The Lord of Castle Black: Book Two of the Viscount of Adrilankha

by Steven Brust

  “The Orb,” said the Necromancer.

  Morrolan turned to look at Teldra, whose eyes were wide. “It has returned?” cried the Issola, who, having been born after the Disaster, had no awareness of its presence.

  “So I am informed,” said the Necromancer.

  Teldra stared at the Necromancer, while Morrolan stared at Teldra staring, and Fentor watched Morrolan for a hint of what action, if any, he ought to take. The Necromancer, we should add, for the sake of completeness, didn’t appear to be looking at anyone or anything, though her eyes were pointed generally in Morrolan’s direction.

  “Well?” said Morrolan, addressing Teldra.

  “My lord, I do not know.”

  “But, is it possible?”

  “I, well, I imagine it possible, my lord.”

  “And then, is there a way to discover for certain?”

  The Necromancer said, “Anyone who practiced sorcery at the time of what is called the Disaster will be able, with a small effort, to become aware of the return of the Orb.”

  Teldra nodded. “Yes, that would seem reasonable.”

  Morrolan nodded to Fentor. “Find such an individual.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  In a very short time, the sergeant returned with a middle-aged Tsalmoth, who was involved in the construction. She bowed to Morrolan, and introduced herself as Oidwa.

  “Oidwa,” said Morrolan, “is it true that you are a sorcerer?”

  She seemed startled. “My lord,” she said. “It is true that I had some skill, but that was long ago.”

  “Before the Disaster?”

  “Exactly, my lord. There has been no sorcery since then.”

  “But, if the Orb were to return, what then?”

  “If it were to return, my lord? Oh, but that could never happen.”

  “Why could it not?”

  “Because it was destroyed in the Disaster.”

  “Oh? And how is it you come to know this?”

  “How? Well, but, if it was not, where is it?”

  “It is not for you to question me,” said Morrolan sternly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What could you use sorcery to do?”

  “What could I … my lord, there are so many—”

  “Could you light a fire with it?”

  “Well, but, yes, surely.”

  “Do so.”

  “My lord?”

  “Do so now. Start a fire, in that pit at which I am now pointing.”

  “With sorcery, my lord?”

  “Yes, yes. With sorcery.”

  “But if—”

  “Make the attempt, as if the Orb were back.”

  The Tsalmoth hesitated, then said, “My lord, I will do as you say, of course. But you must be aware that it is pointless. If, indeed, the Orb had returned, I would know it by simply sensing for …”

  Her voice trailed off, and her eyes became as wide as flattened pennies.

  Morrolan, who could not but observe the remarkable expression that crossed her countenance, and, moreover, the fact that she then fell to her knees, as one who has received a vision of divine origin, looked at her, then said simply, “Well?”

  “I believe,” said Teldra softly, “that the Orb has returned.”

  Oidwa, evidently hearing these words, looked at Teldra, focusing her eyes upon her with some difficulty, and nodded. Then she turned, and with a small gesture, started a fire in the place Morrolan had indicated. It is possible that this was the first use of the Orb for sorcery after the Interregnum, although this cannot be established with any certainty.

  The Necromancer then said, “My lord,” thus recalling Morrolan’s attention to her.

  Morrolan looked at her, and nodded abruptly. “Very well, I accept that the Orb has returned. And I accept that this—what is her name?”

  “Zerika the Fourth,” said Teldra, who of course knew her history, and was able to supply the proper numeral to associate with the name.

  “Yes,” continued Morrolan. “I accept that this Zerika has the Orb. But, what then?”

  “Then,” said Teldra, “it is the duty of a gentleman to support and defend the legitimate Empress.”

  Morrolan considered this for a long moment. “Very well. I must consider this matter. In any case, it is clear that I cannot permit this—what is his name?”

  “Kâna.”

  “Yes, I cannot permit this Kâna to over-run me. Therefore, I will gather the army, such as it is. We will set out in the morning.”

