“It’s not doing him any good while we’re in here,” the Seer said. “Why should he waste his magic and ruin the crops if we aren’t out in it?”
“No,” the Archer said. “That can’t be true.”
“Do you really think that’s it?” Breaker asked, as he pulled clothing from his pack. None of it was actually dry, but the garments that had been near the center of the pack were only slightly damp, and infinitely preferable to what he had on.
“Of course,” the Seer said. “He didn’t bother us when we were heading away from him—he probably hoped that the others would talk us out of going back. Now that we’re actually marching toward the Galbek Hills, he’s trying to stop us.”
“Spirits of sky and sea, summoned by our foe, brought the storm,” the Speaker said. “Sheltered as we are, they have no target, and the storm is no more.” She looked up. “But the clouds linger, ready to renew their ravages, should we emerge. The ler of the land shriek with rage and woe, bent and buffeted, mad with fear and confusion—never has the sky abused them so.”
This was perhaps the longest coherent, uninterrupted speech Breaker had ever heard from her; he turned to stare.
She met his eyes. “This is what I am for,” she said. “The ler bound to me are of one accord, for the first time in my life—they guide me as one, they direct me against the Wizard Lord as one, that he may be prevented from further disruption of the natural order.”
“I hadn’t realized,” Breaker said, as he pulled at his soaked shirt. “I hope . . . I hope it’s not unpleasant.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I am at peace for the first time in fourteen years.”
“I’m glad,” Breaker said, feeling foolish at the banality of his words. He began to peel off his drenched clothing.
As his head came out of his shirt his gaze fell on the corner where the Beauty was changing, and although he could see almost nothing in the gloom he felt a sudden flash of modesty. After his months on the road and his encounters with some of the more exotic communities of Barokan he had almost forgotten the prohibitions on nudity he had grown up with, but now the Beauty’s presence brought them all rushing back. He hastened to pull his drier shirt on, while carefully not looking in the Beauty’s direction.
“This can’t be right,” the Archer said loudly. “It can’t be.” He stepped out the door onto the platform.
The wind, which had died to a stiff breeze, suddenly roared back to life, slamming against the western end of the barn so hard that the boards groaned and the entire barn shook.
“It’s not because we took shelter,” the Archer called from the platform, shouting to be heard over the wind. “He just needed to rest. You’ll see. He can’t be watching us that closely.”
And suddenly it was raining again, the rain drumming heavily on the barn roof. Breaker shivered.
“You see? You’re still inside!” the Archer bellowed.
“But you aren’t!” the Seer shouted back.
“Wait, wait!” The Archer stumbled back through the door, water streaming from his hat.
And the rain stopped, as if some mighty being had turned a tap.
The Archer froze where he was; no one dared speak as the wind sank away again.
Then the Archer turned and looked out the door.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, “I won’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” the Seer said. “He knows where we are as well as I do—and he doesn’t need to watch every second; he can give the bound ler who serve him enough of our true names to identify us, and tell them what to do.”
“I don’t like it!”
“None of us do.”
“Is it going to rain like that all the way to the Galbek Hills?”
“I don’t know,” the Seer said. “I profoundly hope not.”
“He needs to get the moisture from somewhere,” the Scholar said. “He can’t just conjure it from nothing. So he may well run out, in time.”
“Can’t he get it from the ocean?” Breaker asked, as he tugged his fresh breeches into place. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard it goes on forever, all around the world, covering everything but Barokan and the Uplands. I’d think that was enough water to rain on us forever.”
“If he could get it all airborne, of course it would be,” the Scholar said, “but I don’t think his magic is that powerful. I think he has to wait for clouds to form naturally before he can direct them against us.”
“Are you sure of that, Lore?” the Seer asked.
“No,” the Scholar said. “It’s just a theory, it’s nothing I’ve been told. Oh, and Sword, there are other lands besides those you mention—there are unknown realms south and east of the Uplands, and there may be more beyond the sea, as well. There’s much more to the world than just Barokan and the plateau.”
