[18]

 

 The Speaker could speak to anything that lived or had any spiritual existence, but she could not easily command anything; the birds and ler she asked to convey the message did not cooperate. She could have forced them by using their true names, but did not want to, as it would bring protests only she could hear.

At last, though, she found a stray dog that agreed to carry a note tied round its neck, and to find the man with the scent the Speaker described.

   "You can describe a person's scent well enough to identify him?" Breaker marveled, as the dog ran off.

   "Only in the languages of dogs," the Speaker said. "Half their vocabulary—more than half—is about smells. They have no words for color or music, but a thousand shades of acrid, a thousand kinds of sour."

"And how do you know the Archer's smell well enough to describe him that way?" 

"It's in his true name," she said. She hefted her pack. "Shall we go?"

   They went. Two days later the four of them were sitting in a tavern in a town called Seven Sides, talking to some of the locals. The townsfolk had recognized Breaker as the Swordsman immediately—not difficult, given the sword on his belt— and then guessed that the people with him might also be Chosen. They had quickly identified the Seer, and guessed the Speaker; now they were trying to determine which of the Chosen the fourth might be. The travelers had agreed to play along with this guessing game in exchange for bread, ham, gravy, and beer. They sat, eating silently, and listening while the natives argued.

"He doesn't have a bow or any arrows."
"I think the Leader would have to be taller."
"That leaves the Thief and the Scholar."

"And the Beauty, but I think we can rule that one out."

   That evinced a round of laughter. "How do we know he even is one of the Chosen?" a boy asked as the laughter subsided. "Maybe he's just a friend of theirs."

"The lad has a point."

"But they agreed to our game! They wouldn't have done that if he wasn't one of them; it wouldn't be honest."

"Are the Chosen necessarily honest?"

"I certainly hope so!"

"Then he's the Thief or the Scholar."

"Or he left his bow and arrows somewhere else."

   "Look at his arms—he's not one accustomed to drawing a bow. The Swordsman has the shoulders of a fighting man, but this other one . . . "

   "The Scholar or the Thief."

   "The Thief, I'd say."

"Uh . . . isn't the present Thief a woman?" That brought a sudden startled silence, followed by a burst of argument.

   "She is! She is, I tell you!"

   "Who knows? Would a thief admit to being a thief?"

   "Then who's the woman?"

   "She's just trying to get attention!"

   "The real Thief wouldn't want attention."

   "I don't think she's trying for attention."

   As they argued, Breaker finished the food on his plate, gulped the remainder of his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked around at the crowd.

There were at least a score playing the game, and a score more watching; the tavern's dining room was packed full. They seemed friendly enough, and so far the game's arguments had remained calm and not turned into quarrels. They all wore the town's standard garb of white blouse and leather vest—apparently the local ler demanded this attire.

   All, that is, except the man in the doorway, who was watching and listening with amused interest; he wore a dusty deerskin tunic, instead. And he carried a bow on his back.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted fellow with a narrow face and pointed jaw; he wore his light brown hair long and loose, but his beard was trimmed short and to a point that exaggerated the sharpness of his chin. His clothes were worn and not particularly clean, from square leather cap to muddy brown boots. He smiled crookedly at Breaker.

No one else seemed to have noticed him yet.

Breaker cocked his head, and the man with the bow nodded an acknowledgment.

"Excuse me for a moment," Breaker said, getting to his feet.

People moved aside to let him rise from his chair and slip out of the crowd; oddly, none of them looked where he was looking, and no one else seemed to notice the man at the door.

The man stepped to one side as Breaker approached, as well, but then turned his back to the tavern wall and said, "So you're the new Swordsman?"

   Breaker looked him in the eye—the two men were very close in height. "And you're the Archer."

   "I got Babble's note—the Speaker's, I mean. So we're finally going to do what we swore we would when we accepted these roles, then? We're going to kill him?"

   Breaker hesitated. "So it would seem," he admitted.

   "Do you want to do it, or should I?"

