David Farland - Sons of the Oak

“I’m with the boy,” Borenson said. “It seems more likely that his enemies just waited for him to die. His endowments were aging him prematurely. He was old, even for a wizard.”

Fallion had to wonder. His father should have known that he was going to die. His Earth Powers would have warned him weeks, perhaps months, in advance. And thus if he had foreseen his own death, why had he not avoided it?

Perhaps he could not avoid it, Fallion thought. But at least, he could have come home to say good-bye.

He said good-bye in his own way, Fallion realized. But it seemed a small thing.

And for that matter, why had Gaborn sent Fallion into the mountains toward danger as his last act? Had his father meant for him to find Rhianna, to help save her?

That didn’t make any sense. Rhianna wasn’t one of the Chosen. His father couldn’t have known of her distress. The Earth King’s powers were limited. He didn’t know everything.

Fallion was in a muddle.

“Why would anyone want to kill me?” Fallion wondered aloud. He saw his mother stiffen, exchange a look with Borenson.

She knelt, bit her lower lip, and seemed to search for the right words. “There are many men who might want you dead. I haven’t wanted to alarm you, but you need to know: your father traveled through many realms, seeking out the good people of the world. He Chose those that he liked best, and with his blessing, he helped them to prosper, and protected them from harm.”

She held her breath a moment, letting this sink in. “Now those people venerate him. They love your father like no king before him. And you are his heir. There will be many who will want to serve you more than their own kings. Who would want to serve an old warlord in Internook, for example, when he could have the son of the Earth King as his lord?”

“No one,” Fallion said.

“Exactly,” Iome said. “Which is why, when the last Earth King died over two thousand years ago, other lords banded together and slew his offspring, in order to protect their thrones.”

“But I don’t want anyone’s throne,” Fallion objected.

“You don’t now,” Borenson said with a note of hope in his voice, “but if you were to stake such a claim…”

“Wars would rage across the land,” Iome said, and Fallion imagined millions of people, rising up at once, to subjugate their lords.

“But I wouldn’t do that,” Fallion said.

Iome looked to Borenson, unsure what to say next, and Borenson whispered, “Not now,” he said. “Maybe you’ll never want that. But the time may come…”

Fallion looked at his mother, saw her blanch. Borenson had just suggested the unthinkable.

Iome had to deter the child from that line of thinking. “What is the duty of a Runelord?” Iome asked Fallion. She had made him memorize the words as an infant.

“The Runelord is the servant of all,” Fallion said. “It is his duty to render justice to the aggrieved, to foster prosperity among the needy, and to establish peace whenever peril looms.”

“That was your father’s creed,” Iome said, “and the ancient creed of House Orden. But it is not the creed of every king.”

“Certainly it is not the creed of Anders,” Borenson said. “Or of those who followed him. He fears you, fears the kind of king that you could become.”

“But I’ve done nothing to him,” Fallion said.

Iome knelt, looking into his eyes. “It’s not what you have done, it is what you could do. When you were born, your father looked into your heart, and saw that you had an ancient spirit, that you had been born many times. He said that you came to the Earth with a purpose. Do you know that purpose?”

Fallion felt inside himself. He didn’t feel special at all. He was just frightened. And he wasn’t aware of any powerful desires, except that his bladder was full and would soon need to be emptied. “No,” Fallion said.

Iome peered into his face, and her features softened as she smiled. Fallion could see wetness in her dark eyes. “Your father said, ‘He comes to finish what I could not.’ ”

Fallion wondered at that. His father had been the most revered king in two thousand years. He had led an army against the reaver hordes and won. People said that there was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish. “What does that mean?” Fallion asked. “What am I supposed to do?”

Iome shook her head. “I don’t know. But in time it will become clear to you. And when it does, Anders will indeed find that he has a worthy foe.”

Fallion wondered what to do. He couldn’t fight. But suddenly he knew the answer. Fallion turned a step, peered out through the open doors, to the veranda, where a sudden breeze gusted, blowing the curtains inward toward him. “When he was dying, Da told me to run. He said that they would come for me, and I was to keep running. He said that the ends of the Earth are not far enough.”

Iome made a choking noise, and when Fallion turned, he saw her dark eyes glistening with tears. She looked to Sir Borenson, as if to confirm what Fallion had said. Borenson peered at the floor as if he were a wizard staring into some dark orb, and he nodded. “Those are the words he gave me,” Borenson said. “He told me to take the boys and run, and said, ‘The ends of the Earth are not far enough.’ ”

From the window, there came a sound, a distant rumble, the growl of one of the strengi-saats from the woods. Iome strode to the veranda, and considered closing the doors.

She stood listening for a moment. Across the fields, the cottages were all dark. Not a single lamp shone in a window. And now a ghost mist was rising from the warm River Gyell, spreading through the downs. A bell-like call sounded to the north of the castle, and Iome thought it odd. The creatures had come from the south.

She waited a moment, heard an answering call from the south, and two from the west.

They’re circling the castle, she realized. Perhaps they’re after more women. Or after my son.

She dared not ignore Gaborn’s warning or even to hesitate to act. “I think that you’re right,” Iome said. “It would be best to leave quietly, and soon. Fallion, go and find Jaz. Tell him that you are to go to your rooms and pack three changes of clothing, your long knives, and perhaps a few trinkets, but no more than each of you can easily carry. Then go straight to bed and get some rest.”

“Yes, Mother,” Fallion said.

Iome watched as he hurried from the room, his feet rustling across the stone floor. She stood for a moment, thinking, then sighed deeply. She turned to Borenson. “You think well of Fallion. You could not hide the hope in your voice when you spoke of him challenging Anders.”

“I watched his father grow,” Borenson said. “He was a good lad, and I knew that he’d make a great king. But Fallion will be better.”

Iome smiled. No one could do more for his people than what Gaborn Val Orden had done. “All parents hope that their children will be better than they are.” She thought a moment. “But don’t speak of those hopes to Fallion. He’s just a child.”

“With enemies that are more than man-sized.”

“We’ll leave before dawn,” Iome said.

“Do you plan to come?” Borenson asked. “It’s a far journey.”

“I’ll come,” Iome said. “You know where to go?”

“I have an idea, milady,” Borenson said. “When I received the command, I had an… impression.”

“Speak of our destination to no one,” Iome said. “Not me, not the children. The fewer people who know the way, the fewer who can reveal it.”

“I understand,” Borenson said.

“We must consider which guards to take with us. I’ll want Daymorra and Hadissa, I think.”

“The fewer the better,” Borenson argued. “If we’re to travel discreetly, exotic guards will attract attention.”