Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01

by The Wizard Lord (v1. 1)

  "And why were you in such a hurry to visit Mad Oak?" Elder Priestess asked.

  "Because the opportunity to see the world's greatest swordsman in formal combat does not come along often, and I didn't want to miss it!"

  The Young Swordsman stiffened as several dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him, including the eyes of all three of his sisters.

  The wizard saw the direction of those gazes, and turned his own attention that way, as well. Elder took her time before she, too, turned.

  "Formal combat?" she said.

  "Yes," the Young Swordsman admitted. "But it won't... I mean, we aren't..."

  "To first blood," the Old Swordsman said from behind him. "I believe the young man is ready to attempt it." He strode up and clapped Breaker on the shoulder.

  "You said he was," the wizard called.

  "And we will find out soon whether I was right. I believe certain magic must be involved, though, for the match to have its intended effect of transferring the title—magic requiring a wizard's attention. That was why I sent word to all of you."

  "I'd have been just as happy if no one watched," Breaker said, to no one in particular.

  "When will it be?" the wizard asked. "The message was vague—you know how poor a sense of time some ler have."

  "We hadn't set an exact time," the Old Swordsman replied. "We needed to know just what's required in the way of wizards' magic."

  "Oh, it's a simple partial release and fresh binding—very easy, the sort of thing even an apprentice could probably do," the wizard said. "I could certainly manage it, if you like—you could hold the match this very afternoon."

  The two swordsmen looked at each other.

  "If it's all the same, I'd prefer to..." the younger began.

  "We wait," the elder interrupted. "No offense, Red Wizard, to you or your ler, but I'd be happier with more than one experienced magician involved. Just to be safe."

  "Of course, of course." The wizard attempted a bow of acknowledgment, but the magical vortex held him upright, turning the bow into more of a wiggle. "You can demand half the Council, if you like—I think we'll all be eager to see it."

  "I was going to say, I would rather wait," Breaker said, glaring at his teacher.

  "Then might I ask, my esteemed priest and priestesses, that you petition the ler of your lands to let me set foot in Mad Oak?" the wizard asked, turning to the clerics. "I assure you, I mean no ill to any person or spirit here, and will keep my own immaterial servants in check."

  "And I suppose you'll want lodging, as well," Elder Priestess said.

  "Oh, I would not wish to intrude on your privacy; I will be happy to sleep in the pavilion on the ridge, if that might be permitted."

  "I thought wizards were supposed to be arrogant," Spider whispered in Breaker's ear as the clerics conferred. "He doesn't seem arrogant to me!"

  "He looks fancy enough, though, with all his bright colors and things!" Fidget whispered in reply.

  "Wizards are just people," their brother replied. 'The Old Swordsman's told me all about them—some are arrogant, some are humble. Like anyone."

  A murmur of chanting came from the circle, and abruptly, the whirlwind vanished; the wizard stumbled as he dropped the last few inches onto the frozen mud of the square, but caught himself without falling.

  "Thank you," he said, essaying a proper bow this time.

  "Our ler prefer human beings to arrive on foot," Priest said, apologetically. "They have a very strong sense of how things ought to be."

  "Of course," the wizard said, brushing off his robes and shaking his hair into place. "I meant no offense. Every town's ler have their own little whims; I just hadn't realized yours had that particular preference. Naturally, I'll do everything I can to oblige them."

  "Come on," Elder Priestess said. "I'll show you where you can sleep." She beckoned for the wizard to follow her as she led the way toward her home. Apparently she had no intention of making the town's guest sleep in the drafty, poorly heated pavilion, despite his offer.

  Thinking of the cold, Breaker wondered idly, not for the first time, why the Wizard Lord allowed winter to still happen; was his command of the weather not enough to prevent it? The Old Swordsman had claimed not to know any answer to that one.

  "Well, that's one wizard," the Old Swordsman said, smiling at Harp, Fidget, Spider, and their brother as they all turned toward home, eager to get out of the cold. "Two or three will be enough. Then we'll put on our show, give you the talisman and bind the ler, and I'll be done with it all, ready to leave as soon as the roads are open in the spring."

