Brotherhood of the Wolf (58 page)

Tempest looked up uncertainly. “Milord, my wife used my warhorse to bear my children and a wagon here to Groverman. I have my horse and my armor still. I am an uncommonly good lancer. Though I no longer hold any endowments, I beg to ride south with you.”

“You would not survive longer than your first charge,” Gaborn said.

“Be
that
as it may,” Tempest growled.

“As penance for your deed,” Gaborn said, “I will not accept your death. I want your life in service. I have hundreds of men riding now into war, and many of them will not return. I need warriors. I beg you to stay here at Groverman with your wife and children, and protect them. Furthermore,
I bid you to begin training warriors. I need a thousand young lancers.”

“A thousand?” Tempest asked.

“More, if you can get them,” Gaborn said. He was making an outrageous demand. Normally, a knight might choose two or three squires to train to knighthood during his entire lifetime. “I will notify Groverman of what I require,” Gaborn said with a heavy heart. “There will be dogs to serve as Dedicates and forcibles for every young lad or lady who joins under your command. You say you are a fine lancer, so you can teach the lance and the care of horses. Other men can teach the warhammer and the bow and how to care for armor.

“Choose only the smartest and strongest that you can find,” Gaborn said, “for you have only until spring. The warriors' training must be completed by spring. The reavers will come upon us this spring.”

Gaborn wasn't sure why he believed that. Evidence said that the reavers were already rising from their lairs, but it was common knowledge that reavers could not well abide the cold. They made their lairs deep in the hot parts of the Underworld, and when they did make forays to the earth's surface at all, they tended to do so in the summer. They retreated underground with the snow. He hoped the reavers would not travel far in the cold.

“Six months?” Tempest asked. He did not say it was impossible, though his tone spoke for him.

Gaborn nodded. “I hope for so much time.”

“I will begin tonight, milord,” Tempest said. He rose to his feet, saluted, turned, and marched down the stairs.

Gaborn stood holding his candle. He looked back at Iome through the open door. The bed had not seemed comfortable; it was too soft or too hard or something. He doubted he would be able to sleep, and instead found himself wanting to walk in the Duke's garden.

The smell of the herbs there would be a better balm than sleep, he thought.

Gaborn bore the candle downstairs to light his way out
the back door of the keep and into the Duke's herb garden.

In the starlight, he could hardly see. In one corner of the garden sat a white statue of a lord on a charger, spear raised to the sky. Willows hung down to brush the soldier's head, and a small pool reflected starlight at the charger's feet. Gaborn blew out the candle.

He smelled lavender and savory, anise and basil, in the garden. It was nothing so marvelous and large as Binnesman's garden at Castle Sylvarresta had been, before Raj Ahten's flameweavers burned it, yet still Gaborn felt refreshed by its presence. Just being here lightened his heart.

He pulled off his boots, letting his feet touch the cold night soil. The feel of it was like a balm, soothing his nerves, restoring him.

He realized that he needed more. He pulled off his armor and had half-removed his robes before he realized what he was doing.

He looked about guiltily, as if afraid that someone might see him naked. To his astonishment, at that moment the wizard Binnesman stepped out from behind a screen of yellow roses.

“I wondered how long it would take,” Binnesman said.

“What do you mean?” Gaborn asked.

“You are a servant of the Earth now,” Binnesman said. “You need its touch, as much as you need breath.”

“I… wasn't going to lie down,” Gaborn said.

“Why not?” Binnesman said, as if mocking the falsehood. “Does the soil displease you?”

Gaborn was unable to answer. He felt somehow embarrassed, though he knew that the wizard was right. His skin craved the touch of the Earth. That is why he had not been able to sleep. Slumber would not suffice. His weary ache required something more.

“It should please you,” Binnesman said. “May the Earth hide you. May the Earth heal you. May the Earth make you its own.” The wizard struck the ground with his staff, and the grass at Gaborn's feet parted with a ripping sound. Rich dark soil lay exposed.

Gaborn reached down, tasted it.

