Kelven's Riddle Book Four Read online

  “Do you trust me, Aram?”

  “My lord?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I do.”

  “Even though he defeated me and I speak from a position of very little strength?”

  “I trust you, my lord.” Aram replied. “And I trust your strength.”

  “Then hear me. Let us suppose that you succeed in reaching his presence and piercing his body with that sword. What would then happen?” He went silent for a moment, watching Aram in the blackness. “You have been to Kelven's mountain so you have seen the result of a god's death. Do you think that you will escape from the calamity of such an event? Especially since you will be close enough to him to be the cause of it?”

  Aram considered that for a moment and then shrugged. “But if he were destroyed then it would not matter what happened to me.”

  “Is this what you think?”

  Something in Joktan's voice caused Aram to turn and look at him sharply. “Why would my death matter, my lord, as long as he was removed from the world?”

  “And what kind of world would you leave behind?”

  Aram frowned. “A world free of the grim lord's malice.”

  At that, the ancient king sighed deeply. “It is true that Manon is the worst of the evils that now trouble the world, but he is by no means the only evil. Hear me, my son. A king must build structure in society, structure that will survive his death. Without that structure –“

  “But I am no king, my lord,” Aram interrupted.

  “Enough!” Joktan's voice seemed to expand beyond Aram's mind and boom out into the night. “You are a king. Everyone else knows this, and it is time you accepted it.” Joktan leaned toward him and his voice grew harsher yet, and furiously insistent. “My blood flows in your veins, Aram. It is the blood of Ram, Arphaxad, and Peleg; and it flows in you with more strength than in any man I have ever known or known of, including my own fathers. You are a king, my son; act like it. Accept the weight of responsibility like the man I know you to be. It is your fate to be king, deny it never again.”

  Stunned by his ancestor’s vehemence, Aram stared back at him for several minutes, unmoving, as overhead the stars wheeled silently along the tracks of their distant and eternal courses. Finally, he breathed in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if acquiescing to an unwanted burden.

  “What is your counsel, my lord?”

  “Without structure,” Joktan continued more quietly, as if there had been no interruption, “society will not long survive the death of its monarch. Indeed, for people to be truly free, they must live in a society that is as free as possible from lawlessness and corruption. A king does not govern people, Aram, so much as he governs the circumstances in which they live out their lives.” His tone grew softer. “If you destroy Manon, and by his death are yourself slain, as is likely if not in fact certain, you would leave behind a world in which his beasts yet live and hold sway over much of the earth. And what will they do in the absence of their master? I will tell you; they will kill and rampage with impunity.”

  He looked away, back down over the dim valley. “And what of Elam? Would you trust the welfare of those you leave behind to the whims of the ruler of that land? For if the threat of Manon be removed, he will seek to enlarge his domain. I wonder; will such an enlargement take place peaceably and benignly, or maliciously and violently?”

  He went silent then, but continued to look away from Aram, toward the south.

  “No, my lord,” Aram admitted after a moment, “I would not like to leave the world to the mercies of Elam's High Prince.”

  “What do you know of him?”

  “Very little, other than the fact that he sends the daughters of his people to Manon.”

  “Exactly.” Joktan's voice hardened. “I suggest to you that such a man cannot be trusted with governance.”

  “What is your counsel then, my lord?” Aram asked again.

  Joktan turned toward him. From the deep shadow under the hood, Aram could feel his ancestor's eyes searching his face as he spoke, his voice low and firm though tinged with ancient regret. “Do what I should have done, all those long ages ago. Go on the offensive; destroy Manon's armies, a piece at a time, rid the world of the evil that he has set loose in it. If you attempt simply to defend a frontier, as I did, ignoring what occurs beyond that border, you give him free rein to build and consolidate. Eventually, he will come for you with all his power and disaster may well result, as it did for me.

  “Take your forces and go forth, be aggressive. Be wise in your aggression, certainly, but be aggressive nonetheless. If he sends forth his armies piecemeal, then you can destroy them piecemeal. If he sends everything he's got, then you must attack that army when it is inconvenienced by movement or when the terrain favors a flank attack that can be broken off at your volition. Harry him, and as your troops gain experience, diminish him.”

  “What about Elam?”

  “You must subdue her.”

  Aram gazed back in astonishment. “Subdue Elam? How?”

  “That land is even now fractured along political lines. Drive your will into those fractures and widen them to dissolution. No principality is ever monolithic. Even in those lands that are well-governed there will always be dissension that must be tolerated. If the reasons for dissent are valid, the populace will pay attention, as must the ruler. If, however, the dissent is not valid, it may be safely ignored. In a poorly-governed principality, like Elam, where the throne is sat by one who places his own interest above that of his people, there will most certainly be dissent with validity, and the more the High Prince attempts to silence it, the more widespread it will become.

  “And in a land where evil is perpetrated upon the citizenry by the throne itself – once again, as in Elam, where the daughters of the poor are taken away and sold into slavery –there will be more than dissent, there will be a fracturing of society itself.”

