"I'm the Seer" the Seer repeated. "It's my magic—I know where all Chosen are just as you know how to use a sword."
"I had to learn to use a sword," Breaker protested. "How do you learn knowing things you can't see?"
The Seer scowled at him. "All right, fine—it's not the same, but it is my magic, as one of the Chosen. I always know where the nine of us are, and more or less what condition we're in, though I usually have only a vague idea what we're all doing. And sometimes I see other things, as well. So I know who you are, and where you've been. Is that clear enough?"
"I suppose it is," Breaker conceded. Then he turned to the Scholar. "But how do you know about the Mad Oak, or about Flute?"
"That's my magic," the Scholar explained. "I learn things—and I don't forget them. I never forget a true story, any true story. It's not just the old tales and legends I remember, it's all the stories I've ever heard, and it doesn't matter whether it's how the first three Chosen slew the first Dark Lord, or how a girl from Mad Oak almost ran away with a guide from Willowbank, but changed her mind at the last minute when she realized he was so scared she could smell it."
Breaker blinked. "Oh." He frowned as he thought this over. "Only true stories? Do they have to be entirely true? I mean, what if someone gets a few things wrong?"
"I remember the true parts of every story I hear, but I can forget the lies and exaggerations and embroidering. For some stories that doesn't leave much—with made-up stories sometimes I only remember what the tale told me about the author, and not a word of the story itself." He smiled. "It's not a very useful sort of magic as a general thing, but I enjoy it."
"But you said the first three Chosen slew the first Dark Lord—my mother said there were eight Chosen, just as there always are, and the Dark Lord killed six of them."
The Scholar shrugged. "Your mother was wrong. There were only three then—the Swordsman, the Seer, and the Leader. The Dark Lord killed the Leader, and the other two survived. The Council of Immortals chose a new Leader, and added the Beauty after that. Your mother probably only heard that two survived, and assumed that meant six had died."
"How do you know it was my mother who was wrong, and not your version of the story?"
"Because I'm the Scholar. It's my magic." "But. . ."
"How do you know what your opponent is going to do before he does it?" the Seer interjected.
"Oh, because you can see his muscles tense, and his eyes adjust, and his weight shift," Breaker said.
"And how do you know how to see and interpret those signs, and do it so quickly that you can counter every move? Have you had years of training to learn this?"
Breaker was at a loss for a moment, then yielded. "All right, it's magic," he said. "But I still think my magic makes more sense than yours."
"It's more like ordinary human skills, certainly," the Scholar agreed. "My magic was created hundreds of years later than yours, when the wizards of the Council had learned greater subtlety and finesse."
Breaker resented the implications in that, but before he could think of a reply the Seer said, "Fine, that's all settled, then—you appreciate each other's magic. Now, could we get down to business?"
"I assume," Breaker said, "from your summoning me here, and saying we had urgent matters to discuss, that the Wizard Lord has done something unfortunate. I haven't heard anything about it; everyone I've spoken to seems satisfied with him. Still, he must have done something. What is it? When did it happen?"
The Seer and the Scholar exchanged glances.
"It's not that simple," the Scholar said.
"It started years ago," the Seer said. "About five years ago, in the third or fourth year of the Wizard Lord's reign. I saw him kill several people—not with my own eyes, but with my magic. I couldn't see any details, but I knew he had killed people—I didn't know exactly how many, or who they were, but he had killed. I could feel it. So I went to the Leader and told him—that's my job, after all. And I spoke to two wizards from the Council of Immortals, as well. And they all asked me to please not say anything about it yet— there was no point in starting a panic if the Wizard Lord was behaving himself, and no reason to warn him that he was discovered if in fact the Chosen would have to remove him. So I didn't say anything more, and then Boss came back and told me that it was all right, that the Wizard Lord had merely been doing his job, wiping out a group of rogue wizards who were organizing to overthrow him and destroy the Council. These wizards supposedly intended to set themselves up as overlords of Varagan . . ."
