Kelven's Riddle Book Three

by Daniel T Hylton

  There was plenty of fresh water at this site, for besides the generous spring that flowed out from under a hill opposite, above Dane’s old home-place, there were clear-flowing streams that originated in the green hills and meandered down across the grasslands to join with the River Broad at several points. Aram felt confident that he’d done everything possible to prepare for the influx of men. Now there was only to meld them into a cohesive fighting force, and then, when it became necessary, blood them in battle while averting disaster.

  This was the thing that troubled him most – how to give this army that was forming under his leadership real experience without risking massive losses now, at the beginning of the struggle. But this was exactly the reason he needed to confront Elam, before any army coming down out of the north could reach the field. For Aram had become convinced that the general war he meant to start would last for years, and he intended that the free peoples of the earth seize the advantage – and the initiative – at the beginning.

  By nightfall, the men of Duridia, four thousand and two hundred strong were settling into camp. The temporary structures devised by Boman and his commanders consisted of a large rectangular piece of oiled cloth, with “wings” that extended to either side. With the narrow end staked to the earth the wider end was raised up on two poles with a crossbar, allowing the wings to drape down either side, creating a three-sided tent that was open on one side. It would do very little to protect the men from a driving gale, but would provide shelter from everyday wind and rain. And the open side allowed heat from a fire to enter and be reflected, giving relief from the chill of the early spring nights. It was simple yet serviceable.

  That night, when the men were settled, Boman brought his commanders into the fortress to introduce them to Aram. The men of Duridia had been organized into units of six hundred, each with its own captain. Each captain had twenty-four lesser officers under him, four men of descending rank assigned to each company of a hundred men. Ragen and Jozef, Aram already knew. Of all Duridia’s captains, Jozef was the youngest. The other four captains were older men, like Ragen – Jefna, Semper, Todden, and Pajek. Semper was the oldest – and easily the biggest. Standing nearly as tall as Aram, he was a burly man with a huge shock of snow-white hair. He was Boman’s great-uncle and his closest advisor, replacing the Governor’s father in that role. Continuing illness had rendered Boman’s own father incapable of going into the field.

  It was Aram’s intention to initiate these new allies into the coming struggle as quickly as was possible. To that end one morning, he took Boman, Semper, and twenty Duridians that were chosen by horses as their mounts, along with his own companions from Derosa, and went south along the far side of the Broad, in search of slave holdings on the grasslands north of the river crossing above Stell.

  All they found were four small villages, with about thirty inhabitants each, but no lashers, grey men, or even overseers. Evidently these people had been forgotten by Manon’s minions after the battle at Stell, even though that action had occurred on the other side of the river and over fifty miles to the south. Or maybe they were simply too few to be worth the trouble of constant supervision. Not knowing what to do, these slaves had stayed where they were, fully expecting their overlords to return.

  Aram would have liked to continue further south, beyond the reach of the line of hills that came down out of the northwest, and into the outskirts of the city itself, but prudence dictated that they free those few they had found and leave excursions further afield until later, after the intentions of the Elamite army had been discovered. As glad as he was to free these abandoned souls and fold them into the free populace beyond the eastern banks of the Broad, he was nonetheless disappointed not to have blooded the new troops in actual combat of some sort.

  Over the next three days, Dane and ten others, driving oxcarts, moved the inhabitants of these small outposts of Wallensia, the contents of their granaries, and their meager belongings across the river and into Derosa.

  Lamont arrived twelve days after Duridia. Whereas Duridia had arrived in good military order, but without much fanfare other than its standard and its regimental colors, Lamont streamed across the plains with myriad banners fluttering in the breeze, helmets shining, and announced its arrival with the sound of trumpets. The Hay had sent Aram sixty-five hundred men in six units of more than a thousand men each. The captains and their officers marched in front of their respective units. Edwar strode before all. Trailing behind were several hundreds of oxcarts, filled with supplies.

