Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (12 page)

"Perhaps not; I just wanted you to
realize that you may have somewhat less privacy than you are accustomed to, now
that you have come to the Wizard Lord's attention."

Breaker considered this, and then nodded.
"I see," he said. "This is something you hadn't really
mentioned."

"That's right. I didn't."

"Are there
other
drawbacks to being
Chosen that you neglected to mention?" "Almost certainly."

"And might they have something to do
with your unexpected resistance in our duel?"

The old man sighed.
"They might, or they might not. Perhaps I was simply overcome by pride
when it came to the event, and I couldn't bring myself to do
too
much less than my best—and even without the talisman and its
ler,
I still had more than forty years of practice. Maybe I wanted to see if
I
could
beat
you without my magic."

"But didn't you
want
to give up the
role?"

"Perhaps not as much as we
thought."

"Even after all you had done to arrange
it?"

"Even then." He glanced up at the
spiderweb, then said, "Or perhaps I was having second thoughts about what
I was doing. Perhaps I began to doubt the wisdom of my actions."

Breaker frowned. "You don't think I'm
good enough to replace you?"

"Oh, no—you were good enough, no question
about it. The magic was blocked, but I still had all my years of practice and
experience to draw on, and while I was not necessarily doing my very best,
while I was hesitating, I was still trying to defend myself, and you beat me
without a deliberate invitation on my part. To do that after so little
training, not even a full season—you're definitely good enough to suit the
role, and can only get better. No, that's not it."

"Then what is?"

The old man sighed. "The fact is, I
was
having second thoughts—not about
you,
but about whether it was fair to burden you
with the role when you know so little of the world. I did not intend to give
you your chance until I had made peace with myself that it was the right thing
to do."

"And did you find that peace, then?"

"No. You and the
Wizard Lord's rabbit took matters out of my hands, and I was presented with the
accomplished fact, and no way to reverse it. I have no choice but to accept my
defeat and go home to my niece and her husband, and hope they'll take
in a useless old
man."

"And I must take up your burden. Is it
really so onerous, though?"

The former Swordsman hesitated, once again
throwing a glance at the spider.

"For more than thirty years, I didn't
think so," he said. "Of late, I am less certain."

"Is it just the years, then? I
..."
Breaker caught himself.
"Thirty?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But you have been the Swordsman for
forty?" "Forty-four."

"Then something changed, a few years
back?" "I have seen three Wizard Lords during my term. The first two
I trusted."

Breaker took his
meaning immediately, and this time both men glanced at the spider. For a moment
neither spoke; then Breaker said, "If he
is
listening, and
is what you think him to be, then you now stand already condemned by your own
words, wouldn't
you think?"

"Quite possibly, yes."

"And you lied to me, didn't you, when we
first met, in the pavilion after the barley harvest?" "Did I?"

"You said the Wizard Lord was an
honorable man."

"And he may well be; I may be mistaken.
I have no proof, no real evidence at all, that he is anything less than the honest
and just ruler he claims to be. I believe what I said was that he has served
well thus far, and to the best of my knowledge he has—but there is something
about him that I find uncomfortable. He has more of a temper than the other
two, he seems less predictable, less rational; he worries me.
Where the other Wizard Lords lived in elegant homes convenient to
friends and family and tradesmen, and where people could easily petition them,
this one insists on living in his ramshackle tower out in the Galbek Hills,
more than a mile from the nearest village. Instead of a proper staff he's
served only by half a dozen maids-—no men or boys. He has no wife nor even, so
far as I know, a favorite among his maids, a
nd his background is a mystery to me, where
the others often spoke of their roots. It may be that he's just a harmless
eccentric, and I cannot point to any evil he has done, but neither do I feel
certain that he has done none, or that he will not do something terrible in the
future."

The full significance of this was gradually
sinking in.

"You think the Chosen may be called upon
to kill him."

"Possibly, yes. And
I'm
an old man; I did not feel I was still
fit for the job. I am old enough to retire in any case, but this uncertainty
made it more urgent, so last summer I began seeking my successor, and at
harvest time I found him." He smiled humorlessly. "I found
you"

Breaker frowned in
response. "You found me, and trained me, but in all the months you've been
here you did not see fit to mention
why.
In fact, you did everything you could to reassure
me that I would not be called upon to kill anyone. I trusted you, and you have
deceived me from the first. I don't
...
I don't even know where to begin .
.."

