Aram shook his head, uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. “Lord Florm is generous, as always.” He glanced back at Ka’en, still mounted on Huram. “But I am a prince solely by virtue of my marriage to that woman, the Princess of Wallensia. Beside that one thing, I will say that I am the enemy of Manon, nothing more.”
“Enough of this.” Florm’s voice as he swung his head to look at Aram was fierce and full of passion. “There is no further need for humility on your part, Lord Aram, in fact, it has become undesirable – I have heard enough of it.” He turned back to Willar, whose eyes had grown even wider at the power in the horse’s words. “This man is the heir – by a line of blood unbroken – of Joktan himself. Let all hear my words and let none doubt them.”
Willar dropped his hand and stared; behind him his companions, who had deliberately been included in Florm’s outburst, gazed open-mouthed, both at the shock of hearing the voice of the horse and of that which his words conveyed.
Willar took an uncertain step toward Aram. “King Joktan’s heir walks the world? – dear Maker in the heavens, can this be true?”
“He is Joktan’s son. Do not doubt this. And it is because he has arisen in the world that the power of the enemy is blunted and pushed back.”
Still chafing under the unwanted attention, Aram spoke softly. “There is much to be done, my lord,” he cautioned, “before we can truly speak of blunting the strength of the enemy.”
“True,” Florm answered, “and that is what brings us into this part of the world, is it not – to find aid in doing that which remains to be done?”
Willar cleared his throat, gaining Aram’s attention. “The evening is upon us. Would you do me the honor of staying in my house this night – you, and your lady, and your companions?”
Aram glanced at Muray, who shrugged, and then he looked uncertainly at Florm and Thaniel. As if seeing his thoughts, Willar spoke quickly. “I meant all of your companions. Lord Aram, including Lord Florm and his people.”
Thaniel shifted his body warily. “I am not anxious to go indoors, out from under the sky, Lord Aram.”
“But I have a large courtyard before my house,” Willar interrupted, “there is no need to abandon the sky if this thought troubles you. And I am certain that I can find food that you will find acceptable.”
Florm laughed his low, rumbling laugh. “Is there grass in your courtyard, friend Willar?”
“But of course.”
“Then we will find sustenance.”
Aram looked back at Muray, who grinned. “My uncle will have to make do with the honor of entertaining me alone,” he said. “I will go grant him this great pleasure, and call for you in the morning, my lord.”
Aram raised his hand in farewell and then turned and bowed to Willar. “I gratefully accept your hospitality, sir.”
The warder’s house was one of the larger, multi-storied buildings set back from a wide avenue a few blocks from the quayside, where he lived with an adult, unmarried daughter, who was even thinner than her father, and appeared unwell. And there was indeed a large, enclosed courtyard, beautifully landscaped, with nearly an acre of lush, thick grass. Florm, upon entering, looked around doubtfully.
“I must tell you, friend Willar, that horses are not the gentlest of people. My son, especially, is a heavy person. I fear we will do irreparable damage to your garden.”
Willar waved this warning away. “This piece of ground has not the wits to understand the honor it is paid by your presence. Indeed, once Lord Aram and his lady are settled, I would beg that you grant me the gift of a conversation for as long as your strength allows. I know that you have traveled far and need rest. But I am old, and no doubt will never have an opportunity such as this again.”
“But of course.” Florm lowered his head. “I am at your service.”
“Oh, no,” Willar laughed softly, gladly, “I am at yours. It is as if history has walked into my garden.” He glanced over at Aram and Ka’en, being escorted inside the house by his daughter, and he continued softly. “And the son of a legend enters my home. A remarkable day, indeed.”
Aram and his companions were put at ease by Willar and his daughter. The house was furnished with a large staff, though Willar spoke to each of his servants softly and kindly, making requests of them as if they were dear friends and were paid for their labor in gratitude as well as money.
Willar’s daughter, a soft-spoken woman – she seemed more like a young girl – took to Ka’en immediately and the two of them were soon talking together as if they’d been companions for life, leaving Aram and the others free to rest and discuss the events behind and the road ahead. When Ruben once again brought up the subject of the dark rumors of the east, Aram shook his head.