"Of what?" Breaker interrupted.
"Varagan—oh, Barokan. In my native tongue we call it Varagan. At any rate, the Wizard Lord said that he had killed a group of rogue wizards, and of course that's his job, and Boss and the Council had investigated and it was all in order. So that was fine, and I didn't worry about it anymore. The Wizard Lord had done his job, just like in the old songs. The next time I saw Lore, here, I told him about it—I thought he should know, as one more item for his collection of facts and stories. And then we went our separate ways, and I forgot about it for years."
Breaker glanced at the Scholar, who shifted on the bed and grimaced.
"And then last year old Blade went looking for a replacement—the Old Swordsman, I mean. I knew he was doing it, and I knew he found you and trained you, and I didn't think much of it; he wasn't a young man, in fact he was the oldest of us all by a few years, and if he wanted to pass on the talisman and retire, that was his business. I wanted to say farewell, though, and wish him well, so I met him on his way home to Dazet Saltmarsh this past spring, after he had lost the duel and you had become the new Swordsman. We chatted a bit, and then went our separate ways—but he mentioned that he had some doubts about the Wizard Lord. He knew he could speak freely to me, since I always know when the Wizard Lord is listening, so he told me that it wasn't anything specific, and that he'd told you about his worries, as well."
"Yes, he did," Breaker agreed.
"I thought he was worrying about nothing—after all, the Wizard Lord has been in power for eight or nine years now, and nothing dreadful had happened, so far as I knew. So I wished him well, and he went west, and I came south. And then just recently, I saw you were coming this way, and realized you were following Lore, so I found him and told him you wanted to meet him."
"That was just a few days ago," the Scholar added.
"And I thought it would be nice to meet you, too, so we settled in together to wait for you, and we talked, as people will . . ."
"I wanted more stories," the Scholar interrupted. "I always do."
The Seer's expression suddenly changed. "And you know, I think that's a lovely sword the Old Swordsman gave you, but wouldn't it be nice to have a new one, made to fit your own hand? Isn't it awkward, fighting with someone else's sword?"
"What?" Breaker said.
"The Old Swordsman had a sword made for him, you know—he went to the best swordsmiths, right under the cliffs in Winterhome, and had them make it just the way he wanted."
"Yes, he did," the Scholar agreed, nodding vigorously. "He told me the whole story."
Breaker was not sure what was going on, but he was bright enough to play along. "Wouldn't that be expensive, though? I'm just a barley farmer, after all—I don't have much to trade."
"Oh, but you're one of the Chosen," the Seer said. "I'm sure the armorers would be honored . .."
She stopped in midsentence and let her breath out in a rush. Then she turned and deliberately stamped on a spider that stood on the floor by the corner of Breaker's bed.
"I hate it when he does that," she said. "Wouldn't you think someone who's ruling all Varagan would have better things to do with his time than spy on us?"
'The Wizard Lord was watching us?"
"And listening," the Seer confirmed. "Through that spider."
Breaker stared at the gooey smudge on the floor.
"As I was saying," the Seer continued, "the two of us were waiting here for you—we both
wanted to meet the new Swordsman. And we talked, and we discussed the Old Swordsman's worries, and I mentioned that incident with the rogue wizards five years ago, when the Wizard Lord had killed people for the first and last time."
"And I didn't remember a word of it," the Scholar finished.
[14]
Breaker stared at the Scholar. "But I thought you I said you remember everything." "Only if it's true." Breaker looked at the Seer's face.
"It was lies," she said grimly. "The whole story about the rogue wizards must have been lies, from beginning to end."
"But you're a seer—couldn't you tell?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm a seer, yes, but not that sort of seer. Sometimes I can't tell truth from falsehood any better than any other woman my age—and I heard the story from Boss, from the Leader, and he can be very convincing. You'll see when you meet him. He and the Wizard Lord both draw on the ler of persuasion for some of their magic; after all, they're both expected to command people. As one of the
Chosen the magic doesn't work as well on me as it does on most people, but there's still a little bit of an effect, or maybe Boss has just had so much practice being believed— whatever the reason, it's hard to see when he's lying, even when it would be obvious nonsense from an ordinary person."
