David Farland - Wizardborn

“Er, yes, your lordship!” Scallon said. “That’s what he’s after—just that what’s rightfully his.”

Chamberlain Galantine had fierce dark eyes.

“So you want your endowments now?” Galantine asked.

“Uh, not the endowments,” Scallon said. “He just wants the forcibles for now.”

Galantine smiled. “Is that so?”

Scallon shoved Waggit in the back, and Waggit nodded enthusiastically.

“I suppose that your friend here will sell them for you, to buy you ale?” the chamberlain asked.

Waggit shook his head. “No, he’ll hide them good, so no one steals them. He’s a good hider.”

Scallon shoved Waggit in the back again, and Waggit felt sure that it was a signal for him to say something. But he didn’t know what.

Galantine smiled even more coldly. “Sir,” he said to Scallon, “I trust you can find the door by yourself? Or do I need the guards to...take your hand?”

A low growling noise came from Scallon’s throat. “I don’t need no guards.” He gave Waggit another angry shove in the back and stalked from the room.

Waggit felt alone and scared. He could tell that Scallon was mad, really mad. Sometimes when Scallon got mad enough, he’d punch Waggit real hard. Waggit figured that as soon as he got out the door, Scallon would be waiting to hit him. The worry drove all other thoughts from his mind.

“Now,” Galantine said. “What shall we do with you?”

Waggit shook his head. He knew that something had gone wrong. He’d been bad. He wasn’t going to get his forcibles or his lands. But he couldn’t figure out what he’d done bad.

Galantine walked around him, studying him as if he were a calf in the market. “You’ve got big bones. That’s good. And you did kill nine reavers. That means you can move fast. How, exactly, did you dispatch those reavers?”

“I just jumped at ‘em and whopped in the soft spot!” Waggit said.

“Who showed you the soft spot on a reaver?” Galantine asked.

To his own surprise, Waggit remembered that. “Lugby did! He drew a picture on the ground, and showed me over and over.”

“No doubt when the reavers came, your friend Lugby let you take the first swing,” Galantine said.

Waggit couldn’t remember for sure. But now that he thought about it, he didn’t have to push anyone out of the way to get at them.

“Tell me, Waggit,” Galantine said. “Do you know what death is?”

“That’s where...you go to sleep, and don’t wake up.”

“Very good. Did you know that the reavers could have killed you?”

Waggit didn’t answer. Galantine sounded angry, and Waggit didn’t know what the right answer was. He shook his head in bafflement.

“So your friends shoved you in front of the reavers, and didn’t tell you that they might kill you?”

Waggit didn’t remember anyone mentioning that.

“Let me ask you this, Baron Waggit: do you think you could do it again?”

“Kill reavers? I guess.”

Galantine studied him for a long moment, nodded his head. Waggit had got the right answer!

“Let me ask you another question. Have you ever...dreamed of being like other men? Have you ever wondered what it would be like to remember things, to know things that other men know?” Waggit nodded.

“Wouldn’t that be worth more to you than gold?”

Waggit wasn’t sure. “Scallon said I should ask for the forcibles.”

“You’ve earned the forcibles,” Galantine said, “and you may have them. But the law only allows it if you use them in the service of your king. In other words, if you take them, you must do what he says.”

Waggit got confused. It must have showed on his face, because Galantine added, “He’ll want you to kill reavers.”

“Oh,” Waggit said.

“The king left no certain orders as to how I should handle you. Obviously, he wants to reward you, and he did leave some forcibles in my care to use as I saw fit. Rarely do our lords ever grant forcibles to fools. How about if I make you an offer? I’ll give you one forcible now, one endowment of wit, so that you have the capacity of a common man?

“After that, I’ll give you a horse and let you ride after the king. You can take your time, make your own decision. If you wish to become a knight and enter our lord’s service, you may take more endowments.”

Waggit wasn’t exactly sure what Galantine offered. He used too many big words, like “capacity.”

“Will I remember things?”

“Yes,” Galantine said. “From now on, you’ll be able to hide your own coins, and find them when you want them.”

“Will I remember...about riding on the horse with the king?”

“Do you remember it now?”

Waggit closed his eyes, pictured it. “Yeah.”

“Then you will remember it for as long as you live,” the chamberlain promised.

Waggit got so excited, he couldn’t speak. He nodded his head real hard, and Galantine smiled.

“Very well, sir,” Galantine said, with a tone of genuine respect in his voice.

Galantine led him to the facilitator. He climbed the tower to the Dedicates’ Keep and waited for the facilitator to prepare. Peeking east out the archery slot was like standing on a mountain. Lake Donnestgree shimmered in the morning sunlight.

Boats bobbed on the water by the thousands—riverboats with high prows used for hauling goods, and makeshift rafts formed by lashing barrels together and laying planks on top. Waggit waved at the people, but no one waved back. “Someday I want to ride on a boat,” Waggit said.

“Not with those unlucky souls,” Galantine said. “Those are the sickest of the sick. The king’s evacuating them downstream to safety. It’s the air here—the fell mage’s curses. Too many people died of the rot last night.”

Waggit peered harder and saw that indeed the rafts and boats were loaded with wounded men and women, people who had been mauled by reavers or crushed by falling stones. They lay on the rafts with bloody bandages wrapped around them, or blankets laid over. He saw the tiny forms of children, and the gray heads of old men. He felt sorry for them. But he still wanted to ride a boat.

Soon the facilitator returned up the tower stairs with a Dedicate and a forcible.

The facilitator took the forcible, a thin branding iron about a foot long, made of metal, and put it to the young man who offered himself as Waggit’s Dedicate.

The facilitator sang in a birdlike voice as he placed the iron to the Dedicate. Waggit was lost in the song for a long time, until he smelled charred flesh and heard the Dedicate wail in pain.

Then the facilitator waved the forcible around the room. It left a trail of light that hung in the air, glowing like a fiery snake. The facilitator continued to sing in his piping voice as he pressed the forcible to Waggit’s arm.

Waggit felt good then, better than he’d ever felt before. The forcible burned him, and as it did, he felt as if his head exploded, and the light itself filled him. At the same moment, he saw the eyes of his Dedicate go dim, and the young man stared at him, with a mouth like an open door that led to vacant rooms.

Waggit did, indeed, remember it for as long as he lived.