Gaborn sat back in the shadows, with Duke Groverman to his left and Chancellor Rodderman to his right. Now he leaned forward in his chair.
“For young Agunter here to leave is one thing,” Sir Gillis said. “But must he take his entire retinue? Five hundred knights?”
Iome was torn at the thought. Agunter’s father had indeed mounted five hundred of his best knights for this campaign, and with Heredon’s forces so decimated, such knights would be sorely needed. While it was only prudent for young Agunter to turn back, it seemed excessive for him to take all of his men.
Sir Gillis was right, she decided. More than common sense lay behind Agunter’s request. Agunter was sorely afraid—and with good reason.
Gaborn’s father had stood up to Raj Ahten and been murdered for his trouble, as had her own father. Agunter’s father was slain most terribly, crushed by the Darkling Glory right before Agunter’s own eyes.
Agunter spoke now, voice shaky. “I think that to take all of my men would be excessive, but for the news my father bore last night: Reavers have surfaced in North Crowthen and again to the south in Mystarria. World worms shake the earth as they burrow beneath the Dunnwood. My kingdom borders the Hest, and we’ve spotted many signs of reavers this past summer in the mountains. How long will it be before they come at us en masse?”
“Hah! I call it robbery!” Sir Gillis said. “The Earth King saves your whole nation and gives two thousand forcibles to make Sir Langley our champion, and then you think to ride off on your merry way with the booty. Shall Orwynne be named a boon companion?”
Young King Agunter glared menacingly at Gillis. If his champion was afraid to draw steel before the Earth King, Iome saw that Agunter was not. Though Agunter might fear Raj Ahten, that fear didn’t extend to such men as Sir Gillis.
A boon companion, indeed.
Iome bit her lip. If young Agunter does not like hearing such jibes to his face, she thought, then in a year or two he’ll positively loathe what is said at his back. It would be churlish for the boy to withdraw his support completely.
Gaborn had sent two thousand forcibles to Orwynne so that Langley could receive endowments. It was a tremendous investment, and Iome could see from his stance alone that Langley was receiving endowments through his Vectors. He stood tall even with his mail shirt on, and he moved with incredible fluidity and swiftness, as only a man with great endowments of grace and metabolism could do.
Langley was becoming a potent warrior, minute by minute, as Orwynne’s facilitators drew attributes in his behalf.
It would be churlish of Agunter to withdraw Langley from the coming battle, churlish and foolish. Iome would not have allowed it, would have pounded the table and demanded Orwynne’s assistance. Instead, she watched to see how Gaborn played the lad.
Gaborn leaned forward and cleared his throat. As he bent into the wan light of a candle, Iome felt astonished by the transformation she saw in his features since only this morning. His eyes were dark and hollow, his face pale. He looked ill or weary nigh unto death. Such was the havoc that losing his endowments wrought upon him.
“Sir Gillis, you owe young King Orwynne an apology,” Gaborn said. “I have looked into his heart. It is full of wrath at Raj Ahten, and it is as difficult for him to turn aside from this conflict as it will be for you to watch him go.”
Addressing the young king, Gaborn said, “Agunter Orwynne, by all means, take your men home with my blessing. Rofehavan needs Orwynne to hold the west, and to be strong against all enemies—whether they be Raj Ahten’s troops or reavers. Take your father and brother home for burial. Take your knights, and may the Powers ride with you.”
Iome couldn’t believe it. Gaborn was riding to battle with far too few men as it was. He shouldn’t be acquiescing to a coward’s demands.
“But—” Sir Gillis let out a strangled exclamation.
“I ask only one boon of you,” Gaborn told Agunter. “Let Sir Langley come to fight as your champion. It is my hope that he will still avenge both my father and yours. If he does, I will be forever grateful for your aid.”
Iome suddenly realized what Gaborn was doing. Agunter could not bear the thought of facing Raj Ahten. He was so terrified that he dared not even ride home alone.
