Ferros’ eyes slid briefly upward once more and then came back to rest on Aram’s face. “And you wish to know if there are more of their kind that threaten the world.”
“I do,” Aram replied. “I need to know it, my lord, for the sake of my family and others that are dear to me. Pray, tell me – were they all, or are there more?”
“There are three mated pairs of those creatures that yet exist on this world,” Ferros stated. “They are imprisoned in the earth, in chambers that lie far below the mountain of the Deep Darkness.” He held up one gray hand. “You need not fear, Aram. Manon will not get past my guard again. He will release no others of their kind upon the earth. You may trust my word on this.”
Aram nodded slowly, relief flooding through him. “I do trust you, my lord, and I thank you.” Then he hesitated as he thought of the egg in the cavern far to the east. “There is one other of their kind yet alive above the earth.”
“Yes, there is another,” Ferros agreed. “The child inside the mouth of the Pit.”
“What do I do about that one, my lord?” Aram asked.
Ferros’ hard eyes narrowed. “You?” Then he laughed quietly. “You have grown confident in your strength, have you not?”
Aram frowned in response, as he chafed in acknowledgement of the rebuke. “I mean no impertinence, my lord – but something must be done about that one, does it not? If it hatches –”
Ferros held up his hand, cutting him off. “Believe me when I say that I watch the child more closely than does my brother. When it breaks out of the egg, my servants will spring a trap I have laid, causing Manon to destroy his ‘other’ – thereby destroying the young dragon as well.” He went silent for a moment, gazing with his molten eyes past Aram and out into the brightness beyond, and then he continued with something akin to regret dampening his words. “Though the child is innocent in all this, nonetheless it must be slain.”
Aram waited until the god looked at him. “I will leave the matter in your hands,” he said and bowed his head. “Thank you, my lord.” Then he looked up. “I did not mean to trouble you, Lord Ferros. I thought that your servant, Bendan, would suffice to answer my questions.”
The flame in Ferros eyes subsided somewhat and the god smiled thinly. “I care little about what occurs upon the skin of this world, as you know. I confess, however, that I have often been troubled by the actions of my brother in releasing the Laish. When Bendan told me of your claim to have slain them, I came to discover the truth of the matter. It pleases me to know that they are slain – for as powerful as Manon has become, he would not contain those creatures were they to rebel against him.”
With that, Ferros stepped back and turned to go but then hesitated and looked closely at Aram. “I remember the age of kings,” he stated. “I remember it well. I admit that in those years my labor seemed expedient – in ways that have not been true since that time.” The flame in the depths of his eyes flared and brightened. “If you mean to return the earth to such a configuration as existed then, you will need to depose my brother, and Manon will not go easily.”
“I know this, my lord,” Aram stated quietly. “That is my intention, nonetheless.”
“And how will you do it?” Ferros demanded, and his gaze flicked upward to the Sword. “With that?”
“It was forged for that purpose,” Aram admitted.
“And who was it that forged such a weapon?”
“I am told that it was forged by him who is named Humber,” Aram replied.
Ferros considered this, and then slowly shook his head. “Lord Humber is good and strong,” he said. “He is the Eldest Brother of all my kind. But he did not make a weapon that can slay a dragon. No – it is the construct of One higher – I am certain of it.” He studied Aram for a moment longer. “Tell me, how do you intend to employ that weapon when you stand in the presence of Manon? – if, indeed, you ever do so.”
“I will pierce him with it,” Aram answered. “I have witnessed its power. If it can destroy the earth, it can bring down a god.”
Ferros’ smile came back, haughty, thin, imperious, and cold, and the flame in his eyes flared again. “So, you wish to be more than a dragon slayer – you wish to be a god slayer as well.”
Aram flinched and bowed his head at the ferocity of the god’s tone and demeanor. “I care not what I am called or how I am named, my lord. I wish for no such appellation.” Looking up, he dared to meet Ferros’ gaze squarely, though with cautious respect. “Manon’s oppression of my people must end, and I mean to end it. I mean to make the world free of his malice.”
