Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (25 page)

Breaker tried to imagine what it would be
like, hearing everything, and quickly gave up. That was not a role he would
have accepted; being the Swordsman was far simpler and more straightforward.

"If she were to
die," the Scholar said, "the Wizard Lord would no longer be able to
command ot
her
creatures, nor speak through them. That's the portion of his magic bound to
her."

This was interesting information, not
something he had known before; Breaker nodded. Then a sudden thought occurred
to him.

If he were to kill the Speaker, the Wizard
Lord would be a less formidable foe. If he were to kill all the other Chosen,
the Wizard Lord would be almost defenseless.

But that was insane;
the Chosen were his equals, his helpers and partners. He had no reason to kill
any of them, nor any intention of harming anyone but the Wizard Lord.

The Wizard Lord
deserved to die for what he had done to Stoneslope, and it was Breaker's duty
as the Swordsman to see that justice was done, but that hardly gave him the
right to kill anyone else, let alone betray and mur
der his own
companions! Where had such a horrible notion come from?

Was the Wizard Lord influencing his thoughts
somehow? That was a terrifying idea.

No, he told himself, that was foolish. The
idea of killing the others was just one of those strange passing thoughts that
sometimes wandered through a tired mind—especially one that had just suffered
something like seeing and feeling the horrors of Stoneslope!

"I need some rest," he said—but
then another, more urgent thought struck him.

He had not yet practiced his swordsmanship
for the day. The trip to and from Stoneslope, and the brief investigation
there, had taken up the entire day and thrown his usual schedule into disarray.
Perhaps that was where the morbid thoughts were coming from—the
ler
that gave him
his skill, and who sometimes seemed to glory in the thought of bloodshed,
were affecting him.

"Oh, blood and spirit," he said,
rolling off his mattress and getting to his feet.

"What is it?" the Seer asked.

"Practice," he said, drawing his
blade.

There was no need to go outside; the barn was
spacious enough, and with the sun down the candlelight inside provided better
visibility. He sighed, and began running through his usual exercises, thrusting
the sword to either side of a pillar, lunging and feinting.

The Seer and the
Scholar watched, but by the time he finally sheathed his sword and blew out
the candles they had both been sound asleep for several minutes. Whatever requirements
their magic might make of them—and Breaker knew that the Scholar, at lea
st, did have some
sort of daily requirement, something about learning new facts every day—had
apparently been met earlier.

They set out without
a guide the following morning; the Scholar was sure he could remember exactly
the route by which they had arrive
d and the prayers their guide had spoken
along the way, and surviving the previous day's ordeal had given them all
confidence in their own abilities to cross hostile territory unscathed.

"I've done this
before," the Scholar admitted, as they ambled along
. "Not this
particular route, but retracing a path I'd been guided on. It's one of the more
useful manifestations of my magic."

"Are you sure
it's really safe?" Breaker asked, as he dodged a low-hanging branch that
seemed to be trying to poke out his left
eye.

"No," the Scholar said. "But
then, what is?"

Breaker had no reply to that.

They reached the town of Argand Wager an hour
or two past noon; here they had a choice of routes, rather than the single link
that joined the nameless village to the rest of civilization, but the Seer had
no doubt of which they should take, and a guide was expected that very evening.

They made good
progress. They spoke very little on the road; Breaker was not sure just why. It
certainly wasn't that they had nothing to discuss;
there were hundreds
of questions he wanted answered. How could the Wizard Lord have done such a
thing? When the Seer felt the deaths, why hadn't she realized how many there
were, and that they could not possibly have just been the handful of rogue
wizards Boss had said they were? Why had she taken the Leader's word and done
no investigation of her own?

Was it really
necessary to find the others before doing
anything
about the Wizard
Lord's crimes?

Now that they were set out upon out their
appointed task of removing a Dark Lord, why did he feel no different? Why was
the sun still bright and warm, the countryside calm? Shouldn't there be some
outward sign of the atrocities in Stoneslope, something that would show
anywhere in Barokan?

If he was one of a
brother
hood
of heroes, on their way to avenge murdered innocents, why did he feel no
particular kinship with the Seer or the Scholar? He was as detached as ever.
The Scholar was pleasant enough company, but they were not close, and the Seer
seemed like a combination of his mother and Elder Priestess rather than a
companion and equal. Shouldn't they be bonding into the sort of team that the
Chosen were in all the old stories, ready to die for one another, understanding
each other so well that they could anticipate each other's actions without
words?

And they weren't.
They were just three people traveling together. Breaker had no feeling that
they were on any sort of adventure; he could not imagine that anyone would ever
tell epic tales of the three of them walkin
g from town to town.

But then,
why
was there no
adventure? Why wasn't the Wizard Lord trying to stop them? Why were there no
monsters, no traps, no messages trying to deter them, no threats nor bribes?

It was all very strange, and didn't seem
entirely real, somehow—until he closed his eyes and remembered the blackened
ruins of Stoneslope, there beneath the overcast skies, with the scattered
mounds that hid the bones of the dead. He remembered that tiny skull in the
Seer's hand, and he shuddered.

