Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 by The Wizard Lord (v1.1) Read Free Book Online Page B

some more." Then he
turned and marched back into Elder Priestess' s house.
    Breaker
wordlessly watched him go, then angrily flung the willow twig aside and stalked
around the house to the village square. He wiped the sweat from his brow with
his sleeve, then rubbed at the spot on his chest, right over his heart, where
the Swordsman's stick had jabbed him repeatedly.
    "Breaker,"
someone said.
    He turned to see his
sister Harp standing in the break between Priest's house and the village
shrine, and for an instant he wondered what she might have been asking the ler; then he remembered that that passage could be used as a shortcut down to the
blacksmith's forge and the smith's adjoining house, a house that was also home
to the old blacksmith's youngest son, Harp's friend and perhaps future husband
Smudge.
    A
visit there was f ar more likely than consulting priests or ler.
    "Hello,
Harp," Breaker said. "Are you on your way home?" "Yes.
You?"
    She didn't bother to
answer, but fell in beside him as they walked up the winding lane.
    It was a beautiful
day, a gentle breeze rippling leaves that were just beginning to turn to red or
brown or gold. The sky above was richly blue, arching from the pavilion atop
the ridge in the southwest to the distant cliffs in the east. The fields at the
foot of the slope were bare and dark, and some of the village children were
picking through the debris left by the harvest, looking for barleycorns to chew
or scraps they could incorporate into toys or games. The trees beyond the
farthest field hid the river and docks from sight, but Breaker knew they were
there, marking the boundary of Mad Oak, the edge of his family's world.
    The
weather and Harp's presence swiftly eased his temper, and the view down the
ridge reminded him of his place in Mad Oak, and that becoming one of the Chosen
would mean a place in t he wider world beyond.
    "So," Harp
said, as they left the square, "are you serious about this?"
    "About
what?" He didn't really need to ask, but he wanted to hear her say it.
    "About becoming
the next Swordsman."
    He didn't answer
immediately, but rubbed absently at the bruise on his chest.
    "I'm not
sure," he said at last, as they passed the house adjoining their own.
"I thought I was, but I keep changing my mind."
    "It's a big
decision," Harp agreed. Breaker nodded.
    They stopped in
front of the family home by silent mutual consent, and stood for a moment. Then
Breaker said, "I don't want to be just a barley farmer all my life. I
don't want to be just the kid who broke things."
    "You
don't have to be," Harp said. "I was called Spiller when I was
little, you know , and everyone thought I'd just be a farmwife like our mother, raising
beans and children, canning and sewing and cooking."
    "And you think
you won't be? You won't just marry Smudge and grow beans and barley, and bear
his children?"
    "Oh, I
might—but when was the last time anyone called me Spiller?" She smiled.
    "That's
different. You've been playing the harp since .. . well, since .. ."
    "Since I was
ten, and you were six," Harp finished. "Thirteen years. And no one's
called me Spiller since I was twelve."
    "It's a little
late for me to take up anything like that, then. I never had your ear for
music."
    "You never
tried."
    "I never wanted
to."
    "But you want
to wield a sword?"
    "I don't ... well, I..." He frowned,
remembering the cold ferocity of the blade when he first held it, and the exhausting
hour with the willow branch. "I don't know," he admitted.
    "Erren,"
she said, "tell me what you do know. What do you want? Not just what you don't want, but
what you do."
    Startled
by the almost-forbidden use of a piece of his true name, which demonstrated
just how seriously Harp took this question, Breaker hesitated a moment longer
to gather his thoughts. Hearing that bit of his real identity spoken aloud
seemed to help, and at last he said, "I want to be a part of somethi ng bigger than Mad
Oak. I want to see more than Mad Oak. Sometimes it