  “My lord,” said Fentor. “I do not believe sufficient preparations can be made between now and to-morrow.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, Your Lordship must consider that provisions must be organized, order of march determined, weapons and supplies allocated—”

  “How long will it take?”

  Fentor hesitated. “I believe I could manage it in three days, my lord.”

  “Three days?”

  “Well, perhaps it could be rushed—”

  “The morning of the day after to-morrow.”

  Fentor winced, then nodded. “Very well, my lord. I will see to it at once.”

  Morrolan then turned to the warlock, who was now standing placidly next to his dog, with his cat sitting between his feet. Of the wolf and the dzur, of course, there was no sign. After taking a moment to recover his composure—he had, after all, just experienced several remarkable revelations—Morrolan said, “Do you leave now, and attempt to discover who they are, how many they are, and what they are doing.”

  The warlock bowed his agreement with this plan, and turned away to put it into action at once, his dog and his cat following behind him.

  The warlock, we should say, wasted no time in gathering a supply of provender for himself and his horse (his familiars, as he called them, were capable of hunting for themselves) and setting out on his mission—that is to say, he was gone within the hour. Fentor, for his part, began at once to prepare such an army as Morrolan had built—scarely three thousand, all told—for as quick a departure as possible.

  Morrolan returned to the temple to hold conversation with Arra, whom he found standing at the altar, running her hands along its smooth, polished surface as if it were a pet she was stroking, or as if it was a precious treasure and she alone were responsible for its fate.

  She looked up as Morrolan entered and bowed to him respectfully. Morrolan, without preamble, explained to her all that he had just learned, and the actions he had taken in response. “What is your opinion?” he concluded.

  “I do not understand on what you do me the honor of asking my opinion,” said the priestess.

  “Do you believe them? About the Orb?”

  “My lord, you must understand that this is not a matter with which I am conversant.”

  Morrolan sighed and nodded. “Well, I can only hope I have done the right thing, and that, moreover, I will continue to do it. You perceive, this matter of an Empress, a real Empress, has thrown me out of my reckoning, and I am not entirely certain how I ought to respond.”

  “My lord, what causes this confusion?”

  “The notion of serving another. This idea is not pleasing to me.”

  “I understand.”

  “But then, Teldra, whom I trust, seems to feel I must do so, as a matter of course.”

  “If you wish, I can ask the Goddess for guidance.”

  “I can see no reason not to,” said the Dragonlord.

  “I shall set about doing so, then.”

  “Yes, and I will await the results, for you perceive it is no small matter that we consider. Indeed, a great more than my own fate may rest upon the decision I ultimately make.”

  “As to that,” said Arra, “I have no doubt at all.”

  Chapter the Forty-Seventh

  How Tazendra Put the Empress’s

  Suggestion into Action

  Khaavren was awakened early the following morning by a remarkably loud sound, in the form of a “boom”
similar to what a heavy log might make when dropped from a great height into a rocky valley of the sort that generates considerable echoes. He came at once to his feet, to find that everyone else was also rising, the entire camp having been startled by this sound. He wondered at once who was on watch, and, without thinking about it, consulted the Orb to learn the time—which action proved how quickly he had, in some ways at least, habituated himself to its return.

  Having learned the time, he was able to quickly determine that it was the last watch, and that, therefore, it was being shared, according to the scheme that he had laid down, by Iatha and Tazendra, wherefore he at once called for the Dzurlord by name.

  “I am here,” she said coolly, emerging from behind a large stone, from which, Khaavren realized, a certain amount of heavy gray smoke was also emerging, as if a fire had been quickly smothered in that spot.

  “The Horse!” cried Khaavren. “Are you injured?”

  “Bah. It is nothing.”

  “How, nothing?” said Khaavren, as the others, now fully awake, also stared at her. “You perceive, your face is blackened, much of your clothing burned and torn to the point where your modesty is compromised, and, if I am not deceived, there is smoke still curling from your left hand.”

