“I don’t see any lashers,” he said. “But your eyes are better than mine.”
In reply, Wamlak shook his head. “All I see are workers – and a few women and children among the buildings.”
Aram looked to his front again. “Anyone else see more than that?”
“They’ve certainly seen us,” Jonwood said and pointed with the stump of his right arm.
Aram immediately saw the truth of this statement. In one of the nearest fields, a small group of men had formed and were moving rapidly away toward the village, leaving their tools behind them as they made trails among the green shoots of grain and threw frightened looks back over their shoulders at Aram and his companions. After a few moments, as others saw the group of men and horses on the rise and joined the retreat toward the huts, it became a mad dash.
Wamlak grinned as he looked over at Aram. “If there are any lashers, we’ll soon know,” he said.
Aram nodded. “Well, we might as well go down.” He looked to his right, at Matibar. “Keep an arrow at the ready, captain.”
The taciturn Senecan nodded as he slid his bow up over his head and reached for his quiver.
“You too, Wamlak.” Aram looked down at the back of Thaniel’s head. “Let’s go, but go in slow and easy. We don’t want to frighten them further and we want no surprises.”
By the time they reached the fields and began to wind among them toward the cluster of huts, the tended ground all around had become empty of people. Every worker had fled and disappeared inside the buildings. And still, no lasher or overseer appeared to challenge them. Aram spoke to Thaniel and they drew to a halt about fifty yards from the edge of the village. Other than a face here and there that showed for just a moment in a doorway or window, the village might have been deserted. The sizeable square in the village center lay empty under the late morning sun.
Aram dismounted and looked back at Penreg, the former slave from Flat Butte, riding a horse named Farniel at the rear of the company. “Come forward. Dismount and see if you can talk someone into coming out. I’ll stay close by you but far enough to give you space.”
“Yes, my lord.” The stocky man slid off his horse and moved up until he was a few paces ahead of Aram.
Aram looked at both Matibar and Wamlak, noting that each of them had an arrow nocked and ready.
Penreg, who had shown himself to be resourceful in dealing with slaves and former slaves, walked forward a few paces more and held up his hands.
“We mean no one any harm,” he said, loudly and slowly. “We come from Wallensia, from your own people.” He pointed backward. “These ‘beasts’ are horses and they will not harm you either. Will you not come out and talk with us?”
Silence greeted this invitation. Except for the soughing of the wind among the close-growing stalks of wheat and the call of a songbird down near the river, there was no sound. Penreg glanced back at Aram with his eyebrows raised in question.
“Ask them about overseers.” Aram suggested.
Penreg nodded and looked toward the village. Again he raised his hands, palms outward. “Will you ask your overseers to come out and talk with us?”
Again there was silence but after a moment, a thin, ragged man appeared around the corner of a hut just at the edge of the square. He gazed at them uncertainly for several minutes, occasionally glancing back at someone unseen, as if to seek guidance. Then, slowly, with halting steps, he moved a few paces toward them.
Penreg took a couple of steps forward as well. “Are you an overseer?” He asked.
The man glanced backward once more and then answered in fearful tones. “There are no overseers here.”
“Ask him where they are,” Aram instructed Penreg.
Penreg took another small step forward. “Where have your overseers gone? When will they return?”
The man shook his head. “They left before planting time. The overlords went with them. They said they would return but have not.”
Penreg pointed at Aram. “This man is Lord Aram, Prince of Wallensia, lord of the free lands. He freed my people from the Overlords a year ago. Will you allow him to talk with the people of this village?”
The man looked confused. “How could I stop him? I am but a field-tender.” He moved his hands slightly, indicating the surrounding huts. “We are all of us field-tenders.” He once again glanced back but evidently found no inspiration from his unseen mentor.
“Is there a village elder?” Asked Penreg.
Another shake of the head. “My father died a few days after the planting.”
Penreg turned and looked back at Aram, who’d seen and heard enough.
“Tell him to call the people into the square,” Aram commanded. “We’re coming in.”
As Penreg relayed these instructions to the slave, Aram went back to where Thaniel waited. “You and the horses stay here, my friend, along with most of the company. Penreg, Matibar, Wamlak, Jonwood, and I will go in.”
“What if it’s a trap?” The horse protested. “Why does that slave keep looking back? Who – or what – is there that we cannot see?”
Aram shook his head as he studied the village, where people were slowly spilling from the huts and filing into the open area at the center. “A friend or mate, or maybe an overseer who is afraid to make himself known. I don’t think it’s a trap. We saw no lashers when first we crested the hill, and they could not have known that we would come here today ready to enter a trap. If they were present, they would likely not fear us enough to hide themselves. Besides, that man’s words held the ring of truth. Overseers present no threat. Stay attentive, anyway.”
“I am always attentive,” the horse replied.
Aram smiled slightly at Thaniel’s brusqueness and then motioned for the other men to follow him.
