Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (33 page)

That reminded Breaker that most of his
companions had never met the Beauty; Lore had, but none of the others he had
traveled with. As the threesome descended the stairs he asked the Leader,
"Have you ever met her before?"

The Leader glanced at
him. "No," he said. "I understand she was already something o
f a recluse by the
time I was Chosen."

"She was," the Seer agreed.

"How long has she been Chosen?"
Breaker asked. "I mean—she's supposed to be the most beautiful woman in
the world, so
...
I mean, she . .
."

"You mean, doesn't she have to be
young?" the Seer said, as they walked across the common room to the door.
"Well, let's just say she can't hold the title forever. The present Beauty
took on the role when she was only fifteen or sixteen, and has held it more
than twenty years—she doesn't need to find a successor quite yet, but she
probably will before she reaches
my age."

Breaker did not know just what the Seer's
actual age was, but he was not fool enough to ask. At a glance she appeared to
be in her fifties.

Breaker had no trouble imagining a woman in
her fifties who was still handsome, and perhaps even beautiful, but the most
beautiful woman in the world? That didn't seem possible.

Of course, the
Beauty's appearance was magical, so anything might be possible, but so far
nothing
Breaker had seen of magic had been so ... so unnatural. Magic came from
ler,
and
ler
were a part
of nature—to an extent they
were
nature.
Magic shaped nature, exaggerated it, redirected it, but it was still nature; a
rabbit or a crow might speak, but with the voice of a rabbit or crow, not in a
human voice. The Wizard Lord might summon wind and storm, but those winds and
storms were no different from natural ones—the clouds were not red or blue, the
rain still fell down and didn't fly sideways or spiral about.

And it was natural
for a woman's beauty
to fade with time, like a man's strength.

But the Beauty was not yet forty, if the Seer
had the numbers right; she might have several years left before she would have
any reason to seek out her successor.

"This way," the Seer said, as they
emerged into the street, and the three of them marched northward, up the
street.

A few moments later, sooner than Breaker had
expected and scarcely out of sight of the inn where they had found the Leader,
the Seer pointed.

"There," she said.

The stone-and-wood structure the Seer
indicated was no inn; the blackened oak door was closed tight, the windows
small and shuttered. The Leader said as much.

"She's in there," the Seer said.

The Leader nodded. "Very well,
then," he said. He stepped up and rapped on the door.

For a moment nothing happened, and the Leader
looked questioningly at the Seer.

"She heard you," the Seer said.
"And the Wizard Lord is watching us." She pointed at a bird perched
on an adjoining rooftop.

The Leader looked where she indicated.
"He's using the bird's eyes? Has he been watching you often? With five of
you traveling together, I assume he's noticed."

"He's looked and listened from time to
time," the Seer agreed.

"Then he knows what you have in
mind." "Of course."

"Is she coming?" Breaker asked. Now
that the possibility of seeing the Beauty was so close, he found himself
growing impatient, trying to imagine what the most beautiful woman in the world
would look like.

The Seer turned her
attention back to the closed door. "No, she isn'
t," she said.

"No?" The Leader knocked again,
more loudly.

"She's moving now, but she isn't coming
straight to the door," the Seer said. "I'm not sure why. If the
Speaker were here she could ask the
ler,
but I'm
not... my magic doesn't..." She glanced up a
t the bird again.

"Is he interfering somehow?"
Breaker asked, following her gaze.

The Seer shook her head. "No, that's not
it," she said. "At least, I don't think so. He's still watching
us,
not her. But he's watching
me,
trying to see what
I'm
seeing."

"Can he
do
that?"

"I don't think so—but he can try."

The Leader gave the bird one last look, then
knocked again.

"She's coming now," the Seer said.

Breaker turned back to the door expectantly.
The latch rattled, and the door swung inward; a face appeared in the opening.

Or part of one, in any case; the woman in the
door wore the black hood and scarf of the Host People, so that all Breaker
could see of her face was her eyes.

Those eyes were startlingly lovely—a deep,
rich green, surrounded by smooth, perfect skin—but still, Breaker had expected
more. He had expected an entire face.

Though now that he
thought about it, he should have known better; he had been told that the Beauty
lived in Winterhome, so naturally she would take on the customs of the Host
People.
The delay in opening the door might well have been to fetch her scarf
and pull up her hood.

And all he could see of her was those lovely,
lovely eyes, and a vague outline in black. He could see she was tall, and the
outline of her hood suggested the shape of her head, but beyond that she was
invisible.

"Beauty," the Leader said. "We
meet at last. I am the Leader of the Chosen. We need to speak with you."

The veiled woman glanced quickly at the other
two. "There must be some mistake," she said, in a soft voice that sent
a thrill through Breaker—though he was not pleased by the words; had she, like
the Thief, come to regret her role? Would she, too, refuse to help?

"There is no mistake," said the
Seer. "I am the Chosen Seer, and I know you for what you are."

"And what is that?" the woman
asked,
an
edge of annoyance in her
voice.

"The most beautiful woman in the world,
made so by magic, chosen by the Council of Immortals as one of the eight heroes
who will depose the Wizard Lord should he stray into madness or evil."

