by Steven Brust
These words having been spoken, everyone at once looked in the direction of the voice, and there were gasps of astonishment from several of those present.
“Father!” cried Piro.
“My lord!” said Kytraan.
“Ah, it is Khaavren and Aerich,” said Tazendra, rushing forward and throwing herself into their arms.
“Bah!” said Khaavren. “It could not be you! You have not changed by so much as a hair.”
“On the contrary, my dear Khaavren,” said Aerich. “It must be she, for who else would prevent us from paying our respects to Her Majesty?”
“Ah, how you take on!” said Tazendra. “Empires come and go, but friendship is rare.”
Khaavren, still holding her, chuckled and said, “No, it cannot be Tazendra. The Dzurlord I know is incapable of such profundity.”
“Ah, you jest with me! Well, there is no doubt that you are Khaavren!”
We should add that Röaana and Ibronka hung back rather shyly, unsure of what they should do or say. At last the embrace ended, and Tazendra stepped back and looked at her two friends, while Piro rushed forward, in his turn, to embrace his father. As he did so, Tazendra remarked, “Well, that is three of us. I wonder where Pel is?”
“Why, my dear, I am behind you,” said the Yendi, coolly standing on the bluff from which the brigands had just launched their attack.
We hope the reader will permit us, even as these words are pronounced, to say two words about our ineffable friend, the Duke of Galstan. We do not know, in fact, when he realized that it was Khaavren’s son he had been following with malicious intent. We do not know what went on in his heart upon realizing that he was faced with conflict between his unquenchable ambition and the friendship that he treasured more than he was capable of admitting, even to himself.
But from all we know, we can be certain of this: When these two powerful emotions—ambition and friendship—at last faced each other in the crucible of his heart, the decisive push, as it were, came from the same source for him as for so many others: the Imperial Orb. He could not deny, even to himself, the flood of emotion that accompanied its return. And so, even as made the cool announcement to which we have alluded, “Why, my dear, I am behind you,” the contest within his heart was over: ambition had surrendered, and friendship had triumphed.
Tazendra turned. “Pel! But, was it you who launched that attack upon us?”
“I?” said Pel. “Not the least in the world. My attack is coming from that direction, and will be more severe.”
At these words, Tazendra, Khaavren, and Aerich, who had been staring at Pel open-mouthed, suddenly turned in the direction he had indicated, and realized that, in fact, there was a sizable group of riders bearing down on them, looking as if they had no intention of stopping.
“Cracks and Shards,” said Tazendra.
“Who are they?” said Khaavren.
“They are a detachment of Kâna’s army,” said Pel. “Sent to intercept the Orb.”
“How, they know of the Orb?” cried Piro. “And, Father, who is this man? And Zivra—that is to say, Zerika—how did you survive the fall from Deathgate? And who are these girls you have brought? And what shall we do about these forces about to descend upon us?”
Khaavren chuckled. “I believe, my son, that we should begin with the last question.”
“You are, as always, full of wisdom,” said Aerich.
“No, my friend, you are full of wisdom. I am merely clever on occasion.”
Aerich smiled and didn’t answer.
“And I agree as well,” said the Yendi. “Only—this is the son you told me about?”
“Yes,” said Khaavren, with a fond smile at the Viscount.
“The deuce! And I have been spending all of this time tracking him, and attempting to thwart his mission. And to make matters worse, there is Tazendra with him.”
“How, you have?” said Khaavren, frowning.
“Yes, alas, it seems I have.”
“Well, and now?”
“Ah, and now? Well, certainly, now it is different. We must find a way out of this. Give me a moment, and I will come down to you that we may consider the matter.”
“Not the least in the world,” said Piro.
“How? What do you mean?” said Pel.
“Instead of you coming down, I would suggest the rest of us go up. After all, the ropes are already there, and I think sufficiently strong to support us.”
Aerich smiled. “Your son, my dear Khaavren, takes after his father.”
“Then you agree?” said Khaavren.
“I nearly think I do.”
“As do I,” said Pel.
“And I,” said Tazendra.
“Only—” said Aerich.
“Yes?” said Khaavren.
“What of Her Majesty?”
“Ah! That is true!” cried Khaavren. “We cannot require her to climb up a rope.”
“And there is, in addition,” said Aerich, “the question of whether Her Majesty will condescend to retreat.”
“The easiest way to discover the answer,” said Pel, “would be to ask her. Moreover, I think we should do so quickly, because I give you my word, those horsemen are not getting any further away.”
“Permit me,” said Piro. Then, turning to the Empress, he said, “Well, Your Majesty? Would you condescend to climb a rope with us? I promise you, from that position, you will be better defended.”
Zerika smiled. “After jumping from Deathgate Falls, I assure you I have no objections to climbing thirty feet on a rope made of good hemp, and well secured. And it would seem that my duty to protect the Orb is of greater moment than any distaste I might feel for retreating a few steps.”
“Then,” said Pel, bowing from his position above them, “I would suggest Your Majesty do so at once, because we have very little time to waste.”
