Those still waiting to give endowments lay on low cots, waiting for Erin Hyde to come among them with his spells and his forcibles.

Among those who had just given endowments wandered Lord Sylvarresta’s own chief physic and herbalist, Binnesman. He was short, with a stooped back, green robes, and hands dirt-stained from his labors. He wore a perpetual smile as he spoke to the new Dedicates, offering comfort here, a whiff of medicinal aromas there.

Binnesman’s skill was much wanted along the castle walls. The powers of his herbs were legendary: his blended teas of borage, hyssop, basil, and other spices could give a warrior courage before a battle, lend energy during the conflict, and aid in healing wounds after.

But despite the fact that he was needed on the walls, the need here was more pressing, for the granting of major endowments could be deadly. A great brute who gave strength to Lord Sylvarresta would fall down afterward, perhaps so weakened that for a moment or two his heart could not beat. One who had offered an endowment of grace, who’d always been limber, would suddenly convulse into spasms, become rigid as a board, his lungs unable to relax enough to let him draw another breath.

For the moment, Binnesman could not go to the walls. He needed to help keep alive those who’d offered endowments. Sylvarresta could only benefit from the endowments so long as the giver still lived.

Iome herself lent a hand in the preparations, her Days watching impassively from the shadows by the keep’s kitchens. At the moment, Iome knelt in the dusty courtyard above a cot where lay the matron who had cared for her since childhood. The matron, a husky woman named Dewynne, sweated profusely from nervousness, despite the cool evening. The high walls of the fortress kept everyone in shade.

Iome’s father spoke, the power of his voice cutting across the courtyard: “Dewynne, are you sure you can do this?”

Dewynne smiled at him weakly, her face rigid from fear. “We all fight as we can,” she whispered. Iome could hear love in her voice, love for King Sylvarresta.

The chief facilitator, Erin Hyde, stepped between Dewynne and the King, inspecting a forcible. The rod looked like a branding iron of reddish blood metal. It was a foot long, with a rune forged in a one-inch circle at one end. Hyde gently pressed the rune to Dewynne’s fleshy arm.

Hyde began his incantation, chanting in a high voice, his words more a piping birdlike song rather than anything a human would utter. The words came so quickly that Iome could hardly distinguish one from another. The facilitators called it a song of power. In conjunction with the runes carved on the forcible, the song drew out a Dedicate’s attribute.