The Sum of All Men

Afterword

The earth powers racked Iome on the evening she became engaged to Gaborn, making her desire him more than ever before. Perhaps it was because Gaborn and Binnesman both had come together, flanking her, so that she felt herself sandwiched between the two, buffeted by their creative energies. Or maybe her fatigue left her more open to his magic than normally.

Or perhaps it was because she could feel the earth power growing in Gaborn, quietly transforming him.

In any event, she felt grateful that her people accepted their betrothal. For when he touched her that evening and raised her hand, she felt more than a human touch. His fingers twined together with hers, like two vines espaliered together. She did not believe any longer that she could remain separated from him. She did not believe she could have separated again, not and lived, not and have been truly alive. If anyone had tried to tear her from him, Iome believed wholeheartedly that she'd simply have withered and died.

That night, she called Sir Borenson to her to bestow her judgment.

To his credit, Borenson came the three miles without complaint, knelt at her feet on hands and knees, ready once again to offer his neck, should she desire it. All around them had gathered thousands of knights and warriors. Feelings among them were mixed, Iome could tell from their faces. Some would have rent the man alive. Others frowned thoughtfully, fearing that someday, under similar circumstances, they might find themselves in his position.

She could have outlawed him, stripped him of rank and protection. She could have executed him on the spot.

“Sir Borenson,” Iome said, “you have grievously injured House Sylvarresta. Do you have anything to say in your own behalf?”

Borenson just shook his head, his great red beard swaying above the dirt. No.

“Then I will speak in your behalf,” Iome said. “You may have injured House Sylvarresta, but you also have loved it, and you have served the people of Heredon.”

Iome sighed, “Yet justice demands a penalty. In ancient times, I am told, an act such as yours could be forgiven, should the offending knight complete an 'Act Penitent.' ”

Iome found it hard to breathe, found it hard to speak these next words, though the idea had been given her by Binnesman, and it had seemed adequate at the time. Now she wondered if it was too much. An act of penitence should be something a man could hope to accomplish, a great deed that would try his soul and let him grow. Not a deed that would destroy a man.

She feared her sentence would break Borenson. “I sentence you to go south, beyond the lands of Inkarra. I bid you find Daylan Hammer, the Sum of All Men, so that we can learn how best to defeat Raj Ahten.” An astonished gasp issued from the crowd of bystanders, followed quickly by whispers.

Borenson gave a little cough in surprise, looked up to Iome, then to Gaborn, who stood at her side.

“How? When? I mean—I am under oath to House Orden.”

“Then I release you from all oaths, Sir Borenson,” Gaborn said, “until your Act Penitent is complete. You shall become a Knight Equitable, answerable only to yourself, if you wish.”

“If I wish?” He seemed to consider. He would have to travel through enemy countries, facing countless dangers, in some vain hope of finding a legend. It was a deed that might take a man a lifetime. Or more. Time, for a man with endowments of metabolism, could pass so swiftly.

Borenson glanced over his shoulder at Myrrima. If he accepted Iome's punishment, he'd have to leave her behind. He might never see her again. Myrrima's face was pale, etched with fear. As a signal to him, she nodded, barely.

“I accept your judgment,” Borenson answered uncertainly. He got off his knees.

He no longer wore the livery of House Orden, and therefore had no need to strip himself of it. But he took his shield, cut the bindings behind the wood, so that the leather covering came away, with its painted image of the green knight. Beneath the leather covering, the shield was only blank steel riveted to a frame of wood.

“When will you leave?” Gaborn asked, clapping Borenson on the back.

Borenson shrugged, glanced at Myrrima. “Two weeks, four at the most. Before the mountains fill with snow.”

After he has had time to wed, Iome realized.

She saw the calculating gaze that Gaborn gave, knew he wanted to go with Borenson.

But Gaborn's duties would hold him here in the North.

The next morning at dawn, Gaborn prepared a wagon to carry the bodies of the kings back to Castle Sylvarresta. There, Sylvarresta would be buried, while Gaborn's father would be embalmed and shipped back home to Mystarria.

With the bodies, Gaborn secreted ten large boxes of forcibles, covered in soil from the gardens at Bredsfor Manor.

Gaborn oversaw the whole affair. The camp had become busy since dawn, with thousands of warriors striking their tents in preparation to leave, others still coming in from around Heredon.

When Gaborn had finished loading the bodies and checked the wagon's wheels and undercarriage to see if they could hold the heavy load, he got up to find that a small crowd had gathered. Locals who had lived here at Longmont.