Zerika nodded, and, without any further discussion, grabbed onto the nearest rope and easily and smoothly, hand over hand, climbed to the top, ignoring Pel’s outstretched hand, instead simply pulling herself up to the ledge. Once on the top, she looked around at the shelf as if to judge it as a position from which to mount a defense, then gave Pel a brief nod.
Pel bowed low to Her Majesty, then looked down at the others and pointed to the late bandits. “What about those reprobates?”
Khaavren shrugged. Aerich frowned. Tazendra scowled.
The Viscount looked at them, and, stepping forward, stood over where they knelt. He put a hand to his sword and and said, “Do you all swear allegiance to Her Majesty, the Empress Zerika, and to the Dragaeran Empire?”
“We do!” they cried, with no hesitation, and, as these words died out, each them felt (some for the first time, some like a memory made real) the feeling of being, once more, in touch with the Orb and a part of the Empire.
Piro turned back and looked, first at Pel, then Her Majesty, and finally at his father, and shrugged.
“Very good,” said Khaavren, giving Piro an approving look that filled the young man with pride. “Then have them pick up their weapons and climb up the rope they have so recently descended, and be certain they understand they are now sworn to the Empire, and thus to the person of the Empress.”
These things were done, and, as the five new Imperial soldiers—who had just lately been highwaymen—made their way to the top, Khaavren looked at the approaching riders, and said, “We must hurry, if we are all to reach the bluff over our heads.”
“I will remain until the last” was the response that met this remark; a response that came in two voices at once. Tazendra, who had been one of the speakers, turned to the other speaker and said, “Your name, madam?”
“I am Ibronka, my lady.”
“Well, I perceive you are a Dzur.”
“I have that honor, my lady. And I observe that you are, as well.”
“That is true,” remarked Tazendra. “Therefore, let these others go up the ropes, and, if there is a last defense to be done on this spot,
well, we shall do it, you and I.”
Piro and Röaana began to object, but Khaavren said, “No. When a Dzurlord falls into this mood, there is no arguing; we would only waste time. Piro, this is Röaana; Röaana, my son Piro, and his friend Kytraan. Now, up this rope, and Aerich and I will go up that one, because my place is near the person of Her Majesty. The servants will follow, and then our brave Dzurlords. Come. No arguing. On your way.”
From these words, and, moreover, from the tone in which they were delivered, all who heard them knew without question who was now in charge of the defense and that nothing good would come of any disputes, and so they all made their way, as best they could, up the ropes. The one who had most trouble in this climb was Lar; not because of any weakness, but because he was unwilling to relinquish his cooking pot, and so had difficulty negotiating a hold upon the ropes. Eventually, Mica and Clari, who were already at the top, had him hold on as best he could, and pulled him up, after which they threw the ropes down again for the two Dzurlords, who, as it turned out, had time to scramble up before the approaching riders were upon them.
The leader of the riders—that is to say, Tsanaali—reached the place below the bluff upon which our friends waited, and drew rein, holding up his hand to indicate to his troop that they, too, should arrest the progress of their horses. When he had stopped, he looked up at the forces—such as they were—arrayed against him on the bluff. Tazendra, from her position on the top, bowed to him politely, which gesture he ignored. These forces—in case the reader has forgotten—consisted of Khaavren, Aerich, Tazendra, Pel, Piro, Kytraan, Ibronka, Röaana, Zerika, Grassfog, Iatha, Thong, Ritt, Belly, and three lackeys—for the reader must not forget Clari, although she has, we must admit, said little enough for some time that the reader could be excused this lapse. Arrayed against them was a force of some thirty-five or forty Dragon warriors, some of them appearing a little concerned as they looked upon the Orb, but, nevertheless, Dragonlords prepared to do their duty, under a commander who appeared to understand that there was to be no question of joking.
As Tsanaali looked, he identified (for the reader must understand that the distance was little more than a hundred feet) Pel as being among them, and he called up, “May I do myself the honor of wishing Your Venerance a pleasant day?”
Pel bowed to him, saying, “And I greet you as well, my dear Lieutenant, and am pleased to see you in good health.”
“Well,” said Tsanaali. “And has Your Venerance anything else to say?”
Pel called back, “You may return, Lieutenant; the mission has failed.”
“Then,” said Tsanaali, “that is not the Orb I see circling the head of that lady?”
“I have not asked her,” said Pel, truthfully. “It did not seem proper to ask such a question.”
“I admire your delicacy. Yet, you perceive, the question is important, because of the nature of the mission with which I have been entrusted.”
“You may return, Lieutenant,” repeated Pel. “The mission has failed.”
“If Your Venerance will come down,” called the Lieutenant, “we will discuss the matter.”
“Come up here, then,” called Pel. “I give you my word, you will receive a welcome you will not soon forget, and a discussion that will interest you greatly.”
“How, you invite me up?”
“I do, and I give you my word that if you accept the invitation you will make me the happiest of men.”
While none of them heard a reply from the officer to this proposal, they all saw the glint of his teeth as he smiled, and the crown of his hat as he bowed. He then turned away, and addressed some words to his command, after which they rode away in tight formation, moving to either side, with no attempt at concealing their intentions.
