Kelven's Riddle Book Two

by Daniel Hylton

  “It appears that it is, yes.”

  “Which force is it that marches to the west, Lord Alvern – the larger or the smaller of those we saw in the early summer?”

  “The smaller, my lord.”

  This knowledge gladdened Aram.

  “And the slaves?”

  “They have not left, but they remain near the huts.”

  Aram looked around at his companions in wonder. “The enemy leaves, and abandons his slaves. What does this mean?”

  Mallet grinned. “They heard what we did to them at Stell, my lord.”

  Aram laughed again, quietly, but then shook his head. “I can’t imagine Manon abandoning a fortress that it took him two years to construct. If the action at Stell concerned him, wouldn’t he reinforce Flat Butte instead?” He thought about it for a few moments, looking down at the ground as the sun slipped below the horizon. Finally, he shook his head. “No, they don’t leave for fear of us. They must have been summoned away, perhaps even southward, to Stell – to try and reverse what has happened there. If that be the case then we will give him something to think about here.”

  He looked up. “If they stay gone; then we will either occupy or destroy the fortress, depending upon what we find there tomorrow.”

  Alvern stretched his wings, glancing up at the darkening sky. “There is a mist to the west, my lord. It covers the world.”

  Aram felt a sudden chill. “Mist? Like before?”

  “Yes.” The eagle confirmed. “Only it is more widespread. It hides all the plains to the north and west and extends down into the northernmost reaches of Elam. It even extends up the valley toward Burning Mountain, to the extent of half of the body of the dry lake.”

  Aram frowned. “Could the mist be the reason the enemy leaves?”

  “I don’t understand.” Alvern answered.

  Aram glanced around at his companions and then spoke carefully. “Could the mist – or whatever makes it – represent a danger to the armies of the grim lord?”

  “I don’t know, my lord, but they march toward it. If they fear it, why would they move toward it? – but as you say, perhaps they have been summoned.” The eagle glanced anxiously again at the deepening sky. “I must go to the river now, it grows dark. I will be in the skies above you in the morning.”

  “Yes, of course, Lord Alvern – thank you.”

  Findaen was watching him. “You’ve seen this mist before, my lord?”

  Aram nodded. “When I made my journey to the west, earlier this summer. We saw it over the great plains, far to the west, and wondered what it was, for there was no storm. But it never came this far east.”

  “You said that something made it, my lord?” Donnick inquired.

  Aram shook his head. “I don’t know. It seemed unnatural. None of us could fathom its meaning, but it appeared to originate in the great western marsh, beyond the plains.”

  Jonwood looked at him, frowning. “My lord, you said once that the grim lord’s tower is in the north?”

  “Yes.” Aram affirmed. “It is far to the north, beyond the great plains, beyond the land of Bracken, near to the great white waste.”

  Wamlak studied Jonwood a moment and then turned to Aram. “I think I see where Jonwood is going with this question, Lord Aram. Maybe Manon has enemies in the west of the world, in or beyond this great marsh that you speak of. Maybe there is something in this mysterious mist that threatens him, and he is summoning all his forces to go and fight with it.”

  Aram gazed out into the deepening dusk. “It is a tempting thought, Wamlak,” he agreed, “and I would like to believe it. It would be a great help if we had allies, even allies of which we have no certain knowledge. It would be encouraging to know that we don’t stand alone.”

  Silence fell over the small group of men as all around them on the plains soldiers settled into camp, horses moved out onto the surrounding grasslands, and those insects that conduct their business at night began to raise their voices. Finally, Aram sighed and looked around.

  “Let us not get our hopes too high without cause, my friends. Most likely, this mist is a natural occurrence, caused by a change in the waters of the great marsh. Probably, our enemy marches west and then south, toward Stell. Manon will undoubtedly want to recover what he has lost – or at least strengthen his hold on the western bank of the river. He does not expect us to attack here, and summer passes; winter is coming.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well – let us get a good night’s sleep and surprise him tomorrow. Post your watches, changed every three hours. We move at dawn.”

  As Aram lay on his bedroll, gazing up at the stars, and at the Glittering Sword of God, directly overhead after sunset this time of year, he thought about the movement of his enemy and what that movement might signify. As he had admitted to Wamlak, it was tempting to think that Manon was threatened by others who without knowledge of Aram and his people had their own reasons for resisting the god. Perhaps that threat even came from something other than men – something from the marsh, from the world of old, before men, that had its own ancient reasons for defying the grim lord. If such were the case, it might be something that Aram would find he had to deal with later.

  But finally, as he drifted toward sleep, he abandoned all those notions for one that made more sense and seemed to him to be reasonable – simply that Manon could not afford the loss of the rich farmland around Stell, or the slaves that worked it. Probably, he did not know that it was Aram who had done it, for none of his servants had survived to tell the tale. The grim lord would be very concerned about actions that did not arise from known enemies. The army from the fortress on the butte, therefore, was going south, either to attempt a re-conquest of the town, or at least to cement Manon’s hold on the west bank, where much of the farmland lay.

