Kelven's Riddle Book Two

by Daniel Hylton

  Aram nodded.

  Timmon motioned for him to follow and then went beneath the bridge to the upstream side where he met Aram’s eyes and pointed out toward the river again.

  “Now look.”

  Aram studied the underside of the bridge, arching up and away from him across the wide river. It was magnificently made, with huge wooden beams and struts anchoring the vertical and horizontal posts of the structure. Beside him, Timmon stretched out his arm, pointing downward, toward the surface of the water.

  “Not the superstructure, my lord – the foundation, where it goes into the water.”

  Aram lowered his gaze. The stone pylons, comprised of huge chunks of rock, cut and shaped and fitted together carefully had been rounded on the other – downstream – side of the bridge, but here on the upstream side, they were shaped like the prows of ships, cutting into the current. All the way across the river, the pylons – there were about ten altogether, were shaped the same, rounded on the downstream side, but sharpened into the current upstream, as if ten massive stone ships held the bridge in place, their bows upstream and their sterns downstream.

  Timmon grinned. “Amazing, huh?”

  Aram nodded slowly. “I suppose that it hinders erosion.”

  “More than that, my lord. In flood time, this design breaks the force of the current, funneling it between the pylons, protecting the bridge. Constructed thus, it will stand forever.”

  Aram smiled slightly at the clever man’s unbounded enthusiasm for the works of ancient, unknown engineers. But he had other concerns. He fixed the man with his gaze. “I’m glad to hear it, Timmon, but how do we defend it, render it unusable to Manon without destroying it?”

  A grimace crossed the man’s round face. “It would be a sin to destroy such a thing, my lord.”

  “Then give me some ideas for defending it.”

  Timmon’s cheerful face grew pensive. “I could make a plug of sharpened poles – wheel it to the midpoint. If the armies of the enemy tried to cross, then it could easily be defended by a few men. They would have to dismantle the plug in order to come across…” He trailed off, gazing out at the muchadmired bridge.

  “But?” Aram asked after a moment.

  Timmon looked at him. “It’s just that – if they came in sufficient force, and even if we made two or three plugs, positioned a hundred yards apart across the span – eventually they might force their way across.”

  Aram shook his head firmly. “That cannot happen. There must be no easy conduit for the enemy to reach the eastern bank.”

  Timmon sighed. “Then there is only one thing to do, my lord.”

  “Destroy it?”

  Timmon’s eyebrows shot upward in horror. “No – no – well, yes, but not all of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Aram frowned out at the massive bridge, spanning the vast river.

  Timmon pointed again at the huge pylons of rock rising from the current. “There is no need to ruin the foundations of the thing, my lord, in order to render it inaccessible to the enemy.” He turned to face Aram. “If we win this war, won’t we need this bridge here, reuniting the eastern plains with the west?”

  “Of course, but –”

  Timmon hurried on. “Then there is no need to destroy this bridge in its entirety – just burn the last fifty or hundred feet of it on the far side, so that it no longer touches the western bank. Burn it from the last pylon to the bank. That will create open, deep water for, say, a hundred feet between the remains of the bridge and the shore – eminently defensible.” He turned and studied the bridge again, his eyes shining. “We can do it with all three bridges. Then, when the war is over, I can rebuild them, using the rest of this bridge as a template.”

  Aram felt a grin of admiration cross his face. “I’m glad you’re with us, Timmon. I probably would have destroyed all three bridges utterly – for safety’s sake.”

  “No, my lord; you would have come to the same conclusion as I.”

  “Maybe.” Aram said doubtfully. He stood silent for several minutes, gazing across the wide current at the buildings of the western portion of the town on the far shore. “There is another project that I want you to oversee, Timmon.”

  “My lord?”

  “As soon as the wounded can be moved, the bulk of the army will go back to Derosa. I will go with them. Findaen will stay for two weeks or so to help these people organize their lives and their society. I want you to stay behind as well.” He raised one arm to point across the river. “Before you render the bridges unusable, Timmon, I want you to make sure that everything that will be of value to these people has been brought across to the eastern shore – oxen, carts, foodstuffs, and tools, whatever has value.”

