Brotherhood of the Wolf (31 page)

When the fellow was done, Borenson expected him to offer the Invincible a key. But he did not.

Instead, the Invincible took the reins to Borenson's mount and began walking it down the mountain.

“Do you have the key to the manacles?” Borenson asked.

The Invincible shook his head. “I do not need one. A smith will remove the manacles—if it ever proves necessary.”

Borenson got an uneasy feeling. A new fear took him. Raj Ahten seldom killed men. He did not steal their lives. He stole their endowments.

A man like Borenson would be a prize.

The Invincible smiled coldly when he saw that Borenson had understood.

Borenson had surrendered without a fight.

15
THE SCATTERING

At dawn, after a night of fitful sleep, Iome wakened to a voice ringing in her mind. “Arise, all you Chosen who reside at Castle Sylvarresta. A Darkling Glory comes, and time is not great. You must prepare to flee into the Dunnwood. Arise.”

The effect was astonishing. Iome had never felt so completely … dominated by the will of another. The voice rang inside her skull like a bell, and every fiber in her sought to obey. Every muscle seemed to react.

Her heart pounded wildly, and she gasped for breath. She leapt from the bed, grabbing only a quilt to throw around her shoulders, scattering the pups that had slept beside her.

All right, I've risen! she thought distractedly. Now what?

Run! she decided in a blind panic. The Darkling Glory is coming.

She would have raced away from the castle in that quilt alone but she realized that it was too immodest. She leapt to her wardrobe and threw on a chemise and skirt, along with a traveling robe and her riding boots, while her five yellow pups circled her and yelped and leapt and wagged their tails, wondering what new game this might be.

She thought only of the stables, tried to determine the quickest route to her stables and her mount. She was about to flee the castle with nothing else in hand when she stopped cold.

Wait, she thought, panting. Binnesman had said that the Darkling Glory would not arrive until tonight. Which meant that she had all day to make good her escape.

Yet the Earth King had warned her through his powers, had warned everyone in and around the city to arise and flee. No, not to flee, to “prepare” to flee.

As she considered, she realized what a feat it would be. There were tents to move, and animals, baggage, and stores by the wagonload. Worse than that, people had been traveling to Castle Sylvarresta from all across Heredon and environs beyond. Never had the city hosted more than a hundred thousand people, yet now the fields around the castle were cluttered with seven times that number. If everyone fled at once, every road out of town would be jammed.

Gaborn had decided to warn them all now so that he could give them a head start. Instead of running for the forest, as every instinct warned her to do, Iome stooped and stroked each of her pups for a moment. Outside, she heard a few thousand people crying out in dismay, and the sounds of the people camped outside the castle rose to a dull roar. Gaborn had warned them only to prepare, yet it sounded as if the mob were panicking. Iome closed the pups inside her room, and raced to the top of the King's Keep.

There she found Gaborn staring out over the city. The place was bedlam.

Thousands of people were running for the Dunnwood, screaming and crying, many carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs. Others tore down their pavilions as quickly as possible. Horses bucked and grew frightened, racing from their desperate owners. Yet not everyone did as Gaborn had commanded. Many among the camp had not yet been Chosen, and therefore had not heard Gaborn's command. Thousands of these raced for the castle, as if to seek verbal orders or possibly defend the keep. Others had decided that running north, away from the Dunnwood, was more sensible. They blindly surged toward the town of Eels, some two and a half miles north of Sylvarresta.

At the far edge of the camp, King Orwynne had mounted some five hundred knights, and another thousand lords of Heredon stood with him, prepared to head south. They included every lord or knight among Gaborn's retinue who could command a force horse.

It was not a large force to send against Raj Ahten, but a powerful one, comprised only of those warriors who rode force horses capable of traveling two hundred miles a day. The warriors looked eager to ride as they awaited Gaborn, many of them glancing back over the camps.

Yet the Earth King stood on his tower, awestruck, dismayed at the madness he had caused by issuing his warning through the earth powers. Gaborn wore a simple shirt of horseman's mail beneath his cape, and had put on his riding boots. But he had not yet donned his helm, so that his dark hair hung down to his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Iome demanded. “You nearly frightened me to death! You nearly frightened all of us to death.” She put one hand over her chest, vainly trying to still her heart, to calm her breathing.

“I'm sorry,” Gaborn said. “I'd hoped it would go better. I've been fighting the urge to issue the warning all night. I had to give them as much time as possible to flee, but I
dared not have them running blindly in the darkness. I don't want to panic them.”

His tone was so apologetic that Iome knew he meant it. He was concerned only with the welfare of his people.

Suddenly his voice rang through her mind again. “Calm yourselves. You have the whole day. Work together. Save the old and the young and the infirm. Get as far from the castle as you can by nightfall.”

People were still running, though many of them stopped and tried to obey his newest command.

He pointed down to the roiling mass of falling tents and fleeing citizenry. “You see what happened? Many of those people camped by the river came out of West Heredon, and they would have trampled everyone in camp as they dashed for their homes.

“And down there, see that red pavilion where the children are crying? Their mother and father fled without them! I applaud the parents' obedience, but I had hoped for a more measured response.

