For one tiny instant Findaen tried to raise a hope against that which his eyes told him, but it was useless. His spirit plunged downward to join his heart in the depth of despair.
Nothing could live anywhere near that boiling inferno.
Aram, no doubt, was caught in the very heart of it; for he had unquestionably caused it by the employment his unearthly, magical sword.
Findaen felt sick as he stared, stricken, into the north.
Then his eye caught something else.
Outlined against the base of the still-rising fireball, a dark mass moved and appeared to sweep toward him.
He watched this phenomenon wide-eyed for a long moment and then he knew – whatever it was, it was coming. And it appeared similar in nature to that which had slain the enemy army in the valley of Morkendril.
Had the grim lord possessed one last weapon to loose against his enemies upon the moment of his defeat?
“Everyone find cover! Now!” He yelled even as he dove for the underside of the wagon.
Moments later, the earth heaved and buckled as if it had suddenly become liquid and a storm wave passed through the abrupt fluidity of it. The ground jumped beneath Findaen and a thick cloud of dust rushed through the army’s encampment and tore past them.
Findaen kept his head and eyes covered with his hands until the shock wave and its attendant dust cloud had passed beyond him. Then, finding himself shaken but uninjured, he rolled out from under the wagon and once again looked into the north.
The fireball, though still rising high into the night sky, was fading, growing less distinct by the moment.
And then he knew – the shock wave was the result of the calamitous destruction of Manon. Lord Aram, then, had succeeded in his quest. The grim lord was dead. The world was free.
But Aram was gone.
Something large and massive charged past him, going up the road toward the north.
Thaniel.
The great horse was driving back toward the battlefield to discover what had become of his beloved friend and lord.
Findaen started to call out to him but thought better of it.
He turned instead and ran across the road, past the massed tents from which men erupted in confusion, and out onto the open prairie where they’d left the horses, calling for Andaran. Moments later, he’d mounted up, bareback, and he and Andaran were chasing after Thaniel. Hearing other hooves pounding upon the pavement behind him, Findaen looked back. Others had found their mounts and were following. He could see little in the gloom of night, but one of the riders was a huge man.
Mallet.
For the next hour they hurtled northward through the night, across the flatlands of Bracken, through the small valley, and up into the hills beyond.
The sky lightened in the east before they came to the bridge that spanned the stream between the low hills that tumbled up toward the edge of the battlefield.
The fireball had long since passed away, but the earth – even on the leeward side of the ridge – was charred and scorched, and here and there patches of dry grass still burned along the ridge tops; a testament to its enormous size and intense heat.
The road as it neared the cut through the crest of the crater rim was viscous, and smoking, having been melted by the blast. Avoiding that heated pavement that was still congealing into strange new shapes, Andaran lunged off the road to his right, and up the side of the cut, coming out onto the rocky ridge top to the east.
The horse slid to a stop at the crest of the ridge where, five days before such great issues had been decided, and stamped his hooves in response to the uncomfortable heat in the earth beneath his hooves. The entire slope had been blasted and burned. Little could be seen of the valley in the early morning gloom, but one thing was certain.
The tower was no longer there.
The eastern sky brightened further, losing its pinkish hue in favor of pale blue, gradually resolving details of the valley floor.
“Can you abide the heat?” Findaen asked his mount, noting Andaran’s discomfiture at the ground’s residual warmth.
“I can abide it,” Andaran replied. “I will abide it.”
As the light grew, Findaen gazed to his front, down over the valley, and was aghast at what had occurred in the intervening hours between the army’s departure and his return.
Nothing was left.
Out in the center of the valley, where hours before had stood the mightiest tower on earth, surrounded by the huts and streets of Morkendril, nothing remained, not even rubble. And the ground was very hot out there, glowing red in the pre-dawn twilight.
As the eastern sky lightened further, casting the first glow of the coming dawn down into the valley, it revealed that there were concentric blackish circles of varying widths coloring the valley floor, spreading out from what had obviously been the epicenter of the blast – Manon’s tower. With a shock, Findaen realized that these scattered dark bands of pulverized material were the debris from the destruction of that great tower, evidence of the stupendous force that had blown the massive structure to bits.
Thaniel stood several yards off to his left, beyond the cut on the far side of the melted road, with his head low and his eyes gazing out upon the ruin of the valley. The horse was obviously stunned by what he beheld.
Someone moved up on Findaen’s right.
He looked over.
Mallet sat there on Markris, staring out over the valley with tears streaming down his broad face.
Findaen nodded at the big man’s sadness as he felt his own eyes well up. He turned his gaze back to the blasted valley and nodded again.
“Truly,” he said somberly, “a god died here.”
But Mallet shook his head. “No, Fin,” he insisted. “It’s as I always said about Lord Aram, and I was right – he was a god. He was ever a god. Two gods died here.”
Findaen did not argue the point, for the scene before him made him doubt everything he had ever thought of as true where it concerned Aram. After a moment, he shook his head in sorrow.
“Whatever will I tell my sister?” He queried softly.