“There will be time enough for that later,” he said quietly.
After supper, Willar excused himself, and retired to the garden, where he spent the remainder of the evening plying Florm with questions of ancient times, discussing histories and legends, and talking of the current troubles of the world. He had not returned indoors when Aram and Ka’en went to bed.
Aram awoke in the morning, rested like he had not been in days, with Ka’en’s head cradled on his shoulder. He let her sleep as he watched the rays of the rising sun brighten the window and illuminate the richness of the room’s furnishings. Never had he known – or even imagined – the level of opulence that existed in Willar’s house. This must be what Regamun Mediar was once like, he thought. And shall be again one day.
They breakfasted on meats and exotic fruits – though without Willar. The warder had gone into the courtyard early, to take full advantage of the wonderful novelty of conversing with Florm, a creature of legend that was also thousands of years old. Aram emerged into the garden to find Willar sitting on a marble bench, facing a semicircle of horses in time to hear him say –
“– and I shall write a book of these things, in the time yet allotted to me – a definitive history of the world. The knowledge I have gained from you will render me immortal, Lord Florm, when it is ascribed to paper.”
Florm laughed. “The world will go on for some time yet, my friend. There will be much more to write about in the years ahead – more interesting perhaps, than that which has passed. The most important events of our history, I believe, are yet to be wrought.”
Willar turned and watched Aram and Ka’en come into the yard, followed by the others. “By him, I imagine.”
“Undoubtedly,” the horse agreed.
Willar walked with them to the edge of the avenue, where the horses were saddled and the packs secured upon the backs of Yvan and Jerba. Muray waited just outside the gate. “I’ll be going to Condon with you, then?” he asked.
“I think it best,” Willar answered for Aram. “There should be no trouble – he has a letter from an official of the government. Still, you know the road, Muray, and have at least a rudimentary understanding of protocol.” He said this last with a knowing smile, which Muray answered in kind.
Willar turned to Aram. “I cannot go with you, my lord; my duties require me to remain here for the present. And as much as I would like to accept Lord Florm’s offer of conveyance, I’m afraid that my old bones would not thank me.” His eye strayed to the slim form of his daughter, standing arm in arm with Ka’en. He said nothing further, but it was apparent that there was a more pressing reason that he should stay close to home.
Willar looked back at Aram with a troubled expression. “Lord Florm tells me you intend to go eastward, beyond the barrier.”
Aram nodded slowly. “I intend to go into Seneca.”
Willar shook his head. “No word has come out of Seneca in thousands of years,” he said, “I’m afraid you will find nothing but savages, ruins, and empty wilderness. But it is that much closer to hand that worries me about your intent.”
“You speak of ‘the lost’,” Aram guessed.
“So you’ve heard the tales, then?”
“Yes.”
&nbs
p; Willar’s eyes strayed to Ka’en. “I would beg you, Lord Aram, to reconsider this intention on your part.”
“I will consider your counsel before I go further east,” Aram answered carefully, and inclined his head. “And I thank you for your kindness.”
Willar met the younger man’s steady gaze for a moment, nodded, glanced again at Ka’en, and then bowed slightly and turned to Florm. “Will you come again, if events allow?”
“I will come again,” the old horse answered in a subdued voice, “whether events allow it or no, my friend.”
“The Maker go with you all, then,” Willar said and he stepped away to offer his daughter the support of his arm.
The horses’ hooves clattered on the smooth stones of the avenue as the column turned the corner at the edge of Willar’s property and went north out of the city along the main road. Tall, well-built stone buildings flanked the avenue to either side, and every doorway was filled with citizens marveling at the strange procession that had come into their town and now rumbled out again.
