Worldbinder r-6

by David Farland

His feet were unsteady and his aim went afoul as he veered across the room, avoiding collision with those on the dance floor only by swerving wide.

  He was greeted with astonished looks as he got to Siyaddah’s table, bowed, and asked, “Your Highness, may I ask you to dance?”

  Alun looked to her father, the legendary Light of Dalharristan, whose face remained expressionless, but who merely gave a slight nod.

  “I think you just did,” Siyaddah said.

  Alun had to stand there thinking for a long moment before he figured out the logic to her words.

  She joined him on the dance floor. Alun had never danced like this before. It was a stately court dance, with lots of strutting about together while the men occasionally stopped and raised the ladies’ hands while they twirled.

  Alun had no knack for it. His overlarge feet kept getting tangled, and he didn’t know when to let a lady twirl, and twice he imagined that he was supposed to twirl, too. He heard some fellow laugh, and Alun’s face grew red as he realized that a great deal of the problem had to do with the fact that he was falling-down drunk.

  He stopped dancing then, and Siyaddah gave him a warm smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only your first dance. You’ll catch on.”

  And then the tense moment was over and she was moving again, and he was content to prance and watch her twirl. There was light in her eyes, and laughter, and light in her hair. It seemed to sparkle, until he realized that she had a powder in her hair, a powder made from diamonds, he imagined.

  “Congratulations,” she said at last, “this is a great day for you. You should be proud-Master of the Hounds.”

  He liked the sound of that, coming from her lips. But it reminded him. He had not gone to the kennels yet tonight. He had several bitches ready to whelp, and he really thought that he should go check on them. It was a good time of year to be Master of the Hounds, with the puppies coming.

  “We’re expecting new litters soon. Hart’s Breath, she should have her first litter tonight or tomorrow. Do you remember her?” Siyaddah had played with her as a pup, not more than two years ago.

  Siyaddah shook her head no.

  Of course she doesn’t remember, Alun thought. She played with so many pups. She didn’t know their names. You are such a fool, he told himself.

  Embarrassed, he quit talking. It was time for Siyaddah to twirl again.

  She looked lovely, so dainty. Her dark skin, almost chocolate in color, contrasted sharply with her white silks. And beneath the silks, he could see the shapely contours of her body.

  That is the whole reason for the dance, he realized, to allow young bachelors like himself to ogle the maidens.

  “Tell me,” Siyaddah asked, “what great deed did you do to deserve such an honor, being raised to the warrior clan?”

  Cold fear ran through his veins, and Alun found that his tongue would not work. He did not want to tell her what he had done. “Oh, nothing,” Alun said.

  He hoped that she had not heard the truth yet. He hoped that she would never hear.

  “Was it for spying upon Daylan Hammer?” she asked.

  “I…yes,” he admitted. He stuttered to a stop for a moment and then continued prancing.

  “And tell me,” Siyaddah said, “how was that brave?”

  She thinks I’m a fake, Alun thought. She knows I’m a fake.

  “It is thought…that he killed Sir Croft.”

  “And did he?” Siyaddah asked playfully, but Alun discerned more than playfulness in her voice. There was a bit of a challenge to her tone. There was a smile on her face and light in her eyes. She was not trying to show disrespect toward Alun. But it was obvious that she thought well of Daylan Hammer, that she doubted his guilt.

  “I don’t believe so,” Alun whispered, lest anyone overhear.

  She flashed him a brief smile. “Your view conflicts with countless others,” she said. “There are some who are calling for Daylan’s head, claiming that there can be no good reason that he would be meeting with the enemy. They say that questioning would do no good, for he would surely lie. Others think that he should be allowed to defend himself. I…find it hard to believe that he is in league with the enemy.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Alun said.

  “Still, it required no less bravery on your part to follow him, to take the risk,” Siyaddah said.

  Was it bravery, Alun wondered, or greed?

  “And he did meet with a wyrmling?” she asked.