“Good soil,” the wizard said, “strong in the Earth Powers. That's why this castle was built here. When old Heredon Sylvarresta first came to this land, he looked for the good soil and built his castles atop such places. An hour asleep here will rest you more fully than many hours in bed.”

“Truly?” Gaborn asked.

“Truly,” Binnesman said. “You serve the Earth now, and if you serve it well, it will serve you well in return.”

Gaborn resisted the urge to lie down. Instead, he looked up at Binnesman, studied the wizard in the dark. In the starlight, Binnesman's face glowed lightly, and starlight limned his graying hair.

The color in the wizard's face was off. Still too green, so that he no longer looked quite human.

“I have something to confess,” Gaborn said.

“I will help you if I can,” Binnesman said.

“I … I lied to my men tonight. I told them that the Earth commanded me to strike at Raj Ahten … but that's not exactly right.”

“It isn't?” Binnesman asked in a dubious tone.

“The Earth warns me that many will die if they do not flee,” Gaborn said. “Yet it allows me to strike. I … I'm not sure what the Earth wants.”

Binnesman hunched close to the ground, held his staff loosely. “Perhaps …” Binnesman said, “you are deceived.”

“Deceived?”

“You say the Earth wants you to strike at Raj Ahten? But are you sure it isn't
you
who wants to strike Raj Ahten?”

“Of course I want to strike him,” Gaborn said.

“So you hold the banner of truce with one hand, and the battle-axe with the other. Do you offer death or peace? And how can Raj Ahten trust you, if even you have not made up your mind?”

“So you think I should offer him peace? But what of the Earth's command to strike?”

“I think,” Binnesman said firmly, “that you must look beyond illusions. Raj Ahten is not your ultimate enemy. You were sent to save mankind, not to fight it. You must see
that,
before you understand the Earth's will.

“The reavers too are an illusion. You fight powers unseen. Whether you strike at Raj Ahten, or the reavers, or someone else, you must realize that they are only substitutes for your true enemy.”

Gaborn shook his head. “I don't understand.”

“I suspect it will become clearer when you reach Carris,” Binnesman tried to reassure him. “The Earth knows its enemies, and you have the gift of Earth Sight. You will know the Earth's enemies, too, when you see them.”

Gaborn merely hung his head, too weary to puzzle it out.

Binnesman looked at him with concern, touched Gaborn's shoulder. “Gaborn, I must tell you something now. I don't want to offend you, but it has been much on my mind.”

“What is it?”

“You have determined to go to war,” Binnesman said. “You will ride to battle, am I right?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

“Then I must wonder: Do you understand your role as an Earth King?”

“I believe so. I am to Choose the seeds of mankind, to save them through the dark times to come.”

“That is right,” Binnesman said. “But don't you understand that no matter how much you want to fight, it is not your place to do so? You would be offended if the stablemaster decided to serve your dinner, wouldn't you? Nor would you allow your chief steward to sit in judgment for the King. It is not the Earth King's duty to engage in conflict. If I understand correctly, it is your duty to
avoid
conflict.”

Gaborn knew that. He knew, yet could not quite live with it. “Erden Geboren fought battles two thousand years ago. He fought and won them decisively!”

“He did,” Binnesman said. “But he did so only when his
back was to the wall and he could run no farther. He did not lightly put his people at risk.”

“Are you saying that I must not ride to battle?” Gaborn asked, still incredulous.

“You are the Earth King, and you must Choose the seeds of mankind,” Binnesman said. “I am the Earth's Healer, and I must do what I can to help it recover after the coming scourge. There is another who will be the Earth's warrior. You cannot claim that title.”

“Another?” Gaborn asked. “Who?”

“I speak of the wylde.”

“The wylde?” Gaborn asked, uncertain. Binnesman had given part of his life to raise a wylde, a creature made of Earth to be its champion. But the thing had leapt high into the air at its inception. Though Gaborn's men had scoured all of Heredon, the wylde had not been seen since.

“Yes, the wylde,” Binnesman said. “I formed the green knight to fight in the Earth's behalf, and it will fight, once I complete its creation. A wylde lives only to fight, and it is a far more powerful foe than you will ever be.”

“Are you sure it is still alive?” Gaborn asked.

