Gaborn studied Feykaald’s movements. He spoke almost casually of the problem, as if it were a small matter. He was like a trader who sought to lure a buyer into a poor bargain. Gaborn immediately sensed a trap.
“I warned Raj Ahten of this myself. He did not believe me. Does he really dare hope that I would help him now?”
Feykaald’s lower lip trembled, as if he’d held great hopes, and feared that Gaborn would dash them. “He...does not know that I have come to you. The situation is very grave. Raj Ahten rides to Kartish, but I suspect he will arrive too late. More than that, I fear that he will not be able to dislodge our enemy.”
“You speak of what you think. What does Raj Ahten think?”
Feykaald looked down. “He thinks...that the sun and moon revolve around him. He thinks that all men are less than dust beneath his feet. He imagines that he can defeat the reavers himself. But I know he is mistaken. He does not have your powers.”
“I can offer no support,” Gaborn said, “without your master’s agreement.”
“Please,” Feykaald said. “I do not ask for Raj Ahten, or even for myself. I ask for my people.”
Gaborn countered, “I will not take an army into a realm where they are not invited, to fight beside a lord who will not assure me a truce. Raj Ahten has broken faith with me before. He would do so again.”
“There are children in Indhopal, O Great One,” Feykaald said. He spoke too loudly. He bowed his head and folded his hands before his eyes, in an attitude of supplication. “They are brown, but otherwise they are children like your children. They laugh like your children. They weep like your children. They hunger and bleed like your children. And like your children, they, too, dream that an Earth King will appear in their most desperate hour. If you will not show mercy to our men and women, at least you must show mercy to our children.”
Gaborn shook his head. He suspected that Feykaald stood against him despite his protestations. His Earth senses warned of danger should he go. Yet he also knew what he’d witnessed through Binnesman’s Seer Stones two days past. He’d seen the reavers rising in Kartish. The situation there would be grimmer even than what he’d found in Carris.
Feykaald sought to lure him to Kartish for reasons of his own. Gaborn doubted that Feykaald could guess how deeply he wished to help.
But the Earth had bade him find the Place of Bones.
“I cannot send my army,” Gaborn said.
Feykaald glanced toward Jureem as if seeking his intercession. He begged, “Salaam,” peace, and bowed deeply.
By asking for peace, he suggested that Gaborn might take offense at his next words, and begged him to remain calm.
“Peace,” Gaborn answered.
“Hear me: one small favor I beg. It should not displease you.”
“What is it?”
“There are Invincibles in your camp, men who rode from Indhopal. Three or four hundred survive. I beg you: if you will not send your own men, at least send these.”
Gaborn considered, felt a sense of foreboding. The Earth warned him that if he did send these men, they would die. Whether death would come at the hands of the reavers or of Raj Ahten himself, Gaborn could not know. “No. I cannot allow it.”
“It is a small thing that I ask,” Feykaald persisted. “These men are of limited worth to you. They have endowments now, but you must ask yourself how long this will be true. Four hundred Invincibles is not a force that Raj Ahten takes lightly. He will order the deaths of their Dedicates, lest his own men come against him. They will die—innocent Dedicates—men, women, children. They will die, and to what purpose? So that you can parade a few Invincibles as trophies of war?”
Gaborn studied Feykaald with growing dislike. “Are you begging a favor, or seeking to extort me?”
“Extort? Never!” Feykaald said. “I do not speak of what I would do. But I know my master’s mind.”
Gaborn did not doubt that Raj Ahten would do as Feykaald warned.
“You are right,” Gaborn said. “Indhopal is their homeland, and I will allow any Invincible who wishes to protect his people to return to Kartish.”
Jureem beamed, as if he had not expected such a boon.
“Thank you, O King of all the Earth,” Feykaald said with a bow.
“But—” Gaborn added, “my Earth Powers also warn that there is great danger in Indhopal, and none of the men who go there will survive. I must warn them of this.”
Feykaald’s eyes grew steely. He nodded acquiescence, but his face was unreadable. “One more small favor, I beg you.”
“Another?” Gaborn asked.
“Forcibles. If you could spare even a few hundred, they might be of incalculable value.”
Now the man was asking too much. “I have none to spare.”
Feykaald bowed his head in acceptance. “Very well. One more thing I ask of you, then.”
Gaborn felt as if he were in a market, haggling with one of Feykaald’s countrymen. Feykaald was asking for much, giving up nothing. Gaborn warned him, “One more thing you may ask of me, but I weary of your requests.”
“Peace. I beg of you: ride to Kartish yourself. If you fear Raj Ahten, you can Choose his armies, and thus be assured that they will protect you.”
“I cannot.”
“I beseech you by all that you hold dear, by your love of the land, by your honor and virtue,” Feykaald begged. “Without the Earth King to guide us, our men are as dross in the fire. If you could but see my people, you would Choose them as you Chose the people of Carris.”
Gaborn shook his head. Words could not express how much he wanted to comply with this last request, but his power of Choosing was gone. And he had another path to tread. “I have battles of my own to fight, on other fronts. Your master will have to make do without me.”
Feykaald lowered his eyes. He shook his head. “Forgive me. I took it upon myself to come here, to beg your aid. I cannot go back to Indhopal—not now. Raj Ahten will see my deed as treason. I am willing to accept this, to be named a traitor, if I can do some small good for my country. Therefore, I throw myself on your mercy, and beg asylum. I offer my services, as Jureem has done. I will serve you well, so long as you do not ask me to betray my own people.”
The man sounded sincere. His hands were trembling, and his eyes pleaded for this boon. Yet Gaborn could not trust him. Nor did he sense any danger to Feykaald.
“Go back to Raj Ahten,” Gaborn said. “He will not harm you.”
“By the Powers, by the Earth, I beg of you!” Feykaald whined. “Have mercy. Have mercy on an old man! You cannot guess the fate he would devise for me.”
Gaborn wondered. Perhaps in Feykaald’s twisted mind, these threats were real. Or perhaps he feigned fear to achieve some greater end.
There was something in this man...a blackness at the core of him. Gaborn felt no immediate threat. Feykaald would not draw a knife on him now. Yet he did not doubt that Feykaald would cause great mischief if given the opportunity.
Or is that my own fear talking? Gaborn wondered.
In the House of Understanding, in the Room of Faces, Gaborn had learned to spot deceit in a man. But he could not be sure of Feykaald. A lying man will often avert his eyes, or blink when trying to assert his falsehood. The pupils of the eye may become constricted. But Kaifba Feykaald watched Gaborn steadily, without blinking. And the opium he had smoked obscured the true size of his pupils.
A lying man may tremble, but Feykaald held calm. A lying man will often have muscles tighten in his neck, and so he may toss his head, trying to appear aloof.
Feykaald showed none of those signs. Yet, there was a message in his body language. He hunched forward, possibly from a stooped back. But Gaborn suspected that it was more than that. His manner was not that of a liar, but of a merchant, intensely interested in making a sale.
Feykaald was trying to sell him a story. Gaborn did not buy it.