by Steven Brust
"Yes, my lord. And may I be permitted to hope Your Lordship will return someday?"
"Yes," said Pel. "You may hope."
As for what Pel intended to do, as this does not enter our story for some time yet, we must, regretfully, delay the revelation until a more appropriate moment. For now, we will return once more to the point in time when Orlaan was asking herself where Piro and his friends were going; yet it is not Orlaan on whom we look, nor is it our friend the Viscount, but, instead, we will observe a place many long miles to the west and south where, sitting on the ground in another campsite, Ibronka asked Röaana, "Is that not the ocean-sea I am smelling?"
"As to that," said Röaana, "I believe it may very well be. Or, at any rate, if it is not, well, I am imagining the same thing."
"Then, if we can smell the sea, we must be nearing the coast."
"That is my opinion as well."
"And, moreover—"
"How, there is more?"
"Nearly. Moreover, when we reach the coast—"
"Yes?"
"We say farewell to the caravan of handsome Dragonlords."
"Ah!"
"You say, 'ah'?"
"Yes, my dear Ibronka."
"But what do you mean?"
"I mean, my love, that upon saying farewell to the caravan, well, you must also say farewell to that handsome corporal who has been paying you such attention for the last hundred leagues."
"Why, Röaana, upon my word, I have no idea what you mean."
"How, you don't know why he has been dropping back to see to his rear echelons twenty or thirty times a day?"
"My love, there is a certain emphasis in how you say 'rear echelons' that causes me some distress."
"Is that why you are blushing?"
"Bah. I could make you blush as well, if I wished."
"Could you? I cannot think how."
"Well, my dear Röaana, I might mention a certain subaltern with extraordinarily long and flowing hair who fixes saddle cinches so well. Or perhaps he does not fix them so well after all, for if he did, he would not need to check his work at least once each hour."
"Oh, that means nothing."
"I beg your pardon, but it must mean something, or else—"
"Yes, or else?"
"Or else you would not be blushing."
"Well, you perceive that at least we match."
"Yes, that is true, at any rate."
"And, as for the subaltern, I will tell you something."
"Well, I am listening."
"He kisses well."
"How, you permitted him to kiss you?"
"And, if I did?"
"Well, and how was it?"
"I assure you, my dear Ibronka, I could come to enjoy this pastime."
"Well, but when did you find time to kiss him?"
"Do you recall a time two nights ago when there was a disturbance among the horses, so that half the caravan was alerted?"
"Why yes, my dear, I do remember it."
"After it was over, I happened to be standing near those horses, and it chanced that Saynac—"
"That is the subaltern?"
"Exactly."
"Well, go on."
"It happened that Saynac came by after seeing to the horses, and, well, we went for a short walk."
"I never knew!"
"Well, but have you never had the chance to kiss your corporal?"
"How, you pretend I would let him kiss me?"
"My dear Ibronka, if you wouldn't, then, well, I tell you plainly you are missing out."
"Well then, I am not missing out."
"Ah! Well, but when did you kiss?"
"You were just speaking of the evening when the horses were disturbed?"
"Why yes, in fact, I was."
"Well, that is to say, it was Dortmond and I who disturbed the horses."
"You shameless thing!"
"Well, and what of yourself?"
"Oh, I am equally shameless, I promise you. Your corporal's name, then, is Dortmond?"
"Yes, that is his name, and his kisses are superb."
"Well then, as I said, you shall miss him."
"It is true what you say, as, no doubt, you shall miss your subaltern."
"But, leaving dalliance aside, my friend, we must consider what we are to do when we reach Hartre, which is the end of the caravan, but not of our own journey."
"Well, to continue together would be safer than for each of us to continue alone."
"With this I agree. And more pleasant as well, for I tell you plainly that I enjoy your company so much that I consider us friends."
"Well, and I agree entirely, my dear Röaana. Here is my hand."
"And here is mine."
"Then it is settled. When we reach Hartre, we will continue together along the coast, and if there are dangers, well, we each have good steel, and a good friend."
"That is my opinion exactly."
At this point Clari approached them and said, "Excuse me, my ladies."
"Yes, Clari?" said Ibronka.
"I have just learned that we arrive in Hartre to-morrow, my lady, and I thought you should know."
"Yes, that was well thought. Thank you, Clari."
"You are welcome, my lady."
The maid bowed, and prepared to depart, but Röaana said, "One moment, my good Clari."
"Yes, my lady?"
"I am curious as to how you came by this information."
"How I came by the information?" asked the maid, appearing slightly uneasy.
"Yes, Clari, if you don't mind telling me. And, moreover—"
"There is more, my lady?"
"Well, I wonder where you have been this last hour since we made camp."
"Oh, madam, if you or my mistress required me—"
"Not at all," said Röaana. "As I said, I am merely curious."
"Come to that," said Ibronka, "well, I am too. How is it you have learned that we will arrive to-morrow when neither I nor my friend Röaana have come by this information?"
"Oh, well—"
"Yes?"
"That is to say—"
"Come, come, Clari. What is it?"
