David Farland - Wizardborn

“Will you ride beside me?” Gaborn offered.

“I...don’t think so,” Waggit said. “I mean, I couldn’t. I’m not a real fighter—not like you lords. I only got one endowment, and it’s just enough to make me a commoner. Don’t know what I could do for you. I can’t even cook my own damned dinner. I had to have a stableboy show me how to saddle this beast. I only come to say ‘thank you.’ I never dreamt...how it could be.”

“Not a real fighter?” Gaborn asked. “You slew nine reavers with a pickax.”

“Dumb luck, that was,” Waggit said. He waited for Gaborn to smile at the joke. He’d caught sight of the reavers now, stared down at them.

“If you will not ride as a warrior,” Gaborn offered, “then ride beside me as a friend. You’ll learn to cook your own dinner fast enough, and maybe you’ll learn some other things that will serve you well.”

“I guess,” Waggit said, “if you’ll have me.”

A lord behind him said, “Good man!” and the other lords shouted, “Hurrah!” as if he were some champion come to fight at their side.

More hoofbeats sounded and two riders appeared round the bend this time: Sir Borenson and Myrrima, riding side by side. They galloped down the mountain. Gaborn’s entourage could not help themselves. Knights began to cheer and wave their weapons, shouting, “Hail Sir Borenson! See how well he rides!”

Borenson’s face turned scarlet, and he nodded sheepishly. Someone shouted, “Did you grow any spare walnuts for me?” and someone else called out, “Riding a horse with them is only half the test!” Gaborn’s heralds began blowing their horns in a cacophonous salute, and the men would not stop ribbing Borenson until he spoke.

He reined in his mount and raised his hands. “Hear, hear,” he called. “It is indeed true, thank you! I’ve grown three huge walnuts, and each twice as hairy as anything you’ve ever seen on a dog!”

The knights all laughed in an uproar, and someone shouted to Myrrima. “Is it true?”

Myrrima blushed a deep crimson and tried to stifle a laugh. “He’s a liar. There’s only two. They’re perfect, but enormous. It’s amazing that he can even walk. I fear that he’ll become bowlegged!”

The knights all erupted in raucous chortles and sniggers. Some knight called out, “Did you hear that, Sir Sedrick? Perhaps the wizard can help you with your little problem!”

Sir Sedrick’s eyes grew wide, and he bellowed, “What? I haven’t got no little problem!”

The laughter grew louder.

Myrrima hid her face behind her hand, seeking to conceal her embarrassment.

Sir Borenson waved graciously toward Binnesman, as if inviting him to take a bow, though Gaborn felt sure that the knight merely wanted to divert attention from himself.

The wizard smiled and nodded, with a dubious grin.

The knights erupted in cheers and shouts of laughter. Gaborn could not help thinking of Wizard Hoewell. He’d fought hard to discredit Binnesman so that he could gain a teaching post in the Room of Earth Powers. Hoewell might well be a worthy wizard, but he’d never summoned a wylde, and he’d certainly never managed to grow new walnuts on a man.

Gaborn looked over at Binnesman and said gleefully, “You’re going to be famous!”

Moments later, Skalbairn finished riding up from the south with a pair of scouts. “Milord,” Skalbairn shouted as he reined in his horse. The warlord’s charger was running fast. It skidded for the last forty yards, came to a halt so close to Gaborn that his own mount danced back nervously. Skalbairn’s eyes shone with excitement.

“Milord,” he said, “the reavers froze their asses in the snow last night, and they still haven’t thawed. The sun didn’t warm their burrows enough to rouse them until well after dawn. Even now they’re sluggish, trudging at half-pace. We only await your orders.”

Gaborn felt inside himself, wondering. He was tempted to attack, yet sensed danger. The reavers were not to he trifled with.

“Milord,” Skalbairn demanded, “may we charge?”

Gaborn could sense layers of danger, like the peels of an onion. Many men here could die if he chose to attack.

But I am the Earth King, Gaborn thought. It’s my duty to protect my people the best way that I know how.

The reavers were weak, had lost the fell mage that led them. They marched south along the very track from which they’d come, like ants following a food trail. He had the whole day to hunt. His knights were eager. The weather was excellent, and the terrain along much of the way would be perfect. In all of history, he had never heard of a lord attacking so many reavers in the open. Perhaps never again would conditions be so favorable.

But he wondered at the losses. How many brave men might fall? He could get no clear sense of the answer. It would depend on his tactics. In the long run, could he afford the losses? What battles would he face in the coming days?

With every moment, he felt that he was marching closer to the world’s doom. Men here would die today. Iome would soon face danger. Tens of thousands in Carris. And after that, the world.

Borenson spoke before anyone else. “Damn it, Gaborn, don’t you dare hold us back! Are we men here? Are we men at all?”

Gaborn looked at his old friend.

Skalbairn said in a rush, “Milord, I cannot honestly assure you that if you order us to withhold, all men will obey. Many of the lords below are sworn to a new order, the Brotherhood of the Wolf, and acknowledge no one as their master.”

Gaborn knew what he had to do. “Gentlemen,” he said. “There are thousands of reavers down there, heading for the Underworld. I will not have them return in a week to scale the walls at the Courts of Tide. There must never be another Carris!”

He felt an electric thrill go through the group.

“Will you lead a charge?” Skalbairn asked.

His people needed an Earth King—a strong lord, and wise, riding out of the mists of time. Binnesman had warned that he must not fight unless he felt backed into a corner, but there was more than one way to get cornered. He was in a precarious situation. Lords on his borders were watching for any sign of weakness. Men he had Chosen only yesterday had foresworn themselves.

He needed an overwhelming victory.

Most of all, he needed to find the Waymaker.

So men would die today, good men. Gaborn would spend his friends. He pointed to the dark serpent that rumbled across the golden plains. “We’ll kill them all.”

As soon as Gaborn announced that he would attack, he climbed down from his saddle and tightened the girth straps on his mount.

Borenson did the same. When a force horse was charging at ninety miles an hour, a knight couldn’t risk even the slightest slippage.

Borenson took some deep breaths. He felt nervous on this charge. He had a good eye and a steady hand with a lance, but it had been years since he’d made a charge with so few endowments. He had only one of brawn, one of grace. Without stamina he was a “warrior of unfortunate proportion.” His hands felt numb. The sound of men grunting and horses pawing the ground seemed unaccountably loud. Not for the first time he marveled at how fear could make sight and smell and hearing so acute, yet leave the hands and feet feeling numb and cold.

Gaborn asked Averan, “How far can a reaver see?” Borenson leaned close to hear the answer. For ages it had been a question of much speculation.

“It depends on the reaver,” Averan answered. “For most of them, about from here to that tree. The howlers see a little farther, the glue mums hardly see at all. Far-seers can do better.”