Brotherhood of the Wolf (53 page)

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 serious 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.

“Now we find that we will fight with a great army, and we fight not alone. The Earth fights with us!

“As you know,” he continued, “I have sent dozens of Chosen messengers abroad. Three of them are even now at Carris, where Raj Ahten's troops ring them about. I feel their danger, and the Earth gives me this warning: ‘Hurry. Hurry to strike!'”

He pounded the table for effect.

“As you also know, I planned to ride for Fleeds tomorrow at dawn. But now I fear I must travel sooner. I leave for Fleeds at moonrise, and I will camp there tomorrow only briefly. I call upon every man who can keep pace with my mount to ride with me, and for those who cannot, to follow as best you can. I hope to join King Beldinook at Carris no later than tomorrow at dusk. There, our numbers will swell with Knights Equitable and lords from Mystarria and Fleeds. We are going to war!”

The lords continued to cheer until Gaborn himself went to Myrrima and took her elbow, led her and Jureem down to the bailey to make the same speech to the knights camped there.

31
THE SMELL OF THE NIGHT WIND

That night, after receiving her applause, Myrrima took her forcibles and went to the Dedicate's Keep, begging Groverman's facilitator to perform an act that she'd always thought an abomination.

The facilitator was weary, but understood her sense of urgency. So he bade her enter the room with her basket of pups and sit in a cold chair.

The windows of the tower were open to the starlight, and the breeze entering the room smelled crisp and fresh.

The yellow pup squirmed in Myrrima's hand. Even as she held it, she fought back tears.