men into fools, hale men into sicklings-all so that their attributes would be bound into him.
But for what?
When a lord took endowments, those who gave them, his Dedicates, lost their attributes and stood in need of protection, protection that never seemed quite ample.
For once Borenson took endowments, every lord and brigand would know that the easiest way to take him down would be to kill his Dedicates, stripping Borenson of the attributes that they magically channeled to him.
Thus, in the past, those who had served Borenson the best had all paid with their lives.
Worse than that, Borenson himself had been forced to play the assassin, slaughtering the Dedicates of Raj Ahten, killing more than two thousand in a single night. Many of those had been men and women that were numbered among his friends. Others were just children.
Nine years past, Borenson had put away his weapons and sworn to become a man of peace.
But now, he wondered, dare I take this charge without also taking endowments?
I made that choice long ago, he decided. When I became a father.
“My daughter Erin is still in diapers,” Borenson said. “If I were to take three or four endowments of metabolism, she’d be ten when I died of old age.”
“So you dare not make my mistake?” Iome said.
Borenson had not meant to offer this painful reminder, but Iome had to understand what he was faced with.
“I want to grow old with my children. I want to watch them marry and have my grandbabies, and be there to give them advice when they need. I don’t want to take endowments of metabolism. And without those, the rest would be almost meaningless.”
It was true. A man might take great endowments of grace and brawn and stamina, but that would not make him a great warrior-not if an opponent charged into battle with three or four endowments of metabolism. Borenson would die in a blur to a weaker man before he could ever land a blow.
“Very well,” Iome said. “I not only respect your position, I wish that I had been as wise in my youth. But if you will not take the endowments necessary to ensure my son’s safety, then I will be forced to ensure his safety. At least, I’ll come with you as far as I can.”
Borenson felt astonished. He had not expected her to abandon her kingdom. At the most, he’d thought that she might only accompany him to the border. He gave her an appraising look. “As far as you can, milady?” Then he asked tenderly, “How far will that be?”
Iome knew what he meant. She hid the signs of aging from others, but she could not hide them from herself. Though she had been on the earth for less than twenty-five years, her endowments of metabolism had aged her more than a hundred. She moved like a panther, but she could feel the end coming. Her feet had begun to swell; she had lost sensation in her legs. Iome felt fragile, ready to break.
“You and my son had the same warning,” she said. “ ‘Hide.’ But my husband’s last words to me were, ‘I go to ride the Great Hunt. I await you.’ ”
Iome continued. “I suspect that I have only a few weeks left, at best. And it is my greatest wish to spend that time in the company of my sons.”
As she spoke, Iome felt a thrill. She had never considered abdicating her throne. It was a burden that she had carried all of her life. Now that the choice was made, she found herself eager to be rid of it, to relinquish it to Duke Paldane. No more meetings with the chancellors. No more court intrigues. No more bearing the weight of the world upon her back.
“I see,” Borenson said softly. “I will miss you, milady.”
Iome gave him a hard little smile. “I’m not dead yet.”
Borenson did something that she would never have expected: he wrapped his huge arms around her and hugged her tightly. “No,” he said. “Far from it.”
She escorted him to the door, let Sir Borenson out. Outside, her Days stood beside the door, waiting as patiently as a chair.
Iome smiled at the woman, feeling a strange sense of loss to be losing this piece of furniture. “Your services will no longer be required,” Iome said. “I hereby abdicate my throne in favor of Duke Paldane.”
The rules were clear on this. Once Iome abdicated and named her successor, the Days was to leave.
The young woman nodded, seemed to think for a moment as she listened to the counsel of distant voices. “Will Fallion be needing my services?”
Iome smiled patiently. The Days performed no “services.” They merely watched their lords, studied them. Perhaps at times there were lords whose endowments of glamour and Voice could sway a Days, but Iome had not known of one. Iome had had a Days haunting her for as long as she could remember. She would be glad to be rid of the woman, finally. “No, he won’t be needing you.”
The Days took this in. She had to know that Iome was taking her sons into hiding. An ancient law forbade a Days from following a lord into exile, for to do so would be to alert the very people that the lord was forced to hide from.
“Then I shall hurry on my way,” the Days said. Iome wondered at the use of the word hurry. Was it a subtle warning? The Days turned toward the tower door, looked over her shoulder, and said, “It has been a pleasure knowing you, milady. Your life has been richly lived, and the chronicles will bear witness to your kindness and courage. I wish you well on the roads ahead. May the Glories guard your way and the bright Ones watch your back.”
4
No man is as strong as a mother’s love for her child.
Fallion worked breathlessly to finish packing in his bedchamber while Jaz did the same. It wasn’t that Fallion had much to pack; it was that he felt excited. He only recalled ever having one real adventure in his life: when he was four, his mother had taken the boys to Heredon. He remembered almost nothing of the trip, but recalled how one morning they had ridden along a lake whose waters were so calm and clear that you could see the fat brook trout swimming far out from shore. The lake seemed to be brimful of mist, and with the way that it escaped in whorls and eddies, Fallion almost imagined that the lake was exhaling. The vapors stole up along the shore and had hung in the air among some stately beech and oaks, their tender leaves a new-budded green.
Their expert driver kept the carriage going slowly and steadily so that Fallion and Jaz could sleep. As the horses plodded silently on a road made quiet by recent rains, Fallion suddenly found himself gaping out the window through the morning mist at a huge boar-a legendary “great boar” of the Dunwood. The creature was enormous; the hump on its shoulders rose almost level with the top of the carriage, and the long dark hair at its chest swept to the ground. It grunted and plowed the fields with its enormous tusks, eating worms and soil and last season’s acorns.
The driver slowed, hoping to pass the creature quietly, for a startled great boar was as likely to charge as to flee. Fallion heard the driver mutter a curse, and suddenly Fallion looked off out the other window and saw more of the beasts coming out of the fog and realized that they had inadvertently driven right into a sounder of the monsters.
The driver pulled the carriage to a halt. For long tense minutes the boars rooted and grunted nearby, until at last one beast came so close that it brushed against a wheel. Its casual touch devastated the carriage; suddenly the axle cracked and the vehicle tilted.
Fallion’s mother had been sitting quietly, but now she acted. The royal carriage had a warhorn in it, for giving
