The Ninth Talisman (31 page)

“But you remember it now,” Snatcher said.

“Oh, yes.
Oh,
yes! Because he chose me as his successor, and the wizards came, and the ritual was performed, and I became the new Leader, and then of course I was immune to the magic of the Chosen, including
his
magic. My memory came back, all of it, the moment my talisman came alive. I remembered the feel of his hands on me, and how he'd laughed at the joke of making a little girl the new Leader, and how I'd stood naked before him displaying myself as if I were a merchant showing her wares, and how he had made my father give me away as if I were a bit of bread handed to a hungry guest, and the pain I felt when he used me but that I wouldn't admit I'd felt, even to myself. I remembered
all
of it.”

The Seer whimpered. Sword glanced at her, then quickly looked away, embarrassed—she had her eyes tightly closed, with tears leaking out. She obviously understood all too well what Boss was talking about.

It suddenly struck him as very odd that two of the new Chosen were
abused young women, but one had been selected in an act of kindness, to save her from a horrible death, and the other had been picked in an act of cruelty and petty revenge. How could such opposite motives lead to such similar results?

“But by the time I recovered from the transferral,” Boss continued, “by the time I could walk and see and talk again, he was gone, and he never came back to Doublefall.”

“Could you have reversed his magic?” Beauty asked. “Could you have made
everyone
remember, as you did?”

“Probably,” Boss said. “But why should I? What good would it do? They're happy; why make them remember all the pain and humiliation?” She shook her head. “No, I didn't make anyone else remember anything. I left Doublefall instead, and I haven't been back since. I couldn't stand being among my own people, watching them smile fondly at their memories of that lying monster, and think of his rule as the best years of their lives. That's why I was wandering along the coast, heading ever farther away from Doublefall.” She shook her head. “I have no home anymore.”

“I wonder whether he
knew
you would remember,” Sword said. “I don't think he did, or he wouldn't have done it. It can't benefit him to have someone who hates him be the Leader of the Chosen.”

“I don't care whether he knew it,” Boss replied. “I want him to pay for what he did to my town, and you, Sword, you let him get away with it.”

“I'm sorry,” Sword said. “I didn't know.”

“And now he's the Wizard Lord's chief advisor, and you let him do
that?
You still didn't tell anyone?”

“I told the Wizard Lord,” Sword said quietly. “Last year.”

For a moment the room was silent as everyone absorbed that.

“And Old Boss is still his chief advisor?” Beauty asked.

Sword nodded.

“Suddenly I like this Wizard Lord much less than I thought,” Snatcher said.

“Farash claims to be trying to atone for what he did,” Sword said.

“Do you believe him?” Boss demanded.

“No,” Sword said. “But I'm not certain enough of my disbelief to
condemn him. He asked me to keep his secrets, but made no threats or offers. I thought the Wizard Lord needed to know, so I told him, and I told Lore, as part of a private conversation, but otherwise I have said nothing until now. I've been giving Old Boss his chance to redeem himself—but only one chance.”

“Well, what harm can he do now, with no magic?” Bow asked.

“He has the Wizard Lord's ear,” Boss said. “That may be magic enough.”

“Do you think he was the one who suggested killing the wizards?” Beauty asked.

“I don't know whether anyone needed to suggest that,” Boss said. “I don't even know whether it happened, whether any wizards are really dead. That's what we intend to find out. Tomorrow I'll talk to some of the soldiers in the Winter Palace about it.”

“Just you?” Sword asked.

“No, now that you mention it, you're coming with me,” she replied. “Another set of ears, another person thinking of questions to ask, and someone to watch my back. Someone who knows Old Boss and Lore and the Wizard Lord. Not to mention that having a man along will make it less likely that anyone will take me for a whore come to service the soldiers. Will that suit you, then?”

“Completely,” Sword said.

“Good.” She rose, brushing a bit of fireplace ash from her skirt. “And tonight you'll write that letter to Lore, and tomorrow we'll get that on its way up the cliff. For now I think it's time we all had some supper. Beauty, whose help do you need?”

And with that, the meeting broke up.

Sword and the Seer had been sitting by the hearth trading jokes when Boss returned from sending a messenger up to the Summer Palace. They had begun simply by exchanging greetings, but when Sword called her “Seer” instead of “Azir” she had replied with a sarcastic retort, he had responded in kind, and they had quickly found themselves laughing and telling jokes.

When the door opened to admit Boss and a curl of morning mist they fell silent and turned to look at her.

“Your letter's on its way to the Summer Palace,” Boss said. “Which means, Sword, that it's time for us to go talk to a few soldiers.”

Sword nodded, and rose. He took the Seer's hand for a moment and said, “It's been a delightful start to the morning, Azir shi Azir.”

She seemed startled, and only managed a whispered, “Yes,” before Boss took Sword's arm and led him away.

A moment later Boss and Sword were strolling south down the street, trying to look like an ordinary pair of Host People; Boss wore the billowing, all-encompassing black robe and scarf, while Sword wore black tunic and trousers, with snug garters at wrist and ankle. The sun was still at least an hour short of topping the cliffs, and Winterhome lay in deep shadow, but the sky overhead and to the west was bright blue strewn with wisps of white cloud.

The plaza was already crowded, despite the morning gloom; merchants were setting up their displays, opening out doors and unfolding tables from their wagons. Early customers were strolling about, looking at the goods offered, but few were buying yet; the time to spend their money, or trade their own goods and services for what they needed, would come later. Sword and Boss made their way through without stopping, but without visibly rushing, either.

