Sethra Lavode

by Steven Brust

  "This does not startle us. Have we not, on the way here, seen patrols of exactly the sort a commander would order to keep the streets free for troop movements?"

  "You are good observers."

  "We are soldiers."

  "Well, that is true."

  "So then, His Majesty is attacking?"

  "Precisely. Even as we speak."

  "Are we, then, to attack the enemy in the rear? If so, well, I hope there are more than twenty-one of us!"

  "Not in the least. Our orders are for something entirely different."

  "Well, and that is good."

  "In fact, my friends, I will go further. I will say that the entire attack currently raging west of the city, is nothing more than diversion."

  "A diversion? Well, a diversion for what?"

  "For our mission."

  The soldiers stared at each other, heads turning back and forth. At length, one of them said, "Lieutenant, do you truly say that the present battle is nothing more than a diversion for our mission?"

  "I say it, and I even repeat it. So, you perceive, when we consider our mission, well, you must understand that there is no question of joking."

  "But then, what is this mission?"

  "I am about to answer that very question. So much so, in fact, that I would already have answered it if you gentlemen had not been positively peppering me with questions and interjections."

  "Then we shall be mute as Athyra monks, General."

  "And you will do right. To explain, then: Gentlemen, we are to make our way, by different paths, to Whitecrest Manor. If you look at this map, you will see your routes. The first squad follows the red line, the second squad follows the green line, the fourth squad follows the blue line, and my own squad will follow the black line."

  "Very well," they said, studying the map.

  "There is no surprise there," observed one of the squad leaders, "as, you perceive, you have been causing us to learn these routes for the last two weeks."

  "But then," said another, "what are we to do when we get there?"

  "Once there," said Tsanaali, "we are to do nothing less than take the Orb itself."

  "How, the Orb?" they cried.

  "Exactly. We are to take the Orb."

  "But, isn't that impossible?"

  "Not in the least," said Tsanaali.

  "But, it has never been done."

  "Well, and before Lord Tigarrae, no one had ever teleported himself, either."

  "That is true, Lieutenant, and yet—"

  "Moreover, we are assured that arrangements have been made that will keep the Orb sufficiently busy that, during our attack, it will have entirely lost its ability to defend either itself, or she who currently has possession of it."

  "Oh, apropos—you mention this Phoenix."

  "Yes?"

  "What of her?"

  "Well, what of her?"

  "Do we kill her?"

  The lieutenant shrugged. "As to that, it doesn't matter. If she is killed in the scuffle, there is no harm in it. If she survives without the Orb, well, that is satisfactory as well. We are not assassins, gentlemen, we are soldiers. Let us keep this in mind."

  "We will not forget," they said.

  At this moment, the door opened and a gentleman entered, saying, "Lieutenant—"

  "Well?"

  "A plume of smoke to the west."

  "And then?"

  "Broken off three times, so that it became three plumes."

  "That is the signal, gentlemen. Let us be about it. You are all aware of your routes. My squad will see to the guards outside of the Manor, and those directly inside, which is where we will rendezvous, and all move into the chamber being used as a throne room. Now, let us go."

  Taking their cue from their commander, none of the soldiers displayed the least emotion as they rose, made certain of their arms, and filed out of the house. This put them in the narrow alley behind the house, from which place they all went in their appointed directions.

  Tsanaali's path, like the others, involved back streets and alleys, which avoided the patrols which were making certain the main arteries of the city remained clear. Moreover, there was nothing about these five individuals to attract attention. After some fifteen minutes of walking, Tsanaali approached the doors of Whitecrest Manor and addressed the guardsmen, saying, "I give you a good day, my friend, and I wonder why there are patrols out upon the street."

  "As to that," said the guardsman, "I cannot say."

  "How, you don't know?"

  The guardsmen shrugged. "I only know that I am assigned to this position, so that, as a good soldier, why, I remain here. If there is anything special that is occurring to-day, well, you must know that I am not permitted to speak of it."

  "And you are perfectly right not to," he said.

  By the time he had completed this speech, two members of his squadron had approached the other guard as if to speak to him as Tsanaali was speaking to the first. No more speech occurred, however; instead, Tsanaali drew a poniard and, with a practiced hand, drove it into the guard's heart; in the meantime, the other guard was similarly treated.

  "Quickly," said Tsanaali. "Drag their bodies behind these shrubs before we are observed."

  The other two members of Tsanaali's squad appeared, and this operation was smoothly and efficiently carried out. After which the five them gathered in front of the door.

  "Very well," said Tsanaali. "It is time."

  They drew their swords, opened the door, and entered. The affray was short and furious—the two guardsmen within, armed with pikes, falling instantly to the five swords that charged them out of nowhere; they did not even have time to raise an alarm.

  As they fell, the other squads began arriving, and with such timing that, in less than a minute, all of them were assembled in the hallway.

  "Very well, gentlemen," said Tsanaali. "Down this corridor will be six or eight more guards; we must strike quickly. Beyond that is an antechamber with a single guard. Beyond that, a covered terrace where we will find Her Majesty, holding an inert Orb. Let us go."

