Eoarl glanced at Mallet’s mug and rose to retrieve another pitcher of beer. “I’ll give you a letter of introduction.”
“My ken is a member of the council,” Muray stated. “He’s a Minister of Commerce, to be exact.”
Aram looked at the old farmer in surprise. “Why cannot I deal with you, then?”
Eoarl waved his hand dismissively at his chest. “My office is concerned only with interior commerce,” he answered. “Prices for goods, workers’ wages, that sort of thing. For silver, you must see the Hay.”
“I understand.” Aram nodded. “I’ll appreciate the letter, sir.”
“I’ll write it in the morning. I would go to Condon with you myself, but it’s time to put the winter wheat in the ground.”
Eoarl glanced up toward the kitchen as Dunna wheeled a cart laden with steaming heaps of food through the doorway. He looked back at Aram. “Will you be our guests for a few days, or must you go on?”
Aram turned and looked at Ka’en. Her head was lying to the side, and her dark hair covered her face. She was obviously asleep. Gazing at her, fatigued from hours of travel and miles of road, he nonetheless shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid we must go on.”
Dunna clucked at hearing this. “Your lady could use a few days in a warm bed in a warm house,” she scolded.
Aram grimaced at the truth in her words. “Undoubtedly true,” he admitted, “but I only have the winter months to complete my business in this part of the world. After I see the Hay, I must get on to the east, toward Seneca, and I need to be back in my own country before spring. Manon will not wait.”
Dunna gasped as she brought the cart to an abrupt halt, and Eoarl stared at him with wide eyes filled with sudden concern. “Surely, Lord Aram, you do not mean to go eastward beyond the wall into the lost and – toward Seneca?”
Dunna’s high-pitched, little girl voice rose even higher in horrified protest. “You cannot take that lovely lady into the realms of demons, sir. You cannot!”
Aram’s companions seated around the table went very still and stiff at the reactions of the farmer and his wife, and Aram looked from one to the other of them carefully. Each man in the room set down his mug and became attentively quiet.
“Your son had exactly this reaction,” Aram said, watching them closely, “but could provide no specific answers as to that which occurs in the regions to the east of this land.”
Eoarl sighed and stared down at the table for a long moment. When he looked up, his eyes were filled with trouble. He spoke to his son while keeping his gaze fixed on Aram’s face. “You told him of the Golers?”
“I did, ken.”
Aram frowned. “Golers?”
“Horned monsters, terrible-looking beasts. They passed through the land about six years ago, leaving a trail of fear and wonder. They went east, into the lost.” He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Long ago, that which we now call the lost was simply known as the eastern wilderness. It is a barren place, by and large, with endless stretches of rock and sand. Very little will grow there – even near the sea. It was ever a realm of wild people and wilder beasts. In the year after the Golers went through, the wild folk began streaming out of the wilderness, into the borders of Lamont, telling tales of butchery, burning, and – “He glanced around, watched Ka’en’s gentle breathing for a moment, and then lowered his voice “– winged demons that flew and breathed fire.”
Aram stiffened, his veins filling up with ice. “Winged demons? Were they seen? And were they immensely large and did they reek of death?”
Eoarl’s eyes narrowed as he watched Aram. “I don’t know – they are others’ tales, not mine. Have you knowledge of these demons, Lord Aram?’
Aram looked to his left, meeting Findaen’s eyes, and those of Wamlak, Mallet, and Ruben sitting beyond. He looked down and considered the foam atop his mug of beer for a long moment, and then sighed. He looked up as Dunna began serving supper, spooning steaming stew into bowls while her gaze remained riveted on Aram’s face.
“I have seen these beasts,” he admitted, and he heard the gasps of his companions to his left, “or, rather, I have experienced them. They flew above me one night near the Land Beyond the Gates, north of Elam. I believe that they created a mist that hid an army of Manon as it marched against us out of the north, unseen. They are, I think – and others agree – in service to the grim lord.”
Dunna’s hand trembled and she spilled food onto the table. “The Maker help us,” she breathed.
