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.When you pass them out, tell the owners not to wipe the blades before they go into battle—and not to wipe blood off of them in the thick of it."The young men nodded, and Myrrima went to a plain bow that looked to be fit for her size.She picked up an arrow from the ground, the gray goose feathers of its fletching still wet.She smoothed the fletching, nocked the arrow to the string, drew the bow to the full, and took aim at a knot on the tree.The bow felt too strong for her.She could not aim it easily.Or perhaps I am just too weak, Myrrima thought.A few days of practice, and my arm would grow used to it.She let the arrow fly, and missed her knot by only an inch.Myrrima looked up at the young men and thought of Sage, only fourteen years old.If Myrrima was to go with Aaath Ulber that would mean she would leave Sage behind, a child abandoned by both of her parents.There was Draken and Rain, too, and Myrrima hoped to see Talon and Fallion, Jaz and Rhianna.I am a mother, she realized.That is not a station that I dare abandon.I made a pact with my children before they were ever conceived, that I would be their champion, their bastion and hope.I promised to be their guide and companion.Aaath Ulber was leaving, forging ahead down a path from which no man could ever return, and Myrrima decided to let him go.He had not counseled with her or the children before taking his attributes.He had not explained his reasoning to her.Perhaps he plans to say good-bye before he goes into the wyrmling fortress, Myrrima thought.He'd need to say his farewells to Draken and Sage and Rain.Time to let him go forever, she thought, while tears streamed down her cheeks and she added her water to the ground.26A GATHERING OF HEROESHeroes are not found in dreams and legends, but can be discovered all around us, walking down the very lane that you live upon.Look at the old man who labors mightily to gather firewood to warm his wife on a cold winter night, or the young woman who faces death to bring a child into the world.Heroism is not an anomaly, but the normal state of mankind.—Gaborn Val OrdenThe day seemed longer than normal to Draken.Young men went out in the morning, and by noon none had returned.Then folks began to trickle into Ox Port.One old farmer carried a load of horse manure on a cart drawn by a reindeer, and when he gained the inn, he reached into the muck and brought out thirteen forcibles.Not long afterward, other gifts began to arrive.A young woman came into town riding a donkey, her hooded green robe pulled low, looking tired and haggard.She had no sooner reached the inn than she threw off her robe and leapt from the donkey's back, vaulting high in the air.She was a runelord who had taken endowments in secret, of course, come from some nearby city.Other heroes from surrounding villages and cities began pouring in that evening.None of them looked like the kind of men that Draken had expected.Each nearby town sent someone, but the warlords of Internook required only three things from their champions: First, the champions needed to be the most skilled warrior in his or her village.Among the runelords, great strength was not required, for with a single endowment of brawn a man wanting for strength could be made strong.Similarly, a man who lacked for dexterity could take endowments of grace, and those who were slow might have metabolism bestowed upon them.So the warlords sought out those who had developed their fighting skills.The second thing that the warlords required was self-sacrifice, for as Aaath Ulber told them, "All who fight this day will die." Oh, they might not die in battle, but they would be forced to leave behind families.Fathers who aged twenty years in a single season would leave their small tots behind, orphaning them.For those who had raised their families, the sacrifice was less.So it was best if the volunteers had no loved ones at all.But the truth was that the warlords were unwilling to give endowments to a hermit or a recluse, for they believed that a man who had no connection to others of his kind was imbalanced, and was likely to become a danger in the far future.Last of all, the champion had to be strong of heart.He or she needed to be merciless, firm in conviction.So the heroes were chosen—nine in all.The folk of Ox Port chose Wulfgaard as their champion, and as forcibles began to dribble into town, the old facilitator granted the boy endowments.Of all the champions, only Wulfgaard was young and male.The rest were older men, past their prime.But they'd spent many years dueling with the ax and spear.Three of the four older men were masters of arms who had schooled younger men for war, and the rest of the champions were young women who had been trained as bodyguards, for all across the world, the blade women of Internook were considered to be among the finest of warriors and were often employed by the wealthy to watch over young maidens.So the wyrmlings, who did not send women into battle, had not properly gauged the threat posed by the women of Internook.By nightfall, more than one facilitator had "wandered" into town.Folks from nearby villages and cities also came, "to help harvest fish."So the facilitators went to work, granting endowments all night long, hoping that they could bestow enough attributes upon their champions to put a stop to the wyrmling threat.Long the facilitators sang into the night, while forcibles flashed white hot and left serpents of light in glowing trails.Aaath Ulber coerced endowments of brawn from two of his captured wyrmlings, and took sight from the third, while the old facilitator in town managed to file down nine forcibles of will, granting one to each champion.By night, folks sneaked into town through the woods.Most came only to gawk.The great champion had come in fulfillment of the wyrmling prophecy—rousing the hopes and fears of the barbarians [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]