Supper had already been laid out on the table when he returned to the dining room. Sera did not appear and he couldn’t find her in any of the adjoining rooms so he ate alone. But the food was magnificent; broiled venison, fried potatoes, and apple pie. It was hot and delicious.
After dining, he wandered the house for awhile, encountering no one else. The halls and most of the rooms were lit but they were all devoid of occupants. Again he wondered about the two persons that were already present to aid him in his quest and where they were for he could find no one else in the house.
Eventually, as it was very late and he was weary from his long climb, he went back to his assigned room and slept, waking only when the sun broke over the rim of the mountain and into his room.
Breakfast was waiting in the dining hall, already served and steaming as if it had been placed there moments before he arrived, though Sera was once again absent. There was service for just one, placed where he had eaten the night before. It was a variation on the previous evening’s meal and was every bit as good.
After breakfast, he again wandered the house and again found no evidence that anyone shared it with him. There was no sign of Kelven or Sera. He wandered out onto the front courtyard near the spring. It was a clear day and the sun seemed brighter at this altitude. He gazed down into the blue depths of the water and then walked out through the tall trees to where the devastation of the ancient battle began.
The line of demarcation between the lush growth near Kelven’s house and the utter desolation of the rest of the valley was clearly defined. The tall trees ended where their roots spread into dead soil and rock. A hundred yards out from where the trees ended, the windrowed, bleached remains of Manon’s ancient army washed toward the far end of the valley in concentric waves. There were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, all slain by the cataclysmic death of one god so long ago. Try as he might, Aram couldn’t imagine the terrific force necessary to wreak such destruction as was evident in this hollow of the mountain’s summit.
The stream exited the forest to his right as he gazed down the valley but it carried no life with it out into the desolated land. It was dead water as soon as it entered the waste, pooling behind mounds of the whitened skeletons, and then spilling left or right as it made its way toward the distant gap in the walls of stone that rimmed the valley.
Kelven was right; there was nothing of interest outside his small oasis. The valley in the summit of the mountain had been blasted into lifelessness and had not recovered. Probably, it never would.
Aram went back through the woods, across the courtyard and made his way through the house to the cavern in the mountain beyond, where he could view Manon’s tower through Kelven’s looking device.
By experimentation he discovered the use and meaning of the various controls and he sat for a while gazing at the vast menacing needle rising from the distant, smoky plain. The sight of his enemy’s activities, carried out unmolested, knotted his stomach, so after a while he contrived to turn the device so that he could look into the southwest, toward his own valley.
He searched across northern reaches of the high plains of the horses, but they were quiet and blanketed with deep snow; the horses were further south, in their winter’s quarters, beyond the white horizon. Then, by carefully adjusting the wheels and knobs, he looked at last into his own valley. When he peered through the lens, he sucked in a sharp breath. He was looking at an angle directly down upon the broad avenue that led up to the walls of his city. A small herd of deer was to one side, among the ruined gardens opposite the orchard, pawing at the snow to get at the grass beneath. He raised the lens and looked upon the beauty of his own city. All was quiet, nothing moved but the deer; Borlus and Hilla would have gone long since into their winter’s sleep.
Snow lay upon the great porch in front of the arches that defined the main entrances to the city carved into the multi-hued rock of the mountain. The bright morning sun shone obliquely down upon the empty mansions and courtyards as they rose up the flanks of the great black mountain, and the city shone like a red, gold, and white jewel against the dark slopes.
He suddenly realized that he could not continue gazing upon his lovely valley, so far away and unprotected. He could not bear to watch it from such a distance that he was rendered impotent to affect what was done there. What if a group of lashers appeared, wreaking havoc across that beloved landscape while he was powerless to stop it?
He swung the looking device back around to the north and refocused it on Manon’s tower as it had been before. Then he turned away and went back into the house. He spent the morning exploring the many halls and passages on the west side, always amazed at the size and grandeur of Kelven’s house, and always without discovering another soul.
About midday he went into the dining hall, which was just on the eastern side of the middle of the house. This time, Sera was there, sitting at the far end of the table as if she waited for him. Food was spread across the table in several serving plates. She looked up as he entered the doorway.
She smiled. “I wanted to see if you would care to try something new, my lord. I understand that your fare to date has been somewhat limited.”
He smiled in turn. “I have not been invited to many grand houses, my lady. Certainly none so grand as this. I spent all my youth in slavery and was often hungry. When I have eaten well, variety has been limited.”
The features of her face stiffened and she stared at him in shock. Her hands gripped the table and her eyes went wide. Surprised at the sudden and profound change in her attitude, he frowned back at her.
“Did I say something amiss, my lady?”
“In slavery?” She continued to stare, her expression that of amazement and incomprehension, her eyes still wide. “You were a slave? How – where? A slave of Manon’s?”
“Yes, until almost eight years ago. I was born a slave. Why? What is wrong?”
“Where were you a slave – in what part of the world?”
