Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (79 page)

"Who
would
notice?"
the
Leader
asked,
as
he
trudged
up the
hill
to
join
them.
"People
mind
their
own
business,
they
have
their
own
jobs
to
do
and
roles
to
fill,
and
making
sure the
Wizard
Lord
hasn't
gone
mad
is
our
job,
nobody
else's."

"The
Seer
is
saying
it's
not
her
job
after
all,"
Breaker replied.

"She's
frightened,"
the
Beauty
agreed.
"She
doesn't
want
to
go
any
farther."

"Well,
she
doesn't
need
to,"
the
Leader
said.
"She
got
us here,
and
that's
her
job—from
now
on
it's
up
to
the
rest
of
us to
do
ours.
What's
a
middle-aged
woman
going
to
do
in
our fight
against
a
wizard?
It's
up
to
you,
me,
and
Bow,
Sword.
The
rest
are
just
here
to
help
us
out—no
one
expects
Lore
or Beauty
to
do
any
fighting,
and
Babble's
job
is
going
to
be
countering
spells,
not
attacking
anyone.
If
the
Seer's
too frightened
to
continue,
why
force
her?
She'd
be
more
hindrance
than
help."

"You're
sure?"
Breaker
asked.
"We
already
lost
the
Thief
..."

"I'm
sure,"
the
Leader
said.
"She
can
stay
with
the
wagon while
the
rest
of
us
go
inside—would
that
suit
you,
Seer?" "That
would
be
...
yes.
That
would
do,"
she
said. "Or
you
could
take
shelter
in
Split
Reed
..."
"No.
The
wagon
is
fine."

"Then
that's
how
it'll
be.
You
don't
have
to
go
inside."

"Thank
you,
Boss,"
the
Seer
said.
"Thank
you."

Breaker
stared
at
them
for
a
moment,
but
could
not
think of
anything
useful
to
say.
The
Leader
surely
knew
what
he was
doing—after
all,
he
was
the
Leader,
with
a
magical
gift

for
planning
and
persuading.
If
he
said
the
Seer
would
be
no
more
use,
then
surely
she
wouldn't
be.

But
somehow
something
felt
wrong,
all
the
same,
and Breaker
was
troubled
as
he
marched
back
down
to
the
wagon.
The
Chosen
were
supposed
to
be
a
team,
working
together,
each
in
his
assigned
role,
but
the
Thief
who
would get
them
past
locks
and
guards
was
not
here,
and
now
the
Seer
who
was
to
tell
them
where
their
enemy
could
be
found
was
refusing
her
role,
as
well.
And
the
Leader
who
was
supposed
to
ensure
that
everyone
did
his
part
was
doing
nothing
to
prevent
this
new
defection.

It
wasn't
right—but
he
was
the
Swordsman,
not
the Leader,
and
could
only
play
out
his
own
role
and
hope
that
it would
be
enough.

They
met
no
resistance
as
they
rode
up
to
the
tower's
base,
which
puzzled
Breaker;
he
had
thought
the
 
Wizard
Lord
would
be
making
one
last
desperate
attempt
to
get
them
to
turn
back,
or
perhaps
even
seriously trying
to
kill
them.
Instead
the
snow
and
rain,
already thinned
to
little
more
than
a
heavy
mist,
stopped
completely.

The
wagon
rolled
up
toward
the
crest
of
the
hill,
then stopped;
the
terrain
was
too
steep
and
rocky
for
the
last
hundred
yards.
They
would
need
to
go
the
rest
of
the
way
on
foot.

It
was
astonishing,
really,
that
the
wagon
had
made
it
this far.
Only
the
fact
that
so
many
people
had
come
and
gone
here
over
the
past
few
years,
clearing
a
path
on
their
way
to see
the
Wizard
Lord,
had
made
that
possible.

"I'm
staying
in
the
wagon,"
the
Seer
said.

"And
what
about
the
rest
of
us?"
the
Archer
asked,
looking
at
the
Leader.
"What's
the
plan?"

The
Leader
climbed
down
from
the
wagon
and
stood
on the
gravel,
looking
up
at
the
looming
black
tower.

"Who's
still
ready
to go
in
and
finish
this?"
he
asked.

Breaker
exchanged
glances
with
the
Scholar
as
they
climbed
out
of
the
wagon.
"All
of
us,"
he
said.
"Except
the
Seer."

"Then
come
on."

"Boss,
shouldn't
we
have
a
plan?"
the
Scholar
asked,
as he
hit
the
ground.
"We
want
to
use
our
magic
effectively,
don't
we?
If
we
just
walk
in,
the
Wizard
Lord
..."

"The
Wizard
Lord
knows
he's
beaten
simply
by
our
presence,"
the
Leader
replied.
"Once
he
sees
us
he'll
surrender, I'm
sure."

That
was
not
what
Breaker
wanted
to
hear.

The
group
had
discussed
how
they
might
deal
with
the
Wizard
Lord
once
they
reached
his
keep,
but
they
had
made no
definite
plans;
the
Leader
had
always
insisted
that
they
would
need
to
see
just
what
the
keep
was
like,
what
the
situation
was,
before
making
any
plans.

Well,
here
they
were,
there
was
the
keep,
and
the
Leader still
had
no
plan—he
appeared
quite
certain,
despite
months of
the
Wizard
Lord
insisting
otherwise,
that
their
foe
would
simply
surrender.

I'm
not
sure,"
Breaker
said.
"I
expect
I'll
have
to
kill him."

"If
I
don't
get
him
first,"
the
Archer
retorted.

"You
don't
need
to
sound
so
bloodthirsty
about
it,"
the
Beauty
said,
as
she
clambered
down
from
the
bench.
Her
scarf
had
slipped,
exposing
most
of
her
face,
but
that
had happened
several
times
over
the
course
of
the
long
journey,
and
Breaker
no
longer
stared
at
her
every
time.
The
first
few
glimpses
had
been
staggering,
but
apparently
the
old
adage was
true—one
could
become
accustomed
to
anything
eventually.
Oh,
she
was
still
incredibly
beautiful,
not
merely
in appearance
but
in
sound
and
smell,
and
living
in
close
proximity
to
her
for
so
long
had
meant
many,
many
hours
of
frustration
for
Breaker
and
the
other
males,
but
right
now
there
were
more
urgent
matters
at
hand.