The five of them walked slowly toward the village square, watching on all sides for signs of a possible ambush. The closer they came though, the less it looked like a village under the command of a lasher. The open areas between the huts and at the center were relatively clean and free from the piles of animal bones and other debris that usually signaled the presence of overlords. Perhaps two hundred and fifty people, the majority of them men, filled the open area, huddled together fearfully.
Aram approached the man who’d talked with Penreg. This man stood at the front of the throng, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. An even thinner woman who held a child to her breast stood so near behind him that he could not retreat as Aram came near. To do so would put her at risk if this strange visitor intended harm. Though it was obvious that the man would have preferred to be almost anywhere else in the world at that moment, he stood his ground.
Aram stopped a few feet away and studied the man. He was of medium height, with a large head, clear light-brown eyes, a straight nose, and the scruff of a sketchy beard along his jaw line.
“Your father was elder here?” Aram asked him.
“Yes, sir,” the man answered, and he swallowed as he spoke as if his mouth was dry. “His name was Nikum.”
Aram nodded kindly. “What is your name?”
“Rober. My name is Rober.”
“Were you born here?”
Rober nodded. “We all are of this village – and of this land.”
Aram looked around at the gathered people, noting that despite the ragged, thin appearance common to all of Manon’s slaves, they were nonetheless similar in build and complexion to Ka’en’s people. Wallensians, undoubtedly. He looked back at Rober.
“Does the name Wallensia mean anything to you?”
Something flickered deep in the man’s eyes. He swallowed hard and turned his head to give the thin, pale mother standing behind him a quick glance before looking back at Aram. “Are you – are you the –”
He broke off, breathing hard.
Aram frowned. “Am I – what?”
Rober‘s quick, sharp breaths seemed to arise from an odd mix of fear and excitation. “Are you the Lord of the North?” He blurt
ed out.
“I am not Manon,” Aram replied sharply, his eyes hardening. “I am his enemy.”
Rober looked once more at his wife. Excitement seemed to be gaining mastery over fear as he turned back toward Aram. “No, sir, I did not mean that. I meant – are you he that saved the remnant across the river?”
Aram stared, surprised. “You know about that?”
Rober nodded, and his excitement grew. “Yes, we all know. The overseers greatly feared that you would come to this village and to the others southward along the river. We heard them talking among themselves when the overlords were not nearby.” He dared to gaze up into Aram’s face hopefully. “Have you come to save us?”
Aram looked around again at the crowd, every man and women of which had moved closer. Hope had made its tentative way onto every face.
“I have,” he replied.
Behind Rober, the thin woman began to sob.
Throughout the crowd, others broke down and began to weep. Rober’s eyes were moist as instinctively he held out one hand and touched Aram’s sleeve. “I knew it. You are the great Lord of the North – the Restorer. We have prayed every day that you would come.”
Aram felt emotion rise in him.
“We have come to make you free,” was all he could say.
The people crowded close, each of them wanting to touch these men who’d come to them like gifts from the Maker Himself. Thaniel, seeing the crowd envelope his lord, came thundering up, dispersing them with his terrifying presence.
“It’s alright, Thaniel,” Aram told him. “These are our people.”
After convincing the massive horse to move back, Aram turned to Rober. “The lashers left after the planting?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you’ve not seen them or the overseers since?”
Rober shook his head. “No.”
Arm glanced north from whence he’d come and then turned to look south. “Which way did they go when they left?”
Rober pointed. “Toward the south, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “Good. As we go then, we will be between them and you, should they try to return.” He smiled grimly as he met the former slave’s eyes. “If they try to return this way, we will destroy them.”
Rober’s eyes widened. “You’re going south?”
“We are,” Aram affirmed. “Are there not more villages to the south?”
“There are,” Rober answered.
“Then there are more of our people to make free.”
Rober glanced at his wife and child and then looked toward the north from whence Aram had come before returning his attention to the tall prince. “What would you have us do in your absence, my lord?”
Aram looked around at the huts and found the granary. “How much food is on hand?”
Rober shrugged. “As much as usual – enough for the season.”
Aram studied the man’s thin arms and legs and then gauged the condition of the others that crowded around him. He nodded and smiled grimly. “But just barely enough – is this not so?”
Rober managed a wry smile in return. “As always, my lord.”
Aram reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Increase everyone’s portion – we’ll see that you have more.” Once more, he examined the collection of huts, glanced out over the green fields and then looked into Rober’s eyes. “What will you do? This land is yours now. Will you remain here, or will you move across the river with the rest of us?”
“I would move across the river,” Rober answered without hesitation.
Aram looked around. “And the rest of you?”
Other than a statement of conviction here and there, the response was one of general uncertainty.
Aram looked at Rober. “Continue to work these fields – but as your own land,” he instructed. “In my absence, take stock of each person and family. Those who wish to remain upon this land in possession of it will be guaranteed safety and freedom. Those who wish to move across the river to the east we will take with us when we return this way.” He gazed intently into the former slave’s eyes. “In the meantime, you will act as elder.”
