Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (37 page)

He
nodded,
and
pointed
ahead
again.
"First chance
we get!"
he
agreed.
"Shelter, first
chance!"
He
turned
to
the Scholar.

"/ heard!"
the
Scholar
said,
before
Breaker
could
speak. Breaker
was
unsure
whether
it
had
something
to
do
with
the direction
of
the
wind,
or
whether
the
Scholar
simply
had
a far
more
powerful
voice
than
he
had
realized,
but
the
words were
clear.

Breaker
looked
ahead,
where
he
could
see
the
Leader's back;
he
knew
the
guide,
the
Seer,
and
the
Sp
eaker
were somewhere
beyond,
but
he
despaired
of
communicating
with them.
Then
he
looked
to
his
right,
past
the
Beauty,
where
he could
see
the
Archer
clinging
to
the
Beauty's
right
arm.

He
had
obviously
heard,
just
as
the
Scholar
had.

Breaker
considered
ta
king
the
Beauty's
left
arm,
to
make sure
they
were
not
separated
in
the
howling
madness
of
the storm,
but
he
dismissed
the
idea;
he
knew
he
was
just
looking
for
an
excuse
to
touch
her.
If
he
had
genuinely
been
concerned
for
the
party's
collective
welfare
he
would
have reached
for
the
Scholar,
who
did
not
already
have
the Archer's
aid.

He
turned
his
gaze
ahead
again,
and
saw
the
Leader
turning.

"We're looking for shelter!"
the
Leader
shouted.
"We'll wait it
out—he can't keep this up for long!"

Breaker
nod
ded,
and
waved
an
acknowledgment.

They
pressed
on,
and
after
a
few
more
minutes
Breaker began
to
wonder
how
they
would
ever
see
any
shelter
if
they reached
one.
The
rain
showed
no
sign
of
slacking;
if
anything,
it
was
heavier
than
ever.
The
wind
continued
to
blow directly
in
their
faces,
forcing
them
to
keep
their
heads down.

After
several
more
minutes
Breaker
was
no
longer
worrying
about
such
details;
he
was
focusing
all
his
attention
on his
feet,
on
simply
continuing
to
walk.
Lifting
each
foot meant
pul
ling
it
out
of
inch-deep
water
and
a
thick
layer
of sticky
mud
beneath,
heaving
it
forward
against
the
wind's pressure,
then
dropping
it
back
through
the
icy
water
and trying
to
find
firm
footing
under
the
mud.

Breaker
took
some
very,
very
small
comfort
in
the
realization
that
the
road
here
was
slightly
elevated;
if
it
had
been sunken
below
the
surrounding
terrain
it
would
undoubtedly be
flooded
up
to
his
knees
by
now.
The
sheer
volume
of
water
spilling
from
the
sky
was
incomprehensible,
like
nothing he
h
ad
ever
imagined;
any
crops
that
had
been
standing
in this
area
must
surely
have
been
washed
away.
Fields
would be
flooded,
drainage
ditches
becoming
overflowing
rivers. The
soil
would
be
too
wet
to
work
for
weeks.
Fruit
would have
been
ripped
from
the
orc
hards,
as
well—if
the
wind hadn't
snapped
the
branches
right
off!

What
could
the
Wizard
Lord
be
thinking,
unleashing
such a
disaster?
He
already
had
the
Chosen
after
him,
and
a
thing like
this
storm
must
unquestionably
anger
the
Council
of Immortals,
as
we
ll.

The
Wizard
Lord,
scourge
of
rogue
wizards,
had
himself become
a
rogue
wizard,
misusing
his
magic
and
carelessly harming
innocents.

If,
of
course,
this
storm
was
really
the
Wizard
Lord's
doing.
Perhaps
some
other
wizard
...

But
no.
The
Wizard
Lord
cont
rolled
the
weather,
for
the good
of
all
Barokan.
A
storm
like
this
could
not
be
natural, and
surely
no
other
wizard
had
the
power
to
create
such
a thing.
The
Wizard
Lord
was
doing
this
to
delay
them,
to
deter
them
...

There
was
a
touch
on
his
sleeve,
and
B
reaker
looked
up
to see
the
Leader's
face
just
inches
from
his
own.

"Barn!"
the
Leader
bellowed,
pointing.
"Barn, over there! Shelter!"

Breaker
had
no
extra
breath
to
shout
back;
he
nodded,
and began
turning
his
steps.

Their
route
took
them
across
a
hundre
d
yards
of
pasture, and
as
Breaker
had
feared,
it
was
flooded
at
least
six
inches deep
with
freezing-cold,
fast-running
water.
He
slogged
on, his
ankles
and
feet
numb
from
the
cold,
water
spilling
from his
boot
tops
with
every
step,
only
to
be
immediately
replaced
by
new,
colder
rain.

The
rain
was
getting
colder,
he
realized.
It
had
been
chilly to
start
with;
now
it
was
icy.
He
risked
an
upward
glance
as he
passed
under
a
fair-sized
oak,
and
saw
that
yes,
the
rain was
freezing
onto
the
branches,
sheathing
them
in
glittering ice.