by Steven Brust
“I did not know that. Is it someone I know?”
“Know him? I think you do. It is our friend, Aerich. But come, let us see what the others are doing. There will be some steel singing today, and, I shouldn’t wonder, a bit of wizardry as well, so I will have my staff in one hand.”
Without giving Pel time to respond to the astonishing announcement which she had made so casually, she rose and went over to where Grassfog and his friends had made a small fire and were drinking klava.
“Well,” she said, addressing this worthy. “Are you and your compatriots ready for the day’s festivities?”
“Ready?” said Grassfog. “Well, I imagine there is nothing that could make us more ready, so the answer, perforce, is yes.”
“And are you eagerly awaiting the opening of the games?”
“My lady,” said the recent bandit, “do you pretend it matters if I am eager?”
“Well, why should it not?”
“My lady, I was agreeably disappointed when, upon the defeat of our band, we were not all summarily killed, as is, you must admit, customary.”
“Oh, I do not deny that; Her Majesty was merciful.”
“I am aware of this.”
“Well, and then?”
Grassfog shrugged. “And so we have been granted a few more days to live, and we are all grateful. If we should die today—”
“Well, if you should die?”
“Then so much the worse for us. We have gained several days, and we see each day of life, especially when one has been granted such a reprieve, as a gift. And so you see—”
“Yes?”
“We are not eager to play, but neither does it matter if we are eager. We will do as we are ordered to, and die when it is time to die, and be grateful for the time in between.”
Tazendra shook her long hair and said, “My friend, we see things differently.”
“The Gods! We should! Because, in the first place, I am not a Dzur.”
“Well, that is true. And in the second?”
“In the second, you are not a bandit.”
“Do you know, I believe you have hit upon a great truth there.”
“A great truth? Bah. I only work in small truths. Small truths, small purses, small rewards. That was what our leader, Wadre, taught—because he pretended that small purses were less likely to lead to great chases. Great chases lead to captures, and captures, to a bandit, can never be pleasant. And, well, it seems that he was correct.”
“You think so?”
“I think that the first time he deviated from this principle it led at once to his death.”
“Certainly, that is an argument in favor of his principle.”
“I think so, too.”
“And yet, I have always been happier with grand enterprises.”
“Then you should be eager for to-day’s festivities to begin.”
“Oh, I am, I am! And, moreover, I am sorry that you are not.”
Grassfog shrugged. “We will fight all the same, and, when all is over, that is what matters, is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Well then, all is well.”
Tazendra frowned and attempted to make sense of this conversation, but in the end, merely sketched Grassfog a hasty bow and a smile of friendship, and moved on to where Piro, Kytraan, Ibronka, and Röaana sat at their ease. As she approached, Kytraan looked up and said, “Do you think there will be much sorcery in to-day’s battle?”
“Well,” said Tazendra. “I fully intend to try out my new spell; I would imagine everyone who can will do the same. What makes you ask?”
“We have been talking,” said Kytraan.
“That is right and proper,” said Tazendra at once. “Many talk before a battle. Some sleep, but that is more unusual, and displays a coolness that, I freely confess, is beyond my powers. Others wish for silence and solitude, which I respect, although—”
“Yes,” said Kytraan, “only we have been speaking on a certain subject.”
“Oh, that is a different matter altogether. Then, to judge, it becomes a matter of knowing the subject.”
“Well, then I shall I tell you.”
“Certainly. I am listening.”
“We have been considering sorcery, and its use in the upcoming battle.”
“A worthy subject; I say so,” pronounced Tazendra, without the least hesitation.
“I am glad you think so,” said Kytraan.
“I have been wondering,” said Röaana, “if the use of sorcery would be, well—”
“Yes?”
“Strictly honorable.”
“Honorable? And yet, how could it not be?”
“Because we have the Orb on our side.”
“Well, and if we do?”
“Our enemies do not. Hence, we are able to do things which they cannot do.”
“And yet, could they not use the Orb as well, merely by choosing citizenship?”
“Certainly,” said Röaana. “But then, if they did that, they would have surrendered.”
“Well, there is something in what you say,” admitted Tazendra. “And how does Piro feel about this?”
“Oh,” said Piro, “as for me—”
“Well?”
“I am considering the matter.”
“Yes, it is worth considering,” agreed Tazendra. “But for myself—”
“Yes, for yourself?”
“I should like to hear Aerich’s opinion on this matter.”
“Then let us call him,” said Ibronka. “I, too, am anxious to hear his opinion.”
“Then,” said Piro, “let us ask him.”
“Very well,” said Tazendra. “Aerich! Come, we wish to ask you a question.”
The Lyorn had been sitting with his back to a tree, ankles crossed in front of him, and his eyes closed. Upon hearing his name, he opened them, smiled slightly, rose, approached Tazendra, and bowed. “You wish for something, my dear?” We should add that Khaavren, Pel, and Zerika, who had been speaking to one another quietly, observed this, and, without a word passing between them, agreed to follow Aerich and listen to the conversation.
“We are involved in a debate, and we would like you to settle the matter for us.”
“I am at your service, as always. What is the subject?”
