the
ler.
Why bother, then? What had the wizard himself gotten out of his magic? He had come here to steal womenâwhat a miserable, lonely existence he must have led to resort to such brutality!
And with that thought, all temptation to steal the wizardâs magic was gone, and the urge to leave the village as well. Think how
lonely
life must be for people who could not speak to every rock or tree!
âI thank you, spirits of my homeland, for your aid and answers,â she said, as she unstrung her bow.
Then she sighed and marched toward the barley field to deal with the mess.
Â
Sword straightened up slowly; his back was stiff from the cold.
âYou see?â Younger Priestess said. âWe need a Wizard Lord to keep such people away! Deception and rape and murder, from a lone wizard!â
âThis Tala seems to have dealt quite effectively with that one by herself,â Sword said, as he got slowly to his feet. He did not bother pointing out that the long-ago wizard had not managed to rape or murder anyone. âI think that if people organized themselves properly, we wouldnât need anyone to help us against the wizards.â
âBut think how clever that wizard was, luring away the men! If Tala hadnât been quick-witted with her lies . . .â
âBut she was,â Sword interrupted.
âBut what if she werenât? As long as there are wizards, we still need a Wizard Lord. And as long as there is a Wizard Lord, we need the Chosen. We need
you.â
âMaybe,â Sword said. He shivered slightly. âItâs late, and Iâm cold. Good night, Priestessâand thank you for that little taste of the distant past; it does give me something to think about.â
Younger Priestess stared at him for a moment, then gave up. âGood night, then, Sword,â she said.
As he walked back toward his motherâs house, Sword thought about what he had just experienced, but it was not merely the danger of uncontrolled wizardry he considered. Instead he found himself remembering what it was like to be a woman, with a body that moved differently, always aware that you were vulnerable in ways men were not. And what it was like to be a priestess, bound to the spirits of the land, always surrounded by the inhuman voices of the
ler.
He had spent months in the company of the Speaker of All Tongues, known as Babble, who heard
all
the
ler,
not just those who cooperated with the local priests; now he had some inkling of what she lived with constantly, the barrage of voices and demands.
But he had also experienced the closeness of Talaâs ties to her home. Sword had long felt himself strangely isolated from his fellows; even before he accepted the role of Chosen Swordsman, he had sometimes felt as if he didnât really fit in here in Mad Oak.
Now he knew just how well a person
could
fit in here; Tala had been his opposite in many ways. She had been a part of the town, as he was notâbut she had been confined by it, as well as supported.
Everything had its price, had both benefits and costs. That was simply how the world was. All anyone could do was to try to find the right balance.
The existence of the Wizard Lord and the Chosen was a part of the system that had kept Barokan peaceful for centuries, and whether he liked it or not, the system was in place. It was something he had to accept.
At least, as long as there were wizards. If they someday died out, then everything would change.
And there were only about eighteen or nineteen wizards left in all of Barokan. They
were
dying out, slowly.
There might yet be an end to wizards and wizardry and Wizard Lords someday, and no more need for the Chosen.
Someday.
But not today. Not yet.
[ 1 ]
Sword paused on the path below the pavilion, an empty jug in his hand. Standing a few yards past the brewerâs house that marked the end of the villageâs central cluster of homes, he leaned forward,