Moreover, Orden's own father had been captured when he was but a boy, and then had been forced to give endowments to a Wolf Lord in the Southern Wastes. His father's friends had rescued him from his fate--with a sword.
Borenson could never know how much giving this order hurt. King Orden felt determined that his men would never know: Gaborn's great heart might well have earned him a death sentence.
King Orden clapped the big warrior on the shoulder in sympathy. Borenson was trembling. It would be a hard thing to go from being Gaborn's sworn protector to his assassin. "You heard me right. When Raj Ahten gets your message, he will race to Longmont, to meet me in battle. He will have hundreds of Dedicates in Castle Sylvarresta by dawn--Dedicates that he won't he able to carry south in such a hurry, Dedicates that he won't he able to properly guard.
"I want you to go into the Dedicates' Keep at Castle Sylvarresta, once Raj Ahten leaves, and slaughter everyone left within."
The big warrior's grin had now faded completely.
"You understand that this must be done. My life, your life, the lives of everyone in Mystarria--everyone you've ever known and loved--might well depend on it.
"We can show no weakness. We can show no mercy."
From a pouch at his hip, King Orden withdrew a small ivory flask. Captured inside were mists from the fields of Mystarria. Orden's water wizards had said that the flask contained enough mist to hide an army should the need arise. Borenson's army might need such a mist. He handed the artifact to Borenson, and wondered if he should also give the man his golden shield. It had a powerful spell of water warding in it. Orden had brought it as a betrothal gift to Sylvarresta. Now, he considered that he might need that shield himself.
Orden wondered. He did not want to kill Sylvarresta. Yet if Sylvarresta succumbed to Raj Ahten, then it became Orden's duty. The Kings of Rofehavan needed to know that no one could give endowments to the Wolf Lord. No one would be permitted to do so and live. Not even Orden's best friend.
"We will do what we must to our friends, our kin," King Orden said to himself as much as to Borenson, "if they serve the enemy. That is our duty. This is war."
Shortly before dawn, the sounds of many clanking chains preceded Binnesman into the King's audience hall; then the guards dragged the herbalist in to face Raj Ahten, as Iome watched.
She shuddered and hid in a darkened corner, afraid somehow that Binnesman would spot her, would loathe her very existence. In the past few hours, she'd had time to inspect the rune of power branded into the skin of her breast. It was a complex thing, a horrid thing that tried to draw far more than mere beauty from her. It tried to draw her pride, her hope.
Though she fought the influence of the rune, though she denied this boon to Raj Ahten, still she felt less than human. A mere rag in the corner, something that cringed and watched.
Legend said that long ago, the facilitator Phedrosh had created a rune of will, a symbol that sapped the strength of mind from its victims. Had Raj Ahten had such a magic symbol built into the rune that had branded Iome, she'd not have been able to deny him.
Now she felt grateful that Phedrosh had destroyed that rune of power and the secret of its making, before he fled to Inkarra.
As Binnesman was dragged to the room, his shackles rattled. Strong irons bound Binnesman neck to foot, hand to hand. Two guards merely lugged him across the plank floor, threw him at Raj Ahten's feet.
Four of the Wolf Lord's flameweavers walked beside the herbalist, all hairless, dark of skin. Three young-looking men and a single woman, all with that peculiar dancing light in their eyes that only flameweavers have. The male flameweavers had donned saffron silk robes, the woman a crimson mantle.
As the woman drew near, in the lead, Iome could feel the heat of her skin, a dry heat, as if her flesh were a warming stone to put in a bed on a cold night.
Iome felt the woman's powers in another way: a feverish lust came with her, mingled with a curious intellectual arousal. This lust was nothing like the earthy sensuality that Iome felt in Binnesman's presence--a desire to bear children, to feel small lips suckling at her breast. No, the flameweavers carried a consuming need to rape, to take, an undirected rage all finely controlled by keen intellect.
Poor Binnesman looked a dirty wreck. He was covered from head to foot in grimy ash, yet his sky-blue eyes showed no fear as he looked up.
You should fear, Iome thought. You should. No one could withstand Raj Ahten, the light in his face, the power of his voice. In the past few hours, she'd seen things she could not have imagined: Two hundred of her father's guard had granted endowments. Most needed little persuasion. A look at Raj Ahten's face, an encouraging word, and they gave themselves.
