David Farland - Sons of the Oak

Suddenly there was a scream as the attribute was sucked from a Dedicate, and the worm of light flashed away into the bosom of some force warrior.

Myrrima felt a twinge of guilt. It was more than the act of voyeurism. She’d always been on the receiving end of the ceremony. They said that there is no pain on earth that compared with giving an endowment. Even childbirth paled beside it. But it was equally true that there was no greater ecstasy than receiving one. It wasn’t just the rush of strength or vigor or intelligence. There was something primal and satisfying about it.

Borenson was watching, too, of course. “Are you tempted?” he asked. “We’re going into danger, and we’ll have the king’s sons in our care. Iome would feel more confident if you were to take further endowments…”

But Myrrima and Borenson had talked about this. He’d sworn off endowments nine years ago, when his Dedicates were slain at Carris. He’d had enough of gore. Dedicates were always targets for the merciless. It was far easier to kill a Dedicate who lent power to a lord than to kill a lord himself. And once a lord’s Dedicates were slain, and he was cut off from the source of his power, killing him was almost as easy as harvesting a cabbage.

So a lord’s Dedicates became a prime target for assassins.

No longer was Borenson willing to risk the lives of others by taking their endowments.

He had children to care for, and he couldn’t count on Myrrima. She was aging faster than he.

Myrrima’s endowments of glamour hid it, and her wizardly powers would probably extend her life, but the truth was, Myrrima suspected that even without taking more endowments, she would pass away years before him.

And like her husband, Myrrima wanted to be a commoner.

It should be our chance to grow old together, she told herself. It should be our time to fade…

She didn’t want either of them to take endowments. But there were the children to worry about.

“Are you sure we can protect them, even without endowments?” Myrrima asked.

“No,” Borenson said candidly. “I’m not sure that we can protect them even if we take endowments. I only know…that I’m done. Many a peasant raises his family with nothing but his own strength. So will I.”

Myrrima nodded. She still had some endowments, and she had a few wizardly powers to lean on, small as they were. They would have to be enough.

In her room, Rhianna drifted through dreams of pain, a recurring dream in which a strengi-saat carried her in its teeth as it leapt through the woods, landing with a jostle, then leaping again, landing and leaping. Each time that she closed her eyes, the dream recurred, startling her awake, and she would lie abed and try to reassure herself, until her eyes succumbed to sleep once again.

So it was that the strengi-saat bounded, twigs snapping between its feet, the darkness of the woods all around, a soft growl in its throat like thunder, and for an instant, as happened each time that it landed with a jar, Rhianna feared that its sharp teeth would puncture her for certain this time.

She came awake with a cry and found Sir Borenson trying to quietly lift her.

“What are you doing?” Rhianna asked.

“I’m leaving,” he whispered. “I’m going to a far land. Do you still want to come with me?”

He let go of her, laying her back in bed. Rhianna opened her eyes, and in her drug-induced haze, reality felt oily, as if it would slip from her grasp, and she had to look around the room and focus for a moment, reassure herself that this room was the reality, and that the strengi-saat had only been a dream.

She realized that Borenson had decided to let her make up her own mind. She wasn’t used to having the freedom to choose.

She felt terrified at the thought of leaving the security of the castle.

“Is it through the woods we’ll be going?”

“Only for a little way,” Borenson said. “But you’ll have me to guard you.”

She didn’t want to tell him, but she didn’t believe that he could do much to protect her. Still, he must have seen the doubt in her eyes.

“I don’t look like much,” Borenson said. “My middle is all going to fat. But I used to be the Earth King’s personal guard, and now I serve his son. I’ve killed men, too many men, and too many reavers. I’ll protect you, as if you were a princess, as if you were my own daughter.”

Rhianna wondered if that could possibly be true. Sir Borenson was going bald on top, and he didn’t look like some great warrior. Could he really protect her?

More important, what would he think once he got to know her? Rhianna knew that she was no one special. She wasn’t worth taking chances for. In time he would see that, and he would hate her.

It was still the dead of night, and Rhianna looked up, saw a woman in the door. The woman had dark hair, long and elegant, flowing over her shoulders, and eyes so black that they gleamed like the waters roiling deep in a well. Her face was kindly, loving. Several children huddled beside and behind her, clutching at her midnight blue dress, peeking shyly into the room.

Almost, it seemed a dream.

“I’m not fit to ride,” Rhianna said, all business.

“We’ll not be going by horse,” the woman said. She drew near, smiled down at Rhianna for a long moment, and took her hand. Rhianna’s heart was still thumping in fear, troubled from her nightmares. The opium had diminished her pain, and it had left the world seeming fuzzy, disturbing. But the woman’s warm smile seemed to wash away Rhianna’s fears.

“This is my wife, Myrrima,” Borenson said. “And my children-” He nodded toward a tough-looking girl with dark red hair who held a babe in her arms. “Talon, Draken, Sage, and the little one, Erin.”

“Hello,” was all that Rhianna managed to say. She couldn’t think straight. Did this man really want her, or was he just trying to be kind? And what of Myrrima, what would she be thinking? Would she want another child clinging to her dress?

Rhianna couldn’t imagine it.

But as she looked into Myrrima’s eyes she could see depths of peace and calmness that defied all understanding. Rhianna’s own mother had been a terrified creature, tough but fearful, living on the edge of madness. Rhianna had never imagined that a woman could feel the kind of peace that emanated from Myrrima.

“Come,” Myrrima whispered seductively, as if inviting Rhianna to join her in a game. “Come with us.”

“Where to?” Rhianna asked.

“To a place where children don’t have anything to fear,” Myrrima promised. “To a place where the skies are blue and daisies cover the hill, and all you have to do all day long is roll in the grass and play.”

Rhianna’s mind balked at such notions. She didn’t trust strangers. The opium haze held her, and she tried to imagine a place where the skies were blue, and daisies bobbed in a summer breeze, and it almost felt as if no such place had ever existed.

Rhianna smiled, and Myrrima peered at that innocent smile, relieved to see it, happy to see Rhianna grinning the way that a child should.

“All right,” Rhianna agreed.

“Fine,” Myrrima said. “I’m glad that you’re coming.”

Could it be true? Rhianna wondered. Could she really be glad? What did Rhianna know of these people?

I know that others trust them, she realized. Kings and lords trust them with their own lives, even with the lives of their children. Maybe I can trust them, too.

“Okay,” Rhianna said, surrendering completely.

And then Sir Borenson checked her wound, peering under the bandage. “It’s healing some,” he said, but looked worried. Very tenderly he lifted her, and bore her as if she were as light as a maple leaf, floating down the hallways of the castle, past nooks where bright lamps glowed like small stars, to a worn cellar door beneath the buttery where an old crone in dark robes waited with Jaz and Fallion, who had a bloody rag wrapped around his hand.