The Ninth Talisman (12 page)

But he could not say why, really. He had great respect for female
leaders—Elder Priestess back in Mad Oak, the high priestess who ruled Greenwater, and others—but he had still assumed that the Leader of the Chosen should be male.

He was not sure whether he was more bothered by the new Leader's sex, or by his own reaction to learning of it.

And he could not help wondering if this determinedly untraditional Wizard Lord had influenced the choice, for his own reasons.

“I am a little surprised that you keep Lore so close at hand, in that case,” Sword said. “After all, he may not carry a sword, but he is still one of the Chosen.”

“Oh, but I'm not at all worried by the presence of the Chosen
as
the Chosen! I've done nothing wrong, and if you ever did decide I had become a Dark Lord, I would choose abdication over death. But if
you,
dear Swordsman, were at my side
with
a sword in your hand, I might worry that perhaps instinct would get the better of you should I do something of which you disapproved, and you might act before giving me a
chance
to abdicate.”

“It doesn't work that way,” Sword said.

“Doesn't it?”

“No.”

The Wizard Lord glanced over at Lore, who confirmed, “It doesn't. The very essence of the Swordsman's ability is control, not violence.”

“Indeed? I'm pleased to hear that!” Artil sat back, grinning.

“You would find the sword at your throat, awaiting an explanation or further threat, not in your heart,” Lore continued calmly.

The Wizard Lord's smile was suddenly less steady.

“That's assuming I drew it at all, rather than just asking,” Sword said hastily.

“And wouldn't you?” Artil asked him, turning to look him in the eye.

“That would depend on the circumstances,” Sword said truthfully. “I don't draw it frivolously.”

“No? The legends about the Chosen would seem to imply otherwise.”

Sword was puzzled. “I earned my living while traveling by doing sword tricks, if that's what you mean.”

“No, I was thinking about tales of duels and executions and so on.”

Sword blinked. “Are there such tales?”

“Indeed there are.”

“I don't remember any,” Lore offered.

The Wizard Lord turned to him. “No? You're saying they're all lies?”

“All that I have heard.”

“All
of them?”

“I can't be sure I've ever heard any,” Lore replied.

“Oh, but you must have! There are dozens. Not just the usual sorts of stories; besides the supposed bits of history, they range from jokes about jealous husbands to stories where our friend the Swordsman is used as a threat, a monster to terrify children into behaving themselves. I've been hearing them all my life, and surely you have, as well! While I knew they were exaggerations, I had always assumed they had some basis in fact. They're so widespread—you
must
have heard some!”

“I don't remember any,” Lore replied.

“Then
every
tale I've heard about the Swordsman or the Archer killing people in duels or contests, or executing people other than Dark Lords, was false?”

“So it would seem,” Lore replied. “I don't remember a one.”

“Really! That's astonishing.” The Wizard Lord turned back to Sword. “Tell us, then, honestly—how many men have you killed?”

Sword stared at him, astonished. “One,” he said.

“Just one?”

“Your predecessor.”

“Ah.” The Wizard Lord seemed discomfited. “No one else?”

“No.” Sword found himself too baffled by the Wizard Lord's surprise to be really offended. He hesitated, testing his own resolve, then asked, “How many people have
you
killed?”

“Oh, well . . .” The Wizard Lord waved the question away.

“Fewer than your predecessor, I trust.”

“Yes, of course! I haven't killed anyone.”

Sword nodded a wordless response.

The Wizard Lord gazed at him silently for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and took a swig of beer. “As the Chosen Swordsman, you could probably kill your enemies with impunity,” he said.
”I
certainly couldn't do anything about it, since I am forbidden to harm you.
I find it interesting that you don't seem to have even considered the idea.”

“I have no . . .” Sword began, and then he noticed Farash, seated three places down the table and listening intently. “I have only one living enemy,” he corrected himself, “and I deliberately chose to spare his life.”

“Ah! No rivals in love, no one who teased you as a child, no one who stole from you, or bested you by trickery?”

Sword shook his head. He had always been big and strong for his age, and had had a fairly pleasant childhood; really, the only ones to ever tease him, or play tricks on him, had been his sisters and his friend Joker, and he had never held any grudge for any of that. “None I haven't long since forgiven and befriended.”

“You are a forgiving man, then.”

“I would like to think so.”

“Wise of you, I'm sure—but a curious trait in the man chosen to be the Council's executioner.”

Sword frowned, and peered into his beer mug. “I am not exactly an executioner,” he said. “My role is a little more complicated than that, just as yours is more complicated than simply ensuring that the rains fall on schedule.”

“I'm sure it is.” Artil's voice did not convey any conviction whatsoever.

Sword looked up and met the Wizard Lord's eye. “And if I might, Artil—just what
do
you see as your role? You said you were trying to use as little magic as possible; why is that? Isn't magic what the Wizard Lord is
for?”

“Controlling
magic, my friend, not
using
it,” the Wizard Lord replied, leaning forward again. “That's what you taught me out in the Galbek Hills that night. The Wizard Lord's original job was to bring wizards under control, to put an end to the rogue wizards who were rampaging across Barokan, raping and pillaging at whim. The Wizard Lords were given all the magic that could be gathered in order to achieve that goal, because what else could be used to fight wizards? And it worked, and there have been no rogue wizards in
centuries
now, and you looked at that and asked why we still need a Wizard Lord at
all. At the time we paid no attention, but when I
became
the Wizard Lord I thought long and hard about that, and I concluded that we do
not
need a Wizard Lord any longer to hunt down rogue wizards or stamp out banditry. But then, was there something
else
that a Wizard Lord could do, that no one else could?”

“Regulate the weather,” Sword said.

