Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (38 page)

That
should
not
be
possible
this
early
in
the
year,
Breaker knew;
he
shuddered
with
cold
and
dismay.

And
then
his
shin
collided
with
something
hard,
and
he felt
hands
closing
on
his
arms,
pulling
him
upward.
He stumbled
across
a
pla
tform,
then
through
an
opening
into
utter
darkness.

And
he
was
out
of
the
rain.

It
was
as
if
he
had
thrown
off
a
great
weight;
he
straightened
up,
his
back
aching,
and
water
spilled
from
his
hat brim
as
if
poured
from
a
bowl.
He
flung
open
his
drenched a
nd
freezing
cloak
and
took
a
deep
breath
of
the
damp
air— he
had
been
unable
to
fill
his
lungs
properly
in
the
downpour.

Then
he
turned
and
saw
the
others,
silhouetted
against
the door—the
Seer
and
the
Speaker
helping
the
Beauty
and
the Scholar
into
the
b
arn,
the
Leader
guiding
the
Archer
across the
platform.

A
light
sprang
up,
and
Breaker
saw
the
guide
kneeling
on the
barn
floor,
lighting
a
lantern.

"We're
all
here,"
he
said,
shouting
to
be
heard
over
the roar
of
the
rain
on
the
barn's
roof.

"Astonishingly,
yes,"
the
guide
said,
as
the
lantern
flared up.
"I'm
amazed
we
didn't
lose
anyone
in
the
storm."

"Yes,"
Breaker
agreed.
"It's
very
fortunate."

The
Leader
and
the
Archer
staggered
through
the
door, supporting
each
other;
the
Archer
promptly
slumped
to
th
e floor
and
sat,
leaning
against
the
wall
beside
the
opening while
the
Leader
panted,
"Is
everyone
all
right?"

"I'm
cold,"
the
Beauty
said.

The
Archer
looked
up.
"Perhaps
I
..."

"It's
the
wet
clothes,"
the
Leader
said,
cutting
him
off. "We'll
all
feel
bette
r
if
we
get
them
off—at
least,
if
we
have anything
dry
to
wear
instead."

The
Beauty
looked
at
him,
then
at
the
Archer.

"I'll
be
over
there,"
she
said,
pointing
to
the
darkest
corner
of
the
barn.
"Don't
follow
me."

"I
wouldn't
think
of
it!"
the
Archer
prot
ested.

The
Scholar
stopped
peeling
off
his
drenched
cloak
to look
at
the
Archer.
"You
know,
I
don't
think
I'll
remember you
said
that,"
he
said,
"and
it's
really
rather
a
shame,
to
forget
such
audacity!"

The
exhausted
Archer
needed
a
moment
to
puzzle
this
out,
and
before
he
managed
a
reply
the
Speaker
said,
"It's
stopped."

 
All
eyes
except
the
Beauty's
turned
to
the
door
of
I
the
barn,
and
all
of
them
immediately
saw
and
heard
that
the
Speaker
was
right—the
rain
had
stopped,
almost
as
suddenly
as
it
had
begun.
The
wind
was
dropping,
as well—but
the
clouds
were
still
thick
and
dark.
Ice
still gleamed
in
the
trees,
and
water
still
dripped
from
every
tree branch
and
from
the
eaves
of
the
barn,
but
no
more
rain
was falling.
The
pounding
on
the
roof
had
ceased.

"It's
not
doing
him
any
good
while
we're
in
here,"
the Seer
said.
"Why
should
he
waste
his
magic
and
ruin
the crops
if
we
aren't
out
in
it?"

"No,"
the
Archer
said.
"That
can't
be
true."
"Do
you
really
think
that's
it?"
Breaker
asked,
as
he pulled
clothing
from
his
pack.
None
of
it
was
actually
dry,
but
the
garments
that
had
been
near
the
center
of
the
pack were
only
slightly
damp,
and
infinitely
preferable
to
what
he had
on.

"Of
course,"
the
Seer
said.
"He
didn't
bother
us
when
we were
heading
away
from
him—he
probably
hoped
that
the others
would
talk
us
out
of
going
back.
Now
that
we're
actually
marching
toward
the
Galbek
Hills,
he's
trying
to
stop us."

"Spirits
of
sky
and
sea,
summoned
by
our
foe,
brought
the storm,"
the
Speaker
said.
"Sheltered
as
we
are,
they
have
no target,
and
the
storm
is
no
more."
She
looked
up.
"But
the clouds
linger,
ready
to
renew
their
ravages,
should
we emerge.
The
ler
of
the
land
shriek
with
rage
and
woe,
bent and
buffeted,
mad
with
fear
and
confusion—never
has
the sky
abused
them
so."

This
was
perhaps
the
longest
coherent,
uninterrupted speech
Breaker
had
ever
heard
from
her;
he
turned
to
stare.

She
met
his
eyes.
"This
is
what
I
am
for,"
she
said.
'The
ler
bound
to
me
are
of
one
accord,
for
the
first
time
in
my life—they
guide
me
as
one,
they
direct
me
against
the
Wizard
Lord
as
one,
that
he
may
be
prevented
from
further
disruption
of
the
natural
order."

"I
hadn't
realized,"
Breaker
said,
as
he
pulled
at
his soaked
shirt.
"I
hope
...
I
hope
it's
not
unpleasant."

"On
t
he
contrary,"
she
said.
"I
am
at
peace
for
the
first time
in
fourteen
years."

"I'm
glad,"
Breaker
said,
feeling
foolish
at
the
banality
of his
words.
He
began
to
peel
off
his
drenched
clothing.

As
his
head
came
out
of
his
shirt
his
gaze
fell
on
the
corner
where
the
Beauty
was
changing,
and
although
he
could see
almost
nothing
in
the
gloom
he
felt
a
sudden
flash
of modesty.
After
his
months
on
the
road
and
his
encounters with
some
of
the
more
exotic
communities
of
Barokan
he had
almost
forgotten
the
prohibi
tions
on
nudity
he
had grown
up
with,
but
now
the
Beauty's
presence
brought
them all
rushing
back.
He
hastened
to
pull
his
drier
shirt
on,
while carefully
not
looking
in
the
Beauty's
direction.

'This
can't
be
right,"
the
Archer
said
loudly.
"It
can't
be."
He
stepped
out
the
door
onto
the
platform.

The
wind,
which
had
died
to
a
stiff
breeze,
suddenly roared
back
to
life,
slamming
against
the
western
end
of
the bam
so
hard
that
the
boards
groaned
and
the
entire
barn shook.

"It's
not
because
we
took
shelter,"
the
Archer
called
from the
platform,
shouting
to
be
heard
over
the
wind.
"He
just needed
to
rest.
You'll
see.
He
can't
be
watching
us
that
closely."

And
suddenly
it
was
raining
again,
the
rain
drumming heavily
on
the
barn
roof.
Breaker
shivered.

"You
see?
You're
still
inside!"
the
Archer
bellowed.

"But
you
aren't!"
the
Seer
shouted
back.

"Wait,
wait!"
The
Archer
stumbled
back
through
the
door, water
streaming
from
his
hat.