Brotherhood of the Wolf (24 page)

“What should I do?” Gaborn asked.

Binnesman didn't answer, merely frowned as he read the
entry on Darkling Glories. Iome realized that he had no answer.

“That fool, Raj Ahten,” the wizard muttered, “to loose such a monster now.”

Binnesman knelt by his crystals, nudged one a hairsbreadth, and shifted his view so that he could better see Raj Ahten's army.

For a long moment he stared, then he spoke to Gaborn. “I don't see Raj Ahten himself. Where could he be?”

Gaborn studied the image, too. “It's dark there. Maybe he's in the shadows, near the rear.”

“No,” Binnesman said. “He would be at the forefront, to greet his new ambassador. He's gone. He's split off from his main army for some reason.”

“But why?” Gaborn asked. “Can you find him?”

Binnesman shook his head and frowned. “I doubt it. An army, a volcano—these are easy to spot. But one man, riding in the night? It could take me days, and I'm at the end of my strength.”

Binnesman turned away from the Seer's Stone, and the image faded altogether, though the glowing crystals still provided some small light for the room. In that light, the wizard looked ill-used. Only a week before, his robes had been green, the color of leaves in high summer. But then he'd tried to summon a wylde, a creature of the Earth that would strengthen his powers. Unfortunately, the wylde had been lost, and Binnesman was now weary and weakened.

“I have been studying the volcanoes,” he said glumly, “trying to figure out the reavers' plan of attack.

“I must admit that it makes little sense to me. The reavers are surfacing in places that are far apart from one another, and most of them are far from any human habitation.

“But one thing I have noticed. They arise in places where there is already an old volcano nearby, or regions filled with hot springs or geysers.”

“Which means?” Gaborn asked.

“There is a realm of fire at the heart of the earth,”
Binnesman said, “as you yourself saw when we reached the Idymean Sea.

“I think,” Binnesman continued, “that in some places, this realm of fire comes closer to the earth's surface than in others. That is where hot springs form, and volcanoes arise. Now I wonder if perhaps the heat is driving the reavers to the surface.”

Gaborn changed the subject. “It is of more immediate concern that Raj Ahten is preparing to attack Mystarria in earnest. I'll need to convene a council with my war leaders.”

“War with Raj Ahten?” Binnesman asked. “Are you
sure
that is wise, with so many reavers surfacing?”

Gaborn sighed heavily. “No. But if I do not at least give some sign that I will fight him, Raj Ahten may do more damage. I can only hope that once he learns of the danger in his own lands he will retreat to Indhopal and look after his own defense. I may even be able to negotiate a truce.”

The wizard studied Gaborn thoughtfully. “You may try to reclaim Raj Ahten if you want,” Binnesman said. “But I don't know if even
you
can save him. Remember that I cursed him a week ago. Such curses take time to reach their full effect, but I suspect that now you cannot help him.”

“For the sake of my people, I must try,” Gaborn said.

Binnesman peered up at him from beneath a bushy brow. “And for the sake of your people, I must warn you: Raj Ahten is not likely to take counsel from an enemy. You will be placing yourself in grave danger when you go before him. It may be that he is even trying to draw you into battle, for he knows that he cannot attack you here, so close to the Dunnwood, where the wights protect you.”

“I know,” Gaborn said uneasily. “Will you come with me, then?”

“You know that I have no strength in war,” Binnesman said, “but I may follow in a day or two and offer what help I can. As for now, I must prepare to face the Darkling Glory, and I must meet it alone.”

“You?” Gaborn asked. “Alone, without a wylde? I can
marshal fifty thousand knights to fight at your side.”

“And they would avail you nothing—merely get themselves killed,” Binnesman said.

“What weapons can you muster?” Gaborn asked.

“I… don't know yet,” Binnesman said. “I'll have to think of something. As for you, convene your war council. Your men know how to fight better than I do. At dawn, warn the people to flee Castle Sylvarresta. Certainly you feel the approaching danger. And now, I must rest.”

With no more preamble than that, he staggered toward a corner and lay down on some thick loam. The loam could not have been here long, Iome realized. The floor of the cellar was paved with a few flagstones thrown over hardened dirt. The wizard must have obtained that soil himself; Earth Wardens often administered healing soils to the sick. Iome wondered if the soil he slept in now had any special properties. He pulled handfuls of dirt close to him, and sprinkled some over him, and soon was sleeping peacefully.

Iome looked around. Now the room smelled only faintly of mildew and the clean scents of the wizard's herbs. She could feel earth power here, that strange tingling sensation she got whenever Gaborn or the wizard drew near. Only here it was stronger. Unbidden, the blessing that she'd heard so often lately from Gaborn came to mind. “May the Earth hide you. May the Earth heal you. May the Earth make you its own.” This was a place surrounded by Earth.

“Let's go,” Gaborn said.

12
IN THE KING'S COUNCIL

Sir Borenson woke Myrrima with only a little shaking, and told her his news: Gaborn had requested her attendance at a council meeting.

“Are you certain that he wants
me?”
Myrrima asked, bewildered. She'd come after dinner to lie on the bed and had fallen asleep in her clothes. She sat up stiffly.

“I'm sure,” Borenson said.

“If he wants to know which autumn flowers will look best in the Great Hall,” Myrrima said, “I could counsel him till dawn. But I know nothing of war.”

