Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (44 page)

"The
Wizard
Lord
has
gone
mad,"
the
Seer
said,
before the
Leader
could
reply.

"Indeed,"
the
Leader
agreed,
not
bothering
to
hide
his
annoyance
at
the
Seer's
interruption.
"The
Wizard
Lord
has
gone
mad,
and
sent
that
storm
to
stop
us."

"To
stop
you?
"

"See
for
yourself,"
the
Leader
said,
gesturing
at
the still-open
door.
"Now
that
we're
safely
inside—well, look!"

The
Scholar
opened
the
door
wide
so
that
the
innkeeper could
see
that
the
wind
had
dropped,
and
the
rain
and
lightning
had
stopped.

"But—are
you
wizards,
then?"

The
Leader
gave
an
exasperated
sigh.
"We
are
the
Chosen,'"
he
said.
"Not
wizards."

"The
Chosen—going
to
the
Galbek
Hills?"
The
innkeeper gaped
at
them.
"The
Wizard
Lord
has
gone
mad?
What,
have I
fallen
into
one
of
the
old
stories?
That's
absurd!
It's
been
a hundred
years!"

"Do
you
think
we
don't
know
that?"
the
Archer
snapped, as
he
tugged
at
his
wet
garments.

"That
doesn't
make
it
any
easier
for
us,"
the
Beauty
said, as
she
struggled
to
squeeze
enough
water
from
her
scarf
that it
would
stop
falling
from
her
face.

"Did
you
think
it
could
never
happen
again?"
the
Seer
demanded,
as
she
found
the
poker
and
began
stirring
the
fire. Breaker
thought
that
was
unfair;
the
innkeeper
almost
certainly
had
thought
it
would
never
happen
again.
Breaker
had thought
so,
or
he
would
not
have
taken
the
role
of
Swordsman
in
the
first
place.
Thinking
it
would
never
happen
again seemed
very
common.

"Regardless
of
who
or
what
else
we
may
be,
my
good man,
right
now
we
are
customers—cold,
damp,
hungry,
tired
customers,"
the
Leader
said.
"We'll
have
all
night
to
tell
you our
tales,
if
you
wish."

"We
need
to
sleep,"
the
Seer
said.
"We'll
need
all
the
rest we
can
get.
We'll
face
more
of
the
same
tomorrow."

"Eat
first,"
the
Archer
protested.

"And
find
a
guide
to
our
next
destination
..."
the
Scholar began.

"No,"
Breaker
interrupted.
"No
guide.
No
more
guides, ever."

"Oh,"
the
Scholar
said,
as
several
of
the
others
glared
at him.
"Of
course.
No
guides."

"I
can
guide
us,"
the
Speaker
said.
"Now
that
my guardians
are
agreed
on
our
goal,
I
can
bespeak
the
ler
of
the road
and
find
our
path."

"Good,"
the
Leader
said.
"I'm
pleased
to
hear
that.
Landlord,
you're
still
here?
Food!
Drink!
Seats!
Beds!"

With
that,
the
innkeeper
finally
remembered
his
duties, and
hurried
toward
the
kitchens,
calling,
"Wife!
We
have customers!"

Breaker
looked
around,
then,
and
realized
that
the
seven of
them
were
the
only
customers—save
for
themselves
and the
innkeeper,
the
common
room
was
deserted.
The
fire
was banked,
chairs
and
benches
pushed
against
the
walls,
tables bare
and
empty.

But
that
made
sense;
after
all,
who
would
venture
out
on such
a
day,
in
such
a
storm?
The
people
of
Riversedge
were undoubtedly
safe
in
their
homes,
huddled
around
their hearths,
waiting
out
the
weather.

Though
now
that
the
rain
had
stopped,
some
might
well feel
like
discussing
the
storm
with
their
neighbors
over
a good
mug
of
beer;
Breaker
suspected
that
the
tavern
would not
remain
empty
for
long.

And
that
would
undoubtedly
mean
explaining
the
situation
several
times.

Breaker
was
not
looking
forward
to
that—especially
not when
it
came
to
their
poor
guide.
He
really
did
not
want
to think
about
that.

How
could
the
Wizard
Lord
have
done
such
a
thing? Burning
down
an
innocent
old
woman
like
that!

But
then,
the
Wizard
Lord
had
slaughtered
an
entire
village.
It
was
hard
to
think
about
that,
too.

At
least
in
Stoneslope
Breaker
hadn't
seen
anyone
die— or
worse,
smelled
it;
he
had
seen
the
bones
and
the
ruins, and
felt
the
fear
and
anger
of
the
dead,
but
that
had
been
less immediate.
Those
were
quite
bad
enough,
horrifying
and
infuriating
and
frustrating,
but
not
nauseating.
He
doubted
he would
ever
forget
the
smell
of
the
guide's
death,
that
strange mix
of
that
sharp,
magical
odor
and
the
stench
of
charred flesh.

He
pulled
a
chair
over
to
the
nearest
table
and
sat
down;
a moment
later
the
Scholar
was
seated
at
his
left,
the
Beauty
at his
right
She
had
somehow
managed
to
get
her
scarf
secured in
place,
despite
its
utter
saturation,
but
it
was
clinging,
outlining
her
jaw;
Breaker
found
himself
staring
without
meaning
to.
He
had
never
seen
so
lovely
a
chin.
And
he
could
see her
fingers,
though
she
had
tucked
her
hands
back
into
her sleeves,
and
they
were
beautiful,
long
and
tapered
...

Then
he
realized
what
he
was
doing
and
tore
his
gaze away.