The old man held up a hand. "You don't
need to," he said. "Do you think it hasn't eaten away at me all these
months? I like you well enough, lad—oh, I don't say we'd ever be the best of
friends, but you've a good heart and good sense, certainly more than most of
your friends here, like that Joker, or that skirt-chasing Digger, or the
drooling ninny you call Spitter. Half a dozen times I thought of walking away,
telling you the
ler
had told me you weren't suitable—but if
one of us does have to face an angry Wizard Lord in a battle to the death, I
would rather it be you, not only because I value my own life, but because I
am
old and tired, not just in body but in spirit, and I think you would
stand a better chance of defeating him. Oh, when I was young I would hav
e gone bravely
enough, and fought him however I could, but now I fear I would hesitate when
resolution was needed, guard when I should attack, question when I should obey.
Remember, I am the oldest of the Chosen."

"No longer," Breaker corrected him.

"Ah, too true. Well, I
was
the eldest. The
Leader is half my age; even the Scholar is twenty years my junior. I would not
fit well in such a company, should we be called upon to perform our assigned
task; age and caution do not befit the Swordsman."

"So you coaxed me to succeed you,
without warning me of your doubts about our present master."

"Yes. I'm not
proud of it—but you were eager, and I had no solid basis for my concerns, and
who knows, perhaps I'm wrong and you won't be called, perhaps the Wizard Lord
is a fine man who happens to have odd tastes. Or perhaps he'll trip on a stone
and break his neck tomorrow, and the Council's next appointee will transform
Barokan into a paradise. So I kept silent and we carried on."

"And then at the
last moment your consc
ience troubled you, and you thought better of it?"

"Oh, not my conscience, boy—not
entirely, at any rate. I was still ready to let you take the job without
knowing what you might be getting into. It wasn't my conscience. It was that
rabbit."

"What?"

"The Wizard Lord's rabbit. I supposed he
would know what was happening, but to appear so openly, and speak as he did? It
troubled me all the more, and I began to doubt the wisdom of handing on the
title of Swordsman."

"You thought the
Chosen might be summoned soon, and it would be a mistake to have so
inexperienced a Swordsman?"

The old man snorted.
"No," he said. "Or not entirely. Rather, it occurred to me that
if the Wizard Lord knows of my suspicions, then once I am no longer the
Swordsman he might well decid
e to dispose of me as a threat. Oh, I can't
hope to kill him without the magic, but I can still speak, and because I served
so long, people might listen."

"But
..."

"Remember, if the Swordsman dies, the
Wizard Lord loses one-eighth of his magical power. If an ordinary old man dies,
it costs him nothing. He could say it was an execution, that I had slain
someone unjustly, and who could argue with him?"

"Oh." Breaker looked up at the
spider. "So you wanted to hold on to the magic to protect yourself."

"Yes. And
you,
of course, since you
would no longer be involved."

"But the rabbit called out, and I
won."

"Yes. And all day, I have been wondering
why
the rabbit called out. I think it's clear that the
Wizard Lord wanted me to pass the role of the Swordsman on t
o you—but why?"

"Because I wasn't suspicious of
him," Breaker said bitterly. "Because I'm young and naive."

"That would be my guess, yes."

"But now you've ruined that by telling
me."

"And now we may discover whether he is
as vengeful as I fear, or whether my worries are all imaginary. If he
is
turning to evil, I
don't expect to live very long."

"But I
...
No, I won't allow that." Breaker turned to face the spider. "If
you're listening, Wizard Lord, know this: If this old man dies under
circumstances suspicious in even the slightest degree, then I will know my duty
as one of the Chosen, and I will remove you!" He brandished the talisman
at the web.

"If he's listening, it's probably not
really through the spider."

"Oh, I know," Breaker said,
"but where else should I direct my warning?"

'True enough. And
thank you, lad, for giving that warning—I appreciate it more than I can say.
Even if it looks and sounds like nothing more than the posturing of an
overconfident child, the fact that it comes from the Chosen
Swordsman gives it
weight. But even so, if the Wizard Lord has gone mad, it may do no good."

"Well, then let us both hope that your
worries are groundless. You don't want to die, and I.
.."
Breaker swallowed, and grimaced.
"...
and I don't want to kill."

Neither swordsman
said a word of any of this to anyone else in Mad Oak, of course. The Young
Swordsman claimed to be tired from the duel and the magical rite that had bound
him to the
ler
of muscle and steel and kept to himself, and after
Breaker clambered back down the steps the Old Swordsman made sure he was too
busy tending his wound and preparing to depart to talk to anyone else.

