David Farland - The Sum of All Men

No, it was men like Borenson who suffered most for their lords, not some damned Dedicate, afraid to live his life.

“You must kill them,” Borenson urged.

“I cannot,” Gaborn answered.

“Then, by all the awful Powers, you'll make me do it!” Borenson growled. He reached to pull his axe from its sheath, glanced toward King Sylvarresta. Iome had heard the scrape of the axe handle against leather, jerked at the sound, staring at Borenson.

“Hold,” Gaborn said softly. “I order you. They are under my protection. My sworn protection.”

A gust of wind sent ash skittering across the ground.

“And I'm under order to kill Raj Ahten's Dedicates.”

“I countermand that order,” Gaborn said firmly.

“You can't!” Borenson said, tensing. “They're your father's orders, and yours cannot supersede his! Your father has given an order—a hard one that no man could envy. But I must carry it out. I will serve King Orden, even if you will not!”

Borenson did not want to argue. He loved Gaborn as a brother. But Borenson could not see how he could ever be faithful to House Orden if the Prince and the King did not agree on this issue.

In the distance, toward Castle Sylvarresta, the high call of Southern battle trumpets sounded—Raj Ahten marshaling his troops. Borenson's heart pounded. His men were supposed to delay the army, and even now were racing to Boar's Ford, where they would do little good.

Borenson shoved his axe back into its sheath, drew his own horn, sounded two long blasts, two short. The call to prepare arms. Raj Ahten's troops would not hurry to Longmont if they had to watch for an ambush every moment. Almost, Borenson wished his troops were still here, that he had the men to fight.

Borenson felt exposed at the edge of the woods. Gaborn took the helm off dead Torin, put it on his own head.

Gaborn looked up. “Listen, Borenson: If we have forty thousand forcibles, my father has no need to kill his friends. He can slay Raj Ahten, then place Sylvarresta back on the throne where he belongs.”

“That is a frightening if” Borenson said. “Can we risk it? What if Raj Ahten kills your father? By sparing Sylvarresta, you may consign your father to death.”

Gaborn's face paled. Certainly the boy had seen this danger. Certainly he knew the stakes in this battle. But no, Borenson realized, the boy was too innocent. Gaborn promised, “I wouldn't let that happen.”

Borenson rolled his eyes, clenched his teeth.

“Nor would I,” Iome answered from where her horse stood beside the stream. “I'd rather kill myself than see another come to harm on my account.”

Borenson had tried to keep his voice down so she would not hear, but of course his voice had been rising in anger. He considered. At this moment, King Orden was racing to Longmont with fifteen hundred warriors. Messages had been sent to other castles, calling for aid. Perhaps three or four thousand might meet at Longmont before dawn.

But Raj Ahten would stand at the head of a massive army, once his reinforcements arrived from the South.

King Orden had to get those forcibles, and once he had them, he'd have to hole up in Castle Longmont. No castle in this realm could better withstand a siege.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. In all likelihood, Raj Ahten had so many endowments from his people in the South that if Borenson killed Sylvarresta and Iome, it would gain no benefit for King Orden. That is what Gaborn believed.

On the other hand, times were uncertain. Orden and other kings had sent assassins south. Perhaps even traitors in Raj Ahten's own lands would see his absence as a perfect time to bid for power. One could not discount the possibility that at any given moment, the endowments Raj Ahten had gained here in Heredon would become vital to him.

No, Borenson needed to kill these vectors. He sighed. With a heavy heart, he pulled his war axe. Urged his mount forward.

Gaborn caught the horse by the reins. “Stay away from them,” he growled in a tone Borenson had never before heard from the Prince.

“I have a duty,” Borenson said, regretfully. He did not want to do it, but he'd argued the point so convincingly that now he saw he must.

“And I'm obligated to protect Iome and her father,” Gaborn said, “as one Oath-Bound Lord to another.”

“Oath-Bound Lord?” Borenson gasped. “No! You fool!” Now he saw it. Gaborn had been distant these past two weeks as they journeyed into Heredon. For the first time in his life, he'd been secretive. “It's true,” Gaborn said. “I spoke the oath to Iome.” “Who witnessed?” Borenson asked the first question that came to mind, “Iome, and her Maids of Honor.” Borenson wondered if news of this oath could be covered. Perhaps by killing the witnesses, he could undo the damage. “And her Days.”

Borenson set his axe across the pommel of his saddle, looked hard at King Sylvarresta. Who knew how far this news had spread? From Iome's maids to the King's counselor, to all Heredon. He couldn't hide what Gaborn had done.

Gaborn had a fierceness in his eyes. What pluck! The little ass! Borenson thought. He plans to fight me. He'd really fight me over this?

Yet he knew it was true. To give the Oath of Protection was a serious matter, a sacred matter.

Borenson didn't dare raise his hand against the Prince. It was treason. Even if he carried out Orden's commands in every other matter, he could be executed for striking the Prince.

Gaborn had been watching Borenson's eyes, and now he ventured, “If you will not allow me to rescind my father's order, then I command you thus: Wait to carry it out. Wait until we reach Longmont, and I've spoken to my father.”

Gaborn might well reach the castle before Borenson. There, the King would be able to settle this tangled matter.

Borenson closed his eyes and hung his head in sign of acquiescence. “As you command, milord,” he said. Yet a horrible sense of guilt assailed. He'd been ordered to kill the Dedicates at Castle Sylvarresta, and if he slew the King and Iome now, he would thus spare other lives; he would spare all those who were vectored through these two.

Yet to kill Sylvarresta would be cruel. Borenson did not want to murder a friend, regardless of the cost. And he dared not raise a weapon against his own Prince.

Bits of arguments rushed at Borenson, fragmented. He looked up at King

Sylvarresta, who had stopped moaning in fear, just as a jay went flying over the King's head in a streak of blue.

But if I do not murder these two now, how many others must I kill in the Dedicates' Keep? How many endowments has Sylvarresta taken? Are the lives of these two worth more than the lives of their Dedicates?

What harm has any of them done? Not one man in the keep would willingly toss a rotten apple at one of our people. Yet by their very existence, they lend power to Raj Ahten.

Borenson clenched his teeth, lost in thought. Tears began to water his eyes.

You will make me kill everyone vectored through these two, Borenson realized. That was his only choice. He loved his Prince, had always served faithfully.

I'll do it, Borenson thought, though I hate myself forever after. I'll do it for you.

No! some deep part of his mind shouted.

Borenson opened his eyes, stared hard at Gaborn.

Gaborn let go the reins of Borenson's mount, stood testily, as if he was still ready to try to pull Borenson from the saddle if the need arose.

“Take them in peace, milord,” Borenson said, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. Immediately Gaborn relaxed.

“I'll need a weapon,” Gaborn said. “Can I borrow one of yours?” Other than the black spear in Torin's throat, nothing was handy.

The warhorse Borenson rode had a horseman's hammer sheathed from its previous owner. It was an inelegant weapon. Borenson knew that Gaborn preferred a saber, for he liked to slash and thrust quickly. But the hammer had its strengths: against an armored opponent, one could easily chop through chain mail or pierce a helm. The saber was as likely to snap in such a battle as to pierce a man's armor.