  He leaned forward and spoke with insistent intensity. “Look deep into Elam; discover who is there that cannot tolerate the actions of the throne, find those with cause to rebel, help them to rebel; give them a standard to follow. Show the people that the current inhabitant of the throne is not invincible and that there is an alternative to that ruler's grievous policies. Do this, and the High Prince will fall. You can then place a vassal upon the throne of that land.”

  Aram, stunned by the enormousness of Joktan's ambitions for him, could only frown and tender a question. “A vassal?”

  “Someone that answers to a higher authority, a prince that will obey the writ of a king.” He paused for a moment. “Someone that will obey you, Aram.”

  “You lay much on me, my lord.”

  “Indeed.” Joktan watched him for a moment in silence. “Would you rather that these burdens be placed upon the shoulders of another?”

  Aram turned and gazed out into the deepness of the night. After but a moment, he shook his head. “No.”

  They stood together for a while, each with his own thoughts, and then Joktan said, “I fear that you will die when you face Manon, even if you are successful.”

  “I know this.”

  “Do you?” Joktan turned toward him. “And yet you will go on?”

  “I must.”

  “I once heard you describe yourself as a man who does what is right simply because it is right,” Joktan said quietly. “And that still holds true?”

  “Yes,” Aram answered. “But I must also see to the security of the woman I love, and of her family, and my friends. That is central to my consideration.”

  “Then you must do as I advise, my son. You must move forward on two fronts. You must subdue Elam to your will, and impose your structure upon the world of free people. At the same time you must reduce the grim lord's power, so that when you face him, whether you survive or die, there will be peace.”

  Aram looked over at him. “I will attempt to do as you say, my lord, with all my strength; but there is one thing more.”

  Jo
ktan's outline seemed to stiffen in anticipation of Aram's next words, but he remained silent.

  When the king did not respond, Aram asked plainly, “What of the dragons? What do I do about them?”

  As if he'd been expecting – and dreading – the question, Joktan seemed to fade and become less distinct. “Lord Kelven suspects that they are the reason the Astra accompany you, but he cannot be sure of this.”

  “And you – do you believe that the Guardians will aid me in this matter?”

  “I cannot say,” Joktan replied, and anguish was mixed with the honesty of his answer. “All I know is that it was their strength that subdued the dragons long ago, when the strength of the gods could avail nothing. Let us hope that they will aid us now. We can do nothing more; they will not attend us; they answer to the Maker only. But, Aram, whatever is done about the dragons you cannot leave these other matters undone.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  Joktan went silent then and turned away, and it seemed to Aram that the ancient king’s hooded head bent upward, toward the black sky. Eventually, Joktan sighed and said quietly, “They are beautiful, aren’t they – the stars?”

  Aram glanced briefly upward but something in the king’s voice made him return his attention immediately back to the outline of his spectral ancestor.

  “Yes, my lord; they are,” he agreed, and waited.

  “I became king when I was very young,” Joktan told him then, as he gazed upward into the limitless vaults of the universe. “The troubles with Manon, that had plagued us for some time, escalated soon after my ascension. It seemed to me, in those days, that I never had time to just enjoy the moment. I was always living in the future, wondering – what will happen tomorrow, or next week; what will I need to do to secure peace and freedom in the next year, or the next decade?”

  He lowered his head from gazing up at the star-filled sky and sighed again. “Kressia, my queen, was the daughter of a textiles merchant in Regamun Mediar. She was what was known in those times as a ‘commoner’, not descended from royal or noble lineage. Believe me; there was nothing common about her. I never knew a person that was nobler or more royal in word, bearing, and deed. She was a natural queen.”

  He lifted his head again and stared upward for a long moment before continuing. “She understood the strain that wore upon me daily, and the demands upon my time. And she was content with what small portion of each day we could find to spend together. Sometimes, late at night, she would turn toward me in bed, position herself in the crook of my arm and lay her head on my shoulder as she went to sleep. Her hair would fall across my face.” He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, as if seeking the aroma of a memory. “I think those times, with my senses full of her scent – of the nearness of her – those were the only times that I was there, in the moment, fully aware of her, and truly alive.”

  He lowered his head to stare for a while out across the dark valley and then looked up again. “And she has waited for me, somewhere out there, all these many long years.”

  Aram watched him and waited quietly but the old king went utterly silent. After a time, when he did not speak again, Aram said, “I will avenge you, my lord – I will destroy Manon. And then you can go home to her.”

  Shaking his hooded head, Joktan turned toward him. “No, my son – don’t let this be about my vengeance any longer. Whatever you do, do it for the peace and freedom of the peoples of the world. Set the world free, my son, and then I will go home.”

  Another long silence followed and then Joktan said, “Well, I must go back into Seneca but I will return as quickly as I may.”

  Aram looked at him sharply. “Back into Seneca?”

  “Yes. I went to see the ruler of that land but he lay ill. I will go now to see if he has recovered sufficiently to hear reason.”

  “I have no hope concerning Seneca,” Aram admitted.

