He had only to open his mouth, and he could bring down the walls of Carris, as he had so many other castles in the past week.
If he is going to kill me, Roland thought, I wish he would do it now and get it over with.
No one shot from the castle walls.
An army rode at Raj Ahten’s back. Roland could only see the front ranks protruding from the line of fog. Two dozen frowth giants stood like living walls, their faces grim and troubled. Huge black mastiffs at their feet bristled behind red-lacquered leather masks. Raj Ahten’s Invincibles formed ranks behind, men with dark armor and round brass shields that reflected the light of the flameweavers as if they were hundreds of glowing yellow eyes.
For a moment, no one spoke. In a stern tone, Paldane called, “If it is battle you want, then come against us! But if you hope to find refuge in Carris, you hope in vain. We will not surrender at any cost.”
33
EARTH DREAMS
As Gaborn reached the top step of the landing to his room, he stumbled in the darkness and fell to the floor.
He’d never stumbled and fallen in his life, not that he could remember. Born as a prince among Runelords, he had been endowed as a child with grace from a dancer. It aided his flexibility and sense of balance. Always in the past he’d landed on his feet no matter how far he’d fallen. He’d been granted endowments of brawn to give him greater strength, endowments of stamina to let him work tirelessly into the night, an endowment of sight to let his keen eyes pierce the darkness, an endowment of wit so that he knew every uneven step in every castle he’d ever walked.
Wearily, he climbed up and made for the bedroom Groverman had provided. At the top of the stairs, he said goodnight to his Days.
A boy lay curled on the floor in front of his door. Gaborn wondered if the lad served as a page for Groverman, though he couldn’t imagine why the boy would be sleeping at his door. Gaborn carefully stepped over the lad.
To his surprise, in the room he found Iome asleep. She lay abed with five pups snuggling against her. One of the pups looked up at him and barked querulously.
A single candle burned in the room beside a bowl of washwater. The washbowl had been sweetened with rose petals. Clean riding clothes were draped over a chair. The room smelled pleasantly of roast beef, and a silver platter bearing food sat on a table, as if the feast an hour past had not been enough. A small fire burned in the hearth.
Gaborn looked at it all, realized that Jureem must have been here. No chamberlain had ever served Gaborn quite so well. The fat servant was always underfoot, yet seldom in sight.
Gaborn had hardly had time to speak to Iome tonight. Though she’d said he looked decrepit, she herself had looked overworn. He was glad that she slept. She’d need her rest. In two hours he’d ride for Fleeds.
He did not bother to remove his dirty ring mail and clothes, just lay down beside Iome.
She rolled toward him, laid a hand over his neck, and came awake. “My love,” she said. “Is it time to ride?”
“Not yet. Get some rest,” Gaborn said. “We’ve got two hours to rest.”
Instead, Iome came fully awake. She climbed up on one elbow, studied his face. She looked pale, worn. He closed his eyes.
“I heard about the Blue Tower,” Iome said. “You can’t get all the sleep you need in two hours. You must take some endowments.”
She spoke only hesitantly. She knew how he resisted taking endowments for himself.
Gaborn shook his head. “I am an Oath-Bound Lord,” he groaned. “Did I not swear an oath to you?”
It was not a purely rhetorical question. He’d lost two endowments of wit today, and with that loss, he’d forgotten much. Memories had been stolen, lessons forgotten. He recalled being on the tower above Castle Sylvarresta and watching Raj Ahten’s forces take formation on the hills south of the city. But his memory of taking the ancient vow of the Oath-Bound Lords seemed muzzy, incomplete. If he’d spoken the vow, he could not recall it.
Gaborn had feared to speak to Iome tonight. He dared not admit that he could not recall the minute that he’d asked Iome to marry him, or remember his own mother’s face, or bring to mind a thousand other facts that he thought he should know.
“You did,” she said. “And I’ve heard your arguments against taking a man’s endowments. But there has to be some point… some point at which you will accept another man’s endowment. I’d give you the use of my pups, if I could, but they won’t bond to you in time. Your people need you to be strong now.”
