by Steven Brust
“She is going to meet those riders who are approaching us,” remarked Kytraan.
“On the contrary,” said Piro, observing closely. “She is avoiding them, and going off in another direction entirely.”
“On reflection,” said Kytraan, “I believe you are correct. But, wherever she is going, she is certainly going there quickly.”
“With this I agree.”
“As do I,” said Tazendra.
“Then, for now, we’ve lost her,” said Piro.
“So it seems,” said Kytraan.
“But I wonder,” said Tazendra.
“Yes?” said Kytraan.
“You just made a reference to a group on horseback.”
“Yes, some riders who seem to be traveling generally in this direction.”
“Yes. Well, I wonder who they are. There are six of them, and as you have said, they seem to be coming directly toward us—or, rather, they were. Now they have stopped.”
“Well,” said Piro grimly. “If they are looking for us, we will not be hard to find.” He put his hand on the hilt of his sword as he spoke.
“So then?” said Kytraan.
“So let us remain quiet and await them here.”
“Is this a good place?” asked Kytraan. “Consider that there is a cave at our back, which I do not like.”
“On the contrary,” said Tazendra. “I explored the cave earlier, while you were attending to the horses. It is scarcely fifteen feet deep, and quite empty.”
“Well, that is good as far as the cave is concerned. But are we not rather exposed here?” said Kytraan.
“Not,” said Piro, “if we remain crouching, and keep our horses hobbled where they are now.”
“Well then,” said Kytraan, “that is good as far as being exposed. But can we form an adequate defense here?”
Piro shrugged. “We have height, and the ability to observe. Moreover, they cannot bring their horses up this slope.”
“Very well, then,” said Kytraan. “I have no more objections to make, and I agree with waiting here and remaining quiet.”
“As do I,” said Tazendra.
Lar bowed but, already putting the orders into execution, said nothing.
As Piro stood on a low ledge of the South Mountain and looked at the small troop that, had he but known it, was led by his none other than his father—that is to say, Khaavren—there was another who was standing upon a slightly higher bluff and looking at Piro. This was Wadre, who had, after months of searching, at last come across their tracks in the snow, and had been following them ever since, catching up to them the night before. Now that he had found them, however, he was uncertain what to do. He had completely failed in his effort to locate his band, and without them he felt as if he were unarmed. Moreover, it was certainly the case that, by himself, he was unable to do anything about the Dzur, the Dragon, and the Tiassa below him, all of whom were well armed, and all of whom had demonstrated a certain facility in games when he had met them before.
He wondered, as he had many times, where his band was, and how it happened that he had not been able to find them in the months he had been in and near these mountains, traveling south into the heat, and surviving through the season of storms, huddled inside of caves or beneath overhangs, and now the winter, which, mild as it might have been, was always brutal in the mountains, forcing him to sometimes kill game, other times to steal, or, when desperate, to even buy food from the few villages the mountains boasted. And now, at last, he had found what he was looking for—but, where was the man who had employed him, who, though his House was uncertain, seemed so like an aristocrat? And why had he seen no sign of his band in all of this time?
He was, of course, unable to answer these questions, and so he watched, and waited, and considered what to do, which activities he carried out so well that, at the expiration of an hour, he had not moved by so much as an inch from his position, cold as it was to lie upon the snow-covered ground, still watching those below him, who, although moving more freely than Wadre did, continued to do little except to wait. What it was they were waiting for, Wadre could not have said.
He had just reached this point in his thoughts when he was startled by hearing the sound of boots on stone behind him, which sound startled him so much he very nearly cried out, and did, in fact, go so far as to reach for a weapon. He arrested this action, however, upon seeing who it was who stood behind him, a cynical smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Orlaan!” he cried. “That is to say, Grita!” He scrambled to his feet.
“Well met,” said Grita, in a voice in which a listener could not have failed to detect considerable irony. “What brings you here?”
“How, you wish to know that?”
“Well, I think I do,” said Grita.
“It is simple enough. I have been following your old enemies.”
“Oh, have you then? And for what reason?”
“For what reason? Why, to find them!”
“Do not play the fool with me, brigand. Remember what I can do.”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Well?”
Wadre considered for a moment, then decided that, for lack of any better idea, he would see what would happen if he told the truth. “I was asked to by Galstan.”
“Ah. Galstan.”
“You know him?”
“Nearly. He is another of those enemies I spoke to you about long ago.”
“Ah. I had not, you perceive, been aware of this circumstance when I agreed to assist him. And, moreover, you were, at that time, nowhere to be found.”
“And if you could have found me, then what?”
“Oh, as to that—”
Grita cut him off with a gesture and said, “Well, if that were not enough, I believe I had an encounter with him this very day.”
“How, an encounter?”
“Yes. I had just seen you, and made up my mind to speak with you. As I approached you—this was an hour and a half ago, I believe—I thought I caught a glimpse of him. I at once determined to follow him, and I did.”
“Ah. And did you find him?”
