The Ninth Talisman (27 page)

“Stop,” Sword said, feeling ill. “Please.”

The Seer continued as if she hadn't heard him. “But then the old Seer came and stole me away and saved me, a few months before I was to be used. She told me she had asked the
ler
to help her; she wanted the person in all Barokan who most needed a new role, someone for whom being Chosen would be no hardship at all, and that was me.”

She smiled up at him.

Sword grimaced in response, and for a moment no one spoke. Then the Thief broke the silence.

“So now you know,” he said. “I get protective about her. Any time I start to feel angry about
my
life, I remember hers.”

“Boss doesn't trust Bow with me because she thinks he might see no harm in treating me as the men of my hometown did,” the Seer said. “I already survived years of it, after all. He might see the damage as already done.”

“I hope she's wrong about that,” Sword said, but remembering what he had seen of Bow he could not say with any certainty that she
was
wrong.

The Seer waved a hand. “It wouldn't matter,” she said. “I
did
survive years of it. A little more, with just a single man, would be no great hardship. But Boss has her own concerns, and she wouldn't stand for it.”

Sword shuddered. “I'm going back to the hostel,” he said. “I don't feel well.”

“As you please,” the Seer said. “Snatcher?”

“I think we'll walk a little more,” the Thief said.

Sword nodded silently and miserably, then went back alone, and crawled unhappily into his assigned bed, where he lay staring at the fresh planking of the ceiling for some time.

How could anyone speak so calmly of such abuse? The Seer was a strange little person, but given her background it was astonishing she could function at all. Sword found himself almost overcome with admiration for her. No wonder she wanted a new name, her true name!

It did not seem right that a place like Bone Garden could exist in Barokan. The Council of Immortals had created the Wizard Lords to keep wizards from harming innocents, and to keep outlaws in check, and had then created the Chosen to keep the Wizard Lord himself in check; why, then, had no one ever done anything to suppress the evils of Bone Garden?

But who would? Priests had no power outside their own native boundaries, and why would wizards concern themselves with one town in particular? How would it benefit
them
to purge Bone Garden of its horrors?

And could they? The current system was the result of the agreements made between the people of Bone Garden, and the
ler
of the land it was built upon. There were other towns where the
ler
demanded blood sacrifices of one sort or another, like Drumhead and Redfield and Barrel, and there was little anyone could do about it so long as those towns were inhabited; if the demands of the
ler
were not met the crops would not grow, the wells would run dry, the beasts of the forest would not allow hunters to slay them, the fish in the streams would avoid nets and spears and hooks. In Mad Oak the
ler
yielded to the constant coaxing and admonishment of the priestesses, in Willowbank they chose the Priest-King as the ruler of both themselves and the town's human population, and so on, through a thousand towns and a thousand systems.

In Bone Garden the
ler
required abominations. Without them, the town would be uninhabitable.

Sword thought it probably
should
be uninhabited—but it was not his place to decide that.

The Wizard Lord had been perfectly happy to defy the
ler
in the path of his roads, and the
ler
of the Mad Oak and the other monsters in the wilderness, but the
ler
of a town were another matter. Sword knew that—but all the same, he wished Artil would ignore the laws and traditions, and do something to save all the other innocents trapped in Bone Garden.

Maybe someday he would. And if that happened, might the Council of Immortals demand that the Chosen remove the Wizard Lord, for exceeding his authority?

The idea of killing Artil for daring to destroy the tyranny of Bone Garden's priests was almost as sickening as what those priests had planned for the Seer.

He sank at last into an uneasy sleep, only vaguely aware when the Thief and the Seer finally returned and settled into their own beds.

The remainder of the trip was made without trouble, and without any further major revelations—though the Seer did report, as they neared Beggar's Hill, that the Speaker was no longer anywhere to be found. When last sensed she had been moving east, but now she had vanished from the Seer's magical awareness, presumably by carrying
ara
feathers.

“She may know she's wanted, and be heading for Winterhome,” Sword said. “The
ler
could have passed the news along.”

“Maybe,” Seer said with a shrug.

All in good time Sword found himself and his companions ambling past the Uplander guesthouses and into Winterhome proper.

He was slightly startled when the Thief steered him directly along the main road toward the central plaza fronting the Winter Palace; Sword had assumed that they would be gathering at Beauty's home on the north street, but that was not the route they were taking.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

The Thief cast him a glance. “I'm not really supposed to tell you,” he said. “I'm supposed to say that
they
will find
us.”

“Ah—Boss doesn't trust me?”

“Exactly.”

“But the gathering is here in Winterhome?”

“Shall we just wait and see who's in the plaza to meet us?”

“I suppose we could,” Sword admitted. He glanced at the Seer. “She knows where they are, I suppose.”

“No,” the Seer said. “They're hidden from me.”

Sword nodded; he should have realized that they would be, since they would hardly want to advertise their whereabouts to the Wizard Lord. He wondered just who would be waiting, but he did not bother
to ask. He would see for himself soon enough. He followed instructions without further argument, making his way quickly through the busy street until the three of them reached the plaza.

There was no sign of anyone waiting for them; the plaza was full of traders, merchants, travelers, and Host People, all going about their business, and none of them paying any attention to the three strangers. Snatcher led them quickly across the plaza to a jog in the facade of the Winter Palace, where he turned and said, “Wait here.”

