He exhaled and his features relaxed as he looked over at Aram. “I suspect that many of the other Great Houses will think differently about things when they hear of what you have done here today, my lord. For some, things will not seem so hopeless as before – and some will find it necessary to radically alter their thinking.” He laughed as a thought struck him. “It will be an interesting council that will convene in a few weeks.”
Aram frowned at him. “Council?”
Kraine nodded. “The High Prince holds a council at the end of winter and again at the end of summer, to discuss the business of the land with the heads of the Great Houses.”
“And they all attend?”
“All but one,” Kraine replied. “Basura was the only house not represented in the spring, and of course will not attend the council upcoming.”
“But all the others will attend?” Aram asked.
“Most likely,” Kraine replied and his grin widened. “As I said – it should be interesting after this.”
Aram looked over as Boman and Matibar came up. “Did you not find Slan?” He inquired.
“We did, my lord,” Boman answered.
Aram frowned as he looked beyond them. “Where is he? Are others bringing him up?”
“No, my lord,” Matibar replied. “He is dead.”
Aram looked at him sharply. “Who slew him?”
“Barcur the wolf,” Boman replied.
Slowly, disappointed at being denied the opportunity to look into the vile eyes of the opposing commander, Aram nodded. “Well, that’s alright, I guess. Where is Barcur?”
Boman shook his head and then related how he and Matibar had not found General Slan among Jonwood’s living prisoners. Believing him to likely be among those fleeing the battlefield, they had nonetheless hunted through the dead scattered across the front line, searching for anybody wearing the uniform of a high-ranking officer.
Thus it was that Boman and Matibar found Slan and Barcur, locked together in an embrace of death. At Aram’s instruction, Slan was thrown into the common grave with the rest of his dead, unmarked. Barcur was buried atop a small mound near where he fought his last battle. His grave was marked by stacked stones. A stonemason was brought out of the city to inscribe his name.
59.
Once more, Manon stood in the opening high in his tower as Bezathog hovered on the breeze. “Where is Kolgar with the thing of the woman?” He demanded.
“The chief of the wolves of Vallenvale is yet many days behind me, master.”
Manon absorbed this for a moment, and then, “What of the death of Vulgur?”
“It is as was reported to you,” the bird replied. “The Eldest was slain by men in the course of battle.”
The grim lord’s eyes narrowed to slits of azure. “By the man with the Sword?”
“No, master,” Bezathog answered. “Vulgur’s death was caused by arrows of the men of Duridia. The Eldest became separated from his troops by the actions of the horses and the men of Duridia attacked him with many arrows, causing his death.”
Manon went still, absorbing this information. Then he looked once more at the giant vulture. “So, then, Vulgur made a mistake, allowing himself to become an isolated target?”
“This is what I have learned, master.”
“And he was slain by men?” The god insisted. “Not by the man with the Sword? You are certain of this?”
“All that witnessed his death agree,” the bird replied. “He was slain by the arrows of men.”
“What of Soroba?”
“His body lies in pieces upon the road, far to the south, near to the edge of the hills,” the vulture said. “His companions lie dead around him.”
The grim lord glared at the bird. “In pieces?”
“Soroba was cut in twain, master.”
The sapphire glow in the depths of the god’s eyes flared. “This is undoubtedly the work of the man with the Sword.”
“So it would seem, Your Greatness.”
The blue fire in Manon’s obsidian eyes flared again and flashed bright with anger. “And Kolgar is still far to the south?”
“He comes at speed, master, as you instructed him, but he is still many days away.”
“And where is the man with the Sword?”
“He is believed to have gone into Elam,” Bezathog replied.
Manon looked at him sharply. “Elam?”
“It is believed so, Your Greatness. He went toward the southwest with a company of men and horses some days ago.” The vulture cocked a massive wing, shedding the influence of a gust of wind, keeping his body at the level of his master. “He passed beyond the eyes of any of your trusted servants, but the word that comes to us from others speaks to him having gone into the highlands beyond Panax.”
Manon gazed toward the south for some time as the great vulture waited patiently, riding the wind. If Aram had found reason to go into Elam, as suggested by his network of spies, then two things came into consideration. The first was that Aram’s entrance into that land, when combined with the death of Soroba, suggested to Manon that those who opposed him might be seeking alliance. The second was that, with Aram off to the southwest in Elam and removed from his woman, now was the time to accomplish that which would bring the heir of Joktan to him.
Finally, the grim lord looked back at Bezathog. “Go,” he said. “Find Kolgar. You are faster. Go and take the object from the wolf and bring it to this tower.”
“What shall I tell Kolgar, master? He has ever been loath to accept instruction from me. It may be that he will not surrender the object.”
Manon’s eyes blazed. “The instruction comes from me, Bezathog, not you – and I will destroy him if he disobeys. You may tell him that I have a more important assignment for him. In the valley to south, in the abode of the ancient kings of men, there are wolves that have strayed from my instruction. He is to surrender the object to you, gather his band, and go into that valley in the south and destroy those wolves. Tell him this. If he succeeds, his reward will be greater than he can imagine.” The god turned toward the interior of his tower. “Go – bring me the object with all speed.”