“No, but I found the place where, upon setting out down this rather steep path to find you, I had tethered my horse.”
“The place where—”
“Yes. My horse was gone. I am convinced he stole it.”
“How, stole your horse?”
“I am certain that he did.”
“That is remarkable.”
“In what way?”
“I had just convinced myself that he must be an aristocrat, and now you tell me that he is, instead, a horse thief.”
“You think the two are incompatible?”
“I had thought so.”
“Now you have learned better.”
“Well, it seems I have. Then it must have been his horse I found with its throat slit yesterday. It seemed to have broken a leg.”
“Yes, that would explain it.”
“And then?”
“Well, Galstan’s horse broke a leg, and so he stole mine, so I will take yours.”
Wadre started to protest, reconsidered, sighed, and nodded. “Very well, then,” he said.
Grita nodded. “And, by chance, do you know where this Galstan is now?”
“He has just ridden out in that direction,” he said, pointing to the west. “The proof is, in fact, that I thought it was you, having recognized the horse.”
“Has he indeed?” said Grita, drawing forth a touch-it glass, which she brought to her eye. That she made good use of this glass we can prove by her next words, which were, “Well, it seems that he is speaking with a good troop of horsemen.”
“Then he has allies,” said Wadre. “I had some once, but I do not know where they are.”
“They are with me,” said Grita.
“How, with you?”
“Yes, now they serve me.”
“Well, but they are mine.”
“No,” said Grita. “They
are mine.”
“And yet—”
“Where is your horse?”
Wadre sighed. “It is on the other side of that copse of trees.”
“That is good,” said Grita, and replaced her touch-it glass in the pouch at her side, from which pouch she, at the same time, produced what seem to be a narrow rod of some metallic substance, perhaps copper, as it had a reddish-golden hue.
Wadre frowned. “May I inquire as to the item you now hold in your hand?”
Grita nodded. “It is something of my own devising. Its function is not unlike that of a flashstone, but it is far more complex, as I was required to draw directly upon the Sea of Amorphia, rather than upon the power of the Orb. I have, however, made certain tests upon it, and I am convinced it will do what I wish it to in every way.”
“So then, it causes explosions?”
“Yes. You see this end, marked with small black stripes, I hold in my hand. And the other end—”
“Yes, the other end?”
“Why, that indicates where I wish to have its destructive powers directed.”
“Well, but you are pointing it at me.”
“You are most observant.”
“Do you, then, intend to make use of it upon my person?”
“I confess, that is exactly my intention.”
“I beg you to reconsider.”
“Alas, my dear bandit, it is quite impossible. I have stolen your band, and I am about to steal your horse. You perceive, to leave you alive at this point would be utterly unthinkable.”
“So you are going to kill me?”
“Exactly. And this very instant, too.”
“I should like to find a way to change your mind.”
“Alas,” said Grita. “That is unlikely.”
Wadre sighed.
At about this time, Khaavren said, “I see something.”
“What do you see?” said Aerich.
“I saw, or, that is to say, I believe I saw movement upon that bluff.”
Aerich frowned and looked carefully, then shrugged and said, “I see nothing, but I do not doubt you.”
“I see nothing now, and I quite doubt myself, Aerich.” Khaavren chuckled a little. “But, still, let us go in that direction.”
“With this plan, I agree.”
Khaavren nodded, and led his small troop forward.
As he did so, some distance behind him, Pel spoke to a Dragonlord named Tsanaali e’Lanya, saying, “An hour ago, they were upon that bluff, there.”
Tsanaali said, “Then that is where we will go.”
“They may have moved.”
“That is natural. But then, they may not have. And, if they have, they may have left tracks, as you perceive the mountainside is covered with snow.”
“Yes,” said Pel. “I have been hunting them for some time. I do not wish to lose them now.”
Tsanaali gave him a look of distaste, then said, “I do not understand why these people are important to my lady Suura.”
“They are not.”
“They are not? But yet, her orders—”
“Your lady Suura has been replaced by your lord Izak.”
“Who is Izak? It cannot be the subaltern on Suura’s staff; he is scarcely two hundred years old.”
“As to that, I cannot say. But it is the case, whoever it is.”
The captain spread his palms. “Then why are they important to Izak, whoever he is?”
“Well, in fact, they are important to your lord Kâna.”
“His Majesty!”
“Very well, then,” said Pel, shrugging. “His Majesty.”
“Why, then, are these people important to His Majesty?”
“Because they have been assisting a lady whom—His Majesty—wishes stopped at all costs.”
The lieutenant (for this was nominally Tsanaali’s rank) nodded and said, “Then, is it your opinion that we should follow them, hoping they’ll lead us to her, or should we destroy them?”
“They do not know where she is.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“How?”
“Yes. How can you be certain?”
Pel said, “And what would you do with your cavalry troop if you were threatened by a spear phalanx?”
“Eh? Why, I should cause them to spread out, remaining on horseback, and sweep around both flanks.”
