Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 Read Online Free

return?"
    "I don't
know," Breaker admitted. "It's just... well, I'd be famous. I could
travel. And it ought to impress the girls, don't you think? Don't you want me
to find a good wife, an d sire some grandchildren for you?"
    His mother snorted derisively. "I don't
know what sort of girl would be impressed by foolishness like that."
    Breaker thought that a good many girls would
be, but he didn't say that. Instead he said, "It's a needed role, Mother. Someone has to do it."
    "Even if that's true, which I am not
convinced of, why should that someone be you?"
    "Because I think it. . . oh, I don't
know. Because I want to, that's all."
    His mother stared at him for a moment, put
down the rolling pin, crossed her arms on her chest, and then said, in her
flattest and most deadly voice, "You want to be a killer?"
    "No, I do not want to be a
killer," Breaker replied. "What are you talking about?"
    "The Swordsman's job, his whole purpose among the Chosen, is to kill the Dark Lord, and
anyone else who tries to stop the Chosen from killing the Dark Lord. If you become
the Chosen Swordsman, you'll be accepting that role. You'll be agreeing to kill
people. You'll be promising to stick a great big knife through someone's chest.
Is that what you want?"
    "But I won't need to kill anyone!
There aren't any more Dark Lords!"
    "But you'll have agreed to do it if a
Dark Lord happens." "I suppose, but. .." "You'll be a
killer."
    "I'll be a Chosen Hero, and yes, that
might mean killing someone, but only those who deserve to die. What's wrong
with that?"
    His mother stared at him for another moment,
then threw up her hands with an exasperated "Oooohhhh!" and stamped
out of the room.
    Breaker watched her go, genuinely puzzled.
Yes, the Swordsman and the other Chosen killed people, when it became
necessary, but they were heroes; it was
part of the job. His mother knew that; she had certainly told him enough
stories about heroes who slew men and monsters right and left. She had told
stories about the horrible vengeance Wizard Lords enacted on rogue wizards and
other fugitives with great relish, including plenty of gruesome details, and
she never seemed to think there was anything wrong with that.
    How was it any
different if her son be came the Swordsman?
    Then his gaze fell, and he saw that Fidget
and Spider were staring at him.
    "Oh, shut up," he said.
    "I didn't say a word!" Fidget
protested.
    "I didn't, either," Spider said.
"It wasn't us. Are ler talking to you?"
    "No," Breaker snapped. "I'm not
a priest or a wizard." "Will you be if you become the
Swordsman?" Breaker started to say no, then stopped. "I don't
know," he admitted.
    "Would you really kill people?"
    "Only bad wizards," Breaker assured
her. "Not real people. No one from Mad Oa k."
    Spider nodded a solemn acceptance of this;
Fidget looked less certain, but Breaker left the subject at that as he began
rummaging through the cupboards for something to break his fast.
    Spider and Fidget managed to maintain a
surprising and atypical silence while they ate; their mother did not return,
and when Breaker had taken the edge off his appetite he decided that she
wasn't going to return while he was there.
    He still did not entirely understand the
reasons for her anger, but he knew better than to try to dissuade her; he had
never been able to talk her out of one of her moods. His father or Harp
sometimes could, but Breaker had never quite figured out how. As far as Breaker
was concerned, the best thing to do was to simply be somewhere else until his
mother had worked through her anger on her own. Accordingly, as soon as his
stomach stopped growling he waved a quick farewell to his sisters and headed
out of the house and up the slope toward the pavilion.
    The Wizard Lord had provided
a dry night and a pleasantly cool day, and the sun was still low above the
distant eastern cliffs; wisps of morning mist lingered in the trees and fields.
Breaker found no reason to hurry. He ambled past the smithy and the