Sword shrugged, glanced around, and leaned back against a stone wall, expecting to have a few minutes before their compatriots arrived.

“Swordsman,” a quiet voice said.

He turned, startled, and found two women standing a few feet away, with their backs against the wall of the Winter Palace. Despite the heat, both wore the shapeless black robes of Host People women, with black hoods pulled up and veils across their faces.

The nearer pulled her veil aside, though, to reveal a familiar face.

“Babble!” Sword said, pleased. He had not seen the Speaker in seven years, but he recognized her immediately. Her face had perhaps acquired a few more wrinkles, but was otherwise not much changed.

“Erren Zal Tuyo kam Darig seveth Tirinsir,” she said. “The
ler
of muscle and steel are relieved you have returned.”

“And I'm glad to be back,” he said, as something inside him quivered at the sound of the first few syllables of his true name. “I thought you weren't here yet!”

“Ler
warned me I was wanted,” she said. “I came at their call and arrived last night.” Then she turned to the Seer and said, “Azir shi Azir ath Lirini kella Paritir jis Taban, I am honored to meet you, and to give you the start of your name. May it free you forever from the foul
ler
of your former home.”

The Seer stared at her. “Say it again,” she said.

“Azir shi Azir ath Lirini kella Paritir jis Taban,” the Speaker repeated.

The Seer shivered, and closed her eyes. “Azir shi Azir . . .” she said. “It's beautiful.”

Sword smiled at the two of them. Then he looked at the other woman, the one who had called him Swordsman. This was not the Beauty; he could tell that much. It had not been the Beauty's voice he
heard. Besides, she was too short, and even through the concealing garments he could see she was simply shaped wrong.

The Thief, who had hung back as Babble spoke, now stepped up beside him and bowed. “Hello, ladies,” he said.

“It went smoothly?” the short woman demanded, in a surprisingly low, strong voice. It was definitely she who had called him “Swordsman.”

“Well enough,” Snatcher replied.

“Good. We'll split up and meet you at the house—I'm with the Swordsman, you're with Babble, Seer can please herself.”

“Azir,” the Seer said. “Call me Azir.”

“If you like, but we're still splitting up. We don't want to be noticeable.”

That comment reminded Sword that there were several guards in the plaza; he looked around, but did not see any near at hand. Three or four were visible on the far side of the plaza looking at something Sword could not see, but oddly, none were near the palace wall where the five Chosen stood.

The short woman noticed his gaze. “I persuaded them that they needed to investigate an unusual rathole,” she said. “But it won't take them much longer to decide they've done their duty there, so come on.”

“I take it you're the new Leader,” he said.

“I'm relieved to see you aren't a complete idiot,” she replied. “Not that I was in much doubt, from what I've heard of your previous exploits, but it's good to be reassured. Now, hurry!”

Sword hurried, following her diagonally across the plaza toward the northwest road, and only then noticed that Snatcher, Babble, and Seer were already well on their way toward the north road.

“You brought Babble so I'd see a familiar face,” Sword said, as he caught up with the short woman.

“Yes.”

“But why did you come out to meet me yourself, instead of waiting at the house? Why meet in the plaza at all?”

“Remember the guards? I thought they might be watching for you, and I didn't want you leading them to the house. In the plaza I could spot them all, and make sure their attention was elsewhere. Try to not
let that sword of yours be too obvious, would you? Besides, I wanted to meet you, and have a few words alone before we reach our destination.” She slowed her pace, and let Sword walk beside her.

“Ah.”

“You're brighter than Bow, I see. Beauty said you were.”

Sword had no idea how to respond to that, so he said nothing.

“Can you be trusted?”

“That depends what you want of me,” Sword said.

“I want you to do what's best. To fulfill your role as one of the Chosen Defenders of Barokan.”

“You can trust me to do my best, but I can't promise that my best will always be good enough.”

“No one could. I understand you've visited the Wizard Lord in his cozy little eyrie?” She jerked her head toward the clifftops to the north-east, where the Summer Palace stood.

“Yes,” Sword said.

“Lore is up there, so far as you know? We've been told that he is—do you know otherwise?”

“He's probably at the Summer Palace, yes. He was there last summer.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to keep an eye on the Wizard Lord, and the Wizard Lord wants him there. There's never been anyone like Artil im Salthir before, and Lore is fascinated by him.”

“You think that's all? He's fascinated?”

“Well, that, and I think Artil might find it suspicious if Lore suddenly left. He's wary of the Chosen.” He thought, but did not say,
as you obviously know.

“But he let you visit, and he lets Lore live in his palace?”

“He's wary of the Chosen as a group, but as individuals we interest him. He's made Lore one of his chief advisors, and he's hoping to persuade us all that he's doing good things for Barokan.”

“He's trying to keep us fragmented.”

Sword almost stumbled at that; he swallowed, and said, “Perhaps he is. I don't know.”

“Good.” She nodded. “What do you think of our Wizard Lord, then?”

“I don't really know. I think he genuinely means well, and wants to make Barokan a better place. I don't think he's a Dark Lord; if I did, if I thought he should be removed, I would have come looking for you months ago. Right now I think he's doing well. His roads have done wonderful things, he's removed some hazards, and while the Summer Palace worried me at first, this is his second year up there and it doesn't seem to have done any real harm. The weather hasn't been as pleasant as it might, but that's nothing more than a slight inconvenience.”