by Steven Brust
“Your Majesty,” said Izak, “I think so.”
“How, you think so?”
“That is to say, if we do not have any unexpected delays.”
“Hmmm,” said His Majesty. “Well then, see that we do not.”
Izak bowed, and returned to his duty, worry apparent on his brow.
We must now take the reader to a point a few hours later and some distance away, from an army to a small detachment of that army—to wit, Tsanaali’s detachment. As we look upon them, making their way westward at a good speed, this very speed became the subject of conversation, when Marra said, “Captain, at this pace we will kill the horses.”
Tsanaali frowned and looked behind him at the remainder of his troop, noticed how spread out they had become and the sweat evident on the horses close to him, and, sighing, signaled that they should slow down to a walk.
“You are right, Marra, and you were right to mention it. I am too anxious to arrive in a timely manner.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“At best,” said Tsanaali, “it will take us eight more days to get there.”
Marra nodded. “Nine is more likely, I think.”
“Yes, perhaps nine. We must not permit it to take any longer than that, however.”
“Yes, Captain. I understand. But—”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“When we get there, what will we do?”
“As to that, I cannot say for certain. We will fight, or be sent on patrols. But, more significantly, while we travel, we will be able to learn if there is any organized resistance to His Majesty, and give a report when we arrive.”
“I understand, Captain. Then, in a few days, we will begin a careful watch.”
“That is right, Lieutenant. Apropos, how are our supplies?”
“We have plenty, Captain. The horses of our late opponents, and their pack animals, were well supplied. We will have no need to stop before we arrive at Dzur Mountain.”
The captain nodded, and stared into the distance. “Dzur Mountain,” he repeated quietly.
Far away in space, and, as we have already suggested, an unknowable distance away in time, in the Halls of Judgment, Verra was sitting with what appeared to be a young child seated on her lap. But, instead of speaking or playing with this child, Verra was addressing the Gods, saying, “We are committed now. Not only has the Orb returned, but Sethra Lavode has sent an emissary to Morrolan—Morrolan being the Dragonlord of whom, you may recall, I spoke some time ago.”
“Yes,” said Ordwynac. “I, for one, am unable to forget. And what will this Dragonling do, now that an emissary has arrived? Is it not the case that his little force is not only untrained and poorly organized, but also outnumbered more than thirty to one?”
“Ah,” said Verra. “I perceive you have been keeping a watch on matters in their progression.”
“Well.”
“As for how it will all develop, there is now contact between Dzur Mountain and the Orb, and between Dzur Mountain and Morrolan and his witches. And Morrolan, I think, will soon establish contact between himself and the Orb. Thus the three sides of the triangle will come together. A triangle is a strong structure and will be hard to break.”
“You speak in abstractions. I speak of a discrepancy of forces of thirty to one.”
“Abstractions, my love, are not always further from the truth than facts; sometimes they are closer.”
“I am not convinced.”
“Then let us observe. The true test of strategy is found on the battlefield, not in the mind of a strategist.”
There was some murmuring among the others of the Gods at this observation, but none of them spoke against it.
“In this instance,” said Trout, speaking for the first time. “Verra is right. We must wait and see.”
As Trout spoke, the child on Verra’s lap shifted a little to hold the Goddess closer, as if for protection.
Chapter the Forty-Eighth
How Morrolan Prepared for Battle
And Was Forced to Consider
The Considerations of Command
Insofar as They Involve Considering
Morrolan stood before the temple he was causing to be built and met there a lone rider, an Easterner who traveled in the company of a dog and a cat, and who had generally come to be known as the Warlock. The Warlock had been observed by a workman on the temple roof some ten minutes before, and word had been sent to Morrolan, who had rushed out to meet him, so that, by the time the rider dismounted, the Dragonlord was standing next to his stirrup, where, at a polite distance, out of earshot, gathered those always curious about seeing this enigmatic individual, as well as those who had been happily watching the workmen, with the idle pleasure that combines the joy of watching someone else work when one need not, with the more sublime delight that is always associated with observing the growth of a new structure.
“You are back quickly,” said Morrolan.
“Well, that is true. You have not yet left.”
“We were to have left yester-day, but, it seems, we will not be ready until morning to-morrow.”
“Perhaps that is just as well.”
“How, do you think so?”
“Nearly.”
“From this remark, and, moreover, from the very fact that you have returned so quickly, I presume you have something to tell me that might cause me to change my plans.”
“That is not impossible.”
“Well, let us withdraw to within the temple, find a bottle of the local wine, which, though perhaps too spicy, is nevertheless palatable for all of that, and then, why, you will give me your news.”
“I can find nothing to say against this plan.”
“Then let us execute it.”
And, arm in arm, the tall Dragonlord and the short Easterner repaired within the temple, followed by the ubiquitous dog and the cat, where Morrolan managed to find a cool bottle of wine and two cups. As Morrolan worked the tongs and feather as best he could (he had only recently been shown, by Teldra, how to use this equipment), the Warlock said, “Well, the first thing you must know is that, indeed, there are armies marching.”
