Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (34 page)

The Seer glared at him.

"But this is the .second-longest
gap," the Scholar added hastily. "It's been a hundred and three years
since the Swordsman of Crab Leg Key killed the Dark Lord of Goln Vleys, and the
other gaps have never approached a century."

"If we just rush
to the Galbek Hills without a plan or strategy, maybe the Wizard Lord
will
be able to stop us," the Leader said. "We need to decide how
we want to approach him."

"We need to see
just what the situation is before we can make plans," the Seer said.
"What his tower is like now, how it's defended—we need to go look. Maybe
we don't want to just march in the front door when we get there, but there's no
reason to sit around
here
—we can make our plans along the way, and adjust them once we've seen
what his stronghold is like."

"I agree," Breaker said. "As
do I," said the Scholar.

"The
ler
don
't
understand why we even need to discuss it," the Speaker said. "They
think we're already—yes, I know—on our way."

Before anyone could reply the door opened,
and the Archer stepped in, bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.

"Just practicing," he said.
"So, you found the Beauty?"

"Yes," Breaker said.

"Then we leave in the morning?"

"We were just discussing that," the
Leader began.

"Yes," the Seer said.

"Yes, we do," Breaker said.
"As soon as I've had my morning practice." He glanced at the Leader.
"Some
of us are going,
anyway—Boss, here, isn't entirely sure he'll be coming."

It was very odd, but even while the Leader's
mere presence seemed to have transformed the Chosen into a unified team,
Breaker did not necessarily want Boss to
lead
that
team—his sw
itching
positions so quickly and carrying on as if he had always agreed with the others
made Breaker nervous.

But that was foolish, surely.

The Archer eyed the Leader with interest.
"Really?"

"He's joking," the Leader said.
"I had suggested we might want to rest and prepare a little, that's
all." He shrugged. "I realize now that the sooner we leave, the
better."

"Will we be stopping to talk to the
Thief again, or heading directly for the Wizard Lord's tower?"

The Leader looked at the Seer. "I
believe the Thief's home is on the way?"

"Almost," the Seer agreed. "We
might find a route a day or so shorter if we skipped it, but no more than
that."

"Then we'll stop and have a word. Her
talents may well be wanted."

"What about the Beauty?" the Archer
asked. "She'll be here this evening," the Leader said. "She's
coming with us," Breaker agreed. "Is she
...
I mean
..."

"We didn't see her face," Breaker
said. "She kept her scarf and hood up."

"Seems to defeat the whole
purpose," the Archer said.

A realization finally flickered into
Breaker's mind.

"I think that's why she does it,"
he said. "In fact, I think that's why she lives here in Winterhome—so she
can keep her face hidden."

"Several of the Beauties have lived
here," the Scholar said.

"Have they?" Breaker nodded.
"That would make sense. I never heard it mentioned, though."

"I don't understand," the Archer
said.

"She probably wants to be able to lead a
normal life," Breaker said. "She has a house and a cat, she sews—if
she showed her face she would spend all her time fending off suitors." He
remembered those eyes, the glimpsed curves, and the sultry voice—if the rest of
her was equally alluring, then he knew that men would flock to her like crows
to corn.

And the prospect of
traveling in her company, which had seemed
so appealing before, suddenly lost its
charm—he would be around her constantly, hearing that voice, seeing those eyes,
perhaps seeing more, and he almost certainly wouldn't be permitted to touch
her. They would have urgent business, and he would be one of four men
...
He suspected he would be living through
weeks or months of frustration.

"That didn't bother Slut," the Seer
said bitterly. "She enjoyed it."

"That was the previous Beauty?"
Breaker asked, startled. The Seer nodded. "You called her
Slut
"I re
gret to say we did."

Breaker had more questions he wanted to ask,
but hardly knew where to begin—and then he was interrupted before he could
choose.

"Don't call this one that," the
Leader said. "Nor Whore or Trollop or any of the other names of that sort.
You understand me?"

"I wasn't going to," the Seer said.
"I understand very well how wrong I was, all those years ago."
"Good."

"But
..."
Breaker began, then cut off even before the Leader glared at him.

"If we're leaving in the morning,"
the Leader said, "then we should be gathering supplies, hiring a guide,
and making sure we've had a good supper. There's a widow down the street who
sets a fine table, though I don't know whether she could feed all of
us on short notice."

"What about this
place?" the Archer asked, gesturing at the room around them.

"Oh, they'll
have something they call food, but I wouldn't necessarily agree. The Host
People pride themselves on their hospitality, of course, but the truth is that
this time of year they haven't much to offer—the Uplanders stripped their
larders bare over the last winter, and they haven't yet restocked everything.
Much of it will be arriving in the next few weeks, just before the snow. Nor
would we, as mere travelers, receive their best, in any case—that's reserv
ed for the Uplander
clan leaders."