“Barokan is more than enough for me,” Breaker said. “I’ve been traveling all summer and most of the autumn and still only visited a small part of it. I’ve never even seen the sea!”
“Nonetheless, there are other lands.”
Breaker shook his head. “Amazing,” he said.
“Indeed,” the Scholar said.
“So do you mean the Wizard Lord can rain the entire ocean down on us, whenever we set foot outside?” the Archer demanded.
“No,” the Scholar replied mildly. “I don’t believe he can. But he can certainly cause downpours and gales—and you saw the ice forming on the trees, and surely you feel the cold; he can do that, too. Let us hope he can’t do anything too drastically unnatural—I do not care to experience earthquakes or lightning.”
“You mean those are real?” Breaker said, astonished. “I always thought they were just scary stories, like the soul-eater, or the dead lands.”
The Scholar grimaced. “I regret to say, Sword, that there are indeed dead lands, and yes, there has been a soul-eater—though I can’t say for certain one still exists. And earthquakes and lightning are both real natural phenomena that the Wizard Lords have suppressed for these last five or six centuries.”
“But . . . oh,” Breaker said. He opened his mouth to say more, then simply repeated, “Oh.”
“Fire from the sky?” the Leader said. “That’s natural?”
The guide spoke up unexpectedly.
“The Uplanders say it happens frequently above the cliffs,” she said. “Sometimes I’ve seen a flickering up there myself that the Uplanders say is lightning. And there’s no true magic up there, is there?”
“I don’t know,” the Scholar said. “My magic is tied to Barokan, and does not tell me what’s true in the Uplands.”
“Well, that’s what they say,” the guide said.
“It’s probably true.”
“So in theory, the Wizard Lord could strike us down with fiery bolts from the heavens?” Breaker asked.
“Lightning isn’t exactly fire,” the Scholar said. “It’s something else. But in any case, no, the Wizard Lord cannot strike us down. Our own magic protects us—lightning will not harm us, any more than the plagues he used in Stoneslope did.”
“The lightning cannot touch us, yet must we guard against it,” the Speaker said. “If a bolt should strike a tree as we walk beneath, the oaths of the ler are uncompromised, yet we are quite possibly crushed beneath falling limbs.”
“Oh, that’s a cheerful thought,” the Archer said.
“The spirits that guard us would have us aware of the hazards,” the Speaker replied. “I but relay their words.”
“As I relay the words of the Wizard Lord,” said a squeaky, high-pitched voice. The entire party looked up to see a rat atop one of the tie-beams above them, peering down over the side at them.
“What do you want, madman?” the Seer demanded.
“To bring a little sanity,” the rat replied. “Won’t you abandon this foolish mission of yours? Nothing good can come of it.”
“On the contrary, your death would be a benefit to Varagan,” the Seer retorted. “That’s
all the good I ask.”
“And if the next Wizard Lord is even worse, what then? Will you hunt him down and kill him, as well?”
“Of course we will!” the Leader responded instantly. “Our duty is to remove all unfit Wizard Lords. We bear you no special grudge.”
The Seer grimaced at that, and Breaker swallowed a protest—Boss had not been with them in Stoneslope, had not felt those poor ghosts. He had no special grudge against the present Wizard Lord, but there were those who did.
“So you say,” the rat said, “but then why has it taken you five years—five exemplary years, in which I have carried out my duties faithfully and never hurt a soul—to decide that the filth of Stoneslope must be avenged?”
“Because we didn’t know,” the Seer shouted. “We didn’t know what you had done!”
“And now suddenly, you do. Who is responsible for that, I wonder? Could it be that my enemies on the Council of Immortals have decided the time has come for me to be removed, so that one of their own faction can replace me?”
“I stumbled upon the truth!” the Seer shouted. “No one schemed against you, and the Council had nothing to do with it!”
