David Farland - The Sum of All Men

Iome found it hard to breathe, found it hard to speak these next words, though the idea had been given her by Binnesman, and it had seemed adequate at the time. Now she wondered if it was too much. An act of penitence should be something a man could hope to accomplish, a great deed that would try his soul and let him grow. Not a deed that would destroy a man.

She feared her sentence would break Borenson. “I sentence you to go south, beyond the lands of Inkarra. I bid you find Daylan Hammer, the Sum of All Men, so that we can learn how best to defeat Raj Ahten.” An astonished gasp issued from the crowd of bystanders, followed quickly by whispers.

Borenson gave a little cough in surprise, looked up to Iome, then to Gaborn, who stood at her side.

“How? When? I mean—I am under oath to House Orden.”

“Then I release you from all oaths, Sir Borenson,” Gaborn said, “until your Act Penitent is complete. You shall become a Knight Equitable, answerable only to yourself, if you wish.”

“If I wish?” He seemed to consider. He would have to travel through enemy countries, facing countless dangers, in some vain hope of finding a legend. It was a deed that might take a man a lifetime. Or more. Time, for a man with endowments of metabolism, could pass so swiftly.

Borenson glanced over his shoulder at Myrrima. If he accepted Iome's punishment, he'd have to leave her behind. He might never see her again. Myrrima's face was pale, etched with fear. As a signal to him, she nodded, barely.

“I accept your judgment,” Borenson answered uncertainly. He got off his knees.

He no longer wore the livery of House Orden, and therefore had no need to strip himself of it. But he took his shield, cut the bindings behind the wood, so that the leather covering came away, with its painted image of the green knight. Beneath the leather covering, the shield was only blank steel riveted to a frame of wood.

“When will you leave?” Gaborn asked, clapping Borenson on the back.

Borenson shrugged, glanced at Myrrima. “Two weeks, four at the most. Before the mountains fill with snow.”

After he has had time to wed, Iome realized.

She saw the calculating gaze that Gaborn gave, knew he wanted to go with Borenson.

But Gaborn's duties would hold him here in the North.

The next morning at dawn, Gaborn prepared a wagon to carry the bodies of the kings back to Castle Sylvarresta. There, Sylvarresta would be buried, while Gaborn's father would be embalmed and shipped back home to Mystarria.

With the bodies, Gaborn secreted ten large boxes of forcibles, covered in soil from the gardens at Bredsfor Manor.

Gaborn oversaw the whole affair. The camp had become busy since dawn, with thousands of warriors striking their tents in preparation to leave, others still coming in from around Heredon.

When Gaborn had finished loading the bodies and checked the wagon's wheels and undercarriage to see if they could hold the heavy load, he got up to find that a small crowd had gathered. Locals who had lived here at Longmont.

“We come to ask you,” a sturdy farmer said, “if you'll be willing to take our endowments.”

“Why do you come to me?” Gaborn asked.

“You'll be our king,” a young man in the crowd spoke up.

“You've got gold,” the farmer said. “You can pay. We don't ask much, only that you care for our families, keep them through the winter. I'm a strong man. Been working all my life. I could sell you my brawn. And my son over there—never has been sick a day. You could use him.”

Gaborn shook his head sadly. “There will be gold enough for you without selling your endowments.” Gaborn spoke loudly, so that all the crowd could hear. “I'll need men to rebuild this fortress. I'll pay you well for your labor. Bring your families for the winter, and stay in the buildings that still stand. Every man of you will have beef for your children, and bread in your bellies.” He thought to promise them more—acorns and mushrooms, deer and boar, all the fruits of the forest and of the fields. “You can work some days for me, others for yourselves, so you may build your own homes. I won't buy endowments from a man in need.”

“And what about the rest of us who want you to fight for us?” an older man asked. “I've got no family. I'm too old to swing a warhammer. But you can have my wits. They're sharp as ever. I'll fight with you as I can.”

Gaborn looked out over the crowd. This was the only kind of man he'd be willing to take endowments from, a man who knew that this was an act of war, that giving himself was a commitment to be made in deadly earnest. Yet Gaborn did not want any endowments, thought to wait before taking them until spring or some far future day. Still, he knew that Raj Ahten was not far away, and might still send assassins. These people needed a lord, and Gaborn needed their aid.

“How many of the rest of you feel as this man does?” Gaborn asked.

As one, some fifty men and women shouted, “I!”

That day, Gaborn and Iome rode with five hundred lords and knights back to Castle Sylvarresta on force horses.

At each village and town, they slowed their movements and let the heralds announce their presence: the Earth King, Gaborn Val Orden, and his bride-to-be, Iome Sylvarresta. By now, the word of the rise of an Earth King had been shouted along almost every road in Heredon, and was making its way through the neighboring countries of Fleeds and South Crow—then, besides.

And before the King and Queen rode the wizard Binnesman, with an oak branch in his hand.

At every village, the children stared in awe and grinned at Gaborn, the young king. The wooden effigies of the Earth King all adorned the doors and windows of every house, and the faces of the children were all filled with joy, for this day marked more than the defeat of Raj Ahten. This was the first day of Hostenfest, and finally, after 1629 years, a new Earth King walked the land, one who could bless his people as did the great king of old.

And though children greeted Gaborn in awe and joy, the elders more often waved with tearstained faces. For some of them understood what a dire portent it was that an Earth King once again walked in the land. Hard times were upon them, harder than any known before.

As Gaborn passed one inn, the innkeeper went to the effigy by his door, tore off its fine crown of braided oak branches, and brought it to Gaborn to wear. After that, as a token of submission, at every home the people tore the crowns of oak leaves from the effigies by their doors, tossed them at Gaborn's feet, along with flowers.

And though the people could not understand the significance of what he did, as Gaborn passed each such humble home, time and again he would gaze into the face of some stout farmer or his wife and children, staring far away, as if looking deep into them or through them. Then he would smile secretively and raise his left hand in blessing, calling out gently, “I choose you. I choose each of you—for the Earth. May the Earth hide you. May the Earth heal you. May the Earth make you its own!”

As he spoke, he groaned within himself, for he could not bear the thought that any might be lost. Thus he began to gather the seeds of mankind, choosing for himself an entire nation.

The troop had not gone twenty miles when the soldiers began to notice that every oak tree in the forest seemed to have dropped its leaves during the night, for surely the leaves had still been on the trees when they'd passed the evening before.

When they remarked about it to the wizard, Binnesman told them, “This the oaks do in respect for their new king.” And they found it was true. Every oak in all the Dunnwood had dropped its leaves in a single night.

Yet on that track, Gaborn found what seemed to him to be an even greater wonder. For as he rode, a man came out of the woods, riding a great imperial warhorse and wearing a robe of gold silk. A fat man, old and dark of skin. He tossed a jeweled dagger to the ground, and Gaborn recognized Raj Ahten's counselor from the Seven Standing Stones.