David Farland - Wizardborn

To Averan, that seemed proof that the reavers were destined to fail at duplicating the rune.

But Gaborn was worried. He wanted the rune destroyed, and he wanted the Waymaker.

He huddled with dozens of lords: Skalbairn, Sir Langley, Queen Herin the Red, Duke Groverman, Jerimas, and dozens of others. They raised loud voices and planned to assault the rock.

Averan sat quietly at the edge of the circle.

There was a thrill of expectation in the air, the sense of a rising battle. “I say we take artillery to them,” Skalbairn was saying. “We put ballistas south of the rock, and shoot the reavers down until they retreat. Then we send Runelords up the cliffs on scaling ladders.”

Gaborn looked evenly at Skalbairn. “I told you before: artillery won’t work.”

“Of course it will work!” Skalbairn argued.

“The king’s right,” Jerimas said. “The reavers would just throw rocks back at us. There’s no getting at them.”

“There has to be a way,” Queen Herin offered. “What if we built large siege towers, attacked from downwind? We could draw the towers in fast, using force horses. We might gain some element of surprise.”

Gaborn shook his head sadly. “The Earth warns against it.”

So he had said of every plan that the men propounded. The Earth did not grant him leave to act.

If only he could summon an earthquake, Averan thought, as he did at Carris. I’d see the reavers shaken from their perches, the whole hillside sliding into ruin.

But Gaborn could not summon earthquakes or world worms anymore. He could not even come up with a plan of attack. Always the Earth’s counsel was the same: no.

Averan glanced up, found Gaborn gazing toward her, as if hoping she would come to his rescue. Averan leaned forward, wrapped her hands over her head. She felt as if it were crammed to bursting. Memories still rushed into her, even though her mind was full. It was as if she’d devoured a huge feast, and now sat torpid, bloated, and kept shoving snacks down her mouth.

She had a sudden vivid vision of the nesting site of the Soft Stone Clan where Keeper had hatched, down where the rocks were warm from magma. She recalled cutting her way out of a leathery sack at birth by using her egg tooth, only to be attacked by one of her older siblings while still weary from the ordeal.

Keeper had wrestled with his sister, ripping off a hind leg as she fled. It was a hollow victory, for Keeper would have been better nourished by his sister’s corpse. Still, the leg provided him with his first real taste of flesh, and he fashioned the broken bone into a weapon, which he used to stab the next few hatchlings. He tore off the sweet musk glands beneath their forearms for nourishment, and ate their brains so that he quickly grew strong and wise.

Keeper’s memories were macabre, fascinating, although sketchy. She remembered haunting fragments of incidents: reavers desperately placing huge stones to form a conduit so that magma rising around them would shoot up to heat an underground lake.

The discussion had hit a lull. In the background there was a yelp and the sound of a staff smacking flesh. Beneath the fallen oak behind them, Gaborn’s captain was still training the wylde. He’d shown her how a Runelord could use a staff to vault over the head of an enemy. Now he taught her how to whirl her staff to engage multiple attackers. Even without endowments of brawn, the green woman matched his expert maneuvers.

A voice of reason suddenly spoke up. It was Jerimas. “We’ve been talking for hours now, and each time we come up with a plan, Gaborn says that the Earth forbids it. Are we sure that we even want the reavers off that rock?”

“What do you mean?” Skalbairn said in his deep voice. The huge warrior was sitting on a stone, sharpening his battle-ax. He tilted his head to hear the answer.

“I mean,” Jerimas said, leaning forward eagerly, so that his long silver beard nearly swept his knees, “that Averan tells us that the reavers are suffering from thirst. Once they come off that rock, they’re likely to head for the nearest drinking water—the water they left in Carris. Perhaps that’s why the Earth warns us against attacking.”

“Aye,” Queen Herin said. “I’m all for letting them sit up there till they dry up like jerk.”

“We can’t wait,” Gaborn said. “I have greater worries than Carris. I need the Waymaker.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think they’ll go back to Carris,” Averan said. “The mountains were too cold last night. They’ll be afraid to try them again.”

“The weather has turned,” Skalbairn reasoned. “It won’t be that cold tonight.”

“The reavers don’t know that,” Averan said. “The weather is a mystery to them. To them, weather is just something that happens.”

Old Jerimas said, “If the reavers feel too desperate, it may be that once they come off the rock, they’ll simply attack in full force. We must leave them an escape route, a way that looks safe.”

“Agreed,” Gaborn said. “We’ll give them an open road to the south—for a while.” The wilds of Mystarria to the south were scarcely inhabited. Keep Haberd had been one of the largest fortresses, and now it was gone. “But I’d still like to know what can get them off the rock.”

Averan glanced up. Everyone was looking at her expectantly. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t understand what they’re doing up there. Only Battle Weaver knew how to build the Rune of Desolation.”

“They learn fast,” Gaborn said. “Perhaps this new leader is feeling confident.”

“I’ll tell you what can get them off that rock,” Skalbairn said to Averan. “Fear. They have to be more frightened of staying up there than of leaving. What is it that reavers fear in the Underworld?”

Averan dredged up what images she could. There were lots of things. She recalled one reaver that had stepped on a creature that burrowed in the ground. It was long, with a thin tail that poked up. The tail had pierced the reaver’s foot, and the small creature had injected its eggs.

Battle Weaver had used a spell to burn the eggs, but the wound was too deep, and the eggs were already in the reaver’s blood. Thousands of parasites soon began hatching in the unfortunate reaver, so that it had to be cast into a pit.

There were other denizens of the Underworld that reavers feared or respected.

But one thing came to mind more than others. “Smoke.”

“Of course,” Skalbairn said. “Smoke in a closed tunnel. It would kill reavers as fast as it does men.”

Gaborn shook his head. “Carris was burning, yet the reavers didn’t flee. They’re afraid of smoke, but not mindlessly so.”

A sudden disjointed image came to Averan’s mind of Keeper handling a clutch of spider eggs, turning them over one by one so that the fluids inside wouldn’t settle, and the eggs would eventually hatch. When no other reavers were near, he stuck one in his mouth.

To her surprise, Binnesman came to her rescue. “Lords, ladies,” the wizard said, “I’m afraid my charge is done for a while.”

Binnesman took Averan’s hand, drew her from the crowd.

“Binnesman?” Gaborn asked, surprised at his move.

But the wizard planted his staff in the ground. “You ask too much of the girl. She’s not a warrior, and she’s not your counselor. She’s an Earth Warden. It’s time that she began her schooling.”

“Can’t it wait?” Skalbairn demanded. His tone suggested that he would gladly fight the wizard.

“I think not,” Binnesman said. “It’s an important lesson. It has to do with obedience, and remembering one’s place in the world.”

Gaborn stood up as if to challenge the wizard, but Binnesman stuck a gnarled finger in Gaborn’s chest. “It has to do with obedience, milord. You are not the Earth’s warrior any more than this child is. When it is time to strike the reavers, the Earth will warn you as it has in the past, or maybe a lightning storm is already on its way and will drive the reavers from the rock. Trust me—or trust the Power that we serve. The Earth knows the danger better than we do, and will prepare an escape. We must only do our part when the time comes.