  That night, in the beginnings of a barracks being constructed below the eastern parapet, where Timmon had arranged a long table with chairs, Aram conducted a council of war. Lamont was arranged down one side of the table, and Duridia down the other, with the captains from Derosa at the far end.

  Lamont’s captains, introduced by Edwar, sat to the Captain of Swords’ right. Kaspar was a heavy, muscular, full-faced man with large eyes and short-cropped red hair, who when consulted gave short, sensible answers. Aram decided that he liked him. He commanded Lamont’s First Division. Next to him sat the Second Division Commander, Scullar, a thin man of medium height and hawkish face below rather unruly dark hair, who seemed somewhat impressed by his own importance. About this man, Aram decided to reserve judgment. Muray, commanding the Third, sat next. Then there followed Mornay, and Fordwar, both seemingly competent, quiet soldiers. Last, seated next to Mallet, and apparently finding that experience uncomfortable, was Neilay, a small but rotund man who, upon his introduction, stated that, “Lamont will be glad to hold the center of the field, and to consult with you, sir,” – this to Aram – “upon decisions of how to best initiate contact with the enemy.”

  When this statement was met with awkward silence, he continued, rather belligerently. “I say this because Lamont will easily deploy as many men upon the field as the other allies in combination.”

  Mallet looked down at him. “How many lashers have you killed, sir?” He demanded gruffly.

  “I hardly think that enters into it.”

  “It will,” Mallet growled. “It will.”

  Aram held up his hand. “I think it best to establish one principle at the beginning. Whereas each nation’s men will be led and commanded by its own people, and tactics are often decided by the actions of the enemy to the front; there must be a singularity of strategic intention. If we do not conduct ourselves as an organized entity upon the field – a thing that will take time, I understand – then we are doomed to failure and should return to our respective homes, for our enemies will conduct themselves with unity. Does anyone dispute this?”

  Boman stood, and while he spoke to Aram, looked pointedly down the table at Neilay. “Lord Aram, it seems clear to me that while – as you say – tactical matters will necessarily fall to the commanders of each unit, the army as whole must be guided by one mind.” He turned and looked at Aram. “And that mind must be yours. Lamont is larger than the rest of us together, and if they wish to be in the center of things, Duridia will consent to this, but only if that direction comes from you.”

  He remained standing as Edwar also got to his feet. Meeting Boman’s gaze, the Captain of Lamont’s swords gave his reply in forceful, yet even tones, “Lamont will deploy upon the field as Aram of Wallensia decides, and we will gladly stand beside our brothers at his direction.”

  Before returning to his seat, he let his gaze settle on Scullar for a brief moment, and then moved on to Neilay, but both men appeared to be properly impressed by the martial gathering of which they were a part, and neither rose to contradict him.

  After a moment, without preamble, Aram stated. “We must talk about this army that has come out of Elam.”

  Abrupt, uncertain silence followed this statement.

  Edwar met the eyes of his commanders one by one and then turned to Aram, his features set and as unreadable as stone. “Elam?”

  Aram took note of the sudden rise in tension and confusion in the room and then slowly nodded.
“According to Alvern, they demonstrate an interest in us.”

  “Alvern – that’s the eagle that came to me?” Boman asked, but he did not look at Aram as he spoke, focusing his attention instead on his subordinates.

  “Yes,” Aram replied, and then waited.

  There was a long silence. Then Edwar spoke carefully. “Lord Aram, I do not think that it was the Hay’s intention to send us against Elam – against other men. We came to fight the army of the grim lord.”

  “I understand. Nor do I seek conflict with Elam,” Aram assured the room. “In fact, it is my hope that they will one day join with us.”

  “Why is Elam interested in you?” Neilay asked, and his voice carried an undertone of challenge.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Aram admitted, ignoring the challenge. Then, in concise language, he explained about the tribute wagons and the attacks they’d made upon them. “It may be,” he concluded, “that Elam’s alliance with Manon is stronger than we thought and he has forced them to send forth this army in order to defend the slave trains from us.”

