“After I Chose my father,” Gaborn said, “I felt danger around him, a suffocating aura, like a black cloud. He died within hours. Ever since this morning, I have felt that aura growing around each person in this room—indeed, around everyone here at Castle Sylvarresta. For the past week, we have feared that Raj Ahten would send an accomplished assassin to our camp. Now I believe an assassin is coming, although it is something far more fell than any Invincible. And all of us here at Castle Sylvarresta are its targets. Vassals that I Chose at Longmot—and those on the road north—are in little danger. But every one among us here must be on our guard.”
“If you feel our danger,” Lord Ingris said, “then can you not sense Mystarria’s danger, or Lysle’s? Perhaps you could tell us where Raj Ahten plans to strike next?”
Gaborn shook his head sadly. “Until I see a man, I cannot Choose him. And this power is new to me. Aside from a few of my messengers who have been sent to Carris and the Courts of Tide, I haven’t yet Chosen anyone in Mystarria or Lysle, so that I might gauge what is to come. We must therefore consider a plan of action, find a way to defend ourselves against Raj Ahten.”
“You should know,” Lord Ingris said, “that other lords have already moved against Raj Ahten. Upon first hearing of the invasion of Mystarria, we merchant princes struck against him—and we are not alone.”
“How so?” King Orwynne asked.
“While you defend yourselves with arms and men,” Lord Ingris said, “in Lysle our best defense has always been our wealth. We hire mercenaries to fortify our own borders and we pay tribute to our neighbors. Upon hearing of the attack, we sent messages to certain lords in Inkarra, offering bribes if they would send their assassins to slay Raj Ahten’s Dedicates in the Southern Provinces, where he will least expect it.”
“Well done!” King Orwynne said. “I’ve a thousand good force soldiers in Orwynne who can attack from the north!”
Ingris smiled broadly. “The warlords of Toom may beat you to it, from all that I hear.…”
Sir Borenson sat and listened in dismay. He himself had slaughtered Raj Ahten’s Dedicates here in Castle Sylvarresta, in the Dedicates’ Keep not two hundred yards up the road. It had been a grisly deed, one that broke his heart. Though he told himself that he had acted under orders, and it was needful, he could hardly bear to sit here and listen to more talk of such blatant butchery.
He was about to speak when Gaborn himself cried “No!” and looked hard at Ingris and Orwynne. “I reject such a plan!”
“Why?” Ingris asked. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at his nose, and tossed the soiled kerchief to the floor.
“The price is too high,” Gaborn said. “I battle not against Raj Ahten, but for mankind. To send our warriors against one another is folly!”
Lord Ingris said matter-of-factly, “The arrows have already flown. It may be that you cannot save Raj Ahten from his doom.”
Surely, Borenson thought, the man is overconfident. After all, we have been sending assassins for years. But to Borenson’s surprise, Gaborn looked very distraught. Gaborn asked, “Tell me, when did you reach this decision, to hire assassins from Inkarra?”
Lord Ingris considered. “It was in the afternoon, about a week ago. The day your father died.”
Gaborn stared hard at Lord Ingris. “On that very afternoon, the wizard Binnesman cursed Raj Ahten to death. Like you, he fears that the curse cannot be recalled. I cannot help but wonder at the timing. You may have been an instrument in the Earth’s hands.”
Lord Ingris chuckled as if rejecting an unearned compliment. “I doubt it. If Raj Ahten dies, it will be my gold and the Inkarrans’ greed that killed him, not the curse of some Earth Warden.”
From behind Gaborn’s chair, Iome spoke up. “And where did your gold come from,” she asked, “if not from the Earth?”
In the silence that followed, Borenson had to wonder was it really possible for a few assassins to strike so great a blow.
He doubted it. Raj Ahten had far too many Dedicates strewn across too vast a kingdom, and they were well guarded. Though Raj Ahten might be wounded, Borenson knew that he could not easily be killed.
Raj Ahten would have to lose certain key endowments first. If he lost stamina, for example, he might retain his strength yet still fall to a particularly nasty blow. Or if he lost metabolism, he might slow enough so that even the most mundane warrior could slice off his head.