Beyond the limits of the city, the folded landscape took on a soft green hue; field after field of new wheat edged the road and flowed over the gentle hills. Nearly every farm, though all were of different sizes, had the same prosperous look as Eoarl’s far to the west beyond the hills. Every so often, narrower roads, some of dirt or gravel, but mostly cobble stone conduits, ran off the main road and out into the countryside. At every one of these minor junctions, there were buildings of commerce, stores, and granaries. On every side, Lamont appeared content, prosperous, and untouched by those troubles that afflicted the world further west.
By midmorning, they came to the main junction of the two ancient roads and came upon a man in an official robe, riding in an oxcart, and accompanied by soldiers. He was stunned to see the bizarre column bear down on him, and once again, Muray was compelled to explain the reason for these strange men and stranger beasts to be abroad in the land. The letter was read again, with attendant wide-eyes being trained upon Aram and Ka’en and the horses, with deference finding its way abruptly into the conversation. Then they were away, driving north toward the base of the enormous mountain.
Gradually, as the sun climbed the sky toward its zenith and they rumbled north, the countryside lost its gentler aspects, and there were fewer farms and more trees, with the tall-crowned evergreens scattered among the broad leafs. Towns became less frequent as well, though traffic increased on the road, coming from the capitol and moving toward it, oxcarts mostly, but there was a substantial amount of foot traffic also. Always, the natives of Lamont moved quickly out of the way of the astonishing column and watched open-mouthed as its amazing members – men, and a woman, on horseback! – filed by.
The mountain rose until it towered above them, the snow clinging to its split summit glistening far away among incredible heights. Nearer at hand, the road rose smoothly up into the clustered foothills, angling slightly westward toward the dark smudge of buildings that crowned several of their taller fellows at the feet of the mountain. The road was of excellent ancient construction, but was also obviously well-maintained. Houses began to appear in increasing frequency to either side of the road as they approached Condon, and when the sun had fallen halfway down the western sky, the structures of the city itself could be resolved.
The city was built on the slopes and rounded heights of six or seven hills, its buildings composed mostly of gray stone that absorbed the light of the sun. One structure in particular drew the eye; an imposing building of substantial height and breadth crowning the tallest hill just behind the center of the city, at the mountain’s base.
Abruptly, they rounded a hillside and approached an open gate set in a tall, thick wall of imposing stone. Looking at the workmanship as they came up, Aram could see that the stones were very ancient, and knew that the hands of the stonemasons that had set them had not laid anything further in thousands of years. Muray spoke to Florm, and the column drew to a halt.
Muray swung down – as deftly as if he’d ridden for the whole of his life – and looked over at Aram. “We’d better go forward – just the two of us, my lord, and show the letter.”
Aram glanced at Findaen. “I’ll return in a moment.”
An official in a dark robe emerged from a door set into the wall at the side of the open gate. Guards crowded to either side of the broad gateway, out of the way of traffic, but their incredulous attention was centered further down the road, on the horses.
The official was a medium-sized, slightly overweight younger man with oiled hair from whose person wafted the flowery scent of a rather belligerent perfume. In an imperious tone, this fellow named himself Arne, “Gatekeeper of Condon”. With an effort, he tore his gaze away from the amazing sight of living legends standing a few paces up the road and took the letter Aram offered him, quickly scanning the text. Then he looked up at Aram with shrewd, calculating eyes, taking in his rough appearance, and the sword rising conspicuously above his right shoulder, and seemed to disapprove of the presence of the weapon. But then he turned and looked back up the road.
“Those are horses,” he said, and he sounded breathless.
“They are indeed, a wise and ancient people,” Aram answered, and he glanced at the sun, declining toward the western hills. “Where might my friends, the horses, spend the night in comfort?”
The official pulled his gaze away and frowned up at Aram. “What are their requirements?”
“Grass and water – and a measure of grain if it can be found – and shelter if it storms. You may ask them yourself, if you like.”
Arne studied Aram’s face, frowning as he looked for signs that he was being ridiculed, but found none. Abruptly, his eyes widened. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
Aram nodded. “The big black horse – my mount – you will find to be a bit taciturn, but the other black horse is his father – Lord Florm, the lord of horses, and the white is Lord Florm’s spouse. If you are respectful in your inquiries, they will apprise you of their needs. I trust you will provide what is required?”