  “Well,” shrugged Tazendra, endeavoring to adjust her clothing. “It is not so bad as it looks.”

  “But what happened?”

  “Oh, as to that—”

  “Yes?”

  “Her Majesty—” Here she bowed in the direction of Zerika. “—was right.”

  “That doesn’t startle me,” said Khaavren. “But, in what way was she right?”

  “My friend, you know that I have trained as a wizard.”

  “Well, yes, I am not unacquainted with this intelligence—my son has spoken to me of it, and, what is more, I had the honor of seeing you perform in that little entertainment we just enjoyed.”

  “And, moreover, I was a sorcerer in the old days.”

  “I cannot forget how often our lives were saved by the flash-stones you prepared for us. But what then?”

  “Her Majesty did me the honor to suggest that, the next time I performed a spell, I ought to draw power from the Orb.”

  “Well, and?”

  “I had bethought myself that, before attempting such a spell upon an enemy, I ought to make a test.”

  “You thought of that yourself, Tazendra?”

  “Entirely.”

  “Well, it was a good thought.”

  “I am gratified to hear you say so, my friend.”

  “And so, then, you made this test?”

  “Yes, and it is good that I did, because, well, the Orb has changed.”

  “How, changed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “In what way has it changed?”

  Tazendra frowned, as if looking for the words she required to clearly explain a difficult concept. “It is,” she said at last, “as if you were attempting to lift a boulder, only to discover that it was made of paper.”

  “That is good, if you wish to lift it,” observed Khaavren.

  “I attempted to start a small fire. Instead of a fire igniting, however, the stick I was attempting to ignite quite exploded, making a considerable amount of smoke, and no small degree of noise.”

  “I had remarked upon the noise,” said Khaavren. “And, moreover, I perceive the smoke. But what can account for this change?”

  “Oh, as to that, I cannot say.”

  Khaavren turned to Zerika, as if to ask her opinion of this strange phenomenon, but the Empress merely shrugged, as if to say that, never having felt the presence of the Orb before the Interregnum, she had no standard against which to compare it.

  “Is it possible,” said Khaavren, “that, somehow, the Orb has changed, and that sorcery is more powerful?”

  “If it is,” said Ibronka suddenly, “then perhaps Röaana’s leg can be healed.”

  The Tiassa, who had been sitting on the ground, looked up hopefully. Piro glanced at Ibronka, then at Röaana, then at Zerika, and finally at Tazendra as he considered the question, the potential, the unknown, and the possibilities.

  “I know little of healing,” said Tazendra, blushing a bit, as if ashamed of admitting to a limit to her knowledge.

  “I believe,” said Ibronka, “that you know more than any of the rest of us.”

  At this point, Grassfog hesitantly cleared his throat.

  “Well?” said Ibronka, turning to look at him quickly.

  “I was apprenticed to a physicker for a time, shortly before the Interregnum.”

  “How, you?” said Ibronka.

  Grassfog bowed his head.

  “And how did you go from physicker’s apprentice to brigand?”

  “Easily enough,” said Grassfog. “My mistress died, and none of the spells I knew for healing were efficacious, and I had to eat, because I considered that, as every living thing must eat to live, and as I was a living thing, should I stop eating I would no longer live, and I wished to continue living.”

  “Yes, I understand that,” said Ibronka, struck by the extreme justice of this explanation. “But, do you think you can heal my friend’s leg, now that the Orb has returned?”

  “It is possible,” said Grassfog, with some hesitation. “You perceive, it has been a long time. Yet, I am not unwilling to make the attempt.”

  “Then, you are willing?” said Piro.

  “Entirely,” said Grassfog.

  “In that case,” said Khaavren. “Do so at once.”

  “I shall, I assure you. Come,” he said to the Tiassa girl, “make yourself comfortable.”

