Arrabi shook his head. “My sister,” he said. “Long ago.”
“The vile trade in human women perpetrated by Rahm Imrid ends with his fall from the throne,” Aram told him.
Arrabi gazed back at the man upon the horse, and then he nodded his head in recognition of the new age that had come into his homeland with this strange man’s arrival. “What do I do with this army?” He asked.
“Do you know Thom Sota?” Aram asked.
General Arrabi frowned in remembrance and then nodded. “I once knew a Captain Sota. He left the army some years ago.”
“The very one,” Aram agreed. “He has been in my army for some time now. He has seen action in the field and acquitted himself bravely and honorably. And he is no longer a captain, general. He is a commanding general. After tomorrow, in fact, your orders will come directly from him. Do you understand?”
Arrabi’s eyes widened at this surprising news, but he nodded in acquiescence. “I understand, my lord. And I will obey.”
Aram glanced to either side of the road, noting the wide grass verge between the roadside and the edge of the farmers’ fields.
“There is room here, as long as you keep your troops near to the road. You may encamp here and await General Sota’s orders.” He held his hand up in caution. “I warn you to prevent your men from disturbing the fields of private citizens overmuch. From this day forward, citizens are to be treated with utmost respect. Do you understand this as well?”
Arrabi nodded in immediate agreement. “I understand and will obey.” He continued to attend respectfully to Aram, but his eyes flicked away once more toward Aram’s two companions. “Is Prince Marcus really with you, my lord?”
“He is,” Aram assured him. “And he will sit the throne of Elam by sunset tomorrow.” He looked closely at Arrabi. “You say that you have seen him?”
“I have,” Arrabi affirmed.
Aram thought for a moment longer and then he turned in the saddle and looked at Marcus. “Your Highness?”
Marcus met his gaze and then deliberately reached up and removed his helmet.
Arrabi sucked in a startled breath and drew himself up to his full height. “I assure you, Your Highness – you will ever have my full and faithful service.”
“Thank you, General Arrabi,” Marcus replied. “I will never forget this.”
Aram nodded his approval and then looked back at Arrabi. “Thank you, general.” He looked southward along the road, where the Elamite troops were busily clearing the pavement to allow passage, and then brought his gaze back to Arrabi’s face. Raising his hand in salute, he said simply, “Until we meet again, then.”
Arrabi returned the salute. “Until our next meeting, my lord.” Then he bowed to Marcus. “Welcome home, Your Highness.”
Aram spoke to Thaniel and the great horse charged forward and swept southward along the road, followed by Marcus and Phagan, Thom and Norgen, galloping between seemingly endless lines of troops.
They passed through the army and continued southward into the very heart of southern Elam. Off to the southwest, the gray teeth of the Iron Mountains dominated the skyline, coming closer mile by mile. Around them, the vast green richness of southern Elam, with its countless square miles of farmland, and its many villages and towns, spread away from both sides of the road to the west and east.
While the Iron Mountains rose higher in the southwest, the distant hazy mountains off to the east gradually moved beyond the curve of the earth and faded into a green horizon of rolling farmland. Overhead, the sun wheeled through the apex of the sky and began to decline toward the west as they thundered south through villages and towns where the citizenry shrunk back into their doorways and alleyways and gazed at them in wonder, marveling at what this trio of armored men upon armored beasts could possibly mean.
Finally, as the sun fell down to touch the tops of those gray peaks in the southwest, Aram looked back at Marcus. “How far to Farenaire?”
Marcus glanced over toward the Iron Mountains drawing up on their right, looked around at the countryside where the shadows grew long on the east sides of trees and buildings, and then peered forward along the road. “I believe that we will be at the junction by nightfall, my lord.”
“Is there a town at the junction?”
Marcus nodded in reply. “Mayfield is there.”
“What lies between us and Mayfield?” Aram asked.
Marcus shrugged. “Mostly, more farmland.” Then he raised his right hand and indicated Elam’s river, flowing broad and slow a half-mile away upon their right. “The river turns eastward a few miles south and there is a bridge.”
“Is there a village near the bridge?”
“No, only more farms.”
Aram considered this as Thaniel continued surging into the south. He glanced over at the sun, already sliding down behind that sharp-toothed horizon. Then he looked back at Marcus. “We will camp near this bridge. I want to reach Farenaire at mid-morning.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Marcus replied. “The bridge over the Sunder is but a few miles north of Mayfield which is no more than two hours east of Farenaire.”
9.
On the morning of the appointed day to hear the council’s thoughts on his call to war, High Prince Rahm Imrid ate a quiet breakfast, dressed into his most impressive robes and went out into the council chamber where the palace guard once more stood in a solemn row along the right-hand wall. Climbing the four steps to the throne, he sat and nodded to his aide to summon the councilors from their chambers in the boarding houses that lined the avenue in front of the palace.
Minutes later, the heads of the Great Houses began filing into the hall. He watched them as he had two days earlier. On this day, those he counted among his closest allies met his gaze and nodded gravely. Most of the rest inclined their heads respectfully toward the throne and then found their places in the gallery. Cinnabar, Berezan, and certain others gave him but a passing glance and went stoically to their seats.
