Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (90 page)

Many
of
the
ler
that
had
been
confined
by
the
Wizard
Lord's
spells,
the
natural
forces
he
had
trapped
in
charms
and
talismans,
were
released
by
his
death,
and
were
escaping
back
into
their
own
world.

"No!"
the
Leader
cried
from
where
he
lay.
"No!
All
the
magic!"

Breaker
jerked
his
sword
from
the
Wizard
Lord's
chest, and
let
the
corpse
fall
heavily
to
the
rough
plank
floor;
bright
blood
dribbled
from
the
wound
and
formed
a
spreading
pool
on
the
wood.
Then
Breaker
stepped
away
from
the
stairs
and turned
to
face
the
fallen
Leader.

"He
enchanted
me!"
the
Leader
said,
looking
up
at Breaker's
face.
"I
swear
by
my
soul,
he
had
me
bound
to
him!
He
knew
my
true
name,
he
made
me
betray
you...."

"Shut
up,"
Breaker
said,
setting
his
lamp
on
the
chair
where
the
wizard's
staff
had
rested.

"No,
really,
he
had
me
in
his
spell!
I
know
it's
not
supposed
to
work
on
the
Chosen,
but
he'd
found
a
way
..."

"Shut
up,"
Breaker
repeated.
"I'm
not
going
to
kill
you—
at
least,
not
yet,
not
if
you
shut
up.
It's
not
my
job—and what
would
be
the
point?"

"But
I
didn't
..."

"Just
shut
up,
will
you?
It
doesn't
matter
anymore.
He's
dead—I
killed
the
Wizard
Lord.
Our
job's
done.
It's
over."

The
Leader
blinked
up
at
him,
at
the
bloody
blade
of
his
sword,
and
fell
silent.

"One
thing,
though,"
Breaker
said.
"You're
going
to
pass on
your
talisman,
first
chance
you
get.
You've
had
your
turn, you'll
say—you
understand?
There
probably
won't
be
another
Dark
Lord
in
our
lifetimes
anyway,
but
I'm
not
taking
any
chances—if
you
still
have
that
talisman
in
a
year's
time,
then
I'll
kill
you.
You
understand
me?"

The
Leader
nodded
desperately.

"And
the
Thief,
and
the
Seer—their
time's
up,
too.
You
tell
them
that." "Me?"

"You—you're
the
Leader.
We
aren't
going
to
tell
them
what
happened
here—there's
no
reason
to.
You
and
I
escaped
the
trap
together,
and
we
killed
him.
Why
should
we say
anything
else?"

"Yes,
yes!
Of
course.
We
don't
...
I
don't
want
any
trouble
.
.
."

"One
year,"
Breaker
said.
"No
more.
And
sooner
would be
better."

Then
he
knelt
and
wiped
the
blood
from
his
sword
on
the
Wizard
Lord's
robe.

Breaker
dragged
the
Wizard
Lord's
corpse
down
the
stairs,
to
prove
to
the
maids
that
he
was
dead;
once they
saw
the
remains,
somewhat
battered
by
the
none-too-gentle
descent,
they
were
eager
to
cooperate.
The
Archer
was
freed,
and
an
hour
later
the
seven
Chosen
were reunited
on
the
hillside
by
the
wagon.

Breaker
and
Boss
gave
no
details
of
what
happened, merely
said
that
the
Leader
had
distracted
the
Wizard
Lord and
the
Swordsman
had
then
killed
him.

The
Beauty
noticed
how
subdued
the
Leader
was,
and looked
questioningly
at
Breaker.

"He
saw
something,"
Breaker
said.
"Something
the
Wizard
Lord
did
before
we
killed
him;
I
don't
know
exactly
what."

"I
can't
believe
it's
over,"
the
Archer
said.

"It's
not,"
the
Scholar
said.
"Not
quite.
Now
we
need
to find
his
talismans,
and
take
them
back
to
the
Council
of
Immortals.
We
each
carry
our
own
talisman's
mate—no
one
else
can
handle
them
safely."

"What
about
the
Thief's?"
Breaker
asked.

"It
stays
here
until
the
new
Wizard
Lord
comes
to
claim
it, I
suppose.
Just
as
the
talisman
would
if
one
of
us
had
died."

"The
new
Wizard
Lord?"

"Yes,
of
course—the
Council
will
choose
a
new
one
as
soon
as
they
know
this
one's
dead." "Why?"

A
sudden
silence
fell
as
the
other
six
all
stared
at
Breaker.

"What
do
you
mean,
why?"
the
Seer
asked.

"Why
should
we
have
a
new
Wizard
Lord?
You
all
saw how
much
damage
a
bad
one
can
do—why
should
we
help them
set
up
another?"

"We
don't
have
much
choice,"
the
Scholar
said
mildly. "They'll
do
it
whether
we
want
it
or
not."

"To
control
the
weather
and
kill
rogue
wizards,"
the Beauty
said.

"But
there
haven't
been
any
rogue
wizards
in
years—in
centuries^
Breaker
protested.
"And
the
weather
can
manage
itself."

"It's
not
our
decision,"
the
Scholar
said.
"It's
up
to
the Council." "But
why?"

"That's
just
the
way
it's
always
been." Breaker
stared
at
him,
baffled,
then
turned
and
stalked
away.

A
moment
later,
as
he
sat
on
a
rock
staring
out
across
the hills,
the
Beauty
came
up
and
sat
down
beside
him.
She
said
nothing
at
first,
but
she
pulled
the
scarf
from
her
face,
and
flung
back
her
hood.

He
turned
and
looked
at
her
fully
and
directly
for
the
first
time,
at
her
heart-shaped
face,
her
lush
auburn
hair
shining
in
the
late
afternoon
sun;
she
was
unquestionably
the
most
beautiful
woman,
the
most
beautiful
creature,
he
had
ever seen.
He
felt
a
stirring
in
his
loins
as
her
scent
reached
him—no
perfume,
but
simply
the
smell
of
a
clean,
healthy
woman.