Gaborn stared hard at her.
“My love, you must take endowments,” Iome said. “You cannot completely forsake them.”
Gaborn had been taught as a youth that a lord who had great stamina could use that stamina to serve his people tirelessly. A lord with great brawn could fight for his people. To take endowments was a noble thing, if done properly.
Yet the thought of taking them himself seemed wrong.
It seemed wrong in part because it put those who took the endowments in great jeopardy. Many a man who gave brawn would have his heart stop afterward, too weak to beat anymore. A man who gave wit might forget how to walk or eat. A man who gave stamina could easily be ravaged by illness, though it was perfectly safe to give the “lesser” endowments that did not endanger the giver, those of metabolism, or sight, or smell, or hearing, or touch.
It seemed wrong in part also because he knew that he put those who offered endowments at risk from outside attack. He’d seen the bloody rooms where Borenson had slaughtered Sylvarresta’s Dedicates.
Gaborn felt lost. He recalled the drawings he’d discovered in the Emir of Tuulistan’s book, the secret teachings from the Room of Dreams in the House of Understanding.
A man owned certain things: his body, his family, his good name. Though these things were not named in the Emir’s book, a man certainly owned his own brawn, his own wit.
To take a man’s attributes and never return them so long as both of you remained alive seemed to Gaborn an inescapable violation of another man’s domain.
It was evil, thoroughly evil.
Though Gaborn dared not say it, in a sense he felt lighter, happier, right now than he had in years.
For the first time since he was old enough to understand what it cost for another man to grant him endowments, Gaborn felt free, totally free of guilt.
For the first time in his life, he was only himself. True, his Dedicates had died today, and he felt deeply saddened to know that they had died for him, died so that they might lend him their attributes.
But though he felt weak and frail and tired, he was also no longer encumbered by guilt.
“I had hoped to forsake endowments,” Gaborn said. “I am the Earth King, and that should be enough to sustain any man.”
“It might be enough if you were alone in the world, but is it enough for us?” Iome asked. “When you go into battle, you will not risk yourself alone. You risk the future of us all.”
“I know,” Gaborn said.
“Your forcibles, your people, offer you power,” Iome said again. “Power to do good. Power to do evil. If you will not take it, Raj Ahten will.”
“I don’t want it,” Gaborn said.
“You must take it,” Iome said. “Guilt is the price of leadership.”
Gaborn knew that she was right. He could not risk going into battle without endowments.
“Tomorrow, before I leave,” Iome said, “I will take endowments from my pups. I have been giving it great thought, and I will not stop with them alone. The future is rushing toward us, and we must rush to meet it. I will take enough endowments of metabolism to make myself battle-ready.”
The thought pained Gaborn. Battle-ready? If she were to protect herself from Raj Ahten’s Invincibles, she’d need five endowments at least. With so many, she’d grow old and die in ten or twelve years. To take so many endowments was like taking a slow poison.
“Iome!” Gaborn said, unable to express his dismay.
�
��Don’t make me leave you behind,” Iome said. “Come with me! Grow old with me!”
Of course, that was the answer. She did not want to leave him, did not want to grow old alone. For those who took endowments of metabolism, it became difficult to speak to people who lived in common time. The sense of isolation from the rest of humanity carried a great toll.
Yet he wondered at Iome. He knew that she did not want to take endowments any more than he did. He suspected that she sought to lure him into doing this, or perhaps force him.
“Don’t do this on my account,” Gaborn said. “If you want me to take endowments, I will. I know that I must. But you don’t have to do this. I will do it alone.”
Iome reached out, squeezed his hand, shut her eyes as if to sleep.
Outside the door, the clubfooted boy stirred in his dreams like a restless pup, kicking the door with a soft whump.
“Who is the child outside our door?” Gaborn asked.
“Just a boy,” Iome said. “He walked a hundred miles to see you. I wanted you to Choose him, but when you passed him in the hall tonight, he was afraid to address you. So I asked him to wait for you here. I thought he might help out here at Groverman’s kennels.”