"But... I don't understand. If there were no rogue wizards, then why did he say there were?"
"There were people who died, Swordsman; there's no doubt of that. I felt it, knew it—the Wizard Lord killed them himself, summoning ler of fire and plague and storm. And they weren't rogue wizards."
"But then—who were they? Why did he kill them? Why did he lie about it? Or why did the Leader lie about it?"
"It may have been a misunderstanding," the Scholar suggested. "You would be amazed how often stories are distorted, quite unintentionally, in the retelling. Especially stories about the Wizard Lord—there are several I remember very differently from how they're usually told."
"He's been trying to convince me that that's what it is," the Seer said. "That the Wizard Lord told Boss that these were people who had to die, and Boss assumed that meant they were rogue wizards, and they weren't. He might even be right—but who else would the Wizard Lord be called upon to slaughter? Common criminals are usually dealt with by local priests, you know that, unless they flee past the boundaries, and most aren't stupid enough to do that—they know the old stories, they know the Wizard Lord probably won't bother with any trials or mitigating circumstances, he'll just kill them, while the town priests and magistrates generally won't do anything more than a flogging unless their crimes are unspeakably vile. Oh, one or two fugitives, that could happen, certainly, but this was more than two killed, all at once. And you know Blade said he never trusted this Wizard Lord. I fear Blade was right, that innocents were slain five years ago and we did nothing."
"We didn't know. We still don't, not for certain."
"But it's our duty to know! It's what we were chosen to do!"
Breaker shifted uncomfortably, but before he could speak the Scholar said, "It is perhaps what you were chosen to do, but my role is to learn everything I can of the world, past and present, so as to advise you and the others how best to deal with the Wizard Lord."
"Well, isn't the murder of innocents a part of the world's history, and a fit subject for your study?" the Seer demanded.
Before the Scholar could reply, Breaker asked, "If this happened, if the Wizard Lord killed innocent people, why didn't we hear about it? Why wasn't the news in every public house in the Midlands and every pavilion in the valleys? The guides carry gossip everywhere—why hadn't the Scholar heard the true story somewhere?"
"That's a very good question," the Seer said.
"Indeed," the Scholar agreed. "We have been discussing this while we awaited your arrival, and the only conclusion that seems to make sense is that there were no witnesses to the killings, no survivors to spread the word."
"Except the Wizard Lord himself," the Seer added. "I know he was there."
"But wouldn't these people be missed? Wouldn't their families and townsfolk notice their absence? One person might disappear without anyone thinking it especially strange, but you said there were ... You didn't say. How many were there, three or four?"
"More," the Seer said. "I don't know how many."
Breaker felt as if he had been punched in the gut. "More than four? The Wizard Lord murdered more than four people?"
"Killed them, yes," the Scholar said. "Seer seems sure of that. We don't know yet whether it was murder or execution, though." Before anyone else could respond, he added, "Or self-defense."
"It wasn't an accident," the Seer said. "You don't summon a plague by mistake." "I concede that much."
"We have to do something," Breaker said, overwhelmed by the thought of half a dozen people dead at once.
"What we must do," the Scholar said, "is determine the facts of the matter."
"Talk to the Wizard Lord, you mean?"
"No. If he lied to Boss, he would lie to us," the Seer said.
"But the Scholar would know, when he didn't remember the lies."
"That could take months," the Scholar said. "And if the Wizard Lord has indeed given in to darkness, he could dispose of us all during those months."
"But how? We're the Chosen!"
"He might find a way, all the same."
The Seer interrupted. "We aren't going to talk to the Wizard Lord. We are going to go and see for ourselves what happened to those people."
"But... I don't understand."
