“You are a forgiving man, then.”
“I would like to think so.”
“Wise of you, I’m sure—but a curious trait in the man chosen to be the Council’s executioner.”
Sword frowned, and peered into his beer mug. “I am not exactly an executioner,” he said. “My role is a little more complicated than that, just as yours is more complicated than simply ensuring that the rains fall on schedule.”
“I’m sure it is.” Artil’s voice did not convey any conviction whatsoever.
Sword looked up and met the Wizard Lord’s eye. “And if I might, Artil—just what do you see as your role? You said you were trying to use as little magic as possible; why is that? Isn’t magic what the Wizard Lord is for?”
“Controlling magic, my friend, not using it,” the Wizard Lord replied, leaning forward again. “That’s what you taught me out in the Galbek Hills that night. The Wizard Lord’s original job was to bring wizards under control, to put an end to the rogue wizards who were rampaging across Barokan, raping and pillaging at whim. The Wizard Lords were given all the magic that could be gathered in order to achieve that goal, because what else could be used to fight wizards? And it worked, and there have been no rogue wizards in centuries now, and you looked at that and asked why we still need a Wizard Lord at all. At the time we paid no attention, but when I became the Wizard Lord I thought long and hard about that, and I concluded that we do not need a Wizard Lord any longer to hunt down rogue wizards or stamp out banditry. But then, was there something else that a Wizard Lord could do, that no one else could?”
“Regulate the weather,” Sword said.
“Pah! That’s nothing.” He waved it away. “The weather in Barokan was never any great problem, even before there were any wizards. Ask Lore here, he’ll tell you; our ancestors came here and settled because the climate was gentle and the land was fertile, and the priests could bring the ler to heel and coax forth crops. We don’t need a Wizard Lord for that! And with less than a score of wizards left in all Barokan, most of them living quietly in odd corners so as not to attract the Wizard Lord’s anger, it seems plain to me that we don’t actually need wizards’ magic at all, for anything. It’s a dying art, an aberration, a relic from another time.”
“But then . . . All right, what do we need a Wizard Lord for?”
“Well, we don’t, really, but we can use one,” the Wizard Lord explained. “You need to look at the other part of the title. I am not merely a wizard, but a lord, a ruler. I am, effectively, the ruler over all Barokan. My rule is limited—as it should be, I’m not objecting—by the Chosen, who will remove me should I do harm to my people, but otherwise, who can challenge me? I can do what I please, so long as I do no harm. Why not do good, then? Why settle for merely maintaining things as they are? Barokan has changed over time, become a peaceful and prosperous place; the old days of wild wizards and wild ler are gone. Why shouldn’t we make it even better, now that the old evils are defeated? I said it was prosperous, but it’s not as prosperous as it might be, because trade is so limited by the wilderness separating our communities, so I set out to build roads connecting them. And many things that could be done aren’t, simply because there’s no one to organize people to see them done, so I organized people. I organized the road-builders, and the canal-diggers, and the bridge-builders. The construction crews that built my two palaces can now go on and build other structures for the various towns, build bridges and markets and temples. I’ve organized the palace guard here, and I’m training them to keep the peace in a somewhat more efficient fashion than the old magistrates and priesthoods—they don’t just guard me, they guard everyone. And I’m doing all this without using magic any more than I must, because I want it all to function without me.” He spread his arms wide, taking in all the dining hall and the lands beyond. “I want to create a Barokan that really doesn’t need a Wizard Lord, that uses good old common sense to regulate matters instead of whimsical magic, so that someday, when we last few wizards are retired or dead, it won’t all fall apart.”
“That’s . . . that’s an ambitious scheme,” Sword said uncertainly.
“I suppose it is.” The widespread arms fell to the arms of his chair. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t know,” Sword said, sincerely. “I need to think about it a little.”
“Oh, do think about it! I’m sure you’ll see what a grand thing it is. Your compatriot has.” He gestured at Lore, then at Farash. “And your former leader.”
Sword did not find that as comforting as the Wizard Lord probably thought he should. “Have you spoken to the other Chosen?” he asked.
“I spoke to the new Leader—Boss, she calls herself, as I suppose the Leaders always do. She felt it would not be appropriate for her to work closely with me, but she said she thought it all sounded very promising.”
“That sounds sensible.”
“The Beauty refused to speak to me, and I have not yet approached the others. I’ve been busy with other matters.”
“I see.”
“I’m hoping to locate them soon, though. You’ve saved me some trouble by arriving unasked, as you have.”
“Oh?”
“Yes! Seriously, Swordsman, I want all the powers in Barokan—the Wizard Lord, the Chosen, the Council of Immortals, and all the scattered priesthoods—to work together to make our homeland a better place. I want you all to join me, to make suggestions, to help with my projects and advise me on how best to aid our people.”
“You apparently didn’t feel any need to consult us before building your roads and palaces, though.”
“Well, honestly, Swordsman, if I had tried to get everyone to agree to my projects beforehand, do you think it would have worked? We’d all still be arguing about who should speak first and how the votes would be counted. No, I took the initiative so that everyone could see the benefits of cooperation. Once the wagon’s rolling it’s easier to push.”