“All right,” Gaborn said.
“All right? Aren’t you going to look into his heart before you Choose him?”
“Sounds like a good kid,” Gaborn said, too weary to get up and Choose the boy, or to discuss the matter further.
“We saved the people at Castle Sylvarresta today,” Iome said. “Every one of them, except for Sir Donnor.”
“Good,” Gaborn said. “Jureem told me all about it.”
“It was hard…” Iome agreed, drifting off to sleep.
Preparing for sleep, Gaborn used his earth senses to reach out and feel how his people were doing.
Sir Borenson had reached the Hest Mountains and seemed to be encamped—or at least stationary for the moment—and like Gaborn, dared not ride until moonrise. But Gaborn could feel danger rising about Borenson, had felt it for hours. The knight was riding toward trouble.
Beyond that, Gaborn had to wonder about the men with him. He’d felt that they were in tremendous danger all day long. Some of that cloud had lifted when Myrrima slew the Darkling Glory.
But death still stalked his warriors—every single man among them.
It was true that the Earth had bidden Gaborn go south into war. It was true that the Earth was allowing him to go into battle. But it was also true that the Earth had warned him to tell his messengers to flee Carris.
Attack and flee? Gaborn felt befuddled by the conflicting inspirations.
He had begun to wonder, did the Earth allow him to attack only because he so craved it? Or did the Earth perhaps want something of him that he could not name? It was possible these men were to sacrifice themselves in some cause he did not understand. Was he taking his men to their deaths?
Perhaps not all of them would die. Certainly some would be killed at Carris, maybe even most of them.
Yet the Earth allowed it. Take them to battle, it said. Many will die.
It seemed a violation of his vows, for Gaborn had sworn to protect those he had Chosen.
Indeed, Gaborn had let young Agunter Orwynne retreat north because he so feared for that boy in particular, though he dared not tell anyone.
How can I save them all? Gaborn wondered.
Outside his door, Gaborn heard the ching of ring mail and the thud of iron boots on the carpet as a knight came up the stairs. Gaborn used his earth senses, determined that the man posed no threat to him.
Since Gaborn’s room was at the top of the keep, he knew the fellow had come to see him. Gaborn waited for the knight to knock at his door. Instead, he heard the fellow stand outside the door for a while, then sit down and sigh wearily as he put his back against the plaster wall.
The man dared not disturb him.
Wearily, Gaborn got up, then took the burning candle, opened the door. He glanced at the clubfooted boy, saw into the lad’s heart. A good kid, as Iome had promised. The boy had nothing to offer in the wars to come. He was perhaps worthless, unable to fight or save himself, unsalvageable. Yet Gaborn felt too emotionally drained to restrain the impulse to reject him.
Gaborn Chose him.
The fellow who sat on the floor across the hall wore the colors of Sylvarresta, the black tunic with a silver boar, and his uniform indicated that he was a captain. The man had dark hair and haunted eyes, a face that was unshaven, filled with pain and terror.
Gaborn had never seen him before, at least not that he could remember, which suggested that perhaps the captain served here under Duke Groverman.
“Your Highness,” the fellow said, climbing to his feet and saluting.
Gaborn spoke softly so that he wouldn’t wake Iome. “Do you have a message?”
“No, I…” the fellow said. He dropped to one knee and seemed to struggle, as if unsure whether he should draw his sword and offer it.
Gaborn looked into the captain’s heart using his Earth Sight. The captain had a wife and children that he loved. The men who had served under him were like brothers to him. “I Choose you,” Gaborn said. “I Choose you for the Earth.”
“No!” the fellow wailed, and when he looked up, tears misted his dark eyes.
“Yes,” Gaborn said, too tired to argue. Many a man who was worthy of the Choosing seemed to feel unworthy.
“Don’t you know me?” the fellow demanded.
Gaborn shook his head.
“My name is Tempest, Cedrick Tempest,” he said. “I was captain of the guard at Longmot, before it fell. I was there when your father died. I was there when everyone died.”
