(eng) Lawrence Watt-Evans - Annals of the Chosen 02 by The Ninth Talisman

Author:The Ninth Talisman [Talisman, The Ninth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

[ 13 ]

A little over a year after his return from Winterhome, a few months less than a year after the burning of the Mad Oak, Sword was plowing a recently harvested bean field in the river bottom, hoping the unusually warm weather might hold long enough to get a second crop in, when the stranger came marching up.

The new arrival was a rather slender young man of moderate height, scarcely more than a boy, clad in a flowing green-and-gold silk cloak that was absurdly out of place out here. His long black hair was swept back in a ponytail and adorned with three long ara plumes, and he strode along boldly as he emerged from the patch of boggy woods that separated this field from the heart of Mad Oak.

“Ho, farmer!” he called, raising a hand in salute. “I seek Erren Zal Tuyo, the Chosen Swordsman!”

Sword called to his ox and gave the plow a jerk, setting it hard in the ground; he had been planning to take a break at the end of the furrow in any case, so there was no harm in being polite and seeing what this little popinjay wanted. He rubbed his aching hands together, then turned to address the stranger.

“Why?” he called, as the young man approached.

“I have a message for him,” the stranger said as he stopped at the side of the field. Sword was relieved that at least the fellow had the sense not to simply walk out onto freshly turned soil; he looked like a bit of a fool. That cloak was excessively gaudy, even by the new standards brought on by the sudden availability of exotic fabrics and dyes, and his manner was absurdly pompous.

“Where is he?” the stranger demanded.

“I don’t think the Swordsman is expecting any messages,” Sword replied, amused.

“Well, he’ll get this one all the same,” the messenger said cheerfully. “At least, if he’s still alive and fit.”

“Fit enough,” Sword said. “What’s this message, then?”

“Are you his secretary, perhaps? Why should I tell you?”

Sword grimaced. “I’m no one’s secretary,” he said. “I’m Erren Zal Tuyo, the Chosen Swordsman. What’s the message?”

The messenger looked suddenly uncertain. “You’re the Swordsman?” he asked.

“I’m the Swordsman. What were you expecting, then? Do I not match the description they gave you?”

“They gave me no description,” the stranger said. “But you hardly look like a great swordsman. You’re not much older than I am, and I expected someone more . . . lithe. Besides, you don’t have a sword.”

Sword judged the age difference to be at least a few years. He sighed deeply.

“Nonetheless, I am the Chosen Swordsman. Why would I carry a sword while plowing?” He frowned. “You know, I don’t think I’m interested in your message after all. I should get back to work.”

“Oh, I think the Swordsman will be interested in this one,” the young man said, puffing out his chest. “Now, can you direct me to him?”

“I told you, I’m the Swordsman.”

The messenger waved a hand dismissively. “Show me some evidence of this unlikely claim, then.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.