"I. . . I don't know," Breaker replied. "I assumed that whichever of us had the better opportunity would do it. I mean, if it needs to be done."

   'That's fine, then. You don't mind if I do it? You won't feel I've cheated you out of the glory?"

   Breaker blinked. This was not at all the conversation he had expected. "No, I don't mind," he said. "If you have the chance, go ahead."

"That's fine, then!" The Archer reached out and clapped Breaker on the shoulder. "I think we'll get along just fine, lad—you've got more sense than your predecessor, that's plain!" "I don't. . . I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, no question about it. He kept insisting he didn't want to kill anyone, which is all very well, but then he said / shouldn't, either, and really, what's the point of being one of the Chosen, then? Our whole purpose is to kill the Wizard Lord!"

   "Well, if he deserves it," Breaker said. "If he's turned wicked." He hesitated, unsure what to say next, because after all, as he well knew, the Wizard Lord had turned wicked and needed to be removed. The ler of a hundred dead innocents had said so, and the Wizard Lord himself had admitted murdering them.

   "And if he hasn't, we don't do anything at all? That's just so pointless. I knew when I agreed to become the Archer that we'd have a Dark Lord soon—I could just feel it, as if ler were whispering to me. And sure enough, we do—though old Blade never wanted to admit it, and I don't think the others even realized it." He smiled, and leaned against the wall. "So how did you convince them?"

   "I didn't," Breaker said. "They convinced me. Something the Scholar said made the Seer suspicious, and they dragged me along, and we all went to the Wizard Lord's home village, a place called Stoneslope, and we saw what he'd done to it. And that's when the three of us knew."

   "Something Lore said? The Seer always did take his stories seriously, but they all just sounded like a lot of dusty, useless nonsense to me."

   "It's complicated," Breaker said—he did not feel like trying to explain anything to this strange man, who seemed downright enthusiastic about killing the Wizard Lord.

   "So the Wizard Lord did something bad to his old neighbors?"

   "He killed them," Breaker said.

The Archer seemed suddenly wary. "Were they wizards? We aren't supposed to interfere if he kills wizards— we're to assume they'd gone rogue and started raping girls and eating babies."

   "They weren't wizards. Not all of them, anyway—there might have been a wizard in there somewhere."

   "Not all. . . ? And somewhere . . . ?" For the first time the

Archer's confidence looked slightly shaken. "Ah, how many people did he kill?" "All of them."

For a moment the Archer stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

   "I mean he killed them all. The entire town. He sent a plague, and then killed the survivors and burned the town." The Archer stared for a moment, then shook his head. "No, he didn't."

   "Yes, he did. Five years ago. We only just found out." "No, that's insane. Why would he slaughter a whole town? What about his friends and family there?"

"He claims he had no friends—and yes, it's insane. That's why we need to kill him."

"By the ghosts of my ancestors," the Archer said quietly. "He's gone completely mad?" "Yes, of course—why else would we be planning to kill him?"

"Well, I. . . well, yes, I see. You're right, of course." He stared thoughtfully at Breaker.

Breaker stared back, then glanced at the open tavern door. "The Scholar!" someone was shouting. "He's the Scholar! Must be!"

"Why didn't they notice you?" Breaker asked. "Because I didn't want them to," the Archer said. "That's part of my magic—not being noticed." "They can't see you?"

"They don't see me. It's not the same thing. If they were actually looking for me, or if they happened to glance right at me without any distractions, then they would see me, but I can just. . . fail to attract attention. Not stand out. It's all part of the magic." "I thought your magic was just archery—hitting what you aim at."

"Oh, that's the other half—but the ability to wait, to lurk, to go unnoticed until I can make my shot, that's all part of it, too. After all, don't you have superhuman speed and agility even when you don't have a sword in your hand? Aren't there things you can do without a blade?"

   "I suppose," Breaker agreed, remembering the women he had bedded over the past few months, and how they had reacted. How did that fit in with the skills needed to slay a Dark Lord?