“Far to the west, out on the plains near the great marsh. I was born in a village there.” He answered, watching her closely. He was taken aback by the radical alteration in her normal demeanor of placid resignation. “A few years ago I was transported from the plains eastward into the hills near the black mountain that is on the western border of my valley. An opportunity came to escape, and I escaped. What troubles you, my lady?”
“And you escaped?” She stood up, still gazing at him in astonishment. “You got free from the clutches of Manon?”
“I did.”
“Who aided you in this?”
Aram frowned. “No one aided me, my lady. I always wanted to be free. I simply could not bear not to be free. I would not live in chains. Always I looked for an opportunity to flee and one day, by chance, one was presented. I escaped and fled into the wilderness.”
“You avoided his servants, the lashers? You escaped from their power?”
“Yes. I even killed some of them later.”
“You – killed a lasher?”
He nodded. “More than one – several.”
If anything, her eyes grew wider. “How?”
“With sword and spear – and a bow that I made.”
Wonder spread over her face at this revelation and there was an odd light that came into her eyes; it seemed to him almost that her countenance shone. When she spoke her voice was stronger, firmer than it had been. “No one has ever escaped from Manon, Aram. Few have slain a lasher.”
“I suppose,” he agreed, “but I did. I escaped, and I have killed several lashers.””
She gazed at him a long moment longer with that strange light in her eyes and then, slowly, she returned to her seat. Her mood had changed dramatically; it seemed much brighter and the fatigue of the ages, usually so apparent on her countenance, seemed much less than it had been. She nodded.
“That is why my lord was so excited about your coming here.”
Aram scowled slightly as he sat down at the other end of th
e table, in his usual place. “He did not seem all that excited to see me, my lady.”
Her smile grew brighter. “Ah, well, he would not let it show, would he? Not to you – that is so like him. So you did all this – alone, without aid?”
“Well, only at first.” He acknowledged. “But in the past two years the horses have helped immensely, especially with the killing of the lashers – and have easily done as much or more than I have done.”
Her eyes widened again. “The horses?”
He nodded.
“The horses have helped you – allied themselves with you? They commune with men again?”
“Yes – well, just with me, so far. But Lord Florm says that will change.”
She grew very quiet then and seemed to struggle with herself inwardly; almost as if – rather than being simply hesitant – she was actually afraid to continue, afraid of what his answers might reveal. “I don’t suppose that you are also the master of wolves, Lord Aram?”
“I am,” he answered, surprised at the line of questioning. “Though not of all of them – not yet.”
She shook her head in wonder. “So – you are the master of wolves and the friend of horses.”
“Yes, my lady. In a limited way I am both those things. You did not know all this?”
“I did not want to know it.” She admitted. “When Lord Kelven speaks of the world of men, I try not to hear him.” She shook her head as if the idea made her angry. “I must confess, Aram; long ago I gave up on our people. In centuries past I saw them all come up here, to this mountain; before the war, before the way was closed. They came in their fine armor and proud manner. Peleg, Javan, and Joktan, after they turned from Manon. Joktan, especially. Oh, but he was proud. Assuring my master that he could deal with the designs of the grim lord.” Echoes of ancient bitterness entered her voice.
“Well, where are they now? Manon destroyed them all – even the mighty Joktan. They and all their armies could not defeat the grim lord of the tower. As for Joktan, Manon slew him with his own hand. And afterward, the evil one came here, to the mountain of Kelven. He deceived my lord and took from him his life.” She looked away and wiped her eyes. “Since then, through all the centuries, Kelven has waited on this mountain.”
After a few moments, she turned back to face him directly and gazed at him for several minutes as the silence in the hall thickened. Her expression was strange, unreadable. “I was wrong – I see it now. He has been waiting for you. All this time, he has waited for you to come to him.”
Aram watched her and said nothing.
She stared back at him and her expression did not change. “So, the horses are in alliance with men again. Because of you, the fellowship has been restored – in truth; they are in alliance with you.”
It was a statement of fact. He acknowledged it with a nod.
Her smile returned then, brighter than ever; Aram watched in awkward silence as her eyes filled with tears of sublime relief. “My lord foresaw this. My lord foresaw your coming, Lord Aram. If he has truly seen all of this, then he has truly seen the end as well.” She repeated it softly, as if to herself; as if she needed to hear it again to fully believe it. “He has truly seen the end.”
Aram stiffened at this and frowned. “The end, my lady?”
“Yes, Lord Aram. Have you not heard of Kelven’s Riddle?”
“I have.”
“Recite it.” She demanded.
Aram thought a moment, remembering, then –
“He comes from the west and arises in the east, Tall and strong, fierce as a storm upon the plain.
He ascends the height to put his hand among the stars And wield the sword of heaven.
Master of wolves, Friend of horses;
He is a Prince of men, and a walking flame.”
She waited a moment, as if expecting him to continue. When he did not, she frowned. “Recite it all. The last line as well.”
It was his turn to frown. “Florm said that there was one more line but that he had forgotten it. I’ve never heard it, my lady.”