  The small troop moved down the corridor toward the Orb.

  Chapter

  the Ninetieth

  how piro carried out grassfog's last wishes and learned a little of his family history

  We must now, with some, trepidation, back up just a few short hours, because, while we are not insensible to the reader's desire to know what is to become of our friends in Adrilankha, at this point our history absolutely requires that we look in on Piro, who, as the reader may recall, had been given an errand by a dying friend; and as everyone knows, few obligations are more sacred than those given by a dying friend. This conclusion, which we daresay is inarguable, brought Piro to a small village on the northern slopes of South Mountain. The village, to remind the reader, was called Six Horses, as it was founded by a lady of the House of the Tsalmoth who boasted this as her wealth. Like most mountain villages, there was little enough there: three small private cottages, a Speaker's house, a community spring house, and a sort of general merchandise store that performed double duty as the inn. Nowhere else in the area could wine or liquor be purchased, and so quite naturally this store became the community gathering place, especially on Marketday, which was the only time there was any sort of population in the village.

  On this occasion, it being a Farmday, the village seemed to Piro to be all but deserted—in fact, it might be observed that the arrival of the small company that included Piro, Ibronka, Kytraan, Röaana, Iatha, Belly, Ritt, Mica, and Clari caused the population of Six Horses to effectively double. Indeed, their arrival would have created something of a sensation had there been a sufficient populace for a sensation to have anything to work with.

  In the event, they stopped outside of the general store to which we have just referred, recognizing by its wide front and swinging door that it was a place of some importance. Leaving their horses in the care of Lar and Clari, the rest of them entered hoping to find wine with wh
ich to wash down the dust of traveling. They all went directly to the long shelf propped up by two barrels which served as a bar, except for Piro, who carried out an inspection of the store.

  The proprietor was a Tsalmoth called Marel—indeed, the descendant of the very lady who had founded the village. Instead of horses, however, whose company he had never found agreeable, he had a store that did a brisk business on Marketdays, and provided him with sufficient wine and foodstuffs to satisfy his own needs on the other days. In addition to those items usual in such a store—milled flour from the plains below, nails and hammers from the blacksmith to the west, and wine from the local vines—there was a considerable number of furs hanging from nails along the back wall, and cloaks and coats made from this fur prominently displayed in front. The most numerous were made of the fur of the norska, but there were also fox, wolf, and even a few lyorn skins.

  Piro spent a few moments studying these—both the furs, and the items that had been made from them—while Marel studied Piro. Marel's study was very precise after the manner of his class: that is, he was able to estimate to the copper penny with whom he was dealing, and, moreover, make shrewd guesses as to how best to treat with him in order to wring the most possible good—that is to say, money—out of their acquaintance. Accordingly, Marel said nothing, barely even nodding a good day, and concealed his study, waiting until the Tiassa should speak first. This was easier to do as, for some time, he was very much involved in serving Piro's friends.

  Eventually Piro spoke, saying, "My dear merchant—"

  "My lord," said Marel with a slight bow. He had actually considered, "My lord highwayman," as a form of address, but rejected it.

  Piro continued, "These furs."

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "They are very fine indeed."

  Marel bowed again. "This region is known for only two things, my lord. One is the quality of the fur from the norska who dwell nearby."

  "Very well, I can see that. And the other?"

  "The drafish from our streams. Nowhere else in the Empire, my lord, can be found—"

  "I have no doubt that is true, good merchant. But at this moment, you perceive, I have no interest in fish. Whereas, in fact, considering norska fur—"

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "I have considerable interest."

  "And you are right to be interested, my lord. In addition to the brown and white coloring, which is not unattractive, and the obvious ability of such fur to keep one warm even in the winter of the mountains, many do not realize that these furs repel water."

  "How, they do?"

  "Assuredly. And even more-so when they are treated with a certain oil of my own development, and upon which I have made exhaustive tests."

  "Tell me, if you please, where these furs come from?"

  Marel frowned. "My lord? Excuse me, but, they come from norska."

  "Cha! I know that! I mean, who brings them in?"

  "Ah. I beg Your Lordship's pardon. Trappers, my lord."

  "Are there many such?"

  "Enough, my lord, especially in this region."

  "And do you know one called Tsira?"

  "Tsira? Why, certainly, yes!"

  "Can you tell me where to find her?"

  Meral sighed. "Then Your Lordship does not care to buy furs?"

  "On the contrary, my good merchant. I shall buy three of them."

  The Tsalmoth brightened considerably, and said, "Pick them out, by all means."

  "These three," said Piro carelessly.

  "And would Your Lordship wish for any of the oil?"

  "No, but I will pay you for a bottle anyway. Now then, about Tsira. I give you my word, you have no cause to fear that I am her enemy. On the contrary, I was a friend of her brother, and bring her, alas, news of his death and a small bequest for her."

  "Ah, so much the worse! She often spoke of her brother. He was, then, one of your band?"

  "My band, good sir? I do not understand what you do me the honor to say."

  The merchant's face became quite red, and he said, "That is to say, she spoke of her brother as, well—"

  "Never mind, good merchant."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "But then, to find her?"