  "And you'll be the Chosen Swordsman," Fidget said, looking up at her brother. "Who'd have ever thought that would happen?"

  The Old Swordsman laughed, but Breaker just batted a hand at his sister, who ducked the blow easily. He did not laugh.

  And, he noticed, neither did his other sisters.

  Other wizards were not long in coming. With the river frozen over and snow blocking the paths only those who had captured wind elementals or found other ways to fly were able to come, so the first wizard's flamboyant arrival was repeated, with minor variations, three more times over a period of five days. All these wizards, two men and a woman, were strangers; apparently the two who had brought the Swordsman to Mad Oak in the first place either had not received the message, had decided not to attend, or were unable to fly.

  And four wizards, the Old Swordsman decided, was plenty; with this fourth and last arrival the wizards now outnumbered the priests hosting them, and waiting for more would be an imposition on Mad Oak's hospitality. Furthermore, he and Breaker had gone over their plans carefully, and both felt ready to perform their little exhibition. They could not rehearse it move for move, as that would make it impossible to fool the ler, and trying to set out specific moves in words did not seem entirely practical, but they agreed on what areas the Old Swordsman would try to leave exposed to Breaker's blade, and discussed just how the performance could be kept spontaneous and convincing while still yielding the desired result.

  Thus prepared, the Old Swordsman sent Spider and Fidget to tell the assorted magicians that the formal challenge would be made the next day, and on the afternoon following the fourth wizard's arrival the Old Swordsman strode into the town square and proclaimed loudly to no one in particular, "I am the world's greatest swordsman! No one in Barokan can defeat me with a blade!"

  Breaker had been waiting in a convenient doorway, feeling the tension in the air that meant ler were listening and watching; he thought he had even glimpsed light and movement in some of the winter shadows. Now he straightened up, flung back his hood, and marched out to face his teacher.

  "I can defeat you, you old fraud," he said, "if you forgo magical assistance!"

  Wind stirred, and shadows moved; a wave of glitter seemed to glide across a nearby snowdrift, as if something were refracting the watery sunlight. The air almost seemed to vibrate; the former Breaker had never before felt such a concentration of ler, not even during the spring planting rites.

  "I need no magic to beat the likes of you," the elder sneered.

  "The empty words of a windbag!" "The simple truth."

  The younger raised his hand in challenge. "Then prove it—send away your captive ler, put down your talismans, and face me on even terms!"

  Now he could feel dozens of eyes on him, as well as the presence of the ler. He resisted the temptation to look around at the hidden audience, peering through shutters or door cracks, or around corners—but even Priest's old cat, curled on a windowsill, seemed to be staring at him.

  All four wizards were unquestionably in the surrounding houses, watching through the shutters to be certain that the challenge was properly made.

  "I will!" the old man called happily. "Tomorrow, when the sun tops the eastern cliff, we will meet here with our swords. I will order my ler not to interfere, and we will see that my title is no brag, but mere fact!"

  "Tomorrow, then, old man!"

  An
d with that, the two turned on their respective heels and marched off.

  Behind them the air shimmered, and the cat's gaze followed the Young Swordsman's departure.

  [7]

  The sky overhead was already blue and brightening when Breaker arrived in the town square, well before the sun cleared the looming clifftops to the east. He wore a white woolen coat he had borrowed; he hoped it would make him harder to see against the snowy surroundings. Yes, the Old Swordsman intended to lose the fight, but the youth wanted to make it easy for him—and, more importantly, believable for those watching, both human and ler. Ler responded to human beliefs and emotions, as Elder Priestess had told him often enough, so the fight had to look as convincing as possible to everyone and everything watching.

  And yes, the audience was already there. Priest was standing in his doorway, watching somberly, wrapped in the red cloak he wore when acting as magistrate. To one side the two priestesses, Elder and Younger, were waiting, both wearing the green of their office. Joker and Brokenose and Spitter were leaning against a nearby wall, hands in the pockets of their long winter coats, their expressions surprisingly serious.