Under the right circumstances, a few assassins could have a devastating impact on the Wolf Lord.
Gaborn shook his head and said, “In good conscience, I cannot wish any man’s demise. I certainly cannot condone the killing of innocent men, women, and children whose only crime is that they allowed themselves to grant an endowment to Raj Ahten. I will stand up to him if I must, but for now, I wish only to stop him—or, better yet, turn him if I can.”
“Damn your fool pardon,” King Orwynne grumbled, half-rising from his chair, “but I knew you would say that!”
“You object to our lord’s wisdom?” Jureem asked.
King Orwynne’s face hardened. “Forgive me, Your Lordship,” he said, struggling to control his wrath. “You cannot risk allowing Raj Ahten to live. It would be more than imprudent, it would be foolish.”
“I do not make this choice because it is cunning,” Gaborn said. “I make it because I feel that it is the right thing to do.”
“You are a young man, full of noble-sounding ideals, and you have the Earth Powers to aid you,” Lord Ingris said to Gaborn. “You may hope to turn Raj Ahten but how, may I ask, do you propose to do it?”
“I captured forty thousand forcibles at Longmot,” Gaborn said evenly.
King Orwynne, Lord Ingris, and Erin Connal all started in surprise.
“I’ve already used five thousand to renew Heredon’s army and rebuild its cavalry,” Gaborn continued. “The remaining forcibles are enough to grant endowments for a small army—or enough to create a single lord as great as Raj Ahten.
“Last week, after the battle of Longmot, I’d thought I would do just that—become a lord equal to Raj Ahten, and then try to best him. Like you, I want to fight.
“But I am loath to call even Raj Ahten my enemy, though he has attacked my people. I am going to propose a truce.”
King Orwynne was flabbergasted. “He has carried his battle to us,” he said, speaking too loudly. “We can’t just walk away from him.”
“He’s right,” Jureem said. “My old master will not grant you a truce—unless you yourself were to give him an endowment. He will want your wit or your brawn, something to cripple you so that you can never rise against him.”
“Perhaps,” Gaborn said. “But I will propose a truce just the same. I will send a messenger bearing these words: Though I hate my own cousin, the enemy of my cousin is my enemy.’ By the time that message reaches him, he will have heard of the fall of Keep Haberd, and perhaps even of his own troubles in Kartish. I will remind him of the threat of reavers, and inform him that I am now his cousin through marriage. To seal the peace, instead of my endowment, I will offer him twenty thousand forcibles. He knows that without them, I will be crippled enough. But I’ll give the forcibles to him only on the condition that he agree to leave Rofehavan.”
Borenson licked his lips. Raj Ahten was not likely to listen to reason, but at the same time, he could hardly turn away from twenty thousand forcibles.
“Other men have borne such appeals,” Jureem warned. “He will not buy what he believes he can take by force. I suspect that he will not listen. He might even kill your messenger.”
“Perhaps,” Gaborn said. “But what if the petition were borne by one of his own people, one whom he loved and could not easily dismiss?” Gaborn leaned to his right, gazing hard at Jureem. “Jureem, you told me a few days ago that Raj Ahten has hundreds of wives secreted at the Palace of Concubines in Obran. You say that no man is allowed to see them, upon penalty of death. Which is his favorite wife? Would she hear my ple
a? Would she bear my petition?”
“Saffira is her name, milord,” Jureem said, stroking his goatee. “The daughter of Emir Owatt, of Tuulistan. She is the prize of his harem.”
“I know her father by reputation. The Emir is a good man,” Gaborn said. “Surely his daughter shares some of his goodness and strength.”
“Perhaps,” Jureem said. “But I have never seen her. Once a wife enters the palace, she does not come out.”
“Raj Ahten is a vain man,” Iome said. “I can think of only one reason why he would hide the women of his harem away from his own people. How many endowments of glamour has he lavished upon his favorite wife?”