“You may believe that,” the rat replied. “I don’t. They got word to you somehow—perhaps a dream, or a whispered message you didn’t even remember hearing.”
“Lore and I compared notes, nothing more!”
“I don’t believe it,” the rat repeated. “One of you is working for the Council—perhaps one of you is on the Council! I wouldn’t put it past them to have a spy among the Chosen, a wizard pretending to be one of you.”
“A wizard can’t be one of the Chosen,” the Scholar said. “The ler won’t permit it.”
“Then perhaps one of you is not actually one of the Chosen at all.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the Seer said. “I know who and where the Chosen are—it’s my magic, my role as Seer.”
“So you’re working with the impostor.”
“You’re being absurd,” the Leader said. “We’ve all known each other for years.”
“If you say so—though I don’t think Sword would agree, to cite only the most obvious. But ask yourselves—why are you so determined to depose me? Isn’t it worth one town’s destruction to protect the rest of Barokan? Will you risk far worse? Floods, famines, lost crops and lost lives—I don’t need to attack you directly to cost you heavily. I can unleash plagues all across Barokan, wash away bridges and burn down towns. I don’t want to hurt you, but some of you have friends and family you care for, and I can hurt them—will you risk their lives? And in the end, if you persist, I will kill you if I must. Don’t think I value my magic more than my life, my power more than my position—I must and will remain Wizard Lord!”
“Why?” Breaker asked. “Why not just yield peacefully? If you resign, we are not to harm you—you know that.”
“And be just another member of the Council of Immortals, an ordinary wizard surrounded by my enemies? They all hate me, and I despise them—death would be preferable to once again suffering the taunts and torments of those who would claim to be my peers!”
“Then how did you ever become the Wizard Lord?” the Archer asked. “Weren’t you chosen by the Council?”
“Of course I was! They wanted to get rid of me. And none of them wanted the job—none of them could be bothered to hunt down traitors or regulate the weather.”
Breaker and the Archer exchanged glances. Getting rid of someone by granting him vast power and authority did not sound like something anyone sane would attempt.
But the Wizard Lord was clearly not entirely sane.
“If you turn back,” the rat said, “or scatter, then the rains will stop. If you continue toward the Galbek Hills as a group, then you will face storms every step of the way, and worse. Floods and wind and lightning are just the beginning. Turn back. Go back to Winterhome. Please.” The rat’s squeaky little voice cracked badly as it repeated, “Please!”
“His grip on the rat is weakening,” the Seer remarked. “He put a lot into that storm, and is weary.”
“So are you!” the rat squealed, and then it scampered away.
“He’s gone,” the Seer said.
“Good,” the Leader said. “In that case, I can ask you—are you sure the Council hasn’t deceived you somehow?”
“How?” the Seer asked angrily. “I realized the Wizard Lord had committed murder when I spoke to Lore, and then he and Sword and I went to see the remains of Stoneslope and heard the ghosts—how could the Council have intervened?”
“A hint, perhaps, as the rat suggested?”
The Seer shook her head. “There was no hint. I wish there had been. To know that those poor dead souls were trapped in Stoneslope for five years, waiting for someone to find them and avenge them, and I had never bothered to investigate—that weighs on my own soul.” She turned to the Leader. “I believed you when you said he had only killed rogues! I never checked!”
“And I believed him,” Boss retorted. “I shouldn’t have, obviously, but I didn’t know that.”
“But you do now,” the Archer said. “How did that happen, exactly? Seer, might Sword have said something?”
Boss glanced at Breaker, then back at the Seer. “Do we truly know him to be the Chosen Swordsman? I said we’ve all known each other for years, but in truth, I never met Sword or Beauty until yesterday.”
“Either they’re who they claim to be, or my magic has failed me,” the Seer said angrily.
“Or you are indeed lying, and conspiring with a Council spy.”
“Boss!”
“Is it really so impossible?”
“You’ve known me for ten years! Do you really think I could deceive you like that?”