That seeme
d far more real than
the sunny skies, the light scattering through the leaves or shining off the
farmers' fields, as they walked behind their hired guide, watching the
ara
feathers on his hat
flutter in the gentle breeze.

The Speaker had been a good hundred miles away
when they left Stoneslope, the Seer reported, but by the third day she had
begun moving toward them. "Something probably told her we were
coming," the Scholar said.

And on the fifth day
they found the Speaker sitting in the central temple of a
large and
prosperous town called Blessed of Earth and Sky, waiting for them. Several
priestesses were going about some ritual, so that the temple was full of women
walking to and fro, and Breaker would never have noticed the Speaker if the
Seer hadn't tugged at his sleeve and pointed her out.

She was a tiny little
thing in a dark brown cloak, curled up on a bench, knees tucked in, leaning one
shoulder against the wall. Breaker thought at first she was a child, from both
her size and her posture, but then s
he turned her face so it caught the sunlight
from the open door and he saw that she was perhaps twice his own age, though
not as old as the Seer. Her hair was still dark and curly, her skin still
mostly free of wrinkles and blemishes, but there was no question that she was
past the full bloom of youth.

And her dark eyes
seemed touched with madness. Even before she said a word, Breaker understood
why so many people thought she was mad—her face was full of irrational
intensity. Her fragile form hardly seemed
suitable for a Chosen Hero, but those eyes
were another matter entirely.

She looked at the
three Chosen but did not say anything, nor make any move to leave the bench.
For a moment the three of them stood staring silently at her, while she stared
back. Th
en
Breaker bowed.

""I am the new Swordsman," he
said. "I am honored to meet you."

"Erren Zal Tuyo kam Darig seveth
Tirinsir abek Du," she said, in a soft, unsteady, high-pitched voice, her
eyes fixed on his face.

Breaker jerked upright at the sound of so much
of his true name; he could feel its power close on his heart. "Yes,"
he said.

"And Shal Doro Sheth tava Doro kal
Gardar." The Seer grimaced.

"And Olbir Olgurun pul Sasimori ken ken
Frovor." The Scholar flinched.

"We are met, four of the eight, half the
Chosen," she continued, in a sort of singsong. "You want to decide
the fate of Laquar kellin Hario Vor Tesil sil Galbek."

"Yes," the Seer said.

"So much
ler
have told me," the Speaker said, straightening a little.
"The winds and sky have told me this, b
ecause I could hear your soul, Shal Doro,
calling out to mine, asking where I could be found, and so I asked the
ler
why you sought me. But all they could tell me were certain of the words
you had spoken as you traveled, and thus I learned that you wanted
to speak to me of
the life of Laquar kellin Hario, but did not learn why. I have come here to
meet you, in this quiet place, so that you can tell me why."

"Quiet?"
Breaker looked around at the hurrying priestesses, listened to their footsteps
on the ston
e
floors echoing from the stone walls, heard a dozen voices chanting in another
part of the temple and echoes answering them, as well.

"Remember,"
the Seer said, "she hears everything. In here she hears people and stone,
but there are no birds nor beasts,
the
ler
speak in concert. . . and I'm starting to
talk like her." She sighed. "She always has this effect on me."

"It's because she uses true names,"
the Scholar said. "It creates a bond."

Breaker refused to be distracted.
"Speaker, as I said, I am honored to meet you," he said. "I hope
we will be friends, as it appears we are fated to be companions."

"I have no friends," the Speaker
replied, a note of woe creeping into her singsong. "I have no time for
friends, when so many voices call to me."

Breaker did not know what to say to that; he
looked helplessly at the Scholar, who shrugged.

"There are things I would say that I
would prefer the priestesses of this temple not hear," the Seer said.
"Is there somewhere we can go where no other people will hear us?"

"We are heard everywhere, always,"
the Speaker murmured.

"No
people,"
the Seer repeated. "I know
ler
will hear us,
and probably spiders and insects and the birds above, and quite possibly the
Wizard Lord himself if he's listening, but I would prefer not to be heard by
any other
people."

The Speaker sighed, lifted her head and
shoulder from the wall, and uncurled her legs. "Come, then, Shal Doro,
Erren Zal, and Olbir Olgurun." She rose from the bench and led the way
down a corridor and out of the temple.

Now that she was upright Breaker could see
that she was close to the Seer's height, but probably only weighed half what
the older woman did. Beneath the brown cloak she was dressed entirely in black,
though golden embroidery shone at collar and cuffs.

As th
ey walked, Breaker
asked, "Why do you use our true names?"

She threw him a startled glance. "Ler
know no others," she said. "Your souls speak your names to me
endlessly." She hesitated. "Would you prefer I call you something
else?"

"Among my people, using true names is
considered
...
well. .." Breaker
groped for the right word to express the normal Mad Oak attitude, and finally
found it. "Bullying. It's considered bullying. Because true names have
power."

"Of course they do. I see." She
almost stumbled as they reached a short flight of stairs leading down, but caught
herself. "Then what would you have me call you?"

"I'm the Swordsman. Most people call me
that."