“As you will, master,” Bezathog replied. He flapped his massive wings, catching the breeze, and lifted away.
60 .
Aram and his troops, with the aid of the wolves, drove the hapless Elamites westward for three more days, running them to ground. Finally, about mid-day on the fourth day, Aram decided that they’d taken enough of them into custody. Turning his men back toward the east, he let the remainder continue to flee, to tell their tale of terror to the ten thousand just now marching up the road and to their superiors even further south. He was certain that, when confronted with the few thousand refugees that had survived from their High Prince’s ruined army the reinforcements would turn very quickly around and hurry back into the south whence they came.
And as a consequence, the tale of death, fear, terror, and defeat would spread far and wide across the principality of Rahm Imrid.
In the end, they took more than nine thousand prisoners, and inflicted almost eight hundred casualties upon the enemy. Except for the death of Barcur, and a shallow gash to the side of a wolf named Orevang, the exact cause of which even the wolf himself couldn’t name for certain, not one of Aram’s troops suffered injury.
At the end of a week, when they brought the last group of prisoners back east to the former front lines of the enemy, Aram was surprised to see Amund and Heglund there with General Kraine.
As he dismounted, he noticed that the former Chancellor looked spry, and stood more erect than he had seven days earlier and he smiled much more readily. As Aram came up, the silver-haired man inclined his head so low it became almost a bow.
“My lord – I will never forget what I beheld a few mornings ago. You and your men –” He turned and bowed to Thaniel – “and you and your people, good sir – have accomplished our salvation.” He shook his head again and gazed at Aram with wide eyes. “I
will never forget it,” he repeated. “Never. How shall we ever repay you?”
Aram looked at him in surprise. “You saw?”
“We came to Tobol the same night that you met my father, Lord Aram,” Amund told him. “My father and I decided that whatever the outcome of your action against Rahm’s forces, we needed to be here on the front lines of our people’s defenses. So, yes, we saw.” He grinned. “It was, as my father said, a most amazing thing. And his question is a valid one – how can we ever repay such a deed?”
Aram frowned and shook his head almost dismissively. “Forgive me, sir, but I find that a detestable word – repay. What happened here benefitted free people everywhere as much as it benefitted you and your people. It was the right thing to do in any circumstance.” A look of sadness abruptly crossed his face as he looked toward the tree on the distant farm, whose stout limbs had been relieved of their terrible fruit. “I only wish we had known sooner – and could have acted sooner.”
As the father and the son watched him in that moment, and heard his words, each of them suddenly realized that he was in the presence of something mysterious and majestic – something that had not been seen upon the earth in millennia.
A king.
As this realization dawned upon them, Heglund and Amund Basura looked at each other with widened eyes. Those eyes were full of the light of abrupt comprehension of truth. Their world had changed, and it was because of this man. And now the horse-head standard that flew above him made sense. Though the presence of that flag in the times in which they lived was not fully understood, this one thing was understood, clearly – if that flag belonged anywhere, it belonged above the head of the man that drove the enemy from the land of Basura.
Marcus, standing to one side by Phagan, saw the expression on each of their faces as they looked first at Aram and then at each other and he smiled to himself. He knew precisely what it was that they were feeling in that moment.
Aram turned from looking at the farm across the field and focused on Heglund. “With your permission, sir, I will leave a contingent of men, perhaps twenty, with General Kraine. They will stay until he is certain that the enemy has been fully driven from your lands and all the stragglers rounded up. The eagles will watch those that fled southward along the road, along with the enemy reinforcements, to make certain that they return into the south.”
Heglund inclined his gray head. “As you will, my lord. I will defer to your judgment on all these things.” He looked toward the west. “What do you think will happen now?”
“I do not know,” Aram replied. “But your High Prince will have much to consider before he moves against you again – if, indeed, he is able to do so.” Moving his hand, he indicated the clot of prisoners that stood some distance away among the ruined tents. “This army was but a portion of the strength of those that are aligned with him, but even so, he will have to wonder how they were so easily scattered – and why so few returned to him.”
Amund nodded in agreement. “As will the other Houses.” He glanced at his father before continuing. “There is a council that will be held at the palace in a few weeks’ time. We will not attend, but I am sure that those who do attend that council will look at Rahm Imrid in a somewhat different light.”
Aram looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Will they turn against him, do you think?”
“Some will, certainly,” Amund answered. “And maybe more than a few. Although, I suspect that the defections will occur first as thoughts in the minds of his allies, and harbored for a time in secret, before they occur as actions.”