  “Oh, I am comfortable.”

  “Then permit me to examine the wound.”

  “How,” said Ibronka, “you wish to examine her leg? Here? In front of, well, here?”

  Piro felt himself flushing, though he was not certain as to the cause of this reaction, and turned away in some confusion, remarking to his father that he would see how the servants were coming along on breakfast. Kytraan, for his part, at once agreed with this plan and pretended he could assist his friend in this difficult task.

  Khaavren gave his son a look full of amusement, and suggested that Röaana be brought some distance away where considerations of modesty could be met as well as sorcerous and medical requirements. While this was taking place, Tazendra took herself to a stream at the foot of the mountain where she cleaned herself up, after which she returned to the encampment and, with Aerich’s help, effected such repairs on her clothing as she could (the reader must understand that she was unable to change her clothing, as her valise had been carried away when her horse had been stolen). By the time she returned to the encampment, Röaana was standing, leaning against Ibronka and smiling at Grassfog.

  “It is a marvel!” cried the young Tiassa.

  “Well, it is true what was said,” said the onetime brigand. “It does seem easier to draw upon the power of the Orb now than it did. It seems as if—”

  But Röaana was not, in fact, interested in the details. She said, “Whatever caused it, it is wonderful. I believe that, with the help of a stick, I will be able to walk nearly as fast as anyone. There is no pain, and only a little weakness in my leg.”

  “Is there a scar?” said Ibronka.

  “None at all,” said Röaana.

  “Ah! That is too bad,” said the Dzur sympathetically.

  Khaavren smiled slightly at this interchange, then said, “Come, let us break camp. We have a long way to travel, and we should be about it at once.”

  “My lord,” said Grassfog. “Ought I to take the time to see what I can do for those of our enemies who are wounded?”

  “No,” said Pel, coolly.

  “Yes,” said Zerika, scowling at Pel.

  “In my judgment, Your Majesty,” said Khaavren, “he should do what he can to comfort anyone who is dying. And, for anyone who will live, well, consider that they are enemies, and it will do us no good to have them healthy and in o
ur rear.”

  “I cannot always tell who will live and who will die,” said Grassfog, “unless I make the attempt at healing.”

  “Moreover,” said Zerika, “I believe that we can accept their parole.”

  “Will they give their parole?” said Khaavren.

  “Kill anyone who doesn’t,” said the Empress coolly.

  “Very well,” said Khaavren. “With this plan, I agree. But work quickly,” he added, looking to the west. “I wish to be on our way within the hour.”

  The others acknowledged this request, and at once set themselves to work. While they were busy “striking camp” as is said by those of a military bent, we must now, for the sake of completeness, make certain brief but important investigations into some of the other places where certain events are taking place. While these events are not of sufficient breadth, if we may use such a term, to justify devoting a chapter of our history to them, they are, nevertheless, too significant to ignore without the danger of leaving the reader confused as to how and why later events transpired as they did.

  At just about the time the Empress was setting out, then, led by the intrepid Khaavren (whom Zerika continued to insist upon calling “Captain”), Kâna was receiving a messenger as he rode near the head of a column of infantry. He permitted the messenger to approach him, whereupon he said, “Well, and who has dispatched you?”

  “General Brawre, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah. What is it that the general wishes to communicate to me?”

  “Just this, Your Majesty: Everything is moving as you wish, and the advanced units will be in sight of Dzur Mountain in nine days at the present rate of march.”

  “Well, that is good. I am pleased.”

  “The general will be pleased that Your Majesty is pleased. But, are there any additional instructions I am to give?”

  “Oh, as to that, I must consult with Izak about matters of coordination. Do you go and find him, and have him meet me here.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes.”

  In a short time, Izak, still not entirely certain how he felt about his recent promotion, had arrived and was speaking with Kâna.

  “The question, my dear Izak,” said the latter, “is, can we be at Dzur Mountain in nine days?”