The matter was quickly explained to Aerich, who frowned and shrugged. “Well,” he said, “I believe this is a matter that can be clarified easily enough. My dear young Tiassa is, I’m afraid, looking too much at the matter of the coming fight as simply a fight.”
“Well, but is it not?” said Röaana, genuinely puzzled.
“It is more than a fight. It is a step in the restoration of the Empire.”
“Well, and if it is?”
“The defense of the Empire is a gentleman’s first duty, at all times. To attack the Empire, as those people are doing, is, well, it is to commit a grave crime. A grave moral crime, that is; which goes beyond a matter of statute. Any aristocrat can declare this or that thing illegal—but to commit a crime is to do something wrong, and to oppose the Empire is to commit a crime. This is not a matter of making a test of combat, but of preventing a great evil.”
“And so the method by which this is accomplished is not important?” said the young Dzurlord, looking rather dubious.
“Important?” said Aerich. “Very! It is of supreme importance. It is through the means that the goal is accomplished. If the goal is important, how can the means not be?”
Röaana shook her head and glanced at Tazendra as if for help, but the Dzurlord ignored this silent plea, and merely frowning as if trying to work out for herself the Lyorn’s logic; instead it was Piro who came to Röaana’s aid, saying, “My lord, let me attempt to explain the issue in other terms, so that we may achieve some clarity in the matter.”
“Very well,” said Aerich. “Clarity is important at all times, but never as much as when one is about to risk one’s life. I am listening.”
“As I unde
rstand the lady’s point, it is this: Are you actually saying that, if the goal to be achieved is noble, we are permitted to use ignoble means to accomplish it?”
“Not the least in the world,” said Aerich.
“But then, what you have done us the honor of telling us could be interpreted in exactly this way.”
“Then I trust you will permit me to clarify my position?”
“Permit you? My lord, I believe I speak for the others when I say I would like nothing better in the world.”
“Very well, then, this is my belief: Those who say the ends justify the means, and those who say the ends do not justify the means, are both wrong.”
“Both wrong?” said Tazendra, who had been following the conversation carefully. “Impossible! You perceive, they are saying opposite things, therefore, if one is right, the other must be wrong, and if one is wrong, the other must be right. Is that not logic?”
“It is logic, of a form,” agreed Aerich.
“Well?”
“It is, however, incomplete. In this case, it is not the answer that is wrong, it is the question.”
“Bah! How can a question be wrong?”
“Well, if I were to ask you whether you prefer to fight a battle empty-handed, or holding a piece of cloth, you might tell me that my question was wrong; that, in fact, you would rather be holding a certain length of tempered or folded steel.”
“Not only might I, my dear Lyorn, but I most certainly would.”
“Therefore, you perceive, in that case, the question would be wrong.”
“Well, but—” Tazendra broke off, frowning.
Röaana spoke instead, saying, “Then, in the case which we are discussing, how is the question wrong?”
“Exactly what I wish to know!” cried Tazendra, delighted.
“In this way. There is a relationship between means and ends, but is neither one of justifying, nor of failing to justify.”
“But then, what is it?” said Piro.
“It is one of prescribing and proscribing,” said the Lyorn.
Röaana frowned, started to speak, but instead interrogated Aerich with a look, inviting him to continue. Aerich bowed. “Consider that, if I am at my home, and wish to visit a neighbor who is located along a road that runs to the east, I will not usually travel west. My decision to travel east is not justified by my goal of visiting my neighbor, but is rather determined by it.”
“But is it not true,” said Röaana, “that there are many roads to a destination?”
“Indeed, that has often been said,” replied the Lyorn. “But one can only walk upon one. And the decision as to which road to take is determined by the goal. One must know one’s destination, and perhaps be aware of other matters—dangers upon some roads, or a particular view one enjoys along another, or delays from flooding along a third. All of these matters, subordinate to the goal, influence our decision as to the road we choose.”
“And so,” said Piro, who had been closely following this reasoning, “if one finds oneself using dishonorable methods to achieve a goal, it would follow that the goal, itself, is dishonorable? Or, if not dishonorable, in some other way flawed?”
Aerich looked over at Khaavren and smiled. “Your son,” he said, “has your quick comprehension. He listens, he understands, and then he takes the next step on his own.”
The older Tiassa smiled proudly and bowed, while the younger one flushed slightly and could not restrain a quick glance at Ibronka—a glance the Dzurlord missed, as she happened to be looking down at the time.
“And is the young Tiassa satisfied with the answer?”
“My lord,” said Röaana, “you have given me a great deal to think over, and I must do so.”
“Very well,” said Aerich. “And the Dragon?”
“It is clear enough to me,” said Kytraan. “Her Majesty says fight, and so I fight.”
“I believe I like this gentleman,” murmured Tazendra.
“And what of the young Dzurlord, who has remained so uncharacteristically quiet?”
Ibronka smiled. “I admire your reasoning, my lord, and moreover, I believe I must do myself the honor of being in agreement with you on all points.”
Aerich turned suddenly and said, “And I cannot help but wonder what our Yendi thinks of this reasoning.”