The wizards had all
flown away by midafternoon; Breaker's younger sisters watched the four
departures and came running in speckled with snow, gasping and giggling as they
asked each other repeatedly, "Did you
see
that?"
Fidget tried to pantomime the whole scene for her parents, spreading her arms,
flapping, twirling, and leaping, while Spider wildly applauded her per
formance.

The familiar Green water Guide arrived at the
pavilion that evening, as the lanterns were being lit, and word was sent to the
swordsmen. Breaker was told first, and in fact, it was he who carried the news
up to the loft.

"The road to Greenwater is supposed to
be open, if you aren't in a hurry," he said from the open trap. "The
guide made it here from Ashgrove in about half a day; he's staying with Elder
Priestess tonight, and will meet you at the pavilion in the morning. But he
says the roads beyond Greenwater may still be blocked; he has no reports from
the
ler
there."

"I think I have outlasted my welcome in
Mad Oak," the old man replied from his bed. "Greenwater can surely
tolerate me for a few days." He shuddered. "Though I'm not looking
forward to that walk through the snow, with this hole in my shoulder, and I
don't know how the High Priestess will receive me, this time of year and in my
condition. The lake must be frozen, and I have no idea what that does to their
customs and rituals—and when I visited there before I was one of the Chosen,
not a mere outcast."

"You aren't an outcast."

"Well, I
...
no, I suppose not." He shifted on the bed, whether to
get more comfortable or disguise embarrassment Breaker could not be sure.

"And the guide wouldn't be willing to
take you if he thought they would not tolerate your presence."

"True enough. But my wound and the snow
are real enough, even if my other worries aren't."

"Yes, they are. You should have asked
one of the wizards to carry you."

"Oh, they hate that. It would probably
take more than one of them, for one thing. They'll
do
it, if they must,
but they hate it."

"Surely the Council of Immortals owes
you that much for forty-four years of service!"

"You'd be surprised how few of them see
it that way."

Breaker nodded, and
hesitated. He had delivered his news, but there were still so many things he
wanted explained to him, so much to ask about how the Council of Immortals
and the eight Chosen operated, so much more he would like to know about what
the other Chosen were like, so many details of why the Old Swordsman was
suspicious of the Wizard Lord, so much about what he could expect in the days
and years ahead, that he scarcely knew where to begin.

"You know, lad,
you're one of eight—don't take
too
much weight
on your own shoulders," the old man said, obviously guessing the trend of
Breaker's thoughts. "It's not just up to
you
to decide
anything, or to kill the Wizard Lord single-handedly should it become
necessary—there are seven others with just as much say and just as much
responsibility in the matter. Perhaps more, given that one of them is the
Leader of the Chosen, with the magic to make others heed his words."

"How does that
work, then?" Breaker asked, taking another step upward. "You said
something about that before. How strong is his hold on the Chosen? And does
everyone else simply obey his commands, whether they want to or not? It seems
to me that such a power could be as easily abused as the Wizard Lord's
own!"

The old man snorted.
"If that were how it worked, it could. No, his magic is only that others
will
listen
to him, no matter how dire the circumstances or how
distracted they may be, and take seriously what he tells them—he can always
command the attention of everyone in earshot, should he choose to do so. He
can't outright control them unless he knows their true names, any more than
anyone else can, but they can't ignore him. The Chosen
can
ignore him, but he's very persuasive, even to us—to you, I mean. The
ler
guide him to choose wisely when presented with a clear choice of paths,
and that's important to consider before refusing his instructions. He will
listen to what others say, weigh the options, and then quickly reach a
decision; the magic ensures that he will never hesitate in finding his course.
It may not always be the best course—even the
ler
aren't infallible— but he will always be
confident in his actions. He has an aura of certainty about him—you'll see,
when you meet him."

"And how will I ever meet him? You said
I was to travel, but surely the Chosen are scattered all across Barokan; what
are the chances I'll stumble across the others?"

"Who said it
would be left to chance? The wizards and the
ler
will see to
it, when the time seems right—you may never meet them all, but a
t some point you'll
meet Boss. Everyone always does, somehow. And you can seek the others out; most
of the Chosen aren't hard to find. They have their homes and their preferred
routes when they travel, like anyone else. And if you find the Seer, she
always knows where the others are."

"I may go looking for them in the
spring."

"You could do that."

"I might see what they think of the
present Wizard Lord." "You might well do that, yes."

