Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (36 page)

"Do
you
believe
them?"
the
Archer
asked.
'They
were probably
just
bo
asting
to
impress
you."

"I
hope
you're
right,"
the
Beauty
said,
as
the
first
clouds reached
the
sun
and
the
light
suddenly
dimmed.

"It
doesn't
matter,"
the
Leader
said.
"If
the
Uplanders
can survive
the
worst
storms,
then
so
can
we."

"He
sent
a
storm
when
we
went
to
Stoneslope,"
the
Seer said.
"We
came
through
it
well
enough."

That
memory
cheered
Breaker;
the
Seer
was
right.
That storm
had
been
impressive,
and
by
the
time
they
had
reached Stoneslope
he
had
been
tired
and
soaked
through,
but
no worse
than
th
at.
The
Scholar
was
surely
worrying
about nothing,
suggesting
the
Wizard
Lord
could
do
much
worse.

He
glanced
at
the
Scholar
and
noticed
that
Lore
was
huddling
in
his
woolen
coat.

T
think
he
can
send
much
more
severe
storms
than
that one,"
the
Scholar
sai
d.
"But
there's
nothing
we
can
do
about it
now.
If
we're
ever
to
reach
the
Galbek
Hills,
we'll
have
to face
his
storms
sooner
or
later."

Breaker
had
not
thought
about
it
in
those
terms,
but
the Scholar
was
obviously
correct—any
attempt
to
wait
it
out would
be
pointless,
as
the
Wizard
Lord
could
wait
them
out, and
send
a
storm
when
they
finally
moved
on.

The
sun
had
vanished,
and
the
sky
was
gray
from
end
to end;
the
wind
was
starting
to
whip
at
their
hair
and
clothes and
stir
the
trees—not
just
the
leaves,
but
the
limbs.
When Breaker
glanced
back
he
saw
dust
swirl
from
the
rooftops behind
them.
The
wind
made
his
eyes
sting,
but
squinting and
blinking
kept
them
clear
enough.

"He
must
know
this
won't
stop
us,"
he
said.

"He's
just
trying
to
discourage
us,"
the
Leader
said.
"To let
us
know
he
won't
make
it
easy
for
us."

Breaker
nodded;
that
made
good
sense.

They
marched
on—and
the
clouds
continued
to
darken; by
noon
the
sky
was
darker
than
when
they
had
set
out.
The wind
continued
to
rise,
as
well,
until
it
not
m
erely
whistled in
the
trees,
but
screamed;
dying
leaves
fluttered
like
bees' wings,
and
branches
snapped
like
whips.
Deadwood
crackled
and
splintered,
and
broken
twigs
and
shreds
of
bark
flew in
the
travelers'
faces
as
they
walked.

And
then
the
storm
brok
e,
and
the
rain
poured
down
in blinding
torrents.

This
was
far
worse
than
the
path
to
Stoneslope—but
then, the
Wizard
Lord
had
taken
longer
to
build
it.
Lore
had
been right,
and
Breaker
wrong.
Breaker
had
never
imagined
such a
rain
was
possible;
within,
se
conds
his
cloak
was
soaked through,
his
boots
filled
by
the
water
streaming
down
his legs.
Even
when
he
had
cleared
the
water
from
his
eyes
and sheltered
them
as
best
he
could,
he
could
barely
see
the Scholar
to
his
left,
the
Beauty
to
his
right;
the
Leade
r's
laden back,
ahead
of
him,
was
just
a
vague
gray
shape,
and
the
others
were
invisible
in
the
downpour.
He
tried
to
keep
staggering
forward,
but
every
step
was
a
struggle,
as
the
wind pressed
him
back,
his
saturated
clothing
weighed
down
his limbs,
and
his
waterlogged
boots
seemed
to
weigh
a
hundred pounds
apiece.
The
pack
on
his
back
seemed
heavier
than ever,
and
had
presumably
taken
on
water,
but
his
back
beneath
it
was
the
one
part
of
him
that
remained
dry.

The
roar
of
wind
and
rain
drowned
out
all
other
sound, and
his
attention
was
focused
entirely
on
placing
one
foot ahead
of
another;
it
was
not
until
he
felt
the
Beauty's
hand on
his
sleeve
that
he
realized
anyone
was
speaking.

"What?"
he
bellowed.

He
could
not
make
out
all
of
her
words,
but
he
cou
ld
see her
gesture,
and
one
phrase
penetrated—".
..
turn
back?"

"No!"
he
shouted.
"No! We can't let him see
..."
He
realized
she
couldn't
hear
him,
and
just
shook
his
head
and roared,
"NO!"
He
pointed
at
the
road
ahead.

She
screamed
something
in
reply,
and
he
thought
he
heard her
say,
"...
shelter!"