerned about certain rumors from the west as of late. And the sailors that dock at Sunderland speak of the tribute that Elam and Vergon pay to the Lord of the North – Manon, I assume.” He looked up at Aram and spoke quietly. “They say that the tribute is paid in young women.”
Aram nodded silently.
Eoarl sighed and lifted his drink, licking foam from his whiskers as he set it back down. “As to your business, my lord, you will need to see the Hay himself, or rather Dame Vitorya. Business such as yours will have to be conducted at the highest level.”
“Dame Vitorya?”
“The Hay’s mother. She speaks for him.”
Aram nodded. “I was told that your leader is deaf and cannot speak?”
“No – not at all.” Eoarl frowned deeply at the assertion. “Although I can see why others would think it. He…simply…will not speak to anyone other than the Dame. I don’t know why, but he is a strange young man.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps just the man for these times, eh?”
“How do I get in to see him – and Dame Vitorya?” Aram asked.
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 25