“Yet I Chose the man and woman in the tent next to them, and neither of them have bestirred themselves to get out of their beds at all, as far as I can tell! They must be packing, I think, but what if the danger were more immediate? Should I applaud them for their measured response, or will they someday die because of it?

“And see up there, many people have reached the edge of the Dunnwood already, and now they mill about in confusion, unsure what to do next. And others may not stop running—no matter what I say—until they faint from exhaustion. Who among them is right? Those who follow the very letter of my command, or those who strive too hard?

“And over there, you see that old woman struggling to escape? She must be ninety. She cannot possibly walk more than two miles in a day. Do you think anyone will help her?”

As Gaborn studied the swirling miasma of humanity, his mouth gaped open in astonishment and horror.

Iome understood now. He was so new to his power, so unused to it, that he wielded it clumsily. He could not afford to wield it so. His power was like a sword, a weapon that was only useful if the arm that wielded it could parry and thrust with accuracy. He was trying to learn his strokes now.

And so much depended on those strokes—the lives of every man, woman, and child in this vast throng.

But even as she watched, she realized that he witnessed an even greater horror. As Earth King, he had power to warn his people, but he could not force them to obey. He could not compel them to act in their own best interests.

With the issuing of his second command, the confusion began to ease. Gaborn sent them a third warning, asking them to calm themselves and care for one another. People all took a moment to stop and stare up at Gaborn. Tents and pavilions still fell with marvelous rapidity, but now parents raced back to their children, while strangers went to help the elderly. Iome no longer worried that people in the lead might be crushed under the feet of those behind.

Gaborn nodded in approval, turned to Iome and hugged her.

“Are you leaving now?” she asked, not wanting him to go.

“Yes,” he said. “King Orwynne and the others are already mounted, and we have far to travel today. Few of the horses will be able to handle such a pace. I've sent messengers to Queen Herin the Red and on into Beldinook, asking them each to host us for a day. We'll travel without cooks or any other camp followers.”

Iome nodded. It would be a hard march without any camp followers, without cooks or washwomen or tents or squires to care for the armor and animals. Yet if they were to travel quickly, they'd have to make do. In troubled times like these, no lord would dare refuse to feed his company. They'd be glad for the reinforcements, and a night's food and lodging would be small recompense.

Then Gaborn asked something unexpected. “Will you
ride with me?” It was not common for a lord to take his wife to war, but it was not common for a lord to desert his wife within six months of the wedding, either. She suspected that it was a hard thing for him to ask.

“You ask me to come now?” she said. “You could have asked me hours ago. I'd have been ready.”

“I looked in on you hours ago. You slept fitfully, and you don't have the stamina to go without sleep and then ride all day. So I had the idea of asking Jureem to stay a few hours this morning and take notes, watch the camp and learn what he can, so that next time I must warn a city to flee, I'll know how to do it. I thought that you could stay with him, then ride later this morning. Your horses are fast enough so that you should catch up quickly.”

“May I bring Myrrima?” Iome asked. “She'll want to come, too. I'll need a lady to keep me company.”

Gaborn frowned slightly. He would not want to take another lord's wife on what might prove to be a dangerous journey, but saw his wife's need to follow the rules of propriety. “Of course.”

He stared, his dark blue eyes gauging her. “I saw the pups in bed with you.”

“You weren't there,” she said in her own defense. “I needed something to keep me warm.”

“Are the nights so cold?”

“‘The Knights are Hot in Heredon,'” she said, quoting the title of a bawdy ballad that she'd never heard openly sung in her presence.

Gaborn laughed uproariously and his face reddened. “So, my wife wants to be a wolf lord and slouch about alehouses now, singing bawdies and showing her legs!” Gaborn said. “Queen of the byways! People will say I'm a bad influence.”

“Do you disapprove?”

Gaborn smiled. “No. If I did not have my endowments already, I might have slept with some pups last night. I'm … relieved that you accepted Duke Groverman's gift. He
will be delighted that he has served you so well.” Gaborn considered for a moment. “I'll have the treasurer set aside forcibles for your personal use. A hundred should do.”

“I will have Jureem bring some extra puppies for you, too, then,” Iome said. “You are going into battle soon.”

Iome grabbed him and kissed him on impulse, then suddenly realized she was kissing him here on the tower, while probably not less than ten thousand eyes were watching. She pushed back in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said. “The people are staring.”

“They saw us kiss at the wedding,” Gaborn said, “and as I recall, some cheered.” He kissed her again. “Until this afternoon, then?”

“Thank you,” she replied.

Gaborn bit his lip, smiled worriedly, and said, “Never thank a man for taking you into battle until after the war is over.”

Then he turned and raced down the hatch at the top of the tower. In moments she saw him striding out of the keep, along the cobbled streets to the King's Gate, then he was lost as he moved down to the blackened corner of Market Street, where he'd killed the flameweaver last week. Masons had been hard at work repairing the damage to the buildings there, but cleaning and replacing the stone faces of the market would take months or years, and already the place was being referred to by the locals as the “Black Corner.” Iome imagined that four hundred years from now, strangers getting directions to some establishment would be told, “Aye, the silversmith's shop is up on the Black Corner, toward the portcullis,” and everyone would understand what it meant.