The various attitudes on display were a reprise of those of nearly every other council for the whole of Rahm’s rule.
Rahm smiled to himself, satisfied that at last, perhaps, things were returning to normal. As the councilors sat and looked toward him expectantly, he centered his attention on the parchment upon his lap, which in fact was meaningless. He wanted to make them wait; show that he was still the master in a room filled with disciples. As he made a show of examining the document, he listened to the quiet conversations, but heard nothing untoward.
Finally, satisfied that enough time had passed, he laid the parchment aside and looked at the gathered heads of the Great Houses of Elam.
“My friends,” he said. “Lessons have been learned by this court, hard lessons.” He moved his hand expansively. “And out in the broad countryside of our beloved land, lines have been drawn.” He held up the hand. “But, as your High Prince, I promise that our future will be one of prosperity and unity – and dissension will be dealt with to whatever length is necessary.”
Rising, he prepared to descend the steps but was suddenly knocked back against the throne as the doors to the palace were blown inward by a tremendous blast.
Fire sizzled into the hall, snapping into the wall above the throne. One of the great wooden doors came loose with a loud crash, falling inward and sliding across the floor, mowing down several of the guards.
The councilors abandoned their chairs and dove for cover, cowering in the spaces around their seats, staring toward the doors with wide, frightened eyes.
Into the hall burst an enormous metal-clad beast. Upon the beast’s back rode a man dressed in gold-trimmed black armor, and in his right hand he held a shining sword from which flame sizzled and crackled.
10.
Aram had awakened that morning while the sky in the east showed just a hint of pink. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he sat up and gazed around in the gloom.
Thom and Marcus still slept, though Thom stirred restlessly toward w
akefulness. Thaniel was down on the gravel by the river with his nose lowered into the water. Rising, Aram went down over the grassy bank onto the gravel bar to stand beside the horse.
“Good morning, my lord,” the horse said quietly.
“Good morning, my friend. Do you understand what I intend to do when we get to the palace in Farenaire?” Aram asked him.
The horse raised his streaming muzzle and looked at him. “I do,” he replied. “Of course. Why? Are there special instructions for me?”
“No.” Aram shook his head. “You know my mind as well as anyone. I mean for you to bear me straight into the hall. Just stay near me once inside and watch for treachery.”
The horse gazed at him for a moment and then gave his reply. “I always do, my friend,” he said.
Aram reached out and laid one hand on the horse’s massive shoulder. “Yes, I know.”
Thaniel swung his head around and looked eastward, where the sky was beginning to brighten toward morning. Then he turned back to Aram. “After our young friend is seated upon the throne of Elam – what then?”
“Then we go home and spend a quiet winter in the valley.”
“And after the winter is past?” The horse persisted.
Aram treated Thaniel to a grim smile. “Then I will accept Manon’s invitation and go to his tower.”
“Just we two?”
Aram glanced over sharply. “There is no need for you to go. I will only need you to bring me near to him.”
“Where you go, I will go,” Thaniel replied in a fierce voice. “I want my part in vengeance.”
Aram watched him without speaking for several minutes. “I will need you to bear me into the north – to his valley,” he said then. “It may not be possible for you to enter the tower.”
“I will go as far as I can,” the horse insisted. “But will we not lead an army to his gates?”
Aram shrugged. “There is no need to endanger the life of anyone else. He wants this Sword – I saw it in his eyes when he spoke to me in the Deep Darkness.” He gazed across the river and then raised his eyes and stared into the darkness of the northern sky. “I believe it to be his great weakness. His lust for it will allow me into his presence. If I can get close to him and pierce him with this blade – it will destroy him, of that I am certain.”
“If this be your wish, I will wait outside – but nearby,” the horse replied as he followed Aram’s lead and gazed into the north. But then he turned his head to look fully at Aram. “I have been thinking, my lord. You told me on the day that the dragons slew my father and mother that vengeance would not cost my life. But neither do I wish for vengeance at the cost of yours. How will you escape once he is slain?”
Aram shook his head and started to speak but then closed his mouth and stared into the low trees just now taking shape in the morning twilight beyond the dark current of the Sunder. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I must trust in the Sword of Heaven. The Sword will get me in – and the Sword will get me out.”
“Are you certain of this?” The horse persisted.
Aram started to shrug, but then just shook his head. “No, but I must have hope, do I not?” He looked at Thaniel. “I want to live. I have reason to live, and I will try very hard to make it so.” He sighed and turned away and looked once more toward the north. “But whether I live or die, I must destroy him.”
“I have thought about that as well,” Thaniel said. “Why must he die?”
Surprised by this, Aram looked at him sharply. “How else can this end?” He demanded.
Thaniel met his gaze and then swung his head away and gazed across the river. “Can we not simply fence him in?” He asked. “Why cannot we destroy his armies – render him powerless; and then place a guard around his tower?” He looked back at Aram. “He would be a prisoner, nothing more.”
