Brotherhood of the Wolf (25 page)

“Are we to speak here in the dark?” Lord Ingris asked in an effeminate tone, trying to head off an argument.

“Yes,” Gaborn said. “No flames. I've had a servant extinguish even the coals of the hearth. No one must repeat what is spoken here—in daylight, or before an open flame.”

Gaborn took a deep breath. “We are going to battle. The Earth has warned me that we are in grave danger, and tonight the Wizard Binnesman used Seer's Stones to show me our enemies. Right now, reavers are surfacing in North Crowthen.”

“What?” Lord Ingris said. “When do we march?”

“We don't—at least not against the reavers,” Gaborn said. “The Iron King has refused to answer any correspondence in the past week, and I do not know if he would welcome our troops in North Crowthen even now.

“Nor do I believe that King Anders will allow us to march through his realm.

“So, half an hour past, I sent Duke Mardon north to Donyeis with reinforcements, should the reavers strike in our direction, and I have sent both King Anders and the Iron King offers of aid. I shall do nothing more.”

“Then,” Lord Ingris asked, “you think the reavers contained?”

“Not at all,” Gaborn said. “Reavers have destroyed Keep Haberd in Mystarria. Others are in Kartish. And there may be more outbreaks still.”

In the darkness, the lords looked at one another. One swarm of reavers to the north was disquieting. But Gaborn's mention of multiple outbreaks to the south aroused solemn terror. This bespoke no isolated incident.

It bespoke the beginning of a wholesale invasion.

Borenson had heard about the outbreaks only moments before the meeting, but could hardly imagine any worse news. All his life, reavers had rarely trod the earth's surface. Yet ancient tales warned that it had not always been so, and everyone feared that someday reavers would surface by the tens of thousands.

“So we are facing a serious threat,” Gaborn continued, “one that for the moment we can do nothing about. But there is a second threat just as dire, for while the reavers nibble at our borders, Raj Ahten strikes at our heart.

“For the past week, Raj Ahten's troops have fled south. Weariness and the Knights Equitable have taken a terrible toll on the Wolf Lord's forces. He left Fleeds with over forty thousand men. Duke Paldane's scouts estimate that Raj Ahten now has but four thousand troops marching with him—only half of which are Invincibles—along with some few archers, frowth giants, war dogs, and sorcerers.”

“It sounds as if his forces are foundering,” Lord Ingris said hopefully. “They can't run forever.”

“It's true that Raj Ahten's men are exhausted,” Gaborn said, “and the mounts he picked up in Fleeds are outworn. He has left behind a ghastly trail of fallen giants, war dogs, and common soldiers, all too weary to match his pace.

“Yet at the moment, Raj Ahten himself eludes us. He has left those four thousand men behind, eighty miles north of Carris. Chancellor Rodderman and I have consulted the maps, and it may be that he himself has gone to rendezvous with his troops at the fortress at Tal Dur, though he may be heading to Castle Crayden or Castle Fells.”

“He won't run to Fells,” Erin Connal said. “I got news an hour ago. One of our scouts says that Raj Ahten's troops have all but abandoned Castle Fells. The majority of them seem to be moving toward Carris—over a hundred thousand men out of Fells alone, most of them common soldiers. Raj Ahten will join up with them. Your ‘Huntsman' Paldane is about to become the hunted!”

Borenson himself had warned Gaborn of this probability. He could not imagine the Wolf Lord retreating to some hill fort like Tal Dur when the mighty Castle Carris beckoned.

Horsesister Connal said, “My mother has ordered the Bayburn Clan to take Fells back for Mystarria.”

Connal's news obviously surprised Gaborn, for Borenson heard him catch his breath.

“That is well done!” King Orwynne said, while Lord Ingris clapped his hands.

In his mind's eye, Borenson imagined how Raj Ahten's troops must be converging. Carris was the strongest fortress in western Mystarria, and of great value, but Raj Ahten had used his Voice to destroy Longmot. Perhaps now he would do the same at Carris. Borenson could only hope he did not.

“If Raj Ahten succeeds in taking Carris,” Borenson warned, “half of Mystarria will fall this winter. We must stop him.”