“Ah, you saw them?”
“I did, or Awtlá did; it is all the same.”
“Very well, if that is what you say, I will accept it. So, there are armies marching. More than one?”
“Two. One from the west, the other from the north.”
“And the numbers?”
“The one from the west has nearly forty thousand.”
“Forty thousand!” cried Morrolan. “Perhaps I should turn my attention to the other!”
“Alas, the other has closer to sixty thousand, including infantry and cavalry.”
“Verra!” said Morrolan.
“Moreover,” said the Warlock.
“Yes?”
“The army that is advancing from the west seems, unless they change directions, to be heading directly for us.”
“Hmm. So that, in fact, we could defend this position, rather than attacking.”
“That is true, my lord.”
“And yet, I should much prefer to attack.”
“Well, as to that, you must decide. You perceive, I understand nothing of these matters.”
“It is clear that I must consider the matter carefully. We are gaining troops every day; the longer we remain here, the more time we can spend drilling them, which Fentor pretends will make them more effective in combat. Apropos, when is the enemy likely to be in this region?”
“Two weeks, perhaps a month.”
“How precisely can you calculate wither they are bound?”
“If they continue as they are marching, they will meet at a point somewhat north of here, but, of course, we cannot know exactly.”
“Very well, I will consider—”
“There is more,” the Warlock interrupted.
“How, more? What then?”
“A small troop, perhaps twenty or twenty-five in number, is com
ing from the east, and much more rapidly.”
“Well, but there must be many of these.”
“This one is special.”
“In what way?”
“As to that, I do not know; but Sireng assures me that there is something about this troop that makes them important.”
“Very well, I will consider this. Is there anything else?”
The Warlock nodded, and said, “Does the Necromancer remain with us?”
Morrolan nodded. “She remains, though I do not know why.”
“I have learned a little of her.”
“Oh? Tell me.”
“There are rumors of her mysteriously appearing from nowhere, and making her way to a place called Dzur Mountain.”
“I have heard of this mountain,” said Morrolan. “It is, after all, part of my fief.”
“How, is it? But you know that it is inhabited.”
“Inhabited?” said Morrolan, startled. “I had not known of this circumstance.”
“How, you had not? But then, those who are working for you are, perhaps, more willing to speak casually with me than with you. But there is no doubt that there is a presence of some sort there, and, I am told, a sinister one.”
“And yet,” said Morrolan, “I have seen no tribute.”
“As to that,” said the Warlock, “I cannot comment.”
Morrolan frowned and seemed to consider for a moment, but then he merely shrugged, turned away, and called for Fentor, who was acting as his second-in-command. When this worthy arrived, Morrolan, in two words, explained what he had learned, and asked for suggestions.
“We are to bring our three thousand against forty thousand?”
“Yes, that is what we must do, my dear Colonel”—the reader may perceive that, as the numbers of Morrolan’s army rose, so too did Fentor’s rank—“unless, that is—”
“Yes, unless?”
“Unless you can think of a way to stop these forty thousand without the use of our three thousand.”
“Well, in fact, I do not believe that I can.”
“Then we are required to use our army. Although—”
“Yes?”
“We have our witches.” The colonel looked uncomfortable at the mention of this practice, but did not take it upon himself to voice his objections, if, indeed, he had any, to his liege. “As to whether they will be sufficient,” continued Morrolan, shrugging, “who can say?”
“Your Goddess,” said Fentor.
Morrolan appeared startled, as if he had not expected an answer to the question. After consideration, however, he said, “Do you know, that may be true. It may be that we will ask her. And yet, she is not speaking to us as we would like. We asked her for a sign some days ago, when word came of the approaching army, and we have received nothing—or, at any rate, nothing we have recognized as a sign.”
“Who can know of the Gods?” said Fentor dismissively. “But we can know of armies. What do you have it in mind to do?”
“I wish to attack them,” said Morrolan. “Yet, it would seem that we would have a better chance if we arranged for a careful defense.”
Fentor frowned, as if considering the defensive possibilities of the immediate terrain. At last he said, “We can defend this ground well enough, though hardly against such odds. And, as I have said before, the more time we have to drill and train the new recruits who are still arriving, the better it will be for us, and consequently, the worse for our enemy. Of course, it is possible that they will go around us.”
“Yes, but if we are in their path—”
“Yes. This warlord does like to gobble up everyone he comes across.”
“Then we have no choice but to assume, as we have been, that we are to be attacked.”
“Exactly.”
“Very well. See to it. Do you know—”
“Yes my lord?”
“It seems to me that I have been doing a great deal of considering, of late. I wonder, is this a natural consequence of command?”
“Yes, my lord. Indeed, the more you command—”
“Well?”
“The more you must consider.”
“I am not certain that I care for it.”
“You will become used to it, in time.”