The proud, cold smile slowly faded. Ferros’ gray features became smooth, emotionless. The red-gold flame in his eyes flared once more and then faded to a simmering glow. He gazed at Aram in silence for a long, tense moment; then, “Hear this, now,” the god stated quietly. “I will aid you in any way that I am able.”
Aram stared back at him, astonished, and could not speak.
The god of the Underearth’s eyes went once more to the Sword, where they rested for a moment, and then he turned to go. “You should think on that weapon, Aram,” he stated. A reddish mist appeared in the gloom and he stepped into it. “It was forged by the Maker Himself. I suspect that it has a purpose far and beyond that which you imagine.”
Then he was gone.
Aram gazed after him, wondering at the meaning of his parting words, but could not decipher it. After a moment, he turned and left the cave, coming back out into the bright sunshine.
Thaniel saw him reappear and came up. The horse stopped in front of him and watched him in silence, waiting.
Aram did not greet him at once, but gazed out over the valley, still thinking on Ferros’ enigmatic last words. After a long silence, in which Thaniel shifted his great bulk in increasing impatience, Aram looked over at him. “There are no more dragons,” he said. “Lord Ferros himself declared it so. The world will not again be threatened by their kind.”
Thaniel’s impatience abruptly dissipated; the horse stared. “You saw Ferros?” He swung his great head and looked up the slope at the opening to the cave. “He is in that cavern?”
Aram laughed shortly. “No, my friend; he is not there now. But he came there – out of his deep realm, in answer to my need, as he promised.”
“Ferros kept his promise?” Thaniel stated this in amazement. He continued to gaze up the slope at the mouth of the cave and then he swung his head back. “And there are no more dragons?”
“There are no more.”
“That is good.” The horse looked again at the dark opening of the cavern up the slope, and then he turned to allow Aram to mount up. “So – we are free to see to our own affairs.”
Aram put his foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “We are,” was his simple reply.
The next morning, Aram took leave of his family and he and Thaniel went across the rivers and over the crest of the green hills where they camped by the familiar spring. The following dawn, they continued down onto the plains and turned southwest toward the fortress, arriving before midday. Aram immediately found Wamlak and sent him and Braska hurrying toward Derosa to fetch Findaen and Prince Marcus.
5.
By the time Marcus made his way into the fortress from Derosa where he’d been visiting with Thom, Kay, and Mallet and his wife, the sun sat on the western horizon, and evening had fallen. Lamps were lit along the stairs leading up to the war room. Lord Aram was already there, engaged in quiet consultation with Edwar, Boman, Andar, Matibar, and Findaen. Marcus stepped inside and waited until Aram saw him and beckoned him forward.
He moved close and inclined his head. “You wanted to see me, my lord?”
Aram nodded and tapped his finger on a crudely drawn map positioned on the table in front of him. “Where in Elam may Rahm Imrid be found at this time of year?”
Though surprised by the question, and especially by the suggestive tenor in which it was rendered, Marcus nonetheless answered readily. “In Farenaire, at the p
alace.”
Aram looked down and tapped the map again. “Show me.”
Rendered abruptly cautious by Aram’s demeanor but made curious by his interest in Elam, Marcus studied the tall lord as he moved closer to the indicated parchment. The king seemed cold and distant; harder and more determined than was usual even for him. It was as everyone said; a change had occurred in him since the killing of the dragons.
Looking down, Marcus examined the map which, while crudely drawn, was nonetheless fairly accurate in its placement of cities, towns, and roads across Elam. He placed his finger on a point in the southwest quadrant of the great green land, at the edge of the Iron Mountains. “Here – this is Farenaire.”
Aram was watching him. “And Rahm is there at this time of year?”
“Yes, of course,” Marcus affirmed, “at the council of which I told you. The heads of the Great Houses always meet twice a year, for several weeks, once in Spring and once again in Autumn. They will have begun their Autumnal conference within the last few days.”
