by Steven Brust
"My lord the Count, I am not such a fool as that."
"Well then?"
"How much am I to sacrifice, my lord? And to whom or to what is this sacrifice to be made? Who gains, and how much?"
"You sound like a merchant."
"Then I am ahead of my time, that is all."
"How, you think we are all to become merchants?"
"In ten years, it will be impossible to survive as a highwayman in this region. In a hundred years, it will be impossible anywhere. And in a thousand years, no one will be able to speak the word 'honor' without a disagreeable smirk upon his countenance."
"Do you really think it will come to that, Viscount?"
"I fear that it might."
"If so, well, I pity Aerich."
"And I pity you as well, my lord."
"Well, and you?"
"Oh, I do not pity myself; that would be useless, and nearly infamous."
"I meant, what will you do if all of these dire predictions of yours come to pass?"
"I shall have to find a way to survive that is less satisfactory than this, that is all. I am still young; I can always change my name and take a career in arms. Didn't you tell me once that, when you joined the Phoenix Guards, half of your comrades had enlisted under assumed names?"
"I should not like you to have to change your name, Viscount."
"Well, but I did so already, didn't I?"
"Yes. The Blue Fox. Apropos—"
"Well?"
"Do you believe there is something noble and romantic about being a highwayman?"
"Oh, as to that—"
"Well?"
"I very nearly do."
Khaavren sighed. "I imagine that, at your age, well, I would have thought so, too."
Piro bowed. "That was a noble admission, my lord."
Khaavren chuckled. "Well, but you must promise not to let my friend Aerich learn that I said it. You perceive, it would shatter his inflated opinion of my attributes."
"I will not say a word."
Khaavren smiled and fell silent once more.
In a little while, Piro said, "You will give my love to the Countess?"
"Of course, but you make it sound as if I am about to leave."
"Is there a reason to continue, my lord? You will not accept the woman I love, and I—"
"Yes, and you?"
"I will never leave Ibronka."
"Are you sure of her?"
"Cha! Are you sure of my mother the Countess?"
"Some might consider the question impertinent, Viscount. But I will simply say yes. But—"
"But?"
"I have never asked her to live in the woods, and survive by robbing poor merchants."
"Rich merchants, my lord."
"Very well, then, rich merchants."
"No, you have never asked her to live in the woods and rob. But, if you had, what would she have said?"
Khaavren frowned. "Well, that is to say—bah! Why could this girl of yours not have been a Tiassa?"
"For much the same reason that I could not be a Dzur."
"And yet, Viscount, it is wrong, that which you wish to do. Each time I try to bring myself to your position, I cannot get past that."
"What makes it wrong?"
Khaavren sighed. "The world is what it is, my son; not what we wish it to be."
"Have you not always taught me that we should make it what we wish it to be? And, indeed, haven't you been so engaged for the last year? I hope so, because that is what I thought I was doing as well."
"You have an answer for everything."
"I am in love; love answers everything."
"No, it does not, Viscount."
"Well, for a nature such as mine, it thinks it does, and that is very nearly the same."
"It pains me to leave with matters unresolved between us, Viscount."
"You can always reach me in care of Kekroka, at the Deepwell Inn."
Khaavren nodded. "Viscount, I am going to take my friends and return to Adrilankha, where I must have a conversation with Princess Sennya that I look forward to not at all."
"Yes, my lord."
"Before I go—"
"Well?"
"I should like to embrace you, Viscount."
"My lord, I should like nothing better."
Chapter
the Seventy-Eighth
how aerich discovered certain unsettling things near his home, and was able to draw various carefully deduced conclusions
It was on a Farmday in early winter—that is to say, more than half a year after the last chapter of our history—when Fawnd presented himself before his master, Aerich, Duke of Arylle.
