“You don’t now,” Borenson said with a note of hope in his voice, “but if you were to stake such a claim…”
“Wars would rage across the land,” Iome said, and Fallion imagined millions of people, rising up at once, to subjugate their lords.
“But I wouldn’t do that,” Fallion said.
Iome looked to Borenson, unsure what to say next, and Borenson whispered, “Not now,” he said. “Maybe you’ll never want that. But the time may come…”
Fallion looked at his mother, saw her blanch. Borenson had just suggested the unthinkable.
Iome had to deter the child from that line of thinking. “What is the duty of a Runelord?” Iome asked Fallion. She had made him memorize the words as an infant.
“The Runelord is the servant of all,” Fallion said. “It is his duty to render justice to the aggrieved, to foster prosperity among the needy, and to establish peace whenever peril looms.”
“That was your father’s creed,” Iome said, “and the ancient creed of House Orden. But it is not the creed of every king.”
“Certainly it is not the creed of Anders,” Borenson said. “Or of those who followed him. He fears you, fears the kind of king that you could become.”
“But I’ve done nothing to him,” Fallion said.
Iome knelt, looking into his eyes. “It’s not what you have done, it is what you could do. When you were born, your father looked into your heart, and saw that you had an ancient spirit, that you had been born many times. He said that you came to the Earth with a purpose. Do you know that purpose?”
Fallion felt inside himself. He didn’t feel special at all. He was just frightened. And he wasn’t aware of any powerful desires, except that his bladder was full and would soon need to be emptied. “No,” Fallion said.
Iome peered into his face, and her features softened as she smiled. Fallion could see wetness in her dark eyes. “Your father said, ‘He comes to finish what I could not.’ ”
Fallion wondered at that. His father had been the most revered king in two thousand years. He had led an army against the reaver hordes and won. People said that there was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish. “What does that mean?” Fallion asked. “What am I supposed to do?”
Iome shook her head. “I don’t know. But in time it will become clear to you. And when it does, Anders will indeed find that he has a worthy foe.”
Fallion wondered what to do. He couldn’t fight. But suddenly he knew the answer. Fallion turned a step, peered out through the open doors, to the veranda, where a sudden breeze gusted, blowing the curtains inward toward him. “When he was dying, Da told me to run. He said that they would come for me, and I was to keep running. He said that the ends of the Earth are not far enough.”
Iome made a choking noise, and when Fallion turned, he saw her dark eyes glistening with tears. She looked to Sir Borenson, as if to confirm what Fallion had said. Borenson peered at the floor as if he were a wizard staring into some dark orb, and he nodded. “Those are the words he gave me,” Borenson said. “He told me to take the boys and run, and said, ‘The ends of the Earth are not far enough.’ ”
From the window, there came a sound, a distant rumble, the growl of one of the strengi-saats from the woods. Iome strode to the veranda, and considered closing the doors.
She stood listening for a moment. Across the fields, the cottages were all dark. Not a single lamp shone in a window. And now a ghost mist was rising from the warm River Gyell, spreading through the downs. A bell-like call sounded to the north of the castle, and Iome thought it odd. The creatures had come from the south.
She waited a moment, heard an answering call from the south, and two from the west.
They’re circling the castle, she realized. Perhaps they’re after more women. Or after my son.
She dared not ignore Gaborn’s warning or even to hesitate to act. “I think that you’re right,” Iome said. “It would be best to leave quietly, and soon. Fallion, go and find Jaz. Tell him that you are to go to your rooms and pack three changes of clothing, your long knives, and perhaps a few trinkets, but no more than each of you can easily carry. Then go straight to bed and get some rest.”
“Yes, Mother,” Fallion said.
Iome watched as he hurried from the room, his feet rustling across the stone floor. She stood for a moment, thinking, then sighed deeply. She turned to Borenson. “You think well of Fallion. You could not hide the hope in your voice when you spoke of him challenging Anders.”
“I watched his father grow,” Borenson said. “He was a good lad, and I knew that he’d make a great king. But Fallion will be better.”
Iome smiled. No one could do more for his people than what Gaborn Val Orden had done. “All parents hope that their children will be better than they are.” She thought a moment. “But don’t speak of those hopes to Fallion. He’s just a child.”
“With enemies that are more than man-sized.”
“We’ll leave before dawn,” Iome said.
“Do you plan to come?” Borenson asked. “It’s a far journey.”
“I’ll come,” Iome said. “You know where to go?”
“I have an idea, milady,” Borenson said. “When I received the command, I had an… impression.”
“Speak of our destination to no one,” Iome said. “Not me, not the children. The fewer people who know the way, the fewer who can reveal it.”
“I understand,” Borenson said.
“We must consider which guards to take with us. I’ll want Daymorra and Hadissa, I think.”
“The fewer the better,” Borenson argued. “If we’re to travel discreetly, exotic guards will attract attention.”
“Of course.” There was so much to plan, Iome’s mind was spinning. If the boys did not have guards, then perhaps they’d need to protect themselves. “Do you think the boys are ready for their first endowments?”
Borenson gave her a hard look. Iome and Gaborn had both been loath to let their sons taste the first kiss of the forcible, to let them feel the ecstasy of having another’s attributes flow into them, lest they yearn to repeat the experience over and over, and thus become corrupted.
Worse, Iome knew firsthand the toll paid by those who gave endowments. She’d seen her own father become a drooling idiot after he gave his Wit to the wolf lord Raj Ahten. Iome had given her glamour to Raj, and had watched her own beauty turn to corruption.
“It’s a heady thing for a child,” Borenson said. “Jaz isn’t ready yet. He acts like any other child his age, but Fallion’s a good boy, very mature for his age. He could bear it…if you are ready to lay that burden on him.”
Iome bit her lip. She knew what he meant by “burden.” Iome had laid endowments upon her own husband, had given him endless strength and stamina with which to fight the reavers. And as a result, she had lost him.
In the very same way, she would be sacrificing her sons if she gave them endowments now. Their childhood would end the instant the forcibles touched their flesh. She might give them greater strength, speed, wit, and stamina with which to fight their battles, but in doing so she would lay upon them an onus, a burden of responsibility that no child should have to bear. The very attributes that saved them would warp them, suck the joy from their lives.
It was a quandary. Do I ruin a boy’s life in order to save it?
“A thought, if I may?” Borenson said. “Your sons are going into hiding. But how long can they remain hidden if they bear the scars of the forcible?”
He had a point. If her boys had the strength of three men, the grace of two, the wit of four, the speed of three-how long could they hide such powers? Even if they managed to hide them, the runes that the forcibles branded into their skin would mark them for what they were.
And it would leave them only half alive, as she’d left Gaborn only half alive when she sacrificed him for the good of her people.
“Very well,” Iome said, letting out a sigh. “If my children cannot protect themselves, then we will have to protect them.” She gave Borenson a long, appraising look. “Sir Borenson, you were once the greatest warrior of our generation. With a few endowments, you could be again.”
Borenson went to the window and looked away, uncertain what to say, considering the offer. He had thought about this many times, and had turned it down just as many.
He had taken endowments when he was young, and in doing so, had turned strong men into weaklings, wise
