Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (22 page)

"Well, now we know why no word got
out," the Seer said.

"We don't
know,"
the Scholar said. "W
e merely
assume."

"But his own townsfolk? Perhaps his own
kin? Could it really be?" Breaker asked.

"We'll find out," the Seer said.
"Tomorrow."

"Well, we will set out for Stoneslope
tomorrow," the Scholar corrected. "We may not get there for some
time, if the way is difficult, and we may not learn the truth of what happened
there immediately upon arrival. The natives may be reluctant to speak to
us—after five years of isolation they may view any stranger as an
invader."

"Or a savior," the Seer suggested.

"Indeed," the Scholar agreed.

"Tomorrow, then," Breaker agreed.

 
As they set out across the grassy hilltop
Breaker could not shake the feeling that he was being watched—and he suspected
he probably was. The Wizard Lord could have eyes and ears anywhere, after all,
and would certainly take an interest in three of the Chosen venturing out into
the wilderness unguided, on their way to his own old home.

And then there were
the
ler
around them, here as everywhere in Barokan—and
once they passed the boundary stone halfway down the far slope those
ler
would be wild, untamed, and unknown. No priest had bargained with them,
no pacts bound them, no powers restrained them except for the protections
inherent in being Chosen, and the three travelers were deli
berately walking
into their territory uninvited and unguided;
ler
of land, tree, and
sky would undoubtedly be watching them.

The people and priest of the nameless village
had wished them well, but had declined to escort them to the border; the priest
had admitted frankly, "We don't want to see anything terrible happen to
you—and if we watch you cross the border we might not be able to
avoid
seeing it."

The boundary marker was old, a rough block of
black stone with markings so worn by wind and rain that Breaker could make no
sense of them. He hesitated beside it and looked at the others.

"Some
ler
prefer not to be bothered, and propitiatory rites only serve to wake
and irritate them," the Scholar said as he came up behind Breaker,
"but the majority appreciat
e indications that we are aware of them and
respect their power." He knelt, bowed his head, and pressed his palms to
the earth of the hillside below the black stone.

"To whatever
powers may dwell beyond this point," the Scholar recited, "we give
greetings
,
and offer peace. We wish you no ill, and intrude only because our duty compels
us. Give us what guidance it may please you to give, ask of us what you will,
and we will do what we may to speed our passage and fulfill your desires."

"I never heard
that
pa
rticular
prayer before," Breaker remarked.

"I learned it from a Galbek guide years
ago," the Scholar said as he rose. "It seemed appropriate."

"Let us hope it was," the Seer
said. "That way." She pointed.

"That's where Stoneslope lies?"
Breaker asked. "I thought it was more to the west."

"It is, but that's where the old trail
was," she replied. "I can sense it."

Breaker peered at the ground, and at the
brush ahead. "I see no sign of a trail."

"After five years of disuse that's
hardly a surprise," the Scholar pointed out.

"Come on," the Seer said, marching
past the boundary stone.

The three of them marched on into the
wilderness, the Seer leading the way and Breaker bringing up the rear. Breaker
could sense the change from tamed
ler
to wild immediately,
and even more strongly than usual; the air seemed to almost buzz with
hostility. The feeling of being watched grew more intense, and in fact every
time he looked around Breaker seemed to glimpse eyes staring out at him from
creatures perched on tree branches
or crouching behind shrubs, eyes that would
vanish the instant he saw them.

He could feel other
ler
moving invisibly about them as well, and not merely inhabiting the
surrounding landscape— the air seemed to be full of them. Every so often his
skin crawle
d,
or turned cool, as a spirit brushed against him. The world around him was
alive, not in the calm and ordered fashion of a priest-managed town, or even a
trail accustomed to a guide's passage, but as chaotic and seething with life as
a disturbed nest of hornets.

Any journey outside
the safety of the towns and villages meant crossing the territory of untamed
ler,
but this area's intensity and alertness were unlike anything Breaker remembered.
He wondered whether this was simply because no guide had come t
his way in years, or
whether there was something more to it. Weeds and twigs tore at his legs, the
ground was uneven beneath his feet, the breeze clammy on his skin even when no
ler
were making themselves obvious. And then he felt the eyes upon him
again, and turned to look, and this time they did
not
vanish.

"Oh," he said, stopping where he
stood. The others stopped, as well, staring up into the trees.

They were just squirrels, Breaker told
himself. Squirrels, and birds, and chipmunks, and snakes, and lizards.

Nothing to be
frightened of, surely; there were no monsters, no great beasts, just the
ordinary inhabitants of the wood—but they were all motionless and staring,
their gaze fixed on the three travelers ... on
him,
Breaker
thought. His hand fell to th
e hilt of his sword.