“We come to ask you,” a sturdy farmer said, “if you'll be willing to take our endowments.”

“Why do you come to me?” Gaborn asked.

“You'll be our king,” a young man in the crowd spoke up.

“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.”

That night, Gaborn could not sleep. He went out into Binnesman's garden. The trees and grasses were but gnarled ash. Yet beneath him he could feel life—seeds and roots already beginning to stir. Though fire had burned this place, come spring it would once again become a riot of life.

On the plains of Fleeds, far from the borders of the Dunnwood, Raj Ahten's troops raced south for a day before they met the remains of Vishtimnu's army, bivouacked near a pinnacle of rock.

The Clan Lords of Fleeds had discovered the army moving through the wilderness, had feared that it had come to attack the stronghold at Tor Billius, so they had surrounded the army, then slain some eighty thousand men.

Raj Ahten broke the enemy lines. As he appeared before the clans, he admonished them to serve him. Thirty thousand men joined his army that day, though many others continued to fight against Raj Ahten.

Chief among those who fought were the great High King Connel and his valiant warriors, who led charge after charge against the Wolf Lord, until the knights' lances were all broken and their shields shattered. Still, Connel fought on with hatchet and dagger.

At sunset, Raj Ahten fed Connel, alive, to his Frowth giants.

Then for a long time Raj Ahten stood, gazing at the remnants of his army, considering, then he looked back to the north, as if torn in indecision.

Some say that he muttered curses under his breath, and that he trembled, alternately gripped by rage and fear. Others say that he merely stood, thoughtfully. With so many more men at his back, he felt sorely tempted to return to Heredon, strike at the Earth King now, and finish it.

At last, Raj Ahten turned his back on Heredon and raced for the mountains.

Three nights after the fall of Longmont, Gaborn and Iome married in Castle Sylvarresta.

The ceremony was a large one, for thousands of lords were gathering from nearby nations. Iome wore no veil, and if Gaborn was pleased that Iome's beauty had returned, he did not show it. His devotion had not faltered when she grew ugly; it did not suddenly sprout greater wings now.

On her wedding night, Gaborn kept his promise. He proved to be no gentleman in bed, at least no more a gentleman than she wanted him to be.

That night, after making love, Iome lay in bed for a long time with her hand gently placed over her womb, wondering what manner of child she carried. '

For she knew she carried a child. The earth power in Gaborn was growing so strong, it was no longer possible that he could plant a seed and not have it take root.

Borenson and Myrrima married that same day with little fanfare, choosing a poor couple's wedding.

The next night, a quarter moon rose over the eastern hills outside Castle Sylvarresta. By its faint light, Gaborn, Borenson, and fifty Knights Equitable mounted their chargers and rode pell-mell into the Dunnwood, lances at the ready, to hunt for reavers.

The men were ferocious, longing for the hunt, and all promised that this would be one to remember.

Binnesman went with them, for he said that there were soils deep beneath the Dunnwood, soils once mined by the duskins, soils that carried magics of the deep earth, which could grant magical properties to the weapons that the Earth King's smiths would forge this winter.

Of what transpired on that great hunt, little was ever said thereafter. But the Earth King and his wizard and some of his knights returned shortly after dawn, three days later, on the last and greatest day of the Hostenfest, the day of the great feast.

By great misfortune, in the duskin mines they had found more than they could easily handle twenty-seven juvenile reavers, along with their reaver mage.

Forty-one brave knights died in that battle.

Borenson himself slew the reaver mage in her lair, and brought back with him a trophy, dragging the creature's massive head behind his steed.

He laid the head of lumpy gray leather out on the green before Castle Sylvarresta for all to see. It was almost six feet in length, four feet high, and somewhat ovoid in shape. It looked much like the head of an ant or some insect, except that it had no eyes, ears, or nose. Its only sensory apparatus was the patches of feelers that hung like gray worms from the back of its head, in mockery of hair, and down near its mouth.

The rows of crystalline teeth in its great maw made a huge impression on the peasants and children, many of whom were afraid to touch the rigid lips. The thousands of teeth inside that maw sat in seven rows, like those of a shark, but each jagged tooth was as clear and tough as quartz. Like the bones of the skull behind it.

Peasants by the tens of thousands came to view the monster's head. The children shrieked in delight to touch it, and many a maid gaped at it, and tittered, while the old folks just stared long and thoughtfully.

It was the first reaver mage found within the Dunnwood in nearly seventeen hundred years, and many of those present believed it would be the last one they'd see in their lifetimes.

But they were wrong. For it was not the last.

It was only the first.