  “Most assuredly.”

  “That must have been frightening,” she said.

  Not very. I was hiding, Alun thought.

  “To what end did they meet? I wonder,” she said.

  Alun stopped dancing. His heart was hammering and he suddenly felt over-warm. All of the rich food felt as if it was turning to a ball of grease in his stomach. He feared he would retch.

  “Sometimes,” Siyaddah said gently, without condemnation, “it takes great courage to do what is right.”

  Alun turned and fled, bumping into dancers, hurrying from the great hall. He raced outside, stood gasping for air as he leaned against a pillar.

  Does she know? he wondered. Does she know why Daylan Hammer met with the enemy-risked his own life, his own honor to meet with them? Or does she only guess?

  She only guesses, Alun decided. If she knew, she would have told me. But she believes him to be a man of virtue.

  It was said that Daylan Hammer ate at the High King’s table. Siyaddah would have been in range to hear his jokes, or his songs when he took the lute. She would know his heart better than Alun did. She was a sensitive woman, and perhaps had come to know Daylan better than others around him.

  Perhaps she’s even in love with him.

  No, that can’t be, Alun thought. He is too small and strange, too different from us.

  Alun went staggering to the kennels.

  Back to the dogs, where I belong, he thought.

  There, he found things much as he had suspected. Hart’s Breath had gone into labor and given birth to a pup, and had that frightened look that bitches get when they deliver their first. What is wrong with me? Hart’s Breath’s body language asked as she puttered about, her hips quivering, eyes wide as she sniffed at the pup. What is that black thing squirming on the floor?

  Alun stayed with her, stroking her forehead and whispering words of comfort, while she continued to deliver. He held up each newborn for her to sniff, introduced the pups by complimenting her. “Ah, you’re such a good dog,” he would say as she licked each pup, “such a good mother. And look how pretty your babies are.”

  Soon, she wagged her tail at the sight of each new birth, proud of her offspring, and when Alun left her there late at night, she was happiest hound in the world.

  He was weary and nearly sober when he made his way back to the King’s Keep. The feast was long over, the tables cleared, the servants gone to bed. Two guards stood outside the door and barred his way.

  “I need to speak with King Urstone,” Alun said at their challenge.

  “At this hour?” one asked. “Regarding what?”

  Distantly, from up above, Alun heard a man sobbing, the sound faint and distant as it came through an open window. The king sobbing in his chambers as he mourned.

  “It concerns a plan to save his son,” Alun said.

  They did not send a messenger to ask the king if he wanted to be disturbed. The guards looked at each other, and one of them grabbed Alun by the bicep and pulled him into the keep as if he’d just apprehended a thief.

  Alun found himself shivering in terror. He was about to tell the king of Daylan Hammer’s mad plot to save his son.

  Warlord Madoc will have me stripped of my office when he finds out what I’ve done, Alun thought.

  IN THE COLDEST HOUR

  There are those who criticized High King Urstone for his weak mind, but it was never his mind that failed him. Rather, it was his great love that brought him down.

  — the Wizard Sisel
>
  An hour before dawn, the coldest hour of the night, the Wizard Sisel went to the High King’s door with Shaun the baker in tow. A single knock, and they were in.

  King Urstone was sitting at a desk, writing out orders for work to be done during his absence. He had commanded that no other work be done until the castle was set in order. No housewife was to wash the family’s clothes. No merchant was to be found selling in the streets.

  Instead, there were slabs of rock that needed to be hauled up and set in place. There were buckled walls that needed mending. And every man, woman, and child would be required to work at it the next day.

  He was fully dressed in the same maroon robe and gray tunic that he had been wearing at dinner. But he looked to be in better spirits than Sisel had imagined he would.

  “Sisel,” he asked. “What may I do for you-and Goodman Shaun, is it?” The king had an excellent memory for names but he always asked timidly, afraid that he might offend someone by making a mistake. Thus he gratified and honored them even though his voice held a tone of apology.