"Some of us should stay here, though, in
case the Beauty comes sooner than we expect," Breaker said.

"A good point," the Leader agreed.
"Then let it be you two, Sword and Bow—make her welcome when she comes,
and the rest of us will see whether the widow can find room for us at her
table. Come, then." He beckoned.

Breaker stood flat-footed and watched as the
Leader led the Seer, the Scholar, and the Speaker out the door. Then he looked
at the Archer.

The Archer looked back. "Now what?"

"Now," Breaker said, "we find
out who's in charge around here, and what there is to eat!"

 
The Beauty did arrive before the
others returned, securely wrapped in her hood and scarf, and once they were
secure in the upstairs room Breaker introduced her to the Archer, who bowed
elaborately. "The pleasure is mine," the Archer said. "You may
not mean that, but it's largely true," the Beauty said. "I take no
great delight in meeting you, since it is dozens of deaths that brought us
here, an
d
the need for one more that drives us forth. We are thrown together by the roles
we live, not by choice."

"Yet I would have chosen to meet you,
had I but known where you were."

"Of course you would," the Beauty
said, and Breaker could hear the disgust in her voice. "You're a man, and
I'm the most beautiful woman in the world."

The Archer opened his mouth to respond, but
apparently could find no words.

"My mother used to say that true beauty
comes from within, in actions and words," Breaker said, hoping to avert
what he feared might become an ugly confrontation.

The Beauty turned her attention to him.
"Your mother spoke platitudes. You don't know what beauty is, and neither
did she."

"You could show us," the Archer
challenged.

The Beauty sighed. "I could," she
said. "But the sight of my face or body would arouse your lust, and I
don't care to deal with that just now."

The Archer clapped a hand to his bosom.
"Do you think so little of me, that you think I could not control my passion?"
he asked.

"Yes," the Beauty said, before he
could continue. Breaker smiled.

"It's
magic," he said. "Remember, Bow? Her beauty is just as supernatural
as your skill with an arrow, or mine with a sword, and would pierce our hearts
figuratively just as surely as arrow or sword woul
d do literally."

"Yes," the Beauty said, slightly
startled.

"It must be a curse, really,"
Breaker continued. "Far worse than our need to practice our arts daily,
perhaps even worse than the constant chatter the Speaker hears—you can never
know what any man would think of you were the magic not there."

"That's right," the Beauty said,
gazing at him with interest. "I'm surprised you understand so well—did
the Seer or the Scholar explain it to you?"

"No," Breaker said. "It seems
plain enough—how could it be otherwise? You live here so you can keep your
beauty concealed without abandoning the company of others, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you only lower hood and scarf when
no men can see, I suppose? Among women?"

"Not even then," the Beauty said.
"Women—well, it's never so simple as the lust of men. There's envy in it,
and lust of another kind, and often enough outright hatred."

Breaker blinked. "Ah," he said.
"I hadn't thought of that. But of course, women aren't blind to
beauty."

"Indeed."

"The Seer said she actively avoided meeting
you. Now I think I see why. She would not like her reactions."

"You see much, for so young a man!"

"She knew your predecessor; they were
not friends. I hadn't appreciated the reasons."

"I can guess."

"But I still cannot," the Archer
said. "You speak of your beauty as a curse, but the mere sound of your
voice has my heart pounding in my chest!"

"And other parts
pressing at your breeches, I'm sure," the Beauty said dryly. "But
what makes you think I
want
that?"

"But I
..
. uh . . ."

"I can't make it stop," she said.
"I can't turn it off.
Ara
feathers can
help—they drive away the
ler
that provide the extra glamour. And in theory, the men of the Chosen are
less susceptible to the magic than anyone else. But the feathers

and the immunity don't change the sound of my
voice, or the shape of my face, or the color of my eyes. They don't make my
breasts sag or my belly bulge. I know from when I met the Scholar, long ago,
that the Chosen are still men, and I cannot talk to a man without arousing him.
I cannot walk down a street uncovered without drawing every eye. Men would
follow me wherever I go—if I work in the fields, they trample the crops the
better to gaze at me; if I fetch water from a stream, they muddy the water with
their boots. Work goes undone, wives and lovers are abandoned—do you think I
enjoy
that?"

"I don't
...
uh
..."
The
Archer muttered in confusion.

"For twenty-three years, since I was but
fifteen, I have lived with this curse," the Beauty continued. "As did
others before me, and for a hundred years it's been for nothing. We have had
our lives ruined by it, our chances for happy families destroyed—but at least
now I will be able to use it for its intended purpose, and
accomplish
something! I almost feel as if I should be thanking the Wizar
d Lord for his
atrocity."

"I would hardly go that far,"
Breaker said.

"But at least now I can make my misery
mean
something!"

"Vengeance," the Archer said.
"We can avenge the dead of Stoneslope."

"Justice," Breaker said.

"Call it what you will," the Beauty
said, "so long as I have a purpose!"