Aram glanced back at Ka’en, but she still slept. He returned his gaze to Eoarl, who had risen, and was assisting his wife in cleaning up the mess. “Why would they torment the people of the lost, and then leave that land and go north, into Manon’s service?” He wondered.
The old farmer shook his head as he passed around the bowls of rich, steaming, aromatic stew. “Dark days,” he said simply, “dark days indeed.”
After a moment, when the food had been served, Aram arose and went to Ka’en, stroking her hair as he brought her gently awake. Eoarl deliberately turned the conversation to other topics, having seen Aram’s glance toward Ka’en as she slept and arriving at the correct interpretation. Outside, the night flashed and rumbled.
Mallet looked up at Dunna with stew dripping from his chin. “I have never eaten anything this good,” he declared.
Dunna’s eyes twinkled, though her demeanor remained serious.
Ka’en looked across at her as well. “Thank you, mistress. It is delicious, and warms me inside.”
For one brief moment, as she gazed at Ka’en, the older woman seemed on the verge of tears, but then she smiled, her round face contorting into the image of motherly kindness. “You’re welcome, child, so very welcome.”
Aram emptied his bowl of stew, accepted another from Dunna, and then looked across at Eoarl. “What do you know of Seneca?” He asked. “Your son states that it is a land of ‘ghosts’.”
Eoarl nodded slowly. “Seneca, I believe – at least that which history knew as Seneca, is gone. Recently, however, there have come rumors of scattered tribes living in those mighty forests, and of fishing and trading villages along the coast, but I can’t speak to the truth of it.”
“Rumors? From whence do these rumors arise?”
“Occasionally, the captains of private ships – criminal seaman, some think them – put in at Sunderland and do business. It is they that speak of people to the east, but I must admit that most folk put little faith in anything that is said by them.”
“Yes; I have had experience of these men,” Aram said.
“Well, they claim that the forests to the east –” Eoarl halted abruptly and gazed at Aram for a long moment, studying his dark hair and beard, and the sword that rose above his shoulder. “It is said that these outlaw seaman were once ruled by a giant sailor but that the monster was slain by a ‘dark prince’ from the north. I don’t suppose that you might be that man, Lord Aram?”
“I have not heard the term, ‘dark prince’, but yes,” Aram inclined his head, “I killed Burkhed at Durck. I gave him a chance at life, but he refused it.”
“I see.” Eoarl nodded slowly as he glanced once again at the sword. “As I hear it – you are their law now, more than that of Elam, Lamont, or of any other principality upon the sea.”
Aram shrugged. “They know better than to cheat me. What do they say of Seneca? For even outlaws and liars will speak the truth now and again – in an unguarded moment.”
Smiling, Eoarl nodded. “They say that there are tribes of people that live among the great forests beyond the lost – in what used to be Seneca, I assume. In the last few years, these tribes have begun to do business with the privateers, trading fruits and high-quality lumber for kolfa and other goods from the west.”
Aram felt disappointment seep into him, dampening his hope. “Scattered tribes? No civilization to speak of?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Aram. What I hear is secondhand, and not very reliable, I�
��m afraid.”
“Thank you, anyway,” Aram answered, and he returned to his meal.
After supper, Ka’en went into the kitchen with Dunna, insisting despite the older woman’s furious protests that she be allowed to help clean up. Eoarl refilled the mugs and then went to the fireplace where he placed one end of a small stick of wood into the flames. Then he reached up onto the mantle and produced a curious, long-stemmed object with a bowl at one end and a thin, round reed that he placed in his mouth. Retrieving the burning stick, he placed the flaming end into the bowl and drew on the reed, expelling a cloud of aromatic smoke a moment later.
Finding all eyes on him, he extended the object. “Pipe, anyone?”
“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Findaen answered. “Never.”
“Really? It’s called a pipe, for burning leaf.” Eoarl answered. “The smoke calms me at the end of the day.”
“Do you grow the leaf?” Findaen asked curiously.