"Well, there is this Captain—"
"How!" cried Ibronka.
"A Captain?" said Röaana.
"That is to say—"
"No, no," said Ibronka. "You have said quite enough."
And the poor maid was required to stand and listening to the Dzurlord and the Tiassa laughing like children for quite five minutes before she was dismissed and permitted to return to her Captain and resume their interrupted conversation.
Early the next day, the caravan arrived outside of Hartre, which, as we have already had the honor to mention, was a once-thriving port city as well a center of fishing, though its prosperity had fallen off considerably since Adron's Disaster. It was Kâna's plan to rebuild this city both as a defensive bastion against Elde Island (he considered Rundeel too close, and Adrilankha too far), and, simultaneously, to establish regular shipping between it and Noithport, the latter of which was well located for his home in the Kanefthali Mountains. It was to this end that he had caused a caravan full of trade goods and accompanied by a small part of his army to be sent to Hartre. His intention was to arrange for a ship to be built, refurbished, or commandeered, depending on circumstances, then filled with goods and sent to Candletown, where other goods might be traded for, and to sail from there "around the corner" (as sailors call it) to Noithport.
It was, in the opinion of this historian, a good plan, and one that showed that Kâna, or, at any rate, his cousin, had that ability to see into the future in some degree that marks a true leader. Indeed, it would be instructive to follow this expedition, with all its unexpected turns and repercussions; yet as it only occasionally and indirectly intersects with the history we have chosen to relate, we cannot permit ourselves more than a brief summary of its goals, as we allow it to pass us by while we follow those persons who were as incidental to Kâna's mission a
s this mission is incidental to our history. What is more significant to our history, then, is the fact that a day after their last conversation, the Tiassa, the Dzurlord, and the maid met at the rapidly dwindling encampment to discuss their plans for the next day.
"Well," said Ibronka, "we must leave early in the morning, and get a good start."
"Yes," said Röaana, "to this I agree."
"I will be ready, my lady," added Clari.
"But," said Röaana, "apropos, have we supplies for traveling?"
"Oh," said Ibronka, "as to supplies, well, I am on tolerably good terms with one of the quartermasters, and so we can get all we need."
"Well, that is good then. And as to fodder, there will, I believe, be grass all of the way, and I can procure for us a certain amount of oats, as one of the grooms has been showing me some attention."
"And I," said Clari, "have found a merchant who pretends to have more canvas than he requires, and has made me an offer of some of it when he learned we would be traveling."
"Bah," said Ibronka. "My dear Röaana, this girl will show us both up."
"That is true, my dear Ibronka, yet we will have our revenge, for each time she does—"
"Yes, each time she does?"
"Well, we will make her blush."
"Ah, that is a good revenge."
"Well, there is no more to say about that, then."
Needless to say, the matter of revenge was entirely successful, as the poor Teckla was fully flushed.
Röaana then said, much to the relief of Clari, "On another subject entirely, I have something to say."
"Well?"
"I am not ashamed to admit to you that, well, I have some concerns."
"How, concerns?"
"Yes. We have more than five hundred kilometers to travel, and that is if we go in a straight line; you perceive it is even longer if follow the coast."
"Well, and then?"
"There are only two of us and the pretty Clari, and I know little enough of the lands through which we will be traveling, and, to be honest—"
"Yes, yes. Be honest, by all means."
"Well, I should be sorry to meet an ignominious end before ever reaching our destination. That is to say, the sort of adventures I anticipate do not involve being waylaid by highwaymen in a lonely jungle in the dead of night. It does not seem to be a very romantic way to die."
"Do you know," said Ibronka, "there is a great deal of justice in what you say. But then, can you think of anything to do about it?"
"Oh, you wish for an idea?"
"Yes, exactly. An idea. Do you have one?"
"Well, I admit I have sometimes had ideas."
"That is but natural; you are a Tiassa."
"Oh, I don't deny that."
"Have you an idea now?"
"Your pardon, my ladies, but may I speak?"
"Certainly, Clari, if you can be spared from the attentions of your Captain, well, we should adore hearing what you have to say."
Clari blushed and said, "Oh, my lady, he has already said farewell and gone about his business."
"I hope," said Röaana, "that he said farewell with more than words."
"Oh, my lady!"
"Well, but," said Ibronka, "what is it you have to say?"
"My lady, my family is from Hartre."
"Well, and?"
"There are certain clans of Teckla in the district who, I think, retain some affection for my family."
"Go on, Clari. You perceive this conversation interests me exceedingly."
"It seems to me, my lady, that if I should speak with them, I might learn something of the safest routes to travel, and perhaps how to avoid whatever dangers there might be, and, if Fortune smiles, we will even be able to find maps."
"For my part," said Röaana, "I think this an excellent plan."
"Yes, indeed," said Ibronka. "It is very well thought of, Clari. Go and see to it."
"I will do so this very instant."
Clari was, we should say, so successful in her mission that when the three of them set out at dawn of the next day it was with a certain confidence that they would, indeed, arrive in due course in the city of Adrilankha, and, not withstanding the lack of escort or caravan, without any of the more unpleasant sorts of adventures.