For some reason Marcus couldn’t immediately fathom, this information seemed to please Aram. The king let his eyes move slowly down over the map from north to southwest, to the point indicated by Marcus, and then he nodded to himself. Placing his finger on a line that ran down the length of the land and looking up, he met Marcus’ eyes. “This main road – it goes near to the palace?”
Marcus nodded in affirmation and then put his own finger on the map where another line intersected the first. “Farenaire is no more than twenty miles west of this junction.”
“And these towns in between the gates and the south – they are substantial?”
“Some, though not all,” Marcus replied, and he indicated a point on the map. “Only Calom Malpas is of any great size, and it is a substantial city.”
“Is it gated?” Aram asked.
“It is, my lord.”
Aram studied the map for a moment longer and then looked at Marcus. “You are fully armored these days?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And your mount – Phagan?”
Marcus felt a thrill run through him for which he could as yet identify no cause. “Phagan has a breastplate and head-gear only,” he replied.
Aram turned to Findaen. “Go to Derosa with the prince. Find Arthrus – see that Prince Marcus’ mount is fully armored by the second morning from today. Tell him to lay everything else aside.” He looked back at Marcus. “Go with him,” he instructed the young prince. “Make certain that you are fully armored as well. Where is Thom Sota?”
“He is on leave in Derosa – with his wife.”
Aram nodded. “Bring him, and be certain that he and his mount are fully armored as well.”
Marcus glanced around at the men assembled there before bringing his gaze back to Aram. “May I ask what this is about, my lord?”
“We leave for Elam on the morning after tomorrow, at sun-up,” Aram replied. “You, Thom, and I are going to see Rahm Imrid.”
Startled by this astonishing announcement, Marcus stared. “My lord?”
“We are going to Farenaire, Marcus,” Aram replied. “To the council.”
“Just we three?”
Aram nodded. “Yes.”
Marcus swallowed and hesitated. “May I ask to what end, my lord?”
Aram’s icy green eyes hardened. “It is time Waren’s son sat the high throne of Elam. With the council in session, this is as good a time as we could seek.”
Marcus slid his gaze sideways to Findaen, who simply raised his eyebrows and made a slight shrug. It was immediately apparent to the young prince that no one in the room besides him questioned this astounding and bluntly stated intent on the part of their leader. Marcus looked back at Aram. “”There are thousands of Rahm’s soldiers along the road between the gates and the palace, my lord. How will we reach Farenaire? Even if we go through the back door – at Basura, for instance – we will still be very far north, with much hostile territory between us and the palace.”
Aram shook his head slightly. “We will not be entering Elam through a back way. We’re going through the front door, to use your words. We are going through the gates and southward along the main road.”
Marcus felt his eyes widen. “My lord, I –“
Lord Aram’s demeanor darkened and hardened further as he cut him off. “We are not at war with Elam or its men-at-arms – we are at odds with its illegitimate ruler only. We will move through the land quickly – so quickly that they cannot warn those ahead of us of our coming. You and Thom will stay behind me as we journey, Marcus, at all times until we reach the palace and the issue is resolved. Believe me when I say that we are not likely to be challenged along the way.” He shrugged. “If challenged, I will destroy only as many as is required to gain passage. This I promise.”
Marcus gazed at him in astonishment. “We are going to pass through the length of Elam?”
“It is the quickest way to accomplish that which must be done.” Aram answered and then he waited for Marcus to respond to this enigmatic statement, but the young prince could only stare. Aram watched him for a moment longer and then nodded. “Go with Findaen, then. Be back at this fortress before sunset tomorrow with both you and your mount fully armored – Thom and Norgen as well – and with a week’s ration of food and water for each of you. The horses will find sustenance and water along the way.”
Marcus gazed back at him, and then swallowed and inclined his head. “As you say, my lord.” He turned as in a daze and followed Findaen from the room.