But perhaps by declaring that the boy had courage, Gaborn lent Agunter some. At the same time, Gaborn appealed to whatever dignity the young lad had left. No child could fail to try to avenge a murdered father. If Agunter did not let Langley fight, he would never be able to live with the scorn that his people would heap upon him. Surely Agunter saw this.
Yet Agunter trembled as he said, “Take him then… along with a hundred knights.”
Gaborn nodded, as if surprised and impressed at the young king’s graciousness.
Agunter turned and stalked from the Great Hall, his counselors and his Days flapping at his tail, eager to flee Castle Groverman, eager to return to Orwynne.
Iome stepped back from the audience chamber to let Agunter pass with his retinue.
Of all Agunter Orwynne’s men, only Sir Langley stayed in the audience chamber.
He eyed Agunter’s back thoughtfully for a moment, and no one in the room spoke. When Agunter was good and gone from the keep, Sir Langley bowed to Gaborn. “I thank you, Your Highness, for letting the lad go.” Then he bowed to Sir Gillis. “And you, good sirrah, for reminding him of his duty.”
Gaborn smiled in amusement. Sir Langley obviously wanted to fight Raj Ahten far more than his king did, and though Langley might defend his king’s honor to the death, he saw the lad for what he was and felt relieved to have his lord’s permission to ride south.
Langley, too, turned to leave the room.
“Stay if you will,” Gaborn said. “There is more than enough room at the table.” It was an amusing statement, for lords were crammed elbow to rib at Groverman’s table.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Langley said. “But I fear that when my king rides off, it will weaken the morale of your troops. If you would allow me, I’d like to take my dinner there, so that I can reassure them somewhat.”
“That would be appreciated,” Gaborn said.
Langley began to march for the exit, but Gaborn stopped him. “Sir Langley, you should know that your king is a decent lad. He has a man’s body, but not a man’s heart—yet. In a year or two, I suspect that he will find his courage.”
Langley glanced back over his shoulder. “I pray he does not find it too late.”
Iome let Langley pass, then proceeded into the Great Hall with Myrrima, Binnesman, Jureem, and her Days at her back. The clubfooted boy remained in the audience chamber to play with the pups.
Upon seeing her, Gaborn rose and invited Iome to sit next to him. Iome kissed him, studied him as she did. He looked ill, she decided.
She took a seat beside him when Duke Groverman offered his own chair. Iome squeezed Gaborn’s right hand with her left.
She had not even settled in her chair when a page announced a messenger from Beldinook; it was the first messenger to come from Beldinook since Gaborn had been crowned as the Earth King.
Beldinook was an important nation, the second largest and wealthiest in all of Rofehavan. It bordered Mystarria on the north, and thus was a strategic ally. More than that, old King Lowicker, a frail man given to fits of indecision, had long been a friend to Gaborn’s father. Gaborn needed Lowicker now, in part because Gaborn’s small army would have to pass through Beldinook to reach Carris. But since Gaborn had to travel quickly, he was not able to carry all of the supplies he would need for battle.
At the very least, by the time his mounts reached Beldinook, they’d need good grain to eat, and Gaborn’s warriors would need food themselves.
Queen Herin the Red had sent Erin Connal to offer such support, but Gaborn had been waiting for a pledge from Beldinook, and had been forced to proceed despite a pledge.
Gaborn needed Lowicker’s assistance merely to ride through Beldinook, but he hoped for more. Gaborn faced seriou
s supply shortages in Northern Mystarria with so many castles having fallen.
Paldane would have moved most of his remaining supplies to Carris itself, in preparation for a siege, and Raj Ahten would likely set such a siege—if he did not destroy the castle outright. Personally, Gaborn believed that Raj Ahten wanted Carris whole, so that his own troops could winter there.
Given that, Gaborn would have to break the siege by attacking Raj Ahten. If Gaborn’s warriors were to fight a pitched battle, they’d need extra weapons for the fray: arrows for archers, lances for cavalry, shields, and whatnot.
Few of the knights who rode south had burdened their mounts with any barding at all. Some had chaffrons to cover the charger’s heads, with only blankets quilted like gambesons to protect their necks and flanks. But full armor was too heavy for the mounts to carry so far. With force horses at such a premium these days, Gaborn was hesitant to send poorly armored mounts into battle. He would prefer full bard for the horses, along with some breastplates and great helms for his knights.
