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

carpenters'
shops, then took the middle path under the pavilion terrace, stretching his
legs to skip every second stone. He called a greeting to the brewmaster and
Younger Priestess as he passed the shadowy door to the cellars; he could hear
rattling and sloshing, and the priestess speaking to ler in their own language, presumably negotiating with them for all to go
well with this new batch of beer.
    No one returned his call,
but that was no surprise; they were busy. He emerged from the shadows into the
slanting sun and turned to mount the southern steps. At the top he turned
again, and slouched into the pavilion itself.
    Last night's debris
had largely been cleared away, the floor swept, and he wondered whether some of
the villagers had risen early to deal with this, or whether Elder had talked
some of the ler into taking care of it.
    Then he noticed the old woman seated by the
flickering hearthfire, and wondered instead whether the wizards had used their
magic.
    But a wizard's magic, like a priest's, still
depended on the cooperation of ler —wizards just used different ler, ler not tied to a specific place. A priest could call on the spirits of
earth and tree, field and stream, root and branch, spirits bound to their own
corner of the world, while a wizard controlled spirits of wind and fire, light
and da rkness,
spirits that could roam freely wherever their fancy—or the wizard's
orders—might take them.
    And of course,
priests generally asked the ler for favors, and bargained with them, where
wizards were said to bind them and compel them.
    Elder might have summoned the pavilion's own ler, the spirits of plank and stone that dwelt in the structure itself, or
the ler of the surrounding trees, or of the mice and
insects and other creatures that undoubtedly lived beneath the building; the
wizards could have summ oned a wind from halfway across the world to blow away the dust and
spilled beer. Either way, the floor was swept.
    As he stood there considering this the old
woman, the female wizard, looked up and saw him.
    "Ah, boy," she said. "Come
here, would you?"
    Breaker hesitated—like most villagers he
avoided strangers, and this woman was not merely a stranger, but a wizard. Not
only might she unwittingly anger the local ler through ignorance of their ways or her mere presence, but she had ler of her own at her bec k and call, strange ler not bound to Mad Oak
or its surroundings.
    But that was all the more reason not to be
rude to her, and if he was to become the world's greatest swordsman, one of the
Chosen, one of the assigned heroes who would defend Barokan should the Wizard
Lord go mad, then he would presumably need to deal with strangers, and even
with wizards, regularly. He would need to get over his reluctance. He squared
his shoulders and marched across the room to her.
    She gestured at an
empty chair, and he s at down beside her.
    For a moment the two of them sat silently,
looking at one another while trying not to stare rudely; then she asked,
"I know you don't use true names here in Mad Oak, but what do they call
you?"
    "Breaker," he said.
    She grimaced. "And what do you
break?" she asked. "Not heads, I hope."
    Breaker smiled.
"No," he said. "My mother's dishes, the poles for the beans,
that sort of thing. I was clumsy as a child; my father said it was because I
was growing so fast that my body had to keep relearni ng how to
move."
    "I'm not sure
that's much better," the wizard said. "A head-breaking temper would
be a bad thing in a swordsman, but a clumsy swordsman might be even worse."
    "I'm not clumsy now," Breaker said.
"Ask Little Weaver, or Curly."
    "Who are they?"
    "The girls I danced with last night.
They'll tell you that I've caught up with my growth." "So you
remember last night, then?" "Most of it."
    "The beer hasn't washed it all away? You
remember the dancing—do you remember what you spoke of with my companions before
the music began?"
    "You mean about becoming the Swordsman?
Yes, I