  “I have something to show you, Your Highness,” Sisel said. He turned to Shaun. “What is your name?”

  The baker looked back and forth between the king and the wizard, and at last he said, “I’m not rightly sure anymore.”

  King Urstone wondered if the man had taken a blow to the head.

  “It used to be Shaun,” the baker said. “But it was Hugheart on that other world, Captain Hugheart.”

  Ah, the king thought, this again.

  “And what was your calling on this other world?”

  “I was a lord, a runelord,” Shaun said. “I…was a royal guard at Castle Corneth, in the land of Aven.”

  “You claim to be a runelord,” Sisel asked. “Can you explain to the king what that is?”

  “I was given attributes by vassals-strength, speed, stamina, wit. They gave it to me in a ceremony. We used branding irons, called forcibles, to make the transfer. The brands left scars on me.”

  Shaun rolled up his sleeve, displaying his bicep. On it were a dozen small scars, burned into his flesh, each a circle with its own design within. King Urstone had never seen the like. But still, the story sounded like madness.

  “Show the king what you can do,” the wizard said.

  Shaun the baker, a man that King Urstone had once played with as a child, suddenly leapt eight feet in the air, somersaulted with the agility of a cat, and dropped to a crouch. As he landed, he slammed a fist into a table that was made of slate. The table shattered as if it had been hammered with a maul.

  The king stared in awe. No man in the kingdom, no matter whether he was warrior-born or not, had such strength.

  The wizard reached into a pocket, pulled out a small red stone. “Your Highness, behold the most deadly weapon in the world!”

  The king peered at the stone. He was an educated man. “Corpuscite?” he asked. It was a metal, softer than lead, and when put to the tongue tasted salty, like blood.

  “It is called blood metal, upon that world where the runelords dwelled. And it is exceedingly rare there.”

  “But…there’s a whole hill of it-” the king began to say.

  “South of the city,” Sisel finished. “We will need it, if we are to defend ourselves. And I have begun a search of the city. We will need to find someone who has worked as a facilitator on this other world, a wizard who can make the branding irons we need and transfer attributes from one person to another. If we hurry, we could have warriors like Shaun here in place before the wyrmlings next attack.”

  “Where are the vassals who gave you these powers?” the king asked.

  “In the land of Aven, far to the north and east of here,” Shaun said. “I must surmise that they are still alive, for if they had died, their powers would have been stripped from me.”

  Sisel licked his lips. He had obviously been thinking much. He continued, “My lord, I have a confession. Daylan Hammer mentioned that there are some among us, like Shaun, who lived other lives, who had shadow selves upon that other world. Such people are now two halves, bound into one. I am one of those. I served as an Earth Wizard in this other world, and I have begun to remember things…strange things. But the memories come hard. Sometimes, it is like pulling teeth to recall a single detail. My name was Binnesman, and I was a counselor to a wondrous king, a hero like none that our world has ever known.”

  “Why then,” King Urstone asked, “don’t I remember anything?”

  The wizard glanced away, as if unsure what to say. “Because you did not exist on that world. You had no shadow self there. You died in that world before the worlds were sealed as one.”

  “I see,” King Urstone said. He somehow felt sad, cheated, as if he had lost something.

  “Not everyone had a shadow self. There were great wars and turmoil upon that world, as there are here. People were being slain by the thousands, by the hundreds of thousands. So some of our lives…did not overlap.”

  King Urstone turned away, went to the balcony and opened the door. Rich flowers and shrubs grew in pots outside, and their scent perfumed the night. Somewhere among the shrubs, a nightingale responded to the light with a heart-breaking song.

  He tried to consider the repercussions of this new intelligence.

  “Will the wyrmlings know?” he wondered aloud, “about the powers inherent in the corpuscite, I mean?”

  “Even if they don’t, we must prepare for the worst,” Sisel said. “Others have begun to remember. I went to the hill to get this corpuscite, and as I approached, I found men digging in the night. They ran away.”

