Kelven's Riddle Book Five

by Daniel Hylton

  It mattered not. Aram had made many arduous journeys in his life, and it occurred to him that each of those journeys had led to her, even when he hadn’t known it to be so, even those made before he knew her.

  This was just one more such journey, and he would make it more gladly than any other.

  He began to move, and as his muscles remembered forgotten abilities, his stride quickened and lengthened. He had far to go; he wasn’t sure how much of the autumn had passed, and he needed to stay ahead of the winter if possible.

  He had no food or water, only the clothing he’d worn when he’d come north with the army. But there was one thing more. Something pushed at his waist as he walked, causing intermittent pressure. As he reached inside his cloak, his fingers closed upon the dagger that had been in his belt. At least there was that.

  He wasn’t overly concerned about finding water, the hills and hollows to the south would undoubtedly provide. But he would need food and fire, neither of which would come to him easily – a dagger was little use in catching game, and he had not borne the means of making fire upon his person at the time of his death.

  Still, despite these difficulties, his heart soared within him.

  He was walking toward Ka’en.

  He was going home.

  The sun had slid past mid-day and was angling westward by the time he climbed the crater walls and came out of the valley. Standing atop the ridge where, some weeks or perhaps months ago, his army had faced Manon’s minions, Aram looked toward the southeast, at the many miles of country through which he would journey on his way to Ka’en.

  Hills tumbled up on his left. Just beyond them was the valley through which flowed the Secesh River on its way into and through Bracken. To his right, along the tangent of the road his army had travelled on its way here, beyond another low rise, he could see a broad swath of the land of Bracken itself.

  He hesitated only a moment before choosing the hills to his left over the flatter, more-easily travelled plains. That way led more directly home.

  He glanced up at the sun and then made his way along the ridge top and up into the higher ground beyond. Very little grew here. There were scattered, very scraggly junipers in some of the draws, but by and large, except for grass, the hills to the south of Manon’s valley were barren and appeared to have been burned.

  By evening, as the sun sank toward the western horizon, he was still among the hills, trudging toward the southeast. The farther he progressed from the valley, the more vegetation, grasses, bushes, and even trees, thickened upon the hills, though the trees, mostly juniper, were clustered mainly in the hollows.

  He crossed the heights of a ridge, noted the proximity of the sun to the horizon and decided to descend into a hollow, in order to find a reasonable spot to pass the night. He was tired and hungry – and unwary; even as he smelled the smoke, he did not ascribe any meaning to it.

  Finding the bottom of the hollow, he turned left, toward the smell of smoke. Perhaps it was the joy of knowing that he was returning home, or maybe his thoughts were still jumbled from the trauma of disembodiment and subsequent reanimation. But he was unwary, distracted, tired, and hungry.

  Rounding an outcropping of rock, he looked up and froze.

  Immediately in front of him, in plain view no more than fifty feet away, gathered around a blazing campfire, there were three lashers.

  The largest of the three, obviously a harbigur, who had been squatted on the ground facing his way, saw him as soon as he stepped into sight.

  Aram backed up against the rock and out of habit reached back for the hilt of the Sword of Heaven before he remembered that it was no longer there. Gritting his teeth in chagrin, he drew his dagger even as the lasher alerted his companions. The three of them rose and turned to face him. Aram felt sick. How could he have been so careless? True, he’d thought that all of Manon’s beasts had died in the battle; still, he was a fool to blunder through these darkening hills as if no danger existed.

  The big lasher stared at him for some time and then reached down and picked up a sword off the ground. Aram knew that he could not outrun them, especially in his current condition. Nor, realistically, could he put up much of a fight, certainly not against three of the massive beasts.

  His heart lurched. To come so near to Ka’en, to be back upon the earth when he thought himself banished from it – how could he have been careless enough to stumble into one more battle that he had little or no chance of winning? Fury rose in him, but it was directed more against himself than against the three huge monsters approaching him.

