Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 by The Wizard Lord (v1.1) Page A

was
something numinous, something of ler, but he could not give it a name.
    He blinked, his first conscious movement
since he had lost himself in the wizard's chant, and that seemed to break some
small part of the spell; he could still feel the rushing, and his hands still
held whatever they held, but he was once again entirely himself, the young man
called Breaker—or the Young Swordsman.
    He raised himse lf up on his elbows
and looked around.
    The thing in his
right hand was the hilt of a sword, one of the two the Old Swordsman had
brought—hardly a surprise, since they were the only swords in Mad Oak. He
raised the blade and looked at it, then let it fall a t his side.
    He opened his left hand to find the silver
talisman clutched to his palm; he closed the hand again.
    He was not alone in the room; his mother was
sitting on his one chair, watching him. She had that familiar worried
expression she wore whenever one of her children was ill, whether from eating
too many sweets or angering the ler or whatever other causes might put a child to
bed with aches and fever.
    He glanced at the window and asked,
"What time is it?" Then he reconsidered, and without waiting for a
reply asked, "What day is it?"
    "It's still the same day," his
mother said. "It's a little after noon."
    "Oh, good," he said, sitting up.
"That's not bad."
    "Not bad? You were unconscious for hours! Even when
that black-coated wizard and the Old Swordsman and your father hauled you down the steps
you didn't so much as stir!"
    "I wasn't exactly ... well, I was unconscious, I suppose, but
it ... I can't explain. It's
magic."
    "Of course it's magic!" she
snapped. "You've gone and gotten yourself involved in things you shouldn't,
you have wizards putting spells on you and Elder Priestess arguing with half
the ler in Mad Oak about you, you defeated the world's
greatest swordsman in battle—of course it's
magic! It's a wonder you're still alive and have your own soul !"
    He grinned, and
asked, "How do you know I still have my own soul?"
    "Erren Zal Tuyo, do you think I don't
know my own son?"
    The sound of the first three elements of his
true name was a shock; he could not recall ever having heard his mother say all
three of them aloud before. People in Mad Oak didn't do that. The mysterious
rushing seemed to swirl and eddy at the psychic impact.
    "I suppose you do," he admitted,
still smiling. "Though I'm not entirely sure / do anymore! That spell—it
connected me to the ler, to everything, and it took me a while to remember
who I was and find my way back. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had taken
a few days, or even months."
    "So it's all worked, then?"
    "I think so."
    "And you're the Swordsman? The world's
greatest swordsman? One of the Chosen?" "I think so."
    "And now you're ready to go kill the
Wizard Lord if someone asks you to?"
    Breaker's cheerful mood dimmed at that
question. "I suppose I am," he said—but as he spoke he remembered
the talking rabbit, and how the Wizard Lord had been reluctant to hurt the
creature's throat by forcing it to continue its unnatural speech. That was
hardly the act of a cruel or thoughtless man; Breaker could not easily imagine
why he might be called upon to kill such a man.
    But as he re membered the fight
he was reminded of other questions. Why had the Old Swordsman fought so
fiercely, when he had come to Mad Oak and spent months in preparation
specifically to lose that very duel? Why had the Wizard Lord's rabbit spoken up
when it did, startling the Old Swordsman and giving Breaker the opening he
needed?
    Why did the Wizard Lord live virtually alone,
out in the wilderness? He had not dared ask that before, but now ...
    "Where's the Old Swordsman?" he
asked. "I need to talk to him ..." He belatedly remembered thrusting a sword point into the man's shoulder.
"Is he all right?" He glanced down at the sword in his right hand,
and saw that yes, it was the same weapon, and a bit of his opponent's blood was
still streaked on