Aerich was, at this time, sitting before the fire in his parlor reading poetry, which was a customary way for him to spend time when nothing more pressing was occurring, and he was not inclined to crochet. On this occasion, the book was an anthology of some of the Athyra poets of the early Ninth Cycle, which he was reading because it would naturally include Redgrew, to whom the Lyorn was especially partial. Fawnd, observing his master's activity, signaled his presence with a slight cough, and then waited, perfectly motionless, with complete confidence that Aerich would give him attention after he finished the present canto.
The Lyorn eventually turned his limpid eye from book to servant and raised an eyebrow, indicating, "What is it?"
"A messenger, Your Venerance."
"From whom, pray?"
"From the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain, Venerance."
"Indeed?" said Aerich, at once setting his book down. "Then let him be brought in at once."
In an instant, the messenger had presented himself before Aerich and bowed. "Your Venerance," he said, "I have a communication from Sethra Lavode."
"Very well, hand it over."
"I shall do so at once, Your Venerance."
As good as his word, he handed Aerich a neatly sealed letter, the seal of which Aerich at once broke, after which he unfolded the letter and read. It took him only an instant, as the message was tolerably short, after which he said, "Very well. There is no reply. Fawnd, give the messenger an orb for his troubles and see him out. Then return."
Fawnd bowed and escorted the messenger out of the room and the manor. Aerich, notwithstanding his excellent memory and comprehension, read the brief note a second time to be certain he understood it. The message was simplicity itself, and we will reproduce it at once: "My lord Temma," it said, "I have become worried about Tazendra, who left Dzur Mountain last spring to return to her home, as she said, 'for a while.' I have not heard from her since, nor am I able to touch her mind. I should be glad if you could make certain she is all right, and let me know what you discover. I declare myself, sir, your servant, Sethra Lavode."
By the time Aerich had completed his second reading, Fawnd had returned. Aerich addressed him with these words: "Send me Steward. Then find my vambraces, sword, and an appropriate costume to match and lay them out. Have Ranger saddled and ready, with a supply of food in the saddle-pockets sufficient for a week, and an equal of amount of grain."
Fawnd bowed, and permitted himself only six words, "Am I to accompany Your Venerance?"
"Not on this occasion."
Now knowing everything he needed to know, the worthy servant set off to perform his tasks, with the result that, in only minutes, Steward arrived and presented himself. Aerich spent some few moments with his steward, making certain that his various fiefs should continue functioning during his absence.
He then opened the bottom drawer of his secretary and removed from it a metal box, which he opened with a small, ornate key that he kept on a chain around his neck. He opened the box and removed from it a small sheaf of papers, which contained the disposition of his property to be made after his death. He reviewed this document carefully, made a few small corrections, then replaced it in the box. The box went into the drawer, but the key he left out in plain view on top of the secretary. He indicated the key with a gesture to Steward, who, withou
t a word being required, only bowed to indicate that he understood.
When the Lyorn's arrangements were complete, he dismissed Steward and returned to his apartment, where Fawnd assisted him into his loose-fitting red blouse, vambraces, warrior's skirt, and darr-skin boots; after which he buckled on his old, beaten belt with sword and poniard. Then he simply walked out of his manor, mounted his horse, and turned its head toward the barony of Daavya, setting out at a good speed.
As the reader may recall from our previous works, Daavya not only was part of the duchy of Arylle, but, in addition, happened to directly abut Bra-Moor County, of which Aerich was, of course, count. And so, as he rode at a good, martial speed, on a good horse, it was not many hours before Aerich had crossed over the small brook (one of thousands of streams with the name Barony Brook, as it marked the limits of a barony) and was then within the confines of Daavya.
Within a mile or so after crossing this boundary, Aerich drew rein and looked around. "Blood of the Horse, as my friend Khaavren would say," he murmured to himself.
All around him were indications of some great catastrophe: that is to say, every tree in sight was a blackened stump with the exception of a few saplings that appeared to be very recent. Even certain of the rocks showed signs of having been through some sort of conflagration! Aerich took a second, more careful look, attempting to judge how long ago it had occurred, and came to the conclusion, from the health of the grasses and various other signs, that it had been some months since whatever had happened.
