He opened his left hand to find the silver talisman clutched to his palm; he closed the hand again.
He was not alone in the room; his mother was sitting on his one chair, watching him. She had that familiar worried expression she wore whenever one of her children was ill, whether from eating too many sweets or angering the ler or whatever other causes might put a child to bed with aches and fever.
He glanced at the window and asked, “What time is it?” Then he reconsidered, and without waiting for a reply asked, “What day is it?”
“It’s still the same day,” his mother said. “It’s a little after noon.”
“Oh, good,” he said, sitting up. “That’s not bad.”
“Not bad? You were unconscious for hours! Even when that black-coated wizard and the Old Swordsman and your father hauled you down the steps you didn’t so much as stir!”
“I wasn’t exactly . . . well, I was unconscious, I suppose, but it . . . I can’t explain. It’s magic.”
“Of course it’s magic!” she snapped. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself involved in things you shouldn’t, you have wizards putting spells on you and Elder Priestess arguing with half the ler in Mad Oak about you, you defeated the world’s greatest swordsman in battle—of course it’s magic! It’s a wonder you’re still alive and have your own soul!”
He grinned, and asked, “How do you know I still have my own soul?”
“Erren Zal Tuyo, do you think I don’t know my own son?”
The sound of the first three elements of his true name was a shock; he could not recall ever having heard his mother say all three of them aloud before. People in Mad Oak didn’t do that. The mysterious rushing seemed to swirl and eddy at the psychic impact.
“I suppose you do,” he admitted, still smiling. “Though I’m not entirely sure I do anymore! That spell—it connected me to the ler, to everything, and it took me a while to remember who I was and find my way back. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had taken a few days, or even months.”
“So it’s all worked, then?”
“I think so.”
“And you’re the Swordsman? The world’s greatest swordsman? One of the Chosen?”
“I think so.”
“And now you’re ready to go kill the Wizard Lord if someone asks you to?”
Breaker’s cheerful mood dimmed at that question. “I suppose I am,” he said—but as he spoke he remembered the talking rabbit, and how the Wizard Lord had been reluctant to hurt the creature’s throat by forcing it to continue its unnatural speech. That was hardly the act of a cruel or thoughtless man; Breaker could not easily imagine why he might be called upon to kill such a man.
But as he remembered the fight he was reminded of other questions. Why had the Old Swordsman fought so fiercely, when he had come to Mad Oak and spent months in preparation specifically to lose that very duel? Why had the Wizard Lord’s rabbit spoken up when it did, startling the Old Swordsman and giving Breaker the opening he needed?
Why did the Wizard Lord live virtually alone, out in the wilderness? He had not dared ask that before, but now . . .
“Where’s the Old Swordsman?” he asked. “I need to talk to him . . .” He belatedly remembered thrusting a sword point into the man’s shoulder. “Is he all right?” He glanced down at the sword in his right hand, and saw that yes, it was the same weapon, and a bit of his opponent’s blood was still streaked on the tip, though someone had wiped away the worst of it.
“He’s packing up,” White Rose said. “Younger Priestess cleaned the wound and started it healing, and one of those awful wizards used her magic to call a guide, who said the southeastern road should be passable at least as far as Greenwater; he’s on his way here from Ashgrove now. He and the old man should be ready to go first thing in the morning.”
“He’s leaving? Just like that?”
“He got what he came for. You’re the one with the magical job now, one of the Chosen; he doesn’t belong here anymore. He’s just an old man going home to his family.”
“I didn’t think he had any family.”
“Well, he’s going somewhere,” his mother said angrily. “He’s not staying here in Mad Oak; we’ve had quite enough of him.”
“I thought . . . the roads . . . I mean, I still have more to learn . . .” Breaker’s voice trailed off as he realized he wasn’t sure of the truth of his own words.
“Not from him, you don’t. He’s leaving.”
“I need to talk to him.” Breaker sprang to his feet and flung the sword onto the bed, then marched past his mother and out the door of the room.
The steps to the loft were on the line between stairs and a ladder, very steep but not quite vertical; Breaker scrambled up them as his mother called after him worriedly, “Is it safe to leave your sword down here?”
Breaker ignored the question as he clambered up through the open trap and looked around.
The Old Swordsman—the former Swordsman—was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying something he held in his hand. He looked up at Breaker’s entrance. “I suppose you have more questions about how it all works, now that you know what it feels like,” he said, before his replacement could speak.
“Those, too,” Breaker agreed, as he closed the trap behind him. “But first I need to know something else—why did you . . .” He broke off in midsentence as he noticed the lump under the old man’s shirt. “Are you all right?”
The former Swordsman glanced down at the hidden bandages. “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “Your pretty little priestess fixed me right up; there’s hardly even blood on the gauze.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I hope not. It’s a little late to undo any of it.”
“No, I just meant that I hadn’t wanted to hurt you that badly. A little cut on the arm would have been plenty, wouldn’t it? But you kept your guard up, you pressed me hard; I never had an opening for your arm.”
“I know,” the old man said. He grimaced. “Believe me, I know.”