Jureem considered. “You guess wisely, milady. It is his custom to grant an endowment of glamour to his wife each time he lies with her, so that on his next visit she will be even more beautiful than he remembers. Saffira has been his favorite for five years. She must have more than three hundred endowments by now.”
Borenson sat back in astonishment. A woman with a dozen endowments of glamour left men dizzy with desire. He could not imagine how a woman with hundreds of such endowments might affect him. Perhaps Gaborn’s plot could work.
But Borenson still felt uneasy. “I can’t believe that no one has considered using her as a weapon.”
“I was my lord’s most trusted servant,” Jureem said. “It was my duty to provide baubles and endowments for the concubines. Aside from two or three others, no man has been allowed to know the extent of the harem.”
Gaborn’s gaze shifted to each of the others. “What do you say? I propose to send a message to Saffira, and let her carry it to Raj Ahten.”
“It could work,” Jureem said doubtfully. “But I hesitate to believe that Raj Ahten would take her counsel. She is, after all, only his wife.”
Borenson wondered. In many parts of Indhopal, it was considered unmanly to listen to the counsel of a woman.
“It could work,” Iome said more hopefully. “Binnesman suggested that Raj Ahten has gone mad simply because he has been listening to his own Voice. She might persuade him.”
“And what if I were to give her another thousand endowments of glamour and Voice,” Gaborn asked, “as a token of my goodwill, so that even Raj Ahten could not resist her?”
“There are facilitators at Obran who are skilled at giving such endowments,” Jureem admitted.
“And we have the forcibles to do it with,” Chancellor Rodderman cut in. “But it might take a day or two to find women who would serve as Dedicates.”
“I’d offer my glamour,” Myrrima said.
She glanced nervously toward Borenson, as if afraid of his reaction. She’d used that beauty to try to lure him into marriage. She had to know that it was unfair to offer to give it away now. Yet Borenson admired her all the more for making the offer.
“There are already women at Obran,” Jureem said. “Raj Ahten has many concubines, all of whom have been endowed with glamour or Voice. Some of them have suffered greatly because of this long war. They too hope for peace, and I suspect that some of them, perhaps many of them, would act as vectors.…”
“You would be taking a great risk,” King Orwynne said. “We don’t know this woman—nor do we know how such power might affect her. What if she too turns against you?”
“We must try,” Gaborn said. “Raj Ahten is not our greatest enemy. I need his strength. I want him to fight the reavers.”
It seemed a slim chance, one that Borenson would not have considered himself.
“Perhaps,” Erin Connal said. “But we should move forward with a doe’s caution. You say that you feel an aura of great danger around us. Even if you send riders tonight, it will take days to reach Indhopal—”
“Not with the right horse,” Jureem countered. “The fortress at Obran is in the northern provinces, just south of Deyazz, barely seven hundred miles from here.”
Borenson said, “I’ve never heard of Obran. But if it’s that close, then with a king’s mount and a little luck, I could take the Raven’s Pass out of Fleeds and be there by early afternoon tomorrow. If she consents, Saffira could deliver the message to Raj Ahten the following night.”
He spoke the words without considering the matter. It sounded like a fool’s quest. He wondered at his own reasons for wanting to go. In part, he wanted to do it because he knew that he was a good man for the job. He’d performed dozens of dangerous missions in the past.
He could also see that this would give him the opportunity to spy on Indhopal’s defenses and study the movements of enemy troops along the border. And as he did so, he would be heading far south, toward Inkarra.
Thus he would begin the quest Iome had set for him.
But a small part of him knew that he wanted something far more: He wanted redemption.
Both Lord Ingress and King Orwynne spoke casually of killing Dedicates, of holding to the endless tradition of butchery that had defined the battle strategies of Runelords in the past. Their strategies were so horrific in part because they were reliable.
But Borenson had little stomach for it now. Gaborn’s plan, no matter how poorly conceived, offered some slim hope that Indhopal and Rofehavan could reach an accord, put an end to the madness.
And it was the only such plan on the table.
Borenson had the blood of over two thousand men, women, and children on his hands. Perhaps if he could bring this off, he reasoned, he might someday feel clean again.