   "And Lore doesn't just remember stories about the Wizard Lords, and Seer can do more than tell us where the Wizard Lord is, and Babble can understand every language there is as well as speak it, and knows all the true names—we all have more than one skill, more than one ler bound to us."

"I suppose."

   For a moment the two of them were silent, contemplating one another; then the Archer said, "So then, we're agreed that the Wizard Lord must die, and you don't mind if I take care of it?"

   Breaker hesitated. "The Seer says we need to find the others, first." It occurred to him to wonder just why he was so willing to yield to her in this, when they were nominally equals, but he knew why—she was his senior in every way, and knew things he did not. She had decades of experience, while he was not yet twenty. And she reminded him of the women he had obeyed back in Mad Oak; he deferred to her without thinking about it. The Archer frowned. "Oh, I suppose she's right. How very tedious—but we want to do things properly." The frown vanished. "And this means we'll meet the Beauty, doesn't it? That should be pleasant—I've always wondered what she really looks like."

   Breaker started. "You don't know? Haven't you met her?"

   "No, I haven't. Have you?"

   "No—but I've only been the Swordsman for a few months."

   "And I've only been the Archer for . . . oh, I suppose it's seven years, now. Not so very long, at any rate, and the Beauty keeps to herself. I've met Lore and Seer and Babble and Boss, but until today I hadn't met you, and I haven't met the Thief or the Beauty."

"You'd met the Old Swordsman, though."

"Blade? Oh, once or twice. Not often."

"But not the Thief or the Beauty?"

   "No. They don't. . . well, I don't know what the story is, really. Maybe they're supposed to remain hidden, so the Wizard Lord won't know who they are and they can take him by surprise."

   "But he can find all of us, just as the Seer can, I thought. I mean, he's the Wizard Lord—he knows where

everybody is. It goes with the job." "Probably. I don't know." "He knows where we are right now. Everyone knowing who we are—I wonder about that," Breaker said. "I mean, wouldn't it be better if we could take the Wizard Lord by surprise?"

"Oh, I. . ."
The Archer's reply was interrupted by a man emerging from the tavern, calling, "Swordsman? Are you . . . hey! The Archer! You're the Archer, aren't you?"

The Archer sighed and acknowledged his identity, and the two men allowed themselves to be herded inside, questioned, studied, toasted, and admired. Later in the evening the Archer demonstrated his skill by putting a dozen arrows, one after the other, through an iron ring swinging on the end of a string; when the performance was over he explained quietly to Breaker that quite aside from satisfying the locals' demands for a display of magical skill, this fulfilled the daily ritual the ler demanded of him—he didn't need to spend an hour in practice, but was required to hit twelve difficult targets with missiles of one sort or another.

"Sometimes I just toss pebbles, or other things," he said, "but in that case the targets need to be very difficult." Breaker nodded, and wondered what demands were made on the other Chosen, but then the townsfolk came roaring up to him demanding a display of his prowess.

Well after midnight the five of them were at last permitted to retreat to the special compound where the town's visitors could spend the night without being possessed by the local ler as they slept, and where they could speak more privately.

No ordinary inn or guesthouse was available in Seven Sides because the town's spirits, rather than merely sending dreams into sleeping minds, had a habit of animating sleeping bodies and using them to act out their favorite tales of olden times. The presence of strangers meant the possibility of new and dangerous stories—the ler sometimes got carried away, and people often awoke to find they had sustained bruises and scars reenacting ancient battles. The presence of a swordsman and an archer—well, no one wanted the Chosen sleeping in the village itself.

Breaker shuddered as they made their way across the compound yard to the guesthouses, not at the habits of the local ler, nor at the memory of Stoneslope or the prospect of confronting the Wizard Lord in a battle to the death, but merely at the feel of his environment; the air in this place was cool and dead. The village's ler not only did not trouble sleeping visitors here, they did not enter at all, and sealed the area off from any other spirits that might seep in. As a result the entire compound was lifeless and inert; the dirt underfoot was bare and packed hard, unbroken by any trace of green. The air was still; the half-dozen little cottages were dull and dim, with no bright colors nor the slightest glint of light. Breaker had never before experienced lifeless surroundings, and he did not like the sensation—or rather, the eerie lack of sensation—at all.

