Iome walked rigidly, watching her feet, apparently unnerved by the power that emanated from below. Gaborn could feel it, palpable as the touch of sunlight on his skin, rising from beneath him, energizing every fiber of his being. Gaborn knelt to remove his boots, to feel the sensation more fully. The earth in this circle had a strong mineral smell. Though enormous oaks grew all round, taller than any he’d ever seen, none stood near the center of the circle—only a few low bushes with white berries. The earth smelled too potent, too vigorous for anything else to thrive. Gaborn pulled off his boots, sat on the grass.

Binnesman stood gazing about, like a warrior surveying his battleground. “Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “This is a place of great power for Earth Wardens.” Yet he did not sound fully confident. He’d been battling the reaver here, and had been losing.

Binnesman reached into the pocket of his robe, drew out some spade-shaped dogbane leaves, crushed and threw them.

Up the ancient road, the baying of war dogs came fervently, high yips echoing through the limbs of ancient oaks. The sound sent chills down Gaborn’s spine.

He sat, head spinning, and said, “I heard trees calling me here.”

Binnesman nodded. “I asked them to. And I placed protective spells on you, to keep Raj Ahten from following. Though at such a distance, they did little good.”

“Why do the trees name me wrong?” Gaborn asked. “Why do they call me Erden Geboren?”

“The trees here are old and forgetful,” Binnesman said. “But they remember their king still, for this wood held allegiance to Erden Geboren. You are much like him.

“Besides, your father was supposed to have named you Erden Geboren.”

“What do you mean, ‘supposed to have named’ me?”

Binnesman said, “The Lords of Time once said that when the seventh stone falls, Erden Geboren would come again to the stones with his Earth Warden and a retinue of faithful princes and kings, there to be crowned, there to plan for the end of their age, in hope that mankind might survive.”

“You would have anointed me king?” Gaborn asked.

“If the world had not gone wrong,” Binnesman said.

“And Raj Ahten?”

“Would have been one of your most ardent supporters, in a more perfect world. The obalin drew him here tonight, just as they drew you and King Sylvarresta.” Binnesman nodded toward the fallen creature that looked like a statue.

The obalin, these creatures had been called, though Gaborn had never heard the term.

“Gaborn, we are in terrible jeopardy. Nothing is as it should be—the kings of all Rofehavan and Indhopal should be here tonight. Men who should have been great heroes in the war to come have either been slain or now lie as Dedicates in Raj Ahten’s keeps. All the Powers shall rage in this war, but the protectors of the earth are few and weak.”