The Ninth Talisman (19 page)

The Summer Palace stood near the cliff's edge to the northwest of them, still a few miles away. Despite the distance he could see it far more clearly here than he had from below—three stories of stone walls and red-painted eaves, with broad verandahs and balconies on all sides. The line of climbers stretched in scattered clumps from the head of the canyon through the gates; Sword saw no sign of the Wizard Lord and Lore and Farash, who were presumably already inside.

“It's the thinner air,” someone said, and Sword turned to see a guard supporting a wheezing old man. “You'll get used to it in a day or two.”

“Thinner? Thinner
how
?” someone asked. “What does ‘thinner' mean when you're talking about air? It's already invisible and almost nothing; how can it be thinner?”

“There's just
less
of it up here,” the guard explained. “I don't know why; maybe the air
ler
don't like it here. Whatever causes it, there isn't as much air as there is down in Barokan. There's enough to breathe, but your body isn't used to working so hard to get it.”

“Why is it worse for some people than others?”

The guard shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “Ask an Uplander priest, if you can find one.”

Less
air
? Sword marveled at the concept; he had never imagined such a thing. He looked around once again, taking in the vast plain and infinite sky, and wondered whether the lack of air might make it all look larger, somehow.
Could
it really be as endless as it appeared?

It didn't look distorted; it merely looked vast. He decided the air had nothing to do with it.

He marched on, at as brisk a pace as he could manage, aware with every step of his own breathing.

An hour and a half after he emerged from the canyon Sword walked through the lantern-hung gate of the Summer Palace and looked around, marveling at the wonder the Wizard Lord had created. Cooling fountains bubbled on either side of the grand entrance; trellises were arranged to provide shade for the courtyard beyond, though as yet the vines intended to adorn them had not grown up to any useful size. Ornamental stone planters still held as much bare dirt as greenery.

Even in the scattered light of lanterns and torches, with the gardens and planters still raw and with dozens of people bustling about, it was lovely. Whether he had any right to do so or not, the Wizard Lord had made something very beautiful. Sword wished he could still sense the spiritual world, as well as the physical, so that he might appreciate it more fully.

The line of new arrivals was fairly thin by this time but still trickling in, to be met inside the gates by a steward who directed each person to the appropriate entrance to the palace itself. Sword was a guest, with no particular assigned duties in the palace, nothing he was required to do nor anywhere he had to be, so when he introduced himself to the steward he was greeted with a shrug. “I am told you are to do as you please,” the steward said.

“Thank you,” Sword replied. He stepped aside and watched the steward direct the next few servants around to an eastern entrance, but then turned away. No one paid any attention to him as he wandered from the entry plaza along a verandah to the left; he followed that past an elegant arcade and through an arch, and emerged onto a terrace at the western end of the complex.

And here he found himself looking at something that made his first view of the high plains seem like nothing. The western terrace was built
right out over the edge of the great cliff, and from its rail Sword found himself looking out over all of Barokan.

It took him a moment to adjust; initially it seemed a sea of dark blues and greens, like a rolling lawn beneath the last glow of a long summer sunset. Then he grasped the scale, and had to hold the terrace rail to steady himself.

Those little patches of red and brown and white, catching the last pink and orange glimmers of the twilight, were towns. The gentle mounds were the hills and ridges. That flat area ahead and to his left, crisscrossed with roads and covered in dark fields, was the Midlands; to his right were the vales, the long valleys paralleling the cliffs. Far to the left were the southern hills.

He could see the vales
and
the hills, even though they were separated by
fifty miles or more
of the Midlands.

If he leaned out over the railing, ignoring his vertigo, and looked down and down and down and slightly to his left, he could see Winterhome, with the Winter Palace tucked almost out of sight beneath the cliff, and the five main roads radiating out, the guesthouses lined up like blocks in some child's game, all of it shadowy, but speckled here and there with the orange glow of fires and torches and lanterns. To the right was Shadowvale, and beyond that Longvale, and he peered out into it, trying to match what he saw with what he knew of the geography. Ordinarily he could have sensed something of the essence of what he saw, felt a little of the
ler,
but that was gone while he remained outside Barokan, and he had to rely on nothing but vision and knowledge.

That clearing, he decided, was Beggar's Hill, and beyond that was Broadpool, the wide river there faintly reflecting the last light, and he thought he could make out Rock Bridge in the distance. Willowbank and Mad Oak were too far off to be recognized with any certainty, but he was not at all sure they were over the horizon. There was a hazy something on the ridge out at the very limit of visibility. . . .

From up here the Wizard Lord would unquestionably have a better view of the lands he was charged to protect than he could ever have had from within them—though he might not have the magic he needed to protect them.

“Impressive, isn't it?” a voice said from behind him.

Sword was not accustomed to being unaware of anyone's approach; he whirled, leaping away from the railing. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword. Then, as he saw who had spoken, he froze.

The Wizard Lord was standing before him, his red robes catching the lanternlight and flapping gently in the breeze. Something about him looked different, though Sword could not identify it immediately, but it was definitely Artil.

“If you draw that thing, we may have to kill you,” he said, and Sword forced himself to release his grip on his sword. Only then did he notice the four red-and-black-clad guards who stood just behind the Wizard Lord, two on either side.

“Sorry,” Sword said. “It's instinct. You startled me.”

