Kelven's Riddle Book Four Read online

  Kelven’s Riddle Book Four

  A Storm Upon The Plain

  by

  Daniel T Hylton

  Copyright 2013 Daniel T Hylton

  All rights reserved

  ISBN-10: 1494400308

  ISBN-13: 978-1494400309

  This book is dedicated to my parents, my brothers and sisters (including those to whom I am related by marriage), my children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and my very good friends, all of whom will find their best qualities exhibited by the characters that live among these pages.

  I have had four grandchildren born to me since the first day that I began to put this story into words upon the page, making it now eleven in all.

  The eleventh, born just this year, is Nina Michelle Hylton, and she is the beautiful offspring of my only son and his lovely wife.

  During the writing of this book I lost two friends.

  Oleg Batsura was the father of my son’s bride, Natalie. I did not know him as well as I would have liked (he lived in Ukraine), but I miss him nonetheless.

  The other was my great and good friend of many years, William Cole, who went to his long home after an extended battle with diabetes.

  I expect to see both of these fine gentlemen again someday, in much better circumstances.

  I want to thank my editors, Karen Asher, Valencia Bowman, and Hillary Ibarra. Without them and their advice and their careful attention to detail, this book would undoubtedly be little more than gibberish.

  He comes from the west and arises in the east,

  Tall and strong, fierce as a storm upon the plain…..

  1

  “They are dragons, then. We are certain of it now.” Kelven did not look at Joktan as he spoke this acknowledgment but simply stared down into the roiling blue waters of the spring that arose on the west side of his expansive courtyard. After a moment, he raised his head and looked into the west, at the distant walls of sheer granite surrounding his valley. “And they have made a child?”

  “Yes, my lord. The egg lies inside the gateway to the Pit.” Joktan carefully watched the profile of the god's face, but his countenance was as stone, and told him nothing.

  Then Kelven turned and looked at him, and the fury contained in that look shocked the ancient king. Deep inside the god's sky-blue orbs, molten gold seethed and churned, like fire enfolding itself, a startling exhibition of the true depth of his feeling. “So,” Kelven said, and abruptly his voice was low, cold, and shaking with rage, “the enemy's lust for power has made of him a fool and has brought ruin upon us all. He has released the instruments of certain destruction upon the whole world, and then has allowed them to breed.” He paused, and drew in a slow breath in an attempt to gain mastery of his fury and its attendant fear. “No doubt he thinks to control them through the child.”

  Rendered abruptly cautious by Kelven's demeanor, Joktan slowly nodded. “One of his 'others' guards it.”

  “And what will he do, I wonder, when that child comes of age?”

  Breaking away from the god's unsettling gaze, Joktan turned and looked at the water. “He would have to contain it, would he not?”

  “Impossible.” Kelven shook his head. “As powerful as he has become, he will not contain one of those creatures.”

  “Then he will have to destroy the child, if he can.”

  “And relinquish control?” Again Kelven shook his head with uncharacteristic violence. “They would destroy him. No, there is no hope of containment. He has doomed himself and the world with him.”

  Joktan's tenuous outline shimmered with alarm at this pronouncement. “The world, my lord?”

  The god’s features were set, hard. “Those beasts will kill and burn and destroy across the face of the whole earth and none here will stop them.”

  Joktan went silent, shocked into stillness by the fierce certainty of the god’s statement. Then, “Cannot the Brethren do something?” The ancient king asked after a long moment. Desperation dripped from every syllable of the question.

  Kelven let go a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Our combined strength availed little last time. We were powerless against those creatures.”

  “What of the Astra – will they not involve themselves?” The tone of raw desperation in Joktan’s voice was now tinged with fear. “There are two that travel with Aram – they saw the egg, and they will know the extent of the danger.”

  “Even as you ask that question, you know that I can give no answer,” Kelven replied. “They serve the Maker alone, and will do nothing without instruction from Him.”

  Joktan felt despondency pool in the low places of his heart. He gazed down into the spring blindly, as if he stared into a well of despair. But then, after a time, he found a glimmer of hope among the darkness of his thoughts. Turning back toward Kelven, he offered it up. “Perhaps the dragons will destroy Manon, wreaking their vengeance upon him alone and then go away from this world to … to wherever they belong.”

  “And where is it that they 'belong', my friend? Do they themselves know – or care?” Kelven pondered his own questions for a moment and then shook his head again, doubtfully. “I could never discern whether there was intelligence in dragons with which one might consult with reason, or if they were nothing more than soulless predators.”

  “The enemy must communicate with them in some way,” Joktan protested, “since he is able to exert his will and make them to understand that he holds their child in jeopardy.”

  “True,” the god agreed. “But this tells us nothing of what they would do if they were to gain the release of their child or, if it were destroyed, exact vengeance upon Manon for its destruction. Would they then go away to some distant shore, as you suggest, or would they wreak slaughter across the face of the earth, as before?”

  Once more, Joktan found the course of the conversation disheartening and decided to fight against his rising alarm by turning the discussion to less immediate matters. “Whence do these creatures arise, my lord? Is it true that Aberanezagoth made them?”