“I have heard it. It is not forgettable.” She spoke in firm tones; her voice rang sharply in the empty hall. “It is the essential point of the riddle, Lord Aram, and speaks to the end of madness. It is this – he enters the stronghold of evil, to bring down the mighty and return peace.”
The words sounded through the chambers of his mind, lighting flickers of hope. Return peace. Was this his destiny – the one he had not sought but had found anyway? Was it his fate to find his way to that black serpent’sfang tower, slay the grim lord and return peace to the land? He shook his head slightly, dismissing these thoughts for later consideration. Time would answer all such questions, anyway. He stared at Sera across the wide table, saw the dawn of hope on her countenance and he comprehended her. He leaned forward and gazed at her intently.
“You did not believe the riddle.” He said.
She laughed softly. “I confess it.”
“But you believe it now?”
Her eyebrows slid up her forehead. “Here you are, Lord Aram – the proof of it. There you sit, at Kelven’s table – the man he said would come. And now you will go among the stars to retrieve Humber’s weapon – the sword of heaven. It is all true, just as my lord foresaw.” She shook her head, wondering. “And I did not believe him.”
Aram frowned. “I do not know of this – Humber. I have never heard of him.”
“He is the first of all of Lord Kelven’s people; the first citizen of Elilysia, the home of the gods among the stars. It is also the long home of our people, Lord Aram. Humber rules there.”
“Did Humber create the weapon?”
“The sword of heaven? I don’t know.” She considered a moment. “Lord Kelven suggested once that it was the work of the Maker Himself, but I can’t speak to the certainty of that either.”
He studied her closely. “If you knew of the existence of the weapon, my lady, why did you not believe the riddle?”
“I have never seen the weapon, Lord Aram; a fact that cast it as much in doubt to my mind as the riddle itself.” She laughed again for the second time in several minutes, full and deep, as if she had not laughed for centuries. “Besides, a weapon has no value if there is no hand to wield it, Lord Aram. But now you are here, the central figure of the whole matter, on Kelven’s mountain, just as he predicted.”
“So you believe that I am the answer to the riddle?”
“I think that I do – yes; but it matters not what I think.” She answered. “Lord Kelven believes that you are the answer to it. He was right about the substance of the riddle; he is right about this as well.” She leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Lord Kelven spoke to me of you as you were climbing the mountain. He said that you were different, Lord Aram. I see now what he meant. All those others – all those great kings – they were born into substance and power and privilege. But you; you were born a slave. Yet here you are, willing to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders. Lord Kelven said that you were different. He said that your coming would change everything. He said that you would change the world.”
“Change the world? He said that?”
“More importantly, he believes it.” She glanced down at the table, at the plates of untouched food, and consternation covered her features. “Forgive me, Lord Aram, you must be hungry. Please, try these dishes and tell me those that you prefer. It will help to know what you like while you are our guest. Set those that you like here,” she indicated one side of the table, “and put the others there. Then I will know.”
She rose, still smiling, lost in the pleasantness of her newfound hope, and went out of the room toward the back of the house, as if in a hurry to perform a suddenly-remembered imperative task. She did not return.
Aram lunched, trying all of the various dishes and found few he did not like. In all, it was a broader range of tastes than he had ever experienced. After he ate, when Sera had not returned, he followed her instructions about the food and
then decided to continue his exploration of the house.
The east side of the house was different than the west. The west side seemed to be more public, designed for the entertainment and impression of guests, but the east side, beyond the dining hall, appeared more private in both its construction and its furnishings. The halls were narrower and the rooms smaller and more simply furnished.
At the extreme eastern portion of the house, in about the middle, at the end of a long passage, there was a room into which he could not gain entrance. There were double doors that had no handles or latches though they were massive and substantial.
Giving up on that room he went to the right through windowed doors and out onto a terrace that was indented into the southeastern part of the house. The terrace was bounded by the high wall of the mountain on the east, the massive dense wall of trees to the south, and wrapped westward around the house to join the main courtyard at the front where he’d first met Kelven.
Aram went out and sat on the bench by the spring for a while as the afternoon waned away, thinking of all that had happened and wondering about Kelven and his motives. Why was the god so capricious and cold to Aram when, according to Sera, he had been visibly excited about his coming?
And there was the thing that troubled him most, the more he considered it. Kelven had stated that Aram could “attempt” to retrieve the weapon. What had he meant by that? Aram glanced up at the sky. The sun would set beyond the rim of the mountain in two or three hours and the stars would show. How would a mortal man put his hand among those stars? If the sword was really out there somewhere in the darkness beyond the world, how would he ever retrieve it?
And there was the last line of the riddle, recited by Sera. Was he really meant to enter that dark, forbidding tower in the center of the dismal plain in order to face down the god that had brought the world to the edge of ruin and despair? If so – even if he was given a mighty weapon to aid him – would he possess the courage to undertake such a task? Yes – he answered his own question – if he could save Ka’en and her people, he would do it, even if it cost him his own life. If he could save her.
Kelven's Riddle Book Two Page 6