by Steven Brust
"Oh? How is that possible?"
"Well, we went into battle in the service of this fellow Southmoor—"
"My lord Morrolan, yes."
"Yes. A good Dragonlord, so far as I can tell. I did some garrison duty for his father before the Interregnum. E'Drien, the same line as my esteemed mother, although I am inclined to think I take more after the e'Terics line of my father."
"Well, and?"
"And then to-day I am told that I am in the Imperial army, which is another matter altogether."
"How, you do not wish to be in the Imperial army?"
"Well, at least not without being asked."
"I understand. But are you in the Imperial army, or is it that you serve in Morrolan's army, and he has put his army into the service of the Empire?"
"Perhaps that is the case. You perceive, I am uncertain, and this vexes me."
"Well, at all events, you are fighting on behalf of the Lord Morrolan, and for the Empire. Is this bad?"
"Looked at that way, why, no. And, to be sure, when all is over, no doubt I will be able to discover which army I am in, and, if I am not then in Morrolan's service, I can enter it again."
"Perhaps by then you will be an officer."
"Never in life. I have no wish to be an officer. Too much is expected of officers."
"Then a sergeant?"
"Better to be an officer."
"But then, tell me, if it is not for advancement—"
"Oh, it is not, I assure you."
"Then why do you like being a soldier?"
"Why, because of all the charming people I meet."
"Well, certainly that is a reason that didn't occur to me."
"Oh, it is true. And, except for the annoyance of battles from time to time, I find the life most pleasurable. I value the companionship, the singing—"
"Singing?"
"Oh, certainly. We often sing around the fires at night. 'I Hate the Soldier's Life,' and, 'What an Officer Must Kiss,' and, 'Only a Fool Joins the Army,' and, 'What Girl Would Marry a Soldier?' and many others."
"I should very much admire to hear them."
"I shall sing them for you, when you wish."
"But living out of doors all the time—isn't it trying?"
"Have you ever done it?"
"Too much of late, I'm afraid. I have been following my mistress about from one end of the world to the other, and never a roof over our heads."
"Ah, well, but you see, I like it."
Clari nodded. "You should be a soldier."
"You think so?"
"I am convinced of it."
"Then it is decided. I shall be a soldier."
"You already are a soldier."
"Oh, so I am. Well, in that case—"
"Yes?"
"Would you like to share my pomegranate?"
"I should like nothing better."
Chapter the Sixty-First
How It Is Shown That When
Sethra Lavode Is Uneasy,
Everyone Is Uneasy
Morrolan's army—or, we should say, the Imperial army, for no one was entirely certain which it was at that moment—continued to grow. Even after Kâna's order making his army ready to move, the magical attacks continued, the demoralization became worse, and there were more desertions than ever—and of these deserters, many met with Pel's recruitment agents, and no small number of these agreed to serve Morrolan (or the Empire—the recruiting agents were not entirely clear on this point). And of each hundred who joined, one or two might know enough of sorcery that, having become citizens, and now with the power of the Orb at their disposal, they could learn to teleport well enough to aid in the transfer of supplies, which, in turn, gave Sethra Lavode, Sethra the Younger, the Sorceress in Green, and Tazendra more time to transfer troops—an operation that by now was nearing its completion.
"But," observed Morrolan, who had been studying sorcery with an intensity impossible to describe, "I cannot help but wonder what it is for."
"Some great purpose, it would seem," said Arra, "although, to be sure, as an Easterner, I know little of such things."
"And I, raised as an Easterner, know as little as you. Although," he added, considering, "three counties to the north seem like good things to have."
"Yes, my lord."
"And, as our army grows, the day comes nearer when I can take it back east, to attend to certain matters that I hate leaving undone."
Before Arra could respond, someone else spoke: "I beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help overhearing, and you speak of a project that interests me greatly."
Morrolan turned, frowned, and said, "And I beg your pardon, madam, but whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
"I am Sethra."
Morrolan frowned. "I beg your pardon once more, my lady, but I have had the honor of meeting Sethra Lavode, and—"
"I am her apprentice."
"Ah. It is, indeed, an honor, madam."
"The honor is mine, my lord."
"Permit me to name my friend, Arra."
"My lady," said the priestess, bowing.
Sethra the Younger gave her a nod, and, addressing Morrolan once more, said, "But I heard you speak of going east, with an army."
"Ah. Yes, that is a little project of mine. I was raised in the East, and was forced to leave in something of a hurry, without having punished certain persons who caused me some annoyance."
"So that you intend to return, at the head of an army, and set matters right?"
"That is exactly the case, my lady."
"When that time comes, I should very much admire to accompany you. It may be that I will prove of value to you in your endeavors. While I am not Sethra Lavode, I am at least her apprentice."
"What you say interests me greatly, madam," said Morrolan, "and we will certainly speak more of it."
"Yes, I eagerly anticipate doing so."
"And I as well. But first, there is the matter of this Whitestone, or Skinter, or Kâna, or whatever he calls himself." Morrolan brought himself to the edge of the roof and looked out. The movement of Kâna's army could be clearly discerned, like so many insects moving slowly along the road in a thin column, with many thousands still in their encampment waiting for their marching orders. "I find," continued Morrolan, "that this fellow irritates me. He ought to be suppressed."