“I would not put all of my hopes on this one throw of the bones, Your Highness,” King Orwynne said. “You must look to your own defenses.
“Saffira may not be able or willing to do as you ask, and you would not have called this council if you did not plan to bestir yourself, and ride to the defense of Mystarria. You need to prepare to battle Raj Ahten in person, if need be.…
“Or you could select a champion. I have a nephew—a lion of a man—Sir Langley. He’s here in the camps.”
“It’s all very well to send a champion,” Horsesister Connal urged Gaborn, “but you should not let Orwynne or Heredon fight alone. Raj Ahten may fear Duke Paldane, but if you ride from the north, he’ll fear you more. And it would rally every man in the north to fight beside you. The horse clans would ride with you.”
Gaborn sat pondering the proposals of his supporters.
The idealistic lad actually hopes to get out of this without fighting Raj Ahten, Borenson realized. But he suspected that Gaborn would never pull it off. A war with Raj Ahten was coming whether Gaborn or any of them willed it or not.
“What will you do?” Borenson pressed him.
Gaborn reflected for another half a second, nodded. “The fate of the world rests upon our decision. I would not make such a decision hastily, and in truth I have thought about little else for the past week.
“My people cannot hide from Raj Ahten, and I cannot drive him away. I would fight him, if I believed that in fighting we could prevail. But I don’t believe that. So I must hope to turn him, however slim that hope might be.”
Gaborn looked at Borenson. “You’ll take my horse and leave within the hour.”
Borenson slapped the table with a fist and rose from his chair, eager to be away, but found himself lingering momentarily as a courtesy.
Gaborn turned to King Orwynne. “I’ve met Sir Langley. He has a good heart. I’ll give you two thousand forcibles, to equip him as he wishes.”
“You are most generous,” King Orwynne said, seemingly astonished that the Earth King would grant such a boon. Even ten years ago, when blood metal was amply available, the whole kingdom of Orwynne had probably not seen two thousand forcibles in a single year.
Last of all Gaborn turned to Connal. “You’re right. If I march at the head of our armies, Raj Ahten cannot ignore me. I’ll ride south, and Fleeds will have two thousand forcibles, too.”
Connal grunted in wonder. Her poor realm had probably never seen two thousand forcibles in any five years.
With that, the meeting ended. The lords pus
hed their chairs back from the table, began to rise. Gaborn reached into the pocket of his vest, drew out the keys for the King’s treasury, and tossed them to Borenson.
“Milord,” Jureem said, “May I suggest that you have him take seven hundred of glamour, three hundred of voice?”
Gaborn nodded. “As he says.”
Borenson left the room, headed for the treasury in the Dedicates’ Keep. Myrrima followed behind, and once they were outside, she accompanied him along the stone wall a couple of steps.
She grabbed his hand. “Wait!”
He turned to look at her in the starlight. The night was a bit chill, but had no teeth that bit. Myrrima stared up at him with worry in her eyes. Even in the starlight, she was gorgeous. The sinuous curve of her waist and the gleaming sheen of her hair tempted him.
“You won’t be back, will you?” she said.
Borenson shook his head. “No. Carris is nine hundred miles south of here. I can reach the northern border of Inkarra only three hundred miles farther on. I’ll head south.”
She studied him. “Do you even plan to say goodbye?”
Borenson could see that she wasn’t going to make this easy. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her. He wanted to stay. But duty called him elsewhere, and he had ever been loyal to his duty. “There’s not much time.”
“There’s time,” she said. “You’ve had all week. Why did you even remain in Heredon, if not to say goodbye?”
She was right, of course. He’d chosen to stay in order to say goodbye to her, to all of Rofehavan, perhaps to his own life. Yet he’d not had the strength to speak of it.
He kissed her lips, tenderly, and whispered, “Goodbye.”
He began to turn away, but she grabbed his arm again. “Do you really love me?” she asked.
“As best I know how.”
“Then why have you not bedded me? You’ve wanted me. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”
Borenson had not wanted to broach the subject, but he answered her now as honestly as he could. “Because to do so would risk siring a child—”
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