“Will I? That is good, then. I take your word for it.”
“You may.”
“Very well. You know what you must do?”
“Entirely.”
“Very good. I must run an errand.”
“An errand, my lord? Will it be a lengthy errand?”
“A day or two.”
“But, my lord—”
“You must manage things here while I am away.”
“Very well, my lord,” said the colonel. “But, if I may ask whither are you bound?”
“Dzur Mountain,” said Morrolan. “I must learn who is this person who dwells on my land without even giving me the courtesy of a welcome, much less whatever tribute I am owed.”
“But, my lord, is now the time—”
“Yes,” said Morrolan, and with this word, he turned away and called for a horse to be saddled. Once this was accomplished, Morrolan rode off at once, not even giving the colonel time to reply, but rather at once turning his horse’s head to the north and setting off at good speed.
As he does so, we believe that is time to look back on him for whom this history is named, that is, the Viscount of Adrilankha.
Chapter the Forty-Ninth
How Zerika Acquired Horses
For Her Small Army
Though traveling slowly, and on foot, Piro and his friends have nevertheless managed to make a certain amount of progress in the time that has elapsed since we last saw them: South Mountain has, by this time, quite vanished behind them, and they are making their way along the vast plain occasionally dotted with forests between the Shallow Sea and the Laughing River.
Ibronka, Röaana, Kytraan, and Piro walked some distance behind their elders, which permitted them to engage more freely in discourse—for it is well known that the presence of a paternal or maternal figure will inhibit even the most innocent of conversations. And, by all measures, this was among the more innocent of conversations, because they spoke of techniques of defense—a subject of which their elders would have strongly approved.
“Certainly,” Kytraan was saying, “that is one of the first techniques I learned of my master. Cut high, then low, then high, then low, then high, then high again.”
“Or, then low then low again,” said Ibronka, agreeing. “Yes, it is a beginner’s technique, but it remains effective nevertheless.”
“Oh, as to its effectiveness,” said Piro, “I do not question that—my father speaks of it in terms that leave no room for doubt, and, like you, insisted that I not only learn it, but practice it regularly. But the question is—”
“There is a question?” said Röaana.
“There is about to be,” said Piro.
“Well,” said Ibronka, “ask it, then.”
“The question is, what does this teach us?”
“How,” said Ibronka. “You pretend it teaches us something?”
“Without doubt,” said Piro. “Consider: I cut at your head, you parry. I cut at your side, you parry. I cut at your head again, then at your side again. Now, by this time, you know very well what I am doing—that is, you are aware that I will soon change my rhythm in hopes of catching you off guard.”
“Well,” said Ibronka carefully, “that is true; were you to do this, I should know what you were doing.”
“And then? Do you think my plan would work?”
The others considered this for a moment, and then Kytraan said, “Do you know, it would still work. That is, even knowing what was happening, the arm quickly falls into the pattern so that it is difficult to break.”
“Exactly,” said Röaana. “That is what makes the technique so effective.”
“I agree,” said Piro. “And so, I repeat my question: What does this teach us?”
/> “Ah,” said Ibronka. “So you speak of philosophy?”
“Well,” said Piro, “or of defense. They are all the same.”
“That is true,” said Röaana.
“And then?” said Piro. “What is the answer?”
“I know,” said Kytraan.
“Then tell us,” said the others.
“It tells us that, in a fight, thinking—that is, what one knows—is not of as much importance as we might believe.”
“Ah,” said Piro. “Well, that is an answer. Are there others?”
“Yes, I have a different answer,” said Ibronka.
“Well, we will listen to your answer,” said the others.
“It is this: It shows the importance of aggression—that is, of being the one who initiates the attacks.”
“Yes,” said Piro. “I see truth in this, too. But are there other answers?”
“To me,” said Röaana, “it shows the importance of timing. That is to say, the creation of a rhythm is a powerful thing.”
“I think,” said Piro, “that is also true.”
“But come,” said the others. “What is your answer?”
“How, you believe I have an answer?”
“I nearly think you do, or you should not have asked the question,” said Kytraan, smiling.
“Well, you are nearly correct,” said Piro, smiling in his turn. “Although I must say that I agree with all of the answers I have heard hitherto.”
“And yet,” said Röaana, “you perceive we are most anxious to hear your own answer.”
“My answer is this: If I were aware of what you were doing, I could break it myself, thus catching you off guard. In this way, I become the aggressor, and I control the timing, and suddenly, it is your thinking that is unimportant. Or, to put the matter differently, it demonstrates the importance of remaining flexible in both body and mind, and of being ready to adapt to changing circumstances.”
“Well,” said Ibronka, “I see a great deal of truth in what you say.”
“Do you?” said Piro, feeling himself flushing for reasons of which he was unaware.
“Well, I am gratified that you do.”
“Alas,” said Röaana, “we have had, as yet, little chance to test our ideas of the defense. It is vexing.”
