Rather than charge forward in a line, as they would against human opponents, the knights rode in a giant pinwheel that gravitated forward as it circled. Deadly lances bristled along the pinwheel's edge, so that fresh men and mounts were constantly racing at an angle to the enemy's line.

Getting the proper angle and attack speed was vital when lancing a reaver. The trick of using a lance to kill a reaver, Gaborn had learned from those who had tried, was to strike the reaver solidly and skewer the d.a.m.ned thing without killing yourself in the process.

Above all, speed was essential. A force horse with many endowments charged at forty to eighty miles per hour. At such a speed, a knight had to take care not to slam into a reaver haphazardly, for in doing so he would break his bones.

Nor could a knight make a pa.s.s at a reaver in the same way as he did a man. The reaver was too ma.s.sive. Besides, even if a knight did make a pa.s.s at the front lines of a reaver horde, he would lose his lance in the process, only to find himself behind enemy lines. Consequently, he had to race parallel to the reavers' lines, only daring to touch briefly before he pulled back.

As Heredon Sylvarresta had shown so many centuries ago, the art of lancing a reaver required the lancer to lean toward the beast in such a way that he did not slam into the monster after his charge. While leaning thus, his best hope was to thrust the lance into the reaver's head, into the "sweet triangle," an area the size of a man's palm where three bony plates met. A second such area could be found in the reaver's upper palate, if the monster opened its mouth.

And if a lance entered at the right angle, then the knight could send it home to the reaver's brain with a gentle and powerful shove.

Thus, in the staggered pinwheel, lancers rode fast enough so that reavers could not adjust to the knights' breakneck pace. At the same time it allowed the knights the chance to engage the reavers in a viable formation, one that would let a knight escape the clutches of a reaver if he missed his target or let a man who was unhorsed escape while the knight behind pressed the attack.

Gaborn spurred his mount. It leapt downhill, thundered ahead.

As Gaborn neared that odious hill, he glanced to each side and found that he rode alone. Such was the speed of his mount that no others could match pace with him.

"Beware," the Earth whispered, and its Voice took him by surprise. Gaborn was so used to warning others, he felt unprepared to take warning himself.

He glanced back. Behind him, the hill was dark with lords and knights. They came singing; firelight from Carris reflected in their shields.

Erin Connal screamed a war cry. Celinor Anders glowered near her side, with High Queen Connal not far behind. The wizard Binnesman's face was rigid with terror. Gaborn's cavalry charged ahead, streaming out from the Barren's Wall.

Ahead, Bone Hill rose, wrapped in its coc.o.o.n. Tendrils of white were strung from it like threads from a spider's web. Dirt and rock gouged from its slopes made it look a horrid ruin, scarred and maimed.

Warned by the front ranks, blade-bearing reavers suddenly issued from the creva.s.ses in the ground on that hill, climbed atop the coc.o.o.n as if it were a fortress wall. Behind the blade-bearers, mages continued their foul work.

The rust-colored mist grew heavy in the vale beneath Bone Hill, lying in thick folds. It seared Gaborn's eyes and made them water. He blinked away tears, saw ghost lights flicker back under the coc.o.o.n.

Gaborn grimaced as he tried to draw a breath. Fatigue and illness slammed into him like a fist. His stomach wrenched; his gorge rose. Every muscle in his body strained as sweat coursed down his forehead.

Gaborn galloped past a blade-bearer that spun, swinging its glory hammer too late. He ducked beneath its blow, knowing that he'd be dead by now if he'd not taken endowments at Castle Groverman.

Gaborn heard the crack as a lance exploded into the monster's unprotected side, piercing the beast.

Queen Herin the Red had scored her first kill.

Though his charger carried him toward the foul rune, all Gaborn's effort could barely keep him ahorse. He slowed his mount a third of a mile from Bone Hill, close to the ranks of the reavers, and gripped the pommel of his saddle.

Reavers raced down the slopes of the coc.o.o.n to do battle.

Gaborn dared charge no closer. Here in the vale, the sour-smelling mists lay over the ground like a suffocating quilt, and no commoner could have abided the stench. His muscles flamed, aching as if every fiber would rip asunder. Sweat poured from him like a drenching rain. Gaborn reeled, fell hard on the earth.

The very soil beneath him burned; it was almost as hot as a skillet. He writhed upon it, could not breathe Silently he wished that he'd taken more endowments of stamina.

He glanced up through the rust-colored mist. His knights were forming their pinwheel, racing ahead of him in a line to cut off reavers that thundered into battle, their thick carapaces crashing against the stony ground.

Several knights caught up to him, circling him protectively. He glimpsed Erin Connal and Prince Celinor, their faces frozen in dismay to see the Earth King fallen.

Gaborn lay sweating on the ground, gasping in the cruel haze, afraid that he might suffocate, for he could hardly draw a breath for the pain that a.s.sailed him.

Desolation lay all around him, a smoke that choked the soul.

