Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  If there was one thing that General Edverch feared and hated above all others, it was being forced to appear competent before a crowd. Though he was, in fact, a capable commander, at least in the drilling of men and the organizing of troops into an army – something he’d done in Elam for decades – maintaining the appearance of competence simply wasn’t one of his strengths, especially when questioned in the abrupt, prosecutorial manner of the High Prince. He’d never gone into battle – no one from Elam had ever gained that experience – but he did, once upon a time, cut a fine figure in a uniform. His greatest gift, and the one most highly prized by Imrid, though not at this particular moment, was the ability to grovel without sniveling. At that one thing, he was as adept as any man had ever been.

  He stared back at Elam’s ruler for perhaps a moment too long and then stammered. “They have been no threat to us thus far.”

  Imrid nodded. “Yet Soroba states that only the actions of the armies of the Lord of the North have rendered this as a fact.”

  Edverch scowled. “Are we certain, Your Highness, that Soroba is at all truthful in this matter?”

  The High Prince smiled. “I hardly think that the truth of the matter is what is important here.”

  This statement both surprised and flummoxed poor Edverch. The prince continued. “I think that the important concepts in this matter are those that have to do with perception and intelligence. If we rely solely upon the reports of others – especially those that might not have our interests at heart – for intelligence of that which occurs upon our borders, we risk the perception of weakness.” He paused and let his gaze flow around the gathered company, resting briefly upon the figure of Marcus, his nephew, and then he continued. “I think that we should go and see for ourselves what it is that occurs upon our borders with the wild lands. After all, those are our borders, not those of Soroba’s master.”

  Edverch bowed. “What would you have me do, my lord?”

  “What should we do?” After posing this question, Imrid let his gaze rove over the group, including everyone gathered there.

  After a moment, a tall lean hunched man with gray hair and a beard that flowed nearly to his waist moved his hand, indicating the land of Elam beyond the balustrade. “The land is full of soldiers,” he said, “with nothing better to do than wander the streets of our cities and towns, drinking, preying upon young women, spending money like water, flaunting local law, and hiding from the constables inside the walls of their fortresses. I say – put them to use. Send them forth to see about this ‘barbarian’ problem. Let them for once earn their extremely generous pay – and give our citizens a respite from raucous depravity.”

  Despite the fact that this was precisely the suggestion that the High Prince had sought, he also felt a momentary flash of irritation. Leeton Cinnabar was not known as a friend of the throne, and had been a dependable critic of the policies of the High Prince since Rahm Imrid’s ascension. Coming as he did from the southwest coasts of Elam, where he and his family had governed a loyal constituency for generations, he had been, by and large, untouchable – something that, in time, Imrid meant to alter.

  As for the soldiers, their bad behavior and “overpayment” did not trouble him at all. It was precisely by providing the professionally armed young men of the land with this lavish and protected lifestyle that he had purchased the loyalty of the military. And their “raucous depravity” served him in other ways as well – as long as the Great Houses, like Cinnabar’s, for instance, appeared powerless to stop the offensive behavior of the throne’s soldiers, the power of the houses was lessened, consequently increasing that of the High Prince, which could then be demonstrated to effect by bringing the offenses to a halt.

  There was another reason that he approved of Cinnabar’s suggestion, however, and it concerned his long-term goals. The troops of Elam, while highly trained, and very adequately equipped, had never been asked to earn their generous pay on the field of battle. In terms of actual combat, the troops of Elam were utterly green. If ever Elam were threatened – by these barbarians, for instance, or perhaps even by Soroba’s master – or, conversely, if it were to project its own power, something Imrid intended, its army would necessarily be at a disadvantage despite its size. Elam’s forces lacked involvement in real action, a fault that must be remedied. Action, then, must be sought and engaged in, wherever it could be found, exposing the troops to genuine danger, and thereby hardening them for the task ahead.

  For Rahm had set himself a lofty goal indeed.

  He meant to rule the world.

  There had been kings on the earth, once upon a time, and he intended that it would be so again.

  Forcing aside the irritation, he granted Cinnabar one nod of his head and then addressed Edverch again. “Councilor Cinnabar speaks wisdom, I think, General, and gives weight to thoughts I have entertained for some time.”

  He turned again to look out over his domain. “I want you to assemble a force of men, say fifteen thousand, and lead them northward out of Elam, beyond the gates, and discover the veracity of that which we’ve lately been told about this barbarian threat.” He pivoted and found Marcus. “We are fortunate in that we have never known war, but this means that our soldiers are necessarily inexperienced. They are, however, very well-trained, are they not, and better equipped than any? Perhaps my brother’s son will go on this expedition – so that we will have a political as well as military presence upon the field?”

  Marcus nodded his assent without expression.

  Good, thought Imrid, if we are fortunate enough to find vicious men at the edges of the wild, mayhap they will relieve me of this last encumbrance.

  He moved his attention back to Edverch. “Good enough, General. Take fifteen thousand of Elam’s finest and go north before spring. Prince Marcus will accompany you as second in command and as my personal emissary. When you get beyond the gates, you will enlist the aid of Governor Kitchell, along with whatever troops he has at his disposal – I will send a writ with you requesting this of him.”