Gaborn hoped to get such goods from Beldinook.
If Gaborn could manage to drive Raj Ahten to ground—in Castle Crayden, Castle Fells, or at Tal Dur—Gaborn might have to lay siege to a fortress, in which case he might need tools for siege engines. In addition to this he might well need smiths, cooks, squires, washwomen, sappers, carters—a whole host of support personnel. Gaborn could call for aid from his own vassals in the south and east of Mystarria, but it would take weeks to get them all north, and time was of the essence.
Of necessity, Gaborn would have to rely upon his old ally King Lowicker of Beldinook, a man who some whis pered might be too cautious in war, a man who some suspected would not have the spine to stand up to Raj Ahten.
Though Gaborn had sent letters to Beldinook nearly a week ago, seeking to purchase supplies should he need to ride south, Beldinook had not responded—probably because at the time, Raj Ahten was racing through the wilderness on the border of Beldinook with his own men, and King Lowicker was much occupied caring for his own defense. Iome herself had dispatched a second courier only two days past.
Now at last the messenger entered the room, still wearing the dust of the trail over his dun-colored tunic. The white swan of Beldinook was emblazoned on it. He was a small fellow, thin, with a long moustache that hung below his chin, and no beard.
Gaborn got up to speak with him privately, but the messenger bowed with a grand gesture and said, “If it please Your Highness, Lords of Heredon and Orwynne, the good King Lowicker bade me speak openly to you all.”
Gaborn nodded. “Please continue, then.”
The messenger bowed and said, “My lord Beldinook bade me say this, ‘Long live the Earth King Gaborn Val Orden!’”
He raised his hand, and everywhere the lords at the table shouted, “Long live the King!”
“My King apologizes for the delay in bringing you word. He dispatched documents to you nearly a week past, offering his assistance in whatever manner he may. Unfortunately, it appears that our courier did not make it alive to carry my lord’s message. The roads were thick with Raj Ahten’s assassins. For this lapse, my lord apologizes.
“But he wished to convey that, just as he loved your father, he has always thought of you, Gaborn, as one like unto a son to him.”
Iome did not like the sound of this. She knew that Lowicker had often courted favor with King Orden, perhaps hoping that Gaborn would be man enough to relieve Lowicker of a notoriously unattractive daughter, his only heir.
“Milord King Lowicker bids you to be easy of mind,” the messenger continued. “He is aware of the danger brewing at Carris, and has amassed troops and supplies to aid in freeing the city. To this end, he has marshaled five thousand knights, a hundred thousand footmen, fifty thousand archers—along with engineers and an unnumbered host of support personnel—in the hopes that together we might crush Raj Ahten now, before the threat grows stronger!
“Your Highness, Lords of Heredon and Orwynne, my King Lowicker bids you be of good cheer, and to make all due haste to join him, for he himself will lead his troops to war!”
Suddenly Iome understood what Lowicker proposed. Certainly troops would be coming from the south and east of Mystarria, riding to Carris to defend against Raj Ahten. With Fleeds guarding the west, and Lowicker coming strong out of the north, Raj Ahten would find himself beleaguered on every side, like a bear caught between the hounds, and Beldinook hoped to take Raj Ahten down.
Iome grinned fiercely. Not in her wildest imaginings had she thought that frail old King Lowicker would ride to war.
The lords at the table cheered and raised their mugs in toast, and Iome felt a wave of relief wash through her such as she’d never felt in her life.
The lords saluted Beldinook’s health and toasted the Powers, each man spilling ale to the floor as an offering to the Earth.
Iome studied Gaborn’s reaction most of all. The lines of worry had gone somewhat from his face, and he thanked the messenger graciously, offered the man food and drink from his own table.
So, Iome thought, we lose a few knights of Orwynne, and find that we have gained a hundred times more! Her heart soared at this hope.
But Iome watched Gaborn carefully, studying his face for a reaction. He sensed their danger, after all, and she dared not celebrate until he was satisfied.
