David Farland - The Sum of All Men

After long minutes, Gaborn decided that there were some things one should not ask a wizard. What price had Binnesman paid to give life to the wylde? Gaborn wondered.

Now the Earth Warden turned from the road and picked his way among twisted paths here under the shadowed trees. No other scout could have made his way in such maddening darkness. Gaborn left the wizard to his work in silence, in the starlight, for an hour, until they came upon an old road. From there, Binnesman raced the horses north, until suddenly the road dropped down to a ridge overlooking the broad fields outside the village of Trott, twelve miles west of Castle Sylvarresta.

On the plain below lay hundreds of multicolored pavilions from the hordes of Southern traders who had journeyed north for Hostenfest but who had been forced to vacate the fields near Castle Sylvarresta when Raj Ahten's troops laid siege.

Binnesman called the horses to stop, gazed down over the dark fields. The grass had been burned white by the late-summer sun, so that even by starlight reflecting off the grass one could see.

“Look!” Iome whispered. Gaborn followed her pointing finger, saw something dark creeping across the fields, toward the pavilions with their horses and mules for the caravans.

Nomen were down there, eighty or a hundred, creeping toward the tents on their bellies to hunt for food. To the east, along the ridge, he saw several large boulders move, realized that a trio of Frowth giants were also prowling the edge of the forest.

Hungry. They merely hungered for meat. Raj Ahten had marched the giants and the nomen all this way, and they'd survived the battle at dawn, but now they would be hungry.

“We'll have to take care,” Gaborn said. “These horses need to graze and to rest. But until it's safe, maybe we should ride in the open fields, where we can't be surprised.” Gaborn turned his mount east, to head back toward Castle Sylvarresta. From there he could take the Durkin Hills Road south. “No, we should go west from here,” Iome said. “West?” Gaborn asked.

“The bridge at Hayworth is out. We can't run the horses through the forest, so we can't go near Boar's Ford. Besides, we don't want to run into Raj Ahten's army in the dark.”

“She's right,” Binnesman said. “Let Iome lead you.” His voice sounded tired. Gaborn wondered how much his spell-casting had drained him.

“West is the only way—over the Trummock Hills Road,” Iome said. “It's safe. The forest does not encroach on the road. My father's men cut it back.”

Binnesman let the horses rest a few moments. As one, the group dismounted, stretched their legs, adjusted the girths on their mounts.

“Come,” Binnesman said all too soon. “We have a few hours until Raj Ahten awakens. Let us make good use of them.” He urged them downhill, into the plains. Though the horses were hungry and the grass here grew high, it was also dry and without seed, worthless fodder.

They rode slowly along a dirt road for half an hour, and here at last they felt at ease enough to talk, to make plans.

“My horse will be the fastest over these roads,” Binnesman said. “If you do not mind, I will ride ahead. I will be needed at Longmont, and I hope to find my wylde there.”

“Do you think it is there?” Iome asked.

“I really can't be sure,” Binnesman answered, and seemed to want to say no more.

The company soon reached a weathered farmhouse beside a winding stream. The farm had a small orchard behind it, and a sloping barn for a few pigs. It looked as if the peasant who lived here feared attack, for a lantern had been set in a plum tree out front, another out by the door to the pig shed.

The farmer should be afraid, Gaborn realized. This hut was isolated, without benefit of neighbors for a mile. And giants and nomen were prowling the fields tonight.

Iome's father rode his steed up to the lantern, sat staring at it, mesmerized, as if he'd never seen one before.

Then Gaborn realized that the King probably never had seen one, at least not that he remembered. The whole world would seem new to him, like a vivid and fascinating dream, something he lived through but never comprehended.

Gaborn also rode up beneath the lantern, so his face could easily be seen, then called to the door. In a moment, an old turnip of a woman cracked the door enough to frown at him. She seemed frightened by so many riders.

“May we have some water and feed for the horses?” Gaborn asked. “And some food for ourselves?”

“At this time of night?” the old woman grumbled. “Not if you was the King!” She slammed the door.

Gaborn felt surprised at this, looked at Iome for a reaction. Binnesman smiled, Iome laughed softly, went up to the plum tree, then picked half a dozen of the large violet fruits. Gaborn saw movement inside the house as the woman tried to peer out the window, but she had no fine window of glass, only a piece of scraped hide, which let her see nothing but shadows.

“Leave them plums!” she shouted from inside.

“How about if we take all the plums we can carry, and leave a gold coin instead?” Gaborn called out.

Quick as a flash, the old woman was at the door again. “You have money?”

Gaborn reached into the pouch at his waist, pulled out a coin, tossed it to the woman. Her hand darted from the doorpost to catch the coin. She closed the door while she bit the coin, then cracked the door again to shout, more cordially, “There's grain in the pig shed. Good oats. Take as much as you want. And the plums.”

“A blessing on you and your tree,” Binnesman called out, “three years' good harvest.”

“Thank you,” Gaborn shouted, bowing low. He and Binnesman led the horses round back while Iome fed her father plums from the tree.

Gaborn opened the shed, found a burlap bag of oats, and began to dump them in a worn wooden trough to feed the horses. As he did, he was painfully aware that the wizard sat quietly on his horse, watching Gaborn.

“You have questions for me,” Binnesman said.

Gaborn dared not ask the most pressing questions first. So he said easily, “Your robes have gone red.”

“As I told you they would,” Binnesman answered. “In the spring of his youth, an Earth Warden must grow in his power, tend it and nurture it. In the green summer of his life, he matures and ripens. But I am in the autumn of my life, and now must bring forth my harvest.”

Gaborn asked, “And what happens in the winter?”

Binnesman smiled up at him discreetly. “We will not speak of that now.”

Gaborn picked a question that had troubled him more. “Why could Raj Ahten not see me? He thought there was a spell upon me.”

Binnesman chuckled. “In my garden, when Earth drew a rune on your forehead, it was a symbol of power that I, in my weakness, dared not try. You are invisible now, Gaborn—at least, you're invisible to your enemies. Those who serve Fire cannot see you, but see instead your love for the land. The closer they come to you, the more powerfully the spell affects them. I am amazed that Raj Ahten even knew that you were there in the glade. Fire could have given him such power. I did not realize that then, but I realize it now.”

Gaborn thought about this.

“You cannot take great security in this gift of invisibility,” Binnesman said. “Many evil men would do you harm, men who do not serve Fire. And flameweavers of great power can pierce your disguise if they get close.”

Gaborn remembered the flameweaver in Castle Sylvarresta, the way she'd looked at him in recognition, as if he were a sworn enemy.

“I see...” he whispered. “I understand why Raj Ahten could not see me. But why could I not see him?”

“What?” Binnesman said, his brows arching in surprise.