[35]

 When the nineteenth wizard arrived, with the sun skimming the western horizon and the maids lighting torches, a tall woman in blue announced, "We are all gathered, then. Let the Council of Immortals be convened!" "Out here in the cold?" a young wizard protested, but the others ignored him. Some had scattered across the hillside or wandered into the tower, but now they returned, and collected themselves in a rough circle around a campfire.

The Chosen were clustered around their wagon twenty yards away, watching this with varying degrees of interest. Breaker simply wanted them to get it over with, so that he could start the long walk home, but Lore was fascinated by the whole thing, the Seer was nervous about it. . .

The wizards had been speaking for only a few minutes when they all turned, as if called, to face the wagon.

   "Will die Chosen please come forth, to tell us what befell them?" the blue-robed wizard called. With varying degrees of enthusiasm the seven made their way to the Council's circle; the Speaker hobbling on a crutch the Scholar had improvised. The wizards parted to make way for them, and one quickly arranged a folding chair for the wounded Speaker.

"There are only seven," a wizard called. "Did Laquar kill one?"
"We kept the Thief in reserve," the Leader said. "We . . . " "She refused to come," Breaker interrupted. "She should be replaced."

The other Chosen turned, startled, to look at him. "I thought we . . . " the Beauty began.

"I've had enough of deceit and evasion," Breaker said. "The Thief betrayed us and refused to come. The Seer, too, though she led us at first and came far, balked at the last moment, and should retire, as well."

   "I would be happy to retire," the Seer said. "The Swordsman is right—my nerve failed me, and I am no longer fit for my role. I have seen too much as it is." She stepped toward the fire, and dropped two little orbs on the rocky ground near the flames.

   "Pick up your talisman," the blue-robed wizard said. "If you want to retire, then so be it, but until a replacement is found you are still the Chosen Seer."

   Reluctantly, the Seer stooped, retrieved the smaller of the two crystals, and stepped back. Breaker turned a pointed gaze on the Leader, who took the hint.

   "And I, too, feel I must resign," Boss said, tossing a golden talisman to the ground. "My plans were inadequate, and we only triumphed through good fortune and the Swordsman's skill. I will remain as Leader until my successor is found, but I trust that will be no longer than necessary." He threw Breaker a brief, venomous glare.

   For a moment an awkward silence fell; then the blue-robed wizard asked, "Anyone else?"

   "I feel I acquitted myself reasonably well," Lore said.

   "I'm not ready to quit!" Bow snapped.

   "Not quite yet," the Beauty added.

   "I've only just accepted the role," Breaker said.

   "The ler—no. I'm staying," Babble said.

"All right, then," the wizard said. "Tell us what happened."

For a moment no one spoke; then Breaker told the Seer, "You start. Five years ago." The Seer nodded, and began. The story, such as it was, took a little over an hour to tell; the Scholar took over from the Seer, the Speaker from the Scholar, the Leader from the Speaker, and finally the Swordsman from the Leader. The last two lied, telling the story they had agreed upon rather than the truth, but no one seemed to notice.

   When the tale was done there was a brief silence; then a wizard called, "Very well, then, I think that was all in order, and we've agreed that three of the Chosen are to be replaced

and the other five to continue. The next order of business, then, is to choose the new Wizard Lord."

   "Wait," Breaker said. "Before you go any further, I must ask—do we still need a Wizard Lord?" "Of course we do!" someone called, and a murmur of agreement ran through the little crowd.

"Why?" Breaker insisted. "There haven't been any rogue wizards in centuries!"

   "But there would be, without a Wizard Lord," the Red Wizard replied. "Just as more Wizard Lords would become Dark Lords were it not for the Chosen."

   "Would there? How many wizards are there? A few hundred? Surely. . . " Breaker's planned speech was cut short by startled laughter. He blinked, and looked around, trying to see what was funny.

   "A few hundred?" a wizard called. "Are you blind, Swordsman?" "Perhaps he can't count that high," another suggested. "After all, you don't need numbers to use a blade."

   "I don't understand," Breaker said.

   "Swordsman, how many of us are here?"

