The Ninth Talisman

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “I hope you’re right, Artil.”

  “And you’ll come with us to the Summer Palace, as one of my advisors? Perhaps you could give some of my guards lessons in swordsmanship.”

  “I could,” Sword replied, uncertainly. Something was nagging at him about the Summer Palace, but he could not quite think what it might be.

  “And—I have another favor to ask, and I ask it now, in private, so that you can refuse it if you wish without word spreading everywhere.”

  “What is it?”

  “I told you that the Beauty refuses to speak with me. Could you speak with her on my behalf, and tell her what I’m attempting? Give her your honest impression. I want all the Chosen to understand the situation. I’ll be sending envoys to the others, but the Beauty—I think you should speak to her.”

  “Because no man but another of the Chosen can do so without being overcome by lust, and women are prone to envy?”

  The Wizard Lord smiled crookedly. “No,” he said. “Nothing so devious.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because she trusts you.”

  “Oh.” That caught Sword off-guard, but he could not deny its accuracy. The Beauty did not trust anyone but the other Chosen, that was true enough. “Why didn’t you send Lore? He’s been here for some time, after all.”

  The Wizard Lord grimaced. “Years. But he refused.”

  Sword blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was puzzling; why would the Scholar have refused? He had spent months in the Beauty’s company, six years ago, and they had gotten along well enough. She trusted him, Sword was sure.

  Well, Lore presumably had his reasons. They weren’t Sword’s. Sword certainly had no objection to seeing the Beauty again. Quite aside from the fact that her role was that of the most beautiful woman in the world, and any man would enjoy looking at her and listening to her voice, he had found her pleasant company. Even with the male Chosen she had been reluctant to let anyone see her or get too close, but in the time they had spent together she had gotten over that to some extent, and he felt as if he had indeed gotten to know her well. She had been cautious, but brave and quick to act when it was called for. She did not waste words, and when she did speak her words were always sensible. Sword had briefly thought their friendship might become something more, but she had put an end to that by pointing out the eighteen-year difference in their ages.

  Eighteen years—that meant she must be forty-four or forty-five by now. It was probably time for her to pass her role on to a younger woman.

  That was up to her, though.

  “I’ll need to think about it,” Sword said, “but I can probably do that.”

  “Good! Good!” The Wizard Lord clapped his hands together. “Well, is that it, then? Are we done?”

  “I think we are,” Sword said. “Shall I leave first? Is that what the captain advised?”

  “I believe it is,” the Wizard Lord said. “Back the way you came, to recover your clothes.”

  “Of course.” Sword rose in one swift and graceful motion, and bowed to the startled Wizard Lord.

  “You moved so fast!” he said, clutching at the arms of his chair.

  “Good night, Wizard Lord,” Sword said. Then he turned and left the room.

  A guard was waiting outside the door, and as soon as Sword had retrieved his talisman the guard escorted him to the changing room, where he doffed the simple robe he had been given for the more comfortable and familiar one he had brought with him from Mad Oak. Then he returned to his assigned quarters and dressed himself properly—there were things he wanted to do before going to bed.

  He hesitated, then left his sword in his room. He did not want to appear too hostile. His talisman was safely tucked in an inside pocket, of course, but the sword remained behind.

  Once he was out in the corridor he realized he had no idea where he was going, but he spotted a guard at one end of the passage; he ambled over. “Excuse me,” he said. “I was hoping for a few words with Farash inith Kerra—do you know where I might find him?”

  “Who?”

  “The Wizard Lord’s advisor, the one who used to be the Chosen Leader.”

  “Oh, Old Boss? Sure, his room is right up there, third on the left.” He pointed.

  A moment later Sword was knocking on an enamel painting of a waterfall that decorated the door the guard had indicated.

  “Who is it?” called a voice from inside.

  “The Swordsman,” Sword replied.

  For a moment there was silence; then Sword was certain he heard a heavy sigh. “Just a moment,” Farash called.

  Sword waited.

  A moment later the door opened, and Farash beckoned him in. “I knew we would need to talk,” Farash said. “We might as well get it over with.”

  “That’s very much my own feeling,” Sword said, as he stepped in.

  The room gave every appearance of being a long-term residence, rather than a mere guest room like Sword’s own; there were papers and personal items scattered about, and an open wardrobe held a variety of clothing. Farash gestured at a chair, and Sword took a seat.

  Farash did not take the other chair, but settled onto the edge of a writing desk. “Did you come to Winterhome looking for me?” he asked.

  “No,” Sword replied. “I came to see the Wizard Lord, and your presence here was a complete surprise.”

  Farash sighed. “I doubt the surprise was any less pleasant for you than your arrival was for me.”

  “That may well be true.” Sword shifted in his chair, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I am the Wizard Lord’s advisor. There’s nothing sinister or under-handed about it; I’m exactly what I appear to be.” He grimaced. “This time.”

  “You have the gall to . . .”

  Farash held up a hand. “Don’t start that.”

  Sword glared silently.