Others arrived, Edwar, Andar, Thom, Kavnaugh, Jonwood, Boman, Matibar, Olyeg, Marcus, and their mounts, and Nikolus, with Timmon behind him on Jared. They pulled up and halted, to form a line of muted astonishment, gazing out over the evidence of the end of the age of gods on earth, wrought by the man who had led them to this place.
Over on the left, without speaking to or acknowledging the others, Thaniel suddenly wheeled and drove southward, away from the scene of utter devastation. Mallet turned his head and watched him go.
“Poor beast,” he said. “What will he do now?”
There was nothing to be done, and nothing more to be seen. It was over. Manon was defeated, destroyed, gone from the earth for all time.
But Aram was gone as well.
One by one, men and horses turned away in sorrow and went back toward the south, toward home and freedom, away from the place that, because of Mallet’s words, forever came to be known as The Valley Where Two Gods Died.
52.
It took the army two months to trudge southward across the vastness of the plains, where now the fields that surrounded the scattered villages lay green and full beneath the summer sun. Every man among them knew what had occurred in that valley below the ridge where they all had fought and so many had died.
Each of them knew what had been gained by their struggle and sacrifice, and what had been lost.
The grim lord was gone.
But Lord Aram, the monarch that most of them had known and followed for less than a year, was gone as well.
The world would enter a new age of peace and freedom. But the king, the man who by his leadership and by the final act of his life had wrought this new era of liberty, would not be there to guide the world forward.
Despite the ultimate and total triumph of the Great Campaign there was a taint of bitterness.
The age of gods on earth had ended.
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br /> But so had the new age of kings.
It had lasted only as long as the tragically shortened life of one man.
By the end of summer, the army regained the green rolling hills of Cumberland, where Elam would march through their gates and into the south. It would require another two weeks for Duridia, Lamont, and Seneca to traverse the valley of the dry lake, skirt the southern slopes of Burning Mountain, cross over the Broad and come to the fortress.
After reaching the plains of Wallensia, Duridia, Lamont, and Seneca would then file away toward the south and east to disperse to their various homelands. While Duridia would go southward across the rolling prairie, and Lamont would prepare to march eastward; Seneca would make ready to descend toward Durck, to find help in gathering the ships that would take them home.
The army rested for a day upon Cumberland’s green while the various leaders discussed the future. After agreeing with the leaders of the newly freed lands of the earth about the need to gather again before winter and decide the future of the world, Findaen saddled up and he and Eoarl went ahead, up the valley, around Burning Mountain, across the plains, and through the green hills to break the terrible news to Ka’en.
Riding north along the valley road, having crossed the twin rivers, Findaen found himself hoping that someone else – one of the hawks, perhaps – had gotten there before him and done the wrenching task of informing his sister that her beloved husband had died in the fulfillment of his destiny. Findaen was greatly ashamed of these cowardly thoughts but nonetheless hoped they were true.
But they reached the city to find his hopes would be dashed. No one else had reached her before him – or had found the courage to tell her.
Cree, if she knew of Aram’s death, was nowhere to be found, having left the sad task of relating it to another.
Dunna stood at the top of the stairway as they rode up and dismounted below the wall. The stout little woman flew down the steps to rush into the arms of her husband. She buried her face gladly in Eoarl’s ample chest and then kissed him fervently.
“Welcome back, my beloved husband,” she cried happily as she leaned back to look up into his face.
Immediately her attitude changed as she saw the expression upon the old farmer’s features.
“Our boy?” She asked in alarm.
Eoarl shook his head. “Muray is fine – alive and well.”
Dunna studied his face for a moment longer and then turned to Findaen. In that moment, it struck her who it was that was absent. With her voice shaking, she tendered the question. “Where is Lord Aram?”
Eoarl glanced at Findaen and then gently enfolded his wife once again into his arms. “I’m afraid he is not coming back, Dunnie girl.”
Dunna began sobbing, her round little body convulsing with the strength of her sudden sorrow. “Oh, Ka’en,” she cried. “That poor lass – what will she do now?” With tears streaming down her cheeks she leaned away and looked beseechingly from Eoarl to Findaen and back again.
Eoarl looked over at Findaen. “Go ahead, my lad – go and do what must be done.”
Findaen stared down at the ground and then glanced over at Dunna. “Where is she?”
Choking on her words, Dunna replied, “In the house, just putting the wee one down for her nap. We knew that horses were in the valley and she thought –” Unable to finish, she buried her face once more in Eoarl’s chest and wept.
Findaen lowered his eyes once more and stared at the earth beneath his boots. After a moment, he lifted his stricken gaze back to Eoarl. Then he sighed deeply, nodded, and without speaking, turned to climb up the long stairway.
He found Ka’en in the bedroom of the house she had shared with Aram. Hearing a step behind her, Ka’en turned gladly. “Aram?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise but then smiled happily at her brother. “Fin! Why –?” She stopped cold as she saw his face. “Fin – what has happened?”
Findaen watched her for a long moment, searching his mind for the right words, then, “Aram is gone, Ka’en,” he blurted out.
Her eyes flew wide; she went white. “Gone – where?”