   "Nineteen. But this is the Council of Immortals . . . "

   "The Council of Immortals is made up of all the wizards there are, Swordsman," the blue-robed leader explained gently. "This is all of us."

   "But that's not. . . " Breaker looked for the female wizard who had accompanied the Old Swordsman to Mad Oak, and spotted her standing by one of the torches. "She said . . . "

She held up a hand. "I know, that's not what I told you. We were talking about centuries ago, though, when the Council was first formed, and back then it did not include every wizard. It's only in the past hundred and fifty years that we have all been members."
"But then—there are only nineteen wizards in all Barokan?"

"So far as we know, yes," the Red Wizard said. "It's the Wizard Lord's job to track down and kill any others." "But they aren't all rogues . . . !"

   "Yes, they are," another wizard said. "By definition. Our forefathers decided a century and a half back that it would be better for everyone if all wizards joined the Council, and with the Wizard Lord's aid, they did not make it optional."

"There are just nineteen!" the Archer said.

"You need a Wizard Lord to control nineteen wizards!" Breaker said.

   "Well, there were hundreds when the system began," the old woman who had come to Mad Oak said. "But our numbers have dwindled."

   "Then hasn't the need for a Wizard Lord dwindled, as well?" Breaker said. "Shouldn't we see what happens without one, rather than once again giving someone the power to kill entire towns and flood whole regions?" There was a mutter among some of the wizards, but the blue-robed leader said firmly, "No. The system has worked for seven centuries, and I am not going to abandon it just because we happen to have had a ninth Dark Lord."

   "But we don't need it, and another Dark Lord could be a disaster!"

   "And how likely is it that we'll see another Dark Lord in our lifetimes? The system works, Swordsman—the Wizard Lord went mad, and the Chosen removed him, just as they were meant to. If there were no Wizard Lord, who knows how many people might have been killed or enslaved by wizards, or killed by storms or famines? We had more than a hundred years of peace and plenty—one small town and a few floods are not too high a price for that."

   At the mention of enslavement Breaker glanced at Boss, who did not meet his gaze; then he turned back to the wizards.

   "I think you're wrong," he said. "I think the Wizard Lords have outlived their purpose. I don't know why there are so few wizards now, compared to our ancestors' times, but whatever the reason, it makes a Wizard Lord an unnecessary danger!"

   "It's because so many of the ler have been collected, or tamed by the priests, or softened by the mere presence of so many people nearby," a short, dark wizard in the back began. "There are fewer truly wild powers . . . "

   "Never mind that," the blue-robed wizard snapped, holding up her hand. "It's none of his concern—he's merely the Swordsman. We have no obligation to answer to him."

"I just killed your Dark Lord!" Breaker protested.

   "And that was your duty, your role," the wizard replied. "Thank you for performing it effectively—but it gives you no right to question us."

   "I killed a man because your Council has propped up an ancient and unnecessary system . . . "

   A sudden gust of wind whirled around him, unnaturally intense, snatching the breath from his mouth, and Breaker staggered back. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

   "Stop it!" the Council's leader ordered over her shoulder. "He is the Chosen Swordsman, and entitled to our respect, if not our obedience. Release him!"

The wind stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

   "You see why we need a Wizard Lord?" the blue-robed wizard said, more gently. "We can't be trusted. We know that. So we set one of us up to keep the others in check, and you eight are chosen to keep him in check. Thank you, Swordsman, for your service. Thank you all, O Chosen. Deliver now the Wizard Lord's talismans, and take your own with you, and go about your business."

   "You'll exorcise the dead in Stoneslope?" Breaker demanded. "And see to it that the Seer, the Thief, and the Leader are replaced?"

The Council's leader sighed. "We will—and if you were not already the Swordsman, I'd make you the new Leader! You seem to take the role upon yourself."

   "That's because. . . someone must, and Boss has—there are reasons he does not speak," Breaker said. He glanced around at his six companions.

   "You're doing fine," the Archer said. "You killed the Dark Lord, so you get to speak for us here, so long as we agree with you—and so far, Sword, you haven't said a word I can't accept."

   "There are things here I don't understand," the Beauty said, "and I have nothing more to say until I do understand them."