  Timmon’s eyes shone with understanding; he nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, of course, my lord – there is no point in leaving such things to rot, or letting them have it, is there?”

  “Exactly so.” Aram raised a finger in caution. “Always take some soldiers with you, my friend. There may still be danger here, especially on the west bank. Lord Alvern will remain behind when the army goes north to watch from the skies above while you proceed. Stay in contact with him always.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  “Good. Then proceed, Timmon, with all due speed. Accomplish this task as quickly as possible. When you’re sure that everyone – and everything of value – is across, burn all three bridges between the last pylons and the far bank.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Timmon answered, and he gave the bridge a last regretful glance.

  Aram rode back through the town. As he went, he examined the city and its structures. Though ruined, burned, and neglected it was obvious that at one time this had been a thriving metropolis, larger than Derosa by several times, a center of commerce. And the farmland that surrounded it was rich indeed, more so than his valley, or the valley containing Derosa. The lands under his tenuous control had not only grown dramatically in size with this victory, they had grown wealthier as well. Someday, if Manon could be pushed from the world and his vile works expunged; Aram meant to see to it that this city once again became a jewel of peace and prosperity.

  He went back to the battlefield, where the surgeons still labored over the injured men beneath tarps erected above two of the wagons by Arthrus. Aram spoke to one of the surgeons, a man named Bertrain.

  “When can these men be moved toward Derosa?”

  Bertrain, a slender, rather short, and solemn-faced man with round, dark eyes, squinted up at him. “These men will all live now, Lord Aram, but,” he pointed at the other wagon where two surgeons worked feverishly in the slight shade of the cloth, “until we can stop Hilgarn’s bleeding, he, at least, cannot be moved.”

  Aram looked sharply along the transit of the other’s finger. “Hilgarn?”

  “Yes.”

  “The young gatekeeper?”

  “I believe that he mans the gate sometimes, yes.” Bertrain answered.

  Aram strode over to the other wagon. The surgeons were engrossed in their activities, but Arthrus stood at the end of the wagon, positioning the cloth as needed to keep the wounded man in the shade. Aram rounded on Arthrus.

  “Is Hilgarn conscious?”

  Arthrus shook his head. “No, my lord.”

  Aram glanced down, around the shoulder of the nearest surgeon. Hilgarn had been slashed badly across the chest and into the meaty upper muscle of his right arm. His face was pasty, white, his breathing ragged and shallow.

  Aram found Bertrain behind him. “You said that he would live?”

  “I believe that he will, my lord. Nothing vital was injured, only flesh, but he has lost a lot of blood. Nonetheless, he is yet with us, and a bit stronger than an hour ago.”

  Aram watched Hilgarn’s chest rise and fall, shallowly and unevenly. He looked at Arthrus. “When Bertrain says that these men can be moved – I must know at once. I will tell Donnick to see that the men are ready to march north at a moment’s notice, except for Findaen and tho
se few that will stay behind with him to help the people of Stell. The rest of us will go as fast and straight as we can to Derosa, taking the bulk of the army. Make our wounded as comfortable for traveling as you can, Arthrus; we must get them home quickly – to their own beds.”

  Arthrus nodded solemnly, his normally cheerful features looking worn and haggard. He glanced down at Hilgarn. “He went out with Aberlon. One of those big monsters cut right through his armor.”

  There was a bitter undercurrent of guilt in Arthrus’ voice that caught Aram’s attention. He answered firmly. “No armor will withstand the weapons of those beasts, my friend.”

  Arthrus still gazed down at Hilgarn. “Would shields stop them?”

  “Maybe.” Aram shook his head doubtfully. “Probably just slow them a little. We will have to devise a better means of dealing with harbigurs – as yet I don’t know what that means will be.”