  Boman folded his hands upon the table, gazed down at them for a moment, and then looked at him. “Why have you made the issue of Elam’s tribute to the grim lord your concern, Lord Aram – if I may ask? If Elam takes offense, as is likely, and joins with him in open war against us, then our cause is imperiled perhaps beyond any cure, is it not?”

  “That is likely,” Aram admitted. “But there are two reasons we have done this, and I think both of them sound.” He hesitated a moment. “Do you know what happens to these young women that are sent to the grim lord?” He asked of no one in particular.

  Boman shrugged. “Are they not given in marriage – forced, I suppose, would be a more correct word than given – to the men of the grim lord, in order to increase his populations? A sad thing, even wicked perhaps, but surely not our concern?”

  “Marriage?” Aram’s eyes hardened. “No, not marriage. There is no marriage for these women in Manon’s dominion – only usage.”

  He looked around at the assemblage with blazing eyes. “Have none of you ever given thought as to the origin of Manon’s beasts – the lashers?”

  Silence fell, and frowns overtook every face at the tenor of this strange question. Aram considered telling them of his own sister, but rejected the idea, instead letting the silence stretch out uninterrupted. Then, one by one, frowns were replaced with expressions of shock and horror as understanding of his meaning came.

  Edwar stared at him, white-faced. “The women?”

  “The young women,” Aram affirmed in a grim voice. “Each can give birth only once, for the process kills her. It’s why his need for tribute is so great and without end. A human woman may produce four or five gray men before she is used up, but in the case of producing the beasts, she will give birth but once only.”

  “How do you know this?” Boman asked bluntly.

  “I’ve been informed of this fact by the highest authority,” Aram answered, and he held up his hand to defray the chorus of questions, continuing on in hard tones, “and I have seen the grim lord’s lands with my own eyes. There are no houses there with children at play in the gardens, no ‘wives’, no domestic scenes – in fact, there are no humans there at all. There are only gray men, lashers, and an endless supply of young women going into his dungeons.” He paused, looking around, his green eyes dark. “None ever return into the light of the sun.”

  Edwar watched him closely. “You’ve seen his land?”

  Aram met his gaze. “I have.”

  “And there are no humans?”

  “Gray men and lashers,” Aram replied. “None else.”

  “Except for the young women,” Boman corrected him quietly.

  Aram looked at him. “Thousands of women,” he affirmed. “Over the years – tens of thousands.”

  Semper glared at the table and spoke without looking up. “What kind of people willingly send their daughters into horror?”

  “They may not know,” Aram said. “I am certain that there are many lies told in the process of rendering tribute.”

  Semper lifted his eyes to Aram. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must ask the question.”

  Aram looked at him without expression. “Ask it, then, sir.”

  “Is this true – what you have told us?”

  “It is.” Aram moved his eyes, taking in the gaze of everyone gathered there. “Manon uses the tribute of Elam to produce his armies. He doesn’t need these young women’s minds, hearts, or allegiance, only their wombs.”

  “What do you mean to do about it, my lord?”

  “I mean to halt the flow of Elam’s tribute of women to Manon,” Aram replied evenly. “However it may be done. Hopefully, without war with Elam.”

  “I want to talk to Elam,” Semper stated bluntly.

  “Sir?” Aram watched the large, white-haired man.

  Semper met his gaze. “I want to confront this army of supposed men – I want to look into the eyes of those that give up their children to a monster.”

  Boman watched him for a moment and then turned to Aram. “As do I.”

  “You may send Kipwing to enquire of the Hay, if you like, Lord Aram,” Edwar said, “but I believe that he would agree. This evil practice must be stopped.” Then he frowned. “You stated that there were two reasons for your assaults upon the slave trains?”