"I don't suppose
you would believe me if I denied it; the mere fact that you found me would seem
to indicate that you're what you say you are. Which is intriguing, to say the
least." She looked at Breaker. "And who's this? Is this another of
the C
hosen,
or a witness to some atrocity? I can see by his attire he's neither Host nor
Uplander."

"I'm called Sword," Breaker said.

"And you're the world's greatest
swordsman?"

"So they tell me."

She stared at him for a moment, then stepped
back and swung the door wide. "Come in, then," she said. "And
try not to track mud on the carpets."

 
The interior of the Beauty's home—and it was
instantly obvious that this was indeed someone's home, and not a business or
shop of any kind—was warm and cozy. Two rocking chairs stood on either side of
a broad hearth, where a moderate fire burned; a rag rug covered much of the
plank floor. Two of the walls were dressed stone, and two were dark wood hung
with simple tapestries; a rough table held a bowl of nuts, a basket of sewing
supplies, and scraps of black fabric that Breaker only belatedly recognized as
the pieces of an unfinished garment. A vase on a shelf by the hearth held a
dozen curling white
ara
feathers.

A ginger cat had been curled on the corner of
the hearth, but it leapt up and bolted at the appearance of strangers, vanishing
through an open door at the rear of the room.

"I'm sorry I
haven't enough chairs for everyone," the Beauty said as she led them
inside. Her voluminous black robe swirled about he
r as she moved, and
Breaker tried not to notice when it happened to shape itself briefly here or
there to the curves of her body. "I live alone, and have few guests."

"Why?" Breaker blurted, before he
could catch himself.

She turned to stare at him, then said,
"Because it suits me. Now, why have you come?"

The Leader replied, "I think the Seer
can best explain."

The Seer frowned at him, then turned her
attention to the Beauty.

"Five years ago," she said,
"the Wizard Lord slaughtered the entire population of his home village of
Stoneslope, men, women, and children, to avenge childhood slights. We cannot
..."

She stopped abruptly and turned toward the
open door; Breaker, startled, directed his own gaze there. The ginger cat had
reappeared. "Slights, you call them?" it said.

The Beauty screamed, a short, wordless
shriek, and clapped a hand to her heart. "Yes, slights," the Seer
replied.

"Say rather 'torments.' Say 'heartless
abuse.' Say 'vicious cruelty' and 'unrelenting evil.' "

The Beauty stared in horror at her cat.

"Are you all right?" Breaker asked,
stepping forward to offer support; the Beauty looked none too steady on her
feet.

"He talks!" she said. "He
never spoke before!"

"It's not your cat," Breaker said.
"It's magic."

"It's the Wizard Lord," the Seer agreed.
"He's speaking to us through your cat."

The Beauty's head
whipped around so fast her scarf slipped, and Breaker glimpsed the most
perfectly shaped nose he had ever seen or imagined; he felt a stirring in his
loins that he would never have guessed a m
ere nose could inspire. Then she tugged the
scarf back into place and said, "He can do that?"

"Obviously," the Seer said.

"It must be a shock," the Leader
said. "Here, sit down." He took her elbow and guided her to one of
the rockers. She settled warily into the seat.

The cat strolled across the room and leapt up
on the hearth, where it turned to face the four Chosen; the Beauty watched it
as a trapped mouse might.

"She says I killed my tormentors,"
the cat said. "I admit it; I did. I sent fire and plague and killed them
all—and I say that they deserved it. They had made
my
life constant unremitting pain for fifteen years, from my birth until I fled.
I tried to forget, to put it all behind me, and to ignore them, and for all the
years when I was an ordinary wizard I did them no harm, despite the lingering
nightmares and the countless opportunities; when I first became the Wizard Lord
I still had no intention of avenging the countless wrongs they had done me. As
the time passed, though, and I carried out my
duties and sent the freshening rain and warming
sun across the southern hills, and warded away the great storms, and listened
for reports of fugitives, and watched everywhere for the depredations of rogue
wizards, the temptation grew. I began to watch my old foes through the eyes of
birds and beasts, to see whether they had repented of their crimes, and I saw
that they had not, and finally I could bear no more. I could not stand the
thought that I was repaying their offenses with the blessings of fine weather
and safety, and in a fit of cold rage I destroyed them.

"It would have
been wiser to have resisted, I suppose— but in all honesty, these past five
years I have lived content for the first time in my life, happy in the
knowledge that all those who wronged me when I was an innocent child have paid
for their crimes, and that their feet no longer soil the earth, their breath no
longer fouls the air.

"Now the Seer
and her comrades seek to slay me for my actions, but why? I wish no one else
any harm. I am content. I am satisfied. I have done what needed to be done, and
no more remains. Let us live in peace."

"You killed
innocent children," the Seer said. "Babies. Old women. Your own aunt.
Their
ler
are
screaming for justice."

"I removed a blight from the face of
Barokan, as is my duty as Wizard Lord. No more than that."

"Teasing children do not deserve
slaughter."

