David Farland - Sons of the Oak

Someone is thinking, Iome realized. Was it Chancellor Westhaven who raised the queen’s flag?

“Maybe that’s what drew the assassins last night,” Borenson continued. “A milkmaid who delivered to the palace this morning swears that she saw thirty-nine bodies laid out on the greens: all of them Inkarrans.”

Iome bit her lower lip, imagined the Inkarrans with their bone white skin and silver hair, their strange breastplates and short spears. Inkarran assassins? It would have been a bitter fight, for the white-skinned Inkarrans could see perfectly well in the darkest night.

What worried her more was the sheer number. They’d never made an assault in such force before.

“We’ll have to spend the next couple of days inside,” Iome said. Though there was little danger from more Inkarrans for the next few days, it seemed likely that other assassins would be watching the court.

“My thoughts exactly. Myrrima can bring the meals in. She can tell our hosts that we’ve taken sick.”

So that was the plan.

They all stayed inside the small room, and Iome spent the day playing child’s games-Village Idiot and Three Pegs. Borenson showed the children how to tie some sailor’s knots-the thumb knot, the bowline, the rolling hitch and clove hitch-and described in glowing terms what life would be like aboard the Leviathan, though he avoided telling anyone of its destination.

Jaz had the good sense to ask if they would see pirates or sea monsters on the voyage, and Borenson assured him that they’d see both, but most likely only from a distance.

Such news disappointed Jaz, who certainly was the kind of boy who would want to catch his own sea monster and keep it in a watering trough.

Fallion remained thoughtful for much of the morning, and held aloof from the children’s games.

What his mother had told him last night affected him deeply. He felt that he needed to prepare, and though others had groomed him all of his life, now Fallion considered his own future.

I must get ready, he thought. I must build my army. But why would anyone want to follow me?

He thought of the soldiers he knew, the powerful lords and captains that he liked. They each had qualities that he admired: courage, fortitude, discipline, faith in themselves and in their men.

Am I like that? he wondered. If I work hard, can I be the kind of person that others look up to?

Fallion had known many great lords, men who had taken endowments of brawn so that they had the strength of five men, and endowments of wit so that they had the intelligence of three. He’d seen Anders who had taken endowments of glamour so that his face seemed to shine like the sun. Even Myrrima had taken enough glamour from others so that, despite her age, she remained seductive. He’d heard men with endowments of Voice speak in debates, enthralling audiences.

Fallion was nothing like them.

But I can be, he told himself. I have the forcibles that I need to become that kind of man.

And what of my warriors? He looked at the children playing on the floor: Jaz, Rhianna, Talon, Draken, Sage. Even little Erin still in her diaper.

Iome had told him that greatness could be found in the coming generations.

So it was with some embarrassment that he finally got up the courage to speak to the children. He didn’t know how to ask it, so he just broke in on a game and asked, “Do you want to join my army?”

All of the children stared up at him for a moment, giving him blank looks.

“No,” Talon answered. “We’re playing Rope a Horse.”

Sage, who at three never wanted to be left out of anything, blurted, “I’ll play dolls with you. Want to play dolls?”

Fallion shook his head. “This is a real army. I’m not talking about playing.”

“Who are you going to fight?” Rhianna asked.

“The strengi-saats,” Fallion said, “and Asgaroth, and anyone like him.”

Nearly all of the children backed away. Talon was maybe the best fighter that Fallion knew, for a seven-year-old. Her father had been training her for years. But she shook her head demurely and looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to fight them.”

Jaz, Draken, and the other children looked as if they were frightened witless. But Rhianna, the oldest of them, peered up at him, her fierce blue eyes growing impossibly more savage, and said through tight lips, “I’ll fight beside you.”

“You will?” Fallion asked.

She nodded slowly, surely. There was no doubt in her voice, no hesitation. She understood that this was a serious endeavor. “You saved my life. I’ll fight for you anytime, anyplace.”

“Good,” Fallion said. “As soon as we get on the ship, we start training.” He reached out, and the two shook hands at the wrist, sealing the bargain.

For the rest of the afternoon, Fallion felt as if he were floating on air. He had started his army.

Iome watched the exchange, gratified by the seriousness of their tone, but pained by it as well. She didn’t want her son to grow up so quickly.

More than that, she worried that she could offer little more in the way of guidance. She had told him to prepare, to begin building his army. But how could a nine-year-old prepare?

She had no answers for him. The truth was, she had never found them for herself.

Once, an hour later, while the rest of the children were playing, Fallion came up and asked his mother, “Do you think you can kill a locus?”

Iome looked to make certain that the others didn’t overhear. The children were huddled in a corner, giggling and snorting as they played Village Idiot, a memory game where a child said, “The village idiot went to the fair, but he forgot to take his…” and then he would add something bizarre, such as his duck or his pants or his eyes, bringing giggles and snorts of laughter. Each child in the circle then took a turn, adding something new to the list of things that the village idiot forgot-his codpiece, his bowels, his pretty pink pig-until the list became so unwieldy that the children began to forget. When a child messed up, the others would all chime, “You’re the village idiot!” and then keep going until only one child remained.

They were deep in play. “I don’t think you can kill a locus,” Iome said. Then she told him something that she’d never told anyone. “Your father fought one, as you guessed last night. He fought it, and he killed the reaver that housed it, but he could not kill the locus inside.”

“So, a locus is like a wight?” Fallion said. “It lives in a body, like a spirit?”

He was grappling with mysteries, and Iome didn’t have much in the way of real answers. “I imagine that it’s something like a spirit.”

“Then… cold iron should pierce it.”

Myrrima, who had been kneeling on the floor, repacking their clothes, looked up. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

Borenson chuckled and said, “She killed a wight once, but it almost killed her back. Froze her arm as stiff as a board.”

Fallion glanced at the children to see if they still were playing. The rest of them were giggling. Little Sage was rolling on the floor with laughter, but Rhianna held her back stiffly, listening for all she was worth.

Fallion asked a question now that made him uncomfortable. “So Father couldn’t kill the locus. Is that why he was always so sad?”

Borenson glanced away uncomfortably.

“You could see that?” Iome asked.

“Even when he smiled,” Fallion said. “It was there behind his eyes.”

Iome nodded. Now is the time for truth, she thought. She bit her lip, and said, “Your father traded his life in order to save his people. He traded being a father for being the Earth King. He loved you. I don’t think you can understand how much he loved you, not until the day that you become a father yourself. And just looking at you… pained him.”