  D a n i e l H y l t o n

  Besides, though by now he was almost completely convinced that it had been imagined, there were times when he still heard clearly the thin harsh voice ringing in his mind as it had reprimanded the unknown terrors that flew through the night above the ravine.

  Fools, it had said, you are not released. Return at once.

  Aram was up before dawn, while it was yet too dark for Alvern to be in the sky. The camp around him was sleeping as he went in search of Thaniel. The great horse was awake as well and answered immediately when Aram sent a thought out into the darkness. They stood together, looking west, into the deepness of the receding night.

  Aram didn’t speak, content to share the horse’s company, but Thaniel exhibited an uncharacteristic desire to make conversation.

  “My lord, what will we do if the fortress is truly abandoned? Do you mean to occupy it?”

  Aram thought for a moment and shook his head. “No. We don’t have any experience in such things, nor do we have the manpower to occupy it properly if we did possess the experience. It would be folly to leave a body of men this far from Derosa – and on the far side of the river. They could be easily overrun.”

  “Then what will we do?”

  “Destroy it – burn it.” Aram said decisively. “If the grim lord insists on maintaining a presence here, on our lands, then he will have to rebuild – and it will be easy to harass him, with the army we now have, while he attempts it.”

  There was a silence when he finished speaking, that peculiar silence of very early morning, when the night creatures have gone to bed and the denizens of the day are yet asleep. After a moment Thaniel, whose immense bulk had grown visible in the increasing light of the coming dawn, turned and gazed at Aram.

  “What does this mist mean, my lord? And why does it grow?”

  Aram ignored the question for one of his own. “Do you think that there is a danger to Manon in it?”

  “My lord, I have believed for a long time that you represent the only real danger to the grim lord in all the world.” The horse answered. “Besides, how could a fog from the earth endanger him – unless it hides something in it? And what would that somethin
g be?”

  Aram shrugged. “Ancient creatures, unearthly beasts, like whatever it was that flew above us that night? I don’t know, but Manon is bound to have made many enemies through the centuries. He has broken all of the Maker’s laws, and harmed many.” He sighed. “However, I don’t intend to place any hope in it.”

  “That is undoubtedly wise, my lord. It is strange, however, that the army of the enemy marches toward this unusual fog in apparent great haste. It is probably suggestive, though I cannot fathom it.”

  “No,” Aram agreed, “nor can I. But, we will go to the butte today and see what we see. Whatever the meaning of the mist – if it serves our purposes, then good.”

  When morning arrived, Aram formed the army with Donnick and his two hundred and fifty pikemen at the center and the one hundred and seventy horsemen split into two battalions and positioned on the wings of the army. Alvern sent word that the enemy was also breaking camp and continuing to the west, down the dry lake valley away from Burning Mountain. Aram gave the order and the army moved out toward the flat-topped butte a few miles away.

  Four hours later, they came upon the slaves that serviced the fields at the base of the butte milling about in confusion and uncertainty in front of their huts. They cowered in fear at the sight of the army of men marching upon them and many fled indoors while the others huddled in groups in the narrow alleyways between the huts.

  Aram halted the army and went forward and in a loud, commanding voice ordered the slaves to appear and to stand before him. When they had gathered and stood trembling, he looked them over to see if there were any that he recognized from his encounter with them two years ago, but found that he couldn’t be certain.

  “Where are your masters?”

  When none answered, he focused on a stout, younger man standing near the front of the group who met his gaze more openly than the others.

  “You – stand forth.”

  Cautiously, nervously, the young man complied.

  “What is your name?” Aram asked, lowering his voice to a conversational level.

  “Penreg, sir.”

  “Where are your masters, Penreg?”

  The stout young man shook his head and glanced behind him and up at the towering rock walls of the butte. “I don’t know.”

  “When did you see them last?”

  Penreg thought a moment. “Two days ago, about midday. We were working the fields as usual when the horn sounded from the walls, twice. The lashers went running and the gray men went with them. We haven’t seen them since. We worked the fields yesterday,” he said guiltily, “but when they did not appear this morning, we were unsure of what to do.”

  “When did they stop sending patrols to the east?”

  “Many days ago now, my lord. The gray men have stayed close to the mountain for many days now.”

  “Do you know why this is?”

  The young man shook his head. “No.”

  “Where are you from, Penreg?” Aram asked.

  “A place called Indun – a village on the plains.”

  “When were you brought here?”

  “Two years ago, sir.”

  “Tell me, Penreg; when you dwelled on the plains, did you ever see a great mist that came from the west and covered the earth?”

  Penreg frowned, as if he did not fully understand the question. “No.”

  Aram leaned back in the saddle and looked the people over. There were about two hundred or so, maybe a few more; as usual, women were in the minority, young men like Penreg the majority.

  “What would you do if you were set free?”

  Penreg’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open slightly. The same expression spread like a wave across the small sea of faces.

  Penreg closed his mouth and glanced about uncertainly. He looked up at the walls that topped the rock cliffs of the butte high above, furtively, and finally turned back to Aram. His features convulsed in a convoluted mixture of hope, doubt, and suspicion. Suspicion finally won out. He lowered his gaze.

  “We are loyal servants of Manon the Great, lord of the earth.” He said.