Jureem folded his hands, elbows on the table, and put his fists under his pudgy chin. Speaking in his thick Taifan accent, he said to Gaborn, “Borenson is right, but I would be cautious, O Great One. Like a wolf, Raj Ahten hopes to strike at your soft underbelly, and that underbelly is Mystarria. He hopes to draw the Earth King into battle, force him to leave the Dunnwood. He
will
attack Carris.”

Gaborn said softly, “I know, and that fear has preyed much upon my mind. But there is one more threat that Binnesman showed me. Tonight, Raj Ahten's flameweavers summoned a Darkling Glory from the netherworld.”

Lord Ingris gasped in surprise, while the others took the news quietly. Borenson felt uncertain how to react to such news. He had heard of Glories, of course, creatures of light and goodness that inhabited the netherworld. And he knew vaguely that they had enemies, creatures of darkness with arcane powers. But he knew nothing more about them.

“We have feared assassins,” Chancellor Rodderman said. “It seems inevitable that Raj Ahten will strike at the Earth King. Will the Darkling Glory come here?”

“No,” Jureem ventured. “I think Raj Ahten will use it against Mystarria, against Paldane at Carris.”

“You're wrong,” Gaborn said. “The Darkling Glory
is
coming. The Earth has warned me.”

“So be it.” Jureem nodded in acquiescence. “A week ago, I knew Raj Ahten's strategies, but now the game has changed.”

“We'll need to fight this creature,” King Orwynne said.

Gaborn shook his head. “No. I'll have the people flee.”

“Then we'll notify them at once,” King Orwynne said.

Gaborn shook his head. “If word of this leaks out tonight, there will be blind panic. The plains are dark and full of horses and oxen—and children who would be crushed under their hooves. Half the men camped out there are drunk after Hostenfest. No, as hard as it is to bear, I will wait until first light to issue the warning. The danger is profound, but still distant.”

Erin Connal abruptly asked Gaborn, “Your Highness, can
you be sure that the Darkling Glory comes for you, and not against someone else—even Fleeds?” Borenson thought her prudent to be considering her own lands first.

“After I Chose my father,” Gaborn said, “I felt danger around him, a suffocating aura, like a black cloud. He died within hours. Ever since this morning, I have felt that aura growing around each person in this room—indeed, around everyone here at Castle Sylvarresta. For the past week, we have feared that Raj Ahten would send an accomplished assassin to our camp. Now I believe an assassin is coming, although it is something far more fell than any Invincible. And all of us here at Castle Sylvarresta are its targets. Vassals that I Chose at Longmot—and those on the road north—are in little danger. But every one among us here must be on our guard.”

“If you feel
our
danger,” Lord Ingris said, “then can you not sense Mystarria's danger, or Lysle's? Perhaps
you
could tell us where Raj Ahten plans to strike next?”

Gaborn shook his head sadly. “Until I see a man, I cannot Choose him. And this power is new to me. Aside from a few of my messengers who have been sent to Carris and the Courts of Tide, I haven't yet Chosen anyone in Mystarria or Lysle, so that I might gauge what is to come. We must therefore consider a plan of action, find a way to defend ourselves against Raj Ahten.”

“You should know,” Lord Ingris said, “that other lords have already moved against Raj Ahten. Upon first hearing of the invasion of Mystarria, we merchant princes struck against him—and we are not alone.”

“How so?” King Orwynne asked.

“While you defend yourselves with arms and men,” Lord Ingris said, “in Lysle our best defense has always been our wealth. We hire mercenaries to fortify our own borders and we pay tribute to our neighbors. Upon hearing of the attack, we sent messages to certain lords in Inkarra, offering bribes if they would send their assassins to slay Raj Ahten's Dedicates in the Southern Provinces, where he will least expect it.”

“Well done!” King Orwynne said. “I've a thousand good force soldiers in Orwynne who can attack from the north!”

Ingris smiled broadly. “The warlords of Toom may beat you to it, from all that I hear.…”

Sir Borenson sat and listened in dismay. He himself had slaughtered Raj Ahten's Dedicates here in Castle Sylvarresta, in the Dedicates' Keep not two hundred yards up the road. It had been a grisly deed, one that broke his heart. Though he told himself that he had acted under orders, and it was needful, he could hardly bear to sit here and listen to more talk of such blatant butchery.

He was about to speak when Gaborn himself cried “No!” and looked hard at Ingris and Orwynne. “I reject such a plan!”