  After an awkward moment, Farash let his breath out and said, “Fine, yes, I was a traitor to the Chosen, and I sided with the Dark Lord of the Galbek Hills in an attempt to rule Barokan without restraint. I built myself a palace and enslaved a town with my magic. I admit that. It was a bad idea. It was wrong, and it didn’t work. I hid the murder of an entire village, and probably caused the spirits of the dead a moderate amount of distress by delaying their rightful vengeance. I interfered with a good many innocent lives in Doublefall, robbed almost everyone there, and you could consider my harem to be an exercise in rape, though I assure you that none of the women thought so at the time. Everyone in Doublefall did what I said because my magic had convinced them that they wanted to, that they were acting of their own free will, and before I gave up my magic I went back there and persuaded them all to forget what I had done. In case you’ve wondered how I avoided any punishment for my acts, now you know; they only remember bits and pieces of my rule, and don’t know I did anything untoward. Yes, I did it to escape punishment, but I also wanted to save them any trouble, any regrets or recriminations about how they let themselves be used.”

  “I did wonder about that,” Sword admitted. “About why I hadn’t heard any more about what happened in Doublefall, and how you survived and stayed free. I had assumed the story would come out, and you would be disgraced.”

  “Yes, well, it was obvious I couldn’t continue as I had been, once Galbek Hills was dead and you knew what I’d done. So I went home and tried to end it as gently and peacefully as I could. You do realize, I hope, that I could have wiped out the entire town? If I had told them to kill themselves, Doublefall would be inhabited by nothing but dry bones and well-fed rats and crows by now—but I am not the evil heartless monster you seem to think. Those people hadn’t hurt me, quite the contrary, and I had no desire to harm them.”

  “And you didn’t know whether someone might investigate,” Sword pointed out. “Murdering an entire town might have drawn the attention of the new Wizard Lord, don’t you think? And I don’t think he’d have made you his advisor in that case.”

  “Well, y
es, I suppose that was part of it. But really, Sword, I was trying to fix things. I had tried to do something selfish and . . . well, evil, I suppose, and it hadn’t worked out, so I did my best to undo it. Really.”

  “And then you came here, to Winterhome.”

  “Yes!” Farash snapped. “What did you think I would do, curl up and die? You left me alive—did you think I would simply wander off into the wilderness and live on roots and berries? You knew I liked wealth and power; where else would I get them? Look around you! I’m living in a grander palace than ever, even if it’s someone else’s instead of my own. My purse is full of gold, and eager young women compete for my attention. And the best part of it is that I did this honestly, without hurting anyone, without breaking any rules. This Wizard Lord wants to help people, to make Barokan better, and I’m helping him do that, and it’s making my life better than my stupid plotting with that idiot in his ugly stone tower ever did.”

  “And you have no hidden motives, no darker plan?” Sword made no attempt to hide his suspicion.

  “No! Why should I? I’m getting everything I want by being good, Sword! There’s no reason to hide anything. And do you know, you made this possible?” Farash smiled crookedly. “As the Leader of the Chosen I couldn’t have worked so closely with a Wizard Lord, or accepted all the privileges I have here; people would have objected, the ler would have objected, it wouldn’t have fit my role. And what I did get would have come from my magic, not from me, and if I pushed too hard, my ler might have turned on me eventually. But you made me give up my role in the Chosen, give up my magic, break my link to the ler, and that meant I was free to work openly with the Wizard Lord, to earn what I want.”

  His smile twisted wryly. “Do you know, when I was ruling Doublefall, even when I had beautiful girls worshipping at my feet I knew there was something slightly unreal about it all? It wasn’t me who had brought them there, it wasn’t me they were worshipping, it was my magic. It was the ler, not me. It was . . . unsatisfying. Frustrating. Almost demeaning, somehow. And I thought that if Galbek Hills and I ruled everything, that would be better—but really, I don’t think it would have been. It would have been even worse, I suspect. But this, what I’m doing now—it is better! No one is worshipping me, but they respect me, they honor me, and it’s genuine, it’s not magical.”

  Sword stared at him.

  “This is better,” Farash said. “You did me a favor by killing the Dark Lord and making me give up my role!”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely! I am happier now than I had been since I first agreed to accept the Talisman of Command.”

  Sword stared at him, trying to comprehend this. He had not imagined this possibility. He had expected the former Leader to live out his life in quiet disgrace somewhere, ashamed and afraid.

  But that had been unrealistic, and he should have known as much.

  “I still don’t trust you,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Farash replied.

  “I told the Wizard Lord.”

  Farash sighed. “Already? I was afraid of that. What did he say?”

  “He said you might have changed.”

  “And maybe I have. Not so very much, really, because I still want much the same things I always did. I just know better now than to try to take them without earning them.”

  “I still . . . I find that hard to believe.”

  “I’m sure you do. I probably would, too, in your position, and frankly, you don’t strike me as the sort of person who forgives or trusts easily. Sword, I don’t expect you to trust me, or to like me, or to forgive me; all I ask is that you give me the benefit of the doubt, and let me go on as I am until you have even the tiniest shred of evidence that I have not reformed.”

  “I’m not going to just kill you,” Sword said. “And I can’t force the Wizard Lord to send you away.”