  One of the other councilors, a broad man named Fergus, cleared his voice and spoke doubtfully. “Lord Soroba stated in council that these wild barbarians employed strange, dark magic, and that his forces were more capable of dealing with them than were ours. Perhaps we should move cautiously, my lord?”

  Imrid gazed silently at the large man without expression until the councilor fidgeted and glanced away. Then he gave his answer.

  “One can only discern the true strength of an ally – or an enemy – by first discovering the strength of that ally’s – or that enemy’s – enemies in turn,” the High Prince answered. “This is wisdom, is it not? I think it is. I will not have the might of Elam kept in ineffectual constraint, and have myself played as a mere vassal by stories of dangers that we ourselves have not witnessed. Are there dangers upon our borders? Perhaps, but we will go and see for ourselves. It may be that these barbarians will be swept away with one flick of Elam’s finger, and then we can examine our en – our northern ally, more clearly, and with less prejudice.”

  He turned away again and placed both hands upon the marble railing. Gazing out over the broad green land, he uttered words of unguarded honesty. “It is my belief that Elam is the might in the world, and that the future courses of humanity will be best guided by her.”

  45

  After spending one final night in the common house at Candar; Aram and his companions took leave of Matibar where the ancient road, deprived of its stone, entered the dark forests at the western edge of Seneca proper. The solemn man inclined his head to Aram and spoke stiffly. “I promise you, Lord Aram, that you have not heard the last word out of Seneca.”

  Since leaving Mulbar, the tall, proud Senecan had remained quiet, and had seemed ashamed of the response of his government to the requests of the heir of Joktan, and these words of parting appeared to confirm that impression.

  Aram, however, was not in a gracious mood.

  “Let us hope,�
� he answered, “that Seneca finds its voice before it is too late to be of consequence. Wait too long, and you may find yourself speaking only to enemies – those that would befriend you will be gone.”

  Leaving him standing in the track, the company then went quickly into the west through the gloom of the tall, densely growing trees, never stopping to remark upon the wonders of this ancient land. Aram’s mood, evidently, was also imparted to his companions, for they all seemed as anxious as he to quit the dark forest. Having failed in a dearly held desire, he wished for nothing but to escape Seneca, re-cross the lost and get back inside the borders of Lamont.

  After passing over the sky bridge, the wolves parted from the company, streaming northward along the banks of the deep chasm that contained the tumbling river. Durlrang stayed with Aram, but Leorg and Shingka went with them, to guide them on the way. It was their intention to go westward through the mountainous region on the northern edge of the lost, where there would be plentiful food and water for such a large company of wolves. After traversing the mountains between Lamont and Derosa, and coming out onto the plains, Leorg and Shingka would guide them through the green hills, by Burning Mountain, and thence into the forested hills on the east of Elam.

  Aram led the rest of the company westward along the road as it wound down through the timbered slopes toward the wilderness of the lost, far below. He’d given thought about how he intended to affect this return crossing of that wild land. After counting the days it had taken them to cross, and subtracting those spent dealing with the lashers, he had decided that he would order their return journey in such a way as to pass by the black mountain with its lonely fellring in the middle hours of the fifth day. Doing so would allow them to make camp as far away from it as possible on the two nights either side of that passage.

  To that end, he realized that there were a few hours to expend on this particular day, so when they reached the lowlands on the edge of the lost and found a grassy ridge above a clear-flowing stream that tumbled gently toward the ocean; he turned aside and made for the beach. Knowing there would be questions; he looked over in answer to Ka’en’s quizzical look and spoke loudly enough that all could hear.

  “You said that you couldn’t get enough of the sea, so I thought I would at least allow you another look. We’ll camp on its shores tonight.”

  Her smile was surprised and glad at the same time. “Will we go all the way to the water?” She asked.

  Aram grinned at her enthusiasm. “Yes, if you like. I thought we’d indulge in an easy afternoon and camp near the sea tonight – get rested for the journey ahead.”

  “I want to get my feet wet,” she suggested, watching him.

  Aram frowned. “That’s alright, I guess. Just don’t go out too far. We really don’t know much about the ocean – or the creatures that might dwell in it.”

  “Are you always this cautious?” She asked, smiling coolly.

  He did not smile. “Only with you.”

  They found a rounded hillock crowned with wind-bent trees a short way from the beach, where the water in the stream still flowed clear before becoming stained with brine nearer the sand. Here they released the horses and prepared their camp, then went down to stroll along the surf’s edge. Ka’en found some small, beautifully colored, oddly-shaped objects partially buried in the sand that had evidently been the home of unknown, small sea creatures, now deceased. These she insisted upon keeping, and Aram dutifully promised to find safe storage among their gear. After a while, she removed her shoes and waded through the shallow frothing water, gazing out at the far horizon in wonder.

  Findaen came trotting by and deliberately splashed her, inducing her to give chase in order to return the favor. Wamlak and some of the others soon joined in the fun. Even Florm and Ashal seemed to rediscover their youth, running and pounding through the breaking waves with arched necks and flying manes.

