by Steven Brust
Tsanaali looked at Grita closely, thinking that she did not have the aspect of someone who would be likely to ask such a question. “Well, what is it you wish to know?”
“If I can accompany you.”
“You wish to come along with my troop?”
“Yes.”
“And why would you wish for such a thing?”
“Because you will be where the Orb goes, and where the Orb goes, my enemies go. And I wish to be there when they die.”
“I see.”
“And I hasten to add that it may be to—His Majesty’s—advantage.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“As to that, I will not now say, Captain, save there will be certain services that I shall ask of His Majesty, and that I know of, well, let us say of certain resources which I believe he will be grateful to have. And you may tell His Majesty that if I get what I want, I will gladly put these resources at his disposal, and I promise you he will not be the loser in such an exchange.”
Tsanaali studied her carefully—disliking her intensely, yet aware that she could be of service to His Majesty Kâna. At last he said, “Very well,” and, before she could say anything, he turned away from her. Then, calling his company into formation, he led the way, as quickly as he could, toward Dzur Mountain.
And, as we have brought up the subject of that enigmatic feature of the landscape, let us turn our attention thither and see what is passing in the home of Sethra Lavode.
With Tazendra having left on a mission, and the Necromancer having left on another, the Enchantress was, as we look upon her, alone save for her servant, Tukko. And yet, it is safe to say that she was never alone, because she always had with her the dagger whose name has come down to us as Iceflame, and, through this weapon, she had with her, at all times, Dzur Mountain. The exact nature of the relationship between mountain and enchantress is beyond the scope of this work, but it is fitting and proper that, as we look upon her, we remember that they were a part of each other in a way that is as undeniable as it is incomprehensible.
She walked through her home aimlessly, as if it didn’t matter exactly where within her domain she happened to be. She walked with her head bowed and her eyes, in fact, closed—although it should be no surprise to the reader that, after as long as she had dwelt there, she did not need her sense of sight to know where she was or where she was going or what obstacles, if any, might be in her way. And, as she walked, her right hand would occasionally touch the hilt of Iceflame.
And, as she walked, she began to speak in very low tones, her lips barely moving, though there did not appear to be anyone in sight with whom to hold a conversation. At a certain point in this inaudible conversation with no one, she went so far as to draw her dagger from its place at her hip, holding it in the gentle but firm grip of one who knew its length, and with this grip, moved it in a manner that seemed to be meaningless, as if she were paying no attention to the arm, the hand at its end, or the poniard it held. She continued her apparently aimless walk, and apparently senseless utterances, and apparently meaningless gestures for some time, until, finding herself in the kitchen, she opened her eyes to see Tukko there.
“Well,” she addressed this worthy. “I have done all that I can.”
“The mountain?”
“Dzur Mountain is now protected, as well as it can be.”
“And the Empire itself?”
“I attended to that over the last several days. As I have said, my friend, I have done what I can.”
Tukko glanced up at her. “And what of the Gods? Have they done all they can?”
“They can do nothing until the crisis is at hand.”
“Yes,” said Tukko. “At which time, no doubt, they will be helpless.”
Sethra chuckled. “That is their custom, isn’t it? But you know they are more tightly bound than you are.”
“That is as may be, madam,” said Tukko severely. “But you know that I prefer not to discuss my own condition.”
“And yet, if we do not discuss it—”
“Is now the time, madam?”
Sethra sighed. “No, my dear friend, I imagine it is not.”
“Well then?”
“Well then, as I said, I believe I have done all that I can.”
“What of the emissary the Gods have sent?”
“I have instructed her not to return. She will do more good with the little Dragon than she will here.”
“Perhaps you are right, young one,” said Tukko. “But the Dragon is unpredictable, and the demon is unknown. It is not good that they are all we have to depend on.”
Sethra Lavode permitted an expression of annoyance to cross her countenance, no doubt at the appellation “young one,” which she had never liked. “They are not all we have to depend on, as you know very well.”
“Oh, you speak of steel.”
“Do not disparage steel. The Empress, it seems, has just won a sort of victory against the forces who oppose her. And all of our arcane activities will be worthless if the Empress is defeated by an army. That would be the end of the Orb, and another fifty years without the Orb, and I do not think anything can keep them out. Indeed, with its re-emergence, they must have become aware of my illusions, and it is unlikely we can keep them out for a week should it vanish again.”
“Oh, I do not disparage steel. Yet that is not where the real threat lies. Something must be done.”
Sethra said, “I should be delighted to learn more, if you have any suggestions as to what we can do.”
“I have none.”
“Well then, we are doing what we can. Above all the Orb must be protected. Once it is secure—”
“We both know,” said Tukko, “that the Orb will be on our side. The question is, will it be enough?”
“We both know,” said Sethra, with somewhat of a mocking edge to her voice, “that the Jenoine are a far greater threat than the upstart from the west. But—”
“Yes,” said Tukko. “But. But the one from Kanefthali can open the way for the Makers. That is what I worry about.”
