David Farland - Wizardborn

Owatt could hear the ring of mail, the scuff of boots over stone down below him.

“What are our guards doing?”

“Some are running to the gates, others are taking posts on the towers. Some have strung their horn bows, and look as if they will shoot.”

“Our guards will not shoot,” the emir predicted. “Wuqaz Faharaqin has great respect. They must listen to what he has to say.”

“Hear me!” Wuqaz shouted. “In Rofehavan, an Earth King has arisen, Gaborn Val Orden. He has wed Iome Vanisalaam Sylvarresta, and is now our lord’s own cousin by marriage. The Earth King has warned that we are in great danger, and begs Raj Ahten to put aside his conflict until the enemies of mankind are laid low. But Raj Ahten dishonors our nation. He champions the reavers’ cause by battling his own kin!”

At that there were shouts of horror and cries of disbelief from the square. Some people shouted, “Liar. This man is lying.”

“Wuqaz is holding up the head, to show the people,” Messan said.

The boy fell silent as Wuqaz relayed what had befallen Carris. Wuqaz told of a battle, with reavers surrounding a castle. He told how his men fought to defend Carris, for in doing so they defended all mankind.

But Raj Ahten tried to flee the city by boat, leaving women, children, and his own common troops to suffer the ministrations of reavers.

And when the Earth King charged from the hills, Choosing for his army Raj Ahten and all of his Invincibles, Raj Ahten sought to restrain his troops from giving aid, leaving the Earth King to die.

“Even when his favored wife, Saffira, appeared and bade our king lay aside his war,” Wuqaz shouted, “Raj Ahten withheld aid. She had endowments of glamour and voice from thousands, and only the strongest being could have resisted her. Raj Ahten resisted.

“He let the reavers slaughter his own wife, as the Earth King faced the reaver horde alone!”

At this news, Emir Owatt gasped, then dropped to his knees, leaning against the wall for support. Messan grabbed him.

The emir had long feared this. He’d feared it ever since that dreadful night when Raj Ahten laid his siege at Ma’al. He had known then that he in his tiny kingdom would never be able to fight Raj Ahten.

His mind flashed back to that night. He could not fight, but he’d devised another plan, one that offered hope that he might yet vanquish the Wolf Lord.

He took all of the forcibles in his treasury, and had the facilitators forge them anew, so that each held a rune of glamour or voice. Then he’d used them on his tender daughter, Saffira.

Raj Ahten was a man of fierce appetites. The emir had suspected that the Wolf Lord would not be able to resist the child. “Beg him not to kill us,” Owatt had warned Saffira. “He will spare us for your sake. Ask him to prepare a place of honor among his Dedicates.”

After the surrender, Raj Ahten demanded the use of the emir’s tongue, believing that the emir must have great endowments of voice with which to beguile his people. After all, how else could a lord be so beloved by the commoners?

But a search of the emir’s scars showed that he bore no endowments of voice. Owatt offered instead his eyes, saying to Raj Ahten, “Take them, for I do not wish to see how you will make my people suffer.”

It had been a poor choice. Too often Owatt had heard the cries of his people in the markets.

He’d long suspected that Saffira would die by violence. He’d been afraid that in some petty fit, Raj Ahten might strike her. With his endowments of brawn, any blow he delivered would destroy the girl.

But Raj Ahten became fond of Saffira—as fond as his nature allowed. He’d pampered her, conceded to her wishes, sired her children, and showered her with gifts. She was as much a wife as he would ever know.

Now, the emir learned that, indeed, Raj Ahten had murdered Saffira—pretty little Saffira.

In the square, an old woman began to cry out angrily, “Liar! Tongue of the snake!”

Always, the emir felt surprised to hear any common person rise in defense of Raj Ahten. To speak against him was outlawed, and so one could go for months without hearing a single whisper of discontent, yet he often imagined that others kept their discontent hidden inside, as he did.

I am a blind man, the emir thought, and even I can see his evil.

Wuqaz shouted, “I do not lie. Let me tell you all: Here is the head of an Invincible—Pashtuk by name—whom Raj Ahten slew in an effort to kill the Earth King.

“By the Atwaba, I call upon all good men: Throw off the yoke of Raj Ahten! There must be only one king—the Earth King!”

The emir’s heart pounded fiercely in his chest. He knew that Wuqaz spoke to him. True, he was in the market more than a hundred yards below, but he had come here to shout outside these walls, knowing that the emir was here, knowing that Owatt might be cowed, but would never surrender.

As Wuqaz cried these last words, bowstrings twanged and arrows hissed through the air. From the streets below a roar of panic rose.

Emir Owatt did not need eyes to know what was happening. Archers in the tower fired at the Ah’kellah. Arrows struck among the crowd, skewering men, women, and children. From the sounds of it, fighting broke out even among the crowd—some going to battle against Raj Ahten, others fighting to protect him.

“Father!” Messan cried. “One of Wuqaz’s men is hit. He took an arrow in his eye. He has fallen from his horse. Wuqaz and one other are trying to ride away.”

Now a battle raged. A woman shrieked in pain, a horse whinnied, accompanied by the sound of hooves smacking flesh. Men roared. Children cried in terror.

People shouted as horses broke into the streets, and fled.

His son said, “Wuqaz is gone!” But the sound of fighting continued.

“Who is winning?” the emir asked.

“The guards who fight for Raj Ahten,” his son confirmed.

In that moment, a realization struck the emir. He had always thought of the throng below as “his” people. But by surrendering to Raj Ahten, he had given those people away—given them to a man without conscience, a man without honor, who would use them as cattle.

He had not saved himself, his daughter, or his people. He had surrendered them.

Now was the time to take them back.

“Hurry,” the emir said. He went to a box and pulled out a bag of coins that held a particularly large ruby. “While the guards are busy at the front gate, I want you to slip out into the streets by the back. If the guards there try to stop you, tell them that today is my purifam, and you are going to buy me some figs for breakfast.” He handed the coins to the child and urged, “Once you leave the palace, go to my sister’s villa. Do you remember the place?”

“On the hill?”

“Yes. Beg her to hide you. Do you understand? You must never come back! I will not be here.”

“Why?” his son asked. “Where are you going?”

“I am going to war,” the emir said.

Down below, in the Dedicates’ Keep, Raj Ahten kept his most valued vectors. The air here at Bel Nai was especially healthy, and so over the years Saffira had convinced Raj Ahten to house here in abundance those who vectored stamina.

The emir was well prepared for this day. He’d long known that he could not strike a meaningful blow against the Wolf Lord of Indhopal from the front lines. But here, from behind the lines, he could be devastating.

He’d have struck a year ago, if not for his children. He’d once held great hopes that his daughter might persuade Raj Ahten to turn away from his evil. Later, the emir knew that Raj Ahten kept Messan here as a veiled threat. If Owatt moved against him, the life of his son would be forfeit.

“What do you mean?” his son asked. “I want to stay with you.”