  Arthrus raised his gray eyes and looked into Aram’s face. “We have lots of steel, Lord Aram. How many men may I have at my disposal when we return to Derosa?”

  Aram immediately understood the other’s implication. “For the next month or so – all that you need. After that – for the whole of the winter.”

  “Then we will make armor for all – and shields.”

  “Yes, Arthrus, we will.” Aram nodded again and glanced down at Hilgarn. “Notify me when we can go north – as soon as is possible.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Aram watched the surgeons administer to Hilgarn a few moments longer; then he turned away and went to see what Findaen had done with the people of Stell.

  As he approached the trees, he found that the people had been separated into groups, with most of them, a few men, most of the women, and the children released to sit in the shade of the trees. Out near the road, Aram could see Findaen speaking earnestly with all the young men of the town. Kinwerd was off to the left with another group of citizens, mostly older men but there were some women in that group as well.

  Findaen seemed engrossed in his discussions with the younger men, so Aram approached Kinwerd’s group. As he came up, they turned and faced him and bowed low. Kinwerd glanced around and then addressed Aram hesitantly.

  “Lord Aram – Findaen, the son of the prince, set to us the task of dividing the land by families. Do you have any specific instructions for us on this matter, my lord?”

  Aram smiled to relieve the man’s trepidation. “No, sir. I know that you will act equitably toward one another. There is plenty of land, there is no reason for anyone to lack.” He paused a moment, and looked southward; his face grew serious, causing the elders to stand straighter and watch him closely.

  “Have you considered the fact that some of your people might not want to be farmers? Many will – and will need to be, at least for a time, but –” Aram swept his hand toward the town. “Stell was, long ago, a center of commerce, and a prosperous city – I know that things must necessarily move slowly – but don’t you think that it should become again what it once was, even in a small way, with each person looking to his or her own varied interests?”

  Kinwerd nodded slowly, as did several of the others. “Of course, my lord. We should have thought of such things. Not everyone will want to remain in the occupation that has been forced upon us for so long.” He glanced at Aram with sheepish eyes. “We have been deprived of the right to think and act for ourselves for so long, I am afraid we may seem simple to you.”

  For a moment, Aram was tempted to tell them of his youth, of his own history of enslavement, but decided that such a revelation would gain nothing. Instead, he smiled. “You will do fine, Kinwerd, all of you. This is your land, now. Use your best judgment. Find your way forward as you go.”

  He looked toward the large group of young men gathered around Findaen. “What are they discussing, do you think?”

  Kinwerd followed his glance. “He is recruiting for your army, my lord. I’ve no doubt that many of our young men will agree to the recruitment.” The thin, elderly man glanced the other way, toward the group with women and children. “There is such a shortage of young women of marrying age, because so many of our young women have always been taken away, that there will be little to keep young men here, anyway.”

  Aram stared at Kinwerd, stunned by a sudden comprehension of basic facts of human existence to which he’d never really given thought, though it had been there for his consideration since his youth and the theft of his own sister. Just as quickly, his mind filled with visions of wagons, trundling northward out of Elam, carrying the cream of that land’s young females, destined for horror in the dungeons of Manon’s tower. And then he imagined diverting those wagons with their precious cargo eastward into Wallensia, where they would be protected from horror and introduced to eager young men of marrying age.

  He nodded slowly, gazing at Kinwerd in appreciation. “You are right, my friend – we will have to do something about that.”

  Kinwerd frowned, confused. “My lord?”

  Aram shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, Kinwerd; this is something for me to resolve. Go on with your planning. But thank you for bringing this matter to my mind.”

  He turned and went toward Findaen, leaving the elders frowning after him. Findaen saw him coming and turned toward him, but Aram held up his hands, indicating that he didn’t mean to interrupt. Nonetheless, Findaen was eager to impart the substance of his conversation with the young men.