  And they approached.

  He backed up against the outcropping and tried to organize and calm his thoughts and face the challenge. Two of the lashers, flanking the larger beast on either side, were apparently unarmed. Only the largest carried a weapon – the sword that it held in its right hand. Noting this fact, Aram felt a glimmer of hope arise.

  Also, one of the smaller lashers, the beast on the harbigur’s right, had apparently suffered an injury, perhaps in the battle. Aram could see no obvious wound, but as it came toward Aram, it limped on one leg, turning the clawed foot at an odd angle as it picked it up and put it down.

  If he could manage somehow to avoid serious injury while wresting the sword away from the largest lasher, he would have a chance at evening the odds, if only a bit. Maybe it would be enough.

  The lashers stopped several paces from him, forming a semicircle as they faced him. The big lasher, the harbigur, a massive beast, held the sword at his side, dangling next to his massive thigh. He stared at Aram for a long moment and the large, flat-disc eyes blinked.

  “Lord Aram?” He inquired.

  Aram started and stared.

  The lasher’s tone surprised him, caught him off-guard, for it bore an undertone of respect, and something else.

  Aram let his gaze rove among them, seeking for subterfuge, or the signs of a feint; the tell-tale deviousness that would suggest a trick and a trap. He saw nothing. The creatures watched him openly, awaiting his reply.

  “I am Aram,” he replied after a moment.

  The big lasher stared back at him and then glanced up the hillside behind Aram.

  “How are you here?” He asked. “I thought you dead.”

  Aram nodded, warily, still holding his dagger at the ready. “I was dead,” he affirmed. “The Maker sent me back.”

  Once again, the lasher looked up the hillside. A subtle hint of emotion, perhaps fear, colored his attitude as he gazed up into the darkening hills. “Has the Great Father returned as well?” He asked.

  The question surprised Aram, both in its tenor and in the hesitant nature of its delivery.

  He frowned. “No,” he told the lasher, “your master has not returned. He is gone for all time.”

  The flat, black eyes blinked again. “You killed him.”

  “I did,” Aram agreed.

  Yet again, the big beast looked up the slope. “And he will not return?”

  “Never,” Aram assured him.

  “Never?” The creature persisted.

  “Never.”

  The lasher lifted the sword.

  Aram tensed.

  The lasher swung the sword up and let the flat side of the blade land with a smack in the palm of his clawed hand. Holding it out before him, as if presenting a gift, the big lasher knelt down in front of Aram.

  “I beg of you, my lord,” he said, and his tone was pleading, “spare the lives of me and my companions. In return, we will give you our service, our loyalty –” He glanced around, as if searching for anything else he might offer. A plume of smoke from the campfire drifted their way. “– and our food,” he finished.

  Aram gazed back at him in shock.

  Then his eyes narrowed.

  “How did you survive the battle?” He asked.

  The lasher continued holding the sword in front of him. “I was in command of the left side of the Great Father’s forces,” he replied. “I had been commanded to turn yo
ur flank. When the horn sounded from the tower, I was on the extreme left – upon your right, my lord. I knew that we were beaten.” He hesitated and looked down at the ground for a long moment. Then he looked up again.

  “I did not trust the Great Father,” he stated. The big eyes sharpened with strong emotion. “He made me, and you may think it evil of me to doubt him – yet I doubted him.”

  Aram stared, unable to conjure a proper response to such astonishing assertions. Finally, after a long moment, he indicated the sword. “So – you do not seek confrontation with me?”

  The lasher shook his head vigorously. “No, my lord; I seek – we three seek – your benevolence.” He lifted the sword. “Please, Lord Aram, take this as a pledge of my faith.”

  Aram glanced over toward the fire, noting the absence of other weapons. “Is this the only weapon between the three of you?” He asked.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Aram shook his head. “Then keep it. You may have need of it.” He raised a cautionary hand. “But never use it upon a man unless you are threatened.”

