Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (100 page)

The
silence
between
them
grew
awkward
after
that,
and
at
last,
almost
simultaneously,
they
turned
and
went
their
separate
ways.

By
midday
the
Chosen
were
scattered,
each
bound
for
his or
her
home,
alone
or
in
the
company
of
wizards.
Breaker
turned
down
offers
of
magical
aid
and
set
out
northward
alone,
on
foot.

Breaker
had
passed
through
Redclay
on
his
way
south,
and
remembered
the
inn
there
as
a
convivial
place.
He
looked
around
with
a
smile
as
he
stepped inside,
out
of
the
snow.

"Hey,
Swordsman!"
someone
called.

Breaker
nodded
an
acknowledgment.

"Took
you
long
enough
to
kill
him,"
another
voice
called.
"The
whole
town
was
almost
washed
away!
And
old
Barga's
house
was
burned
to
the
ground
by
that
lightning
stuff."

Breaker's
smile
vanished.
"We
did
the
best
we
could,"
he
said.

"Well,
you
should
have
done
better."
"I
didn't
see
you
doing
anything
to
help,"
Breaker
retorted angrily.

"Why
should
I?
It's
your
job,
you
and
your
magic
sword! It's
not
like
it's
hard,
killing
a
wizard
when
his
magic
can't
hurt
you!"

"I
still
had
to
get
there,
through
all
the
storms,"
Breaker pointed
out.

"You
couldn't
get
some
wizard
to
fly
you
there?
Hire
one as
a
guide?"

Breaker
frowned.
He
ignored
the
question
as
he
found
a
seat.
He
ignored
other
questions
and
comments
as
he
ordered
a
mug
of
beer
and
drank
it
in
silence.

Yes,
it
was
his
jot)—but
he
had
done
it
as
best
he
could, despite
all
the
difficulties,
despite
storms
and
hardships
and betrayal.
He
could
have
just
gone
home,
like
the
Thief,
but he
hadn't.

And
there
was
no
way
he
could
say
that
without
sounding as
if
he
were
whining
or
boasting.
His
mood,
so
cheerful when
he
entered,
had
quickly
become
as
sour
as
the
local beer.

The
innkeeper
was
friendly,
at
any
rate,
and
when
he
ordered
a
second
beer
the
man
asked,
"Staying
in
Redclay
long?"

Breaker
shook
his
head.
"Just
tonight.
Then
it's
off northward—do
you
know
a
good
guide
heading
north?" "I
thought
the
Chosen
didn't
need
guides
anymore." "We
don't
really,
but
they
can
be
helpful." "Where
are
you
going,
then?"
"Mad
Oak,
up
in
Longvale." "Ah.
Never
been
there—is
it
nice?" "I
grew
up
there." "So
you'll
be
visiting
family?"
Breaker
smiled
bitterly.

"No,"
he
said.
"I'm
going
home
to
stay." "Really?
They
need
a
swordsman
there,
or
a
hero?"
"No.
I've
had
enough
of
heroism.
I'm
going
to
grow
barley."

"All
done
being
the
Chosen
Swordsman,
then?" "I
hope
so,"
Breaker
said,
lifting
his
mug.
He
gulped
beer.
"By
all
the
ler,
I
hope
so!"

Spring
was in
full
bloom
by
the
time
Breaker
and
the Greenwater
Guide
made
their
stooping
dash
past
the
mad oak
and
arrived
at
the
familiar
boundary
shrine.
The
guide
marched
on
past,
but
Breaker
paused
there
and
looked
over
the
town.