Free The Lair of Bones by David Farland Page B

water had seeped through the rocks above, and over the ages had formed stalagmites and stalactites. The reavers had cleared these away just four days past as they marched through the tunnel. But in some places water would spill down the walls, forming shallow streams and icy pools, and ultimately these would find some crevasse to seep into. Such crevasses widened over time, and cut away the floor.
    After a dozen miles, the caves began to warm. The ice fans disappeared, and quite suddenly the cave was filled with a dense, cool fog.
    The horses slowed to a walk, and despite the fact that Gaborn could not sense any immediate danger, his heart beat faster. Until now, the view had been clear before them, and Gaborn hadn't feared that they would meet a reaver. At least, if they had met one, he'd have been able to see it. But now, the light thrown by his opal pin failed him, and he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.
    The whole party was forced to dismount, and Gaborn walked for a bit in the fog, his skittish horse pulling at the reins with nearly each step.
    He thought back to a conversation that he had had while Averan finished taking her endowments.
    Gaborn's Days had asked, “Your Highness, I beg you to take me with you. At least let me ride part of the way.”
    Gaborn felt annoyed by the request from the historian. “You ask much of me, and never once have you given anything in return. You say that the Days are forbidden to become involved in political intrigues, that you are merely observers of the affairs of men, servants beholden to no one but the Time Lords. Yet I ask you one last time to become involved. Help me. Bid your Days around the world to warn the people: tell them to set sail north or south for the isles of the sea. If we do not defeat the reavers at Carris, there may be no other refuge.”
    To Gaborn it seemed a small request, one that could easily be fulfilled. Each Days had given an endowment of wit to another, who then granted his own endowment in return, so that the two Days shared one joint memory.
    The Days that stood before Gaborn acted as the “witness” for the “twins,” scrutinizing Gaborn's every word and deed. His twin acted as a scribe, and lived a retired life on an island in the cold seas north of Orwynne, where she wrote the chronicles of Gaborn's life.
    Thus, with all of the scribes living together, they formed a vast network. In theory, the Days could do as Gaborn asked. They could warn every lord in every realm of the impending doom.
    â€œThis would violate our political neutrality,” the Days answered Gaborn.
    â€œNot if you warn all men equally,” Gaborn said. “I don't ask you to favor any one nation above another. Warn all men. Help me save any man who will save himself.”
    For the first time in his life, Gaborn saw a Days flinch and seriously consider a request for help. By the Days's own law, if a prince, though he be buta child, should fall into a pool and begin to drown, the Days was not allowed to offer a hand.
    â€œYou understand,” his Days answered after a moment, “that whether you want it or not, there would be political repercussions. Kings and queens would flee their own lands, or send their children into exile. Nations would tumble, populaces shift. Wars would erupt as men struggled for control of the islands in the north.”
    â€œAt least some would live,” Gaborn said. “At least in the northern wastes, they'd stand a chance against the reavers.”
    Iome's Days, a young girl who was new to the task, looked to Gaborn's Days and said, “We should take the request to the council.”
    â€œYou would risk a schism!” Gaborn's Days objected.
    â€œAnd you would risk the fate of mankind!” Iome's Days shouted back.
    The two glared at each other, and Gaborn's heart pounded. Never had he seen two Days argue.
    Gaborn's Days abruptly went to his horse and rode off in a fit of rage.