Brotherhood of the Wolf (32 page)

If we are lucky enough to live so long, she thought.

Then she got to work. She packed her own things, then had some servants and a new guardsman—a powerful young lad named Sir Donnor out of Castle Donyeis—go with her to the King's treasury to remove all the gold and precious spices and armor and forcibles.

Gaborn had taken twenty thousand forcibles south to return
to Raj Ahten, in hopes that the Wolf Lord would agree to his terms for a truce. Yet he still had ten thousand forcibles in the treasury, along with other gifts that had been given recently by lords of Heredon. The gifts included plate mail for Gaborn and barding for Gaborn's horse given by Duke Mardon upon their wedding, but which Gaborn would not take into this battle, because of its onerous weight. In addition, there was a good deal of gold and spices given in revenue, for the harvest taxes were normally paid during the week of Hostenfest. The sum total amounted to several thousand pounds of treasure. So she had the servants quietly haul it all up to the tombs, where she locked it in the vault among the bones of her grandparents.

This feat in itself took her two hours, and when she had finished, the thought struck her that she ought to check on Binnesman, for she had not yet seen him, and she worried that he might need the help of some servants before they all left the city.

When she went to his room down in the basement of the keep, he was not there, though a fire burned in an old hearth, and the air smelled heavily of simmering verbena—an herb with a lemony scent, often decocted to make perfumes. Indeed the fresh fragrance filled the whole basement, and smelled like liquid sunshine. In the buttery Iome found Chancellor Rodderman's daughter, a sharp-eyed girl of eight, who had stayed in the keep while her father made certain that it was properly evacuated. The girl reported that Binnesman had left at dawn, saying that he would search the manor gardens down in the city for goldenbay, succory, and faith raven.

Iome abandoned that concern for a moment. Instead she made her way to the Dedicate's Keep, to make sure that the Dedicates had been evacuated.

In the past week the keep had become a different place. Sir Borenson, acting upon the orders of Gaborn's father, had slain all of the Dedicates here, for Raj Ahten had forced her father's troops to grant him endowments, thus seizing attributes from thousands of Sylvarresta's people. Borenson's
had been a horrific deed, and though part of Iome was grateful that someone had had the courage to do it, another part of her was still shocked and saddened. Many of the Dedicates had been servants who'd offered the use of their minds or brawn, stamina, or metabolism into the service of King Sylvarresta. Their only crime had been to love their lord and seek to serve him as best they were able. Yet when the knights to whom they had granted endowments were captured, forced to grant endowments of their own, the Dedicates had become converted to the use of a monster like Raj Ahten. Since no one could hope to slay Raj Ahten, his enemies' best hope was to weaken him—which meant slaughtering the enfeebled and innocent Dedicates. Borenson's feat had been a grisly task, killing fools who did not know that their own deaths were upon them, butchering those who had given metabolism in their endless slumber, murdering those so weak from having given brawn so that they could not even raise their hands to ward off a blow.

Borenson had been cold and distant to her and Gaborn since that night. He did not handle the guilt well.

And as Iome walked through the bailey that served as the courtyard to the Dedicate's Keep, she did not handle her own memories of this place well, either. The high narrow walls around the keep made it feel suffocating. The Dedicate's Keep carried too many dark memories.

Only a couple of small trees, stunted by lack of light, grew within the bailey. A week past, Iome's mother had lain here, her body hidden from sight after Raj Ahten murdered her. And after her father had given his endowment of wit to the Wolf Lord, Iome had stayed here a day serving him, though he did not know his own daughter to look at her. For not only was he witless, but she had given her own endowment of glamour to Raj Ahten's vector, and so had become ugly.

Iome crossed the bailey but dared not enter the keep itself, for fear that it would arouse too many memories of lost friends, for fear that she would find herself looking for
bloodstains on the mats and on the floors. Although the steward assured her the beds had all been burned and the floors, walls, and—by the Powers—ceilings had been scrubbed spotless, she could not willfully try to imagine what it had looked like.