“Why?” Ingris asked. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at his nose, and tossed the soiled kerchief to the floor.

“The price is too high,” Gaborn said. “I battle not against Raj Ahten, but
for
mankind. To send our warriors against one another is folly!”

Lord Ingris said matter-of-factly, “The arrows have already flown. It may be that you cannot save Raj Ahten from his doom.”

Surely, Borenson thought, the man is overconfident. After all, we have been sending assassins for years. But to Borenson's surprise, Gaborn looked very distraught. Gaborn asked, “Tell me, when did you reach this decision, to hire assassins from Inkarra?”

Lord Ingris considered. “It was in the afternoon, about a week ago. The day your father died.”

Gaborn stared hard at Lord Ingris. “On that very afternoon, the wizard Binnesman cursed Raj Ahten to death. Like you, he fears that the curse cannot be recalled. I cannot help but wonder at the timing. You may have been an instrument in the Earth's hands.”

Lord Ingris chuckled as if rejecting an unearned compliment. “I doubt it. If Raj Ahten dies, it will be
my
gold and
the Inkarrans' greed that killed him, not the curse of some Earth Warden.”

From behind Gaborn's chair, Iome spoke up. “And where did your gold come from,” she asked, “if not from the Earth?”

In the silence that followed, Borenson had to wonder was it really possible for a few assassins to strike so great a blow.

He doubted it. Raj Ahten had far too many Dedicates strewn across too vast a kingdom, and they were well guarded. Though Raj Ahten might be wounded, Borenson knew that he could not easily be killed.

Raj Ahten would have to lose certain key endowments first. If he lost stamina, for example, he might retain his strength yet still fall to a particularly nasty blow. Or if he lost metabolism, he might slow enough so that even the most mundane warrior could slice off his head.

Under the right circumstances, a few assassins
could
have a devastating impact on the Wolf Lord.

Gaborn shook his head and said, “In good conscience, I cannot wish any man's demise. I certainly cannot condone the killing of innocent men, women, and children whose only crime is that they allowed themselves to grant an endowment to Raj Ahten. I will stand up to him if I must, but for now, I wish only to stop him—or, better yet, turn him if I can.”

“Damn your fool pardon,” King Orwynne grumbled, half-rising from his chair, “but I knew you would say that!”

“You object to our lord's wisdom?” Jureem asked.

King Orwynne's face hardened. “Forgive me, Your Lordship,” he said, struggling to control his wrath. “You cannot risk allowing Raj Ahten to live. It would be more than imprudent, it would be foolish.”

“I do not make this choice because it is cunning,” Gaborn said. “I make it because I feel that it is the right thing to do.”

“You are a young man, full of noble-sounding ideals, and you have the Earth Powers to aid you,” Lord Ingris
said to Gaborn. “You may hope to turn Raj Ahten but how, may I ask, do you propose to do it?”

“I captured forty thousand forcibles at Longmot,” Gaborn said evenly.

King Orwynne, Lord Ingris, and Erin Connal all started in surprise.

“I've already used five thousand to renew Heredon's army and rebuild its cavalry,” Gaborn continued. “The remaining forcibles are enough to grant endowments for a small army—or enough to create a single lord as great as Raj Ahten.

“Last week, after the battle of Longmot, I'd thought I would do just that—become a lord equal to Raj Ahten, and then try to best him. Like you, I want to fight.

“But I am loath to call even Raj Ahten my enemy, though he has attacked my people. I am going to propose a truce.”

King Orwynne was flabbergasted. “He has carried his battle to us,” he said, speaking too loudly. “We can't just walk away from him.”

“He's right,” Jureem said. “My old master will not grant you a truce—unless you yourself were to give him an endowment. He will want your wit or your brawn, something to cripple you so that you can never rise against him.”

“Perhaps,” Gaborn said. “But I will propose a truce just the same. I will send a messenger bearing these words: Though I hate my own cousin, the enemy of my cousin is
my
enemy.' By the time that message reaches him, he will have heard of the fall of Keep Haberd, and perhaps even of his own troubles in Kartish. I will remind him of the threat of reavers, and inform him that I am now his cousin through marriage. To seal the peace, instead of my endowment, I will offer him twenty thousand forcibles. He knows that without them, I will be crippled enough. But I'll give the forcibles to him only on the condition that he agree to leave Rofehavan.”