Gaborn had had but two endowments of glamour, and even with that, he had seemed only a plain and unpretentious lord. Now, stripped of glamour, she saw him truly for the first time in her life. Gaborn was not homely, she decided, but he was close to it.
She began to wonder. Gaborn’s external transformation, as obvious as it might be to her, was perhaps the least important. Without his endowments of stamina, he would be prone to illness, and would be easily slain in battle. Without his brawn, he would be no match for even the lowliest force warrior. Without his endowments of voice, he would not speak with any degree of eloquence.
Perhaps most horribly, Gaborn had lost his endowments of wit. Much of what he knew, so many of his memories, would have been stripped away.
It was discouraging for a Runelord to lose so many endowments at once, especially when he needed them more than ever.
She whispered into Gaborn’s ear. “Your Highness, you look positively … decrepit. I’m worried for you. At the very least, you need rest. I hope you don’t plan to sit up all night feasting with your lords.”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and raised a finger, as if in signal. Jureem strode forward with one of the baskets that he had used to carry the pups south.
“Your Highness, Duke Groverman, lords of Heredon,” Jureem said with great fanfare. “We all have reason to celebrate our good fortune with this news from Beldinook tonight. But I bring you something that should further lighten your hearts and lift your spirits!”
Jureem reached under the lid of the large basket, the jeweled rings on his fingers flashing in the thin lamplight, and Iome wondered if he would pull out a pup.
Instead, he drew out the hand of the Darkling Glory. Its long talons were clutched into a claw. The lords shouted and cheered and began banging their fists on the tables. Some cried out, “Well done, Binnesman! May the Powers preserve you!” Men raised their mugs in salute, while others poured further libations upon the floor.
Dismayed at the injustice of it, Iome grabbed Gaborn’s arm and whispered fiercely, “But Binnesman didn’t kill it!”
Gaborn grinned at her and raised his own mug, as if to offer another toast, and the men all quieted.
“As you know, the Darkling Glory today slew many men,” Gaborn told the lords. “Among those dead is our good friend King Orwynne, whose support will be greatly missed.
“But of those men who died, all had one thing in common: They rejected my warnings.
“The Earth instructed us to flee, and the men did not flee. All this week, I have been wondering if the Earth will ever let us fight in our own defense. Time and again it has told us to flee.
“Finally, today, the Earth whispered that one among us should strike, should strike the Darkling Glory down!”
The lords began to pound the tables again and cheer, but Gaborn shouted over them.
“It whispered the command to a woman, a woman without an endowment of brawn or stamina, a woman without skill in war.”
He waved toward the horrid trophy in Jureem’s hands. “Here is the hand of the Darkling Glory, slain by the arrow of Sir Borenson’s wife, the Lady Myrrima Borenson!”
Iome was delighted to see jaws drop on nearly every lord in the room.
One fellow blurted, “But… but I’ve seen how badly the woman shoots! That can’t be right!”
Myrrima stood at the far back of the room, in the shadows near the curtained entrance. She was so embarrassed that she looked ready to flee clear back into the audience chamber.
“It is true,” Iome said. “She shot her bow well enough to slay the Darkling Glory. She has the heart of a warrior, and soon will have the endowments to match!”
“Well, let us see this champion then,” a lord shouted, and Binnesman urged Myrrima out of the shadows.
The cheers and whistles that erupted from the lords were deafening. The noise rang from the stone walls, and Gaborn himself led the applause for several long minutes, letting Myrrima savor the moment.
At last Gaborn raised his hands, begging the lords for silence. “Let Myrrima’s deed ever remind you of what one may accomplish with the aid of the earth powers,” he said. “It is our protector and our strength.
“In ages past, the Earth safeguarded our forefathers. By its power, Erden Geboren withstood the dark wizards of Toth.
“Now we must strive to match his feat.
“Yesterday at dawn I heard the Earth whispering, urging me south. We rode from Castle Sylvarresta, knowing that we were few. Yet we also knew that it takes but one man to strike a grievous blow.
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