At last she sent Sir Donnor into the keep proper to find Myrrima, while she waited in the courtyard with her Days.

Several wains were parked in the courtyard, and Iome watched a few guards leading the blind to one wain, carrying those who had given grace or brawn to another. They were a sad-looking lot, these people who had offered to become cripples in service to their king.

A moment later Sir Donnor exited the keep and assured Iome that Myrrima had attended to her mother and sisters, and even now was packing in her own room.

Iome bade Sir Donnor go to the stables and prepare their mounts, then went to inform Myrrima that they would leave together, heading south with her husband. Iome wasn't surprised to find Myrrima with her pups yapping at her feet, and a longbow with a quiver full of deadly looking arrows and a wrist guard on her bed. But she was surprised to find Myrrima trying on a rather shabby, heavily quilted old vest that looked fit to be worn only while scrubbing floors.

“Do you think it smashes my breasts down enough?” Myrrima asked.

Iome stared at Myrrima in frank surprise and said, “If you want smashed breasts, rocks might work better.”

Myrrima made a sour face. “I'm serious.”

“All right, smashed enough for what?”

“So that they don't get in the way when I shoot!”

Iome had never fired a bow, though she knew ladies who had, and she recognized Myrrima's predicament.

“I've got a leather riding vest in my wardrobe that might work better. I'll get it for you,” Iome offered.

Then she told Myrrima that they would both be riding south. Myrrima seemed both astonished and genuinely gladdened by the prospect of following the men to war.

An hour later, Myrrima and Iome had a good breakfast
with Iome's Days and Sir Donnor, but by ten in the morning Binnesman had still not come back to his room, so they sent to the stables for their horses and prepared to ride out, leaving little undone. Iome's puppies were left in the King's kitchen, until she felt sure that she would depart.

In all the confusion, Iome still had not talked to Jureem. When she reached the city gate, she found him shouting at people who loafed outside the castle.

Iome had imagined that by now everyone would have fled the grounds outside Castle Sylvarresta, but it was not so. As she looked through the city gates, she realized that the roads to the south and to the west, the roads heading into the Dunnwood, were jammed with carts and oxen and peasants, many of whom had given up on the notion of travel and were just milling about. Of the pavilions near the castle, a full quarter of them still stood, and many of their occupants seemed not to be interested in going anywhere at all.

Jureem had his hands full. Though he was a fine servant—perhaps the most capable servant she'd ever met—he could not do the impossible.

And the situation before him was clearly impossible. A full five thousand petty lords and knights and even some peasants with nothing more than longbows to use as weapons had besieged the gates of the castle and demanded entrance. The city guard—about forty men—barred their way.

“What's going on?” Iome demanded.

“Your Highness,” Jureem explained, “these men have decided that they want to guard the castle walls.”

“But…” Iome could think of nothing to say for a moment. “But Gaborn told everyone to flee.”

“I know!” Jureem said. “But they choose not to listen.”

It astonished her that a vassal would disobey the command of his king. She looked to Sir Donnor, as if for an answer. But the blond lad merely glared at the troublemakers. She gazed out over the throng. “Is this true?” she asked. “Are none of you Chosen? Did you not hear the commands?”

At that, hundreds of men looked away in shame. Though they might stand up to Jureem, a mere servant, they would not do so to Iome.

Baffled, she said. “Do you even know what a Darkling Glory is? Can you guess its powers?”

One man, a petty lord she recognized as Sir Barrows, stepped up. “We've heard of Glories and Bright Ones—we all have,” he said. “And if the old tales be true, they can die in battle, same as a man. So we was thinking we could stand fast on the battlements with the siege engines—the ballistas and catapults and steel bows, and kill it before it even lands.”

“Are you daft?” Iome shouted, astonished by the man. “I know you are all courageous, but are you also daft? Did you not hear your lord's command? He told you to flee!”

“Of course we heard, Your Highness,” Sir Barrows replied, “but surely that command was meant mainly for women and the little ones. We're all strong men here!”