   "I wonder whether the Wizard Lord can hear us here," the Archer said.

   "Probably," Breaker said, trying to distract himself. "Isn't a wizard's magic independent of place?"

   "But still, he works his will by commanding ler, like any priest or wizard, and there are no ler here."

   "There are ler here," the Scholar corrected. "There are the ler we brought in with us, the ler bound to us by the talismans of the Chosen. And the Wizard Lord can send his ler here, as well."

"We might notice them a little more easily," the Seer said. "There are no others to confuse the matter." "I see no sign of them," the Archer said. "I hear almost nothing," the Speaker said, looking about with the calmest

expression that Breaker had ever seen on her face, plainly visible even in the faint moonlight. "This place is so

quiet. No plants speak, the earth is silent. . ." "It's a dead place," the Seer said.

   "Yes. I love it," the Speaker said. "I have a small place at home that is sealed away and lifeless, but it's smaller, and the voices from outside can still be heard faintly. Here it's so quiet! I have been here before, but not for some time, and I had forgotten how pleasant it is."

"Pleasant? It's . . . it's dreadful," the Seer said, as she reached the door of the first guesthouse and stopped.

"It's strange, certainly," Breaker said, stepping up to the second doorway.

"And it's irrelevant, isn't it?" the Archer asked, as he neared the third. "Can we get down to business now?"

   "Business?" the Scholar asked, pausing between Breaker and the Archer. "Do we have business to attend to?"

   "Don't we?" the Archer asked. "I thought you four wanted to discuss whether or not to kill the Wizard Lord— and how to go about it."

"He has to die," the Seer said. "He destroyed an entire town. But we can't act without all eight of us, so there's no need to discuss anything until we find Boss, and the Thief, and the Beauty."

"Why do we need all eight?" the Archer asked. "There are five of us here; if we all agree then that's a majority, and we can get on with it."

"We need the Leader, at the very least," the Scholar said. "After all, he's meant to lead us."
"We must all agree," the Seer said.
"Why?" the Archer insisted.

"The Old Swordsman didn't tell me we needed to be unanimous," Breaker agreed.

"If there are only five, the Wizard Lord can kill us all and still have enough magic to rule," the Seer said.

"Can he?" the Archer asked.

"I wouldn't say it's certain," the Scholar said. "We don't have much precedent, since every previous Dark Lord who slew any of the Chosen was removed from power soon afterward. If he killed us, the remaining Chosen and the Council of Immortals would certainly want to remove him, and powerful as the Wizard Lord is, I don't know that he could defeat the entire Council with a mere three-eighths of his magic available."

"Are we all agreed that he must die, though?" "I take it that young Sword told you about Stoneslope?" the Seer said.

"He did—not that it really matters; I've been willing to kill this Wizard Lord for years, just on general principles. I became the world's greatest archer to slay Dark Lords, not just to win wagers."

"We'll see what Boss says," the Seer replied. "If he thinks six of us are enough then we'll go without the Thief or the Beauty, but I want the Leader to guide us, to devise our approach. I don't want to just walk into the Wizard Lord's stronghold and say, 'Hello, we've come to kill you.' I want a plan."

   "When he sticks his face out of his tower I could put an arrow through his eye from a nice safe distance," the Archer said. "How's that for a plan?"

"A little rudimentary," the Scholar said. "What constitutes a safe distance with a wizard whose power extends over all of Barokan?"

"We'll talk to the Leader," the Seer said.

   "You know, you aren't Boss," the Archer said. "You're the eldest here, but all the same, you're not in charge. What if the rest of us don't want to take the time to find him?"

"He's in the Midlands," the Seer said. "It's not that far."