For a long silent moment everyone and
everything simply stared; then a high, cracking voice broke the silence.

"You shouldn't be here," a squirrel
said, speaking in the Galbek dialect.

Breaker let out a choking gasp of stifled
laughter; the unexpected absurdity of a
squirrel
attempting to give
them orders was too much to accept.

But then, he knew it wasn't really the
squirrel speaking. He was fairly certain it wasn't even one of the local
ler.
The urge to laugh vanished completely, an
d he stared up at
the squirrel unhappily.

He had not wanted
this to happen. He had desperately hoped that they would go to Stoneslope and
find a good, reasonable explanation of who the Wizard Lord had killed and why,
and would share a laugh about their co
ncerns and then go on about their separate
business.

But if there were a good, reasonable
explanation, this squirrel would not be telling them to go away.

"Lord," the Seer said, "it is
our
duty
to
be here."

The squirrel cocked its head and peered down
at them from its branch. "Why do you call me 'lord'?" it asked.

The Seer grimaced, and turned away in
disgust; it was the Scholar who replied.

"Lord, if the
ler
of this region made use of talking animals, not only would it have
been reported in the local tale
s and legends, but this would not be
wilderness. If
ler
will speak to us, then we can negotiate
with them; if we can negotiate with them, then terms will be reached, sooner
or later, and men and women will settle in the vicinity. This is how
priesthoods b
egin."

"And what if the
ler's,
demands
are too great?" the squirrel asked.

"Lord, you know the practices followed
in Drumhead and Bone Garden; what demands could possibly be too great, if those
were not?"

Breaker did not know what practices were
followed in Drumhead and Bone Garden, but he had heard men and women calmly
discussing the necessity of murdering an innocent child every year to please
one set of
ler,
and visited two other towns that
practiced human sacrifice as well, so he did not doubt that th
e Scholar knew of
far worse—and he did not want to know the details.

"Lord," the
Seer said, before the squirrel could respond, "I am the
Seer.
I know you, no
matter what form you might take or what creature you might speak through. You
know that."

The squirrel blinked, then turned and fled;
it was a crow on a nearby branch that squawked, "Fine, then. Have it as
you please. You still shouldn't be here."

"It is you who
should not be here, Lord. We are doing our duty, weighing your deeds, and it is
not your pl
ace
to interfere."

The crow fluffed its wings and shook its
head, and then a second crow spoke. "You're wandering in wild country. You
might be killed—and if you die, then my own magic is lessened."

"If that is your concern, Lord, then you
need merely see to it that we do not die. You are the Wizard Lord; surely, you
have the power to see us safely to Stoneslope."

Another squirrel answered, "But I don't
want you to go to Stoneslope. It's not safe there, either."

"Nonetheless, we must go."

"You won't like it," the second
crow warned.

"That may be."

"The
ler
here don't like
you."

"We have done nothing to harm them. We
have not seized control of their creatures as you have. We wish only to pass
quickly through their realm."

The remaining leaves above their heads rustled
at that; a murmur ran through the forest, and several birds and chipmunks
stirred from their staring. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

Nothing spoke.

The sky began to darken; Breaker looked up
through the trees at gathering clouds. "I think we had best move on,"
he said. His hand slid down to the pouch that held his talisman, reassuring him
that it was securely in place.

The Seer glanced at him, then turned her
attention back to the two crows.

"I think we should go
now,"
Breaker
said, as the leaves stirred anew. "There's . . . the weather is
strange. As if a storm were coming, even though it's daylight." As he
spoke he noticed that the woodland's inhabitants, the birds and lizards and
squirrels, were starting to slip away, taking cover wherever they could.

"He may . . ." the Scholar began.

Then there was a great fluttering of wings, a
scampering of claws; Swordsman and Scholar both ducked as birds flew close
overhead. The congregation of wildlife scattered in all directions, and wind
whipped at the upper branches.

"He's gone," the Seer said,
turning. Then she paused. "Mostly, at least
..
."

"We need to
go"
Breaker bellowed at her over the rising gale. "We need to go
now\"

"He won't harm us," the Seer said.
"He wouldn't dare
..."

"But the
ler
might!"

"He won't let. .
."
Then she stopped in midsentence, looking around, as tree
limbs began to creak.

Breaker grabbed her arm and tugged.
"Come on!" he shouted. Shouting had suddenly become a necessity if
one wished to be heard.

Slowly, as if confused, the Seer came, the
Scholar close behind, and the three of them trudged on toward Stoneslope. They
had taken no more than a dozen steps when the storm broke, and cold rain pelted
at them from a sky that had been blue and white just a few moments before.