  The lasher stared. “I may keep it?”

  Aram nodded. “As I said – you may have need of it.”

  “And you will spare us?” The lasher insisted.

  “I will,” Aram replied. “Please – stand. What is your name?”

  The enormous lasher got to his feet. “I am named Hargur,” he answered. “I was the Second of the Great Father’s – Manon’s – first children.” He indicated the other lashers. “Bildur,” he said of the lasher on his right that walked with a limp, “and this is Pentar.”

  Aram eyed them warily. “And they agree with your doubts about Manon?”

  “They do, my lord.”

  Aram studied the three of them as he tried to master his amazement at the turn of events. “What will you do now?” He asked.

  “Serve you,” Hargur replied with a surprising response. “If you will have us. We will do whatever you ask of us, my lord.”

  Aram stared at them for a moment, letting his gaze search the three large faces, but even though he was unsure if he could know for certain whether they were lying, his instincts told him that they were not. He studied the sets of flat black eyes closely, but saw no guile. Slowly, he nodded.

  “You need pledge no fealty to me,” he told them. “The death of Manon made all the people of the earth free – the three of you perhaps more than any others. You may go – and do – as you like. You are free.”

  Hargur glanced at his companions and then looked again at Aram. “I cannot say with certainty, my lord,” he replied, “but we three are likely the last of our kind upon the earth, and the humans know us only as enemies – or as servants of their enslaver. Unless we are known to them as your servants, they will never accept our presence upon the earth. We will ever be outcasts.”

  Aram nodded in frank admittance of this surprisingly clear enunciation of the beasts’ plight.

  “Alright,” he said then. “I accept your service. You may travel into the south with me –” He stopped and looked at them closely. “Unless you would rather remain here, in a familiar place.”

  Hargur shook his head immediately. “No, my lord.” He looked around and up at the nearly barren slopes that surrounded the hollow. “There is little to eat here, and –” The big lasher dropped his head almost in shame as he continued on, “– and there are no trees.”

  Aram frowned at Hargur upon hearing this enigmatic declaration but could make nothing of it. Besides, he was suddenly very tired. With the threat of conflict apparently removed, cold and fatigue found their way into his bones. He put away the dagger, tugged up the collar of his cloak, and looked toward the fire. “I am weary,” he told Hargur. “I have journeyed far this day. I would rest by your fire this night.”

  Hargur stepped aside. “Of course, master, and we have some food as well. You are welcome to it.”

  It was at that moment that Aram noticed for the first time the general condition of the lashers. Their leather clothes hung from them in rags, and their bellies seemed sunken in comparison to his memories of how lashers appeared in the past.

  He glanced around the campsite. The ground within several yards of the fire was packed hard, all around, from the impact of their feet passing over it for some time. There were few animal bones, and those that were there had been broken and gnawed, and the marrow had been sucked from them.

  “How long have you encamped here?” He asked.

  Since the summer,” Hargur replied. “Since the battle.”

  Aram looked at him narrowly. “And you have not eaten well,” he stated.

  Hargur shrugged. “There is not much to eat in these hills, never was. But Pentar caught a rabbit today.” He indicated the half-eaten carcass, lying on the ground near the fire. “If we had known you were coming, master, we would have left more for you.”

  Aram cleared away a small pile of old bones and sat down near the flames. “I thank you, but I am not hungry,” he lied. “Only weary, and this fire feels good to me.”

  “Then we will make it hotter.” Hargur motioned to the other lashers and they moved away toward a stand of juniper to fetch more fuel.

  Aram looked up at Hargur and indicated the ground on the other side of the flames. “Please,” he said, “sit.”

  After the lasher had complied, Aram looked over at him. “Do you not eat grain?” He asked. “Or do you only consume the flesh of animals?”

  “We will eat grain gladly, master,” Hargur replied. “But there is none about, now. The storehouses were all destroyed in the – when you slew the Great Father.”

