Kelven's Riddle Book Five

by Daniel Hylton

  “Nock arrows!” The Senecan ordered.

  A moment passed.

  “Loose!” He shouted. “Gauge your distance! Focus upon the beasts alone!”

  And then again, “Nock arrows! Loose!”

  A cloud of deadly missiles whined over Edwar and his troops. He looked up, fascinated, as those instruments of death and injury screamed through the air and began to fall toward the enemy. If the words of the Senecan commander had been clearly heard, every one of those implements of death was intended for a lasher.

  Good enough, he thought, there will be a few less of those monsters now.

  26.

  Matibar watched the enemy come up the slope with intent and narrowed eyes. He had longed for this day, hungered for it, when he and his compatriots would join with the rest of humankind against the wickedness of the Scourge.

  Throughout his life, the young captain had often doubted the version of Seneca’s history that was peddled by the Elders in Mulbar. In his secret thoughts – and he often felt that he was the only man in his land that entertained such ideas – he believed that, whatever had actually occurred in ancient times, the quasi-religious edicts from the old men of the grove served merely to maintain their hold upon the people and countryside of his homeland.

  Thinking himself alone in his doubts, he nonetheless was certain that the history of his people was something quite different from that which was espoused by the elders.

  The idea that his most ancient ancestors had been punished nearly to extinction for the casual sin of building great cities had seemed worse than implausible – it was offensive to him.

  Why had the Maker allowed – nay, had commanded, if the elders were to be believed – the near-destruction of a great and industrious people because they wished to live in cities of stone?

  The very idea offended Matibar’s pragmatic mind.

  Secretly, he believed that the Maker had not been in any way involved in the horror that had been visited upon his people in ancient times. Against all the teachings of those that governed his society, Matibar became convinced that it had been the vile work of the Scourge alone, conceived in his own dark heart, and carried out by his beasts.

  Then Aram had come, and that kingly man’s version of that which had been Seneca’s part in the affairs of ancient times made sense and rang with the sound of truth. More importantly, it gave Matibar something for which he had always longed, and believed that he deserved – pride in his ancestry.

  Now, he was here, facing the same enemy that his forebears had faced. And he stood here in concert with a king who was the scion of Seneca’s ancient ally.

  This day mattered to Matibar greatly, more perhaps than any other day in his life.

  He loved his family, his wife and his children, and he hoped that whatever this day brought, it would conclude in such a way that would allow him to return to them. He did not wish to leave his young wife widowed and his children orphaned. If, however, the day was not fated to end with him alive and standing; even if he knew with certainty that this day would be his last upon the earth, he would choose to be nowhere else.

  Vengeance for a terrible and ancient wrong was called for, and Matibar intended to be instrumental in exacting it.

  The part of Seneca’s ancient history that he had come to know as true, not only because Lord Aram told him of it, but because it was widely known to be true by many learned people – like the scholar Willar in Sunderland, in Lamont – was that the Scourge had sent his beasts among the forests of Seneca unexpectedly, while Seneca’s forces were unaware and scattered to their various homes and cities.

  Nowhere had they been able to unite their strength and face the deadly creatures in force.

  It had been known, of course, that an uneasy truce, likely to be broken, existed between their ally, King Joktan, and the Scourge. But the Scourge had devastated the population of eagles, blinding the allied world, before he struck. Joktan was already dead when Manon had sent his terrible servants into Seneca’s forests, killing with the intent of causing extinction and burning their cities. Only because many of the Senecans had been scattered abroad among their forests, in their villages and small towns; and the servants of the Scourge had focused mainly upon the cities, had a remnant managed to survive.

  Today, however, Seneca’s archers were united, with the enemy in plain view. There were no great trees here to shield the beasts as they advanced or to deflect an arrow and drive it astray.

  The monsters were lined up, out in the open, ready to be slaughtered.

  He bent his gaze even more intently down the slope as the front ranks of the enemy topped a rise in the hillside. Another hundred yards, and the archers of Seneca would strike the first blows to begin the battle that would decide the future of the world.

  The captain’s plan was to eliminate as many of the lashers as he could from engaging the Lamontan commander, Muray, at the army’s center and then focus his archers leftward to aid Boman and Duridia. Then, he would turn them back to the right, to bring the same relief to Edwar and the rest of Lamont, saving the last few bolts in order to return his attention to the center – in case the enemy decided to force the issue up the pavement.

  Andar was to the west, behind Elam. After Lord Aram had expressed his wishes for the deployment of Seneca’s men, Matibar had presented his plans to Andar, only to see the features of His Worthiness dissolve into a grin.

  “I’m a decent archer, captain – as you know – but I am not worthy to wear your boots here, in this place.” The grin on Andar’s handsome face went away. “You are captain of Seneca’s strength, my friend. Here, upon this field, you do not seek my approval. You give the order – send me where you will – and I will obey.”

  Relieved, and gratified, Matibar watched him for a moment. “Will you consent to take command of the western contingent, Your Worthiness?”

  Andar nodded. “I will.”