Gaborn knew the name. But he’d lost an endowment of wit, and if he’d ever seen Cedrick Tempest’s face, it was erased from memory.
“I see,” Gaborn said. “Go get some sleep. You look as if you need it more than I do.”
“I…” Cedrick Tempest gaped at the floor in dismay and shook his head in wonder. “I did not come to ask for the Choosing. I am unworthy. I came to confess, milord.”
“Confess, then,” Gaborn said, “if you feel you need it.”
“I am not worthy to be a guardsman! I have betrayed my people.”
“How?”
“When Longmot fell, Raj Ahten gathered the survivors, and offered… he offered life to any man who would betray you.”
“I see no treachery in your heart,” Gaborn said. “What deed did he require?”
“He was seeking forcibles. He’d brought many forcibles to Longmot, and he wanted to know where they had gone, and when. He offered life to any man who would tell him.”
“And what did you say?” Gaborn asked.
“I told him the truth: that your father had sent them south with his messengers.”
Gaborn licked his lips, barely restraining a painful laugh. “South? Did you mention the Blue Tower?”
“No,” Tempest said. “I told him the truth, that the men had gone south, but I knew not where.”
But of course Raj Ahten would have believed that the forcibles had gone to the Blue Tower. Where else would a King of Mystarria send his forcibles? If Gaborn were putting the forcibles to good use, the Blue Tower was the only fortress in all of Mystarria that might have housed forty thousand new Dedicates.
Why didn’t I see it? Gaborn wondered. Raj Ahten did not destroy the Blue Tower to bring down Mystarria; he did it to humble me!
Gaborn laughed painfully, imagining how Raj Ahten must have feared him, never knowing that the forcibles lay hidden in a tomb in Heredon.
Cedrick Tempest looked up, anger burning in his eyes. He did not like having a man laugh at him.
“You did not betray me,” Gaborn said. “If my father sent anything south, it was not forcibles. My father counted on someone like you to tell where the forcibles had gone, so that Raj Ahten might race off on some fruitless quest. By speaking as you did, you served my father well.”
“Milord
?” Tempest asked, shame burning in his face.
Gaborn realized that he should have known. His father had been a far better strategist than Gaborn would ever be. Since he’d become the Earth King, Gaborn had relied upon his newfound powers to protect him.
Yet his father had always taught him to use his brain, to plot and scheme and look ahead. Gaborn had not been doing that, or he would have thought to reinforce the Blue Tower a hundredfold, to set a trap for Raj Ahten.
“Tell me,” Gaborn asked, “were you the only man who offered to trade his life for a bit of useless knowledge?”
“No, milord,” Tempest said, looking down. “Others offered, too.”
Gaborn dared not tell Tempest the truth. That because of the lie he’d spread in King Orden’s behalf, tens of thousands of men had died, and perhaps hundreds of thousands more would die in the war to come. Such knowledge was too heavy for anyone to bear.
“So if you had not borne the news to Raj Ahten, some other man would have?”
“Yes,” Tempest said.
“Have you considered,” Gaborn asked, “how poorly you would have served your King, if you’d let yourself die?”
“Death would have been easier than this guilt I bear,” Tempest said. His eyes searched the floor.
“Undoubtedly,” Gaborn said. “So those who chose death made the easy choice, did they not?”
Tempest looked up uncertainly. “Milord, my wife used my warhorse to bear my children and a wagon here to Groverman. I have my horse and my armor still. I am an uncommonly good lancer. Though I no longer hold any endowments, I beg to ride south with you.”
“You would not survive longer than your first charge,” Gaborn said.
“Be that as it may,” Tempest growled.
“As penance for your deed,” Gaborn said, “I will not accept your death. I want your life in service. I have hundreds of men riding now into war, and many of them will not return. I need warriors. I beg you to stay here at Groverman with your wife and children, and protect them. Furthermore, I bid you to begin training warriors. I need a thousand young lancers.”
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