“Gaborn likes you,” Borenson said, somewhat at a loss himself. She had no skill at war, and Borenson suspected that Gaborn had invited Myrrima as a mere courtesy to him, so that he could spend more time with his new bride before leaving for Inkarra. But he dared not hurt his wife's feelings by telling her so. “Did he not say when he first met you that he wanted you in his court? He respects your opinion.”

“But… I feel as if I'm an imposter.”

“I'm sure the King feels the same way himself,” Borenson ventured. “A week ago, his greatest worry was whether or not to wear a feather in his cap when he came before Iome to ask for her hand. Now his father is dead, and he must plan a war. A week ago, I am sure that Iome worried most about what color thread to use in her embroidery, but she'll be at the council, too.”

“It sounds as if he has invited everyone in the kingdom to his council!” Myrrima said in surprise.

“Not everyone. Chancellor Rodderman and Jureem will attend, as will Erin Connal, King Orwynne, High Marshal Skalbairn, and Lord Ingris of Lysle.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Myrrima rose from the bed, glanced in a mirror, and began combing out her long dark hair.

Borenson felt unsure of his own place at this council. He was now, after all, a blank shield by avowal.

A few days ago, he had promised to give himself two weeks to prepare for his journey to Inkarra. He'd wanted time to say goodbye to his homeland and to his wife. He'd thought he'd have that time. But then Borenson had also believed that Raj Ahten would flee home to Indhopal for the winter. Instead, the Wolf Lord was driving south, straight into the heart of Mystarria, giving Gaborn no respite. Now Gaborn was stuck up here in Heredon, all but severed from his own realm and from his counselors.

So Borenson had not been able to bring himself to head south on his quest to Inkarra. Not while his friend still needed counsel. Though as a Knight Equitable, Borenson was free to leave, until tonight, he'd chosen to stay.

But he knew that if Gaborn rode south to Mystarria, Borenson would ride, too. And once he set his back to Heredon, and to his wife, he would not return until his quest ended.

“What of the herbalist Binnesman? Won't he be at the council?” Myrrima asked.

“He's asleep,” Borenson said, “and cannot be disturbed.” Of all those missing from the council, Borenson wondered most about Binnesman. He'd offered to put a boot to the wizard's ribs and roust him from bed, but Gaborn had forbidden it.

“Then what of Prince Celinor,” she inquired, “or the other merchant princes of Lysle?”

Borenson frowned. Everyone present at court these last few hours had heard how the merchant princes had come to town and set up camp, then bade Gaborn come to their pavilions and Choose them, as if he were their servant rather than the Earth King.

Borenson would have damned the lot of them, but to
everyone's surprise, Gaborn had complied, Choosing several of the uppity lords.

“I suspect that the King does not fully trust Celinor,” Borenson answered. “And though Gaborn has invited Lord Ingris, he apparently thinks that the other merchant princes would be of as much help as a gaggle of geese.”

“It seems to me that other lords could be in camp by now,” Myrrima said. “What of North Crowthen, or Beldinook?”

“We've had no word out of North Crowthen,” Borenson said. “The Iron King never liked Sylvarresta, and it may be that like his cousin King Anders, he has no interest in the Earth King. Or it may be that he faces problems of his own. Reavers are surfacing in North Crowthen tonight. Gaborn has already sent messengers to the Iron King, offering aid.

“As for Beldinook, King Lowicker is frail.…” Borenson did not know what more to say. Lowicker had always been a friend to House Orden, but Borenson did not trust the man. It seemed to him that Lowicker used his frailty as an excuse for inaction whenever it came in handy. Still, Borenson parroted Gaborn's assessment of the situation. “Lowicker had to contend with Raj Ahten marching through his lands on his way to Mystarria, after all. It is no wonder that he has not yet sent emissaries.”

When Myrrima had combed her hair, she stood for a moment studying her reflection by candlelight. She looked beautiful and desirable.

Borenson offered his hand, and escorted his wife downstairs to the Great Hall. They found Gaborn sitting in darkness at a table with his back to the wall. No candles or lamps lit the room, no fire warmed the hearth. The room had but one open window, to let in a little starlight. The rest of the windows remained shuttered.

In the darkness, King Orwynne had taken a place to Gaborn's left. Iome sat away from the table, at Gaborn's back. To Gaborn's immediate right was the popinjay Lord Ingris—a gracefully aging fellow in a tritipped maroon felt hat adorned with an enormous dyed ostrich feather. His silk
blouse glowed pearl-white in the darkness, and rings and necklaces and buckles sparkled even in the wan light. Jureem sat next to him, his southern attire for once outmatched in gaudiness. Gaborn motioned for Borenson to sit next to Jureem.

Myrrima went to the back wall and seated herself beside Iome, taking the Queen's hand. Borenson watched his wife. Iome clutched Myrrima as if seeking support. The Queen's face was limned by starlight. Borenson could see from the set of her jaw that Iome was terrified.

Borenson glanced at Gaborn. In the starlight he could see the sheen of sweat on the King's brow. They're both frightened, Borenson realized. This would indeed be no ordinary council.

A few moments later, Erin Connal entered the room and took a seat at the far end of the table from Gaborn, next to Chancellor Rodderman. The Days all lined up against a wall behind the lords.

“We searched the camp for the High Marshal,” Rodderman said, “but there's no sign of him. He's already gone.”

“I feared as much,” Gaborn said.

“You gave him little choice,” Borenson said, not bothering to hide the challenge in his tone. He thought Gaborn had been wrong to reject the High Marshal's offer of service, and by the Powers, though no one else would ever dare chastise the Earth King for his error, Borenson would not hide his feelings.