  “I am not a servant of Manon.” Aram answered, raising his voice, acid in his tone. “In fact, I am his enemy. Again I ask – what would you do if you were free?”

  Penreg raised his eyes to Aram and this time, after a long moment, hope won out. “Is there a place in the world, my lord, where we may be free?”

  Aram nodded solemnly “Yes. In my lands there are many places where you may live free. Is this your wish?”

  Penreg didn’t wait for the others to respond. “Yes, my lord. Yes, I want to be free.”

  “Do you have food?”

  Penreg pointed to a low circular building in the center of the row of huts. “There is a year’s supply of wheat in the granary. It is for the garrison of the fortress but they took none with them.”

  Aram indicated the army arrayed behind him. “We are going up to the mountain to see what has become of the forces of the enemy. Prepare yourselves, gather any foodstuffs that you possess, clothing and tools, as much as each of you can carry. Wait here. When we return, you may go east into the free lands with us.”

  The people scattered and Aram rejoined the army. They went west around the southern end of the butte and found where the road angled up into the hills on its gentler western flank. Where it intersected the road that wound to the right up and into the fortress, and to the other way went left down along the base of Burning Mountain toward the valley of the dry lake, Aram sent a patrol to go and look down the valley, even as Alvern looked down from above.

  Alvern had earlier reported that the army from the fortress was marching resolutely westward, toward the low-hanging bank of fog. But if they suddenly changed course, Aram wanted at least two means of warning. After the patrol went westward, led by Ruben, he and the rest of the army went around the northern side of the butte toward the gates of the fortress.

  The huge gates were hanging open. Aram stopped the army on the road while he and Findaen, Mallet, Jonwood, and Wamlak went up the sloping roadway and through the gates, leaving Donnick, Lestar, and Nikolus with the men. Just before he reached the gate, Aram dismounted, motioning for the others to drop a ways behind and do the same, and then he pulled the hood over his head, melding it with the armor, and drew the sword of heaven.

  By all appearances, the place was deserted, but he wanted to be ready for anything. The fortress covered the whole top of the butte, with the interior space open and all the buildings, barracks and storage buildings constructed adjacent to the walls that rose from the edges of the sheer cliffs all the way around. There were five towers built into the structure, incorporated into the walls; two on the northern corners, two on the south, and one in the middle of the eastern wall, looking toward Derosa.

  The stench was overpowering. A wide trench ran the length of the interior courtyard, south to north, following the slope of the top of the butte that slanted in the same direction; and evidently it was a latrine and garbage dump. The trench was three feet wide and about four feet deep, with an outlet at its northern end, near the gate, from which stinking liquids seeped and ran down a ditch on the side of the butte next to the road.

  There was refuse stacked in piles all around the interior of the fortress. Food stuffs, bones, strips of animal fur, odds and ends of clothing, bits of wood and leather, even weapons lay scattered about, though most of the weapons were broken or damaged. The army had either indeed left the fortress in a hurry, or this was how lashers and gray men lived. Judging by the decadent nature of most of the refuse in the interior trench and the overall slovenliness of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, Aram found himself leaning toward believing the latter.

  There was utter silence and a cursory search of the buildings – no one wanted to go deep into any of the foul interiors – proved that the fortress was indeed deserted. Despite what he’d said to Thaniel earlier that morning, Aram had actually toyed with the idea of occupying this st
ronghold on the flat-topped mound of rock. After seeing the disgusting state in which its habitations were kept, he abandoned any consideration of the idea.

  He glanced skyward. “Where are our enemies, Lord Alvern?”

  “They still march to the west,” the eagle answered, “and the mist grows and moves toward them. It covers all the land to the west. They will enter it before the end of the day.”

  Aram looked over at Findaen.

  “I think I’ll set fire to this place.” He said.

  Findaen nodded savagely. “It will be a pleasure to watch it burn, my lord.”

  Aram had sheathed the sword when it became apparent that the fort was uninhabited; now he drew it forth and went around the perimeter, touching it to buildings and, where he could reach them, the exterior walls. Within minutes the whole place was ablaze, flames roaring through every structure and up the posts of the stockade.

  Leaving the butte, the army moved westward in a column toward the intersection of the two roads, where they would swing south, collect the slaves, and head back toward home. To their left, billows of black smoke rolled upward from the top of the butte, consuming utterly the filthy construction of the enemy. Watching the flames lick the wood and leap from the top of the walls, Aram felt a deep satisfaction. Manon’s footprint on the southern plains would soon be removed, reduced to ash.

  Alvern’s voice came down out of the blue sky, where the sun had moved an hour past zenith. “The enemy has stopped, Lord Aram.”

  Aram raised his hand, halting the column. “They are no longer moving toward the west?”

  “No, my lord. They are looking back toward the butte. The smoke from the fire may be easily seen.”

  Aram considered this and was surprised to find that he was excited by the prospect that the enemy might return and fight. He had intended to fight anyway. If he could remove the fortress from the western borders of Wallensia and destroy another army of the enemy in the process, so much the better.

  “We will wait, Lord Alvern. Watch them and see what they do.”