  Aram, realizing that little thought was being given to security, made his way back across the sand and sat down on top of a dune, where he had an unobstructed view both ways along the beach and inland toward the wilderness as well. Nothing threatened them, however; the countryside remained quiet, and the only things at wing in the sky were dozens of the swift white birds with black wingtips uttering their sharp cries. Occasionally, small groups of larger birds also came by. These were generally gray in color, with large heads and long, heavy beaks. In each passage, they flew low over the water, parallel to the beach, nearly skimming the wave crests. Except for these apparently benign creatures, nothing else stirred in Aram’s sight line. Durlrang came to sit beside him and Aram reached out one hand and absentmindedly ran his fingers through the rough hair along the back of the old wolf’s neck.

  Sometime later, as he turned to glance inland, he discovered Thaniel standing a little way behind him on his left. The horse was doing the same thing as he, peering along the beach and occasionally turning his head to gaze inland, helping Aram keep watch while everyone else frolicked near the water.

  We really are two of a kind, this horse and I, thought Aram, smiling to himself, more brothers than any two brothers ever were.

  Eventually, the others tired of play as the sun sank into the west. The wind from the sea, which had blown with some force all day, began to lay down a bit with the coming of evening. Aram gathered what wood he could find among the sparse copses of bent trees scattered about the low-lying hills so that a fire could be started, while Ka’en and the others rinsed the seawater from their clothes in the fresh water of the stream.

  As Ka’en came up the slope, wringing the moisture from the lower parts of her clothing, Aram grinned at her. “Have fun?”

  She came up and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t make the ocean.”

  “But you brought me to see it,” she answered. “My life is full.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows though the smile remained. “Full? Already? We’re just at the beginning of it, you and I…”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “You make it full; everything else is just added to my happiness.”

  It took them nine days to cross the lost. Aram made certain that they camped a half-day either side of the black mountain with its lonely, dangerous fellring. He believed that Manon’s image could not step outside the ring without destroying itself, but he wasn’t certain, so he accepted as little risk as possible on that day, keeping Kipwing in the sky until dusk, and sending Durlrang out to watch through the dark hours.

  In the late afternoon of the ninth day since leaving the seashore, they topped a rise and saw the wall of Lamont before them. They rested at the inn, with most of the men going down to the pub to celebrate. Aram stayed in the room with Ka’en. Since coming inside the barrier, he felt rather abruptly fatigued from the long, arduous journey. Good food was sent to the room, they were able to properly bathe – which delighted Ka’en immensely – and sleep came readily and stayed long in the warm, soft depths of the bed.

  Just after midday two days later, they came to the walls of Condon where they left their gear in charge of Arne, the perfumed gatekeeper, and released the horses and Durlrang to roam the grassy knolls and woodlands. Aram and Ka’en found themselves once again besieged by the helpful staff of the Silver Arms, who insisted on meeting every wish, even if that wish were only anticipated and not actually spoken aloud.

  They had been in the room but two hours when a message from the Hay was delivered to their door. The young ruler of Lamont was most anxious that the entire party join him for supper at the hall. Aram would have preferred to rest, but it was still early evening, and the young man at the top of the hill was an important ally, so he and Ka’en refreshed themselves, had their clothes brushed and boots cleaned, and with the others trooped up the street to the hall.

  There, they were shown into a long wide compartment to the left of the main hall which was dissected by a table, set for dinner. This smaller hall was brightly lit and arrayed with leaves and flowers, as if in preparation for
a festive occasion of some kind. Edwar was already there, along with the Dame Regent, awaiting the company’s arrival. After greetings and introductions of those members of the party that were unknown to the Dame Regent, Aram and Ka’en were placed at one end of the table opposite them with Findaen and Wamlak next to Ka’en and Mallet and Ruben opposite them beyond Edwar. Wine was served, though to Mallet’s disappointment, the whiskey so prized by the big man was absent. Servants were bringing in the food when Jame arrived, bounding in and sitting in the end chair.

  He immediately grinned at Aram and reached out to grip the older man’s hand. “Lord Aram – returned from the lost! I have heard some of it from Edwar, but perhaps, after you’ve dined, you and your friends would consent to relate all of your adventures?”

  Aram smiled at Jame’s enthusiasm but couldn’t help thinking involuntarily of his failure in Seneca. “There’s not much to tell.”

  At that, Jame burst into raucous laughter, doubling over and pounding his small hands upon his knees. Leaving the others to stare at him, albeit with good humor; he gave himself completely over to mirth. After a few moments, when he had regained his composure, he wiped his eyes and grinned at Aram. “My lord, you have a habit of understating the most astonishing things! Edwar tells me that you slew a fearsome beast, many times larger than a lasher – Ah! But you slew some lashers as well, did you not? And you say there’s not much to tell?”

  Aram shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. “It seems to me, Your Grace, that you’ve heard it all already.”

  As Jame’s laughter subsided, he gazed at Aram with an odd expression upon his countenance, long enough to render the moment uncomfortable. Deep in his eyes there flickered the spark of admiration. “You really do not like to speak of your deeds, do you, sir?”

  Uneasy at being the center of attention at a social function, Aram felt his smile turn rueful. “I’m not much of a storyteller, Your Grace.”