Atop Bone Hill, the fell mage raised her citrine staff to the sky and hissed so loudly that the sound echoed from the clouds. With a boom like thunder, black smoke roiled off her.

Gaborn tried to climb to his knees as the mage's curse swept downhill Erin Connal rode behind Gaborn, choosing to guard him rather than help form the staggered pinwheel. Almost instantly she was glad that she had.

A reaver sped through the lines as a knight broke his lance against its side, then lumbered through the rust-colored mist toward Gaborn, an enormous behemoth swinging its head from side to side.

Erin shook the streaming sweat from her forehead, shouted a battle cry, and charged the beast. She raised her lance overhead and to the side, preparing for the thrust. She squinted against the haze, for it pained the eye, then leaned out from her saddle.

She thrust home her lance, just as the reaver spun its head back toward Gaborn. The tip penetrated the monster's sweet triangle at a slant.

She felt the lance tip drive shallowly into the reaver's crystalline skull. She suspected that she had the wrong angle, that the lance would merely catch in bone and shatter, but she hurled it anyway, hoping to shove the tip home with brute force.

The lance snagged on bone and snapped at the point.

Suddenly Erin was caught still thrusting the d.a.m.ned thing without any resistance. Off balance, she pitched from her horse and sprawled to the ground, just beneath the reaver.

It reared above, raised its greatsword protectively to fend off a charging knight.

"Flee!" Gaborn's Voice spoke in Erin's mind as she tried to gain her feet.

As if I couldn't guess, she thought, knowing she was too late. The reaver hunched its ma.s.sive head and lunged, its crystalline teeth gleaming like quartz.

A dark blur sped past her. Celinor's lance pierced the monster's sweet triangle and heaved into its brain as if it had been shot from a ballista.

In amazement, Erin realized he'd thrown the d.a.m.ned thing like a javelin!

The reaver collapsed at Erin's feet.

Celinor galloped near, as if he'd planned to block the dying reaver from further attack with his own body. Then he whirled and drew his Crowthen battle-axe.

Erin ran for her own horse.

"One!" Celinor shouted, then pointed toward the Earth King. Gaborn had fallen from his mount.

Gaborn lay in the dust. Several knights leapt from their mounts to fight at his side; prepared to die if necessary. Celinor Anders rode near and stood guard over him, screaming and waving his battle-axe as if daring any reaver to come close.

As Gaborn struggled to get up, the thought streaked through his consciousness: I should Choose him.

Reavers surged down from Bone Hill like living monoliths, and the thought was driven off as Gaborn sent warnings to hundreds of warriors. In moments Erin Connal and others reached Celinor's side.

The black wind struck, and it carried with it an unnamable stench--a smell similar to burnt cabbage, but that affected Gaborn profoundly. He felt suddenly as if his muscles had turned to jelly, and he experienced the most profound fatigue he'd ever imagined.

He dropped to the ground, as weak as if he'd just given an endowment of brawn. Everywhere around him, dozens of others did the same, even Queen Herin the Red.

A hundred yards back, Binnesman had stopped his mount. He struggled to sit up, slumped as if in pain. "Jureem!" he warned. "Get Gaborn away from here! Get the Earth King away! We're too close."

Jureem rode hard among the knights, leapt from his horse. The fat servant held a silk scarf over his nose to keep from breathing the stench. He grabbed Gaborn's elbow and shouted, "Get up, milord! Let us flee!"

With muscles flaccid and mind swimming in pain, Gaborn struggled to fend off his own man, tried to push Jureem back. "Not yet. I can't go! Help me!" he cried. "Help!"

Gaborn had to destroy the rune. It was still nearly half a mile off. He had destroyed Kriskaven Wall half a mile out. It was near the limit of his power--yet the cloying mists in the vale were so devastating that he dared not ride closer.

He fought to draw with his finger in the hot dirt, to trace a rune of Earth-breaking.

Jureem tried to grab his elbow, to pull him toward his horse. Jureem shouted to Celinor, "Hold our master's mount! Help me get him in the saddle."

"No!" Gaborn pleaded. "Leave me! Binnesman, help!"

He glanced back. As he did, Binnesman collapsed under, the influence of the fell mage's spell, lay draped over his own horse. The mount must have sensed that its rider had fallen, and now spurted north, bearing its master out of battle.

To Gaborn's astonishment some knights around him were less affected by the reaver mage's spells. Some lancers still charged. Some men withstood the weakness. Perhaps I need more stamina? he wondered. Yet Queen Herin had fallen, and she had as much stamina as any other.

"Jureem," Gaborn gasped as he struggled to trace his symbol precisely on the ground. He felt as if he were trying to write on fire itself. His finger was so weak, he could hardly stir the dust.

Jureem stopped struggling to pull him away. The servant gazed at Gaborn wide-eyed and distressed, as if being unable to help caused him physical pain.

