“The reavers don’t know that,” Averan said. “The weather is a mystery to them. To them, weather is just something that happens.”
Old Jerimas said, “If the reavers feel too desperate, it may be that once they come off the rock, they’ll simply attack in full force. We must leave them an escape route, a way that looks safe.”
“Agreed,” Gaborn said. “We’ll give them an open road to the south—for a while.” The wilds of Mystarria to the south were scarcely inhabited. Keep Haberd had been one of the largest fortresses, and now it was gone. “But I’d still like to know what can get them off the rock.”
Averan glanced up. Everyone was looking at her expectantly. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t understand what they’re doing up there. Only Battle Weaver knew how to build the Rune of Desolation.”
“They learn fast,” Gaborn said. “Perhaps this new leader is feeling confident.”
“I’ll tell you what can get them off that rock,” Skalbairn said to Averan. “Fear. They have to be more frightened of staying up there than of leaving. What is it that reavers fear in the Underworld?”
Averan dredged up what images she could. There were lots of things. She recalled one reaver that had stepped on a creature that burrowed in the ground. It was long, with a thin tail that poked up. The tail had pierced the reaver’s foot, and the small creature had injected its eggs.
Battle Weaver had used a spell to burn the eggs, but the wound was too deep, and the eggs were already in the reaver’s blood. Thousands of parasites soon began hatching in the unfortunate reaver, so that it had to be cast into a pit.
There were other denizens of the Underworld that reavers feared or respected.
But one thing came to mind more than others. “Smoke.”
“Of course,” Skalbairn said. “Smoke in a closed tunnel. It would kill reavers as fast as it does men.”
Gaborn shook his head. “Carris was burning, yet the reavers didn’t flee. They’re afraid of smoke, but not mindlessly so.”
A sudden disjointed image came to Averan’s mind of Keeper handling a clutch of spider eggs, turning them over one by one so that the fluids inside wouldn’t settle, and the eggs would eventually hatch. When no other reavers were near, he stuck one in his mouth.
To her surprise, Binnesman came to her rescue. “Lords, ladies,” the wizard said, “I’m afraid my charge is done for a while.”
Binnesman took Averan’s hand, drew her from the crowd.
“Binnesman?” Gaborn asked, surprised at his move.
But the wizard planted his staff in the ground. “You ask too much of the girl. She’s not a warrior, and she’s not your counselor. She’s an Earth Warden. It’s time that she began her schooling.”
“Can’t it wait?” Skalbairn demanded. His tone suggested that he would gladly fight the wizard.
“I think not,” Binnesman said. “It’s an important lesson. It has to do with obedience, and remembering one’s place in the world.”
Gaborn stood up as if to challenge the wizard, but Binnesman stuck a gnarled finger in Gaborn’s chest. “It has to do with obedience, milord. You are not the Earth’s warrior any more than this child is. When it is time to strike the reavers, the Earth will warn you as it has in the past, or maybe a lightning storm is already on its way and will drive the reavers from the rock. Trust me—or trust the Power that we serve. The Earth knows the danger better than we do, and will prepare an escape. We must only do our part when the time comes.
“So, for now, I suggest that all of you lords get some rest. Have some dinner. Feed your horses. Maybe play a game of chess.”
Gaborn grinned coldly at the wizard. He had a twinkle in his eye. He nodded. “That,” Gaborn said, “is the best advice I have heard all afternoon.”
Averan couldn’t quite fathom it. She knew how desperately Gaborn needed to go to the Underworld. Time was so short.
Yet he agreed to bide his time, in hopes that the Earth would guide him. It seemed to Averan to be a terrible gamble.
Binnesman led Averan to his horse, helped her into the saddle. “Where are we going?” Averan asked.
He nodded. “Up into the mountains, to start your training.”
“Can Spring come with us?” She was still sparring with Gaborn’s captain. He’d set down the staff, now began to teach her the use of the longspear.
“She has more important things to do,” Binnesman said, nodding in approval.
He climbed onto the saddle behind Averan, spurred the big gray Imperial stallion out over the prairie. The golden fields seemed to roll back beneath the horse’s hooves, and the Runelords’ camp fell behind.
“Why did you take me away from them?” Averan asked.
“Gaborn is trying too hard,” Binnesman said. “He wants to attack, though the Earth warned him against it. He needs to learn his lesson. And you need a rest.”
His answer made sense, but Averan couldn’t stop feeling guilty. She wanted to help Gaborn.
Binnesman reached behind his saddle, pulled his old oak staff from a sheath at his back, handed it to Averan.
As soon as her palm touched it, she felt...the wood thriving beneath her fingers. It was as if she touched a living tree, sun-warmed on a hill. She turned the staff over, studied it. The staff was perhaps five feet long, made of an oak limb that seemed to be polished a rich orange-brown from long handling. Near the top, a bit of leather had been tied around it as a grip, and the laces to the bindings held the only decorations: four large beads—one forged from silver, one from iron, one carved of reaver bone, and one of obsidian. The knob at the top had no fancy decorations, only a few runes delicately carved above the grip. There were no holes from woodworms, no cracks or blazes from a fire. All in all, it looked unremarkable.
But Averan could feel power surging within it.
“Do you sense it?” Binnesman asked. “Earth Power is bound into that staff.”
“Yes,” Averan said.
“You must find your own staff. Any limb will do. All you have to do is ask a tree for it.”
“Any limb?” Averan asked, eyeing some willows along the creek up ahead.
“Not quite any,” Binnesman said. “You must find the one that is right for you.”
“Is one kind better than another?” Averan asked. “Could I take a willow limb?”
“A willow limb is good,” Binnesman said. “A wizard who bears a willow staff will be strong in the healing arts, and will be closely allied to Water. Do you feel drawn to the willows?”
Averan studied the willows, their leaves flashing green and yellow in the sunlight. She didn’t feel drawn to them, not the way that she’d felt drawn to sleep in the ground.
“No.” She pointed out, “You have oak.”
“Oak is strong, and resists Fire,” Binnesman said.
Averan peered over her shoulder at him. There had been an odd tone to his voice, almost reverence for the oaks.
“What of other trees?” Averan asked. “Do they have certain powers?”
“I wouldn’t call them ‘powers,’ ” Binnesman said. “Different trees have different personalities. The tree that you pick, the tree that picks you, is something of a gauge of an Earth Warden. Your choice will give me clues about the kinds of abilities that you will develop.”
“Are there kinds of staves you shouldn’t want?”
Binnesman frowned. “Some are weaker than others. There are some that I would not want.... But I’ll say no more on the subject, child. I don’t want to influence your decision.”
Averan glanced back at the willows that she was passing. They looked pretty with their leaves all going gold. She bit her lip. No, not willow.
Nor did she feel drawn to the oaks that stood like lonely sentinels on the plains, their limbs all twisted and bound with ivy. She barely glanced at a stand of prickly hawthorn by an outcropping of rock.
“Must I find one today?” Averan asked.
“No.” Binnesman chuckled. “Your staff is important, and here at the base of the mountains are many kinds of trees. That’s the only reason I mentioned it, so that you would be aware in that moment when you feel the trees calling you.”