Only then did Borenson realize why Gaborn had sought to save Raj Ahten, the prize he had won through his forbearance. Gaborn had become the Earth King, at last.
42
The Earth at Peace
War is easy to come by. Lasting peace is rare, and to be treasured.
Gaborn strode into the streets of Carris and peered about. The few folk who saw him stared in amazement, and then drew back reverently. Someone muttered, “He has leaves on his face, oak leaves—the sign of the Earth King.”
And inevitably those who looked at him dropped to their knees in reverence.
Gaborn could feel the change that had taken place in him. Until tonight, he had only glimpsed the power he would have as an Earth King. Now he felt it. He was sinking his roots into the Earth, sending up shoots. He was beginning to see ways to use his powers that he had never imagined.
In the city, fires sputtered everywhere, and the town was a pile of rubble. Buildings lay crumbled, with huge stones lying in heaps, or leaned to their sides with timbers thrust out like broken ribs. But he sensed life beneath the ground, life like tender seeds, waiting to spring forth.
He drew a rune on the ground, a Rune of Protection from fire, and in moments the flames that burned everywhere began to dwindle and extinguish.
He stalked down an alley, sensing for life, and found a door. Iome, Borenson, and dozens of others followed him in silent awe.
In the ground at the foot of the door, Gaborn’s sharp eyes could detect runes in the starlight—runes to protect the hunted from the unwelcome attention of the hunter, Runes of Strength to bar the door.
There were hundreds of doors like this throughout Carris, Gaborn knew. The men of Carris had dug many tunnels and chambers over the ages—cellars to store goods, tombs for the wealthy, tunnels to connect hidden passages beneath the castle walls.
“You have done a great work, it seems,” Gaborn told the Wizard Binnesman.
Silently he sent a message to his Chosen people hidden beneath the ground. “Come out. The danger is past, and the reavers are vanquished.”
Long seconds later, someone threw open the door and a pair of frightened commoners, men with pale faces who gripped their spears tightly, peered out.
Then they began to exit. One after another, the folk of Carris ushered forth, an old woman here, a pair there, until soon they began to fill the streets. They peered up in awe, for higher overhead the smoke had begun to clear, and now the stars fell like a shower of diamonds, flashes of silver and gold raining down in a clear night sky.
Soon, folks took stock of the empty fields before Carris and began shouting in jubilation. The crowd swelled the streets, until it became apparent that though many had died in the battle for Carris, perhaps half had been saved alive. Borenson stared at the emerging crowds, his jaw dropped in wonder, and said over and over, “I feared them dead. I thought them all dead.”
“Milord,” Captain Cedrick Tempest called to Gaborn, “the warlords of Internook wish to parlay.
Gaborn climbed the nearest wall so that he could look down over the southern reaches of Lake Donnestgree. There, longboats drifted like leaves, and in every boat a few torches lit the night. They bobbed like censers on the water. Iome stood beside Gaborn, looking down, her regal crown glowing with a thousand gems, while Gaborn’s green cape pin glimmered as if a star had fallen on his shoulder.
Near the base of the castle wall, great fish swam about in circles.
Old Olmarg, the warlord of Internook, drew near in his longboat, his oarsmen driving him forward in graceful strokes. He saw the water wizards ahead, and signaled for the oarsmen to stop. He gazed up at Gaborn and squinted with his one good eye, as if appraising him.
Gaborn looked out over the ships. He could feel a threat here, still. Olmarg was unsure whether to press the attack, or flee.
“The people of this realm are under my protection,” Gaborn warned him. “Come against us, and we will destroy you.”
Olmarg growled and said dangerously. “We came and fought a war for the plunder, and you’ll give us nothing? My men spilled good blood here. A reward seems in order.”
“Your name will go down in songs, as one who fought bravely,” Gaborn said. “Your great-grandchildren will sing your praise.”
Olmarg barked a laugh, and peered south. The pounding of reaver feet came like the roar of a distant ocean, and their backs were black in the starlight as they struggled over the hills.
“Damn,” Olmarg said, “we came and fought for nothing but the joy of battle.” He appraised Gaborn once again, and quickly decided that any man who could take on an army of reavers would not be cowed by the likes of him. He smiled broadly. “But it was worth it.”
Olmarg raised high a bright sphere, an orb of purest white. Gaborn could see clouds and light swirling, as if storms raged within, and almost immediately a gale picked up, came speeding from the north.
“Hoist sails,” Olmarg shouted. “We’re going home.”
Gaborn nodded thoughtfully. The sense of danger at Carris was gone.
As the warlords of Internook set sail, Averan turned and saw troops fleeing to the west. Many of Raj Ahten’s troops raced over the hills, terrified that Gaborn would come and make an example of them. Rialla Lowicker’s troops handled themselves in a courtlier manner. They banded together, and began blowing horns in long wailing notes. Her knights bore her body on a bier, with all of their flags flying about, and headed north in a sedate march as if to give her a heroine’s funeral.
As if to echo their calls, the frowth giants climbed a hill to the west and called out, “Wahoot! Wahoot!” over and over. They beat upon hollow logs, and their leaders raised a dead reaver high overhead, as if to make an offering to Gaborn, and then laid it on the battlefield.
Only King Anders’s men had refused to pack up and go skulking away in the darkness. In moments a knight came riding from his camp. The fellow looked fearful. He rode up to the castle wall and stood on the parapet, looking up. He called out to Gaborn, “Your Highness, my lord King Anders of South Crowthen sends his congratulations on a battle well won, and wishes you peace and a long life.”
“Why does he not come and offer such words himself?” Gaborn asked suspiciously.
“I fear that moving him unnecessarily would not be wise. His surgeons tell me that he has taken a mortal wound, and wishes only to return and die within sight of his homeland. I fear that he will not make it. Still, we beg your indulgence, and ask that you grant us permission to leave the battlefield.”
“What of Celinor?” Iome asked.
“The boy is with his father, trying to ease his way,” the messenger said. “He also begs permission to leave the battlefield.”
Gaborn peered across the battlefield, filled with misgivings. Anders had claimed to be the Earth King, and now he asked to leave the battlefield?
“I will come to bid him farewell,” Gaborn said.
With that, he sped across the field faster than the messenger could have imagined, past dead reavers, up the hill to a small rise where Anders’s startled guards barely had time to register his approach before he was at Anders’s tent.
Erin Connal lay outside it, bound hand and foot. Inside the tent, Anders lay abed with Celinor at his side. His wound did not look mortal. Gaborn peered at the man with his Earth Sight, and saw within him something far more terrifying than any reaver. There was a shadow in him, a blackness deep and grotesque.
Celinor and the guards reacted slowly to Gaborn’s presence. They shouted and began to fall back.
King Anders opened his eyes to slits, peered up at Gaborn, and merely smiled. “Will you kill me?”