“How do you know that is the right thing to do?”
“It is my business to know such things.”
“Exactly,” said Pel, bowing.
Tsanaali scowled and said, “Well, what then should we do, now that we have found them?”
“Destroy them, of course, if you can.”
“Well.”
“And, my dear Lieutenant, there is another matter.”
“And that is?”
“If I am to give His Majesty his proper title, then you may do the same regarding me.”
Tsanaali clenched his jaws, then said, “I was given the order to follow your instructions, Your Venerance—” This last term seemed to emerge with some effort on the Dragonlord’s part. “—therefore I will do as you say.”
“That will be the best thing to do, believe me.”
“And will Your Venerance remain with us?”
“I? Not the least in the world, I assure you. I am going forward to attempt to ascertain if they are still there, and, if they are not, where they have gone.”
“Well,” said the Dragonlord, who clearly thought the Yendi intended to do nothing more than avoid the battle.
Pel tilted his head to the side. “My dear Lieutenant,” he said.
“Yes, Your Venerance?”
“This is likely to be a rather difficult battle, followed by other matters in which the future is uncertain. You know that Izak is approaching Dzur Mountain from the north, while Brawre approaches from the west.”
“Brawre?”
“A certain Lady Brawre, who has replaced Tonchin.”
“I do not know who this is.”
“Nor do I. But, nevertheless, that is what is going to happen.”
“Well? What of it?”
“Well, it may be that you will not survive these battles.”
“That is always possible for a soldier.”
“And it is possible that I will not survive these battles.”
“That is always possible for a spy.”
“But,” continued Pel coolly, “if it should happen that we both survive, then, when all is over, I give you my word I will cut your heart out.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I will cut out your heart, and I will feed it to you past those lips with which you do me the honor to sneer.”
“We will see, then.”
“Yes, we will.”
Tsanaali responded to this compliment by nodding brusquely, after which he turned to his troop and gave them the signal to move forward. Pel, for his part, turned the head of his horse and rode back toward the foot of South Mountain.
Khaavren and his friends were, at this same time, riding toward the same place. They were closer, but riding more slowly.
Grita found Wadre’s horse, and, leading it, went to gather together the remainder of what had been Wadre’s band, but was now hers. She led them toward where Piro and his friends waited, looking out at the dust cloud that was the advance of the troop led by Tsanaali. In fact, so intent on them were they, that for a time they forgot the smaller band—that is to say, Khaavren’s—until they were nearly upon them, scarcely a hundred yards away.
It was Tazendra who eventually noticed this latter group, at which time she nudged Piro and pointed.
“Now who is that?” said Piro, frowning and drawing his sword. Tazendra and Kytraan also drew their swords, and Lar came forward, brandishing a stout cast-iron cooking pan. “I had been observing them for a time, and then they escaped my attention,” Piro concluded.
“I don’t know who they are,” sai
d Kytraan, peering forward.
Tazendra shrugged. “Perhaps it is that road agent, Wadre, with whom we have already had dealings. I will tell you frankly that I have not trusted him since he allied himself with Grita and attempted to kill us.”
“If you will permit me, my lady,” said Lar. “At any rate, it is not him.”
“How,” said Piro. “It is not?”
Lar shook his head.
“But,” said Kytraan, “how can you be sure?”
“Because the road agent is dead,” said Lar.
“How, dead?”
“Entirely.”
“But,” said Piro, “how can you know that?”
“In the simplest way,” said Lar. “Because his body is lying not thirty feet behind us.”
“The Horse!” said Tazendra. “It is?”
Lar bowed an assent.
“But, how did it arrive there?” said Kytraan. “It fell.”
“It fell?”
Lar nodded.
“When?” demanded Piro.
“Half an hour ago, my lord.”
“But,” said Tazendra, “why didn’t you acquaint us with this circumstance?”
“Because,” said Lar, “my lord the Viscount said I was to remain silent.”
Piro looked at Lar, but found nothing to say. Kytraan went back and looked at the body that had almost fallen upon their heads and said, “Well, it is certainly Wadre.”
“And that,” said Piro, still staring forward, “very nearly looks like my father.”
“And that,” said Tazendra, looking in a slightly different direction, “appears very much like my old friend Pel.”
“Impossible,” said Kytraan, although it was impossible to determine to which of them he was speaking, if not both.
“And yet,” said Lar.
“Well?” said Kytraan.
“If Wadre fell from above—and I give you my word he did—then I wonder what is up there that causes someone to fall.”
Kytraan took a step backward and stared up at the ledge, which was thirty or thirty-five feet over his head, then turned to Piro and Tazendra and said, “Do you know, I think what he says is full of wisdom. I believe I will keep an eye on that cliff above us.”
“Yes,” said Piro. “Do that.”
Piro stared forward, frowning, and Tazendra stared forward, also frowning, and Kytraan and Lar stared upward, grimacing, and they all waited, knowing the next few moments would give the answers.