And with that she turned away.

An hour later the others returned, and the
seven Chosen gathered in a council of war. The Beauty promised to hire the best
guide in Winterhome to see them safely back west as far as Riversedge in the
Midlands, and all of them reviewed their abilities and talents—and the
accompanying burdens—for the group. Breaker was interested to hear that the
Scholar was required every day to learn at least one true thing that he had not
previously known, that the Leader's daily task was to convince someone (or
something, if he was alone) to do something he or she would otherwise not have
done, and that the Seer was required to wake for an hour
each
night
and
spend
it
in
meditation,
receptive
to
any
visions
the
ler
might
see
fit
to
send
her.

"Not
that
they
ever
do,"
she
added.

The
Speaker
and
the
Beauty
had
no
burdens
save
their
inability
to
cease
their
magic,
and
the
Beauty's
inability
to conceive
a
child,
but
Breaker
thought
those
quite
enough. His
own
daily
practice,
or
the
Archer's,
seemed
trivial
by comparison.

It
was
a
pleasant
surprise
that
the
Beauty
had
some
talent as
a
healer,
but
other
than
that
the
magical
abilities
described were
no
more
than
Breaker
had
expected.
He
wondered whether
the
others
neglected
to
mention
anything
when
listing
their
talents;
he
knew
that
he
was
not
being
completely
truthful
himself,
since
he
said
nothing
about
his
skill
with women,
and
he
suspected
the
others
of
similarly
keeping their
own
counsel
about
irrelevant
matters.

When
these
introductions
and
explanations
were
complete
the
discussion
moved
on
to
the
Wizard
Lord—where he
lived,
how
best
to
get
there,
what
they
might
do
to
penetrate
his
defenses.

The
Wizard
Lord
watched
the
proceedings
through
the eyes
of
a
mouse;
the
Seer
pointed
it
out,
but
no
one
saw
any point
in
chasing
the
creature
away,
or
killing
it.
The
Wizard Lord
would
undoubtedly
know
their
plans
soon
enough
no matter
what
methods
they
tried;
real
secrecy
was
simply
not possible.
Details
might
be
concealed,
but
at
present
they
had no
details
to
hide;
the
plan
so
far
consisted
simply
of,
"Go
to the
Wizard
Lord's
tower
in
the
Galbek
Hills
and
kill
him."

That
was
hardly
a
secret
worth
worrying
about.

The
Leader
assured
them
that
he
would
devise
a
better plan
in
time,
but
as
yet
he
did
not
have
enough
to
work
with. They
knew
little
about
what
they
might
find
in
the
Galbek Hills.
The
Wizard
Lord
was
said
to
dwell
in
a
lonely
tower he
had
built
atop
a
hill,
attended
only
by
a
handful
of
young women
from
the
neighboring
town
of
Split
Reed—and
that was
all
they
knew.

That
did
not
lend
itself
to
detailed
schemes.

At
last,
later
than
Breaker
liked,
they
all
took
to
their beds.
The
Beauty
invited
the
Seer
and
the
Speaker
to
stay
the night
in
her
home,
while
the
Leader
had
bedding
brought
for the
Archer,
the
Scholar,
and
the
Swordsman
to
sleep
in
his room
at
Karregh's
Inn.

Breaker
slept
only
fitfully;
the
excitement
of
finally
having
the
Chosen
gathered
and
agreed,
the
knowledge
that
they would
soon
be
on
their
way
to
the
Galbek
Hills,
kept
him from
resting
soundly.

At
one
point
as
he
lay
half-awake
he
thought
he
heard voices
outside
the
door
of
the
room,
but
when
he
bestirred himself
to
listen,
they
stopped.
He
waited
for
a
moment,
but they
did
not
resume,
and
in
the
end
he
decided
he
had
imagined
them—or
perhaps,
in
his
state
midway
between
the waking
and
sleeping
worlds,
he
had
momentarily
been
able to
hear
the
ler
around
him,
talking
among
themselves.

At
last
he
fell
asleep
again,
though
in
his
dreams
he
could sometimes
still
hear
strange
voices,
murmuring
just
out
of earshot.

In
the
morning
the
seven
Chosen
gathered
at
the
inn,
met the
old
woman
Beauty
had
hired
to
guide
them
to
Riversedge,
and
set
out.

They
began
walking
west
while
still
in
the
shadow
of
the Eastern
Cliffs,
of
course;
all
of
Winterhome
lay
in
that shadow
for
much
of
every
morning,
and
they
could
hardly justify
waiting
until
the
sun
cleared
the
cliffs
before
starting their
journey.
That
meant
that
for
the
first
hour
or
so
the
sky directly
above
was
bright
and
blue,
while
the
world
around them
remained
dim.
Clouds
huddled
on
the
western
horizon, but
the
air
in
Winterhome
was
dry
and
pleasantly
warm.