Gaborn did not understand how to keep the vow. Yet no matter what it required, he had to take it. He fell to his knees and vowed, “I, Gaborn Val Orden, swear to you that I will never harm the earth, that I dedicate myself to the preservation of a seed of humanity in the dark season to come.”

Gaborn’s whole body trembled. The man of dust leaned over until its helm almost touched Gaborn’s forehead. The sound of wind whispered in Gaborn’s ears, and the earth rumbled ominously. Binnesman croaked the words: “ ‘I shall hold you to your word, though in time you curse me.’ ”

Earth raised two fingers of dust, the forefinger and index finger of its left hand, to Gaborn’s forehead, and there traced a rune.

When it finished, Earth stuck the two fingers to Gaborn’s lips.

Gaborn opened his mouth. Earth placed its fingers inside. Gaborn bit, tasting clean soil on his tongue.

In that moment, the fine filaments of hair on the creature of dust fell away, and its muscles slackened, until a pile of dust sloughed to the ground.

Immediately, the suffocating presence of earth power diminished. Light shone thinly still through the trees, and Gaborn breathed deep.

When Binnesman next moved, his face was pale, and the wizard stared at the mound of dust in awe. Reaching down, he respectfully prodded it with a finger, then tasted the dirt.

He took another pinch and sprinkled it over Gaborn’s left shoulder, then his right, and then his head, chanting, “The earth heal, the earth hide you, the earth make you its own!

“Now,” Binnesman whispered, placing his hands on Gaborn’s shoulders, “Gaborn Val Orden, I name you Earth-born indeed. As you serve the land, it serves you in return.”

Gaborn still smelled rue here in the glade, but now its powerful scent only made his nose itch. He went to the bush, caressed a faded yellow flower, pulled a few leaves from branches.

Gaborn glanced over, saw Binnesman staring at him with something like awe etched into his features.

When Gaborn had taken a dozen more leaves, Binnesman grumbled. “You don’t need enough to wipe out a whole village. Come now, time is short.”

The wizard rolled the rue leaves between his hands, and when he held out his palm, the leaves had crumbled to powder. Binnesman took a pouch from around his own neck, put the crumbled leaves into the pouch, and placed it around Gaborn’s throat.

Gaborn took it stiffly, wanting to ask a hundred questions. But when he’d first come into this wild, tangled garden, he’d felt a sense of safety, of being protected. Now he recognized time was drawing short, and he felt a sense of urgency. He had no time to question now.

The kitchen maid had been standing this whole while at the edge of the glade, a terrified expression on her face. Now Binnesman led her and Gaborn downhill, to the south wall of the garden, and they hurried along a narrow trail, Gaborn clutching the forcibles in one hand, the hilt of his saber in the other.