“Oh, no, it won’t do well here, a bit too dry most summers. We tend to get our rain in the fall and winter.” He glanced at the window as lightning flared outside, followed by a deafening rumble. “Like tonight.” He looked at Aram. “I hope your horses are alright?”
Aram nodded. “They’re clever people – they won’t stay out in this.”
Eoarl drew again on the pipe and looked down at it. “No, this leaf comes from up north somewhere – the seamen bring it to trade at Sunderland. This,” he drew again, and a cloud of blue smoke coiled around him, “is particularly good leaf.”
Mallet slapped his knee and fairly roared. “Jonwood!” He cried.
Eoarl frowned. “Jonwood?”
“A friend of ours,” Aram smiled. “It is said that he grows the best leaf in all of Wallensia.”
“Wallensia – yes, I believe that this leaf came from there. Black market stuff, you know – we get it from those privateers of which I spoke earlier. Very expensive by the time it reaches me, but worth every penny. I hope that your friend is well recompensed. You may give him my thanks when again you meet.”
The farmer seated himself at the table and looked across at Aram, after glancing at his son. “You called the horses ‘people’ just now.”
Aram nodded. “They are one of the noble peoples. For many years communion with them was lost, but has now been reestablished.”
“So my son spoke truly when he said that a horse talked with him.”
“Florm, the lord of all horses, accompanies us on this journey. He it is that spoke with your son, and bore him here.”
Muray gazed at Aram with widened eyes. “The lord of horses?”
Aram laughed. “You’ve been shown a high honor, indeed, my friend.”
“And I was such an ass this day,” the young captain lamented, “I must make amends on the morrow.”
“Florm is the most pragmatic of souls,” Aram answered. “He will bear no ill will.”
“Still – I will apologize.”
Ruben, seated near the far end of the table, set down his mug and peered around Mallet. “Will you tell us about these winged demons, my lord?”
Aram frowned. “I’m not sure what I can tell, for I know very little.” He thought about Joktan’s assertion that they were of an ancient race of beasts called “dragons”, and his frown deepened.
At that moment, Eoarl glanced at the kitchen doorway, where Dunna stood quietly, alone, watching the men. He cleared his throat deliberately, drawing Aram’s attention. “So,” he said when Aram looked up. “You’ll go to Condon on the morrow?”
Aram met his gaze and then looked up at Dunna, noting that the room behind her had gone dark and quiet. “Yes,” he said, rising. “Thank you for everything, sir.” He glanced at Ruben. “We’ll talk about this matter another time,” he promised.
Dunna crooked her finger at him. “Your lady has gone to bed, sir. If you will follow me?”
Ka’en was asleep in a large bed in a room near the back of the house, beneath a window that flared with the intermittent brightness of the storm outside. Her dark hair lay across one side of her pale face, and her breathing was slow and shallow.
Dunna gazed down at her with soft eyes. “She is a sweet, lovely thing,” she said, and raised her eyes to Aram’s face, where that gaze hardened with a mother’s intuition. “I pray that you know her value,” she stated boldly. “Surely, you will not take her into the east.”
Aram met her fierce gaze, surprised that he felt a compulsion to justify his actions to this farmer’s wife of Lamont. “You may believe this, mistress,” he answered quietly. “The Lady Ka’en is safer with me than in any other place on earth, however long or tiring the journey. Any harm to her can occur only after my death. And I will not die easily.”
“Brave words, sir.” She turned to look again at the sleeping princess. “I never had a daughter, nor have I known many girls with this one’s kind and sweet temperament.” She glanced up and out through the window as another lightning stroke flashed, and the glass pane rattled in its frame. “I know that these are troublous times,” she said quietly. “I hear my husband when he speaks of these things with other members of the council.” She turned and peered up at Aram, and her eyes strayed to his sword, which, mysteriously, her husband had allowed a stranger to wear inside his house, something that had never occurred before this day.