“We’ve met a few times, but really, Seer, how well do I know you? I’ve chatted with you a dozen times, perhaps.”
“That’s nonsense. If anyone has betrayed us, Boss, it was you, when you told me that the killings in Stoneslope were nothing to worry about. I am doing what I swore to do—I gathered the others to remove a Dark Lord as soon as I knew we had one.”
“And do you really think that’s our responsibility?”
The Seer gaped at him. “We . . . we are the Chosen, Boss! We are chosen to defend Barokan. We are heroes. It’s our sworn duty to remove any Wizard Lord gone bad. Ask Lore and Sword what we need to do—they saw Stoneslope, just as I did. The Wizard Lord doesn’t even bother to deny slaughtering them all. Even if the Council had somehow directed me there, what does it matter? The Council has the right to guide us, should they choose to do so.”
“Good points indeed! Good. And of course, you’re right—it doesn’t matter whether or not the Council is involved. If you and Lore and Sword saw what you say you saw, and not some clever illusion, then indeed the Wizard Lord has gone mad.”
“Exactly!” The Seer sat back on her heels. “Exactly. He’s gone mad, and must be stopped. Just look outside at what that storm did—tree limbs are down all along the road, every ditch and depression flooded knee-deep, leaves frozen on the trees, all just to inconvenience us.”
“To preserve his own life.”
“To preserve his power,” the Seer corrected. “He could end this at any time by abdicating his post.”
“He seems to feel death would be preferable,” the Archer said—though his words were a trifle indistinct. Breaker noticed that he was staring at the corner where the Beauty was straightening her attire. The sky outside had grown brighter, and their eyes had adjusted to the barn’s dim interior; Breaker realized that he could see a lock of the Beauty’s long, dark, curling hair hanging free, and the approximate shape of her perfect jaw.
“You realize,” the Scholar said, noticing the Archer’s gaze, “that her glamour won’t work on any of us, any more than the Wizard Lord can harm us with lightning or plague, or Boss use his magical persuasiveness to compel us? You will never see her as other men do, never see her as utterly irresistible.”
&nbs
p; “But she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world, is she not?” the Archer asked, turning back.
“Indeed she is,” the Scholar agreed. “But only to a natural extreme.”
“Well, forgive me, Lore, but that’s still enough to interest me.”
“You might show a little more tact,” the Seer said.
Then they all fell silent as the Beauty straightened up and moved to rejoin the group.
“She heard every word,” the Speaker said.
The Archer threw her a quick glance, then essayed a bow to the Beauty, who was once again securely wrapped in black. “My apologies if I said anything that troubled you,” he said.
“Oh, just shut up,” she said. Then she turned to the Leader. “So we are continuing to the Galbek Hills, and the Wizard Lord intends to use storms to harry us every step of the way. What can we do about it?”
“We can dress for the weather,” Boss replied. “If we know it will storm, we can wrap ourselves in oilcloth—at Riversedge we’ll resupply accordingly. And perhaps some sort of cover—Seer, what are the paths like? Could we ride a covered wagon? Would the ler permit it?” He glanced at the guide, but that exhausted individual had dozed off, sitting slumped against the barn wall, and was snoring gently.
“Even if we can’t take it all the way, a wagon would help . . .” Breaker began.
Outside the barn the wind howled anew.
[26]
They had traveled less than half a mile from the barn, fighting their way through pounding wind and torrential rain that had been building steadily since they stepped out onto the platform, when the first lightning flashed across the sky.
The Beauty screamed; Breaker started, throwing his head back in surprise and catching a faceful of rain. Several of the others stumbled or cried out, though Breaker could make out no words over the storm.
“What was . . .” the Archer began.
Then the crack of thunder stunned them momentarily; Breaker flinched, the Beauty gasped, and this time the Speaker screamed, though only softly. Echoes of the thunderclap rolled over them.
“Thunder,” the Scholar explained, shouting. “The sound is called thunder. The flash is lightning.”
The Wizard Lord Page 28