"But," he wondered, "how is it possible that such a thing could have happened without my awareness, only a few miles away? Someone ought to have seen the flames if it was night, or the smoke if it occurred during the day, and reported it to me in my capacity as Tazendra's liege."
He frowned and considered. "Sorcery," he decided at last, and urged his horse forward at an even greater speed.
Presently, he came to Castle Daavya, which was, indeed, a castle in the old sense, having been built over two thousand years before (on the site of the previous castle) and kept up continuously. There was the traditional courtyard, where livestock, fodder, and supplies could be kept, as well as the peasants protected, in time of siege or attack. The castle itself was tall, with battlements, towers, and walls from which javelins, stones, or sorcery could be hurled. As for sorcery, there were large staves permanently set in all corners of both the outer and inner walls, so that spells could be more easily placed.
But it was none of this that struck Aerich's eye; rather, it was the fact that there were no signs in the castle of whatever had devastated the surrounding landscape. It seemed as if the spell had not passed the outer wall, either because of some protection surrounding the castle, or because it had not been intended to. This was, however, an indication that it was not mischance—that is, that whatever had happened was not the result of one of Tazendra's experiments having gone awry.
He also observed, in the dust of the courtyard, footprints, indicating that there were still dwellers within, and for a while he felt hope.
He tied his horse to a hitching post near the great front doors, approached them, and pulled the clapper. Presently, the doors swung open and he found himself facing a servant he did not recognize.
"I am Temma, Duke of Arylle, here to see the Baroness," he said.
The Teckla gave him a bow, but not the bow of a Teckla, instead one that, very nearly, mocked the salutes of the courtiers, and he said, "I am master here. How may I be of assistance?"
"Don't be absurd," said Aerich disdainfully. "Where is the Baroness?"
The Teckla shrugged and turned his back on Aerich, as if to say, "I have given my answer." Aerich scowled and stepped forward, raising his hand to chastise the impudent peasant, but the Teckla, not running, but walking at a good rate, had already disappeared within.
Aerich scowled again, but the briefest reflection convinced him that he ought not to lower himself by pursuing a Teckla, and that the indignity of giving the chastisement the servant deserved was greater than that of accepting it; in other words, he decided that such an insult was beneath his dignity to give heed to, and so, without giving the matter another thought, he stepped into Castle Daavya.
The most notable feature about the Great Hall of Castle Daavya was the domed ceiling, some seventy or seventy-five feet above the floor. The dome itself had been built with the castle, but Tazendra had replaced it with one with alternate triangular sections of colored glass, so that red, blue, green, and yellow shone down on the floor during daylight. Moreover, she had hung upon the walls samples of her own artwork—most them oils or pastels on tapestry—some renderings of Tazendra's ancestors (in many cases of which resemblances to our Dzur friend could be seen, especially in the wide forehead and the arch of the eyebrows), others depicting such scenes as a dzur fighting a dragon, a tiassa about to land on the back of a darr, a man armed only with a poniard fighting a bear.
These depictions were, we should say, violent, yet they had also a certain grace to them, as if the artist strove less to show the violence of the encounter than the ennobling aspects of the straggle. For while many artists—and viewers of art—may enjoy only the prurient aspects of works that show us violent activity, it is nevertheless the case that it is in moments of violence, of danger, of the greatest threat to life, that human character can become its most base, or its most sublime. As to why the artist may focus on these matters, this is revealed, in painting, by the use of light, shading, emphasis, and texturing; and the sympathetic viewer will, even if unaware of these things, nevertheless find himself moved by them. Certainly, Aerich was not unmoved, the more-so as he had a nervous, sensitive nature, and had been, himself, in mortal danger frequently enough to understand something of the feelings engendered by such extremities, although we must say that to our Lyorn such events were occasioned only by a strict sense of duty and obligation, and so many of the loftier, more ennobling, or, if we may, more Dzur-like facets of struggle were an enigma to him.