“I . . . May I speak frankly, Artil?”
The Wizard Lord leaned back and waved grandly. “Oh, by all means! Please do!”
“At first glance, your plans seem wonderful, but young as I am, I have still lived long enough and traveled far enough and seen enough of the world to know that things are not always what they first appear to be. I am not ready to leap up and proclaim your ideas to be the start of a magnificent future; I must reserve judgment until I have seen more.”
The Wizard Lord again gestured broadly. “Fair enough! Just give me a chance, and you’ll see that I have only the best intentions, and that I’m ready to change anything that does more harm than good.” He turned, and pointed at a newly arrived platter that held half a dozen hideous, dead, spidery creatures. “Try one of these, won’t you? They’re called crabs; they come from the shallow seas near Northmarsh. I had the roads to Northmarsh given priority so I could have these shipped in, and not have to fly out there any time I wanted them—the ler of the air are among the hardest to handle, you know; flying is not something even the best wizard can do very often.”
“Crabs?” Sword eyed the platter warily.
“Yes, crabs. You crack them open and suck out the meat and juice. They’re a delicacy on the coast and the Western Isles, but until the roads were built there was no way to bring them this far inland. They don’t keep, they have to be transported alive in a barrel of seawater and then boiled, and that just wasn’t possible until there were roads and wagons. Really, try one—they’re delicious.”
Sword looked at the ghastly things and shuddered. “No, thank you.”
“As you please,” the Wizard Lord said, clearly disappointed. He reached out and tore a leg off one of the creatures with a brittle crunch. He snapped it open with his hands and, just as he had said, sucked out the meat, with evident enjoyment.
Sword gulped beer, wiped his mouth, and said, “There’s one more thing,”
“And what would that be?”
“I would like to speak to you privately—and to Far
ash, and to Lore, each in turn. There are things I want to say that I am not comfortable saying before so many people.” He gestured at the table, where two dozen clerks and courtiers were eating as well as the Wizard Lord, the two advisors, and himself, then extended the gesture to take in the guards at the doors and the maids serving the meal.
“Well, how privately do you mean?”
“I mean alone with each of you. No guards, no servants, and your word that you will not use your magic or any devices you may have built into this place to eavesdrop when I speak to the others.”
The Wizard Lord considered that for a moment, then beckoned to one of the guards, who stepped forward.
“Swordsman, this is Azal ori Tath, the captain of my guards,” the Wizard Lord said, as the guard came to the table.
Sword nodded an acknowledgment.
“Captain, you heard him?”
“Of course.”
“What do you think?”
The captain eyed Sword judiciously, then said, “If he will strip naked, and enter your presence wearing only a garment we provide, and in a place of our choosing where we are sure no weapon has been hidden, and if you go armed, then I think the risk is acceptable.”
“My word that I will not harm him is not sufficient?” Sword asked. “No, it is not. Not when my master’s life is threatened.”
“I mean him no harm,” Sword said.
“Then you should have no objection to the terms.”
“Oh, I’ll accept the terms,” Sword said with a sigh. “I just think it’s a good bit of unnecessary trouble. After all, you surely don’t force everyone who comes near him to follow such rules!”
“You are not ‘everyone,’ ” the captain said. “You are one of the Chosen.”
Sword nodded. “Indeed, I am. Very well, then. After dinner, then?”
“A time will be arranged,” the Wizard Lord said. “More beer?”
[ 6 ]
The time was arranged, as promised, and that evening Sword was summoned from his chamber. Since he knew what was expected he wore only a simple robe and carried nothing with him but the silver talisman that gave him his status as the Chosen Swordsman—he could not safely leave that behind. If he were to be separated from it for more than a few minutes he would become ill, as he knew from unhappy experience.
The search for hidden weapons was distressingly thorough. The talisman was found and deemed sharp enough to be a potential weapon, but Sword was able to convince the guard accompanying him to let him carry the talisman and leave it on the floor just outside the door, where it would, he hoped, be close enough to satisfy the ler while distant enough to not threaten the Wizard Lord.
At last, that done, he was escorted into a small, bare room where he found the Wizard Lord waiting.
The Wizard Lord was sitting in the only chair.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on the floor, or stand,” he said apologetically. “The captain feared you might use any other furniture as a weapon.”
Sword sighed, and settled cross-legged to the floor near the door, tucking his thin white robe under him. “If I really meant to harm you,” he said, “I could use my bare hands, or twist this robe into a garrote.”
“I have a knife,” the Wizard Lord said, “and of course my magic.”
“I could take the knife away from you and gag you with the robe—but Artil, I mean you no harm. That I tell you these possible methods, and thereby give up any element of surprise, should tell you as much.”
“It is your sacred duty to kill me should you think I am unfit to be the Wizard Lord,” Artil replied warily. “I think it only reasonable to take precautions.”
“Of course. But honestly, I don’t think you’re unfit, and I do believe you when you say you would choose abdication over death.”
“I don’t particularly want that, either.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. Honestly, though, I don’t want to harm you or force you to abdicate.”
“What else could you want to discuss privately with me? After all, Sword, we don’t know each other; we’ve met just twice before today. What connection is there, other than your duty as one of the Chosen? And what could that be, except my removal?”