The orange light of the setting sun was striking the Wizard Lord's face from below, but that was not the only difference, nor was it merely the lack of any magical awareness. Then Sword realized that Artil did not have his staff, and the cord of talismans was gone from his neck.

“My apologies for that,” the Wizard Lord said. “But it's quite a view, isn't it? I love sharing it with people.”

“Even armed people?” Sword asked wryly.

“I hadn't realized you were armed,” Artil said. “I might have approached differently, had I known.”

“I'm the Swordsman,” Sword said. “I'm almost always armed.” He started to add a comment on the Wizard Lord's missing staff and talismans, then caught himself. That absence implied that the Wizard Lord had indeed given up his magic to come here, just as much as Sword himself had, but Sword was not yet ready to discuss that. He had not yet thought out what he wanted to say, and admitting that he was no longer necessarily the world's greatest swordsman might be unwise.

“I suppose that's true,” Artil said. “That doesn't sound like much fun.”

“It's not.”

“I see.” The Wizard Lord nodded. “But about the view . . . ?”

“It's magnificent,” Sword said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Really magnificent. I can't wait to see it by daylight.”

“I saw that earlier; I'm looking forward to seeing it at night, the fire-lights
of the towns laid out beneath the stars. If you'll give your sword to one of my guards, we can look at it together and talk.”

Sword hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I'd like that,” he said. He debated unbuckling his sword belt, but instead just drew his sword, tossed it up and caught it by the blade, and proffered it to the nearest guard hilt-first.

He did not mention, though he thought about it, that ordinarily he could have killed all three men with it, if he wanted to, before they could react. Having left his magic behind, he wondered whether he still could. He had still had all those years of practice, but would that have been enough?

The man took the weapon gingerly, clearly unsure what to expect.

“It's not enchanted,” Sword told him, guessing at the cause of his apprehension.
”I
am, but the sword isn't.”

He saw no reason to mention that at the moment the enchantment appeared to be broken, or at least suspended.

“Oh,” the guard said, relaxing slightly and letting the tip of the blade fall to boot-top level.

Sword nodded to him, then turned back to the west. The Wizard Lord stepped up beside him, and together they leaned on the rail and looked out over Barokan.

“It's beautiful,” Sword said.

“Very,” the Wizard Lord agreed.

“And that's the land you're sworn to protect, spread out down there.”

“Indeed it is. And your implication is that I should be down there, instead of up here?”

“It's a question one might ask, certainly.”

“I suppose it is.” He fell silent for a moment, staring out over the darkening land below; Sword waited.

“Don't you think,” the Wizard Lord said at last, “that we can see it better from up here than we do from down there? Don't you think we can be fairer from up here, above it all, than we can down there, surrounded by the distractions of everyday life?”

Sword glanced at Artil, then out across the magnificent landscape.

“No,” he said. “You can see
more
from up here, but you can't see it as clearly. You can't see the details, and details matter.”

The Wizard Lord's mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I should have known you would not be so easily swayed,” he said. “Well, then, I'll tell you the truth. You're quite right that up here, I can't meddle as directly in matters. That's a deliberate choice on my part. I told you that I'm trying to change the system, and that's the truth; I want to set up a
new
system, one that will unite all Barokan into a single people, connected by safe roads and strong government. I want a government of men, not magic; a government where human justice prevails, rather than the whims of wizards or
ler,
or the edicts of priests. I want to make the very role of Wizard Lord archaic and unnecessary. But I can't do that just by ordering it; people don't change their ways as easily as that. The priests and wizards and
ler
are all accustomed to their positions of power, limited only by the Wizard Lord's greater power, and the ordinary folk are accustomed to yielding to the wielders of magic. The traditional balance of power is entirely a balance of magic, priests and wizards and the Wizard Lord and the Chosen each with their own particular magic, their own authority to act in particular ways.”

“Yes, of course,” Sword agreed. “I don't see . . .”

“I wasn't finished,” Artil said, cutting him off.

“My apologies.”

“Accepted. Now, as I was saying, for at least seven hundred years, and probably far longer, all power has rested upon the ability to wield magic, to make
ler
do one's will. I want to change that. I want to make
people
the final authority, not
ler.
I want to have a society so strong and confident that when some
ler
says, no, you cannot do that, even the lowliest farmer or housewife, even just a child at play, can tell that
ler
that we will do as we please, and that if it does not yield it will be rooted out and destroyed, like the
ler
that once filled the wilderness where we have now built roads.
Ler
have nature on their side, beasts and plants and earth and sky, but we have our minds, our will, our numbers and organization! A lone man crossing the wilderness is taking his life in his hands, but my road crews, because they have numbers and
tools and organization, can cut their way through the wilderness with impunity, driving out any
ler
that try to stop them.”

“I see,” Sword said.

“But you don't yet see what this has to do with my palace here,” Artil said. “Do you?”

“I don't,” Sword admitted.

“It's because we must not rely on magic. We must stop organizing our lives around cooperative
ler.
We need to make our
own
rules, without
ler,
without magic. I want to show everyone that people don't
need
magic; we don't need to wheedle and cajole the
ler,
or trick them or trap them, or bind them with oaths, or pay them off with sacrifices. We can make our way without them;
we
can reshape
them.
I want to be master of Barokan because the people
want
me as their master, not because I hold the eight Great Talismans and have a thousand
ler
at my beck and call. I want to show everyone that I don't
need
magic to rule Barokan.”