Aram felt a small flame of hope flicker into life in his mind as he considered this. But then, as quickly as it had ignited, it flickered weakly and winked out. He shook his head. “Manon’s real power is not in his armies, my friend. He is strong – very strong – in himself. Even without minions to do his bidding, he would nonetheless find a means of troubling the world. Armies will not contain him.” He sighed again. “No, he must die; and I must slay him.”
The horse kept his gaze directed away as he replied. “If you say this be true; then I trust you. Just do not die, Aram. I cannot imagine a world without you in it. Indeed, I cannot live in such a world.”
Aram started to laugh but then stopped himself. He watched Thaniel for a long moment but the horse did not turn toward him. Aram said then, “You were alive in the world long before I came into it, my friend.”
“Yes,” the horse agreed, as at last he swung his head around to look at Aram. His large dark eyes were grave. “But your coming into the world changed everything. You must live to finish that which you have begun.”
Above the eastern horizon, the morning brightened further. Behind them, up on the bank beneath the arching bridge, Marcus and Thom stirred. Thaniel backed away from the river’s edge. “Let us go and place a friend upon the throne of Elam,” he said. “That will leave us free to resolve these other matters.”
Aram smiled as he nodded. “Just so,” he agreed.
The sun rose above the horizon as they clattered through the streets of Mayfield and turned west upon the broad, smooth track that would take them to Farenaire. Ahead of them the Iron Mountains rose up vast, dark, and forbidding, despite the fact that they were fully lit by the luminance of the new day’s sun.
Less than an hour later, Farenaire showed ahead of them, clustered upon the low hills that tumbled up at the feet of those dark mountains.
Aram spoke to Thaniel and the horse came to a halt in the roadway. Aram turned around in the saddle and looked at the sun. The great disc was fully in the sky but still low, near to the horizon. He motioned for Marcus and Thom to come up alongside him.
“Are there many troops in the town?” He asked them both.
Thom nodded. “Marcus can answer as to how many guards are in the palace itself, but Rahm keeps a sizeable contingent quartered in the fort just to the south of the city.”
Aram nodded and looked over at Marcus.
“The palace was not designed to be military in nature, so there is no parapet and there are no towers,” the young prince told him. “But Rahm is very cognizant of his personal safety, so he keeps a company of guards near the doors and several more inside the hall itself.”
“Twenty troops – fifty – or a hundred – how many are there?” Aram insisted.
Marcus thought for a moment. “About forty,” he replied. “Twenty or so are stationed outside by the doors and approximately the same inside the hall. At least that was his wont in the past. I have not been to the palace in several months,” he reminded Aram.
Aram brushed this aside. “Describe the interior of the hall.”
Marcus folded his hands on the pommel of the saddle and considered. “It is an ancient building – built many hundreds of years ago by an ancestor of mine named –”
Aram held up his hand and smiled thinly. “I care nothing of its history, Marcus, for the moment at least. Tell me of its layout.”
Marcus grinned sheepishly and nodded. “The interior is about a hundred feet long and nearly as wide. If you stand inside the doors, looking toward the throne which sits against the back wall, the councilors sit to the right, upon tiered seats, the most important on the first, lower tier, and the others behind. There are three tiers of seats. Behind them are tall windows.
“To the left is an opposing wall, also with high windows. The guards stand there, facing the councilors. There are many tapestries hanging just above them, between them and the windows, depicting scenes from the lives of previous High Princes of Elam. The throne, as I stated, is at the far end, raised up to just above the level of the topmost tier of the councilors’ seats.
“There is a door immediately behind the throne which
leads into Rahm’s private quarters. Overhead is a skylight.”
Aram looked at him sharply. “A skylight? How large is this skylight?”
“It’s quite large,” the young prince responded. “Brammen – the High Prince who built the hall – wanted that the whole interior be lit by natural light.”
Aram nodded and glanced once more at the sun, climbing the sky behind them. Then he looked back at Marcus. “Tell me about the entrance.”
“There are two double doors on the near side, looking eastward along the main street of Farenaire.”
“So the main street ends at the hall?”
Marcus nodded. “The hall of the High Prince is the whole reason for the existence of the town.”
“Are the doors tall enough to allow Thaniel ingress?” Aram asked.
Marcus frowned and looked at him for a long moment and seemed to want to ask a question of his own, but then simply nodded. “They are quite tall indeed. I believe that you could ride Thaniel right through into the hall if you wanted, my lord.”
“Good,” Aram replied. “That is what I intend to do.”
Ignoring Marcus’ wide eyes and raised eyebrows, he looked again at the sun. “Does this road lead onto the main road and thence up to the doors of the palace?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, my lord; this road becomes the main street of Farenaire once it enters the town. It ends at the palace.”
“And the councilors are there now – inside the hall?”
Marcus pivoted in the saddle and took his own view of the rising sun. Slowly, he nodded. “They should enter the hall within the hour, my lord. The morning session usually begins after breakfast.”
Aram looked over at Thom. “Will the troops from the fort be inside the city itself? In the streets?”
After considering the question, Thom shook his head. “Not in times past – not to my knowledge. Certainly not at this time of day.” He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. “Besides, those particular troops are not known for their toughness. Being part of the High Prince’s ‘personal army’ was always understood to be an easy post.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Five Page 7