The Lair of Bones (34 page)

“The time has come,” Raj Ahten said, “to claim Mystarria. Roust your men from their dreams. They must reach Carris by tomorrow at dusk.”

“But, O Light of Understanding,” Moussaif apologized, “my men are faint. We have had little food and no rest for days, and Carris is still thirty miles away. We just set camp an hour ago. The horses are tired.”

“Your men can rest at Carris,” Raj Ahten said. “They can eat Mystarrian food and drink Mystarrian blood for all I care. Tell every archer to bring a bow, a quiver of arrows, and nothing else. Tell every pikeman to bring his pike.”

“But, O Fire of Heaven,” Moussaif argued, “Carris is well defended. I was there at dawn myself, and rode close enough to see. Fifty thousand people are working like ants to rebuild the towers, and great columns of horses and men were entering the city. Its defenders number twice what you found a week ago!”

Raj Ahten stared down from his horse, seething.

“Of course,” Raj Ahten told himself. “I should have known. Gaborn felt the danger rising at Carris. He knew I would bring it down. So he hopes to make one final stand.”

“It is not you that worries him,” Moussaif said. “My spies got close enough so that they could hear some workmen talk. They say that reavers are marching on Carris once again.”

In a fit of rage Raj Ahten spurred his horse up a nearby ridge, to a lone peak where only a stunted pine grew. With his endowments of sight, he peered down upon the world, like an eagle from its perch.

To the south, more than three hundred miles off, he could see a veil of blowing smoke, and feel the heat of distant fires. The power in them called to him, whispered his name. Beyond the flames lay an endless black line of
reavers that stretched over rolling hills. There had to be tens of thousands of reavers coming to battle, perhaps hundreds of thousands.

Ahead of their lines, he could see the distant glint of sunlight on mail, and the twinkle of flames. The knights of Rofehavan were trying to stall the reavers in their march, slow them with a wall of fire.

To the west, but thirty miles away, he could see the workers at Carris, struggling to repair the castle walls and prepare for battle.

Raj Ahten closed his eyes. He had nearly died at the hands of reavers when last he visited Carris. He had grown since then. In Deyazz, his facilitators vectored endowments to him. Raj Ahten could feel virtue filling him in waves, renewing his strength and vitality.

But he had gained more than just mere endowments. A hidden inferno burned inside him now, enlightening his mind. He consulted the flames.

Attack,
Fire hissed in a voice like flickering flames.
Many will die. Make a sacrifice of them to me, and I will give you victory.

“I hear and obey, my master,” Raj Ahten whispered.

He smiled. A battle was rising, such a battle as had never been seen before. He had some surprises in store for his enemies—men and reavers alike.

21

Never fear a man based upon his outward form, but upon his inner spirit.

—
Erden Geboren

By the time Erin reached Raven's Gate, the night skies had grown black with torment, and peals of lightning tore through the shredded clouds. A hard rain pelted down, pinging off helms and armor, dribbling beneath sur-coats, drenching capes. The horses splashed through puddles, and mists rose so thick from the fields that Erin felt as if she breathed more water than air.

Raven's Gate cast an imposing shadow on the horizon. Three enormous black towers loomed above the castle walls above the fields. The middle spire rose much taller than the rest, like the highest tier of an obsidian crown.

A broad river ran to the base of the fortress. Upon its banks, rich plantations and cottages sprang among the rolling hills, presenting a tapestry of fields and gardens.

Erin watched the castle drawing closer, lit by flickering thunder. She had never seen Raven's Gate, with its legendary Tower of Wind. Here the Wizard Sendavian had paid homage to the Powers of the Air in ages past. Here the kings of South Crowthen had guarded their Dedicates for nearly two millennia.

Here at least twenty thousand knights filled the fields before the castle with pavilions. Squires and cooks had kindled fires within every pavilion, so that they glowed with their own inner light, like gems at the base of a black mountain.

As King Anders rode near the pavilions, lightning flashed above. Dark siege engines squatted among the fields, ballistas by the score. Captain
Gantrell blew his war horn, and knights sprinted from their tents with weapons drawn, preparing to barricade the highway.

As King Anders rode to a wall of human flesh, his knights and their squires shouted, “Anders! Anders of Crowthen! All hail the Earth King!” Heralds blew their silver coronets, squires banged shields as if they were drums.

The pavilions housed more than just the lords of South Crowthen. Erin saw merchant princes from Lysle all dressed in purple robes and shining armor; and dire Knights of Eyremoth looking pale as ghosts in white; while Duke Wythe of Beers out of Ashoven stood tall and haughty in his gray robes.

Not all among the camp were Runelords. Many archers, and camp fol-lowers, crowded close for a look at Anders, along with hopeful young men with naught but sheepskin for armor and cudgels for weapons.

Anders had emptied his realm, gathering all of his warriors here. His troops only awaited his command before marching across the border.

These lords and commoners alike stood with strange expressions, eyes gleaming with wonder and love for their lord.

Erin had never seen folk so ready to fight and die for their king. Indeed, it gave her pause. If indeed Anders did harbor a Darkling Glory's locus, and if she sought to strike him down, she saw now that she would never escape his realm alive.

King Anders's gray warhorse reared back and pawed the air. He raised his left hand and shouted to the horde of warriors, “I Choose you. I Choose you for the Earth.”