"If by 'teasing children' you mean my
torturers, I disagree. I have done nothing unjustified—and if you use this as
an excuse to attack me, then I will be justified in defending myself by any
means necessary. I truly hope it won't come to that."

"You killed
people who hadn't been
born
yet when you left Stoneslope."

"But their families were my tormentors,
and if I had left the children alive, what would have become of them? They
would have spread lies about me through all Barokan."

"So you killed them just to not leave
any witnesses?" Breaker asked.

The cat glowered at him, then turned to the
Beauty. "I hope you will be reasonable, and not let these misguided people
sway you. Think of the risks and dangers in opposing me, and consider what I
have said. I mean you no ill—but I will defend myself. Now, let me go before I
wear out your poor cat's jaw with all this talking—the beast is not designed
for such speeches!"

And with that something seemed to change in
the cat's eyes; it meowed loudly, once, then jumped from the hearth and ran for
the door again.

The four of them watched it go; then the
Beauty turned to the Seer. "Can he still hear us?" she asked.

"Not at the moment," the Seer said,
"but he could begin listening again at any time—if not through your cat,
then through a spider or a beetle, a mouse in the wall or a bird in the
chimney."

"We have to kill him," the Beauty
said. "We have to kill him
now,
as soon as possible. He's a monster."

"Yes," the Seer said, startled.
"Yes, we do."

"There's no need for haste," the
Leader said. "We want to do this right."

"But
soon,"
the Beauty said. "Before he remembers some other youthful horror
he needs to avenge.
" She shuddered, but Breaker thought he saw an odd light in her
eyes.

"We're gathering at Karregh's Inn,"
the Leader said. "We'll be making plans there tonight."

"I'll be there," the Beauty said,
rising from her chair. "I need to pack, and find someone to watch my cat,
but I'll be there."

"Good," the Leader said.
"Good! I'll see you there this evening, then." He held out a hand.

The Beauty looked at it in confusion for a
moment, then shook it. "The Host People don't shake hands," she said.
"You might want to remember that while you're here."

"Ah, thank you," the Leader said.
"I hadn't noticed that."

There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of
questions that Breaker wanted to ask the Beauty, about why she lived in
Winterhome as she did and how she had made her decision so swiftly, and of
course he wanted a look at her face more than ever after that tantalizing
glimpse of nose, but he did not say anything; instead he followed Boss and the
Seer to the door, only glancing back once at the Beauty as she stood in the
center of the room, watching her visitors depart.

After all, he told himself, they would be
traveling together all the way to the Galbek Hills; he would have plenty of
time to ask his questions, and he would undoubtedly see plenty of her face
along the way.

And then the three of them were in the
street, and marching back down the street toward the inn where they had left
the others—Karregh's Inn, Breaker supposed it was.

They found the Scholar trading stories with
half a dozen Hostmen while the Speaker listened to the walls; the Archer was
nowhere to be seen. At the sight of the returning trio the Scholar stood and
politely took his leave of his listeners, and the Speaker wandered away from
the wall.

"Well,
then," the Leader said, turning to the others, "we'
ll want to take a
few days to prepare .
.."

"Why?" Breaker asked, startled.

"I would think the sooner we left, the
better," the Scholar agreed.

"We need to get this done," the
Seer agreed. "The longer we put it off, the more chance the Wizard Lord
has to find a way to stop us."

"But no Wizard
Lord has ever stopped the Chosen," the Leader pointed out. "We are
destined
to succeed—that's the whole point of being the Chosen. We want to do
this as carefully as we can, so that none of us die in the process, but the
eventual outcome is assured!"

"No Wizard Lord
has stopped the Chosen
yet,"
the Seer corrected him. 'This
system of ours was not divinely ordained, Boss; it was created by the Council
of Immortals, and they're not infallible. It's been a long time sinc
e the

Chosen were called upon to serve, and we
can't be sure this won't turn out to be the Wizard Lord who finds a way to defeat
the system." "Oh, nonsense."

"The Wizard Lord doesn't think so—if he
was certain we'll defeat him, wouldn't he retire right now, rather than waiting
for us to act?" Breaker asked.

"You're assuming he's rational,"
the Leader replied. "I think his actions in Stoneslope and his words just
now demonstrate otherwise."

Breaker started to open his mouth to protest,
to say that less than an hour before Boss had been arguing the opposite, saying
that a single massacre did not indicate the Wizard Lord had gone mad, but then
he stopped, unsure just why he would want to argue when the Leader's new
position matched his own.

It was still
unsettling that his position had changed so quickly. Breaker remembered that
part of the Leader's magic was the ability to make swift and firm decisions;
was this an example?

"He thinks he's
going to win," the Seer said. "After all, none of us were even alive
the last time a Dark Lord had to be removed—how will we know what to do? It's
never been so long between Dark Lords before!"

The Scholar cleared
his throat. "Actually," he said, "this isn't even close to the
longest hiatus. The Dark Lord of the Tsamas was no
t removed until the
four hundred and seventy-fourth year of the Council of Immortals, some one
hundred and sixty-nine years after the Dark Lord of Kamith t'Daru."