Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (92 page)

This
man
had
magic
that
could
carry
him
as
fast
as
the
wind,
but
he
had
let
the
Chosen
struggle
for
weeks
through endless
seas
of
mud
and
slush.
No
wizards
had
offered
to
carry
the
Chosen
to
the
Galbek
Hills,
nor
to
shield
them from
the
Wizard
Lord's
storms.

Let
the
old
man
stand
up
on
his
own,
Breaker
thought.

The
wizard
righted
himself,
brushed
the
snow
from
his black
robe,
and
called,
"Congratulations!"

"You're
welcome,"
Breaker
said
coldly.

The
wizard
blinked,
then
smiled.
"Yes,
of
course,
thank you!
Thank
you
all
for
freeing
us
from
that
madman!
Well done,
well
done!"

"Do
you
know
what
you're
talking
about?"
the
Archer asked.
"Why
do
you
call
him
a
madman?"

The
wizard
was
stepping
gingerly
toward
them,
holding
the
hem
of
his
robe
up
out
of
the
slush
and
wet
snow;
he
looked
up
from
his
feet.
"Wasn't
he?
From
the
damage
he did
to
the
towns
along
your
route,
I
could
scarcely
think
otherwise."

"He
was
mad,"
Breaker
said.
"As
you
say,
he
could
scarcely
be
otherwise.
And
when
did
you
first
realize
this?"

The
wizard
looked
puzzled,
and
stopped
walking.
"Me?
Oh,
perhaps
a
fortnight
back."

Breaker
marveled
to
himself
at
that;
their
slow
and
miserable
journey
from
Winterhome
had
taken
over
a
month,
but this
wizard
had
noticed
nothing
wrong
until
two
weeks
ago.

"Yet
you
did
nothing
about
it?"

"Well,
no"
the
wizard
said.
"That
was
your
job—if
/
had
opposed
him,
he
would
have
killed
me."

"Was
there
nothing
you
could
have
done
to
aid
us,
to
ease
our
path,
to
hinder
his
plans?"

"Not
without
risking
his
anger,
Swordsman—that's
why the
Council
created
the
Chosen
in
the
first
place,
all
those centuries
ago!"

"And
what
about
our
risks?"

"You
agreed
to
those
when
you
agreed
to
be
Chosen!"

"I
was
told
that
we
would
be
acting
with
the
Council,
not in
its
stead,
if
it
ever
became
necessary
to
remove
a
Wizard Lord!"

"Oh.
Well,
that's
not
how
it
actually
worked,
was
it?
It's certainly
not
how
/
understood
the
situation.
But
in
any
case, it's
over,
and
he's
dead,
and
I'm
sure
we're
all
very
proud
of you.
How
did
you
know
he
was
mad?"

"He
murdered
an
entire
town,"
the
Seer
said.
"His
own
childhood
home,
a
place
called
Stoneslope."

"Someone
will
need
to
go
there
and
placate
the
dead,"
the Scholar
said.
"Take
his
head
to
show
them,
that
should
do it."

"Ah,
and
perhaps
you
.
.
."

"That
is
not
what
we
were
chosen
for,"
the
Beauty
snapped,
pulling
down
the
scarf
that
had
covered
her
mouth,
the
better
to
shout.
"You
can
fly—
you
do
it."

"Ah—well,
I'm
sure
something
can
be
arranged,
when
the others
get
here."

"Others
are
coming,
then?"
Breaker
asked.

"Oh,
yes,"
the
wizard
said.
"All
of
us,
the
entire
Council." He
pointed
skyward.
"Here's
the
next
one,
now."

And
sure
enough,
a
red
speck
was
swooping
nearer,
one
that
Breaker
soon
recognized
as
the
man
the
people
of
Mad Oak
had
called
the
Red
Wizard—and
he
was
carrying
someone,
a
woman.

"That's
very
nice,"
Breaker
said.
"Enjoy
your
meeting.
We'll
be
going
now."

"No,
no!
You
must
stay—you
must
pass
on
the
talismans
to
the
new
Wizard
Lord."

Breaker
exchanged
glances
with
the
others—though
the Leader's
gaze
flicked
away
quickly,
then
fell
to
the
ground.

"How
long
will
this
take?"
the
Scholar
asked.

"Oh,
not
long.
A
day
or
two
at
most."

Breaker
sighed.

"A
day
or
two,
then,"
he
agreed.

Over
the
next
few
hours
several
more
wizards
arrived,
and
Breaker
recognized
six
of
them—he
had
seen
four
of
them
less
than
a
year
ago,
when
he
dueled
the
Old
Swordsman, and
the
other
two
had
accompanied
the
old
man
when
he first
arrived
in
Mad
Oak.
Half
a
dozen
of
the
wizards
flew
in, but
some
of
those
were
carrying
other,
nonflying
wizards. Two
arrived
on
foot,
one
traveling
at
a
normal
pace,
the other
somehow
walking
so
fast
his
legs
were
a
blur
of
motion;
one
arrived
on
monsterback,
and
three
on
various
more normal
beasts
of
burden.

In
all,
nineteen
wizards
converged
on
the
dead
Wizard Lord's
tower,
there
in
the
Galbek
Hills,
by
nightfall.

Breaker
watched
them
arrive,
watched
them
greet
each
other,
and
stared
at
the
ones
he
recognized
from
Mad
Oak.

Had
it
really
been
less
than
a
year
since
they
saw
him
jab the
Old
Swordsman
in
the
shoulder?
It
hardly
seemed
possible,
but
he
knew
it
was—the
duel
had
been
late
in
the
last
winter,
and
this
winter
was
still
young.