  “Aberanezagoth? No, I think not.” Kelven looked at him for a long moment and slowly the angry, molten gold in his eyes subsided to be replaced by the cool blue cast of caution. “What I say to you now, my friend, I say with utmost care.” He glanced over at Sera, seated alone on the bench by the spring, before continuing. “I do not believe that one of the Brethren – even one that delved so deeply into the dark pursuits as Aberanezagoth – could create a species more powerful than himself, such as the dragons most assuredly are.” He glanced once more at Sera before continuing in low, soft tones. “I suggest that perhaps they are a mistake on the part of the Maker.”

  Joktan felt his soul grow cold at this statement. Turning away from meeting the god's gaze, he responded carefully. “My lord, does not this belief of yours come dangerously close to blasphemy?”

  “Yes, that is possible.” Kelven admitted, and then he waited until Joktan looked up again. His blue eyes remained cool and cautious even as he shook his head in denial of Joktan's assertion. “But I think not. I will admit that His thoughts and ways are mysterious to me – most mysterious – but I do not think that He resents honesty in his children. And my suspicion is an honest one, whether it be true or no.”

  “But still,” Joktan protested. “A mistake? – on the part of the Maker?”

  Kelven turned away and once more focused his attention on the waters of the spring. “The world is old, my friend, very old. The stars are older yet, and the distant reaches of the universe are older even than they – and the Maker is yet more ancient still.” He looked up at the pale blue of the firmament that arced over the heights of his mountain where the sun had begun its decline toward evening. “He was alone for ages,
long ago in the darkest deeps of time, wandering, thinking, pondering, and finally, making. Who knows what He created in those dim and distant ages before He made us, His children?”

  Abruptly, he turned back to Joktan. “Understand me, my friend, I do not believe that the Maker ever willingly created evil, either among His creatures or the subsequent thoughts and actions of His creatures. But we were all of us made to act as we will, to pursue our own desires. Perhaps these creatures – the dragons – were made to live in the light, but preferred the darkness instead. That is what I mean by them being a 'mistake' on the part of the Maker. After all, we have Manon before us as an example of one who makes the foulest of foul choices. He was intended for noble pursuits but has instead willfully chosen wickedness.”

  Joktan sighed and seemed to shrink. “Aram, then, is awash in danger, beset on all sides by powers that even gods cannot resist.” He sighed again, and it became an exhalation of despair. “Is his cause lost?”

  Kelven looked at him sharply. “It is our cause, as much as it is his. Aram is but the instrument of our combined efforts.”

  Joktan frowned darkly. “Is that why you placed the sword in his hands, my lord?”

  A shadow crossed the god's countenance. “You mistake things, my friend. It was not I that delivered the weapon into his keeping.”

  Even in the midst of his angry despair, this genuinely surprised Joktan. “But you summoned him here, my lord.”

  “I did,” Kelven nodded shortly. “On commandment of one higher. I received my instruction concerning Aram and the sword from Lord Humber himself – who, I imagine, received his instruction from One higher yet.”

  Joktan's hooded shadow paled almost from view with astonishment even as hope renewed itself in his soul. “The Maker did this? The Maker chose Aram?”

  Kelven frowned and after a moment shook his head. “That is a conclusion that is far too simple, even in its underlying assumptions. I would say rather that the doom of bearing the sword was there for a man to find, and that Aram was the man that found it.”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Joktan watched the god's face closely as he spoke, “but such an assertion seems simpler yet, and suggests a rather dispassionate view of such a weighty issue as possession of the weapon. And what about the Riddle? It spoke to Aram's coming long before his birth.”

  At that, Kelven smiled a small, wry smile. “And when did you first hear of my 'riddle', my friend?”

  Joktan caught the unspoken caveat in the god's tone and his outline stiffened and grew sharper, more distinct. “I only heard of it when I brought Aram to your attention, my lord, but Florm has had it in his memory for centuries – I've heard him state this with certainty.”

  “And when did you first bring Aram to my attention?”

  Joktan's thin presence sharpened further until he was nearly corporeal. His answer was rendered almost as a whisper. “After he saved Florm's life.”

  Kelven inclined his head in agreement. “Just so. And shortly afterward, I placed the memory of it in Florm's mind in such a way that it seemed to the horse that it had lain there, nearly forgotten, for centuries. Also, I did not give him the last line, only the memory of a last line, in order to grant the whole thing lasting plausibility.”

  There was a long silence before Joktan spoke again. “Then you did not see Aram, or his coming – as the horses believe.” The king delivered this almost as an accusation of betrayal, his voice low and harsh with shock.

  But Kelven seemed not to notice his ancient friend's distress as he looked at Sera, who was gazing at him with an expression of utter disbelief upon her face. He met her eyes and smiled gently. “Yes, my dear companion, I gave you a false memory as well, including the last line, in order that Aram might gain the full benefit of our little riddle concerning him when he arrived here.” Turning back to Joktan, he spoke calmly. “The first I saw of Aram was when he walked up my mountain and into my house.”