Few even thought of resisting. Captain Derrow, of the palace guard, asked to forbear swearing fealty to Raj Ahten, saying he was oath-bound to serve House Sylvarresta. He therefore begged to serve as a guard in the Dedicates' Keep, pointing out that other great houses would now send assassins to dispatch Sylvarresta. Raj Ahten agreed, but only on the condition that Derrow give a lesser endowment, one of hearing.
Another who begged no boon faced rougher treatment. Captain Ault refused the Wolf Lord entirely, had cursed him and wished him death.
Raj Ahten had heard the reviling with patience and a smile, but afterward, the woman in crimson had taken the captain's hand, tenderly. Then her eyes flashed in laughter as the captain burst into flames from toe to head and just stood, screaming and writhing as the fires consumed his flesh, melted his armor. The room had echoed with his shrieks. The odor of charred flesh and hair clung to the walls of the room even now.
Ault's blackened corpse was placed downstairs at the entry to the King's Keep.
So humbly now the people of Castle Sylvarresta came to stand before their new lord and give obeisance. Raj Ahten spoke calmly to them, his face shining like the sun, his voice as unperturbable as the sea.
All night long, Raj Ahten's troops had been marshaling the richest of the local merchants into the keep, seeking tributes of gold and endowments. The people gave to him whatever he asked, would give all that they had.
Thus, Raj Ahten had finally heard the name of the young man who had killed his giants, his outriders, and mastiffs on his errand to warn King Sylvarresta of the impending invasion. Even now, Raj Ahten's trackers scoured the Dunnwood, searching for young Prince Orden.
King Sylvarresta sat on the floor at Raj Ahten's feet. His neck had been tied to the foot of the throne, and King Sylvarresta, with all the naivete of a kitten, kept pulling at the rope, trying to chew it in half. The idea of untying himself did not occur to the King. Iome watched her father at Raj Ahten's feet, and even to her, Raj Ahten seemed great. His glamour so affected her that somehow she felt it fitting that her father should be there. Other kings kept dogs or great cats at their feet as pets. But Raj Ahten was more than a common leader. He deserved to have kings at his feet.
At Raj Ahten's side stood his personal guard, two counselors, and the fifth of his flameweavers, a woman whose very presence made Iome tremble, for she could sense the flameweaver's power. She wore a midnight-blue robe, loosely tied over her naked body. And she stood now before a silver brazier, like a large platter on a pedestal, on which she had placed twigs and knots of fiery wood. The green flames rose some three or four feet above the brazier.
Once that night, the woman had looked up from her brazier, her eyes shining with fierce delight, and said to Raj Ahten, "Good news, O Shining One, your assassins seem to have slaughtered King Gareth Arrooley of Internook. His light no longer shines in the earth."
On hearing this, Iome felt awed. So Raj Ahten was attacking more than one king of the North. She wondered at the depth of his plans. Perhaps we are all fools compared with him, she thought, as ignorant as my father tied at Raj Ahten's feet.
Now Raj Ahten gazed down at Binnesman in the light thrown from the pyromancer's brazier, and thoughtfully scratched at his beard.
"What is your name?" Raj Ahten asked the wizard.
Binnesman looked up, "My name is Binnesman."
"Ah, Binnesman. I know your work well. I've read your herbals." Raj Ahten smiled at him, patiently, glanced up at the pyromancer. "You bring him in chains? I would not have it so. He seems harmless."
The flameweaver beside the Wolf Lord gazed at Binnesman as if in a trance, eyes unfocused, staring past him, as if she sought to work up the nerve to kill him.
"Harmless enough, Your Lordship," Binnesman answered in a strong voice. Though he still crouched on all fours, he watched the Wolf Lord casually.
"You may rise," Raj Ahten said.
Binnesman nodded, struggled to his feet, though his chains kept him bowed so he could not raise his neck. Now Iome could see more clearly that he wore manacles at his feet, that his hands were cuffed, and that a short, heavy iron chain led from manacles to cuffs to neck. Though Binnesman could not stand upright, the bowed stance did not bother him. He'd hunched over plants for so many years, his back had become stooped.
"Beware of him, my lord," the pyromancer at Raj Ahten's side whispered. "He has great power."