Arne’s eyes remained wide as he nodded. “I will – anything.” He placed the letter back into Aram’s hand, and began moving toward the group of horses standing in the road. “The letter is in order, sir,” he called back, “and the city is open to you. But you will have to show it again at the palace in the morning, for Dame Vitorya will not entertain anything further today.”
Aram looked at the guards, who continued to ignore him in favor of the more interesting creatures standing out upon the thoroughfare. Traffic continued to move in and out of the gate, mostly inward as the hour grew late.
He turned to Muray with a frown. “I don’t suppose you have an uncle in Condon as well?”
Muray grinned as he shook his head. “No, but my ken thought of that.” He reached in his pocket and produced a small purse that jingled as he shook it. “There are fine inns in the capitol, and my father insisted that you and your friends be put up in one of the finest.”
“I will have to thank your father for his kindness and foresight.” Aram said, and he looked back up the road, where the pudgy official had engaged Florm and Ashal in conversation, and was gesturing excitedly as the horses – in particular, Thaniel – watched him with barely disguised distaste. “We should find a place to store our things then, and relieve the horses.”
Eventually, the horses were relieved of their saddles and packs, which Arne agreed to store in a room beneath the wall, except for the bags of monarchs which – this time – Aram took with him. Despite Arne’s offer to put all of them up at his house – an action which no doubt would have raised his stock even higher than the fact that he rightfully could claim conversation with creatures of legend – the horses decided to retire into the hilly countryside round about. There was ample grass and several quick-flowing streams fed by the mass of the mountain above – and Arne promised to deliver something he called “oats” for the horses’ inspection.
Before
they left, Aram drew Thaniel aside. “Durlrang and the others are in the hills. I’d like it if you kept in touch with them throughout the night.”
Thaniel looked around at the rumpled land, turning gold and purple in the failing sunlight. “I think that there is no need for worry, Aram. This land seems to be the most peaceful place on earth. The wolves themselves are very likely the most dangerous creatures of any about.” He looked back at Aram, noticing his friend’s skeptical expression as he also examined the countryside, especially as he looked toward the darkened east.
“Still,” Thaniel said, to ease Aram’s mind, “I promise caution on all fronts.”
Aram nodded and went back to the road, and collected Ka’en, Findaen, and the others. Joining Muray at the gate, they entered the city.
27
Compared to Sunderland, which had been airy and bright and roomy, with wide avenues flanked by spacious homes, Condon was cramped and crowded and gloomy, with stone-paved streets that seemed to slink and cower beneath the tall buildings to either aside. Here, at least, on the main avenue that led from the gate into the upper heart of the city, every building was a multi-storied affair, composed of sturdy, dark gray stone. Hulking and dark in the twilight, many seemed to overhang the street, making Ka’en look up at them with some trepidation. Aram pulled her close as they walked.
Over all, there towered the central hill, higher than those on which the bulk of the city was built, itself crowned by a massive structure, which in the fading light of evening appeared somewhat foreboding. This was the official residence, Muray pointed out a bit unnecessarily, of the Hay. There were lights in some of the windows of the upper stories of this building, but while Aram watched, no shadows crossed those small bright squares. Behind it, the massive mountain towered into the sky, a hulking behemoth, its timbered slopes darker than the coming night.
They came to a square, where the avenue broke away at sharp angles to completely enclose a small park, in the center of which there was a fountain of stone, carved in the shape of a creature Aram had never seen, fishlike in that it had fins and a tail, but with a rather bulbous snout and intelligent eyes. It was not a fish, but it undoubtedly lived in, and moved through, water. Surrounding the square, there were buildings fronted with verandas and brightly lit windows. Muray informed them that they had arrived at the inn district, where important – or wealthier – travelers stayed during visits to the city. After the trip up through the deep and darkened streets, this open space, still lit by the light that remained after sunset, seemed an oasis.
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 28