"That is the project which engages us, my lord."
"And yet, once more we must wait." Morrolan sighed. "Come, tell me what you think. Could this temple not become an admirable ball-room?"
"A ball-room, my lord?"
"Yes. Should I build a castle here, I would think that this structure, now a temple, might be an admirable ball-room, already with small alcoves for private conversation."
"It is now a temple?"
"Yes, dedicated to Verra, my patron Goddess."
"And you are, instead, considering making it a ballroom?"
"For my castle, yes."
"I think you ought to have a castle; you perceive it is traditional."
"Yes, and I am told that floating castles are traditional in my family."
"That is true."
"And soon I shall be able to manage the levitation spells myself. I can nearly do so now."
"But if this is to become a ball-room—"
"Well?"
"What then of your Goddess?"
"It is of the Goddess I have been thinking. You were raised here in Faerie—that is, in the lands of the Empire; I should be grateful for your advice."
"Whatever I know is at your disposal, my lord."
"Well, in the lands where I was raised, it was not uncommon to have a place wherein people would gather to praise and commune with the Gods. Yet here, it seems, this is done in private—here, it seems, if one wishes to speak with one's God, one does so by one's self. Is this not the case?"
"You have stated it admirably, my lord. In the large cities, there are altars and shrines, and occasionally even small temples dedicated to certain deities. But
these are rarely attended by more than one or two persons at a time, except, perhaps, on certain calendar days that might be sacred to one or the other of them."
"Then instead of a structure where all may gather to worship the Goddess, a smaller, more secluded room might be appropriate."
"Indeed, I know many who have such rooms. They use them when they wish to remain undisturbed, to be alone with their thoughts."
Morrolan nodded. "Then I shall cause such a room to be built. Perhaps a high tower with no windows, reached by climbing a ladder. A place of solitude. I will consider the matter."
"The Easterners," said Sethra the Younger, "believe that a God feeds on worship, and thus the more worshipers, the greater the God is pleased. We believe that what passes between a man and a God is private, and only of concern to them, as a conversation between two men is no one else's concern."
Morrolan bowed. "You seem to know a great deal about Easterners."
"A hunter must know his prey."
Morrolan frowned, but chose not to take the conversation in this direction, so he said, "But then, if it is nothing more than a conversation between two men, well, why are they Gods? That is, why speak to them at all?"
"I have had many hours of conversation with Sethra Lavode on this very subject."
"And have you come to any conclusions?"
"To call them 'conclusions,' my lord, may be coming at it rather strong."
"Then, instead?"
"Perhaps 'suggestions' would be a more precise term."
"Oh, I am in favor of precision in all things."
"A good quality, my lord, and I applaud it in you."
"Well, but tell me these suggestions to which you have just alluded."
"You wish to hear them?"
"Indeed, I should like nothing better."
"It seems, then, that, laying aside the superstitions of ignorant Easterners"—Morrolan, though faintly irritated at this, let it pass out of a desire to hear the rest of what she had to say—"most of us feel the need to believe that our life, that what we do, has some use or purpose greater than ourselves."
"That may be true, I had not considered it. But, what has this to do with a man communing with a God?"
"Listen, and I will attempt to explain."
"Very well."
"To be a God, is to embody principles greater than life—that is, greater than day-to-day existence. So then, insofar as one acts in accordance with the wishes of a God, one acts for a purpose higher than one's self. Do you see?"
"Nearly," said Morrolan. "And yet—"
"Yes?"
"I am uncertain as to this higher purpose to which you do me the honor of speaking."
"In what way are you uncertain?"
"Is it true that men desire it?"
"Don't you?"
"No," said Morrolan.
Sethra the Younger smiled. "Well, but you are young. It may be that, someday, you will."
"I do not say that this is impossible, only—"
"Yes?"
"It seems to me it would be a better world if, instead of considering higher purposes, we all simply tended to our own affairs. Let the Teckla plow the fields, with his ox or his mule to serve him; let the lord provide him protection from brigands. Let the Empire, if there must be one, facilitate trade and insure that the roads are safe. It seems to me that serving a higher purpose has led to more trouble than benefit. Think about our enemy, Kâna. If he were not so committed to what is, no doubt, in his mind a higher purpose, well, he should have been content to let matters lie, and we would not be required to go through all of this work to suppress him."
"There is, no doubt, some truth in what you say. But then, consider that Her Majesty, also, is committed to what one might call a higher purpose. And, were she not, then we should have no Empire. Or else we should have an Empire ruled by the likes of Kâna, which I do not believe I, for one, should care for, as I do not believe he has the favor of the Gods, nor of the Cycle, and these are both necessary to rule without undue tyranny."
"You make a good argument, madam. I must consider this further."
"I am pleased, sir, to have given you something to think about. I believe that we shall have much pleasure in one another's company when this is over."