“I believe,” said Pel, “that we are about to have the honor to receive a charge.”
“It seems likely,” said Tazendra.
“Well,” said Khaavren.
“I still think,” said Tazendra, “that you ought to introduce us to your traveling companions.”
“In a little while,” said Khaavren.
“Very well.”
“Do you,” said Zerika, “think that there is a way to avoid them?”
“Your Majesty,” said Pel, “we dare not avoid them.”
“How, we dare not?”
“No. On the contrary. If they do not attack us, we should be obliged to attack them.”
“How, you think we could attack them?”
“Well, I should prefer not to. But, if Your Majesty would consider—”
“Yes?”
“If any of them escape, Your Majesty’s whereabouts will be known.”
“Well, and then?”
“And then Your Majesty will be attacked by a much larger force.”
“By whom, then?”
“By Kâna, who has sent this detachment against Your Majesty.”
“He would, then, make himself a traitor?”
“Your Majesty must understand that he considers himself to be the Emperor; therefore, he is not, in his own mind, a traitor.”
Zerika frowned, and considered the matter carefully. “I see,” she said at last. “Well then, there must be no attempt to escape.”
“That is my opinion,” said Pel. “I am delighted to find that it coincides with Your Majesty’s.”
At this point, Röaana turned to Ibronka and said, “How do you think they will attack?”
“I don’t know,” said the Dzur. “Are you frightened, Röaana?”
“Nearly. And you?”
“Oh, well, perhaps I am a little concerned.”
“You were right to admit it to me, my friend, and you may be assured that I will tell no one.”
“I am glad of that. It is difficult not to feel a certain trepidation, because we cannot know what we will do in battle until the first time we experience it.”
“You are exactly right, Ibronka. But I will make you this bargain—I will stay and fight if you do.”
“Oh, but that is easy, my dear, because you perceive I could never retreat while you are fighting; if I should, well, I believe the shame would kill me.”
“Then we shall each guard the other’s honor. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Here is my hand.”
“And here is mine.”
“And now I draw my sword.”
“And I draw mine, and let who dares come against us.”
A short distance away, Piro said to Kytraan, “Who are the girls?”
“I do not know, yet they came with your father.”
“That is true. Can they get above us, do you think?”
“The girls?”
“No, the enemy. I beg your pardon, but I changed the subject of my discourse without informing you of my intentions.”
“It is of no consequence.”
Kytraan turned around, and studied the slopes behind them, frowned, and said, “It would take them hours, and we should see them well before they were in position to make a charge. No, I think they will occupy the position beneath us, climb up around our flanks, then attempt to coordinate an attack from both sides at once. It is, at any rate, what I should do.”
“How many of them can attack us at once, then?”
“In close formation, perhaps five on that side, six on this side at one time. Thus, if they divide evenly, they will be three deep, with a few in reserve. Moreover, whoever takes the outermost position much watch his footing, lest he go over the edge of the bluff, which would, if not kill him, at least disturb him seriously.”
“As to that, the same is true of us.”
Kytraan shrugged. “I will take the edge.”
“On the contrary. I claim that honor for myself.”
Kytraan started to argue, then said, “No doubt we will be assigned positions, which assignments we must agree to as dutiful soldiers of Her Majesty, which, you perceive, is what we now are.”
Piro nodded his agreement and drew his sword; Kytraan echoed this action.
The Dragonlord held the blade up, and said, “I was given this weapon of my father, you know.” He studied its length critically. “It is called Reason, because my father always believed in the power of reasoned argument. And yours?”
“From my mother. She found it in the armory when I was very young, and it is one of the last weapons made by Ruthkor and Daughters before their business failed. It is the style my father has always preferred: light and quick, to strike like a snake. I call it Wit’s End.”
“Wit’s End? Why?”
“Well, for much the same reason that yours is Reason.”
Piro turned it in his hand, observing the blade—slender but strong, and the elegant curve of the bell guard. Then he turned to Kytraan and said, “May Reason triumph.”
“It always does, at the end of the day,” said Kytraan, smiling. “And as for you, well, you will always have a resort when you are at your wit’s end.”
“Indeed,” said Piro with a smile, as they waited for the assault to commence.
As they were having this conversation, Aerich said softly to Khaavren, “My friend, if he has survived for nearly a year on his own, in the wild, facing brigands and running errands for Sethra Lavode, well, now is not the time to worry about him.”
Khaavren smiled thinly. “Ah, you are reading my thoughts, good Aerich? Well, I do not deny that your reading is true. Still, after all of this, should I be here with him, and—”
“My dear friend, curb your imagination. Now is not the time, as you know well.”
Khaavren nodded, started to speak, then closed his mouth again.
Aerich said, “No, you need not ask. I will take that side, with him, and do you take this side. I answer for him.”
Khaavren smiled. “Thank you, old friend.”
“It is nothing. But what of you, Tazendra? Why are you looking as if your best sword were notched?”