  Matibar indicated the ground at the top of the road, where it went through the cut. “When I loose here in the center, you and your men will do the same behind Elam. Focus upon the beasts alone – let us slay as many of those creatures as possible before they reach Lord Aram’s lines.” He thought for a moment and his face darkened as he looked at the prince of his people. “It may be that they will approach in companies, or perhaps in a line. If so, they will make our work here the easier. Let us kill them all if we can, Your Worthiness,” he said.

  Andar simply inclined his head once more. “I will watch for your signal, captain.”

  With that settled, Matibar had then sent Captain Findar, who was older and well-known for his steadiness, eastward with another thousand, to deploy behind the right half of the army as per Lord Aram’s instructions.

  Further east, upon the ridge behind Mallet, there were a hundred of Matibar’s best – also at Lord Aram’s behest. They were to prevent the big man and his Wallensians from being overrun, if at all possible.

  Down the slope, the enemy neared the range of his archers.

  As he had hoped, the beasts were approaching on a line.

  “Nock arrows,” he commanded.

  Spread out to either side of him almost eleven hundred men put blue-green malsite-tipped missiles to the string and raised their long bows.

  Matibar lifted his own bow and looked along the shaft and then lowered his gaze to the approaching enemy, judging the distance.

  “Loose!” He shouted.

  Smoothly and cleanly, slipping through the thin, cool air, the instruments of death flew forth, arced high, and began to descend.

  For the briefest moment, Matibar watched their flight, to determine that he had correctly judged the gap between his men and the foe, and that his men had largely accomplished the same. Down the ridge and to his left, many voices were abruptly raised in a cheer.

  Then, he repeated his command, “Nock arrows – loose!”

  As the second volley rose toward the top of the arc, down the slope, the first volley fell among the lash
ers at the rear of the enemy ranks. Screams of pain and howls of anger and anguish arose from dozens of thick-muscled throats. Here and there, some of the great beasts crumpled without uttering a sound.

  Death was making its first appearance upon the slopes of the caldera south of Morkendril.

  Matibar sent the deadly darts flying again so that every Senecan released three into the enemy center; then, “Left,” he said. “Gauge your distance.”

  And death found the ranks of those lashers approaching the Duridian line and Boman’s front. Then, three arrows later, he turned his archers to the right in order to visit death and injury upon the lashers approaching Edwar.

  Not every arrow found a mark, but most did. Lashers died, others suffered injuries too severe to allow them to continue. Even those that suffered damage and continued on would pose less of a challenge when they finally made contact.

  Seneca was exacting its vengeance.

  27.

  Despite having recently been elevated to one of the highest ranks in Elam’s army – and consequently Lord Aram’s – Thom Sota had no intention of commanding from behind the lines.

  Though no longer young, like most of the men around him, he was nonetheless still strong and reasonably agile. And he intended that his blade be one of the first to draw enemy blood.

  Standing among the front ranks of the army at the point where Elam and Lamont came together, he grinned a hard, tight grin and made direct eye contact with as many of the soldiers around him as possible. When the enemy cleared a rise just down the slope and the missiles of the Senecan archers began falling among them, Thom drew his sword, stepped out in front of the lines, and raised his voice.

  “Today,” he told those within the sound of his words, “we bring justice upon Manon the Grim for all the misery he has caused our people.” Lifting the tip of his sword, he pointed it at the men of Elam. “Many of you have lost sisters, daughters, some of you perhaps even the girl you had cast your eye upon to be your wife. All were lost to the evil of this tower behind me and the designs of the one who dwells there – and those of his puppet, Rahm Imrid the Evil, who now rots in the underearth.”

  Moving the sword once more he indicated the horse-head standard flying above the blue and gold of Elam and the silver and purple of Lamont.

  “Look upon that flag,” he commanded them. “It is the most ancient banner upon the earth, flown in olden times by the great kings as they resisted this same evil with our fathers. And we are here today, beneath that same flag, following a man who is mightier than all those great and ancient monarchs.”

  He moved his sword yet again, pointing westward, toward the center of the army as his words waxed toward the poetic. “Today we are led by Aram the King who bears with him the instrument of Manon’s final destruction. I know that man – and have seen what he can do with the weapon he bears. Our work here, upon this rocky hillside, will ensure that he finds the chance to put that instrument to its intended use.” He lowered his gaze, his eyes hardened, and he met the eyes of all those near him. “This is the most important day in any of our lives, the greatest day that any of us will ever know, for today will decide the fate of the world.”

  Pivoting, he pointed his sword at the tower, rising up dark and sinister from the desolate plain. “Now,” he said, “for the first time in many centuries, the whole world is at war with evil – here, today, led by a king.”

  He lowered his sword and watched the approaching line of gray men and lashers for a moment before pivoting back to face his men. Thom’s stirring words had caused every face to be riveted upon him, even though a few hundred yards away the minions of the enemy came nearer with each step.

  “All that is needed,” he continued, “is for us to aid Lord Aram and the rest of our comrades from all over the earth in removing this army so that he may go and evict the grim lord from his tower and from the world for all time.”

