Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (9 page)

All four wizards were
unquestionably in the surrounding houses, watching throug
h the shutters to be
certain that the challenge was properly made.

"I will!"
the old man called happily. "Tomorrow, when the sun tops the eastern
cliff, we will meet here with our swords. I will order my
ler
not to interfere, and we will see that my title
is no brag, but mere
fact!"

"Tomorrow, then, old man!"

And with that, the two turned on their
respective heels and marched off.

Behind them the air shimmered, and the cat's
gaze followed the Young Swordsman's departure.

The sky overhead was
already blue and brightening when Breaker arrived in the town square, well before
the sun cleared the looming clifftops to the east. He wore a white woolen coat
he had borrowed; he hoped it would make him harder to see against the snowy
surroundings. Yes, the O
ld Swordsman intended to lose the fight, but the youth wanted to make it
easy for him—and, more importantly, believable for those watching, both human
and
ler.
Ler
responded to human beliefs and emotions, as
Elder Priestess had told him often enough, so t
he fight had to look as convincing as
possible to everyone and everything watching.

And yes, the audience
was already there. Priest was standing in his doorway, watching somberly,
wrapped in the red cloak he wore when acting as magistrate. To one side th
e two priestesses,
Elder and Younger, were waiting, both wearing the green of their office. Joker
and Brokenose and Spitter were leaning against a nearby wall, hands in the
pockets of their long winter coats, their expressions surprisingly serious.

Breaker's family had followed him to the
square, and his parents and younger siblings stood clustered at one edge of the
square. Harp, followed by Smudge, had joined the other musicians in a corner,
though of course none of them had brought their instruments. Digger had joined
them, though he had never shown any interest in music; noticing Smudge's
annoyed expression, Breaker guessed that his friend had been a little too
obvious in showing that his interest lay in the harpist, rather than the harp.

The Red Wiza
rd and two of the
others, the woman known in Mad Oak simply as the Wizard Woman and the man
called Greybeard, stood gathered at one side; the fourth wizard, Black Coat,
had not yet appeared.

Dozens of other
townsfolk stood waiting, as well—none of them ha
d ever seen a real swordfight, unless the
last few months of practice might be counted.

And the air shimmered
with the presence of
ler;
colored light sparkled in every shadow.
Breaker looked around, trying to gauge their mood, as he drew his sword and
too
k
a practice swing.

That was how he came to notice the rabbit,
and the hawk, and Priest's cat, all staring at him.

The cat—well, cats were inexplicable
creatures, and might stare for any reason, or none at all. The hawk might
conceivably have been attracted by the presence of so many
ler,
thinking they might
guide it to its prey.

But what was a rabbit in its long white
winter coat doing in the middle of town, sitting unafraid among so many humans,
and staring so intently at one of them? He stared back.

Some of the observers noticed his intent
gaze, and they, too, saw the rabbit in the square.

The rabbit noticed them, as well, but did not
react in anything like normal rabbit fashion; it did not freeze, or flee, but
looked casually around.

"Yes," it said, in a high-pitched,
inhuman voice, "it's magic."

Someone in the
audience screamed, and several others murmured; feet shuffled in the snow, and
someone tumbled on a slick spot and caught herself against a wall. The
so-called Young Swordsman, feeling very young indeed, closed his eyes and
swallowed.

He had heard of
talking animals, but he had never seen one before—well, not one
he
could understand; he knew that the priests could sometimes speak to the
ler
of ordinary beasts and birds, just as they spoke to
other
ler.
An animal speaking aloud in a human tongue was an entirely different
matter; he had never really believed in them, even though the Old Swordsman had
told him that the Wizard Lord used them as messengers.

And believing or not, he had certainly never
imagined they might sound like this; he had assumed they would have human
voices, but the rabbit spoke human words in a rabbit's voice, to very
disconcerting and unnatural effect.

He opened his eyes
again and focused on the rabbit, which looked calmly back
. He asked,
"What sort of magic? What are you?"

"I am a rabbit, of course—but at the
moment I serve as the eyes, ears, and voice of the Wizard Lord."

The voice was almost a squeal, some of the
words hard to make out, but Breaker understood perfectly—presumably, he
thought, because that was part of the magic.

"Did you think I
wouldn't take an interest in the identity of the Chosen Swordsman?" the
rabbit asked. "The Chosen are of rather obvious importance to me—I want to
know they are all people of good sense
and goodwill, and not glory-seekers who
might declare me evil so that they can make themselves a name by slaying
me."

"It hadn't
occurred to me," Breaker admitted. "You're so far away ..." He
shuddered as a thought struck him. "You
are
far away,
aren't yo
u?"

"I am," the rabbit said. "I am
in my tower in the Galbek Hills; I couldn't spare the time to come in person,
and would not wish to impose on Mad Oak's hospitality in the depths of winter
in any case."

'Thank you," the youth said, though he
was not sure what he meant by it. "We are honored, of course." He
bowed. "I'll try my best to show good sense—if I win, I mean. I certainly
mean you no ill."