  “You could still ruin my life quite effectively, though, just by telling everyone what happened six years ago. Artil may be willing to let the past lie; his attention has always been on what lies ahead, not what’s behind us. Most people, though, would not be. The women who curry my favor, the men who look at me with respect, would all see me as the miserable traitor who enslaved innocents and let ghosts wander unavenged. I’d be an object of disgust and derision. And those who did find themselves agreeing with me about anything would wonder whether I might be using some lingering magic on them, and would rebel at the thought. You could bring all that down on me with a few words in the right ear.”

  “Yes,” Sword admitted, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I could.”

  Farash said, “Sword, I have no right to demand anything of you, but I am asking you to show mercy, and keep the past to yourself. If I do anything evil, betray any trust, harm any innocent, then by all means, do your worst, spread the story from cliffs to coast, come after me with blades drawn if you want—but until you see some sign that I have not reformed, I beg you, hold your peace, and let me keep my place here. I am doing good, I swear by all the ler. I am working as hard to improve Barokan as I ever did to rule it. Let me atone as best I can.”

  Sword slumped in his chair and stared up at the former Leader’s face. Such a request should be accompanied by a pleading expression, by outstretched hands, but Farash was leaning on the desk with his hands on his hips, and his expression was one of challenge, not entreaty.

  “I’m a barley farmer and a swordsman,” Sword said at last. “Meting out justice to anyone but a Dark Lord isn’t my responsibility.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  “But I give you a warning, Old Boss,” Sword said. “I came here to see whether the Wizard Lord might be meddling in things he should not, and I have not reached a conclusion. If I decide that the Red Wizard has become a Dark Lord and must be removed, I will remove him. And if I learn that it was you who made him into a Dark Lord, who suggested whatever evil results in his removal, then I will kill you.”

  “Understood,” Farash said, standing up straight. “And fair enough. And with that agreed, I expect to live a long and happy life and die peacefully in bed.” He held out a hand.

  Sword ignored the hand as he rose from the chair.

  “Good night, Farash inith Kerra,” he said.

  And then he left the room, and found his way to his own bed.

  [ 7 ]

  Sword had intended to speak to Lore first thing in the morning, but instead he was caught up in the preparations for moving the household up the cliffs to the Summer Palace. The entire palace seemed to be full of hurrying people carrying bundles. Sword found himself lending a hand here and there, or stepping aside to let heavily laden people pass, and did not manage to reach Lore’s quarters until the sun was above the cliffs.

  The apartment was empty; a guard told him the Chosen Scholar had left an hour or so earlier, and his current whereabouts were unknown.

  Frustrated, Sword headed for the throne room, thinking Lore might be there, or that the Wizard Lord might be and might know where Lore was.

  The throne room was deserted, though. He turned away from the door, disappointed, and almost collided with his quarry.

  “Lore!” he said, stepping back. “You startled me.”

  “Sword.” Lore nodded, straightening his vest as he did.

  “I was looking for you,” Sword said. He glanced around to see whether anyone else was in earshot, but the passage and throne room both seemed deserted save for the two of them.

  “So the guards told me,” Lore replied. “That’s why I’m here. What can I do for you?”

  “You can answer a few questions, I hope.”

  “That’s something I’m usually good at,” Lore said, managing a smile—the first one Sword had seen on his face since arriving in Winterhome.

  “Well, these aren’t about ancient history or old stories, I’m afraid.”

  “I can guess what one of them is, then,” Lore said. “You want to know why I’m he
re, working with the Wizard Lord.”

  “Yes. That’s the obvious one, certainly.”

  “Well, what he told you is true. About three years ago he tracked me down to ask whether his plans violated any of the limits the Council placed on him, and whether anyone had ever attempted them before, and if so, why they failed.”

  “I can see why he would ask you, and why you would answer, but to come and live in his palace and stand at his right hand seems . . .” Sword groped for the right word.

  “Compromising?” Lore suggested.

  “More or less, yes.”

  Lore shrugged. “He had many questions, and I wanted to keep an eye on him. Remember that the Dark Lord of the Galbek Hills committed crimes that went undetected for five years; I don’t want anything like that to happen again. If this one goes mad, we want to know immediately, don’t we?”

  “I suppose we do.”

  “And frankly, if you listen to him—doesn’t he sound half-mad, sometimes? When he came to me with his schemes for clearing roads and building a community atop the cliffs and draining the southern marshes, I thought he was on the verge of raving. I thought at least one of the Chosen should keep a close watch on him, and he asked me to, so here I am. And sometimes I think he has gone mad, and other times I think he may be the greatest man to ever live in Barokan, and every day I learn a little more about him.”

  Sword nodded slowly.

  “But whether you should stay, whether you should have accepted his invitation to visit the Summer Palace—well, I’m not so sanguine about that. You aren’t an advisor by nature, Sword; you’re a fighter. I really hope there won’t be any need for fighting. And if he decides to find a use for you, well, if you have a mallet, you look for a peg.”

  “You have a point,” Sword acknowledged. “But I want to see more of him, and judge him for myself. As you say, he does seem slightly mad—and I don’t trust Farash, either; as long as he’s here . . .”