Worldbinder (20 page)

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 there 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 else 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.”

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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.

And after an hour, they seemed to be gone. No more foul rains hurtled down, no crude jests or harsh laughter assailed him.

He waded to the far end, then reached up and began trying to climb out of the privy.

There was little to hold onto. The walls were wet and slimy. Mold and unhealthy funguses grew upon them, making them slick. There was no brickwork or mortar here, with crevices that he might slip his fingers into, just solid rock worn smooth over the ages.

Still, he had to try.

He pressed his fingernails into a sheet of mold, hoping that it might give him some purchase.

He was wet, soggy, and that added extra pounds.

He pulled himself up slowly, and let the urine drip off of him a little, hoping to reduce his weight. But the sheet of mold broke free, and he slid back.

I would weigh less if I were naked, he decided.

He did not want to suffer that indignity. He didn’t want to risk having someone see him squirming as he struggled up out of the privy.

On the other hand, I doubt whether I ever want to wear these clothes again, he told himself.

With grim determination, he shucked off his pants, ripped off his tunic, and began the climb.

It took him nearly an hour to get ten feet up the wall. But from there, the slope suddenly got steeper. By then,
his fingernails and toenails bled, and he was straining every muscle.

He dared not rest. He was too wet and slimy. Each time he laid against the wall, he merely slid back into the cesspool.

If I were dry, he thought, perhaps I could get more friction, perhaps I could make it.

And so he clung in one spot, sweat streaming down his forehead and from his armpits and chest, hoping to get dry enough so that he might find some purchase.

All of his endowments of strength and grace could not suffice to get him one foot farther up the wall. Only superhuman effort had gotten him this far at all.

Suddenly, he heard a soft thud, and a coil of rope came twisting down out of the darkness.

Who? he wondered. Daylan had seen the grief-stricken look on Alun’s face when he’d been arrested. He wondered, Is he trying to make amends?

But it wasn’t Alun who spoke. It was the High King himself, his mournful voice echoing in the small chamber.

“Daylan Hammer, the troops are assembled at the gate, and soon they will be gone. The guard will be light. There are those who would thwart you, if they knew of your purpose. But I wish you well. By the Powers that preserve us I beg you, save my son.”

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