"But why should we bother? Why not go straight to the Wizard Lord now, before he has time to prepare?"

"He's had five years to prepare. He must have known when he destroyed Stoneslope that we would find out and come after him eventually. We need to prepare as much as we can." "You're scared," the Archer said, pointing a finger at the Seer.

   For a moment no one spoke; then the Seer said, "Of course I'm scared—I felt the terror his victims felt in

   Stoneslope, and some of it stayed with me. And even without that, I'd be scared. If you weren't a fool you would be, too. We're planning to kill the Wizard Lord, Bow. To kill a man—that's a grave responsibility to begin with, and this particular man is dangerous and powerful. We saw what he did to Stoneslope, and it was horrific—you have no idea how bad it was. Yes, if he kills us he'll be terrifically weakened, and he'll be slain anyway, but he may not care—he may kill us anyway. He's mad, he must be, to do what he did to his own hometown, and that means he may not have the sense to not kill us. If he has any sense he'll abdicate, give up the talismans and tell the Council to choose a new Wizard Lord, and retire, and if he did that we would have to let him live— and I pray to all the ler that he does that, and soon, so that we don't have to fight him."

"You're giving him time to realize it's hopeless," Breaker said.

   "Yes, I am—that, and I do want Boss to help us. He's the Chosen Leader—he has magic, just like the rest of us, but his magic is in planning and scheming and improvising, persuading people to help us and directing our attack. I want that magic on our side, to give us every advantage we can get. I don't want to die. I don't want to kill anyone if I don't need to, either."

   "The third, fourth, and seventh Dark Lords all retired peacefully when confronted with their sins and failures," the Scholar said. "Our current lord hasn't chosen that path yet, but it really would be better for all concerned if he did."

"It would be even better if you people just went home and dropped this whole mission," a high-pitched, inhuman voice said; Breaker started, and looked down to see an immense rat sitting up on its haunches by the corner of the nearest guesthouse. "I'm not going to hurt anyone else who doesn't deserve it; all my old enemies are already dead."

"So you say now," the Seer said. "Get away, and let us talk!" She swung her walking stick at the rat, which dodged and vanished into the shadows between houses.

"How much did he hear?" Breaker asked, worried. "Not much," the Seer said. "He manifested in that rat just as you said I was giving him time to see it's hopeless." "Is he gone now?" "Yes. For the moment."

"He's not going to surrender peacefully," the Archer said. "I vote we go kill him as quickly as we can, and get it over with."

"And I say we need the Leader's magic," the Seer replied. "I vote we go to the Midlands and find Boss."

"Lore?" the Archer said, turning to the Scholar.

"I think he may yet see reason," the Scholar said. "I vote with the Seer."

"There is no reason to see," the Speaker said, startling Breaker. "Kill him now."

"The deciding vote is yours, Sword," the Seer said, turning to Breaker.

"I. . . " Breaker hesitated, looking at the Archer and the Speaker. This was his chance to get on with it, to get it over with sooner—but it didn't feel right. Perhaps the Leader's presence would remedy that. He turned back to the Seer. "I think we should find the Leader. What you say about his magic—that's true and important. We should talk to him before we rush in."

"Three to two," the Scholar said.

"I hope you won't do anything foolish, like going in alone," the Seer said to the Archer.

The Archer sighed. "No," he said. "I'll behave. But no dawdling—tomorrow we head for the Midlands by the fastest route, agreed?"

   "Agreed."

   "And so to bed," the Scholar said. "Let us get as much sleep as we can before we go!"

   "I'll miss this place," the Speaker said. Then she stepped back and vanished into one of the guesthouses.

   A moment later all five had gone to their separate beds, and the only sign of life in the lerless compound was a lone rat, sniffing at the foundations of the Seer's chosen shelter.

Breaker's dreams that night were vague and jumbled, unguided by ler, but he awoke with a fading memory of the bone-strewn hillside in Stoneslope and was unusually quiet for much of the morning.