“Muray says that you are a great and powerful lord – the enemy of Manon himself. And so, I wish you all success in all your endeavors.” She looked down again at Ka’en. “But do not forget that which really matters.”
Aram watched Ka’en’s breast gently rise and fall beneath the coverlet for a long, quiet moment. “Everything I do,” he said then, “ultimately is for her.”
“And yet you will take her into the east.”
“No, mistress. I will go into the east, because I must; and she will go also – because she will not stay behind. She is stronger than you imagine.”
“In spirit, perhaps, but in body –?”
Aram sighed. “Nevertheless, she will go.”
Dunna reached up and placed one hand upon his arm. “May the Maker go with her, and with you, too,” she said quietly, and she turned and went out through the doorway, leaving him alone with his sleeping wife.
In the morning, after a breakfast that was every bit as marvelous as the previous evening’s supper, the horses came in from the surrounding ridge top where they’d gone to graze in the early light, and Aram and the others mounted up. True to his word, Eoarl had written a letter introducing Aram to the court of the Hay at Condon. Muray, it had been decided, would accompany them, for he was the son of a commissioner, though his reputation for rashness, which was well known, granted him but limited influence in political circles despite his father’s stature.
Dunna came trundling out, her arms laden with blue cloth, which she handed up to Ka’en who was already mounted on Huram.
“Here you are, my lady – a lamb’s wool cloak. It will keep you warm and dry on the road.”
Ka’en drew in her breath at the sight and feel of such a fine gift. It was of thrice-woven, dark blue cloth, and the interior side was composed of white, curly material, like thick fur, soft and warm.
She rubbed it against her cheek in delight, but then frowned down at Dunna in regret. “I cannot accept something so valuable.”
Dunna’s eyes crinkled. “Posh, my dear, it is mine to give, and it is given.” She reached out and touched Ka’en on the foot. Her black eyes grew serious. “If you must go into the east; be careful, my girl, do nothing rash. And stay behind your husband.”
Ka’en glanced at Aram, and then gratefully drew the cloak around her. “I will. Thank you, mistress.”
Dunna patted her foot again. Eoarl reached out and pulled his wife out of the way of the horses, and then held one hand up to Aram in silent farewell.
Aram spoke to Thaniel, and the column moved out of the yard, going north toward the ancient road, where they would turn east into the interior r
egions of Lamont.
25
Vulgur stood in the great round room, diffused green light spilling down around him as he waited on the Great Father. How long he had waited, he didn’t know, it might have been a few hours, but it might have been a day or more. The Great Father was busy preparing a second self to go forth into the rocky fastness of the mountains to the north of the valley of the tower – there to commune with the Laish. The master was not to be disturbed when he was at his labors in one of the secret chambers below. So, Vulgur waited, quietly, patiently.
Sometime later, the enormous room abruptly filled with the massive, potent presence of the Great Father. Vulgur aroused himself and opened his eyes. Manon moved to the center of the chamber where he turned to examine his eldest.
“Speak, my child.”
“It is the man, again, Great Father – the man with the sword. He did not die upon the mountain, and he troubles us again.”
“Indeed. And how does he trouble us?”
“He steals your tribute, Great Father – that which comes out of Elam.”
“He takes the women?”
“Yes. Three trains thus far.”
“What is being done concerning this?”
“The Second set a trap, but the man escaped, and all the first children involved in the action were lost.”
“All?” Despite the unwelcome nature of this report, Manon smiled slightly at Vulgur’s hesitance to speak the name of his younger brother. “And was Hargur also lost?”
“No, the commander of the trains yet lives.”
“How many of the human women were taken from us?”
“More than two hundred.”
Manon went silent for a moment, gazing at the distant walls, pondering this news. Finally, he said, “The man seeks to increase his strength while robbing us of ours. Foolish – for it will take him much more time to accomplish this than I intend to grant to him.”
Vulgur realized that the god was simply thinking aloud, and he kept silent. After a moment, Manon’s azure eyes moved and looked at him. “Hargur knows, does he not, that the man is not to be killed?”
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 26