“Pah! That's nothing.” He waved it away. “The weather in Barokan was never any great problem, even before there were
any
wizards. Ask Lore here, he'll tell you; our ancestors came here and settled because the climate was gentle and the land was fertile, and the priests could bring the
ler
to heel and coax forth crops. We don't need a Wizard Lord for
that!
And with less than a score of wizards left in all Barokan, most of them living quietly in odd corners so as not to attract the Wizard Lord's anger, it seems plain to me that we don't actually need wizards' magic at all, for anything. It's a dying art, an aberration, a relic from another time.”

“But then . . . All right, what
do
we need a Wizard Lord for?”

“Well, we don't, really, but we can
use
one,” the Wizard Lord explained. “You need to look at the
other
part of the title. I am not merely a wizard, but a lord, a ruler. I am, effectively, the ruler over all Barokan. My rule is limited—as it should be, I'm not objecting—by the Chosen, who will remove me should I do harm to my people, but otherwise, who can challenge me? I can do what I please, so long as I do no harm. Why not do
good,
then? Why settle for merely maintaining things as they are? Barokan has changed over time, become a peaceful and prosperous place; the old days of wild wizards and wild
ler
are gone. Why shouldn't we make it even
better,
now that the old evils are defeated? I said it was prosperous, but it's not as prosperous as it might be, because trade is so limited by the wilderness separating our communities, so I set out to build roads connecting them. And many things that could be done aren't, simply because there's no one to organize people to see them done, so
I
organized people. I organized the road-builders, and the canal-diggers, and the bridge-builders. The construction crews that built my two palaces can now go on and build other structures for the various towns, build bridges and markets and temples. I've organized the palace guard here, and I'm training them to keep the peace in a
somewhat more efficient fashion than the old magistrates and priesthoods—they don't just guard
me,
they guard everyone. And I'm doing all this without using magic any more than I must, because I want it all to function
without
me.” He spread his arms wide, taking in all the dining hall and the lands beyond. “I want to create a Barokan that
really
doesn't need a Wizard Lord, that uses good old common sense to regulate matters instead of whimsical magic, so that someday, when we last few wizards are retired or dead, it won't all fall apart.”

“That's . . . that's an ambitious scheme,” Sword said uncertainly.

“I suppose it is.” The widespread arms fell to the arms of his chair. “Do you like it?”

“I don't know,” Sword said, sincerely. “I need to think about it a little.”

“Oh,
do
think about it! I'm sure you'll see what a grand thing it is. Your compatriot has.” He gestured at Lore, then at Farash. “And your former leader.”

Sword did not find that as comforting as the Wizard Lord probably thought he should. “Have you spoken to the other Chosen?” he asked.

“I spoke to the new Leader—Boss, she calls herself, as I suppose the Leaders always do. She felt it would not be appropriate for her to work closely with me, but she said she thought it all sounded very promising.”

“That sounds sensible.”

“The Beauty refused to speak to me, and I have not yet approached the others. I've been busy with other matters.”

“I see.”

“I'm hoping to locate them soon, though. You've saved me some trouble by arriving unasked, as you have.”

“Oh?”

“Yes! Seriously, Swordsman, I want all the powers in Barokan—the Wizard Lord, the Chosen, the Council of Immortals, and all the scattered priesthoods—to work together to make our homeland a better place. I want you all to join me, to make suggestions, to help with my projects and advise me on how best to aid our people.”

“You apparently didn't feel any need to consult us before building your roads and palaces, though.”

“Well, honestly, Swordsman, if I had tried to get everyone to agree
to my projects beforehand, do you think it would have worked? We'd all still be arguing about who should speak first and how the votes would be counted. No, I took the initiative so that everyone could
see
the benefits of cooperation. Once the wagon's rolling it's easier to push.”

“I . . . May I speak frankly, Artil?”

The Wizard Lord leaned back and waved grandly. “Oh, by all means! Please do!”

“At first glance, your plans seem wonderful, but young as I am, I have still lived long enough and traveled far enough and seen enough of the world to know that things are not always what they first appear to be. I am not ready to leap up and proclaim your ideas to be the start of a magnificent future; I must reserve judgment until I have seen more.”

The Wizard Lord again gestured broadly. “Fair enough! Just give me a chance, and you'll see that I have only the best intentions, and that I'm ready to change anything that does more harm than good.” He turned, and pointed at a newly arrived platter that held half a dozen hideous, dead, spidery creatures. “Try one of these, won't you? They're called crabs; they come from the shallow seas near Northmarsh. I had the roads to Northmarsh given priority so I could have these shipped in, and not have to fly out there any time I wanted them—the
ler
of the air are among the hardest to handle, you know; flying is not something even the best wizard can do very often.”

“Crabs?” Sword eyed the platter warily.

“Yes, crabs. You crack them open and suck out the meat and juice. They're a delicacy on the coast and the Western Isles, but until the roads were built there was no way to bring them this far inland. They don't keep, they have to be transported alive in a barrel of seawater and then boiled, and that just wasn't possible until there were roads and wagons. Really, try one—they're delicious.”

Sword looked at the ghastly things and shuddered. “No, thank you.”

“As you please,” the Wizard Lord said, clearly disappointed. He reached out and tore a leg off one of the creatures with a brittle crunch. He snapped it open with his hands and, just as he had said, sucked out the meat, with evident enjoyment.

Sword gulped beer, wiped his mouth, and said, “There's one more thing,”

“And what would that be?”

“I would like to speak to you privately—and to Farash, and to Lore, each in turn. There are things I want to say that I am not comfortable saying before so many people.” He gestured at the table, where two dozen clerks and courtiers were eating as well as the Wizard Lord, the two advisors, and himself, then extended the gesture to take in the guards at the doors and the maids serving the meal.

“Well, how privately do you mean?”