  “Lord Aram, many of these men want to join the fight. Some, of course, have commitments here.” Self-consciously, Findaen glanced at the young, pretty woman who stood on the outskirts of the group. Her brothers still stood near her, but their posture had grown less defensive. “Those will want to stay. But they understand the necessity of being prepared to defend the river crossings. I told them that we will provide them with arms – isn’t that so, my lord?”

  Aram nodded. “We will.” He affirmed. He took one step away from the group. “Findaen, may I have a word?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  When Findaen had joined him, Aram looked toward the wagons containing the wounded, and then toward the army working under Donnick’s direction to dispose of the bodies of the enemy in a long trench in a field to the east of the road. “Findaen, I’m going to choose about fifty men – at least a few of those will be mounted – to stay here with you. Alvern will also stay. The rest of us must go back to Derosa as soon as the wounded can be moved – tonight, if there is enough daylight left to warrant it.”

  He met the young man’s eyes. “You have two weeks to organize matters here – but you must come home then. I can’t spare you longer. Alvern will watch over your passage north when you come.”

  Findaen nodded his assent, but his eyes strayed to the woman.

  Aram smiled and kept his gaze upon Findaen. “Bring her with you, if you want, my friend – and if she is willing – and bring any of the young men who wish to train and fight with us as well. Timmon is going to search the town and the villages on the far bank of the river for anything of value. See that his operation is protected by a company of soldiers.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Findaen answered. His eyes were still on the young woman standing by her brothers. Aram glanced over. The woman’s shy gaze was fixed on Findaen as well.

  Aram smiled again. “Alright, my friend, two weeks. Come home in two weeks.” He reached out and touched Findaen’s shoulder. “You did hear me – yes?”

  Findaen’s head snapped around. “Yes, my lord – two weeks.”

  “Good. Be careful. Stay in contact with Alvern always.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  As Aram turned toward the soldiers, he saw that they were forming up in a column north of the battlefield. Arthrus was hurrying toward him. He glanced at the sun, still two or three hours in the sky. Good, they would go north today, then, and put at least some of the prairie behind them.

  For the next week, they moved north along the ancient road as quickly as they dare
d with the wounded. Aram sent the wolves out to the right and left as scouts, protecting the main column. Seven days later, late in the afternoon, they left the remains of the ancient road where the Weser made a sweeping curve toward the southwest after flowing under the gates of Derosa and they came across the grasslands toward home.

  While the wounded were transported up the road into town, the wolves melted into the woods, the horses were relieved of their armor, and Donnick dismissed the men. Aram found Mallet and went with him into Derosa to speak to Aberlon’s mother.

  As they entered the town, Ka’en came down the street to Aram and he fell a few paces behind Mallet to greet her and tell her the news. Mallet seemed not to notice; he stared down at the street as he plodded along, as if misery was manifested physically, a thick muck through which he had no choice but to struggle.

  Ka’en glanced at Mallet and then up into Aram’s somber face. “What happened – how did it go?”

  “We won the battle,” Aram answered, “but lost good men in the process.”

  “Who – who did we lose?”

  Aram had opened his mouth to utter the names when he heard a woman scream in anguish. Startled, he looked around.

  Mallet was kneeling, his bearish arms holding a small round woman who had also fallen to her knees and had her head thrown back, wailing in sorrow. As Mallet pulled her head forward onto his shoulder, her eyes opened for a moment and fell on Aram. Her gaze locked with his; in the depths of her eyes there was utmost grief, and disbelief at the horror that had befallen her. Then her small head disappeared into Mallet’s bulk.

  Heartsick, Aram started forward, but Ka’en laid her cool fingers on his arm and restrained him. He stopped and turned to look down at her. She was crying and shaking her head gently.

  “This is a duty that falls to me, Aram – not to you.” She caught a ragged breath and put her hand on her breast, gazing toward the sad tableau playing out in the street a few paces away. “Go home, my love, to the veranda. Eat. I will be along when I can.”

  She left him then and went forward, and helped Mallet raise Aberlon’s mother to her feet. With the trembling, sobbing woman between them, they turned a corner, and went down a side street out of sight.