"Do you know where you're going, from
Greenwater?" "Home to Dazet Saltmarsh; I still have land and family
there." "Is it far?"

"Yes." He did not go into detail,
but the tone of that single word convinced Breaker that wherever Dazet
Saltmarsh was, the old man would not be there any time soon.

But the Chosen were expected to travel, and
Breaker was now one of the Chosen—the still-new sensations of his magical
transformation constantly reminded him of that. He nodded. "Perhaps I'll
see you there someday."

"Perhaps you will," the old man
agreed.

And with that, Breaker decided he had had enough
of his former teacher for the moment; he looked down, and began his descent.
The old man said nothing as the youth sank out of sight, but Breaker thought he
heard a sigh just before he closed the trap.

*
   
*
   
*

Breaker
slept late
the next morning, after a restless night
of strange dreams about swords and rabbits, and by the time he awoke the old
man had left the house and headed up the ridge to the pavilion.

For a moment Breaker
considered going after him to ask more of the endless questions that troubled
him, but then he thought better of it. The old man's answers were never satisfying,
but only led to more questions, and breakfast was waiting.

By the time he did
finally get to the pavilion the former Swordsman and the guide had departed,
their footprints
leading up the Greenwater route, past the boundary shrine and past the immense
gnarled tree the town of Mad Oak was named for. Breaker stared at the broken
snow for a long moment before turning back.

He had better things
to do than run a
fter the old man. For one thing, he needed to practice his
swordsmanship. He needed an hour of practice, he knew—and he could feel the
ler,
and the talisman in
his pocket, impatiently waiting for him to begin.

He quickly settled back into a daily routine
much like the one he had followed before the duel—he would practice for an hour
each morning, do the chores that needed doing, and then spend time with friends
and family. He practiced alone now, of course, but the biggest difference was
the loss of the evening talks with the old man. He could no longer ask
questions about the wizards or the Chosen, or about points of swordsmanship, or
about the world outside Mad Oak; instead he talked to his mother and sisters
about the ordinary affairs of the village, or walked up to the pavilion and listened
to the other young men boast about their amorous accomplishments, or discuss
their plans for the future—plans that usually centered on growing barley,
bedding women, swindling bargemen, and the like.

And the old dis
satisfaction that
had prompted him to speak up when the Swordsman and wizards first arrived, the
dissatisfaction that had faded away during his training and been replaced with
frustration with his inability to best the old man, gradually returned. Mad Oak
seemed to close in around him; the ordinary concerns of the people around him
seemed petty and meaningless. Even Little Weaver's chatter about her dreams or
the fanciful things she hoped to create on the loom one day, which had always
delighted him, seemed pointless and silly.

The frustrations of
practice, though, had vanished. Anything that it was physically possible for a
man to do with a sword, he could now do. He had nothing more to learn, nothing
anyone human could teach him about using a blade—the
ler
had seen to that. He
was, indeed, the world's greatest swordsman. The purpose of practice was no
longer to learn, but merely to do each move more smoothly, more quickly, than
before.

In a way that made it less interesting and
less challenging, but on the other hand there was still a great deal of simple
satisfaction in doing the incredibly difficult just a little bit better, a
little bit faster, than he had ever done it before.

On warmer days he
sometimes acquired an audience, but it usually didn't last
long; as Harp told
him when he discussed it with her, utter perfection quickly became boring.

"Besides,"
she said, "you're so fast sometimes now that we can't even see you
move—one instant you're standing with the sword at ready, and the next you're
in a
different
position and whatever it is you've sliced to ribbons is falling to the ground,
and we haven't seen a thing in between!"

Breaker had not
realized he was
that
fast.
He
could still
see—or at least feel—every move he made. He grimaced, and dropped t
he subject.

One day in midwinter, when his father was ill
again and the supply of firewood low, he came in from practice and flung coat,
sword, and pouch on his bed, then emerged from his chamber to find his mother
waiting for him.

"Swordsman," she said, "could
you fetch a few sticks for the fire from the pavilion's woodpile?"

He looked down at her, really looked, and for
a moment he hardly recognized her. His mother had always called him

"Breaker," not
"Swordsman," and was she really so small and old as this, her hair
gray, her skin more red than the white that had won her her nickname? Was this
the first time she had called him "Swordsman"? He could not recall
with any certainty, and that made him uneasy and eager to escape.

"Of
course," he said, stepping back in his room and grabbing his coat. He
pulled it on quickly and hurried out the door.