Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (102 page)

Curly
did
not
need
to
say
anything
to
explain
her
marriage;
her
protruding
belly
was
more
than
enough.
Breaker gave
her
a
kiss
for
old
times'
sake
and
wished
her
well.

Someone
roused
Brewer
to
roll
out
a
keg
of
well-aged
winter
beer,
and
Digger
gathered
the
village
musicians,
and by
the
time
the
sun
was
behind
the
ridge
almost
the
entire
village
had
collected
in
the
pavilion,
talking
and
laughing.
A
dozen
couples
danced
to
a
brisk
jig.

Breaker
did
not
dance.
He
spoke
quietly
with
his
mother
when
she
arrived,
saying
simply,
"I
'm
sorry.
I
'm
sorry
I
wasn't
here.
And
I'm
back,
and
I
'll
stay
as
long
as
I
can."

She
embraced
him
and
said
nothing;
her
eyes
remained dry.

And
when
next
the
musicians
took
a
break,
Joker
called,
"Swordsman!
Welcome
home,
congratulations
on
your
survival,
and
thank
you
for
ridding
us
of
the
Dark
Lord
of
the Galbek
Hills!"

Breaker
nodded
an
acknowledgment.
"I
did
what
I
had sworn
to
do,"
he
said.
"No
more,
and
no
less."
And
as
he spoke
he
thought
of
the
Thief,
and
the
Seer,
and
the
Leader,
and
the
Wizard
Lord
himself,
who
could
not
truthfully
have
made
even
so
modest
a
claim.

"Tell
us
about
it!"

That
elicited
a
chorus
of
echoes.
"Tell
us!
Tell
us!"

"What
was
it
like?"

"Was
his
magic
very
fearsome?"

"Did
he
really
throw
lightning
bolts
at
you?"

Breaker
looked
out
at
the
eager
faces
of
his
townsmen,
at their
expectant
smiles
and
ready
ears,
and
felt
a
sudden
surge
of
disgust—with
them,
and
with
himself,
and
with
all
the
world,
Chosen
and
wizards,
priests
and
farmers,
everyone
and
everything.
They
did
not
see
the
truth,
that
he
was
a hired
killer,
sent
to
dispose
of
another
killer,
that
the
Chosen and
the
Wizard
Lord
were
just
men
and
women
no
better than
themselves.

This
might
be
his
home,
but
at
the
heart
it
was
no
better, no
more
understanding
of
what
he
had
done,
what
he
had been
through,
than
Redclay
or
any
of
the
other
places
he
had
stopped.
They
wanted
a
tale
of
heroism
and
glory,
and
he had
nothing
true
to
say
to
them
that
would
serve.

"I'll
leave
that
to
the
storytellers,"
he
said.
"I've
said
and done
enough."

And
he
stood,
and
left
the
pavilion,
walking
back
to
his mother's
house
alone
in
the
gathering
dusk.

Turn the page for a
preview of

^THE
NINTH
TALISMAN

(0-765-31027-9)

LAWRENCE WATT-EVANS

Available May 2007 in
Hardcover

This
whole scene was unspeakably bizarre. Whole gangs of men simply did not venture
into the wilderness like this, and ordinarily
nobody
would
tear up the natural landscape in such a brutal fashion, so utterly heedless of
the
ler.
The normal thing to do would be to either try to
slip through without disturbing the
ler,
or to appease them as best one could, but
these men appeared to be deliberately antagonizing the wilderness spirits.

"Who
are
you?"
Sword demanded, as soon as the strangers noticed his approach.

The
slashing, chopping, and shoveling stopped as the entire party turned to look
at him. "The Wizard Lord's road crew," one of them called back.
"Who are
you,
coming out here unguarded?"

"I'm
called Sword," Sword replied. "What do you mean, road crew?"

"Sword? The Swordsman? Really?" Several
voices spoke at once, as the entire party lowered their tools and turned to
stare.

"The
Swordsman, yes." Sword drew his weapon and let it hang loosely in his
hand. "Now, who are you people, and what are you doing here?"

"He
told you, we're a road crew," a man called. He reached up and doffed his
helmet, revealing sweat-matted

Copyright © 2007 by Lawrence Watt-Evans