David Farland - Brotherhood of the Wolf

That notion startled Borenson, and humbled him. For it meant that he might be more tightly entangled in this whole affair than he’d imagined.

It meant also that perhaps the Earth required his best efforts. It might even mean that Borenson needed to protect Gaborn from himself.

Borenson considered the kind of man he ought to be. Gaborn would need a man who would stand up to the reavers when they issued from their caves. He’d need a man who knew Gaborn’s weaknesses, and who would not despise him for being only a young man, instead of a proper Earth King.

Such thoughts drove Borenson as he rode into Deyazz, racing along the narrow mountain trails. He rounded a bend as a flock of crows flew up from the road. Suddenly, on the hairpin turn before him, a troop of soldiers a hundred strong came riding.

The road to the right was too steep to climb. To the left it was nearly a vertical fall. His horse was wise enough to skid to a halt before Borenson thought to draw in the reins.

Yet the animal had been trained to hate the colors of Raj Ahten’s troops. It pawed a hoof in the air and stamped and snorted and fought at the bit upon seeing so many golden surcoats sporting the crimson trio of wolf heads.

The captain of the troop was an Invincible, a big man with a crooked nose, pocked skin, and glowering dark eyes. He carried a long-handled horseman’s mace. At his back, several men drew bows.

Behind him, Borenson suddenly heard the beat of horses’ hooves. He glanced back up the road. Another troop of lancers rode in behind him. They must have come down off the hill above. He’d never even seen their scout.

Trapped. He was trapped.

“Where do you go, red hair?” the Invincible asked

“I carry a message from the Earth King, and come under the banner of truce.”

“Raj Ahten is not here in Indhopal, as you well know,” the big fellow said. “He is in Mystarria. You would trouble yourself less to ride back to your own lands.”

Borenson nodded in acquiescence, eyes half-closed in sign of respect.

“My message is not for Raj Ahten:’ Borenson said. “I carry a message to the Palace of Concubines in Obran to a woman named Saffira, the daughter of the Emir of Tuulistan.”

The Invincible tilted his head in thought. He clearly was not prepared for such news. Behind him, an old man in a fine gray silk burnoose, beneath a yellow traveling robe, whispered to the captain’s ear, “Sabbis etolo! Verissa oan.” Kill him! He seeks forbidden fruit .

Borenson fastened his eyes on the old man. He was obviously not a soldier, merchant, or traveler, but a sort of counselor to Raj Ahten. Most probably he held the rank of kaif—which would be translated as “old man” or “elder.” More importantly, he seemed to be Borenson’s adversary.

“It is forbidden fruit to look upon the concubines,” Borenson said “I had not heard that it is forbidden fruit to deliver a message.”

The old fellow glared at Borenson and looked askance, as if to argue with one of his rank were an affront.

“You speak truly,” the Invincible said. “Though I am surprised that you have heard of the palace at Obran. Among the hundred here, only the kaifba and I have ever heard it” Kaifba. Great elder. “Then may I deliver my message?”

“What need has a messenger for armor and weapons?” the Invincible asked.

“The mountain passes are dangerous. Your assassins did not respect the banner of truce.”

“Are you sure they were my assassins?” the Invincible asked, as if Borenson had affronted him. “The mountains are full of robbers, and men who are worse.” The Invincible knew damned well that they were his assassins. He looked pointedly at Borenson’s war axe and armor.

Borenson dropped his shield. He unsheathed his axe, threw it to the roadside. Then he pulled off his helm and ring mail, dropped them also.

“There, are you satisfied?” Borenson asked.

“A messenger has no need of endowments,” the Invincible said. “Take off your tunic, so that I may see whose strengths you wear.”

Borenson stripped off his tunic, showed the jagged white scars where the forcibles had kissed him thirty-two times. Stamina, brawn, grace, metabolism, wit. All were here.

The Invincible grunted. “You say you are a messenger for a king, yet you bear a blank shield like a Knight Equitable. Often they come to kill my lord’s Dedicates. Yet I must ask myself, what Knight Equitable would be so stupid as to ride in plain sight like this? And now I must ask myself, what Knight Equitable has so many endowments?”

“My name is Borenson, and I was once guard to the Earth King. Now I am a blank shield, free to do as I wish, and right now I wish to bring the Earth King’s message and sue for peace.” He sat in his saddle, breathing hard, defiant. Without arms or armor, he would be no match for even this one Invincible, much less the others. They had him at their mercy.

“Assassin,” the men in the ranks muttered, and they eyed him darkly. One man said, “take him to the precipice, teach him how to fly!”

But the kaifba muttered, “You tell an interesting story, hard to prove, hard to disprove. You know of the Palace of the Concubines, when no man of your country has ever heard of it. And I have not heard of this Saffira, though I know that the Emir has many daughters.” He seemed secure in the knowledge that if she were a person of import, he would have known her name.

“It is forbidden fruit to speak her name in your land,” Borenson said. “I learned it from a man who once served as a counselor to the Great Light himself—Jureem. He now sits at the elbow of the Earth King and counsels him.” A kaifba would surely know Jureem, who had been Raj Ahten’s high counselor.

“What is your message?” the kaifba asked “Tell it to me, and perhaps I will give it to her.”

Among the Deyazz, a message might easily be delivered by a second without giving affront to either the sender or receiver of the message. But Borenson knew that gifts had to be given in person. “I bear a gift, a favor, for Saffira,” Borenson said, “along with the message.”

“Show me the gift,” the kaifba said. Among royalty, a gift of gold or perfume might have been an acceptable favor to offer before asking a boon. Borenson wondered if such items might not tempt these soldiers. The men shifted uneasily on their mounts.

He reached into his saddlebags, picked up as many forcibles in one hand as he could. He held perhaps seventy. “It is the gift of beauty. Seven hundred forcibles of glamour. Three hundred of Voice.”

The soldiers began to talk excitedly. Forcibles were worth far more than their weight in gold

“Silence!” the Invincible shouted sternly at his men.

Then he turned a deadly glare upon Borenson and demanded, “Tell me the message.”

“I am to say to her, ‘Though I hate my cousin, the enemy of my cousin is my enemy.’ And then I am to ask her to bear this message for us to Raj Ahten, in the name of the Earth King.”

“Kill him,” the kaifba whispered. Some of the soldiers urged the same. Their horses stamped their feet, feeling the tension in the air, the electric thrill.

Borenson steeled himself for a deathblow. He did not doubt that if the kaifba ordered his death, the others would fulfill that order.

But the captain of the Invincibles tilted his head to the side and considered, ignoring the command, as only a military officer might.

After a long moment, he ventured, “And you think the Great Light of Indhopal will listen?”

“It is only a hope,” Borenson said. “The Earth King is Raj Ahten’s cousin by marriage now. And we have word that reavers are attacking Kartish and the south of Mystarria. The Earth King hopes to put aside this conflict, now that greater enemies confront us.”