Gaborn finished drawing his rune, studied for a moment to make certain that he'd made every curlicue properly, then he looked fiercely at the hill where the Seal of Desolation desecrated the Earth. The fell mage continued to labor atop it. Strange lights flashed behind the coc.o.o.n in shades of palest turquoise. Reavers were boiling up from the south side of the hill.

He gazed at the hill, and used the Earth Sight to look beneath it. There; far below the ground, he could sense a weakness--a place where tons and tons of stone grated together in a fault.

It would take only the merest breath to push it all toward ruin, to split the ground beneath the rune.

Gaborn focused on the object of his spell and shouted, "Be thou riven!"

He slammed the ground with his fist, and envisioned the soil beneath him heaving, splintering that foul rune and shattering its every wall.

The earth responded.

The ground heaved beneath him, and the knights who surround him all gaped, trying to stand as the earth shuddered.

Horses whinnied and floundered. Reavers stumbled. The earth roared like an animal.

The ground rolled in all directions. Knights shouted, and reavers atop their foul coc.o.o.n scuttled back in dismay, clinging to thier webs.

Gaborn had not imagined what devastating power he would unleash. Knights toppled from their chargers, crying in terror.

But as Gaborn gazed at the Seal of Desolation, his hopes went dry. The ground beneath it trembled, the soil around bucked, but the Seal of Desolation held as if it were a bit of flotsam riding the waves of the sea.

Only powerful runes of binding could have held it. He studied the construct again with his Earth Sight as he had Kriskaven Wall, searching for weaknesses.

Indeed it was bound. Every k.n.o.b and protuberance was encased in runes of binding--perversions that did not call upon the Powers so much as twist them against themselves. Gaborn was astonished to find that the reavers had so twisted their powers that they could use the Earth against him.

Even as Gaborn focused on the foul rune, men all around began shouting, "Look! Look there!"

Gaborn gazed toward Carris.

Reavers crawled over the plain before the fortress. They'd burrowed pits everywhere, but the earthquake had tossed rocks and reavers into the air, throwing monsters from their hidden lairs, or just burying them.

Disoriented, some reavers raced about on broken legs.

Above these monsters, Gaborn saw a tower fall, heard thousands of people cry out.

Sheer horror coursed through him as he saw that his tremor had not struck completely without effect. The walls of Carris, a mere half mile to the southeast, swayed like a willow frond. The white plaster on the walls fell off in sheets, and merlons went splashing into the lake.

The tremor could not destroy the bound rune, but it tore asunder more common structures. Towers toppled. Walls began to crumble. Dust rose in the city as inns and homes collapsed.

Even as Gaborn watched, something unexpected happened. The ground beneath him began to roll once again as a new, more powerful tremor made the castle walls shift and sway. The people of Carris cried in terror.

Gaborn's horse staggered to keep its footing. And in Carris dust and fire rose as more buildings began to collapse.

An aftershock.

He did not need his Earth Sight to warn him that he had unleashed a monster. He could feel the power building. This fault ran deeper, farther, than he'd expected. Just as a shout will trigger an. avalanche, so had his small tremor triggered catastrophe.

Gaborn stared at the hapless inhabitants of Carris clinging to its walls. Two minutes ago I sat here congratulating myself, he thought. But by my actions I might have doomed the people I hope to save.

Guilt swept through him. Guilt for what he had done, and for what he knew he now must do.

Gaborn raised his left arm and looked to the castle, to men by the scores who now were crying out in despair.

He shouted to the people of Carris, though at such a distance few men would have had enough endowments of hearing to discern his voice. "I Choose you. I Choose you for the Earth!"

Surely the Earth will allow it, Gaborn reasoned. I was given the gift of Choosing in order to save mankind, and those at Carris need saving.

He had never sought to Choose a man he could not see. Now he tested the utmost limits of his powers. He stared at the castle walls and hoped that with this one Choosing he could protect all those within.

If Choosing Skalbairn would let Gaborn save a thousand, he hoped that Choosing Raj Ahten would let him save hundreds of thousands.

He gaped at the broken walls of the city and whispered, "Even you, Raj Ahten. I Choose you!"

He felt the threads of his consciousness, lengthen, grasp men who fought in Carris, along with women and babes and elderly who only huddled in its dark corners, fearing for their lives.

He reached out even to Raj Ahten.

Gaborn held the Wolf Lord in his mind and whispered, "I Choose you," as tenderly as if Raj Ahten were his brother. "Help me save our people."

He felt the tendrils of communication connect, felt overwhelmed by Raj Ahten's danger. Death lay thick upon the Wolf Lord, heavy and nauseating. Gaborn had never felt a man lingering so near it. Even now he wondered if his own powers would be sufficient to save him.

"Flee!" Gaborn whispered to Carris.

Out on the plains, Sir Langley and Marshal Skalbairn saw how the earthquake struck the reavers, leaving them dazed and wounded. Being farther from the fell mage, these knights were not so profoundly affected by her curses.

Skalbairn wheeled into the reavers, led a charge, hoping to draw more of them from Gaborn. A thousand mounted knights raced across that plain, lances bristling.