“Yes,” Binnesman said. “I have studied the tomes thoroughly in the past week. It is alive and aware, I think. It is most likely just lost, wandering in the wilderness. So long as there is enough healing power left in the Earth, the wylde cannot easily be destroyed.”

“You say you have not completed it, but the wylde did take form, didn't it?” Gaborn asked. He had seen the thing take shape in the darkness, at the ruins of the Seven Standing Stones. But the soil and stones and bones that Binnesman had laid out to create the wylde had flowed together so quickly, Gaborn had not seen much before it departed.

“It has form,” Binnesman said. “But still the creature is not finished. I created the wylde, but I must still
unbind
it.”

“What do you mean?”

Binnesman considered for a moment. “Think of it as a child, a dangerous child. The wylde is newly formed, but it is still ignorant, and thus needs a parent. It needs my
care. I must teach it right from wrong, as I would any child, and I must teach it to fight.

“When it has learned enough, then I will unbind it, grant it its free agency, so that it will be released to fight as it sees best. Only then will it become fully effective, capable of defending the Earth.”

“It has no free agency?” Gaborn asked. “Is it like a marionette then, waiting for you to move it? If that's so, then it could be lying in the bushes somewhere. We might never find it!”

“No,” Binnesman said. “It can move. But until I unbind it, it must obey my commands—or the commands of those who invoke its true name. After the unbinding, no man will be able to control it.”

“It will still follow your orders, won't it?” Gaborn asked. “Eldehar created a warhorse and rode it into battle.”

“He could not have ridden it once it was unbound.” Binnesman shook his head. “No … there are no words to describe the unbinding. The wylde is itself, independent. It can exist only so long as it feeds upon the blood of its enemies. It must fight with or without me. It cannot be constrained. It must be allowed to remain
wild
in ways that you cannot understand, as feral and untameable as the most vicious pack of wolves.

“The wylde is not a beast, so much as it is a concept formed by the Earth, a concept for which we have no words.”

Binnesman sat for a moment, clutched his staff with both hands. He looked up at the starlight. As if he had not sufficiently stressed an earlier point, Binnesman said, “You must not seek out battles. That is not your domain. I wonder … are you striking out in anger?”

Gaborn fixed Binnesman with a calm expression of certainty. “There is no anger in the Earth's desire,” he tried to explain. “I do not wish to strike in anger. Instead, I feel the Earth's call as a plea for help. Strike, it begs me. Strike before it is too late!”

“All right,” Binnesman said in a placating tone. “I believe
you. I believe that the Earth begs you to strike. So I will ask you only one thing: to be mindful of your target.”

“I am the Earth's King,” Gaborn promised. “I will do as it wishes.”

“Good,” Binnesman said. “That is all I can hope for. You must rest now, milord.”

Gaborn was tired, terribly tired. He pulled off his tunic, lay down naked on the soil.

It seemed surprisingly overwarm to the touch, as if it still held the heat of the day.

Binnesman waved his staff, and soil washed over Gaborn, a comforting blanket.

Beneath the soil, Gaborn lay with eyes closed and felt the tension ease from his muscles.

At first, he felt afraid, for he did not know how he would breathe, but after a long minute of holding his breath, he realized that he did not need to breathe. Even his lungs rested, and he lay with warm humus sifting into his ears, pressing upon his chest and face, filling the tiny spaces between his fingers.

In moments he was fast asleep, and for a time he dreamt that he was a hare on the road outside Castle Sylvarresta, running from some unknown danger to reach the safety of its hole. He bolted through some blackberry vines and raced into a nice safe warren, down into the darkness where the scent of young hares came strong.

There, in the very back of the warren, Garborn found his young kits, four small hares that were just a day old.

His breasts were heavy with milk. He lay on his side, panting from his exertions, and let the kits nuzzle, pressing hard against his breasts to release the milk.

As Garborn lay there, panting, his heard the wizard Binnesman speaking up above the warren. He leaned his long ears back, heard the conversation distinctly as horses pounded the hardpan of the road overhead. “The Earth is speaking to us. It is speaking to you and to me.”