"I know where they died—my magic, the ler of location, will guide us there. It's in the Galbek Hills—and yes, the Wizard Lord lives in the Galbek Hills, but the deaths were at the other end, about thirty miles east of his tower. We'll go there. Then we can talk to the people nearby, and see what's left, and perhaps my other magic will let us know more. I'm not omniscient, but I do sometimes see with more than just my eyes, even when neither the Chosen nor the Wizard Lord are involved."
"And the Wizard Lord was involved, in this case," the Scholar pointed out.
"When you say 'we,'" Breaker said, "are you including me?"
"Yes, of course!" the Seer said, startled. "It might be dangerous, and neither of us is a fighter. We may need you to protect us. After all, you are one of the Chosen."
"One of them. Will you be gathering the other five, then, before we set out?"
The Scholar snorted.
"No," the Seer said. "That would take too long, and I'm not sure all of them would cooperate. And wouldn't that be as good as shouting to the Wizard Lord, 'We think you've gone mad!'?"
"What about the Leader, then? Isn't it his decision? Shouldn't he be involved?"
The Seer and the Scholar exchanged glances. "Ordinarily, you might have a case," the Scholar said.
"But it was Boss who told me not to worry about these killings," the Seer said. "He'll be reluctant to admit he could have been fooled—and if he wasn't fooled, if there's really an innocent explanation, I'd rather not look like I'm a fool."
"Besides, he's nowhere near here," the Scholar said.
"That's true—he's traveling well north of here, in the eastern Midlands," the Seer said. "It might take months to catch up to him and bring him."
"And I would prefer not to gather too big a crowd," the Scholar said. "Even three of us traveling together might be viewed with some suspicion. Seer assures me that the Wizard Lord does keep track of us all—that incident with the spider shows as much."
The explanations all had a superficial logic, but Breaker was not entirely satisfied. He had already had one of the Chosen mislead him, and for all he knew these two were even less trustworthy than the Old Swordsman. He had lived with the old man for months and still been deceived, while he had only just met these two—why should he trust them? He had a sudden momentary suspicion that the incident with the spider might have been staged; after all, he had no proof other than the Seer's word that the Wizard Lord had been watchin
g them, through the spider or otherwise. The Seer and the Scholar might be fooling him as part of some elaborate scheme—or perhaps the Seer had fooled the Scholar, as well; maybe there had been no mysterious deaths, maybe she had never told the Scholar the story about rogue wizards being executed.
Maybe these two weren't really the Seer and the Scholar at all!
But that was absurd. Who would pretend to be the Chosen and make up such a tale? Why would anyone lie about such a thing? No, he had to trust these two—they were playing out their roles as he was playing his.
But they were not necessarily following the wisest possible course.
"Maybe we should split up, then," he said. "We don't want to arouse any suspicions. The Seer could go to investigate the killings by herself."
"I want to know what happened," the Scholar said.
"And I want witnesses along, to confirm my findings," the Seer said. "Boss might not take my word for it if I find something bad, but he can't ignore all of us. And the Scholar's knowledge may be useful."
"But do you really need me? You said you wanted protection, but wouldn't three of us traveling together attract so much attention it would be more dangerous than if I just went home?"
The Seer stared at Breaker for a long moment, then said, "I want you to see what there is to see, Swordsman. After all, if our ruler has become a Dark Lord, it will be your duty to kill him."
For a moment Breaker stared at her, unable to reply.
"It might be the Archer who kills him," he said at last. "Or any of us, really."
"In three of the five cases where a Dark Lord has been removed by the Chosen, the Swordsman was the one who actually killed the Wizard Lord," the Scholar said.
"Well, there, twice it was someone else!" Breaker said with a gesture.
"Once the Beauty put a knife in his ribs," the Scholar said. "That's unlikely to work again. And the other time the Leader carried the Wizard Lord over a parapet, and both fell to their deaths on the rocks below—the Leader's struggles, combined with previous injuries and the Thief's removal of various talismans, prevented the Wizard Lord in question from flying away safely."
Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 Page 15
