David Farland - Brotherhood of the Wolf

Frowning thoughtfully, Myrrima rose from the bed, glanced in a mirror, and began combing out her long dark hair. Borenson felt unsure of his own place at this council. He was now, after all, a blank shield by avowal.

A few days ago, he had promised to give himself two weeks to prepare for his journey to Inkarra. He’d wanted time to say goodbye to his homeland and to his wife. He’d thought he’d have that time. But then Borenson had also believed that Raj Ahten would flee home to Indhopal for the winter. Instead, the Wolf Lord was driving south, straight into the heart of Mystarria, giving Gaborn no respite. Now Gaborn was stuck up here in Heredon, all but severed from his own realm and from his counselors.

So Borenson had not been able to bring himself to head south on his quest to Inkarra. Not while his friend still needed counsel. Though as a Knight Equitable, Borenson was free to leave, until tonight, he’d chosen to stay.

But he knew that if Gaborn rode south to Mystarria, Borenson would ride, too. And once he set his back to Heredon, and to his wife, he would not return until his quest ended.

“What of the herbalist Binnesman? Won’t he be at the council?” Myrrima asked.

“He’s asleep” Borenson said, “and cannot be disturbed.” Of all those missing from the council, Borenson wondered most about Binnesman. He’d offered to put a boot to the wizard’s ribs and roust him from bed, but Gaborn had forbidden it.

“Then what of Prince Celinor,” she inquired, “or the other merchant princes of Lysle?”

Borenson frowned. Everyone present at court these last few hours had heard how the merchant princes had come to town and set up camp, then bade Gaborn come to their pavilions and Choose them, as if he were their servant rather than the Earth King.

Borenson would have damned the lot of them, but to everyone’s surprise, Gaborn had complied, Choosing several of the uppity lords.

“I suspect that the King does not fully trust Celinor,” Borenson answered. “And though Gaborn has invited Lord Ingris, he apparently thinks that the other merchant princes would be of as much help as a gaggle of geese.”

“It seems to me that other lords could be in camp by now,” Myrrima said. “What of North Crowthen, or Beldinook?”

“We’ve had no word out of North Crowthen,” Borenson said. “The Iron King never liked Sylvarresta, and it may be that like his cousin King Anders, he has no interest in the Earth King. Or it may be that he faces problems of his own. Reavers are surfacing in North Crowthen tonight. Gaborn has already sent messengers to the Iron King, offering aid.

“As for Beldinook, King Lowicker is frail...” Borenson did not know what more to say. Lowicker had always been a friend to House Orden, but Borenson did not trust the man. It seemed to him that Lowicker used his frailty as an excuse for inaction whenever it came in handy. Still, Borenson parroted Gaborn’s assessment of the situation. “Lowicker had to contend with Raj Ahten marching through his lands on his way to Mystarria, after all. It is no wonder that he has not yet sent emissaries.”

When Myrrima had combed her hair, she stood for a moment studying her reflection by candlelight. She looked beautiful and desirable.

Borenson offered his hand, and escorted his wife downstairs to the Great Hall. They found Gaborn sitting in darkness at a table with his back to the wall. No candles or lamps lit the room, no fire warmed the hearth. The room had but one open window, to let in a little starlight. The rest of the windows remained shuttered.

In the darkness, King Orwynne had taken a place to Gaborn’s left. Iome sat away from the table, at Gaborn’s back. To Gaborn’s immediate right was the popinjay Lord Ingris—a gracefully aging fellow in a tritipped maroon felt hat adorned with an enormous dyed ostrich feather. His silk blouse glowed pearl-white in the darkness, and rings and necklaces and buckles sparkled even in the wan light. Jureem sat next to him, his southern attire for once outmatched in gaudiness. Gaborn motioned for Borenson to sit next to Jureem.

Myrrima went to the back wall and seated herself beside Iome, taking the Queen’s hand. Borenson watched his wife. Iome clutched Myrrima as if seeking support. The Queen’s face was limned by starlight. Borenson could see from the set of her jaw that Iome was terrified.

Borenson glanced at Gaborn. In the starlight he could see the sheen of sweat on the King’s brow. They’re both frightened, Borenson realized. This would indeed be no ordinary council.

A few moments later, Erin Connal entered the room and took a seat at the far end of the table from Gaborn, next to Chancellor Rodderman. The Days all lined up against a wall behind the lords.

“We searched the camp for the High Marshal,” Rodderman said, “but there’s no sign of him. He’s already gone.”

“I feared as much,” Gaborn said.

“You gave him little choice,” Borenson said, not bothering to hide the challenge in his tone. He thought Gaborn had been wrong to reject the High Marshal’s offer of service, and by the Powers, though no one else would ever dare chastise the Earth King for his error, Borenson would not hide his feelings.

“Are we to speak here in the dark?” Lord Ingris asked in an effeminate tone, trying to head off an argument.

“Yes,” Gaborn said. “No flames. I’ve had a servant extinguish even the coals of the hearth. No one must repeat what is spoken here—in daylight, or before an open flame.”

Gaborn took a deep breath. “We are going to battle. The Earth has warned me that we are in grave danger, and tonight the Wizard Binnesman used Seer’s Stones to show me our enemies. Right now, reavers are surfacing in North Crowthen.”

“What?” Lord Ingris said. “When do we march?”

“We don’t—at least not against the reavers,” Gaborn said. “The Iron King has refused to answer any correspondence in the past week, and I do not know if he would welcome our troops in North Crowthen even now.

“Nor do I believe that King Anders will allow us to march through his realm.

“So, half an hour past, I sent Duke Mardon north to Donyeis with reinforcements, should the reavers strike in our direction, and I have sent both King Anders and the Iron King offers of aid. I shall do nothing more.”

“Then,” Lord Ingris asked, “you think the reavers contained?”

“Not at all,” Gaborn said. “Reavers have destroyed Keep Haberd in Mystarria. Others are in Kartish. And there may be more outbreaks still.”

In the darkness, the lords looked at one another. One swarm of reavers to the north was disquieting. But Gaborn’s mention of multiple outbreaks to the south aroused solemn terror. This bespoke no isolated incident.

It bespoke the beginning of a wholesale invasion.

Borenson had heard about the outbreaks only moments before the meeting, but could hardly imagine any worse news. All his life, reavers had rarely trod the earth’s surface. Yet ancient tales warned that it had not always been so, and everyone feared that someday reavers would surface by the tens of thousands.

“So we are facing a serious threat,” Gaborn continued, “one that for the moment we can do nothing about. But there is a second threat just as dire, for while the reavers nibble at our borders, Raj Ahten strikes at our heart.

“For the past week, Raj Ahten’s troops have fled south. Weariness and the Knights Equitable have taken a terrible toll on the Wolf Lord’s forces. He left Fleeds with over forty thousand men. Duke Paladane’s scouts estimate that Raj Ahten now has but four thousand troops marching with him—only half of which are Invincibles—along with some few archers, frowth giants, war dogs, and sorcerers.”