David Farland - The Sum of All Men

Venetta was right. King Sylvarresta never got the respect, the admiration he deserved. An Oath-Bound Runelord should have drawn followers, should have had the respect of his people.

Instead, those people who gave endowments went to foreign kings, like King Orden, where they could sell their attributes at a higher price.

A king like Sylvarresta seldom got the support he needed, unless a Wolf Lord like Raj Ahten came along. Only when confronted with a usurper who won his endowments through blackmail would good people flock to the banner of a king like Sylvarresta.

Of course, that is why Raj Ahten attacks here first, Iome realized, when he could have laid waste other kingdoms closer by.

“Did you hear me, milord?” Venetta said. “I'm belittling you.”

“I hear you,” Lord Sylvarresta said, “and I love you still.”

Iome's mother turned then, her face full of tears of love, her mouth tight in pain. She looked to be a young woman. Just as a faithful dog in great pain will snap at the master who tries to save it, Iome's mother had snapped at her father, and now Iome saw the regret there.

“I love you, forever,” Venetta said. “You're a thousand times more the king than my wicked cousin could ever be.”

King Sylvarresta pulled off his chain, stood in his leather jerkin. He glanced pointedly at Iome, and she left the room, gave her parents their privacy.

She dared not go out through the hall, into the throne room. Not with Raj Ahten there. So she waited in the alcove outside her father's door, and listened to the Days talk excitedly. In ancient times, guards and servants would have been stationed here during the night, but King Sylvarresta had never wanted either. Still, the small room with its benches was large enough to hold Iome and the Days.

Several long minutes later, Iome's mother and father exited their room. Her mother was still in her regalia; her father wore a lordly robe and a determined expression.

As her mother passed, she said to Iome, “Remember who you are.” Her mother intended to play the role of queen to the very end.

Iome followed them, back into the audience chamber. To her surprise, two of the Raj Ahten's Invincibles had joined him. They stood to either side of the throne. The three of them made an imposing sight.

King Sylvarresta came forward, to the end of the crimson carpet before the throne. He knelt on one knee, bowed his head. “Jas Laren Sylvarresta, at your service, Lord. And I present my wife, your dear cousin Venetta Moshan Sylvarresta, as requested.”

Queen Sylvarresta watched her husband bow, stood uncertainly for a moment, then bowed slightly, eyes wary, watching the Wolf Lord.

When her head was nearest the floor, Raj Ahten leapt forward, his body a blur, and drew the short sword from his sheath.

Venetta's crown, snatched from her head by Raj Ahten's blade, went flying, rang off the stone ceiling.

“You are presumptuous!” Raj Ahten warned.

Iome's mother watched the Wolf Lord. “I am a queen, still,” she said in her own defense.

“That will be for me to decide,” Raj Ahten said. He drove the sword through the cushion of the Queen's throne, left it as he sat back down. He pulled off his gauntlets, tossed them beside him on the Queen's throne. He clutched the arms of his chair, betraying to Iome just the slightest nervousness. He wanted something from them. Needed something. She could tell.

“I've been more than patient with you. You, Jas Laren Sylvarresta, financed knights who attacked me without provocation. I've come to insure that such attacks cease. I require...an acceptable tribute.”

Iome's father said nothing for a moment. Her mother knelt near the throne. “What would you have of us?” King Sylvarresta asked at last.

“Assurance, that you will never fight me again.”

“You have my word,” Sylvarresta said. He looked up now, focused all his attention on the Wolf Lord.

Raj Ahten said heavily. “I thank you. Your oath is not a thing I take lightly. You have been an honorable lord to your people, Sylvarresta. An evenhanded lord. Your realm is clean, prosperous. Your people have many endowments to give me. If times were not so dark, I would like to think you and I could have been allies. But...

“We have great enemies massing, south of our borders.”

“Inkarrans?” Sylvarresta asked.

Raj Ahten waved his hands in dismissal. “Worse. Reavers. They have been breeding like rabbits for thirty years. They've laid the forests of Denham bare. They've driven the nomen from their sanctuaries in the mountains. In another season, the reavers will come against us. I intend to stop them. I'll need your help, the help of all the Northern kingdoms. I intend to take control.”

Iome felt confused by this. Apparently, her father was just as confused. “We could beat them!” Sylvarresta said. “The Northern kingdoms would unite in such a cause. You don't need to prosecute this war alone!”

“And who would lead our armies?” Raj Ahten asked. “You? King Orden? Me? You know better than that.”

The heart seemed to go out of Iome's father. Raj Ahten was right. No one could lead the Northern kings. There were too many political divisions, too many moral strifes, too many petty jealousies and ancient rivalries. If Orden led an army south, someone would stay to attack his weakened cities.

Least of all would anyone trust Raj Ahten, the Wolf Lord. For hundreds of years, the Runelords had attacked any leader who sought too much power, who grasped too far. In ancient times, certain robbers, greedy for any power they could get, would use the forcibles to take endowments from wolves, and thus became known as Wolf Lords.

Men who desired an uncanny sense of smell or hearing often took endowments from pups, for dogs gave them willingly and required little in the way of support thereafter. Even stamina or brawn were taken from mastiffs, bred for just that purpose.

Yet men who took endowments from dogs became subhuman, part animal themselves. Thus the euphemism Wolf Lord became a term of derision used for any man of low morals, including men like Raj Ahten, who might never have taken an endowment from a dog.

No king of the North would follow Raj Ahten. Men who earned the title Wolf Lord became outcasts. Honorable lords were duty bound to fund the Knights Equitable in their wars and assassinations. Like wolves caught in the sheep fold, Wolf Lords were accorded no mercy.

“It doesn't have to be this way,” Sylvarresta said. “There are other ways to prosecute this war. A tithe of knights from each kingdom...”

“It does have to be this way,” Raj Ahten corrected. “Would you dare dispute me on this point? I have a thousand endowments of wit, to your...” He gazed into King Sylvarresta's eyes a flickering second, studying the intelligence there. "...two.”

It could have been a guess, Iome thought, but she knew better. There was a saying: “A wise king does not garner all wit, instead he also allows his counselors to be wise.” In the North, it was considered wasteful to take more than four endowments of wit. A lord who did so remembered everything he ever heard, all he ever saw or thought or felt. Sylvarresta would not have taken more than four. Yet how had Raj Ahten recognized that Iome's father had but two endowments active?

Raj Ahten's declaration, that he'd taken wit from a thousand, took the breath from Iome. She could not comprehend such a thing. Some lords swore that a few more endowments of wit granted a Runelord some benefit—extra creativity, deeper wisdom.

Raj Ahten folded his hands. “I've studied the reavers—how they are spreading into our kingdoms in tiny pockets, each with a new queen. The infestation is wide.

“Now, Sylvarresta, despite your peaceable assurances, I require more from you. Lay bare your flesh.”