Read Online The Ninth Talisman by Lawrence Watt-Evans - Free Book Online Page B

my way through the Midlands.”
    â€œWinterhome?” The priest dropped Sword’s hand. “Surely, you don’t mean you’re on your way to kill the Wizard Lord?”
    â€œNo, no!” Sword hastily raised both hands in protest. “Of course not—unless you know of some reason I should. I do want to speak with him, if he’s willing, but I have no reason to wish him harm.” He gestured at the road. “I came here from Mad Oak by myself, unguided, in just half a day. If anything, I owe him my thanks.”
    â€œYes! Yes, we’re very excited about these roads—though I must say, the construction was quite painful for myself and the other priests. Even the king felt it. For myself, I lay sick in bed for four full days, andI still can’t eat certain foods without dire consequences. When we saw you coming we had hoped it was the start of regular trade with Mad Oak.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Sword said. “It’s just me. But if you want to trade, I’m sure the people of Mad Oak would be happy to see a merchant’s wagon.”
    The acolyte blinked. “A what?”
    â€œA merchant’s wagon. They use them in the Midlands—it’s like a farmer’s wagon, but closed in, and full of things to sell or trade.”
    â€œOh! Those! Three of them came down from Rock Bridge, with all manner of wondrous things, when the road first opened. That was what convinced our king to let more roads be built. But we don’t have anything like that
here,”
Toru said.
    â€œOf course you don’t, not yet. Foolish of me. But you might see about building one, or bringing one of your own up the road from the Midlands.”
    â€œOh,” Toru said. “Oh!”
    â€œCan we do that?” someone said. The little crowd had been listening to the entire conversation, of course.
    â€œI don’t see why not; would your
ler
forbid it?”
    â€œThe
ler
of Willowbank obey the Priest-King, just as we all do,” Toru said. “If he wants us to build wagons, we will build wagons.”
    â€œI see.” Sword had encountered such places before, where humanity had gained ascendance over nature—or rather, where the priests had. Not all of them were pleasant. He hadn’t realized Willowbank operated on that model. “If I might ask, how far is it to Rock Bridge? Could I reach it before dark?”
    Toru glanced at the sun. “I doubt it,” he said. “Not unless you ran the entire way.”
    â€œIn that case, is there somewhere I could stay the night? I don’t want to inconvenience anyone . . .”
    â€œNonsense! The slayer of the Dark Lord of the Galbek Hills is always welcome in Willowbank!” Toru hesitated after completing this fulsome sentence, then added, “That is, I believe so, but of course, the king’s word is final.”
    â€œOf course. What is the proper etiquette for asking his permission?”
    â€œI’ll see to it myself, if you could wait here for a moment.”
    And with that, the acolyte turned and trotted toward the village proper, leaving Sword surrounded by eager villagers asking questions about the road, Mad Oak, the Dark Lord he had slain, his sword, and every other remotely relevant subject they could think of. Sword did his best to answer them all politely, even if only to say, “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”
    A few moments later the priest returned, with instructions to escort Sword to guest quarters in the Priest-King’s own mansion. Escaping the eager little crowd was a relief.
    The relief was short-lived, however. Once he had entered the great shadowy central corridor of the mansion, rather than taking him directly to his room, three more acolytes descended on him and hurried him to an ablutory; the Priest-King wanted him to freshen up, and then present himself for an audience. Refusing was out of the question, so