  Breaker's family had followed him to the square, and his parents and younger siblings stood clustered at one edge of the square. Harp, followed by Smudge, had joined the other musicians in a corner, though of course none of them had brought their instruments. Digger had joined them, though he had never shown any interest in music; noticing Smudge's annoyed expression, Breaker guessed that his friend had been a little too obvious in showing that his interest lay in the harpist, rather than the harp.

  The Red Wizard and two of the others, the woman known in Mad Oak simply as the Wizard Woman and the man called Greybeard, stood gathered at one side; the fourth wizard, Black Coat, had not yet appeared.

  Dozens of other townsfolk stood waiting, as well—none of them had ever seen a real swordfight, unless the last few months of practice might be counted.

  And the air shimmered with the presence of ler; colored light sparkled in every shadow. Breaker looked around, trying to gauge their mood, as he drew his sword and took a practice swing.

  That was how he came to notice the rabbit, and the hawk, and Priest's cat, all staring at him.

  The cat—well, cats were inexplicable creatures, and might stare for any reason, or none at all. The hawk might conceivably have been attracted by the presence of so many ler, thinking they might guide it to its prey.

  But what was a rabbit in its long white winter coat doing in the middle of town, sitting unafraid among so many humans, and staring so intently at one of them? He stared back.

  Some of the observers noticed his intent gaze, and they, too, saw the rabbit in the square.

  The rabbit noticed them, as well, but did not react in anything like normal rabbit fashion; it did not freeze, or flee, but looked casually around.

  "Yes," it said, in a high-pitched, inhuman voice, "it's magic."

  Someone in the audience screamed, and several others murmured; feet shuffled in the snow, and someone tumbled on a slick spot and caught herself against a wall. The so-called Young Swordsman, feeling very young indeed, closed his eyes and swallowed.

  He had heard of talking animals, but he had never seen one before—well, not one he could understand; he knew that the priests could sometimes speak to the ler of ordinary beasts and birds, just as they spoke to other ler. An animal speaking aloud in a human tongue was an entirely different matter; he had never really believed in them, even though the Old Swordsman had told him that the Wizard Lord used them as messengers.

  And believing or not, he had certainly never imagined they might sound like this; he had assumed they would have human voices, but the rabbit spoke human words in a rabbit's voice, to very disconcerting and unnatural effect.

  He opened his eyes again and focused on the rabbit, which looked calmly back. He asked, "What sort of magic? What are you?"

  "I am a rabbit, of course—but at the moment I serve as the eyes, ears, and voice of the Wizard Lord."

  The voice was almost a squeal, some of the words hard to make out, but Breaker understood perfectly—presumably, he thought, because that was part of the magic.

  "Did you think I wouldn't take an interest in the identity of the Chosen Swordsman?" the rabbit asked. "The Chosen are of rather obvious importance to me—I want to know they are all people of good sense and goodwill, and not glory-seekers who might declare me evil so that they can make themselves a name by slaying me."

  "It hadn't occurred to me," Breaker admitted. "You're so far away ..." He shuddered as a thought struck him. "You are far away, aren't you?"

  "I am," the rabbit said. "I am in my tower in the Galbek Hills; I couldn't spare the time to come in person, and would not wish to impose on Mad Oak's hospitality in the depths of winter in any case."

  'Thank you," the youth said, though he was not sure what he meant by it. "We are honored, of course." He bowed. "I'll try my best to show good sense—if I win, I mean. I certainly mean you no ill."

  "I can see that."

  Breaker jerked upright at that. Could the Wizard Lord see into his heart, hear his thoughts? Accounts of just what the magical overlord of Barokan might be capable of were wildly inconsistent and universally considered unreliable— even the Old Swordsman said he was unsure just what was true and what was mere legend.