  The ancient king gazed back at him, stunned. As his astonishment faded, despair once again began taking its place. He turned away from the god and faced west. When he spoke, there was anger, hard and sharp, in his tone. “Then why the riddle, my lord? Why practice deception upon those that are less than you?”

  “Again, not my choice,” Kelven answered. “Lord Humber – or One higher – thought that Aram might be more easily persuaded to take up the burden if he thought himself the subject of prophecy. He possessed the skills, the temperament, and the apparent strength, and there were those that greatly desired that he be induced to make the attempt. Besides all that, my friend, he is of your bloodline. To the Brethren, it seemed as if the man for whom we had been waiting had come at last.”

  Joktan did not look at the god, and when he made his reply there was bitterness in its delivery. “Then Aram is truly alone, with not even the tenuous shroud of prophecy to aid him in his struggles.”

  Kelven watched him for a moment. “Direct your anger at me if you wish but none of it was my doing. All that I have done was on instruction from those that are higher.”

  Ignoring this, Joktan asked, “And if Aram fails?”

  “Then the Astra will recover the weapon and we wait for another man.”

  “So this destiny was never Aram's?”

  Kelven shrugged slightly. “It is his now. But it was ever there for any man to find, at any time since the forging of the weapon. It so happened that Aram found it. The Maker approved of him and thus the weapon was delivered into his keeping. None of it is my doing,” he repeated.

  “So we stand aside and let Aram succeed or fail as he will, and if he fails we wait for another?” Joktan shook his head. “There are two reasons to despise such a choice. I care for Aram – indeed, I love him – as a son, and cannot abide the thought of his destruction. Also, I cannot wait another ten thousand years to see justice done to my enemy.”

  “No,” Kelven agreed, “nor can the world. I am also convinced that this man is our one hope. Manon's power grows, day by day. Soon, he may very well become as strong as the whole company of the Brethren. Whatever Aram does, he is our one chance.”

  “Will the sword slay Manon?”

  Kelven nodded. “Yes, I have been assured that it will destroy him.”

  Joktan turned and looked at him. “Then why will not the Astra take it, use it, and end all of this? Why place this great burden upon the shoulders of one man?”

  Kelven returned his gaze coolly. ”The Maker has decided that it must be a man that destroys Manon – this was the purpose for the forging of the Sword of Humber, to place it into the hand of a man. And Aram, now, is the man in whose hand the sword resides. Beyond these truths, I know nothing concerning the why and wherefore of it.”

  “Why do they accompany him then, my lord?”

  A frown creased the god's forehead. “The Astra?”

  “It cannot be because of the Call,” Joktan asserted. “I myself bore the Call of Ram for fourteen centuries and I was never accompanied by the likes of them.”

  Kelven's frown disappeared and his expression became unreadable. “No, they are not with him because of the Call. I do not know why they go with him everywhere.” He shrugged. “Certainly now they are there to guard the weapon – but before? Who knows the truth of it? Certainly, I do not. When I received instruction to place the memory of the riddle into the mind of Florm, I was told also to place the knowledge of the Guardians along with the desire for Aram to possess the Call. Again, without being informed of the purpose for the instruction.”

  Joktan sighed deeply. “It seems to me that we have been left in the dark, pondering insoluble problems and indecipherable riddles.” He let go a groan of despair. “Aram knows even less, and stands hourly in greater jeopardy.”

  Kelven stared into the spring for a while before making a reply. “It seems to me that we ought to consider the circumstance of our ignorance as the greatest cause for hope that we have. The presence of the Astra suggests the involvement of the Maker, and because of them
He will know of the dragons. I admit, however, that I cannot see exactly what it is that we tie our hope to in all of this other than the obvious fact of His awareness. A slim hope, I grant you, but a hope nonetheless.”

  Joktan didn't respond to this but went silent for a time. Eventually, as the sun slid down the sky and evening seeped into the courtyard from the east, he said, “Well, I must go down into Seneca.”

  Kelven looked at him sharply. “Seneca – why?”

  “There is an old man there that must be taught wisdom, if possible, before I go back into the west.”

  “And what will you do in the west?”

  Joktan's form became indistinct, shadowy. “I intend to stay near Aram now, as much as is possible. It may be that I can aid him in some way when the road grows dark before him and circumstances become desperate.”

  Kelven gazed at him for a long moment and then nodded. “Farewell, then. Go with what hope you can muster, my friend.”

  “Farewell, my lord.”

  On the instant, Joktan lost all semblance of solidity and became nothing more than shadow, moving toward the tall trees to the south, flying ever faster as he entered the gloom, like a puff of dark smoke driven before a stiff wind.

  2.

  “He said that his armies would stand aside if I went to him that we might settle all these things between the two of us alone.” Aram glanced over at Joktan, who at this small hour was no more than a tenuous shadow in the deeper darkness of the night. “Manon made this offer when I met him in the cavern of the Deep Darkness, in the wilderness.” He looked closely at his ancient ancestor. “It would spare a lot of death.”

  But Joktan was looking the other way, down across the valley of the Weser beyond Derosa where the square fields lay black and indistinct in the starlight. After a few moments, in which the silence became as deep as the night, he turned and faced Aram.