There were guards at the doors of the Winter Palace, as always—though since the Wizard Lord wasn't there, Sword was not entirely sure why. Today only one guard stood by each door, while there were usually two when the Wizard Lord was there, so at least there was
some
acknowledgment of his absence.

Together, the two Chosen ambled casually up to the nearest guard. They stood silently beside him for a moment, until they were certain he had seen them and decided they were harmless. Then Boss said, “So is it a good life, being one of the Wizard Lord's soldiers?”

The soldier glanced at her. “It's all right,” he said.

“My brother was thinking about joining up,” Boss said.

The guard looked at Sword, and Boss snorted. “Not him,” she said. “Look at the size of him! You think a tiny thing like me would have a brother that big? No, he's a friend; my brother's back home.”

The guard's mouth quirked into a half-smile; he glanced at Sword, then turned his attention back to Boss. “He's a big fellow, yeah. Your brother isn't?”

“Midway between us, I'd say.”

“Well, size helps if he wants to join the guards, but he doesn't need to be as big as your friend here.”

“I've seen that some of the guards aren't all that big,” Boss agreed.
“You
aren't as big as Erren, after all. My brother's almost your height, not as broad in the shoulders.”

“Should be big enough, then.”

“Good. So what's it like, being a soldier?”

The guard shrugged. “It's not bad. We eat regularly, the food's pretty good, the pay is less than I might like but I get by.”

“Is it exciting?”

He snorted. “No,” he said. “I mostly just get to stand around all day looking dangerous.”

“Oh, but you soldiers go other places, I've seen you!”

“Well, some do,” the guard said, “but I'm not one of them. I've been stationed right here in Winterhome ever since I finished my training.”

“Really? I'm sure I saw a group of soldiers marching somewhere—at least a dozen of them. I wondered where they were going; some of them had bows and spears, but they weren't just hunting, were they?”

“I don't know anything about that, I'm afraid.”

“Is there someone here who does? Because I was very curious about it.”

“I'm sorry, but I . . . ” He stopped.

Sword felt something, though he couldn't have said what, or where he felt it. It was something immaterial, something numinous.

Ler.
He knew he was sensing
ler
doing something.

The Leader's magic, he realized.

“I'd
really
like to know,” Boss said, in a tone like nothing Sword had heard from her before, a rich but somehow demanding voice that reminded him slightly of the Beauty's. “Surely, you can find me someone who might know more?”

To him, as the Chosen Swordsman, her voice was attractive, slightly compelling, but hardly irresistible. To the guard it was obviously far more.

“I'm forbidden to leave my post,” he said, “but I can fetch the sergeant of the guard; perhaps he can tell you more.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Hold on.” With that, the guard turned, opened the door he was guarding, and called inside, “Sir! There's someone here you need to speak with!”

He and the two Chosen waited, and a moment later another guard appeared. “Yes?” he said.

“We had a question or two about the guard's actions,” Boss said.

“Oh?” The sergeant glanced at the door guard, obviously wondering why this pair had been deemed worthy of his attention.

“If we could come in and speak to you for a moment?” Sword said. He had observed that people were beginning to notice their conversation, and preferred to take it out of the public eye.

The sergeant looked at the door guard, who half-nodded, half-shrugged.

“All right,” the sergeant said. “Come into the wardroom, then.” He beckoned.

A minute later the three of them were seated around a small table in a small room, lit by a single small window. A rack of spears hung on one wall.

“Now,” said the sergeant, “what's this about?”

“We saw a group of soldiers marching out into the southern hills,” Boss said, her voice more or less returned to normal. “We wanted to know what they were doing.”

“I don't see why it's any of your business,” the sergeant replied pleasantly.

“Well, we heard rumors that they were . . . that the Wizard Lord didn't know they were there. That they were doing something they shouldn't.”

The sergeant frowned. “Oh?”

“If you could reassure us that they
were
there on the Wizard Lord's business, and that they were not looting . . . ” Boss said, a tinge of her power in her voice. She let the sentence trail off, unfinished.

“Looting?”

“That was the rumor, yes.”

“I haven't heard anything about any looting.”

“But there were soldiers sent to the southern hills?”

“Oh, we've sent squads all over Barokan, chasing bandits and dealing with rogue wizards. When was this, exactly?”

“It would have been early spring, right around the equinox,” Boss said.

“That could have been one of the expeditions sent to handle a wizard,” the sergeant said.

“A wizard? What were they doing with wizards?”

“That's not my business,” the sergeant said. “I only concern myself with matters here in Winterhome.”

“Is there someone we could speak to who
was
involved?” Boss said, and that strange richness was back, stronger than ever. Sword felt the air stir around him.

“I don't. . . I. . .”

“Surely, you see how important it is that we learn all about it,” Boss said, and her voice seemed to ring back from the walls.

“Of course I do!” the sergeant said, slapping his hands on the table. “Of course! I'll. . . wait here, I'll find someone.”

He rose, and hurried out of the room.

Sword watched him go, then leaned over and whispered, “Will he stay convinced when you aren't there to talk to him and look at him?”

“For a time,” Boss murmured. “If no one questions him, anyway. If someone starts him really thinking, that can break the spell.”

“What if someone just tells him that you've tricked him?”

“Oh, that won't work; then he'll get defensive, and my hold will be stronger than ever. It's only if people ask him questions, ask him why, and he realizes that he doesn't know. Or if he gets distracted and does something else for a while, when he remembers what he meant to do he may realize something's wrong.” She glanced at him. “Didn't Old Boss ever tell you this?”