“Oh, this is another matter entirely, though I won’t say it’s completely unrelated.”
“And what would that be?”
“Farash inith Kerra.”
“Oh?” The Wizard Lord leaned back in his chair, looking puzzled.
Sword sighed. “Wizard Lord—Artil—do you know why Farash is no longer the Leader of the Chosen?”
“I know that the events surrounding my predecessor’s death . . . well, no; I don’t. I asked him, of course, but he said that you had found him negligent in his duties, and he had agreed to give up the role in consequence, but he had sworn not to discuss it further.”
“He swore no such oath to me. He hasn’t explained further because he did not want to tell lies when Lore was around, and he didn’t dare tell the truth.”
The Wizard Lord frowned uneasily. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that Farash inith Kerra, Leader of the Chosen Defenders of Barokan, was a traitor. He had allied himself with the Dark Lord of the Galbek Hills and deliberately sabotaged our actions. He convinced us to let the Thief refuse her role, he led us to the Dark Lord’s refuge with no plan or preparation, he did what he could to demoralize and delay us, he conspired with the Dark Lord to ensure that the Speaker was wounded so that half our team stayed behind to tend to her, and finally he lured Bow and myself into traps in the Dark Lord’s dungeon. I was able to free myself with my magic—you will forgive me if I don’t give the details; I may need that trick again someday—and take him and the Dark Lord by surprise. I slew the Dark Lord, as you know, and I forced Farash at swordpoint to promise he would relinquish his role in the Chosen.” He sighed. “It did not occur to me to wonder what he would do after that, and I could never have guessed he would become your advisor. I would have thought that seeing one ally killed before his eyes would have discouraged that.”
As Sword gave this speech, Artil’s eyes first widened, then narrowed to slits. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “He . . . he betrayed you?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . but why?”
“Because he had made an arrangement with Galbek Hills. Working together, they would capture as many of the Chosen as possible, hold us prisoner so that we could neither use our magic nor pass it on, and then, with the seven of us out of the way, the two of them would rule Barokan as if it were their personal plaything, enslaving the population. Farash had already used his magical persuasion as the Leader to enslave his home town of Doublefall—he told me he had a palace there, and a harem.”
“But he . . . Did he really? Have a palace, I mean?”
Sword shrugged. “I never saw the palace or the harem, but I heard him conspiring with the Dark Lord, heard him admit to his crimes, heard him suggest that he and I should join with the Dark Lord’s successor—with you—to rule Barokan.”
“He did? And you—you clearly rejected his proposal, but then why didn’t you kill him? Surely, you had sufficient reason!”
“It was not my place. I am chosen to defend Barokan against evils committed by the Wizard Lords, not against the other Chosen. I thought that with his magic gone he would be harmless, and . . . and I don’t like killing. It’s wrong. Sometimes it’s necessary, but it’s still wrong.”
Artil tugged at his lower lip and stared at Sword. “So that’s . . . Farash is your one enemy, that you mentioned earlier? The one whose life you spared?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
The Wizard Lord sat back in his chair and stroked his pointed beard. “That’s very interesting,” he said. “Very interesting indeed.”
“Wizard Lord,” Sword said, “of all I have seen since leaving Mad Oak a few days ago, the single thing that most worried me was that man standing by your shoulder on the dais. The roads are a surprise an
d I fear they may yet have unforeseen consequences, the Summer Palace troubles me because it is outside your proper domain in Barokan, your alliance with Lore is against all tradition, and I wonder why you have so many guards and such elaborate defenses, but that man’s presence is the only thing that has genuinely frightened me and made me doubt the sincerity of your good intentions. I fear that even without his magic, he has a persuasive tongue and can mislead you.” He spread his empty hands. “And I sit here defenseless before you because I do believe your intentions are good, and that you wish to rule Barokan wisely, long, and well, and for that reason I felt I had no choice but to warn you.”
“He may have changed, you know,” the Wizard Lord said thoughtfully. “He may have learned a lesson from the failure of his previous conspiracy. He may have seen that there’s more to be gained from good than evil, that it’s better to be loved than feared.”
“He may,” Sword agreed. “But I doubt it.”
“And I don’t blame you. You did well to tell me this privately; I appreciate your trust.”
“Thank you.”
“Was there anything else?”
Sword hesitated. “I’m not sure. I feel as if there is more I should say, as if I should tell you that I have many reservations about the roads and palaces, but I can’t think just what I want to say, and in any case I don’t need to do that here in private—and I think you already know it, really, even if I don’t say another word.”
“I think I do,” the Wizard Lord said. “I understand your concerns, I do. I’m upsetting systems that have been in place for seven hundred years, and we have no way to be sure that my new systems will be better. I know that, and I see why it worries you, but there is a saying among the fishermen of the Western Isles—a net can snag on the rocks, a snagged net can capsize your boat and pull you under, but if you don’t cast the net, you don’t catch fish. Sometimes you need to take a chance, and see if it works. If it doesn’t, well, you learn what there is to be learned, you clean up the mess, and you go on.”
The Ninth Talisman Page 9