But then, to the left, it is exactly here that art may play its most vital rôle: by opening the heart and mind to feelings, the particular expressions of feelings, of which it had been otherwise unaware. Indeed, the fact that the same work of art might touch the heart of beings as disparate as a Teckla and a Phoenix, or a Serioli and an Easterner, is, more than anything else, the proof both of the value of that work in particular, and of art in general.
And what greater proof of the power of art can exist than that these reflections are caused by the work of Tazendra, whose personality, as the reader must by now be aware, is defined by violent activity, strong passions, and a certain lack of sensitivity which must almost inevitably characterize someone who can, with sword and staff, make herself as feared as our Dzurlord?
Another aspect of the Great Hall which impressed itself on Aerich's mind was that there was, by Tazendra's design, no place in it to sit. To be sure, she wished all of her guests to see, admire, and be moved by the grandeur of the hall, but for conversation, she preferred a more comfortable and intimate setting, which she assured herself would happen by making certain that anyone wishing to engage in discourse with her for any length of time would have to find another place in the castle in which to do so.
Aerich, after a moment's study, passed on, and began a general tour of the castle, looking for Tazendra, or Mica, or Srahi, or, indeed, anyone else he knew. In fact, he saw no one except the Teckla he had earlier encountered, and who made a point of keeping out of his way.
After assuring himself that Tazendra was not there, Aerich went back through the castle, all sixty-one rooms of it, a second time, on this occasion studying each room, each corner, each closet, each drawer, looking for something that might give him an idea of where she might be, or what might have happened to her.
It was, we should add, a mark of how serious Aerich considered the matter that he submitted to the need for this sort of intrusion. This careful, detailed inspection took him into the next day. When he
was finally overcome with weariness, he slept for a while in one of Tazendra's guest rooms, then continued his work. He ate three times from the supplies Fawnd had packed for him, and was also required to stop a few times to care for his horse. Eventually, however, he had inspected the entire castle.
After finishing this survey, conducted with a care that Khaavren would have approved, he returned to a small room where Tazendra had been accustomed to carry out the business of her barony—a room little used at the best of times, as Tazendra's custom was to let things go as they would until some event forced her to pay attention to the normally dreary responsibilities of her position.
In this room there were two large maps: one of them showing her barony in great detail, and the other a map of the Empire drawn during the Seventeenth Cycle. What had caught Aerich's eye was a tiny red dot on the map of the Empire. It was significant for the simple reason that it was the only mark that had been added to either of the maps. Returning to this room, Aerich studied the maps once more, then opened up drawers of Tazendra's secretary until he located where she kept her other maps, of which she had a good supply, most of them drawn on paper, but some on leather, and one or two on cloth. He carried out a minute inspection of these maps, until he was able to determine that Tazendra was, indeed, one of those who did not care to make markings on maps, presumably because she considered it defacement.
"Yes," said Aerich to himself. "There is no question. The mark was put on the map by whoever has taken Tazendra. Moreover, it was put there for no purpose except to be found. And found by me, of course. This means that it is someone who knows me, which means that, not only is there a trap, but it will be a tolerably clever one, and thus all the harder from which to extricate both Tazendra and myself. But, to the left, a living Tazendra will be better bait than a dead Tazendra, because, if I am to go in after her, I shall require some proof that she is still alive. Therefore, there is hope.
"Next," he continued, "there is the question of who might have done this. Well, the answer to that is simple: Grita, who else? We know well enough that she is involved with the Pretender, who is probably even now preparing his attack on the Empire. So then, Grita has taken Tazendra. The question remains: What to do about it? She has, almost certainly, prepared for all of the most obvious means of attack, and prepared even more for the subtle ones."