Aram considered this in silence and as he did so, his eyes flicked momentarily in the direction of Marcus. “Would that a friend sat upon the throne of Elam,” he said, almost too quietly for the others to hear. Then, his voice strengthening, he went on, “Perhaps, in the days ahead, there will be opportunities we may exploit to encourage those secret thoughts to manifest themselves.” After looking westward one last time, he put his foot into the stirrup. “There is much to do in the east before winter. I will separate the contingent that will stay, and take my leave.”
At that, Heglund cleared his throat, causing Aram to pause and look at him.
“Lord Aram,” Heglund said, “if you must leave us now, I will not detain you. But this day wanes – will you not stay with us one night, and honor us by dining at my house?”
Aram shook his head. “We travelled light, and our provisions run low. The day wanes, it is true; but the horses can take us far before the light fails.”
Heglund spread his arms wide as astonishment took possession of his features. “You and your army have saved us, Lord Aram. Basura will gladly resupply your men. There is no need to hurry back to your lands.”
Aram hesitated and then nodded slowly. “I can pay,” he said. “Although I will have to return with the payment at a later time.”
Heglund Basura shook his head. “You called that word detestable a few moments ago, my lord, and I agree. We will provide any and all provisions you require.”
Once more, Aram pointed to the prisoners. “You have many more mouths among you now to feed than you did a week ago. And your province has been devastated for one-half its width,” he stated bluntly. “How can you spare even one grain of wheat?”
Heglund smiled. “It has been the policy of this house to keep a year’s supply of food in storage against those rare times when the summer rains desert us. There has been plenty of rain this year. And though it is true that much of our crop has been lost or stolen, we can nonetheless feed ourselves through the next year, as well as Rahm Imrid’s men until such time as we release them to return home.”
At this, Aram inclined his head in admiration. “Very wise, very sensible. Alright then; I will accept your offer of provisions with gratitude.”
Heglund fixed his eager gaze upon Aram. “I will return to Sevas at once and give the instructions, my lord, and I will see that your men are properly provisioned by evening.” He then went on, “And the invitation to dine at my table?”
Aram hesitated. “Forgive my reluctance, sir, but I have been living in these clothes for nearly two weeks.” He shook his head. “I came to fight, not to…..socialize.”
Before his father could reply, Amund intervened. “My lord,” he said, “we have often entertained in our home – up until our current troubles, of course.” He bowed slightly. “No one of your standing has ever visited there, to be sure; but – we keep clothing in our guest quarters for those that have travelled far and have need of them. My father and I are most anxious to know you better that we may understand how Basura may best lend you aid in the struggles to come. I beg of you; do not let such small considerations deny us the opportunity to know you better.”
Aram lifted one hand to indicate the sword rising above his shoulder and watched both men closely as he gave his response. “This must come with me, even to supper. I cannot leave it unattended ever.”
Amund looked up and studied the sword for a long moment. “I feel its power, just as Marcus described it to me,” he said. His eyes came back to Aram’s face. “May I ask what it is?”
Aram frowned at him and then turned to look at Marcus. “You can feel it?”
“Everyone can feel its power, my lord,” Marcus answered. “It is why none of us may remain very near you for any length of time.”
“I did not know this.” Aram met the young prince’s gaze for a long moment and then turned back to Amund. “It is an heirloom of my family,” he said. “I can say nothing more. Understand – it will not endanger you of its own accord, but I cannot leave it with others. It must remain with me always.”
Before his son could reply, Heglund moved forward. “There is no objection to this thing coming to my table, Lord Aram. Will you dine with us?”
Aram hesitated again for a moment and then nodded. “As you wish – I will come to your house before sundown.”
“We are honored, my lord.” Amund glanced at his father and then went on
. “We would be honored as well if you would be our guest for the night.”
At this, Aram immediately shook his head. “My men will sleep upon the ground again tonight, as they have for many days now. It would not be proper for me to take advantage of the offer of a bed under such circumstances.”
Chuckling softly, Marcus gained Aram’s attention. “My lord – forgive me – but not a single man in this army will think it unseemly for you to abide in the House of Basura this night. Not one,” he repeated.
Aram frowned, but before he could speak, Marcus continued. “Every man that follows you, I believe, would think it unseemly for you to refuse the offer of a bed.” He grinned. “I have stayed often in the guest quarters at Chancellor Basura’s house. I recommend them highly.”
“I beg of you, Lord Aram; stay with us,” Heglund almost pleaded. “I cannot abide the thought of someone of your stature sleeping upon the ground but a few hundred yards from my door.”
With the frown persisting upon his features, Aram started to nod in agreement, but then thought of Ka’en, and his need to return to her as quickly as possible. The nod was arrested and he shook his head instead. “I must beg your pardon. It is my intention to be moving with my army at first light and return to the east. My wife is with child,” he explained, “and her time of giving birth draws near. My work here is done – I am anxious to return home. I will dine with you tonight, sir, but then I must take my leave.’
Disappointment furrowed the elderly head of Basura’s brow, but he inclined his head respectfully. “I understand, and I pray the Maker’s blessing upon your lady and her child,” he stated graciously. “You honor us, my lord, by dining with us this evening.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 49