Pel permitted himself a thin smile. “It is not new to me,” he said. “I seem to recall many conversations on this subject sitting in the parlor of our house on the Street of the Glass Cutters. And my own opinion has not changed, nor do I see a need to re-state it now. Instead, I will content myself with an observation.”
“And that is?” said Tazendra. “For my part, I always find your observations both interesting and apropos.”
“My observation is this,” said Pel, with a bow in Tazendra’s direction. “It requires a certain bending of logic to consider that our use of sorcery might be dishonorable, when we are about to enter a battle outnumbered by something like a thousand to one.”
“I like those odds!” cried Tazendra. “Will it really be that much?”
“At least,” said Pel.
“That is better than when we faced odds of three against a thousand in the Pepperfields.”
“I am glad that you are pleased,” said the Yendi.
“Oh, I am, I assure you.”
“That is good, then. But what does the Empress think of these odds? Is she as pleased as you?” Pel glanced at Zerika, giving her a thin smile.
“What does the Empress think?” asked Zerika, who had been listening to the conversation, but had not yet interjected her own opinion.
“If she would condescend to tell us.”
“The Empress,” said Zerika carefully, “thinks this—”
“Well?”
“It is time to mount up and go to battle.”
“Ah!” cried Tazendra. “And that is the best opinion I have heard to-day!”
Chapter the Fifty-Fourth
How the Ninth (or Tenth, Depending
Upon Which Historian is Consulted)
Battle of Dzur Mountain Was Fought
It still lacked two hours of noon when the outriders of Morrolan’s small army spotted what seemed to be a small force—perhaps twenty or twenty-five strong—who were either stationed or merely resting along the road that runs from Nacine to Gravely. This was reported to Morrolan, who, without a glance at Fentor, riding by his side, said simply, “Brush them aside.”
Fentor gave no reaction except to turn to his aide and say, “Close up,” and then, very soon after, “Advance.”
The “brushing aside” of which Morrolan spoke was, in fact, accomplished easily enough; the soldiers, not having expected an attack, immediately upon being charged by the leading company, which had three times their numbers, retreated hastily a quarter of a mile back up the road, where they reported that they had been charged by ten times their number. This report was received coolly enough by the officer in charge, a certain Saakrew, who at once dispatched a messenger to his commander, saying that certain enemy forces had been encountered, and making a guess as to the strength which was not far from accurate—the officer being experienced enough to reduce by half the numbers that had been told him.
The commander, a certain cavalry colonel with, herself, no small amount of experience, dispatched forces sufficient to “Secure the road,” and sent an errand runner to the brigadier who was responsible for that wing of Izak’s army. The brigadier personally consulted Izak, as they happened to be speaking together when the message arrived, and Izak suggested pulling back until the army could be concentrated, rather than bringing on a full-scale engagement at that time. The concentration to which we have alluded was accordingly ordered, and begun in as efficient a manner as possible.
Morrolan, for his part, continued sedately up the road after it was cleared, until he came to sloping field, or rather a gentle hillside, that, before the Disaster, had been used to graze cattle. Upon seeing it, Fentor said, “This is a good place
from which to make an observation, my lord.”
“Very well, let us do so, then.”
Morrolan signaled for the army to halt and, with Fentor, rode up to the top of the slope, where he and Fentor each took out a touch-it glass and looked around carefully. After a moment, Morrolan said, “Well?”
“Matters are going as we could have wished, my lord. They are not concentrated. We seem to have found a detachment that is well within our strength.”
“Is there a reason not to spread out and attack them?”
“No reason that I can see.”
“Then let us do so at once.”
“I will give the order, my lord.”
In only a few minutes, thanks to the training through which Fentor had put them, the companies and battalions were arranged across the field. Upon learning that all was ready, Morrolan, who had not yet learned the importance of ceremony, grandiloquence, and inspirational utterances in convincing the desperate to do the impossible, gave the order to advance, and himself led the way. (It should be added that none of the events which followed did anything to show Morrolan why he ought to use brave words to inspire his army, and so, as far as this historian can determine, he has never learned.) On Morrolan’s left was the Warlock, on his right was Fentor, and near them also was the enigmatic Necromancer.
Observing this through his own touch-it glass was Saakrew, who, with more troops now available to him, instructed his aide to give the order to hold the position, remarking, “We must attempt to delay them until we receive either reinforcements, or orders to retreat.”
And it was, according to the military historians, who have studied the matter with their classic thoroughness in order to support their habitual squabbling, at just about this time that Izak, who was far more interested in the diminutive band that included Zerika and the Orb than he was in the slightly larger force moving from the other direction, gave the order to sweep through the area where Zerika was, according to Grita, making camp. Izak, who, though young, was known as a careful commander, had arranged for a battalion of three or four thousand to sweep through this area, looking for an enemy force numbering less than a score—history records few such unequal contests, but the reader must recall that, in the first place, Izak was uncertain what the Orb could do, and, in the second place, he did not consider it a battle, but rather an action more after the fashion of what some number of officers of the police might do upon learning that a notorious bandit was hiding in a certain neighborhood of a city.