Rober’s eyes widened for a moment, but then he inclined his head. “As you wish, my lord.”
Keeping his hand on Rober’s shoulder, he waited until the man looked up again. Then he raised his voice so that all could hear. “We go south that we may make all of our kinsfolk free. It is not our intention to gather them all to the east, but rather to push back the frontiers of freedom into the west. I intend to push those frontiers until the grim lord himself, with all his vile servants, are shoved into his hole – where I will find him and destroy him.”
Still speaking so that all could hear him, he addressed Rober. “If it remains your wish, upon our return, to move across the river to the east, no one will prevent it.” Then he looked around at the level fields, lying fertile and green between the hills and the river. “You were born here, and this land is now yours. If you wish to stay and live upon it, peaceful and free, we will guarantee your safety.” He lowered his voice as he looked into Rober’s eyes. “Think on it. We will return this way in a few weeks’ time.”
Rober blinked. “I-I will, my lord.”
Aram nodded. “Then we will speak again soon.”
There were six villages between Rober’s and the ancient, ruined city of Stell. The next four to the south were populated by slaves, but had also been left without supervision. None were managed by overseers and they encountered no lashers. The scene at Rober’s was repeated four more times and Aram rendered the same assurances and instructions. The two villages nearest the city were completely empty, their inhabitants having been swept up and moved across the river after the previous year’s battle. Finally, late in the day, Aram and his companions crossed the bridge over the River Stell and entered the environs of the ancient capitol.
They found no one living among the burned towers and ruined buildings. Aram spoke to Thaniel and they found a major thoroughfare and made their way to the river. At the edge of the water he stopped and gazed out at the three main bridges which had once spanned the great tide of the Broad. Now, each of them lacked the last section on the near shore, having been burned by Timmon at Aram’s instruction.
He glanced ruefully over at Jonwood next to him sitting astride Colrad. “No lashers, and no overseers, in any of the villages so far. I wonder if it was necessary to burn those bridges after all.”
Jonwood shrugged. “It was the right action to take at the time, my lord.”
Aram grimaced. “Perhaps. I wish they were sound now. It would give us another avenue across the Broad with which to access the eastern shore.”
Jonwood studied the bridges with their ruined sections for a long moment; then he looked at Aram. “Timmon is a clever man. Given the tools and materials, time and help, he’d no doubt have them quickly restored.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Aram agreed. He sighed. “As soon as we know this side is clear of the enemy and can find a frontier further west to make secure, I’ll ask him to attend it.”
He looked around once more at the ruined city which not only appeared empty but felt empty as well. Even the wind, feeling its way along the ruined avenues in the failing light of evening, seemed in a somber mood. As always, when looking upon the wreckage of human hopes and plans that had been wrought by the servants of Manon and at his command, Aram felt sorrow and cold anger arise and comingle within him. Speaking to Thaniel, he turned the great horse away from the river and made his way back through the desolate ruins. “Let’s camp outside the city tonight,” he told the others, “and then on the morrow we’ll go northwest along the Stell and see what is there.”
That night, as they sat quietly by the fire in a grove of trees at the city’s edge, Matibar looked around at them all and then gazed at the broken skyline of the ancient city, fading into the eastern twilight. His tone was grave as he spoke into the stillness. “For time out of mind, my people thought that we were the
only ones to have felt the fullness of the Scourge’s wrath. I see now that this was not so.”
Aram shook his head. “Except perhaps for Elam, all the peoples of the earth have suffered greatly, for thousands of years.”
“And Elam is paying the price now,” Jonwood reminded him. “With the sacred lives of its daughters.”
At this, Aram nodded silently.
The silence thickened and stretched out and then Matibar stated quietly. “I am glad that I am here – and that my people are coming.”
Wamlak looked at him, glanced across the fire at Aram, and then stared down into the flames. “And we are very glad to have you,” he said.
As they rode northwest the next morning, they found the villages nearest the city were abandoned but further on there were five more with slaves still at work in the fields. Once again, however, the story was the same. The overlords and overseers had gone away after the spring planting and though threatening to return had not yet done so. Five more times, Penreg introduced them to their new prince and Aram gave them the same assurances of freedom and safety and again rendered the offer of a chance to move eastward across the river or take possession of the land upon which they’d labored for so long.
With the numbers of people they found, perhaps two thousand or more, the offer of a new home across the stream was made with increasingly less conviction than before. Two thousand were a lot of extra mouths to feed. It occurred to Aram that Wallensia might very well find itself in need of the fruits of this rich land on the western side of the Broad, especially with the influx of men coming even now from Seneca.
As they rode away from the last village and followed the ancient road as it ascended into the wooded highlands above the headwaters of the Stell, he found himself hoping that many of the villagers would decide to stay and work the land upon which they resided. For many, this side of the river was ancestral homeland. Though none alive now could recall the happy days before slavery, there was always a natural tie to the earth at the place where one came into the world. He decided that, upon his return, he would try and renew those long-buried feelings of proprietorship over the land.
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 27