David Farland - Wizardborn

She felt...as if she didn’t merely hear it. She felt as if she were dredging the creature up from a dream, giving it form.

She waited, heart hammering, expectant, until she discerned the thud of hooves draw close. Still she kept her eyes closed.

“Hold out your hand,” Binnesman ordered.

She did. She reached out with her palm upward, and the stag drew near. The moist hairs of its muzzle brushed against her wrist, and his warm breath spread over her palm.

“Now open your eyes,” Binnesman instructed.

When she did, Averan gasped. She’d expected a stag, any stag, to have appeared at her summons.

But the stag nuzzling her hand was exactly the one she’d envisioned, complete with the fly that it flicked from its rump.

She stroked its muzzle, and the stag stood for her touch as if he were a faithful pet.

“Did I make him?” Averan asked.

“What do you think?” Binnesman said.

“No, I couldn’t have made him. But he looks...”

“You envisioned him because he was near. Your mind sought for him, and found him, and he answered your call. It is a common enough power among Earth Wardens. And because you have it, I suspect even more strongly that you are here to protect an animal of some kind.”

“Not a rock?” Averan teased.

But Binnesman’s lesson was not done. He said sternly, “This is not a small matter. Each Earth Warden has his own charge, and each is of equal import. To answer his calling, each Earth Warden develops different powers. I could never summon animals. All that I know of the art is hearsay. But you are quite powerful. I tested you with a deer, and you summoned it the very first time.”

“Are deer hard?”

“The more complex the intellect, the keener the mind, the more difficult it is to summon an animal. Had you failed with a deer, I’d have had you try a mouse or a bug.”

“So a deer is harder than a mouse, and a man is harder than a deer?”

“Only the very greatest of summoners can call forth a man.”

“Can they be summoned even if they are dead?” She was thinking of Brand, Roland, and her mother.

“They can,” Binnesman said. “It is nothing at all like summoning a living being. It is far easier to summon the dead. Even I can do that.”

“Really?”

“Who do you think called the spirit of Erden Geboren to Longmont?” He pointed a finger at his own chest.

Averan wondered at that. Her summoning seemed a marvelous power. “Can a creature refuse the summons?”

“Yes,” Binnesman said. “In a sense, the stag here thinks it came of its own volition. And it did. You performed the summoning, and the stag answered in return. But it could have refused.”

Averan placed her hand on the stag’s muzzle and stroked it. She smiled.

Binnesman stepped closer, gazed at the stag. “Now,” he said softly, “look into its eyes. Peer into them, and tell me what you see.”

Averan continued petting the stag, scratched under its jaw. She’d never imagined that she could get so close to a wild animal and have it become so tame. But she remembered how Brand always used to say that even with the graaks, she had a gentle touch.

She peered into its deep brown eyes, looked far behind. She smelled the scent of men—woolen cloaks and horse sweat and armor and the sour odor of human flesh. It came strong to the stag’s nostrils, and involuntarily the muscles in its calves quivered. It remembered a hunt long past—the yammer of hounds as it fled mounted archers. It started backward, as if to leap away.

“Fear,” Averan said. “The stag’s fear is a terrible thing. There are too many men in the woods today, Runelords charging about on horses. It’s made him wary.”

Binnesman crouched at her side as Averan let the stag bound away. It took six great leaps, then stood at the edge of the trees, head held high, as it froze in profile for a moment. At last it stalked back into the shadows, and began to feed.

“Very good,” Binnesman said. “You have a power that I never gained. I could never summon animals, and I could never see into the minds of people. I’ve always had to settle for talking to them.”

“But—the way you looked at me when we met! I was sure that you knew what I was thinking.”

“Ah, well. When you’re as old as I am, you don’t need Earth Powers to read the minds of children.” Binnesman said, “My mentor, on the other hand, used his powers often. He looked into the minds of birds and rabbits to find out who had passed along a trail before him, or who might be following....”

By now the shadows had grown long. Night was enfolding the land. The sweet smell of autumn straw from the plains below mingled with the scent of alder bark and dying leaves in the woods above. Wild pigeons cooed in the hills.

Binnesman and Averan sat in the grass. Campfires burned like diamonds upon the black plain, and strange blue lights flickered and throbbed over Mangan’s Rock.

Erin and Celinor rode through the day without event. Their journey around Beldinook had slowed them to a crawl, for even their fast force horses could not negotiate the rocky streambeds and steep trails easily. By nightfall they’d skirted the southern tip of Beldinook and reached the plains of Fleeds. Clouds were rolling in, and now darkness and an approaching storm slowed them once again.

They stopped at a good roadside inn and had their first decent meal of the day—rye bread and a trencher of gravy made of stewed starlings in rosemary. On the side were scallions and parsnips cooked in butter and honey.

After dinner they went to bed and lay in one another’s arms. Celinor held Erin for a long while, and she wondered at it. She’d never slept in a man’s arms before. She loved his touch, but knew that it would not make for a restful sleep. She wondered how long men and women needed to sleep together before they got used to it.

Celinor seemed distracted, Erin more so.

“Tomorrow is the day,” he whispered. She knew what he meant. Tomorrow they would reach South Crowthen, probably late in the afternoon. They would meet his father, and try to discover how deep his madness went.

“Promise me that you won’t do anything rash,” Celinor asked. “My father has always been a good man. He treated me well as a child. If he has gone mad, let me deal with it in my own way.”

She knew what he wanted. Celinor had said that his grandfather had gone mad, and had to be locked away beneath the castle, until he finally died of old age. It was a family curse, apparently. Celinor had promised his father that if the curse ever struck, he would lock him away. Erin did not envy Celinor his duty.

“All right,” she conceded. “But be careful. Some men, you can see the madness in their eyes. Others can hide it. Your father is dangerous.”

Celinor nodded. His father was plotting against the Earth King, and had already gained some support. Anders claimed that Gaborn had masterminded the death of his own father in order to gain the throne.

“My father isn’t a danger to us,” Celinor said. “He’s just...so confused. I’ll talk to him.”

“Be careful what you say,” Erin said. “Your father is a smart man, a cunning man.”

Celinor seemed to think a moment, then said, “He would think it a compliment if you told him so. Why do you call him cunning?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. Your father told you that I was Gaborn’s sister...”

“It’s an interesting deduction,” Celinor said. “Given the habits of the horsesisters, it makes sense that your mother would choose a sire from a noble line. You look as if you could be Gaborn’s sister. And you were born nine months after old King Orden’s hunting party passed through Fleeds....”