  "If you take the road to the west, in half a league, you will come to an elbow. Continue there as if there were no bend, and you will find a small path. When you reach a stream, follow it to the left for two leagues, and you will come to a cottage built into the side of the mountain, and that is where she lives."

  "I thank you, my friend. Here is for the furs, and the oil—which you may keep—and this is for six bottles of wine to keep us warm against the chill, and this is a thanks for your help."

  "Your Lordship is generous."

  "Not at all," said Piro. Then, turning to his friends, who had remained silent up until this time, he said, "Come, let us go and complete this errand."

  Taking their recent purchases—those, at any rate, that they had not already consumed—they mounted their horses and, following the directions from the complaisant Tsalmoth, found themselves, two hours later, looking at a small cottage next to a brook and surrounded by siju trees, whose oblong leaves all but concealed the cottage.

  "All right," said Piro, "let us now—"

  "Stay exactly where you are," said someone whose words—sufficiently imperative as they were—were emphasized by a javelin which struck a tree some few inches from Piro's head, with a hollow "thunk." It remained in the tree, vibrating directly before Piro's eyes.

  "Let us," suggested Piro, "remain where we are. Consider that, even if it were not for the threat implied by the sudden appearance of the weapon—a tolerably palpable threat, I think—bear in mind that we are not here for the purpose of antagonizing anyone, but, on the contrary, to perform a service for a lady who is, unless my guess is wrong, the very one who has just communicated to us in this particularly engaging way."

  After these remarks, he addressed the cottage, saying, "If your name is Tsira, I would beg for two minutes of your time. And, if it is not, well, we may as well have some conversation just the same, because I give you my word, I should prefer speaking with you to exchanging javelins—the more-so as I did not bring any."

  After a moment, they heard the voice again. "I beg your pardon for my greeting, but, you perceive, I rarely receive visitors here, and, when I do, well, they sometimes come in bands with the thought of larceny. And, in truth, you look not unlike larcenists yourselves."

  Piro, on impulse, got down from his horse and took two steps toward the cottage. "In fact, we are what you have named us. But I give you my word, so far are we from taking anything from you, that, on the contrary, we are here to give you something without asking anything in return."

  A woman then emerged from a corner of the cottage, where she had been concealed in the shadows. One glance at her was sufficient to convince Piro that this was, indeed, Grassfog's sister—indeed, there were such considerable similarities in features and lines of the face, and even in the set of the shoulders and carriage of the head, that he might well have identified them as siblings even if he had not been, as it were, looking for the resemblance. She was dressed in norska fur in a complex arrangement such that it was difficult to identify the specific garments, with the exception of a wide leather belt, from which hung a short sword and a heavy knife, and a pair of darr-skin boots decorated with red and yellow beads. She bowed to Piro and said, "As you have said, my name is Tsira. How is it that you are looking for me? And what is your name?"

  "Piro, madam," he said.

  "Piro? How, the same Piro with whom my brother rides? He has mentioned your name in letters."

  "That is I."

  "Then, if you are here, and he is not, I fear you have brought me disagreeable news."

  "Alas, madam, we are here to do exactly that, at his wishes." As he said this, handed her the pendant, accompanying this with a respectful bow and the the words "He desired you to have this."

  Tsira looked a
t it, looked away as if to prevent her emotions from being displayed before a stranger, then, looking at Piro once more, said in a very low voice, "Did he die well?"

  "Extremely well. I will relate the entire history, if you wish."

  "I should like that, if you please. You perceive, my brother and I were close, so that I am interested in all that concerned his ending."

  "Then I will tell you of the entire affair."

  "Yes. Have your band dismount, and I will bring out a jug of the spirit we distill here, which is not dissimilar to the Eastern oushka, and will be a fitting accompaniment to the story—in the mountains, we find that our grief is at once lessened and increased by being washed in strong drink. It is something like a custom, and one of which my brother would have approved, and even expected."

  "Very well," said Piro. "I should never consider encouraging you to break a custom at such a time."

  This plan was agreed to at once, and while Tsira went back into her cottage and returned with several jugs, the rest of Piro's band dismounted and tied their horses to the trees. They seated themselves on the ground and began passing the jugs around, while Piro related in great detail all the circumstances of Grassfog's death. When this tale was complete, Tsira told various stories of her brother, and was repaid by more stories told by Piro and his band—some of them, told by Iatha, Belly, and Ritt, going back to his time in Wadre's band before Piro had met him.

  After several hours of this, during which Tsira proved not only her memory, but her capacity for spirits (while each of the others drank more or less of it, according to his tastes, Tsira drank even more than Belly, though she showed no more effects than Piro, who hardly touched the jug to his lips), it happened that everyone except these two—that is to say, Piro and Tsira—were overcome by a combination of spirits and a long journey, and were either asleep or in the sort of daze that is the next thing to it.

  "Would you like to take a walk?" said Tsira. "We can let your friends sleep, and you can see a little of the mountain."

  "I should like that," said Piro.

  "Very good then. This way."