Breaker hesitated; now that he was here and had a perfect opportunity, it was surprisingly hard to get the words out. At last, though, he said, “Why did you fight so well?”
“So well? I lost, didn’t I? There I was, the world’s greatest swordsman, and some overconfident kid . . .”
Breaker cut him off. “You were supposed to give me an opening. You were supposed to let me win.”
“I did let you win.”
“The rabbit startled you.”
“I suppose it did.” He set aside the thing he had held, then turned his attention back to Breaker. “And remember, boy, that the Wizard Lord isn’t limited to rabbits. He can see and hear and speak with other animals, as well. Rats or mice, for example—well, I’m not sure he can make a mouse speak, there may not be enough breath there to work with, but he can see through their eyes and hear with their ears.”
“I suppose he can,” Breaker said, unsure where this was leading.
“I know he can—I’ve spoken with him that way plenty of times over the years.”
“All right, then.”
“And is there any reason to think that he can’t do as well with insects, or spiders?” He pointed at a web between two rafters. “That little eight-legged dot up there might be listening to our every word, sending it all to the Wizard Lord in his hilltop tower. For all I know, the air itself might carry our words to him.”
“So he could be listening to us right now?”
“Indeed he might. Quite a powerful magician, our Wizard Lord. Master of all Barokan, from the Eastern Cliffs to the Western Isles, and most likely able to see and hear anything he chooses that takes place anywhere in his realm.”
“But he can’t be everywhere at once.”
“No, he’s still more or less human, he’s not a ler.”
“So he probably isn’t listening to us.”
“But he could be. After all, he did take an interest in our duel. If the Seer were here, she could tell us—she alway
s knows when the Wizard Lord is listening or watching, it’s part of her magic. But I can’t tell, and the Seer isn’t here.” He grimaced. “I didn’t want her here, for fear she would talk me out of . . . well, out of something.”
Puzzled, Breaker asked, “Would she? Talk you out of dueling me, I mean?”
“I don’t know, any more than I know whether the Wizard Lord is listening.”
“And what if he is listening? Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not; I just wanted you to realize that you may have somewhat less privacy than you are accustomed to, now that you have come to the Wizard Lord’s attention.”
Breaker considered this, and then nodded. “I see,” he said. “This is something you hadn’t really mentioned.”
“That’s right. I didn’t.”
“Are there other drawbacks to being Chosen that you neglected to mention?”
“Almost certainly.”
“And might they have something to do with your unexpected resistance in our duel?”
The old man sighed. “They might, or they might not. Perhaps I was simply overcome by pride when it came to the event, and I couldn’t bring myself to do too much less than my best—and even without the talisman and its ler, I still had more than forty years of practice. Maybe I wanted to see if I could beat you without my magic.”
“But didn’t you want to give up the role?”
“Perhaps not as much as we thought.”
“Even after all you had done to arrange it?”
“Even then.” He glanced up at the spiderweb, then said, “Or perhaps I was having second thoughts about what I was doing. Perhaps I began to doubt the wisdom of my actions.”
Breaker frowned. “You don’t think I’m good enough to replace you?”
“Oh, no—you were good enough, no question about it. The magic was blocked, but I still had all my years of practice and experience to draw on, and while I was not necessarily doing my very best, while I was hesitating, I was still trying to defend myself, and you beat me without a deliberate invitation on my part. To do that after so little training, not even a full season—you’re definitely good enough to suit the role, and can only get better. No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
The old man sighed. “The fact is, I was having second thoughts—not about you, but about whether it was fair to burden you with the role when you know so little of the world. I did not intend to give you your chance until I had made peace with myself that it was the right thing to do.”
“And did you find that peace, then?”
“No. You and the Wizard Lord’s rabbit took matters out of my hands, and I was presented with the accomplished fact, and no way to reverse it. I have no choice but to accept my defeat and go home to my niece and her husband, and hope they’ll take in a useless old man.”
“And I must take up your burden. Is it really so onerous, though?”
The former Swordsman hesitated, once again throwing a glance at the spider.
“For more than thirty years, I didn’t think so,” he said. “Of late, I am less certain.”
“Is it just the years, then? I . . .” Breaker caught himself. “Thirty?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But you have been the Swordsman for forty?”
“Forty-four.”
“Then something changed, a few years back?”
“I have seen three Wizard Lords during my term. The first two I trusted.”
Breaker took his meaning immediately, and this time both men glanced at the spider. For a moment neither spoke; then Breaker said, “If he is listening, and is what you think him to be, then you now stand already condemned by your own words, wouldn’t you think?”
“Quite possibly, yes.”
“And you lied to me, didn’t you, when we first met, in the pavilion after the barley harvest?”
“Did I?”
“You said the Wizard Lord was an honorable man.”