At that, the men all shook their spears and axes and raised their shields and shouted in a great cry that echoed from the hills.

Iome stared in utter amazement. They had heard the word of the Earth King and had decided to keep their own counsel. She turned to the captain of the King's Guard and commanded, “Place two hundred archers on the wall. Shoot any of these men who comes within bow range.”

“Milady!” Sir Barrows said in a hurt tone.

“I'm not
your
lady,” Iome turned on him and shouted viciously. “If you will not follow my lord's word, then you are not
his
servant, and you are doomed to die, all of you! I may applaud your valor, but I will curse your foolishness, and I will punish it, if I must!”

“Your Highness!” Sir Barrows said, dropping to his knees, as if awaiting her order. After a moment, the others fell in line and followed his example, though some were slower to bend the knee than others.

She turned on Jureem. “Why are people milling about
on the roads?” she asked. “Can't they get away from the city?”

“The slower travelers get in their way,” Jureem said. “Many of the carts are heavily laden, and some have broken axles or lost wheels, so everyone must move around them.”

Iome turned to the troops that knelt before the castle gate. “Sir Barrows, send a thousand men up each road and have them clear the carts of those who are stranded. Put them to work fixing wheels and axles. As for those folk who have chosen to remain afield, go find out why they are here. If they have valid reasons to stay, I want to know. If they don't have good reasons to stay, tell them that you have orders to kill anyone found within five miles of the castle within the hour.”

“Your Highness,” Sir Barrows cried in astonishment. “Do you really want us to kill them?”

Iome felt bewildered by his stupidity. But then she remembered that Gaborn had said earlier in the week that he thought it wrong to ever curse a man for being a fool, for fools could not help themselves and were forever at the mercy of the cunning. “You shan't need to kill them,” she warned. “The Darkling Glory will do it for you.”

Sir Barrows opened his mouth in sudden comprehension. “It will be done, Your Highness.” He turned and began shouting orders.

Jureem bowed his pudgy figure to her, the decorative hem of his golden silk robes sweeping the dust. “Thank you, Your Highness. I was not able to reason with them, and I dared not disturb you.”

“Next time, dare,” she said.

“There are other matters,” Jureem said.

“Such as?”

“Hundreds of people are too ill to run. Some are too old, too infirm; some are mothers who have given birth in the past few hours, or warriors who were injured in yesterday's games. They have asked permission to take cover in the castle. I've had them carried to the inns until we can decide what to do.”

“Can we load them on wagons?” Iome asked.

“I've had physics talk to those who can speak at all. Anyone who could be loaded on a wagon has already gone. Some physics have offered to stay and tend the ill.”

Iome licked her lips, grimaced in despair. Of course they could not be moved. Such people could not move five miles—or a more appropriate fifty—in a day. “Let them stay,” she said. “Some will have to stay hidden.”

She wondered if she should order the physics away, for she feared to lose such highly skilled men and women, but she also dared not deny the sick and the dying whatever succor she could give.

As she considered what to do, Binnesman came strolling through the crowd of warriors from someplace outside of the city. A sack on his back was overstuffed with goldenbay leaves.

Though it was still morning, already Binnesman looked spent. “Let them stay, Your Highness,” he shouted, “but not in the uppermost rooms of the inns. Go instead to the deepest cellars, well belowground. I shall come put runes on the doors to help conceal them, and I'll leave some herbs that might offer protection.”

Iome felt more relieved to see Binnesman than reasoning could account for. As Binnesman approached, she understood why. Often in the past, she'd felt the earth power that pooled within him, a slightly disturbing power that spoke of birth and growth and that filled her with creative longings. But this morning he must have been casting strong protective spells, for she felt as a harried rider might when fleeing enemies and suddenly has found himself safely within a castle's walls.

That is it, she realized. This morning she felt safe in his presence. “You look over-worn. Can I do anything to help you?”

“Yes,” Binnesman said. “I would be less worried for you, Your Highness, if you would flee the city like everyone else.”