  His features and his tone grew solemn. “For the next hour, you and I – all of us – will be more than the best of friends. We will be brothers – no matter our disparate parentage. Brothers in arms we will be, and brothers in blood, shoulder to shoulder and steel to steel.”

  He let silence fall as he moved his gaze up and down the line of men, those from Lamont, and those of his homeland of Elam. Then he lifted his sword high just as a flight of arrows flew from the bows of the Senecan archers positioned upon the ridge behind them and began tracing an arc through the sky toward the foe.

  “Today we bring justice to the earth!”

  As the men erupted in a roar of approval, Thom stepped back into line, sheathed his sword and picked up his pike.

  “Alright, boys,” he said, and his deep baritone voice carried for a good distance both ways along the line. “Here they come.”

  28.

  Olyeg Kraine wasted no time gazing down the slope as the enemy army began its approach up the incline. He was too busy moving along the lines of his men, checking the ground upon which each of his commander’s regiment was deployed, straightening out bulges and indentations in the ranks, and making sure that each of his soldiers had room to work when the bloody hour came.

  He was acutely aware that he had never commanded an army when faced with steel raised in anger against it; still, he felt calm and prepared. Though green, the men were well trained, well-armed, and well-armored. They would fight.

  The contingent from Basura, two full regiments, was in his half of the Elamite army, near the center of those lines entrusted to Kraine, and he stopped to discuss the coming confrontation with Cole Tensee, Basura’s commander.

  Tensee was a large man with massive shoulders and hands as big as two of any normal man, and though young, was of a calm and serious disposition. Like Kraine, young Cole had chafed at not being allowed the opportunity to face the host that Slan had brought before the walls of Tobol.

  Now, of course, many of those that had accompanied Slan into Basura were here, in these ranks, allied with him in facing a new foe.

  Over time, on the march north, Cole had managed to make peace with that fact.

  At this vital hour, his only desire was to make a difference in setting the world free from evil.

  “Ready, are you, general?” Kraine asked him.

  Tensee saluted. “We are, sir. Anxious to get to work.”

  For the first time since the horn had sounded from the tower, Olyeg looked down the slope at the approaching enemy. He shook his head. “You won’t have long to wait – here they come.”

  He looked up into the stern face of the young commander. “Hold the line,” he said, “and we will be alright.”

  “We will hold, general,” Cole replied.

  “Good man.” Kraine briefly placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and then moved on.

  To Cole’s east, nearly four thousand men from Cumberland, under the command of the Governor-general of that land, had been inserted into Kraine’s forces. Kitchell had insisted that he be placed in regimental command, and Kraine, who had been Kitchell’s friend since their youth, had agreed – on the condition that the Governor-general oversee the actions of his men from the rear, behind the ranks, as a concession to his tenuous health.

  Now, as he came up behind the ranks of brown-and-green clad soldiers from The Land Beyond the Gates, Kitchell was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Kraine glanced up and over the slope, but the Governor-general was not with his small band of reserves.

  Finding a company commander by the name of Haarlan standing nearby, Kraine saluted him. “Where is your commander?”

  Haarlan smiled a wry smile and pointed eastward, toward the center of the line. “You’ll find him just there – in the front.”

  Giving a curt nod of his head at this alarming bit of news, Kraine moved rapidly toward the Cumberland center.

  Kitchell was standing in the front rank with both his hands firmly grasping the shaft of his pike, the butt of which rested on the stony earth beside him. He was gazing down the slope, watching the a
pproaching enemy, speaking quiet words of encouragement to the men standing near him.

  Kraine cleared his throat loudly. When this failed to attract Kitchell’s attention, he raised his voice and spoke firmly. “May I have a moment of your time, Governor?”

  Kitchell looked back at him and frowned. “The enemy will be upon us in less than an hour, general,” he replied. “I can give you but a moment.”

  Kraine bit off a sharp retort and let out a breath. “It won’t take longer, Governor, I promise.”

  Nodding to the men behind him to stand aside and let him pass, Kitchell came out of the ranks and up to where Kraine stood, using his pike like a walking staff.

  Kraine met his gaze for a long moment and spoke quietly. “You promised me, Kit, that you –”

  Kitchell held up one trembling hand, cutting him off. The expression in his large blue eyes was both solemn and respectful. “We are old men now – you and me, Olyeg. My life has been as good a life as the Maker has ever granted to anyone.” The shaking of his hand intensified as he pointed behind him, at the ranks of soldiers.

  “The future of the whole world is about to be decided right here, upon this miserable rocky hillside.” He shook his head firmly. “I won’t be kept out of it.”

  Lowering the hand to the shaft of his pike, he turned his head and gazed along the line of his countrymen. “Many of those men are little more than boys, with their lives in front of them. Others have young wives and younger children.” He brought his gaze back to Kraine’s face and the blue eyes narrowed and hardened. “Men will die here today, Olyeg – more, probably, than we can abide.”

  He leaned toward his friend and spoke earnestly and almost pleadingly. “I may be one of them, but if by my death I can help to weaken the enemy and ensure that at least one of these young men returns home to live out his life – then that is what I will do with my last breath and my last bit of strength. Don’t deny me this, my old friend.”