He was so involved in harvesting the root of mallow to treat burns, that at first he did not notice when Binnesman arrived just before dinner.
“Hello,” Binnesman said at Gaborn's back, startling him. “So, you gather herbs now?”
Gaborn nodded, afraid that to a master herbalist such as Binnesman, his efforts would seem feeble. Gaborn knelt near the aromatic, serrated leaves by the ground, and suddenly felt unsure, wondered if these rose-pink petals really were mallow, or if he'd been mistaken.
Binnesman only nodded kindly, and smiled, then knelt beside Gaborn and helped him dig. “The root of mallow is best for burns when it is still fresh,” he said, “though vendors hawk it dried. It is the cooling sap that you need, not some desiccated twig. But a dried mallow root, once soaked in water, can still give some relief.”
Gaborn stopped digging, but Binnesman urged him to keep on. “Look to the tops of the roots, the thickest parts. It's good that you do this, learn which parts to use.”
He pulled at the mallow, then broke off its purplish-brown root for Gaborn to see. The sap oozed onto Binnesman's fingers, and the old wizard touched the cool stuff to Gaborn's forehead. “See?”
“Yes, I see,” Gaborn answered.
There was an uncomfortable silence between them, and the wizard stared into Gaborn's eyes. Gaborn could see flecks of green in the old man's skin, but his robes had gone a ruddy flame, the color of maple leaves in autumn.
“You think I have some great powers,” Binnesman said, “but it is only the power that comes from serving the Earth.”
“No, your herbs are far more potent than any I've seen in Mystarria,” Gaborn said.
“Would you like to know the secret of it?” the wizard asked.
Gaborn nodded dumbly, hardly daring believe the wizard would tell him.
“Plant the seeds yourself, My King,” Binnesman said, “in soil fertilized and turned by your own hands. Water them with your own sweat. Serve them—fulfill their every need—and they'll serve you fully in return. Few men, even among the wise, understand the great power one can gain from service.”
“There is nothing more?” Gaborn asked.
“My plants grew to serve the people of this land. You saw how I dunged them with human waste. I used dung from many people, over many generations. So the plants serve these people.
“We are all...intertwined. Man, plant, earth, sky, fire, water. We are not many things, but one thing. And when we recognize that we are all but one thing, then we begin to tap into that One Greater Power—the communion.”
Binnesman fell silent and watched Gaborn intently. “Do you understand?”
As he considered, Gaborn thought he began to apprehend what Binnesman tried to say, but he did not know if he could comprehend it yet.
“There are gardens in Mystarria,” Gaborn said, for lack of any other response. “I'll speak to my gardeners, learn what seeds I have to plant. I should be able to get many kinds of seeds, at the House of Understanding.”
“May I see your gardens?” Binnesman asked. “Perhaps I could advise you on matters of their cultivation.”
“I'd like that,” Gaborn said. “But you've spent your life here. Won't you stay in the Dunnwood?”
“To what purpose?” Binnesman asked. “The Seventh Stone has fallen. The last of the obalin is dead. I've nothing more to learn from it, and can no longer serve it. My garden is destroyed.”
“Your wylde. What of it?”
“I searched for it all this afternoon, listened to the trees and grass. If it walks the earth, it does so far from here. I will search for it in Fleeds and farther south, until I find it. Perhaps in Mystarria.”
“But the woods?”
“Are beautiful indeed,” Binnesman said. “I will miss them. Now you are my king. I will follow you.”
It had such an odd sound, this exclamation of devotion. To Gaborn's knowledge, no Earth Warden had ever claimed fealty to a king. Wizards were solitary beings, living outside the bounds of common men.
“It will be terrible, won't it?” Gaborn asked. “The war. I feel it coming. I feel...a shifting under the earth. Energies stirring.”
Binnesman merely nodded. Gaborn looked down, noticed that the old wizard stood barefoot, though a few dollops of snow still hid among the leaves in the garden.
Gaborn said now the thing that had been haunting him all afternoon. “I claimed him with my whole heart. I claimed my father. I tried to protect him, and I tried to serve him—just as I claimed Sylvarresta and Chemoise's father and Rowan. Yet I failed them. They're all dead—seeds of mankind that I chose to save. Tell me, Binnesman, what more must I do?”
The wizard studied Gaborn frankly. “Don't you understand, milord? It is not enough simply to want them. You must serve them with your whole mind, your whole will.”
Gaborn wondered deep in his heart what he needed to do, and in answer he felt a terrifying sense of distress, a sense that the whole world was rocking, shifting under his feet, and he had nothing to cling to. Certainly he'd loved his father and Sylvarresta, had struggled to keep both kings alive.
“It is my fault that Raj Ahten still lives,” Gaborn mused. “I spun too thin a web to catch such a large fly.” Gaborn smiled at the image.
Yet there was something more he needed to do, something he could not quite grasp or voice. Gaborn was so new in his powers. He didn't know his own measure, his own responsibilities.
Binnesman said something then, words that would haunt Gaborn forever. And as Binnesman spoke the secret, Gaborn felt his mind begin to unhinge: “Milord, have you not understood? Choosing a man for the Earth is not enough. The powers of Earth are weakening, while Fire grows strong. Each person you seek to save, Fire will only seek more fully to destroy. And it will seek to destroy you above all.”
Gaborn gasped and his heart froze at the recognition, for surely he'd felt this all along—this secret nagging suspicion. The new powers he'd felt stirring within him bore a tremendous price. By choosing to love someone, by seeking to save a person, he marked the person, made him a target.
“How then? How can I do anything?” Gaborn asked. “What does it benefit a man to be chosen?”
“In time, we will learn to use your powers,” Binnesman said. “You think that benefit is slight, and perhaps that is so. But is the benefit slight to a man, if it means the difference between life and death?”
As Gaborn considered, he recognized that he'd done some things right. He'd saved Iome when Raj Ahten hunted them. He'd managed to save Borenson at Longmont. He'd drawn Myrrima here for reasons he did not yet understand, and he suddenly felt sure to the marrow of his bones that if he'd not sent Borenson back to warn Myrrima of the invaders in the woods, the whole family would have been slaughtered.
Without the aid of Gaborn's fledgling powers, many more would be dead now.
Yes, I've done something. But I must do far, far more.
“What will you now, milord?” Binnesman asked, almost as if divining his thoughts.
“What would you advise?” Gaborn said.
“You are the king; I am merely a servant, and no counselor,” Binnesman said. “The earth will serve you in ways it would never serve me. I have no idea what you should do.”
Gaborn considered. “There are forcibles hidden here in the garden,” Gaborn said with a sigh. “I'll dig them up. Raj Ahten believes I already have them, that I've already used them. By the time he returns, I shall have done it. He may become the Sum of All Men, but I shall be the sum of all his nightmares.
“You know much about ancient lore,” Gaborn said. “Can he do it? Can he become the Sum of All Men?”
“Not of all men,” Binnesman said. “He craves power, the guarantee of a continued existence. I do not know much of the Runelords' arts, but I know this: If he seeks to become the Sum of All Men, perhaps he should go to the source, learn how it is done.”
“What do you mean?” Gaborn asked.
“We Earth Wardens live a long time. Lives given in service are usually long, and lives given in service to the land can be longest of all. Yet when I was young, four hundred years ago, I once met a man of the South. I met him at an old inn near Danvers Landing. He seemed only a young Runelord, some traveling noble. But a hundred and eighty years ago, he came north and visited Castle Sylvarresta for the summer. At least I believe it was him. There had been trouble that year to the north with reavers and with robbers. He put an end to them both. Then he went south again.”