“He died, Sis. He died killing Manon. He succeeded – he killed him, but he died as well.”
Her eyes impossibly wide, her face white as ice, she lifted her chin and watched him for a long moment in silence. Then, turning her head away, she went to sit in the chair by the window that looked out over the valley.
She did not look at him as she asked, “Did you see his body?”
Findaen shook his head slowly, then, “No,” he admitted, “everything was destroyed in the cataclysm.”
She turned fierce eyes upon him. Her face was very pale and her voice shook as she challenged him.
“Then how can you declare him slain?”
She turned away and looked back out over the valley as she drew in several deep shuddering breaths.
“Before he went away,” she said, “my husband said to me that if anyone told me he had died, that person would be a liar. Yet here you are, my own brother, standing there telling me the most terrible of lies as if it were true.”
She looked back, her eyes filled with fierce accusation. They stared at each other as the minutes ticked away. Ka’en’s breast rose and fell with the rapidity of her breathing. Findaen felt his own eyes overflow to send rivulets cascading down his face. Finally, he spread his hands wide.
“I would give my life to be a liar,” he said.
That ruined her.
Her breath caught and she tightened her grip on the arms of the chair until her knuckles went as white as her face.
Findaen started to go to her but she stood and indicated the door. “You … should go now. Mae will need her rest.”
She turned away from him and stalked, trembling, into the back bedroom of her house.
For a long time, Findaen stood there gazing after her, at the open door through which she had disappeared, wondering if he should go to her.
No sound came to him from that room.
Dunna, he thought then, might be the best person to be with her now. He went to the door, looked back once more, and went out.
When he made his way out into the bright sunshine of the great porch, Alvern and Cree, with Kipwing and two pairs of unknown hawks were sitting close together upon the crenellated turrets of the defensive wall. Alvern spoke quietly to Cree, and then to the hawks and to Kipwing. Kipwing and the hawks then mounted up and flew quickly away, the hawks into the east and south, and Kipwing into the west.
A moment later, Cree also rose and flew past Findaen toward the city’s interior.
Alvern remained on the wall, gazing stolidly at Findaen.
“Findaen watched the hawk sail over his head. “Where are you going?” He asked.
“I am going in to the Lady Ka’en,” she replied.
Yes, he thought angrily, now you go to her.
53.
Aram was surprised at the pristine quality of his thoughts.
Not that he could see or even feel anything; there was no awareness of anything physical; the terrible, pervasive cold was sensed rather than felt. Yet his thoughts were clear, precise. Even his memory – wherever it was stored and maintained, for he certainly no longer possessed a brain – of the events of the last few moments of his life was crystal clear.
He remembered Manon’s dissolution, and his own; he recalled the pain, and the immediate cessation of his being which followed it.
There was no doubt but that he had died.
Nonetheless, the memory vault of his life, going all the way back to his earliest years as a child upon the western plains, was full and clear, without gaps or missing pieces.
But where was he now?
And how was it that he could be aware of being anywhere?
All was dark. Absolute, utter darkness surrounded him. He could see nothing, hear nothing, and without hands or fingers or feet, feel nothing.
Yet there was an unmistakable sensation of being.
After
a while yet another sensation began to impinge upon his thoughts – or his consciousness – whatever it was that he had become. This new sensation grew until it was everything.
It was the sensation of speed.
He was flying – no, shooting – through the cosmic night with a swiftness that defied comprehension.
With absolutely no point of reference in the vast blackness, still he knew that he was being impelled forward at a rate that defied comprehension and strained credulity.
And then, all at once, light began to grow, not from any particular quarter but from all around him. It strengthened without a specific source. It occurred to him then, rather suddenly, that whatever else he possessed – or lacked – he now had eyes, for he could see.
He could see the light.
With the growing of the light and his ability to comprehend it, the sensation of speed slowed.
The light grew exponentially.
And then all sensation of speed abruptly dissipated.
He now had feet, for he was walking. Arms hung at his side and moved rhythmically as he walked. Wonderingly, he lifted his arms, and his hands appeared before his face. Looking down over himself, he discovered that his body was, in fact, whole and intact.
And he was clothed in a robe of purple.
Looking up once more, he found that the light had grown to the fullness of day, though there was still no sky above him and no sun overhead. He was actually inside an enormous hall, walking along a corridor that was lined with columns that soared far overhead. And way up there, there was a ceiling. Immediately ahead of him, set into a facing wall of cream colored stone or marble, there was a door. It was fully light now; he could see about him plainly. The corridor was wide, but no passages or doorways led off from it to either side.
He turned and looked back.
Far away, back from where he’d come, the corridor grew dim, faded, its features growing ever less distinct as it went away from him, and then darkened to featureless night.
He pivoted back to the front, to face the door towards which he had been walking.
The door was wide and tall, intricately carved with symbols whose meaning eluded him, and was composed of two halves. He reached the door to discover that there was no handle or any other discernable means of opening it. But then, as he reached out to feel of its surface, to run his hand along the loops and whorls carved into its facade, the two halves swung away, as if he was expected in whatever chamber lay beyond.
Kelven's Riddle Book Five Page 36