Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (35 page)

Before
they
cleared
the
shadow
of
the
cliffs
they
passed the
great
guesthouses
bearing
the
banners
of
the
Uplander clans;
the
Beauty
identified
each
banner
along
the
route
and provided
a
few
details
about
the
clan
that
flew
it,
facts
she had
learned
in
her
years
in
Winterhome.

Breaker
was
only
mildly
interested
in
the
stories,
but
the sound
of
the
Beauty's
voice
was
a
never-ending
pleasure,
so he
listened
avidly—as,
he
noticed,
did
the
other
three
males in
the
party,
while
the
other
three
women
took
the
lead
and paid
no
attention
to
her
recitations.

The
Scholar
seemed
genuinely
fascinated
by
her
account, and
asked
pertinent
questions;
he
was
undoubtedly
adding
to his
store
of
historical
and
cultural
knowledge,
and
had
presumably
filled
his
daily
quota
of
new
learning
from
this
discussion.
The
Leader
appeared
to
be
listening
out
of
habit. And
the
Archer
was
clearly
only
interested
in
the
Beauty, and
not
what
she
was
telling
them;
on
the
few
occasions when
he
spoke,
his
remarks
were
always
general
and
unrelated
to
whatever
the
Beauty
had
been
saying.

When
they
passed
the
last
of
the
clan
houses
Breaker asked,
"Were
you
born
among
the
Host
People?
You
seem
to know
Winterhome
well."

"No,
I
was
born
in
a
town
called
Hen's
Corner,
in
Shadowvale,
but
I
have
lived
here
more
than
twenty
years,
since
I was
a
girl
of
seventeen."

"Because
of
the
attire?"

"Yes."

"We're
out
of
Winterhome,
though,"
the
Archer
said. "You
can
take
off
that
hood
and
scarf
now—the
day
is
warm enough."

"I
would
prefer
to
keep
them
on,"
the
Beauty
replied. "These
clothes
are
comfortable
at
this
temperature,
and
I'm accustomed
to
them."

"We'll
all
see
your
face
eventually,
you
know,"
the
Archer said.

"Yes,
I
suppose
you
will,"
she
agreed,
"but
could
it
please wait
a
while
longer?"

The
Archer
glanced
at
the
Leader,
then
shrugged.
"As
you please,"
he
said.
He
looked
up.
"You
might
be
glad
of
the warmer
clothing
soon,
in
any
case."

Breaker
looked
up
as
well,
and
saw
what
the
Archer meant—clouds
were
blowing
in
from
the
west
and
thickening
rapidly,
the
blue
of
the
sky
fading.
A
cool
breeze
brushed his
face,
ruffling
his
hair.

"You
think
a
storm
is
coming?"
he
said.
"In
the
daytime?"

"And
fast,"
the
Archer
replied.

"The
Wizard
Lord
controls
the
weather,"
the
Scholar
said, in
a
surprisingly
unsteady
voice,
"and
I
do
not
believe
the storm
he
sent
on
our
way
to
Stoneslope
was
even
close
to
the worst
he
can
do.
That
was
just
an
attempt
to
discourage
us; this
time
he
may
mean
us
real
harm."

Breaker
threw
the
Scholar
a
glance,
then
looked
back
at the
sky.

The
clouds
were
indeed
thickening
with
unnatural speed—or
at
least,
Breaker
thought
it
was
unnatural;
since he
had
always
lived
in
Barokan,
where
the
Wizard
Lord's magic
moderated
the
weather,
he
could
not
be
sure
just
what natural
weather
was
like.

How
bad
could
a
storm
be,
though?
There
were
tales
of the
great
gales
that
swept
across
the
Uplands,
driving
the flocks
of
ara
before
them
and
blowing
down
the
Uplanders' tents,
but
what
could
the
Wizard
Lord
send
down
here
beneath
the
cliffs?
Could
he
really
do
more
than
he
had
in
the forests
of
the
southern
hills?

"He
waited
until
we
were
west
of
Winterhome
,"
the Leader
said.
"Away
from
shelter."

"The
guesthouses
are
right
there,"
Breaker
said,
gesturing.

"But
we'd
have
to
turn
back
..
."
the
Leader
began.

"And
they're
locked
for
the
summer,"
the
Beauty
interrupted.
"We
can
probably
break
in
if
we
need
to,
but
..."

"We
aren't
going
back,"
the
Seer
said.
She
had
heard
the conversation
and
dropped
back
to
join
it.
"We
can't
let
him slow
us
down.
After
all,
how
bad
can
it
be?
We've
all
seen storms
before,
I'm
sure."

"I
don't
know,"
the
Beauty
said.
"The
Uplande
rs
say
that we
don't
get
true
storms
in
Barokan,
even
at
night,
that
the Wizard
Lord
keeps
them
back—they
get
real
storms
up
on the
plateau
that
make
our
worst
seem
like
a
summer
breeze."