  This whole business of becoming one of the Chosen suddenly seemed like a mistake. Setting himself up as one of the judges and executioners over someone who could make a rabbit speak from more than a hundred miles away was surely unspeakably foolhardy; how could anyone in his right mind accept such a role? "Is there ... I mean . . ."

  "I'm hurting the rabbit's throat," the rabbit said. "No more." Then it turned and hopped away a foot or so before turning back to watch.

  The youth hesitated—but then the Old Swordsman arrived, Black Coat at his side, just as the sun's light flared golden above the cliffs, and the air buzzed with sudden tension. The Young Swordsman turned to face him.

  In turning he noticed the hawk perched on a convenient rooftop, still watching him. Was that another vantage point for the Wizard Lord? Was it another wizard using similar magic to observe the duel? And the priest's cat really did seem unnaturally intent.

  Were there others? Mice under the shutters, spiders in the eaves?

  The Old Swordsman seemed to have missed the excitement of the talking rabbit, and he was ignoring the murmuring of the crowd, the muttered questions, the nervous edge, the tinge of near-panic in the air. His attention was entirely on his opponent, and he seemed more determined, more there, than Breaker had ever seen him.

  "Are you ready, boy?" the Old Swordsman said, drawing his sword. Breaker raised his own blade.

  "Forswear the aid of your ler? he called, remembering his role.

  "With the ler's consent, I have left my talismans on my bed," the elder man said, "and this man beside me has driven away other ler that might have aided me. You face nothing but my own skills—which will be more than enough, I have no doubt! I think it will be spring, at the very least, before you are ready to take my title!"

  Breaker hesitated, but then he reminded himself that the old man was trying to make it look good, trying to make everyone believe the fight was honest. He had promised to give Breaker an easy opening, an opportunity to show what he could do and prick the older man's upper arm.

  Just draw first blood, and he would be declared the world's greatest swordsman, one of the Chosen, with the magic to make the claim true. He fell into the stance he had been taught, left foot back, right foot forward, left knee straight, right knee bent.

  "A moment," the wizard Black Coat said, stepping forward, hands raised. "If this is to be done, let it be done properly."

  The Young Swordsman relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon.

  The wizard stood between the two combatants, and gestured to them to indicate the starting positions they should take. Then he announced, "We are here today
to see whether this young man, a scion of the town of Mad Oak in the central region of Longvale, son of the man called Grumbler and the woman known as the White Rose, can prevail in armed combat against the man reputed for many years to be the greatest swordsman in all Barokan. By the request of both participants, I and my fellow wizards, as members of the Council of Immortals charged with overseeing the choosing of Barokan's defenders, and all the priests of Mad Oak, as representatives of the place of this combat, have called upon the ler of earth and sky, of blade and bone and blood, of steel and fire, to refrain from all interference—let this battle be settled only by the strengths and skills of mortal men! Is it so agreed?"

  The answer was not spoken but felt, as if a great wave had rolled through the air, carrying the word yes.

  "And do the combatants agree that this bout is to be decided by the first drop of blood shed, and that no further proof will be asked in determining the victor?"

  "We do," the Old Swordsman said; Breaker hastily agreed.

  "And is it understood by all that the victor shall be proclaimed the greatest swordsman of Barokan, and shall become the possessor of the talisman and powers granted to the holder of that title by the Council of Immortals, and shall accept the role of one of the Chosen Defenders of Barokan, and swear by his true name to fulfill the duties of that role?"

  "Yes." This time the word was spoken aloud by both men—and the rabbit.

  "Then when I lower my arm, let the bout begin." Black Coat stepped back and raised one arm high, while the two swordsmen raised their swords and assumed fighting stance.

  Then the wizard's hand dropped, and the Old Swordsman's blade came jabbing at him, and Breaker focused all his attention on his sword and his opponent, forgetting about rabbits and wizards and everything except defending himself.

  The old man had said he intended to make it look good, and he had obviously meant it; he was pressing the youth harder than he ever had in training or practice, and the former Breaker gave ground, stepping back. He did not drop his defense for an instant, though; steel clashed and whickered, but neither point nor edge touched him.