Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (32 page)

"I had no idea! Interesting." He
smiled. "Well, then, we're all accounted for, and
I'm
sure I'll get to know all of you as well as I could ask if we
do indeed join forces to destroy the Wizard Lord, so let me get to the point.
Lore, tell me what this is about."

"The short version, or with all the
details?" the Scholar asked.

"The short version, for now—we can fill
in the rest later."

Lore nodded. "When the Seer and I
compared notes recently, we realized that the Wizard Lord had lied to us about
killings he performed in Stoneslope, about five years ago. You'll remember that
the Seer discussed those with you at the time—well, we discovered that the
explanation he gave could not be true. We felt we had to investigate further.
The new Swordsman was nearby, and we thought it might be useful to have a good
fighter along, since there might be dangers, so we met with hi
m, and asked him to accompany us to Stoneslope to explore the
situation."

"The
short
version, Lore."

"Yes,
I'm
sorry, Boss. The short version is that Stoneslope isn't there anymore; five years
ago the Wizard Lord slaughtered every man, woman, and child there in revenge
for what he saw as childhood abuse."

"He did."

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

The Scholar looked confused, and glanced at
the Seer for support. "We saw their bones," he said. "We saw the
burnt-out remains of the village. We felt the ghosts that linger there. We
talked to the people of the neighboring village. And we talked to the Wizard
Lord, who admitted what he had done."

"So you know the
village was destroyed, and the people ki
lled—but how do you know it was the Wizard
Lord who did it?"

"He
said
so," Lore
replied, baffled. "Through a crow."

"And how do you know this crow . .
."

"Save your breath, Boss," the Seer
said. "I was there, and it was the Wizard Lord speaking to us—and don't
ask how / know, because you
know
how I know."

"Ah. Your magic."

"Yes."

"And do you know that he spoke the
truth, through this crow?"

"Why would he lie?" Breaker asked,
puzzled.

"I remember every word," the
Scholar said. "Every word, just as he spoke them. You know what that
means."

The Leader nodded. "All right, then, he
did it—he killed everyone in his home village. And for that you believe we
should remove him, am I correct?"

"You know you are," the Seer said.

"Then let me ask—why?"

The others stared at
the Leader in astonishment. "What do you mean, why?" the Seer
demanded. "Because he's a murderer, a butcher, who killed dozens of
innocent people, and he needs to be removed before he does it again!"

"But what makes
you think he would ever d
o it again?" the Leader asked. "After all, he has no other
enemies, does he? And by your own account it's been five years since the
killings; has he killed anyone else in those five years?"

"No," the Seer said.

The Archer glanced at her, startled. "No
rogue wizards or other wandering criminals?"

"No one," the Seer said. "I'm
certain of it."

"But shouldn't he have?" the Archer
persisted. "Weren't there any fleeing murderers? In all the old stories .
.."

"The stories sometimes exaggerate,"
the Scholar said. "Most of them are about events that happened centuries
ago, even if the tellers may say otherwise."

"The Wizard Lord
hasn't killed anyone since the slaughter in Stoneslope," the Seer
insisted. "Perhaps he
should
have
killed someone, I can't tell that, but
he hasn't."

"Then why not
recognize this one instance as a special case?" the Leader asked,
spreading his hands. "He's been a good Wizard Lord otherwise—the weather
has been pleasant, the crops good, there are no reports of bandits or disorder.
Why is th
is
so unforgivable?"

"He killed
babies,
Boss. He killed his
own aunt, and his betrothed, and his first girl. He's a monster."

"Seer, it is his
duty
as Wizard Lord to kill those who deserve to die. We have all of us
made
him a monster, if that's what he is
, because that's what we need to protect us
from ourselves
..."

"That's ridiculous," the Archer
said, interrupting.
"We
didn't make him
anything. The Council of Immortals made him, and made us to keep him in
check."

"And he
is
held in check—he has killed n
o one for five years!"

"Boss," the Seer said, "I held
a baby's skull in my hand. It takes more than five years of mercy to atone for
what he did—it takes a life."

"Agreed," the Archer said. "He
has to die."

'The devastation in Stoneslope was quite
impressive," the Scholar said. "And while he made no attempt to deny
it, which is good, he made no apology for it, either. He still felt that he was
justified in slaughtering his entire village, and furthermore he said that if
we attempted to remove him from power he would kill us. I do not believe we can
trust him to behave himself in the future, five years of good behavior
notwithstanding."

"He deliberately
killed innocents," Breaker said. "We are supposed to punish him for
that. The ghosts in Stoneslope are ...
they want.
.."

"The souls of the dead cry out for
vengeance," the Speaker interrupted, her singsong startling everyone.
"The
ler
of the lost yet linger, seeking justice for their slayer."

"Yes," Breaker said. "They do.
I felt them."

"As did I," the Seer said.

"And I," the Scholar confirmed.

"All of you agree, then," the
Leader said. "Then why did you come here?"

"Because you're our
leader,"
the Seer said.
"It's your duty to lead us against him."

"But if I don't believe it wise
..."

"He killed an entire village!"

"And if he had
done that last month or last year, I would indeed be packing my belongings and
preparing for the march to the Galbek Hills—but it was
five years ago,
and he has done no more harm! A man can change, and repent his deeds,
and if he is no
danger
..
."