“Yes, and it is against just this threat that I have put up safeguards around the Great Sea, as well as around the mountain, as you know very well, Dri’Chazik a Tukknaro Dzur.”
Tukko shrugged, ignoring the use of his full title, which always meant the Enchantress was annoyed. “We both know you are more subtle and skilled than I am. But have you the skill to truly protect us from the Makers?”
“If I do not, who does?”
“The Necromancer.”
“How, you think so?”
“I do.”
“I had not thought such matters involved necromancy.”
“How not, Enchantress? Is it not a matter of transfer from one world to another, one plane of existence to another? And is it not exactly at this that a Necromancer is skilled? In fact, I am convinced it is for this reason that this demon, and not another, was sent to us by the Gods.”
“I had not considered it in this way.”
“Well?”
The Enchantress thought about this for a long moment, at last saying, “Yes, Tukko, I believe you are right.”
“I am convinced of it, Enchantress.”
“Well then,” said Sethra, “now that the Orb has returned, I will reach out to her through it, and speak to her of this, and see if she can manage these safeguards.”
“That will be good.”
“But, at the best, it will take time for her to do anything.”
“Yes. I know. In the meantime, well, you must simply do the best you can.”
“I always do.”
“Yes, I know that, Enchantress. I know that you do.”
Zerika, at this same time, was addressing herself to Khaavren, who had been sitting in silence with Aerich, Pel, and Tazendra. As she approached, the four of them rose to their feet as one and bowed to her, each in his own fashion, a salute which Zerika returned in a rather distracted way.
“Please, sit,” she said.
“Tell me, Captain, what you conceive our tactical situation to be.”
Khaavren ignored the title she had given him, although, as the reader has realized, he was not entirely at ease with it, and said, “Your Majesty, it is not good.”
“Well?”
“We wish to reach Dzur Mountain, because there we can manage a certain degree of safety while Your Majesty gathers forces. But I am convinced that this pretender, Kâna, will stop at nothing to gain the Orb, and the army he has at his disposal is, to say the least, formidable. In a word, then, our situation is grim.”
Having said this, Khaavren permitted his head to drop onto his breast, as if he were in deep contemplation. Zerika nodded, accepting his judgment, then glanced at Khaavren’s friends, and said, “And do you, who among you have great experience, agree with my captain?”
“Oh, yes,” said Tazendra, delighted. “The circumstances are so grim as to be nearly hopeless. It is a joy to me.”
Aerich, for his part, said, “Your Majesty, it is true that there are considerable forces arrayed against us, in this I cannot disagree with the captain. In truth, I do not know how we can succeed. But I know that we must try, and that is sufficient.”
“And you,” said the Empress, addressing Pel. “You agree with the others.”
“Not in the least,” said the Yendi.
“How, you do not?”
“I do myself the honor of standing in disagreement with them, yes.”
The others looked at Pel, who had accompanied these words with a graceful bow in their direction.
“In what way do you disagree? Please be specific.”
“Oh, Your Majesty need not fear that I will speak in generalities. And I do not dispute that there are tremendous forces at work against us. But—”
“Yes,” said the Empress. “But?”
“But there is a circumstance upon which my friends have not reflected.”
“I hope,” said the Empress, “that, as you have reflected upon this circumstance, whereas they have not, you will do us the honor of sharing these reflections.”
“I am about to do so.”
“And then?”
“It is simply this,” said the Yendi. “For the first time in hundreds of years, the four of us—that is, Aerich, Tazendra, Khaavren, and I—are together, united. Consider what we have done in the past. For my part, I can conceive of no force, of any kind, that can stand against us.”
Zerika frowned, considering this, but made no response.
Aerich smiled a little.
Tazendra grinned and said, “Ah, my dear Pel. I recognize you so well in that!”
Khaavren slowly raised his head, looking at his friends with a kind of fire in his eyes, and said, “Do you know, my dear, I think you may be right.”
Chapter the Forty-Sixth
How Morrolan Met an Intriguing
And Unique Individual, Who
Caused a Certain Amount of
Excitement at His Encampment
It was in the middle of the morning on a Marketday in the first year of the reign of the Empress Zerika the Fourth that the Lord Morrolan became aware of a certain commotion in his encampment, by which we mean at the site of the temple and associated fortifications that he was in the process of building. At the time, he was inside the temple structure itself, consulting with Arra about the placement of sconces and other matters of decoration, Arra pretending that plain and simple was in keeping with the nature of the Goddess, whereas Morrolan favored more elaborate adornments. This discussion was interrupted by a young man of the House of the Teckla, who was one of many who assisted the builders in their work. This young man entered, made an obeisance to Morrolan, and said, “My lord, something has happened.”
“Well? And what is it, then?” prompted Morrolan, who always preferred some degree of detail when hearing of an alarming event.
“You wish me to tell you what has happened?”
Morrolan frowned. “How, this was not clear to you from my question?”
“Oh, it was clear, my lord.”
“Well then?”