Having now looked in upon Ibronka and her friend, we will continue our steady progress in time (if saltatory in space) by looking in on Brachington's Moor, where our old friend Aerich, sitting at a sort of secretary, has just pulled upon a certain bell-rope.
In a very short time, a frail-looking, grey-haired Teckla, who, for all of his apparent age, nevertheless stood straight as a bar of iron, came into the room and gave Aerich a courtesy. Aerich acknowledged the salute, and carefully set down the paper upon which he had been writing, as well as the long feathered quill he had been writing with. He looked at the paper, which but awaited his signature, as if he didn't recognize it; then he turned his attention once more to the Teckla who stood patiently waiting before him.
"Well, Steward," said the worthy Lyorn. "How did the winter stores of fodder hold out?"
"Your Venerance," said Steward, "we had a bin that had only just been broached."
"Good," said Aerich. "Then we will plan on the same levels for next year. Make a note of it."
Steward bowed.
"Next," said the Duke, "how is the water?"
"Your Venerance, it was last tested at the beginning of winter, and found to be pure enough."
"See that it is tested again."
"Yes, Venerance."
"Finally," said Aerich, "how progress the plans for the restoration of the smokehouse?"
"The carpenters pretend they have to send away for the sort of lumber Your Venerance has requested."
"And then?"
"They do not expect to be able to begin for ten or twelve days, Venerance."
"Very well, that is acceptable."
Steward bowed. "Is that all Your Venerance requires?"
"No."
Steward waited.
"You are familiar with the southwest room on the third story."
"Yes, Your Venerance. And the proof is: It is an empty room that is never used, and it has a wooden floor that is swept twice a week."
"Yes, and there is a closet in that room. The closet is locked. Here is the key. You will unlock the closet, remove what is within, and arrange it. Fawnd will help you; he is aware of how the equipment works. You will attach the climb ropes, set up the striking board, place the targets, and lay out the mat."
"Yes, Venerance."
"It will be ready by morning to-morrow."
Steward bowed.
"You will have Fawnd awaken me one hour earlier each morning from now on, but my breakfast will be ready at the usual time."
"As Your Venerance wishes."
Aerich nodded, and looked once more at the letter he had just written. The text upon it was as follows:
My Dear Galstan, I hope this letter finds you well. I hope, moreover, that your mission was successful. I have heard nothing from you or from our brave Tiassa, yet I imagine it is too soon for the results, if any, to be known, and even too soon for me to write to him. Nevertheless, if you have learned anything, I should be most glad to hear of it.
As for other matters, it continued, I confess that I worry about you. A certain delicacy prevented my interrogating you while you were here, yet I begin to believe that I should have. Word reached my ears of stirrings to the west that are stretching out in our direction. The encroachment of Easterners in this district increased, and more of them are moving west. Tazendra, who left some years ago upon what she called a "quest, "has not returned, nor have I heard word of her. A certain oracle who lives in the district and passes by once or twice a year, speaks of occurrences in Dzur Mountain and pretends that great events are afoot.
And in all of this, I think of you, my dear friend, and am taken with a fear that matters will put us upon opposite sides. This would be a great sadness to me.
For this reason, I wish to know something of your plans, your intentions, and, especially, whom you are now serving, and in what capacity. Believe me when I say that my only reason for this request is the desire to avoid crossing blades with you. Of the things I treasure in this life, there is nothing to which I attach more value than my friendship with you, Tazendra, and Khaavren; and if anything I can do might serve to prevent a rupture of that friendship, I should like to know what it is, because you must believe that, if it lies within my power, I will do it.
I remain, my dear friend.
Your affectionate
Aerich.
Aerich picked this letter up, quickly signed it, spread the sand, and brushed it off, after which he handed it to Steward, who accepted it with a bow.
"To what address does Your Venerance wish it sent?" he asked.
Aerich considered for a long moment, then finally said, "None. Throw it into the fire on your way out."
Steward bowed, and, without expression, carried out his master's orders.
* * * *
*As far as I can determine, the "noted historian" in question is Paarfi himself.—SB
Chapter the Twenty-Ninth
How Our Friends Arrived
At Deathgate Falls, and
What They Did There
The months between Zerika's departure from Dzur Mountain and and her approach to Deathgate Falls have been the subject of countless romances and numberless ballads, none of them agreeing with any of the others in important details, except for those occasions when some especially inspired incident, such as the supposed "debate with the dragon," are copied by all of those who follow. In fact, none of those on the journey have spoken of anything save its remarkable end, wherefore, however, much the historian wishes to, he can say nothing useful on this long and, we may assume, arduous journey until the point in time when, nearly a full year after setting off on their mission, Piro looked around and said, "How high up are we?"
Kytraan said, "It feels to be the same height as North Pinewood Hold, which has been measured as nearly half a league higher than the sea."
"Bah. North Pinewood Hold is a thousand miles from the sea; how can they know that?"
"As to that, I cannot say."
