David Farland - Brotherhood of the Wolf

Iome felt bewildered by his stupidity. But then she remembered that Gaborn had said earlier in the week that he thought it wrong to ever curse a man for being a fool, for fools could not help themselves and were forever at the mercy of the cunning. “You shan’t need to kill them,” she warned. “The Darkling Glory will do it for you.”

Sir Barrows opened his mouth in sudden comprehension. “It will be done, Your Highness.” He turned and began shouting orders.

Jureem bowed his pudgy figure to her, the decorative hem of his golden silk robes sweeping the dust. “Thank you, Your Highness. I was not able to reason with them, and I dared not disturb you.”

“Next time, dare,” she said.

“There are other matters,” Jureem said.

“Such as?”

“Hundreds of people are too ill to run. Some are too old, too infirm; some are mothers who have given birth in the past few hours, or warriors who were injured in yesterday’s games. They have asked permission to take cover in the castle. I’ve had them carried to the inns until we can decide what to do.”

“Can we load them on wagons?” Iome asked.

“I’ve had physics talk to those who can speak at all. Anyone who could be loaded on a wagon has already gone. Some physics have offered to stay and tend the ill.”

Iome licked her lips, grimaced in despair. Of course they could not be moved. Such people could not move five miles—or a more appropriate fifty—in a day. “Let them stay,” she said. “Some will have to stay hidden.”

She wondered if she should order the physics away, for she feared to lose such highly skilled men and women, but she also dared not deny the sick and the dying whatever succor she could give.

As she considered what to do, Binnesman came strolling through the crowd of warriors from someplace outside of the city. A sack on his back was overstuffed with goldenbay leaves.

Though it was still morning, already Binnesman looked spent. “Let them stay, Your Highness,” he shouted, “but not in the uppermost rooms of the inns. Go instead to the deepest cellars, well below ground. I shall come put runes on the doors to help conceal them, and I’ll leave some herbs that might offer protection.”

Iome felt more relieved to see Binnesman than reasoning could account for. As Binnesman approached, she understood why. Often in the past, she’d felt the earth power that pooled within him, a slightly disturbing power that spoke of birth and growth and that filled her with creative longings. But this morning he must have been casting strong protective spells, for she felt as a harried rider might when fleeing enemies and suddenly has found himself safely within a castle’s walls.

That is it, she realized. This morning she felt safe in his presence. “You look over-worn. Can I do anything to help you?”

“Yes,” Binnesman said. “I would be less worried for you, Your Highness, if you would flee the city like everyone else.”

But Iome glanced out over the fields. “Not everyone has left, and I can’t go until I’ve done everything possible to ensure that my people are safe.”

Binnesman harrumphed. “That sounds like something your husband would say.” But his tone carried no hint of disapproval. He studied her and Myrrima a moment. “There is something you could do, though I hesitate to ask.”

“Anything,” Iome said.

“Do you have a fine opal you would be willing to give me?” Binnesman asked. His tone suggested that she would never see it again.

“My mother had a necklace and some earrings.”

“With the proper enchantment, they can be powerful wards against creatures of darkness,” Binnesman said.

“Then you shall have them, if I can pry them loose from their mounts.”

“Get them,” Binnesman said. “The larger and brighter the stone, the better the protection, and opal easily breaks.”

“I’ll get them,” she said. She had forgotten to move them to the treasury, she now realized. Her mother’s jewelry chest was still hidden behind her desk in her room.

“You’ll find me at the inns,” Binnesman said “Time is short.”

Iome and Myrrima rode back up to the King’s Keep, and ascended to the topmost room. Sit Donnor and Iome’s Days did not dare enter Iome’s bedroom, and remained in the alcove outside.

The jewelry chest held Iome’s mother’s formal crown, a simple but elegant affair of silver with diamonds. Besides the crown, there were dozens and dozens of pairs of earrings, brooches, bracelets, anklets, and necklaces.

Iome found the necklace she recalled. It was made of silver inlaid with twenty matched white opals. A large, brilliant stone mounted on a silver pendant made up its centerpiece.

Iome’s mother had said that Iome’s father had purchased the stones when he’d traveled to Indhopal to ask for her hand in marriage.

Iome wondered at that. Her father had ridden halfway; across the world to find his mother. It seemed a romantic journey, to travel so far, though Gaborn had done no less for her.

Yet somehow the romantic ardor of Iome’s marriage to Gaborn felt diluted by the fact that their fathers had been best friends, and had both long desired the union. Marrying Gaborn felt a little like marrying the boy next door, even though she hadn’t met him until ten days ago.

As she looked through her mother’s chest of jewels, Iome found other opals. The large chest had served the queens of House Sylvarresta for generations, and it held items that her mother had never worn. She discovered a brooch of fire opals set like eyes in a trio of fish made of tarnished copper. Also an old teardrop pendant had an opal that shone in hues of vivid green.

She took these, since they had the largest stones, then handed them to Myrrima, since she was the one with the vest pockets. “Let us hope these will do.”

She put her mother’s jewels back into the chest, then scooted it under her bed.

When she finished, she looked out the oriel window, across the castle.

The streets of the city lay empty, silent. For the first time in her life, she did not see the smoke of even one single cooking fire rising from a chimney in town. In the distance, she saw tents folding out on the fields. Now that the knights were threatening to kill her people, they were fleeing, racing away.

Suddenly the scene below seemed familiar.

“I dreamt this,” Iome said.

“You dreamt what?” Myrrima asked.

“I dreamt of this, last week when Gaborn and I were riding south to Longmot, or I dreamt something very near. I dreamt that Raj Ahten was coming to destroy us, and everyone in the castle turned to thistledown and floated up and away on the wind, up beyond his grasp.”

The people scattering in all directions reminded her of thistledown blown before a fierce wind. “Only in my dream, Gaborn and I were the last to leave. We all floated away. But...in my dream, I knew that we were never coming back. Never coming here again.” That thought frightened her. The thought that she might never return to the castle she’d grown up in.

Legend said that the Earth spoke to men in signs and dreams, and those who listened best rightly became lords and kings. The blood of such kings flowed through Iome’s veins.

“It was only a dream,” Myrrima said. “If it were a true sending, then Gaborn would be with you now”

“He is with me, I think,” Iome said. “I believe I’m carrying his child” Iome glanced at Myrrima. She was of common stock, and Iome knew that she would not take omens lightly.

“Oh, milady,” Myrrima whispered. “Congratulations!” Shyly, she embraced Iome.

“It will be your turn, soon,” Iome assured Myrrima. “You cannot be near the Earth King without responding to his creative powers.”