  “You need their strength.”

  Aram nodded at the grim truth in this assertion as he once again considered his deplorable lack of archers and recalled the remarkable demonstration that had been made by the Senecan captain, Matibar. “Still – I have gone into that land and seen what is there. I made my arguments and I heard clearly their Eldest's decision. That old man cares nothing for the troubles of the world beyond his borders. He will not help us.”

  “Nonetheless, I will go. Mayhap he will hear my arguments and discover reason.” He looked hard at Aram. “And you will act like a king in my absence?”

  “I promise you, my lord; I will do what is right.”

  Joktan began to fade, but as he did, he nodded in approval. “There is no difference between those two things,” he said.

  3.

  “Where were you, my love?”

  Aram looked up from his supper. “Today?”

  Ka'en saw the tiredness in his green eyes and spoke softly. “Last night. You did not come to bed until late. What was so important that you gave up sleep to see it done?”

  “There was nothing to be done.” He hesitated. “I was in consultation.”

  “With Joktan.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I didn't,” she answered, shaking her head. “I guessed.”

  “I was seeking advice.” He hesitated again, and pushed at his food as if dreading that which he would next impart to his beloved wife. After a moment, he drew in a deep breath. “The army will prepare to move on the morrow,” he said. “They are not ready, but we can delay no longer. Timmon and Dane have developed a means for floating the supply wagons across the river, and the current has slowed enough that most of the men can wade across it without much trouble.” He paused again and looked at her. “Elam must be confronted.”

  Ka'en's large eyes went wider. She tried to produce and maintain a smile but the effort failed. “You’re going back to war?”

  “Confrontation,” he corrected her. “I must discern Elam’s intent toward us – and soon.”

  Laying her utensils aside, Ka’en folded her hands upon the table. Before she could prevent it, a sigh escaped her. “Will you give me at least this one evening – and let it be just for us?”

  He glanced up, and smiled a tired smile. “Yes,” he promised. “As I wish could be so on every evening.” The smile faded as he gazed at her with an expression of longing on his face for a long moment and then he returned his attention to his meal.

  Ka'en watched as he pushed his food around the plate until finally he seemed to give up on the idea of eating. She waited until he looked up again, and then she smiled into his eyes. “I want to show you something, my love.”

  He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

  She rose to her feet. “It's outside, on the veranda.”

  He stood and followed her out into the evening.

  Once beyond the door, she stepped aside. Hung over the railing there was a large red and gold flag.

  “What's this?” He asked.

  Watching him closely, she answered, “It's the royal standard of the kings of Regamun Mediar.”

  He looked from her to the flag and back again with incredulous eyes. “Where did you get it?”

  “Lord Joktan gave me its pattern. I made it,” she said proudly.

  “You made this?”

  “Well, not without Suven's aid and supervision, but I did most of the work.” Enjoying the effect that her surprise had made upon her husband, she happily went on to explain the significance of its pattern and colors. Listening to her, he realized that this project had been vital to her on a deeply personal level and that she had labored over it with love. Despite his lack of interest in such things as the trappings of authority, he was astonished and pleased – and somewhat abashed – by the amount of effort and concern she had poured into the creation of it. And though he was properly impressed by the banner's ancient significance, the fact that she had created it for him with her own hand granted it infinitely more value than was inherent in its historical meanin
g.

  Turning from admiring the flag, he saw a peculiar glad light in her eyes.

  Perceiving that her delight was for something more, separate from the flag, he asked. “What is it?”

  She hesitated for a moment and then spoke without preamble. “You're going to be a father, my love.”

  He blinked. “A father?”

  “Yes. I am with child.”

  He went very still and to her surprise, a frown took possession of his features. “How do you know?”

  She frowned back at him, suddenly hesitant. “Aram – aren't you glad?”

  He continued to frown at her for a moment but then, as her announcement found root in his heart and mind, displacing amazement, he was glad, very glad.

  Abruptly, joy erupted inside him.

  Picking her up on impulse, he spun her in a circle, grinning with delight. Then as awareness of her condition sunk in further, he stopped turning and set her down gently.

  “I'm sorry – did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

  She laughed. “I've not become suddenly fragile. I'm just going to have a child.”

  As he held her close, once more a frown of puzzlement crossed his face. “But how do you know?”

  She realized once again that her husband, a man so capable and accomplished in many things, nonetheless often required instruction in the basics of being human. And she was glad to be his teacher. “I just know. You'll have to trust me on this point, my love. You are going to be a father.” Slipping gently from his arms, she moved toward the railing and indicated the flag. “Do you like the standard?”

  But he ignored that, still gazing at her in glad amazement. “We made a child?”

  She cocked her head and laughed. “It happens all the time; we're not the first.”

  “It's a first for me.”

  “And for me,” she reminded him. “So, you're glad?”

  Stepping toward her, he enveloped her in his arms. “More than glad – astonished.”

  He held her tightly, pressing her to him, and her voice when it came was muffled. “That we could make a child?”