Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (88 page)

"Here
we
are,"
the
Leader
agreed.
"And
you
know,
when
they're
all
captured,
and
the
Council
has
been
dealt
with,
I think
I
might
just
go
back
to
Deepwell
and
gut
all
the
priests.

If
the
ler
there
won't
have
me,
why
should
they
have anyone?"

"Indeed,
indeed!
A
toast,
then,
to
the
priesthood
of Deepwell—may
their
deaths
come
soon!"
Glasses
clinked.

If
that
was
a
trick,
it
had
succeeded
too
well—Breaker
was
convinced.
There
was
no
need
to
say
anything
like
that as
part
of
a
ruse.

The
Leader
was
as
mad,
as
evil,
as
the
Wizard
Lord.

That
explained
so
much.
It
explained
the
disorganization,
the
lack
of
planning
the
Chosen
had
suffered—it
hadn't been
simple
inexperience,
but
that
the
man
charged
with
organizing
and
planning
had
been
working
against
them.
It
explained
why
the
Seer
had
accepted
the
Wizard
Lord's
lies
about
Stoneslope
for
five
years—it
had
been
the
Leader
who
told
her,
the
Leader
she
trusted,
the
Leader
whose
opinion
she
respected,
the
Leader
who
had
been
scheming
with
the
Wizard
Lord
all
along.
Those
voices
in
the
night—that
must
have
been
Boss
and
the
Wizard
Lord
conspiring
together, making
their
plans,
discussing
the
next
move.

"Now,
I
think
it's
time
to
bring
in
the
others,"
the
Leader
said,
after
a
moment's
silence.
"What
do
we
have
planned
for
them?
I
don't
want
to
foul
anything
up
at
this
point."

"Can
you
separate
them,
so
they'll
be
easier
to
deal
with? Individually
they
shouldn't
be
any
problem—the
Beauty
can't
seduce
my
maids,
the
Scholar's
knowledge
won't
help him
here
..."

"Is
that
why
all
your
servants
are
female?
The
Beauty?"

"Of
course!
I
thought
that
was
obvious,
and
I
still
don't know
why
Goln
Vleys
didn't
do
it."

"I
don't
either—Goln
Vleys
must
have
been
a
fool."

"All
of
them
must
have
been.
I'm
not."

"Goln
Vleys
didn't
need
to
fight
a
Speaker.
The
Council
hadn't
invented
that
role
yet.
The
Speaker
can
break
most
of your
spells."

"The
Speaker
has
an
arrow
in
her
leg—she's
the
least
danger
of
any
of
them,
now!"

'True.
So
we
have
a
cripple,
an
old
woman,
a
pretty
little
nothing,
and
a
harmless
tale-spinner.
Suppose
I
tell
them that
you're
going
to
surrender
after
all,
and
resign,
and
that you
have
healing
magic
you've
agreed
to
use,
and
the
Beauty can
help
Babble
in,
while
Seer
and
Lore
wait
with
the wagon?
Then
later
I
can
ask
them
to
come
in
and
lend
a
hand
with
the
cleanup."

"That
should
work.
I'll
have
my
maids
ready
another
corridor."

And
Breaker
heard
a
wineglass
set
down,
and
footsteps approaching,
and
he
knew
that
the
time
had
come
at
last.
He charged
up
the
last
few
steps.

His
training
and
countless
hours
of
practice
kicked
in
immediately,
and
as
he
had
been
taught
he
took
in
his
surroundings
as
swiftly
as
he
could,
looking
for
foes
and
traps and
anything
he
might
want
to
use
as
a
weapon,
all
while
keeping
much
of
his
attention
on
his
intended
target.
The
room
at
the
top
of
the
tower
was
round,
of
course,
lit
by
five
windows
spaced
around
its
circumference;
cluttered
shelves covered
much
of
the
walls
between
the
windows.
Several
chairs
were
scattered
about.
A
small
table
with
three
chairs
stood
to
one
side,
a
bottle,
corkscrew,
and
two
glasses
upon it,
and
the
Leader
seated
comfortably
in
one
of
the
chairs. And
halfway
between
that
table
and
the
stair
was
his
enemy, his
target,
the
Wizard
Lord.

The
Wizard
Lord
was
a
little
below
average
in
height,
a little
thinner
than
most,
wearing
a
loose
gray
robe
that
might once
have
been
black;
he
had
unruly
brown
hair,
and
a
surprised
look
on
his
face—though
Breaker
supposed
anyone would
look
surprised
to
have
a
swordsman
come
bounding up
the
stairs
at
him
like
that.
He
jerked
aside
at
Breaker's
sudden
emergence,
and
dove
for
a
staff
that
leaned
against
a nearby
chair,
and
even
as
he
did
one
hand
was
scrabbling
at his
robe,
clearly
groping
for
a
hidden
talisman.

For
an
instant,
as
he
saw
the
Wizard
Lord
as
an
ordinary
man
rather
than
a
mysterious
magical
presence,
Breaker
thought
he
should
offer
the
man
one
last
chance
to
surrender—after
all,
up
until
now
he
had
always
had
his
secret
final
defense
in
the
form
of
the
Leader's
treachery.
Now that
that
was
exposed,
he
might
see
reason
         

But
the
ghosts
of
Stoneslope,
the
memory
of
little
Kilila's
screams,
the
months
of
dismal
rain,
burned
homes,
drowned fields,
and
bloody
butchered
animals,
all
swept
over
him
in
a wave
of
weary
anger,
and
Breaker
did
not
bother
saying
a word
before
knocking
the
staff
away
with
the
sword
and then
thrusting
the
blade
through
the
Wizard
Lord's
unprotected
heart.