The people cheered and pounded their weapons against their shields. To the north lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, as if the very heavens sought to surpass the people's applause.

They believe that he's an Earth King, Erin realized.

“Gentlemen, I apologize for the weather,” King Anders said as the rain hammered on his helm. His men laughed. “We dare not ride in this storm at night, but be set for tomorrow. At dawn we ride to Beldinook to confront Lowicker's daughter, who even now marches forth to prose-cute her unjust war against the people of Mystarria. But the Earth has called me to be its king, and I must protect mankind. Erden Geboren fought for twelve years before the nine kings bent their knees and bestowed
upon him the iron crown. I will not repeat his folly. Tomorrow, Lowicker's daughter will bow her head to me, or we will take it off!”

The men cheered wildly, and a bolt of lightning sizzled across the heavens, arcing from cloud to cloud as it tore at the sky. Thunder roared, and the ground rattled.

Erin stared hard at Anders's back. She didn't like his words. He would have either dominion or bloodshed. That wasn't the kind of Earth King Gaborn had been.

But a mad thought entered her mind: Perhaps that's the kind of king he should have been. Perhaps Anders
is
an Earth King.

Erin had still seen no evidence that Anders had any prescient powers. She had not heard his voice in her mind warning her of danger.

Dare I test him to learn if he is a true Earth King? she wondered. If I try to stick my sword in his back, will he feel it coming? And even if I did test him, would it be a true test? What are the powers of a Darkling Glory's locus? Can it mimic those of an Earth King? A great weariness was on her. She had been fighting fatigue all the long day as she rode south. Her eyes felt heavy and full of grit, and her mind seemed to be turning like an ungreased wheel, slowly grinding toward ruin as the sands wore it down. She didn't trust her own judgment now.

And what if I kill him? she wondered. I have no proof that he harbors a locus. He might be nothing more than a madman. It would be a small deed, a dirty thing, to kill a man for his madness. And if he's not mad, if indeed he does have a locus in him, what then? I can't kill it. It will simply find a new host.

Either way that she looked at it, Erin could not raise her hand against the old king, for his death would avail nothing. It was his
unmasking
that she needed.

The men continued to cheer as King Anders rode into Raven's Gate. Erin followed in her sodden clothes, fighting sleep. The castle wall rose high, some eighty feet, and as Erin rode under the arch, she felt as if darkness swallowed her.

They continued up a short lane, to the base of the Tower of Wind. Footmen took charge of the horses. Erin got off her mount, stiff legged, and made her way into the keep.

Celinor took her hand, looked down at her smiling.

King Anders told them, “Freshen up before dinner. I'll meet you in the tower loft. We have much to discuss.”

Celinor led Erin up six flights of stairs to a kingly bedchamber. A small fire flickered in the hearth. The room felt cozy, almost overwarm. At the door, Celinor ordered a maid to find suitable dry clothing for his wife, then he stripped off his wet clothes and armor. He stood naked for a moment, wiping down his armor in front of the fire. Outside, thunder raged.

Erin took off her own soggy riding cloak, leather armor, pants, and boots, but left on her long undertunic. As she hung her things by the fire, Celinor set down his oil rag and took her in his arms.

“Let's try out the bed. My father won't mind if we're a few minutes late for dinner.”

“We'll not be needing a bed,” Erin said. “You've already got your seed in me.”

Celinor's face fell, as if he were hurt. “You're angry about something, aren't you?”

“You told your father about the sending. You told him that Paldane is my sire. You broke every confidence I've ever placed in you! And now you wonder that I'm angry?”

“I—” Celinor began, “I didn't mean to hurt you. Of course I told him everything. My father and I keep no secrets. I never have to worry what he's thinking, for when he is with me, as soon as a thought enters his mind it comes out on his tongue.”

“That's no excuse,” Erin said. “You can control your own tongue.”

“I'm trying to win his confidence,” Celinor argued. “How can I hope that he'll trust me with his innermost thoughts if I don't seem to reveal my own? If he is mad, I need to know it. I need proof of it.”

“You went to Heredon as his spy,” Erin said. “Tell me, are you still his spy?”

“Of course not,” Celinor said. “But he must believe that I am.”

“And what of me?” Erin demanded. “He sent you to learn my lineage. Did your father demand more of you? Did he tell you to be courting me?”

“Now you're the one who is talking madness!” Celinor said. He backed away a step and shook his head.

“You think I'm mad?” Erin said. “You told me that you thought your father was mad! Is everyone mad but you?”

“You've met my father now,” Celinor said. “What do you think? Is he mad? Or is he the new Earth King? Is it possible that he is everything he says that he is?”

“I think,” Erin said, “that your father is either a madman or is infected by a locus.”

“And what of the Nut Woman?” Celinor asked. “She's an Earth Warden, and she backs up his tale.”

“I don't know.” Erin's head was whirling. She looked hard at Celinor. “I asked you a question a moment ago, and you never answered.”

“What question?”

“I asked, ‘Did your father send you to court me?'”

“What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one, from the heart. You say that you and your father keep no secrets. Will you keep secrets from me? Tell me, did your father ask you to court me?”

Celinor's smile faltered. She saw now that he had been trying to smile in the face of her accusations. He stood gazing at her for a long moment, sadness and worry warring in his countenance. “Yes,” he admitted. “He thought it would be well if I courted you—that is, if indeed you were Gaborn's kin.”