"I can see that."

Breaker jerked upright at that. Could the
Wizard Lord see into his heart, hear his thoughts? Accounts of just what the
magical overlord of Barokan might be capable of were wildly inconsistent and
universally considered unreliable— even the Old Swordsman said he was unsure
just what was true and what was mere legend.

This whole business
of becomin
g
one of the Chosen suddenly seemed like a mistake. Setting himself up as one of
the judges and executioners over someone who could make a rabbit speak from
more than a hundred miles away was surely unspeakably foolhardy; how could
anyone in his right mind accept such a role? "Is there
...
I mean . . ."

"I'm hurting the rabbit's throat,"
the rabbit said. "No more." Then it turned and hopped away a foot or
so before turning back to watch.

The youth hesitated—but then the Old
Swordsman arrived, Black Coat at his side, just as the sun's light flared
golden above the cliffs, and the air buzzed with sudden tension. The Young
Swordsman turned to face him.

In turning he noticed
the hawk perched on a convenient rooftop, still watching him. Was that another
vantag
e
point for the Wizard Lord? Was it another wizard using similar magic to observe
the duel? And the priest's cat really did seem unnaturally intent.

Were there others? Mice under the shutters,
spiders in the eaves?

The Old Swordsman seemed to have missed the
excitement of the talking rabbit, and he was ignoring the murmuring of the
crowd, the muttered questions, the nervous edge, the tinge of near-panic in the
air. His attention was entirely on his opponent, and he seemed more determined,
more
there,
than
Breaker had ever seen him.

"Are you ready, boy?" the Old
Swordsman said, drawing his sword. Breaker raised his own blade.

"Forswear the aid of your
ler?
he called,
remembering his role.

"With the ler's consent, I have left my
talismans on my bed," the elder man said, "and this man beside me has
driven away other
ler
that might have aided me. You face
nothing but my own skills—which will be more than enough, I have no doubt! I
think it will be spring, at the very least, before you are ready to take my
title!"

Breaker hesitated,
but then he reminded himself that the old man was trying to make it look good,
trying to make everyone believe the fight was honest. He had promised to give
Breaker an easy opening, an opportunity to show what he could do and prick th
e older man's upper
arm.

Just draw first
blood, and he would be declared the world's greatest swordsman, one of the
Chosen, with the magic to make the claim true. He fell into the stance he had
been taught, left foot back, right foot forward, left knee str
aight, right knee
bent.

"A moment," the wizard Black Coat
said, stepping forward, hands raised. "If this is to be done, let it be
done properly."

The Young Swordsman relaxed slightly,
lowering his weapon.

The wizard stood between the two combatants,
and gestured to them to indicate the starting positions they should take. Then
he announced, "We are here today to see whether this young man, a scion of
the town of Mad Oak in the central region of Longvale, son of the man called
Grumbler and the woman known as the White Rose, can prevail in armed combat
against the man reputed for many years to be the greatest swordsman in all
Barokan. By the request of both participants, I and my fellow wizards, as
members of the Council of Immortals charged with overseeing the choosing of
Barokan's defenders, and all the priests of Mad Oak, as representatives of the
place of this combat, have called upon the
ler
of earth and sky, of blade and bone and blood, of steel and fire, to
refrain from all interference—let this batt
le be settled only by the strengths and
skills of mortal men! Is it so agreed?"

The answer was not
spoken but felt, as if a great wave had rolled through the air, carrying the
word
yes.

"And do the
combatants agree that this bout is to be decided by the f
irst drop of blood
shed, and that no further proof will be asked in determining the victor?"

"We do," the Old Swordsman said;
Breaker hastily agreed.

"And is it understood by all that the
victor shall be proclaimed the greatest swordsman of Barokan, and shall become
the possessor of the talisman and powers granted to the holder of that title by
the Council of Immortals, and shall accept the role of one of the Chosen
Defenders of Barokan, and swear by his true name to fulfill the duties of that
role?"

"Yes
." This time
the word was spoken aloud by both men—and the rabbit.

"Then when I lower my arm, let the bout
begin." Black Coat stepped back and raised one arm high, while the two
swordsmen raised their swords and assumed fighting stance.

Then the wizard's hand dropped, and the Old
Swordsman's blade came jabbing at him, and Breaker focused all his attention
on his sword and his opponent, forgetting about rabbits and wizards and
everything except defending himself.

The old man had said
he intended to make it
look good, and he had obviously meant it; he was pressing the youth
harder than he ever had in training or practice, and the former Breaker gave
ground, stepping back. He did not drop his defense for an instant, though;
steel clashed and whickered, but neither point nor edge touched him.

Breaker had not
expected so fierce an assault. He wanted it to "look good," yes, but
the way the old man was pressing him a single slip might send the old man's
sword through his arm, or put a gash in his cheek. For seve
ral seconds he could
do nothing but defend; he had no time to consider an attack of his own, as he
was far too busy remembering the lessons he had been taught over the preceding
months, and putting everything he had learned about defense to the test.