  “Who?” King Urstone demanded.

  “I saw no faces, but they will be back. If I were you, I would send some of my own men there, now, and have them begin to dig in earnest.”

  “Of course,” the king said. He looked to Shaun, “Sir Hugheart, will you see to it?”

  “As you wish, milord,” Shaun said. He did not ask for further direction, nor did he hesitate to carry out the order. Shaun merely spun on his heels and strode from the room, as a trained soldier would.

  I am but half a man, King Urstone thought. Men like Shaun, they are complete in a way that I never can be. They will have twice the knowledge, twice the wisdom of men their age.

  Such men would be of great benefit to the world, the king mused.

  When Shaun was gone, the Wizard Sisel peered hard into the king’s eyes, and whispered, “There is another matter, Your Highness. This wondrous king that I served, this great hero of the shadow world-is your son, Areth Sul Urstone. Upon the shadow world where he was born, he was known as Gaborn Val Orden. I know this as certainly as I know my own name. He had great powers, greater than you can imagine. We must see to his rescue immediately. If Zul-torac gets even a hint of what he can become, his life…will be worth nothing.”

  King Urstone began to tremble. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The men were set to march on Cantular within the hour, and King Urstone dared not call a halt. The Dyll-Tandor was flooding, creating a barrier around his lands, and he needed to take the bridge at Cantular, seal his borders. But so much else needed to be done, too.

  “Tell me this,” King Urstone asked. “On this other world, this shadow world, did I die well?”

  Sisel smiled warmly. “You died in a great battle, in defense of your family and your people. None ever died better.”

  “Well then,” King Urstone said after a thought, “let’s see that it doesn’t happen again.” He smiled weakly. “I have learned that a plan is already underway to free my son. That is why Daylan Hammer was meeting with the wyrmling. He was trying to arrange an exchange of hostages, my son for the wyrmling princess. And I can see to it that the plan moves forward. If all goes well, by dawn tomorrow, Areth will be free.”

  “Do you trust the wyrmlings to keep such a bargain?” Sisel asked after some thought.

  “No. But do I have any other choice? What army will I batter down the gates of Rugassa with? How els
e will I free my son?”

  But the king began to think-I could batter their gates with an army of runelords.

  The wizard frowned in consternation. “I don’t like this plan. I don’t trust the wyrmlings. And there are some in our ranks I trust even less. Warlord Madoc has campaigned long and hard to lead an attack. For years he has waited. You and I both know what he seeks.”

  “I’m afraid,” King Urstone said, “that I can see no good reason to deny him, and every reason to move his plan forward. This great change that has been wrought upon the earth will alarm the wyrmlings, and they are most dangerous when so alarmed. If the wyrmlings are coming, we need to take the bridge at Cantular-as much as we need to save my son.”

  The wizard shook his head. “Your son is worth more than a bridge, believe me.”

  “Would you still counsel me then to halt the attack?”

  Sisel shook his head sadly. “No. I fear, milord, that the enemy is wiser than we would hope. They may already know about the lore of the forcibles, and who they now hold captive. And if they know, there will be no trade for your son, and no saving him. Go forward with your plan, and let us hope for the best.”

  DARK WATERS

  I find that the best way to endure ugliness and pain is to remember beauty. Always in my memory, it is the face of a woman that gives me strength. Her name was Yaleen.

  — Daylan Hammer

  Daylight came to the privy, the softest blush of light shining through the holes up above. With the dawn came an unwholesome rain as hundreds of soldiers relieved themselves of the waste from last night’s feast.

  Daylan Hammer stood stoically, head bowed, mouth tightly shut, and endured.

  He had been standing so long that once in the night, all of the blood had rushed to his feet, and he had staggered and fallen in the mire.

  So he had learned, and now he raised his feet every now and then, stamping them in the filth, so that he made sure to keep blood pumping to his head.

  It will end soon, he thought. The warriors will be leaving at dawn.