Morrolan bowed. "I look forward exceedingly to more conversation with you. But for now—"
"Yes, I must return to my tedious task of sending crates and casks one way, and people another. It should go faster now: I have enlisted the help of a friend, a sorceress who wears only green. No doubt you will meet her later."
"I shall be glad to. And I am going to give more consideration to the sort of structure in which I may wish to live after these irritations have passed."
Sethra the Younger shook her head. "You appear sanguine, my lord, about the ultimate defeat of this Kâna."
"Well, and should I not? Our army is growing, his is diminishing. We have the sorcerous power of the Orb, he does not. We have a necromantic demon, and Eastern witches, whereas he has only mundane means of attack and defense. What chance can he have?"
"All you say is true, but—"
"Well?"
"I am worried nevertheless."
"Have you a reason to be worried?"
"Yes, and, moreover, I think it a good reason."
"Then tell me what it is, and I will consider."
"It is simply this: I have just left Sethra Lavode."
"Well, and?"
"And she is worried."
Sethra the Younger bowed and went about her business. Morrolan watched her go, and anyone looking upon his countenance at that moment would have been convinced that Morrolan, too, was now worried.
Chapter the Sixty-Second
How Three Women Had a Conversation
That Is Far More Entertaining
Than the Laughter of Lovers
Piro and Ibronka emerged arm in arm and laughing. They were at once joined by Röaana and Kytraan, the latter of whom said, "Come, what is this laughter? You must tell us why you laugh, and, if it is funny, why, we will laugh with you."
"Why are we laughing?" said Piro, nearly controlling his mirth.
"Yes, yes," said Röaana. "You must tell us about it."
"Well," said Ibronka, "we are laughing because—"
"Yes?" said Kytraan. "Because—?"
"I do not believe," said Piro, speaking with some difficulty, "that I could possibly explain, or, that if I did, you would understand."
"Oh, but you must try," said Röaana.
"Then tell me," said Ibronka, tears of laughter running down her cheeks, "do you consider it amusing that he has hair on the back of his hand?"
Piro lifted his hand to demonstrate, in case this was doubted. This action on his part was, unaccountably, a source of even more merriment, to judge from the response it elicited from Piro and Ibronka.
"Why, I cannot say that this is amusing, in all conscience," said Kytraan. "You perceive, we all have hair on the backs of our hands."
"Well, and so it is proved," said Piro.
"What is proved?"
"That I was right: You do not comprehend."
Piro and Ibronka looked at each other once more and began laughing again. Kytraan looked at Röaana, who shrugged and said, "Perhaps we have made a mistake."
"That is very possible," agreed Kytraan.
"However, it is better than it was before," suggested Röaana.
"Perhaps," said Kytraan.
Even as this conversation was reaching its conclusion, Piro and Ibronka were ahead of them, continuing a discussion of their own—a discussion on certain subjects which included not only arm hair, but skillets, telepathic plants, and chips of masonry, all of which were, evidently, sources of boundless mirth. Kytraan and Röaana shrugged and followed them down the hallway.
"Perhaps," said Röaana, "Kâna will launch an assault on us with overwhelming force."
Kytraan nodded hopefully.
Piro and Ibronka led them on a chase throu
ghout much of Sethra Lavode's lair, their uncontrollable mirth at last moderating to mere bubbling good spirits; they explored nooks and crannies, acting for a while as if they were children, and also now engaged in a secondary game, that being to find ways to distract their friends' attention long enough to steal a kiss without being observed.
This is, we hope, sufficient to give the reader an idea of what was transpiring with Piro and Ibronka—we have no doubt that should we continue in this vein the reader will soon feel as much annoyance as, in fact, was experienced by Kytraan and Röaana.
Wishing above all to do nothing that might distress or irritate our reader, therefore, we will turn our attention from the heady excitement of new love just revealed, to the cold intensity of old hatred carefully nurtured. From the east, then, we travel west to a place near the port city of Hartre, and three women, all united by a thirst for power and revenge, whose meeting cannot fail to be more entertaining for the reader than a continuation of the scene he has just witnessed.
They met in a small posting house less half a league east of Hartre. This was a charming house, often filled with music, and, in spite of its sign, which depicted a brown jug, was known far and wide as Peffa's for reasons of which we must confess our ignorance. Just a few steps from Peffa's was a small house that let rooms by the week or the year, and, as it was here that Illista was staying, she often passed her days at Peffa's, eating a little, drinking moderately, nursing her hatred and grievances, and awaiting word from Kâna.
On this day, she signaled for the attention of the hostess, a cheerful Chreotha with a dimpled chin and heavy eyebrows. On observing that her attention was requested, the hostess brought herself to Illista's table and inquired as to how she could be of service.
"My dear woman," she said, "I have been a guest in your fine house for several days now."
"Yes, my lady, and permit me to say how pleased we are with your patronage."
Illista bowed her head and said, "On the first day, I dined on a goose prepared with plums and oranges, which I found entirely satisfactory. On the next day, I sampled the stew that you keep cooking over the fire, and it was even better than the goose. The next day, it was a suckling pig being roasted over a spit—"
"Oh, yes, with the fat dripping into the stew. The stew is even better today."