"Hardly," Binnesman chided. "You've destroyed my garden, the work of master gardeners for over five hundred years. The herbs and spices I'd have harvested are all lost. You are known as a pragmatic man, Raj Ahten. Surely you know these were things of no small benefit!"
Raj Ahten smiled somewhat playfully. "I'm sorry my sorcerers destroyed your garden. But we haven't destroyed you, have we? You can grow another garden. I have some fine gardens, near my villas and palaces in the South. Trees from the far corners of the world, rich soil, plentiful water."
Binnesman shook his head. "Never. I can never have another garden like the one you burned. It was my heart. You see..." He clutched at his robes.
Raj Ahten leaned forward. "I'm sorry. It was necessary to clip your wings, Earth Warden." He spoke this title with solemnity, with more respect than he'd shown anyone else this night. "And yet, Master Binnesman, I truly did not want to harm you. There are few notable Earth Wardens in the world, and I've tested the efficacy of the herbs that each of your kind grows, studied the ointments and infusions you provide. You, Binnesman, are the master of your craft, of that I am sure. You deserve greater honor than you have been accorded. You should be serving as hearthmaster in the Room of Earth Powers in the House of Understanding--not that fraud Hoewell."
Iome marveled. Even in far Indhopal, Raj Ahten knew of Binnesman's work. The Wolf Lord seemed almost omniscient to her.
Binnesman watched him from beneath bushy brows. The wrinkled lines of Binnesman's face were wise, and after years of smiling, made him look kind and soft. But there was no kindness behind his eyes. Iome had seen him smash bugs in his garden with that calculating gaze. "The honors of men do not interest me."
"Then what does interest you?" Raj Ahten asked. When Binnesman did not answer, he said softly, "Will you serve me?"
The tone of voice, the subtle inflections, were all such that many another man would have prostrated themselves.
"I serve no king," Binnesman answered.
"You served Sylvarresta," Raj Ahten gently reminded him, "just as he serves me now!"
"Sylvarresta was my friend, never my master."
"You served his people. You served him as a friend."
"I serve the earth, and all people on it, Lord Raj."
"Then will you give yourself to me?"
Binnesman gave him a scolding look, as if Raj Ahten were a child caught doing wrong when he knew better. "Do you desire my service as a man, or as a wizard?"
"As a wizard."
"Then, alas, Lord Raj, I cannot take a vow to serve you, for it would diminish my powers."
"How so?" Raj Ahten asked.
"I've vowed to serve the earth, and no other," Binnesman said. "I serve the trees in their hour of need, as well as the fox and the hare. I serve men with no greater and no less devotion than I serve other creatures. But if I break my vow to serve the earth, if I seek instead to serve you, my powers would perish.
"You have many men who will serve you, or who will serve themselves in your interest, Raj Ahten. Content yourself with them."
Iome wondered at Binnesman's words. He lied now, she knew. He did serve men more than animals. He'd once told her it was his weakness, this peculiar devotion to mankind. In his eyes, it made him unworthy of his master. Iome feared that Raj Ahten would see through the lies, punish Binnesman.
The Wolf Lord's beautiful face was untroubled, and it seemed to Iome to be full of kindness.
Binnesman said softly to Raj Ahten, "You understand, as a Runelord, you must care for your Dedicates, or else in time they would starve or sicken. If they died, you would lose the powers you draw from them."
"The same principles apply to me...or to your flameweavers. See how they feed the fire, knowing they will gain strength from it in return?"
"Milord," the flameweaver at Raj Ahten's side whispered, "let me kill him. The flames show that he is a danger. He helped Prince Orden escape from his garden. He supports your enemies. The light within him is against you."
Raj Ahten touched the flameweaver's hand, calming her, asking, "Is it so? Did you help the Prince escape?"
Don't answer him, Iome wanted to shout. Don't answer.
But Binnesman merely shrugged. "He had a wound. I tended it, as I would if he were a rabbit or a crow. Then I pointed his way into the Dunnwood, so he could hide."
"Because?" Raj Ahten asked.
"Because your soldiers want him dead," the herbalist answered. "I serve life. Your life, your enemy's life. I serve life, as surely as you serve death."
"I do not serve death. I serve mankind," Raj Ahten said calmly. His eyes hardly narrowed, but his face suddenly seemed harder, more passionless.