“Then I will tell you.”
“Well,” said Morrolan, “I shall offer my thanks to Verra for that!”
“Shall I wait while you do so?”
“Speak!”
“This is it, then.”
“Yes?”
“The first thing that happened, then, is that a wolf appeared.”
“How, a wolf?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“In the camp?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Well, what next?”
“Next, there was a dzur.”
“Ah, ha!” said Morrolan, beginning to understand. “And was my friend the warlock near these animals?”
“Yes, my lord, he was. Right among them.”
“Well, if that is all, then—”
“Your pardon, my lord, but that is not all.”
“What, there is more? Tell me what it is, then.”
“It is the warlock, my lord. He pretends that the wolf and the dzur appeared because of someone entering the encampment.”
“Well, and have you seen a stranger?”
“No, my lord.”
“And did the warlock say where this stranger was?”
“No, my lord.”
“Well, but what did he say?”
“He said to bring you, my lord.”
“Ah. Well, now I better comprehend why you have come.”
“Then I have done my duty, my lord.”
Morrolan shrugged his shoulders and threw a cloak over them, after which he went out into a day that was sufficiently bright, compared to the inside of the temple, that at first Morrolan could do nothing but squint. Presently, however, he saw the short figure of the warlock standing, along with the wolf and the dzur, in the midst of a small group of people who appeared to be engaged in some sort of animated conversation. Morrolan approached them directly.
As he came closer, he noted that Lady Teldra was there, as well as Fentor, his sergeant, whose hand was gripping his sword as if ready to draw it upon an instant. The remaining member of the party was a woman, very tall, very pale, and very thin. But what was most remarkable about this woman was that the two beasts who were the warlock’s familiars, each in its own way, showed unmistakable signs of hostility toward this woman, as if they both but waited a word of command before tearing her to pieces.
As Morrolan approached, he observed that the stranger, whoever she was, seemed either oblivious of the threat posed by these animals, or, at the least, unworried by it. As he came near, Fentor turned and bowed, and made some remark to the stranger, who also gave a certain incline of her angular head. In many ways, she had the appearance of a Dragonlord, though her eyes were, perhaps, set a trifle too far apart, and her noble’s point, though present, was not quite sufficiently pronounced.
“Well?” said Morrolan.
Fentor said, “My lord, this person appeared in the camp, and will not give her name, nor tell us whence she came. Do you agree with this, good warlock?”
“Nearly.”
“Nearly?”
“You are incorrect on one count, my dear Sergeant.”
“And, if you will, in what particular have I erred?”
“She is not a person,” said the warlock coolly.
“How, not a person?” said Morrolan and Fentor.
“No, she is an undead.”
“Ah,” said Morrolan.
“More than that,” continued the warlock, “she is also a Necromancer, and certainly the most powerful I have ever known, or, indeed, heard of.”
“Bah,” said Morrolan. “How can you know that?”
“Sireng told me,” he said, indicated the dzur. “And, if that is not enough, she appeared suddenly, amid a shower of golden sparks, which is a means of travel that only a Necromancer
is capable of.”
“That is true, my lord,” said Fentor. “The warlock alerted us to her impending arrival before she had appeared, and we were thus able to see her as she emerged from nothing, exactly as he has described.”
Morrolan frowned, not entirely certain how to respond to this intelligence, and turned to the stranger, to whom he gave a polite bow. “I am Morrolan, Lord of Southmoor,” he said. “And these are my lands.”
“It is you I have come to see,” said the Necromancer, speaking in a rather deep but not unpleasant voice, although one nearly devoid of inflection, and with a pronunciation that was quite as pure as that spoken in Dragaera City before the Disaster.
“Ah!” said Fentor. “She speaks! I had begun to wonder.”
“If you please,” said Teldra to Fentor, with a touch of severity in her voice. Fentor shrugged.
“Well,” said Morrolan, “you have not only seen me, but you have spoken with me as well.”
“That is true, but I have more things to tell you.”
“How, more?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, say it, then, I am listening.”
“You wish me to tell you now?”
“I beg your pardon, but are you of the same family as the boy who—but no, it could not be. Well, to answer your question, yes, if you would, at this moment—by which, you perceive, I mean right now—do me the honor of saying what you wish to say, and that without taking any more time than should be required, well, I give you my word I would be very grateful.”
“Then I will tell you.”
“I am grateful.”
“A large army of the Duke of Kâna is heading in this general direction, bent on what must be considered evil, and you have the only force in a position to stop it.”
“Who, I?”
The Necromancer bowed assent.
Morrolan frowned. “On whose behalf am I to use this force?”
“On behalf of Her Majesty, Zerika, the Empress.”
“An Empress named Zerika?” said Morrolan.
The Necromancer bowed once more.
“Someone different from the Emperor Kâna, and from the other pretenders of whom I have heard so much?”
The Necromancer signaled her agreement for the third time.
“So,” said Morrolan with a shrug. “It is another Empress. What makes this Empress more legitimate than Kâna?”