  Aram nodded. “There is another – and I hope that you will forgive the blunt logic in it. We have freed the inhabitants of several villages from lands controlled by Manon. There are always more men than women. Manon takes the strongest of the young women for his own use in that which I’ve already described. As a consequence, there are many more young men than women among my own people. By freeing the female occupants of the slave trains – all women of young age – we can begin to reduce the discrepancy.”

  Edwar shook his head. “I never knew it was as bad as all this, here in the west.”

  “The facts of our existence,” Mallet growled.

  Muray glanced around and then fixed his gaze on Edwar. “May I speak, captain?”

  After a pause, Edwar nodded.

  “It may not be my place to say it, but those of you that know me, know that I will say it nonetheless.” Muray lifted his whisker-covered chin. “If Elam sends its girls to Manon in order to increase the size of his armies, well then they are our enemy, too. Let’s go see what they want to do about it. If they seek conflict, fine. My sword is anxious to get to work.”

  Aram’s features softened into a small smile. “There’ll be plenty of work for your sword in the days ahead, my friend – though hopefully not with Elam.” He let silence fall and then put the question forth into that silence. “Do we then confront Elam?”

  A moment more of silence, then –

  “We do,” Boman assented.

  “Yes,” said Edwar.

  Aram waited. “Any dissent?”

  There was none.

  And so it was that Eoarl’s fear of division was at least partially defrayed before the onset of war.

  48

  Once again, Vulgur waited in the immense, round room for instructions from the Great Father. He did not wait long. When Manon came into the room, the enormous lasher instantly felt the effects of the god’s agitation. Something troubled the grim lord of the world.

  “Your forces have begun to move south?”

  “Yes, Great Father.”

  “Twenty thousand?”

  “There are twenty-one thousand that march southward upon your orders, master,” Vulgur answered. “Three thousand first children, of which a sixth are champions, and eighteen thousand second children, all seasoned troops.”

  Manon approved this silently. As Vulgur waited, the god moved slowly back and forth, seeming to glide upon the dark floor. Then, he stopped and looked at Vulgur.

  “It seems the man has gained allies from the south and east.”

  “Master?”

  “His forces are no longer smal
l. My spies tell me that he is gathering more than ten thousand to him.”

  “Still no match for us, master.”

  Manon’s sapphire eyes narrowed. “Have you forgotten his sword, my son?”

  “No, Great Father.”

  Manon resumed his movements, gliding back and forth, back and forth.

  “Ten thousand will be harder to kill than one thousand.”

  “Yes,” Vulgur agreed. “I will accomplish it nonetheless.”

  “You will kill the man as well.”

  Vulgur was astonished by this instruction. The Great Father seldom – almost never – changed his mind, yet in the space of just a few months he had altered his thinking where it concerned this man at least twice.

  “And the sword, master?”

  Manon stopped pacing and looked at him. “I have been told that he must wear protection on his hands in order to wield it, and that he possesses armor of the same material.”

  Vulgur thought back to his one fleeting glimpse of the man as he stood on the mountain. “I believe this to be true.”

  “The gauntlets will not fit hands like yours, my son, but the armor can be used to handle the weapon, if necessary. Besides, when it is sheathed, it will not threaten you, for it does not harm him.”

  “Yes, Great Father.”

  The god fixed the giant lasher with his obsidian gaze. “You will slay him.”

  “Yes, Great Father.”

  “I charge you with a difficult task, and you will not find it easy.”

  Vulgur shrugged. “Despite the sword, he is still but a man.”

  “He slew a maalvorn.”

  “Master?”

  “This man – with his sword – slew one of the ancient creatures from which I produced your race, Vulgur.”

  Despite his natural and immense attributes of strength, courage, and ferocity, Vulgur felt a chill go through his massive frame. Once, he had looked upon those great beasts chained in the depths of the dungeon from which the Great Father had created his kind. They were monstrous, and frightening, even to the First of all First Children. If the man could kill one of those –?