“You've got gold,” the farmer said. “You can pay. We don't ask much, only that you care for our families, keep them through the winter. I'm a strong man. Been working all my life. I could sell you my brawn. And my son over there—never has been sick a day. You could use him.”
Gaborn shook his head sadly. “There will be gold enough for you without selling your endowments.” Gaborn spoke loudly, so that all the crowd could hear. “I'll need men to rebuild this fortress. I'll pay you well for your labor. Bring your families for the winter, and stay in the buildings that still stand. Every man of you will have beef for your children, and bread in your bellies.” He thought to promise them more—acorns and mushrooms, deer and boar, all the fruits of the forest and of the fields. “You can work some days for me, others for yourselves, so you may build your own homes. I won't buy endowments from a man in need.”
“And what about the rest of us who want you to fight for us?” an older man asked. “I've got no family. I'm too old to swing a warhammer. But you can have my wits. They're sharp as ever. I'll fight with you as I can.”
Gaborn looked out over the crowd. This was the only kind of man he'd be willing to take endowments from, a man who knew that this was an act of war, that giving himself was a commitment to be made in deadly earnest. Yet Gaborn did not want any endowments, thought to wait before taking them until spring or some far future day. Still, he knew that Raj Ahten was not far away, and might still send assassins. These people needed a lord, and Gaborn needed their aid.
“How many of the rest of you feel as this man does?” Gaborn asked.
As one, some fifty men and women shouted, “I!”
That day, Gaborn and Iome rode with five hundred lords and knights back to Castle Sylvarresta on force horses.
At each village and town, they slowed their movements and let the heralds announce their presence: the Earth King, Gaborn Val Orden, and his bride-to-be, Iome Sylvarresta. By now, the word of the rise of an Earth King had been shouted along almost every road in Heredon, and was making its way through the neighboring countries of Fleeds and South Crow—then, besides.
And before the King and Queen rode the wizard Binnesman, with an oak branch in his hand.
At every village, the children stared in awe and grinned at Gaborn, the young king. The wooden effigies of the Earth King all adorned the doors and windows of every house, and the faces of the children were all filled with joy, for this day marked more than the defeat of Raj Ahten. This was the first day of Hostenfest, and finally, after 1629 years, a new Earth King walked the land, one who could bless his people as did the great king of old.
And though children greeted Gaborn in awe and joy, the elders more often waved with tearstained faces. For some of them understood what a dire portent it was that an Earth King once again walked in the land. Hard times were upon them, harder than any known before.
As Gaborn passed one inn, the innkeeper went to the effigy by his door, tore off its fine crown of braided oak branches, and brought it to Gaborn to wear. After that, as a token of submission, at every home the people tore the crowns of oak leaves from the effigies by their doors, tossed them at Gaborn's feet, along with flowers.
And though the people could not understand the significance of what he did, as Gaborn passed each such humble home, time and again he would gaze into the face of some stout farmer or his wife and children, staring far away, as if looking deep into them or through them. Then he would smile secretively and raise his left hand in blessing, calling out gently, “I choose you. I choose each of you—for the Earth. May the Earth hide you. May the Earth heal you. May the Earth make you its own!”
As he spoke, he groaned within himself, for he could not bear the thought that any might be lost. Thus he began to gather the seeds of mankind, choosing for himself an entire nation.
The troop had not gone twenty miles when the soldiers began to notice that every oak tree in the forest seemed to have dropped its leaves during the night, for surely the leaves had still been on the trees when they'd passed the evening before.
When they remarked about it to the wizard, Binnesman told them, “This the oaks do in respect for their new king.” And they found it was true. Every oak in all the Dunnwood had dropped its leaves in a single night.
Yet on that track, Gaborn found what seemed to him to be an even greater wonder. For as he rode, a man came out of the woods, riding a great imperial warhorse and wearing a robe of gold silk. A fat man, old and dark of skin. He tossed a jeweled dagger to the ground, and Gaborn recognized Raj Ahten's counselor from the Seven Standing Stones.
“All hail the King of Earth,” the man said in a thick accent, folding his hands beneath his chin and bowing his head.
“I know your face,” Gaborn said.
“My life is forfeit, if you wish to take it,” the counselor said. “Or, if you wish, I will serve you. My name is Jureem.”
Gaborn stared into the man's face a moment. “For long, the servants of Fire have bedazzled you. How can I trust you?”
“I was a slave, the son of a slave,” Jureem said. “My father believed that a good servant was the best of men, and a good servant would anticipate his lord's needs. If you have not done so already, I bid you send messengers to Indhopal, bearing the news that an Earth King has risen in Heredon, and that Raj Ahten flees before him. Tell the people also that Raj Ahten fights the earth powers in his attempt to bring down the Kingdoms of Rofehavan.”
“In Orwynne, two hundred thousand troops have laid siege to the capital. They have orders to simply hold the capital, draw off defenders, so that no aid may come here to Heredon.”
“In your own homeland of Mystarria, three of your southern castles will have fallen by now. I will tell you the names of the lords who hold those keeps. I believe Raj Ahten will not return home, but will instead flee to one of those strongholds to advance his conflict.”
“I will tell you also the castles where Raj Ahten has hidden his Dedicates, and give you the names and descriptions of his most important vectors.”
“Whatever my lord desires, that will I give. For I, too, will now serve the earth.”
“Great is the battle you have won, milord, but I promise you, it is only the beginning.”
Gaborn wondered at all of this. “So you think that if I spread dissent in his homelands, Raj Ahten will be forced to retreat?”
Jureem shook his head. “I am thinking very much that he will not retreat, but such news will distract him. I am thinking, O Great Light, that I can be of some small help to win this war, if you let me. I offer myself as your good servant.”
“Your life is your own,” Gaborn said. “I keep no slaves, though I accept your service.”
For long the two men rode together that day, plotting war.
As for Gaborn, there was great celebration when he reached Castle Sylvarresta that night. Riders had gone ahead to announce, the King and Queen, and after King Sylvarresta was laid in a tomb beside his wife, a great feast took place.
Late in the night, some thousand knights rode hard to the castle, soldiers out of Orwynne. Old fat King Orwynne himself rode at their head.
Orwynne broke into tears at the sight of Gaborn, and bowed at Gaborn's knee. “Thank you,” he said, sobbing.
“What have I done to merit such thanks?” Gaborn asked.
“Yesterday evening, my castles were besieged by two hundred thousand of Raj Ahten's troops, and I thought all was lost. But at your command, aid came to us.”
Gaborn did not want to hear the rest, how the spirits had issued from the Dunnwood, what they had done. But he had to know.
“All of Raj Ahten's men, lost?”
“Every man within sight of the woods,” Orwynne said triumphantly.
At this news, many in the Great Hall cheered, but Gaborn bid them to silence. “There is no triumph in the deaths of these men,” Gaborn murmured. “By their deaths we are all diminished. We will need such men, in the dark time to come.”