As they rode eastward through the gathering dusk, Marcus turned to Findaen. “What does he mean to do?”
Findaen glanced over. “You heard him – he means to place you upon the throne of Elam.”
“But how will he accomplish such a thing with just the three of us? Indeed, how will he accomplish such a thing at all?”
“I cannot answer that,” Findaen admitted. “But I doubt that you and Thom will be needed for whatever it is he has in mind.” He considered for a moment. “I can only say that since he slew the dragons, Lord Aram is a different man. Harder, more certain of things – and more sure of what he can accomplish with the weapon perhaps. And if he declares that he will pass through the length of Elam?” Findaen shrugged and grinned across at Marcus. “Then he will pass through the length of Elam. You may depend upon it.”
Marcus stared forward, into the gathering night. “And I’m to go with him.”
“So it would seem, my friend.”
6.
The eastern sky was pink, but the sun was yet below the horizon when, two days later, Aram, Marcus, and Thom splashed their mounts across the rapids above the islands in the Broad and headed westward across the cool prairie. Thaniel, Phagan, and Norgen were fully armored. For protection, Aram wore his armor from the Mountain of Kelven beneath his gold-trimmed armor of black from Regamun Mediar which he wore for effect.
When Marcus complained that the layers of thin steel that covered his body rendered movement, and even riding, difficult, Aram was adamant.
“You must be protected at all times – I cannot have you die,” he stated bluntly. “And there will be no time to halt and put it on or remove it as we go. What we do in the south of Elam must be done quickly.” He turned his hard gaze upon the young prince. “My plans for the coming year require that a friend sits upon Elam’s throne.”
Marcus did not respond. He felt that he did not dare question Lord Aram further as to his “plans”. Findaen was right; a change had occurred in the kingly man riding ahead of him and Thom. Something unforeseen was afoot. Enormous changes were about to unfold in the world. Just what, Marcus did not know, but it was apparent that he would have an unobstructed view of whatever it was that Aram intended.
The sun rose and began to chase them across the surface of the world. Leaving the grasslands before mid-morning, they went up and around the southern flanks of Burning Mountain and made their way down through the valley of the dry la
ke. Despite the fact that Aram and Thaniel kept up a blistering pace, the sun overtook them before they reached the borders of Cumberland. In early afternoon, they passed by the town at the edge of the hills, openly, straight along the main road. The citizenry gazed open-mouthed upon the mounted men as they passed by them and then turned southward along the main road that ran through the heartland of Cumberland and toward the distant Gates of Elam.
Aram seldom spoke to Marcus or Thom throughout the day, but he conferred often with Alvern the eagle, in the skies high overhead. Alvern’s grandson, Kipwing, had been left behind, in the skies above the hills to the north of Aram’s valley, watching over Ka’en.
Aram did not close his mind during these conversations with Alvern, so his companions were aware of the information that the eagle imparted about traffic on the road ahead and relative distances to the Gates of Elam as well as any obstructions to their passage. But as yet, there were none. The road ahead remained clear, and nothing occurred to delay or hinder them.
Darkness found them far south in Cumberland though the Gates had not yet hove into view. An hour after sunset, as the night deepened and they found an area where the lights of villages and farmhouses were widely scattered, Aram and Thaniel turned aside, toward the banks of a small stream so that the horses might quench their thirst. Marcus and Thom and their mounts followed.
Aram removed his helmet and breathed deeply of the cool night air. Thom moved Norgen close to Aram and Thaniel. When the king looked over at him, Thom inclined his head in respect but then posed his blunt question. “My lord – is it true as Prince Marcus tells me that we are to go southward through the land of Elam all the way to Farenaire?”
“Yes,” Aram replied simply, and his voice and features, lit by starlight, were placid, unconcerned. “We are.”
Thom watched him with narrowed eyes. “Just we three – all the way southward through Elam? All the way to Rahm’s palace?”
Aram nodded. The expression upon his face did not change.
Kelven's Riddle Book Five Page 3