Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (51 page)

"It
barely
hit
his
nose,"
the
Archer
said
as
they
worked.
"I don't
think
he
could
get
the
lightning
any
closer."

"If
we
mount
a
metal
bar
above
the
yoke,
leading
back
to the
cage,
then?"

"That
should
work,
so
far
as
I
can
see.
We'll
ask
the Scholar
and
the
Speaker."

"Can
three
oxen
pull
the
wagon?"

The
Archer
glanced
at
the
terrified
beasts.
"I
don't
know," he
said.

Breaker
glanced
back
along
the
path;
even
in
the
downpour
he
could
still
see
Riversedge.
They
had
come
only
a few
hundred
yards.
"We
could
go
on
..."

"And
if
we
try,"
the
Leader
said,
leaning
forward
and shouting
to
be
heard
over
the
driving
rain,
"and
he
kills
another
ox,
it'll
be
that
much
harder
to
get
to
shelter.
No,
we
go back
and
mount
a
bar,
as
the
Archer
said,
and
get
another
ox. Then
we
press
on."

"I
hate
to
..."
Breaker
began.

"We
don't
really
have
a
choice,"
the
Leader
said.
"We can't
risk
another
ox.
We
go
back."
"Agreed,"
the
Archer
shouted.

Reluctantly,
Breaker
admitted
that
they
had
a
point.
When the
last
leather
strap
snapped
free
he
began
tugging
the
remaining
lead
ox's
head
around,
getting
the
wagon
headed back
whence
it
had
come.

The
innkeeper
was
not
happy
to
see
them.

"Get
out!"
he
bellowed,
shaking
with
rage
or
fear.
"Get out,
and
take
this
unnatural
weather
with
you!"

"We
would
like
nothing
better,"
the
Leader
answered,

"but
the
Wizard
Lord
has
seen
to
it
that
we
can't
depart
until certain
matters
have
been
attended
to."

It
took
most
of
the
day
to
install
a
long
horizontal
bar
extending
out
from
the
wagon,
but
the
Speaker
assured
them that
it
would
indeed
protect
their
draft
animals—all
six,
as the
Chosen
took
this
opportunity
to
enlarge
their
team.
They stayed
one
more
night
in
Riversedge,
and
set
out
anew
in
the morning.

Once
again,
the
rain
was
constant
and
drenching;
the
path beneath
their
wheels
was
usually
inches
deep
in
either
mud or
water,
and
lightning
cracked
and
flashed
around
them.

The
protective
cage
served
its
intended
purpose,
though; any
lightning
bolt
that
came
close
was
drawn
harmlessly through
the
metal
into
the
ground.
Sparks
showered,
and Breaker
felt
his
hair
stand
on
end,
but
no
real
harm
was done.
The
wood
around
the
supporting
bolts
did
get
slightly charred
over
time,
and
that
strange
magical
smell—"ozone," the
Scholar
called
it—followed
them
like
a
woman's
perfume.

They
had
gone
several
miles
before
the
Wizard
Lord
finally
thought
to
attempt
what
Breaker
had
been
expecting all
along,
and
bring
a
tree
down
across
their
route.
Breaker, the
Archer,
and
the
Leader
managed
to
lever
it
out
of
the way
eventually,
but
the
delay
cost
them
the
better
part
of
an hour—and
of
course
the
Wizard
Lord
repeated
it
half
a
mile later.