"I have no right to say anything," the Seer said. "We should have been here five years ago. I should have been at their side in the tower. Let the boy speak for us all."

   "I am listening," the Speaker said. "My role is misnamed, for my task is always to listen, more than to speak."

   "It's all too soon for me," the Scholar said. "Perhaps a year from now I'll know what to make of it."

   "It's as he said," the Leader agreed, glancing at Breaker. "There are reasons I don't speak."

   "It seems there may be more to the tale than you told us," the blue-robed wizard said.

   "There's nothing more to tell you," Breaker said. "Anything we haven't said is private, and while you may choose us, you do not own us."

   "That's rather the point, in fact," the Red Wizard agreed. "Let them go, Azal, and let us get on with choosing our new lord."

"Let them deliver the talismans," the Council's leader repeated.

"Swear you'll see that Stoneslope's ghosts are freed," Breaker said.

   '7 will swear it," the Red Wizard said. "I will go there myself, and bring whatever priests or others I find necessary to set the souls of the dead at peace. I swear by my own soul— is that good enough, Swordsman?"

   "Thank you," Breaker said, with heartfelt gratitude. "And the three will be replaced? Then that's enough—I've had enough of all of this, and am eager to go home." He pulled out the little silver blade he had taken from the Wizard Lord's body and tossed i t to the ground beside the orb and crown, then turned and walked away from the fire, the wizards, and the others, toward the waiting wagon.

The Seer and the Leader followed him, and the rest, in turn, added their captured talismans to the collection before leaving the Council of Immortals.

The Chosen spent another night in the Dark Lord's tower; the wizards' meeting ran late into the night, but did eventually end. In the morning Breaker arose to find the maids gossiping—some of the wizards had already departed, and others still slept in the catacombs beneath the tower, but the news had somehow been conveyed that the red-clad wizard, the man Breaker knew simply as the Red Wizard, was to be the new Wizard Lord.

The system would continue.

   He ate a hearty breakfast from the dead Wizard Lord's pantries, bathed in a stone tub filled by the maids, and then dressed in his cleanest clothes—which were shabby and dingy, as he had been long upon the road. Still, he felt better than he had in some time. There would be a new Wizard Lord, yes, but the Red Wizard seemed a reasonable choice— Breaker remembered how polite he had been when he first arrived in Mad Oak, how he had deferred to the priestesses and tried not to trouble the ler.

   Perhaps it would be another century before next the Chosen were called upon to remove a Dark Lord. It was a new day, a new era—and he was free to go home to Mad Oak, or to go anywhere he chose. His job was done.

   He was on the muddy, snowy hillside practicing his swordsmanship for the hour the ler still required of him when the Beauty emerged from the tower and headed toward him. Her face was wrapped in a black scarf, as always, but he could see her eyes, and he almost thought he could smell the subtle natural perfume of her hair. She watched solemnly as he slashed an imaginary opponent to ribbons, and when at last he stopped, stepped back, and began wiping the blade she approached. 

   "I wanted to say goodbye," she said. "I've talked one of the wizards into flying me back to Winterhome, so I won't be traveling with you."

"Oh," Breaker said.

   He had been thinking of suggesting that she accompany him back to Mad Oak, but now that seemed overly bold. Instead he said, "Perhaps I could visit with you there."

"Erren," she said quietly, T am twice your age." "Oh," he said again.

She was right, he knew she was, but still, the sight of her eyes and the sound of her voice . . .

   "It's not your fault," she said, "and if I were ever tempted by youth and vigor, believe me, you would receive very serious consideration—you are a fine young man. But I am not young."

   He nodded; on some level he knew she was right, but his body, his heart, did not agree. His pulse had quickened just from her presence.

   "Something happened in the tower, when you killed the Wizard Lord, that you haven't told us about," she said. It was not a question, and he did not answer.

   For a moment they looked one another in the eye; then she asked, "Is it anything I should know?"

   "You shouldn't need to," he said, "but ask me again a year from now."

She nodded.

The silence between them grew awkward after that, and at last, almost simultaneously, they turned and went their separate ways.

   By midday the Chosen were scattered, each bound for his or her home, alone or in the company of wizards. Breaker turned down offers of magical aid and set out northward alone, on foot.