“And he may well be; I may be mistaken. I have no proof, no real evidence at all, that he is anything less than the honest and just ruler he claims to be. I believe what I said was that he has served well thus far, and to the best of my knowledge he has—but there is something about him that I find uncomfortable. He has more of a temper than the other two, he seems less predictable, less rational; he worries me. Where the other Wizard Lords lived in elegant homes convenient to friends and family and tradesmen, and where people could easily petition them, this one insists on living in his ramshackle tower out in the Galbek Hills, more than a mile from the nearest village. Instead of a proper staff he’s served only by half a dozen maids—no men or boys. He has no wife nor even, so far as I know, a favorite among his maids, and his background is a mystery to me, where the others often spoke of their roots. It may be that he’s just a harmless eccentric, and I cannot point to any evil he has done, but neither do I feel certain that he has done none, or that he will not do something terrible in the future.”
The full significance of this was gradually sinking in.
“You think the Chosen may be called upon to kill him.”
“Possibly, yes. And I’m an old man; I did not feel I was still fit for the job. I am old enough to retire in any case, but this uncertainty made it more urgent, so last summer I began seeking my successor, and at harvest time I found him.” He smiled humorlessly. “I found you.”
Breaker frowned in response. “You found me, and trained me, but in all the months you’ve been here you did not see fit to mention why. In fact, you did everything you could to reassure me that I would not be called upon to kill anyone. I trusted you, and you have deceived me from the first. I don’t . . . I don’t even know where to begin . . .”
The old man held up a hand. “You don’t need to,” he said. “Do you think it hasn’t eaten away at me all these months? I like you well enough, lad—oh, I don’t say we’d ever be the best of friends, but you’ve a good heart and good sense, certainly more than most of your friends here, like that Joker, or that skirt-chasing Digger, or the drooling ninny you call Spitter. Half a dozen times I thought of walking away, telling you the ler had told me you weren’t suitable—but if one of us does have to face an angry Wizard Lord in a battle to the death, I would rather it be you, not only because I value my own life, but because I am old and tired, not just in body but in spirit, and I think you would stand a better chance of defeating him. Oh, when I was young I would have gone bravely enough, and fought him however I could, but now I fear I would hesitate when resolution was needed, guard when I should attack, question when I should obey. Remember, I am the oldest of the Chosen.”
“No longer,” Breaker corrected him.
“Ah, too true. Well, I was the eldest. The Leader is half my age; even the Scholar is twenty years my junior. I would not fit well in such a company, should we be called upon to perform our assigned task; age and caution do not befit the Swordsman.”
“So you coaxed me to succeed you, without warning me of your doubts about our present master.”
“Yes. I’m not proud of it—but you were eager, and I had no solid basis for my concerns, and who knows, perhaps I’m wrong and you won’t be called, perhaps the Wizard Lord is a fine man who happens to have odd tastes. Or perhaps he’ll trip on a stone and break his neck tomorrow, and the Council’s next appointee will transform Barokan into a paradise. So I kept silent and we carried on.”
“And then at the last moment your conscience troubled you, and you thought better of it?”
“Oh, not my conscience, boy—not entirely, at any rate. I was still ready to let you take the job without knowing what you might be getting into. It wasn’t my conscience. It was that rabbit.”
“What?”
“The Wizard Lord’s rabbit. I supposed he would know what was happening, but to appear so openly, and speak as he did? It troubled me all the more, and I began to doubt the wisdom of handing on the title of Swordsman.”
“You thought the Chosen might be
summoned soon, and it would be a mistake to have so inexperienced a Swordsman?”
The old man snorted. “No,” he said. “Or not entirely. Rather, it occurred to me that if the Wizard Lord knows of my suspicions, then once I am no longer the Swordsman he might well decide to dispose of me as a threat. Oh, I can’t hope to kill him without the magic, but I can still speak, and because I served so long, people might listen.”
“But . . .”
“Remember, if the Swordsman dies, the Wizard Lord loses one-eighth of his magical power. If an ordinary old man dies, it costs him nothing. He could say it was an execution, that I had slain someone unjustly, and who could argue with him?”
“Oh.” Breaker looked up at the spider. “So you wanted to hold on to the magic to protect yourself.”
“Yes. And you, of course, since you would no longer be involved.”
“But the rabbit called out, and I won.”
“Yes. And all day, I have been wondering why the rabbit called out. I think it’s clear that the Wizard Lord wanted me to pass the role of the Swordsman on to you—but why?”
“Because I wasn’t suspicious of him,” Breaker said bitterly. “Because I’m young and naive.”
“That would be my guess, yes.”
“But now you’ve ruined that by telling me.”
“And now we may discover whether he is as vengeful as I fear, or whether my worries are all imaginary. If he is turning to evil, I don’t expect to live very long.”
“But I . . . No, I won’t allow that.” Breaker turned to face the spider. “If you’re listening, Wizard Lord, know this: If this old man dies under circumstances suspicious in even the slightest degree, then I will know my duty as one of the Chosen, and I will remove you!” He brandished the talisman at the web.
“If he’s listening, it’s probably not really through the spider.”
“Oh, I know,” Breaker said, “but where else should I direct my warning?”
“True enough. And thank you, lad, for giving that warning—I appreciate it more than I can say. Even if it looks and sounds like nothing more than the posturing of an overconfident child, the fact that it comes from the Chosen Swordsman gives it weight. But even so, if the Wizard Lord has gone mad, it may do no good.”
The Wizard Lord Page 9