"There is a story," the Scholar
said, "that I remember well, so I presume it to be true—though perhaps it
merely struck my fancy, and I recall it for that. In any case, it tells of a
man who built a home in Shadowvale, close beneath the cliffs, in a spot where
the
ler
were gentle and generous, so that the land was rich
and the crops munificent, despite the great barrier blocking out the eastern
sky. This man built his house atop the scree, up against the cliff itself, and
when he was building it his neighbors, who had come to assist him after the
northern fashion, looked up, and noticed that far above them, at the very- top
of the cliff, was a section that had cracked and leaned out from the
surrounding stone. This great block of stone, fiftee
n or twenty feet
wide, was hanging by a corner.

" 'You can't build here!' one of them
said to the homeowner. 'Look, that stone is ready to fall and crush you!'

"But the builder laughed. 'That stone
has hung from the cliff for as long as I have lived in this vicinity,' he said,
'and it has never fallen yet. Perhaps the
ler
hold it, or perhaps that comer is stronger than it appears, but I will
be as safe here as any of you.' And he completed his house, with his neighbors'
aid, and moved in, and lived there in peace—perhaps more peace than he had
intended, as the hanging rock made many reluctant to visit him.

"And one day, a
dozen years after the house was finished, with no warning, the stone fell, and
crushed the house to splinters, killing the man and his
young daughter. His
wife had been down at the river, and she lived, but lost her home and family.

"Boss,
you
may choose to live beneath the hanging rock, but the rest of us do not.
We have seen what the Wizard Lord can do, and we do not want to risk seeing
it happen
again."

"Lore, we will
always
have a Wizard Lord—the question is not whether we will always have the
threat of a Wizard Lord going mad hanging over us, but whether this particular
Wizard Lord deserves to be removed, perhaps killed. You all seem
to believe that this
particular stone is leaning out too far and must be removed for those beneath
to be safe, but it seems to me that it has been secure enough for five years.
Yes, it slipped once, but now it seems to me to be as solid as ever."

"And the
man who built the
house thought that because the rock above him had never fallen after the
initial crack, it never would."

"Boss," the
Seer said, "if the Wizard Lord is truly as sane and harmless as you think,
then wouldn't he simply acknowledge that our
concerns are reasonable, and resign? After
all, ending his reign as Wizard Lord simply means retiring to the long and
peaceful life of a member of the Council of Immortals, whereas resisting us
means his death. How sane can he be, to refuse to resign?"

"H
as he refused? Have
you
asked
him?"

"We suggested it," Lore replied.

"And he said .
..
?"

" 'Perhaps,'" Lore said. "He
said, 'Perhaps.'" "Then any talk of killing him is premature, isn't
it?
Perhaps he'll resign and we can end
all this worry calmly and sensibly."

"That would do," the Seer said.
"Mind you, I still think he deserves worse for what he did to the children
of Stoneslope, but if he resigns, then we, as the Chosen, will have done our
duty and fulfilled our role."

"Well, then!"

"He hasn't resigned," the Seer
said. "We have not spoken with him in
..
. some time."

"Almost a month," the Scholar said.
"And even that silence is indicative. He knew our intentions, and could
have told us he was resigning, if that was his intention. He could have
bargained with us. He has not done so."

"Perhaps he thought you would come to
your senses, and realize we aren't a bunch of heroes out of some ancient legend."

"But, Boss," the Seer said,
"we
are
heroes out of legend." "We are
sensible modern people." "We are the
Chosen, and more than mortal," the
Speaker sang.

"Listen,"
the Archer said. "If he wants to resign rather than face us, he's welcome
to do that, but so far he hasn't. Until he does, it's our job to go to the
Galbek Hills and try to kill him, and that's wh
at we're going to do. If he wants us to stop
coming after him, he can resign at any time, and we'll stop—but for now, I say
v/e get on with our business. If we just sit here in Winterhome arguing, he
won't think we're serious. If we march to Galbek either his nerve will crack,
and save everyone a lot of trouble, or we'll get there and kill him; either
way, our mission will be accomplished and we can split up and go home and get
on with our lives. So we march. That's sensible—
and
heroic."

"Yes," the Seer said. "We must
go after him as if we mean to kill him."

"We really
do
mean to kill
him," Breaker said. "But he can stave us off by resigning."

"Fair enough," Boss replied.
"That's fair enough all around. We'll head to the Galbek Hills, then. Now,
you say the Thief won't come with us?"

"We couldn't convince her," the
Seer said. "You might do better."

"What about the Beauty?"

"We haven't spoken to her," the
Scholar said. "We found you first."

"Then I'd say it's time we found her,
wouldn't you?" "I suppose it is," the Seer said.

"Then let's do that, shall we? You said
she was half a mile from here?"

"That way." The Seer pointed.

"Should we all go?" the Scholar
asked. "I wonder whether a small delegation might not be a better idea; it
seems she's been living among the Host People for some time, and a group of
half a dozen descending upon one of their women might not make the right
impression."

The others glanced at one another.

"A fine suggestion," the Leader
said. "Seer, I'll need you to find her, and of course I'll go, but that
should do, and the rest of you . . ."

"A third,"
the Speaker interrupted. "The
ler
counsel a third."

"I agree," the Seer said. "I'd
like to have someone else." The Leader shrugged. "If you want."
He looked over the candidates.

"I'll wait here," the Scholar said.

"The streets do not welcome me, the
Beauty's words need no interpretation," the Speaker said.

That left the Archer and the Swordsman; the
Leader glanced at the two of them, then said, "Come on, Sword— it'll give
us a chance to get to know one another a little better." He clapped the
young man on the back.

"All right," Breaker agreed.

The Archer grimaced. "Enjoy the view,
Sword," he said. "I suppose I'll get a look at her soon enough."