David Farland - Wizardborn

As Earth King, Gaborn had ridden to Carris in hopes of saving his people. He’d managed to do it in glorious fashion. But in doing so, he’d called attention to himself. The enemy knew his name, and would come to hunt him. Binnesman had warned him that the more people he tried to save, the more his enemies would try to destroy them. Perhaps in freeing Carris he had triggered the battle that would destroy the world.

He hadn’t considered this.

He wondered at his own wisdom. Even now he planned to hunt down this One True Master. Was it possible that in doing so, he might provoke the very catastrophe he sought to avoid? No, he didn’t believe that. The Earth had whispered to his soul that this was the right course.

Yet doubt nibbled at him. He’d lost most of his powers, and now felt bereft. Could it be that he was mistaken in his designs?

He peered up at Mangan’s Rock. The reavers had nearly cleared the trees from its crown. They’d bulled them over the cliff to the ground.

A vast contingent of reavers manned the cliff face as if it were a castle wall. They stood with blades and knight gigs and staves, gazing out like sentries. The philia on their heads waved about, tasting the air.

They’d taken a nearly unassailable position.

“You said that they were racing to the Underworld,” Gaborn asked. “But if they plan to warn their master, why stop now?”

“Maybe it’s because you killed their fell mage.”

“So we killed a mage. Does that alter the plan?”

“Yes!” Averan said. “A new sorceress has to take the lead, and she’ll...make changes.”

“What do you mean, ‘make changes’?”

Averan huffed. “You killed a mage. That proves that her ideas weren’t good enough. The new mage will try new things against you, and pick new leaders for the blade-bearers. Killing one mage can change everything.”

Of course, it made sense when Gaborn thought about it.

“There’s no telling what they’re plotting,” Skalbairn said.

Gaborn could see a weakness in relying on Averan for information. She could see into the reavers’ minds better than any human had ever done. But all of her news was hours old. She couldn’t tell Gaborn what he needed to know now.

“If they are ill and thirsty,” Jerimas offered, “I can see no outward sign of it. But every moment that they sit there on Mangan’s Rock is another moment that they’ll stay hungry and thirsty.”

“So what is their new mage thinking?” Iome asked.

“Perhaps she’s merely waiting for the sun to warm them,” Binnesman offered. “That’s what lizards do before they hunt.”

“Or maybe they just want rest or time to think,” Iome suggested.

“Not likely,” Skalbairn said. “That rock is like a fortress. I think the reavers hope to draw us into battle.”

That seemed most probable. Gaborn looked from face to face. Jerimas’s eyes twinkled. To the scholar this was merely an elegant puzzle. Skalbairn was already eyeing the rock, trying to figure out how to pull the reavers down from it. Iome looked scared.

Skalbairn said, “Maybe it’s a diversion. By taking a defensive position here, the reavers could hope to draw reinforcements away from nearby castles. They may even have reinforcement of their own on the way.”

That was a frightening thought. Gaborn gave Skalbairn a look. “Right,” he said. “We’ll check into it.” He nodded toward a captain nearby, who rushed off to gather scouting parties.

“You know,” Jerimas said, “maybe the reavers have more than one objective.”

Gaborn suspected a plot. Tens of thousands of people in Carris were still in danger. He reached out with his Earth senses, touching them—and immediately noticed something odd. Those people weren’t in Carris anymore!

Instead, most had already fled the city, bearing southeast so that now they were just forty miles east and a little north of him. Others of his Chosen were heading west or northward from the city, but Gaborn sensed no trouble around them or those that stayed in Carris—it was only the people traveling southeast. And not even all of those were in danger.

None of the roads in that direction were any good. Most travelers moving southeast took boats on the river Donnestgree to the large cities downstream.

With a sinking heart, he recalled the wounded he had evacuated from Carris. There had been legions of sick and dying—more than ten Binnesmans could have handled. Now they spread for miles along the river. Were they heading into an ambush? The danger was rising. By this time tomorrow it would be upon them. It could be anything—reavers, a flash flood, or an attack by Lowicker’s troops.

Gaborn turned to Skalbairn. “While you’re sending out scouts, have a dozen men head downstream along the Donnestgree.”

“Yes, milord,” Skalbairn said. He nodded toward his captain.

“You know,” Skalbairn offered in a dangerous tone, “if these reavers do want to warn their master about you, you’ll have to stop them.”

“Perhaps my best chance would be to ambush the One True Master,” Gaborn said, “before she hears the news.”

But he had no idea how to reach her in the Underworld. The only person who might decipher the reavers’ trails was Averan, and she’d need the Waymaker’s knowledge to do it.

She hadn’t agreed to lead him. He hadn’t even dared to ask her. He didn’t want to sacrifice her.

A dozen lords had gathered round. Gaborn asked, “Gentlemen, may we have some privacy?”

He took Averan by the shoulder and led her away from the knot of warriors. Only Iome and Gaborn’s Days dared follow.

“Averan,” Gaborn said. His stomach knotted. “I have an enormous favor to beg.”

“What?” Averan asked in a small voice. She was trembling. She looked very timid, though she tried to be brave.

“I’m going to the Underworld, to look for the Place of Bones and the One True Master. Can you lead me to her?” He’d known that he would have to ask this of her, yet asking was hard.

Averan swallowed and began to tremble harder.

“You can’t ask that of a child,” Iome said.

“I have to,” Gaborn replied. “We’re running out of time.”

“Perhaps the wylde can do it?” Iome said.

“I thought of that,” Gaborn said. “But it doesn’t speak well enough yet. I doubt it could understand our questions, much less give us answers.”

“But she’s just a little girl. Even if she said yes, she doesn’t understand the question.”

“Yes I do,” Averan told Iome fiercely. “I know what it means better than he does.” She jabbed a finger in Gaborn’s direction. “He’s the one who doesn’t know what he’s asking. The path is long and dangerous. The reavers crawled through the Underworld for days to get here.”

“How many days?” Gaborn asked.

Averan shook her head. “I don’t know. Reavers don’t measure time like we do.”

“Averan,” Gaborn said, “this is important. I feel danger approaching. I feel a great danger to every man, woman, and child I’ve chosen. We have to leave soon. We don’t have days to waste looking for the path. Is there any other way that you know of?”

Averan shook her head emphatically.

Gaborn wasn’t sure that he believed her. “The reavers left a groove in the ground on the way here. Can’t we just follow it?”

“Probably much of the way,” Averan admitted. “But we’ll have to go to the deepest nesting grounds, where the sorceresses lay their eggs. All of the tunnels have well-beaten paths, and the sentinels keep watch.”

Gaborn sighed, rubbed his temple, trying to relieve the tight muscles.

“If you want me to lead you,” Averan offered, “then you must get the Waymaker off that rock!” She pointed toward the monolith on the horizon.