  “There is grain in the villages to the south,” Aram replied, watching the eyes of the big lasher. “You did not think to ask for a portion?”

  Hargur lowered his head and stared downward, at the fire. “The Great Father commanded me to take all that the slaves had before the battle,” he admitted, and there was shame and regret in his tone. “I took much, though not all, but I left them very little. I could not take more from them.”

  Aram was astounded. “You disobeyed Manon?”

  The big lasher met Aram’s gaze cautiously. “I did not think it right to cause the slaves to starve.”

  “They are slaves no longer,” he corrected Hargur and he watched the lasher for a long moment. “And I had more grain brought to them when I discovered their lack. Did Manon know that you disobeyed his instructions?”

  Hargur shook his massive, horned head. “I alone knew the extent of his commandments concerning the slaves, so there were none to tell him that I had done anything other than as I had been instructed.”

  Listening to him, Aram was reminded of Florm’s assertion that no society, whether it was predominately good or evil, displayed a monolithic acceptance of either attribute. Apparently that rule also applied to the race of lashers.

  The warmth from the fire began finding its way through his clothing and into his flesh, especially after Bildur and Pentar replenished its fuel. He looked over the flames at Hargur once again.

  “When I asked what you would do, just now, you stated that you would do whatever I asked of you,” he reminded him.

  “I swear it,” Hargur replied. “Whatever you ask of me, my lord, I will do.”

  Aram nodded. “Good – but what would you like to do?” He glanced around at the decrepit campsite set amidst the rocky and nearly barren hills. “Surely, you do not wish to remain here, in this place?”

  Hargur also looked around, and then he brought his gaze back to Aram. “We would not,” he agreed.

  “Where would you like to go?” Aram asked again.

  Hargur looked away and let his gaze settle upon a stand of scraggly, half-dead junipers. Once more the odd expression of shame or perhaps of a longing he feared to be unworthy and likely to be denied him, spread across the lasher’s features. “Far to the south,” he said, “beyond the flat lands, there are forests of great trees.” He dared to look back at Aram, who was stunned to s
ee that there was, in fact, an undeniable look of longing in the lasher’s eyes. And now, as he looked at his new master, a tiny gleam of hope appeared there as well. “I would like to live among trees,” Hargur admitted in quiet tones.

  Aram stared, astonished. It had never occurred to him that the great beasts could possess a preference for one particular type of geography over another. But when he thought about it, he realized that, though they had been created in this barren, cold part of the world, many – like Hargur – had travelled far and wide. Like any other intelligent creature, Hargur had discovered that he preferred a different landscape than that which had surrounded him for the bulk of his life.

  That thought engendered another. “How old are you, Hargur?” He asked.

  “The winter has come and gone more than five hundred times since memory began,” the lasher responded.

  Aram turned his gaze downward, into the flames. It occurred to him that Hargur had been in slavery for much longer than any of the slaves over whom his “Great Father” once held sway.

  After a time, he looked up again. “And you would like to live among trees?”

  “I would, master,” the lasher answered and he held out his clawed hands and gazed at them for a long moment before returning his gaze to Aram’s face. “I think that I could make things from them.”

  Once again, Aram felt his features set in lines of amazement. “You would like to make things from wood?”

  Hargur nodded wordlessly, watching Aram warily, as if he feared rebuke.

  Aram studied him for a long moment, and then he nodded. “Tomorrow we will go south together,” he declared. “I will ask for grain from the villages – from those whose harvest gave them enough to spare – and then we will journey on into the south.”

  He looked at all three of the lashers narrowly. “Do you understand that Manon will never return?”

  They exchanged glances, and then Hargur met his gaze once more. “You slew him?”

  “I did.”

  “And he is gone from the earth for all time?” The lasher persisted.

  Aram nodded. “He will never return.”

  Once again, they looked at each other, and then Hargur returned Aram’s nod. “We understand.”