by Steven Brust
“These elfs—they are strange people.”
“I cannot dispute with you.”
With this, Arra, giving a last look around, returned to the main floor of the temple.
Chapter the Fifty-Ninth
How the False Emperor,
As Well as the True,
Can Set Plans in Motion
The reader has, by now, received certain hints that, although having faced a military defeat, Kâna had by no means given up his ambition, but, on the contrary, had already set in motion plans that he hoped would secure him eventual victory. It now remains to begin our investigation of these plans, which require shifting our attention away from events happening in the environs of Dzur Mountain.
The place to which we now direct our reader is in the county of Merwin, along the Grand Canal—or as near to the geographical middle of the Empire as anywhere one could name. In the northwestern corner of this county, actually touching the canal, is a barony, called Loraan, that has been under the domain of the House of the Athyra since the canal was built. The only significance of this barony, hitherto, had been the difficulty, recorded by many songs, some letters, and a few documents in the office of the county clerk, of cutting the canal through the solid rock of the district. It had required the combined effort of the Imperial engineers and the baron himself—an accomplished sorcerer—to dig the canal, and the barony had been that sorcerer’s reward.
The first baron, upon being granted this all but worthless land, had thought to at least use it to build an interesting home, which he did by causing a keep to be carved out of the very rock itself. He had first intended to name the place Redrock, because the rock was, in fact, of a reddish color; but a distant cousin of his was already lord of a county far to the east called Redrocks; so, to avoid confusion, he named his home Sitria, after his mistress at the time.
To Sitria, then, came a certain person whom, though we have neglected her for some time, we hope the reader has not forgotten: this being Kâna’s cousin, Habil. Upon reaching the door and pulling the clapper, she gave her name to the servants and desired that the Baron be asked if he could spare her two minutes of his time. The Baron, a quiet, studious man, who had been devoting himself to certain arcane magical studies, had no reason to be rude, and so took himself away from his work, with some regret it is true, and agreed to hold a conversation with his visitor.
They met in his parlor—windowless, like the rest of his keep, but with light provided by ingenious glowing bulbs spaced throughout the room.
“It is good of you to see me, Baron,” said Habil. “I know that you must be busy.”
“Think nothing of it, madam. May I ask what brings you to this region? For, if I am not mistaken, your home is far to the west, in the mountains, is it not?”
“Well, yes, but how is it you could have heard of me?”
“In the simplest way: My cousin is married to the youngest son of the Marquis of Mistyvale, who had the honor to attend a certain meeting in your home. This meeting, you must understand, has been the subject of no small amount of discussion, and in this discussion, your name was mentioned.”
“You have a prodigious memory, Baron.”
“It is kind of you to say so, madam. But tell me, what brings you here?”
“Why, I am here to see you, sir.”
“Come, do not jest. You could not have made this journey of hundreds of leagues merely to see me!”
“And yet, that is exactly what I did.”
“How, you made this journey only for this conversation in which we are now engaged?”
“I have said so, and I even insist upon it.”
The baron frowned, and said, “Well, as I have no desire to give a lady the lie, I have no choice but to believe you.”
“And as what I have told you is the truth, then that is yet another reason to believe me.”
“My lady, I find myself overwhelmed with reasons, so that it leaves me only to inquire as to the specific reason for your journey. That is to say, about what did you wish to speak to me?”
“Since you ask so frankly, I will answer. I have come to offer you something that, unless I am misinformed, you will be gratified to have.”
“You interest me exceedingly, madam. Pray say more.”
“You then wish me to continue?”
“I wish it of all things.”
“Then I will.”
“I assure you, you have my complete attention.”
“Then listen, my friend: We have heard that your studies have taken you in the direction of necromancy.”
“Well, that is true; but is there something wrong with this study?”
“Not in the least. We have learned, moreover, that you have been researching the connection between the soul and the body.”
“I admit that I have been curious about this matter ever since my late uncle, the Marquis of Blackvine, explained his researches to me in the course of my training.”
“Then we were not misinformed. And, is it the case that, now that you have accepted citizenship, your researches are more productive?”
“Entirely. Access to the Orb is invaluable for a sorcerer.”
“Yes, I understand that. Well, we find ourselves in need of a skilled Necromancer who is able to make use of the Orb.”
“Why certainly, as long as it doesn’t require betraying the Empire—”
“But what if it does?”
“Oh, in the case, I must decline.”
“Are you certain, my dear Baron? Before you answer, permit me to show you something.”
“What is it you wish to show me?”
“This staff.”
“Well, but it seems very like an ordinary wizard’s staff, only rather smaller.”
“In fact, however, it is anything but ordinary.”
“Indeed? In what way is it unusual? It does not appear in any way remarkable—white, with a reddish mark on one end. What makes it worthy of note?”
“Had you known that it was possible to capture a disembodied soul?”
“What? Such a thing cannot possibly be done! You perceive, I have studied this matter. Once the body has died, the soul clings to it for a certain length of time, after which time it either wakes up in the Paths of the Dead, or else at once enters the process that results in eventual reincarnation. There is no time when the soul wanders free of the body.”
“But what if some force were to rip a soul from a still living body?”
“Impossible!”
“Not in the least.”
“What could do such a thing?”
“Adron’s Disaster.”
The Baron stared, open-mouthed. At last he said, “But, who found such a thing?”
“Who? That is unimportant. An amateur sorceress, who was exploring in the area near Dzur Mountain.”
Loraan’s eyes dropped to the staff, and he spoke in a whisper. “To have such an artifact …”
“It can be yours, my friend, and easily.”
“It can?”
“I will give it to you the instant I have your word that you will perform the simple task we require of you.”
“A simple task, you say?”
“I give you my word, it is within your powers.”
“And yet, the risk—”
“My lord, there is no risk if we succeed. But even if we were to fail, which I believe is unlikely, but no chance ought to be overlooked—”
“Yes, you are cautious, and that is a virtue.”
“Even then, the chance that your rôle will be discovered is negligible.”
“You are sure of this?”
“I swear it.”
“You tempt me.”
“I intend to. It is a simple task, and it is without danger to you, and, as for the reward—”
“Then name the task!” cried Loraan, his eyes still fixed on the staff.
Habil smiled the smile of any successful negotiator.
In a very short time, messengers began running from
Canal, a near-by village that boasted a posting station set up by Kâna some time before, and which had proved useful to him more than once. To follow these messengers on their rapid but uneventful path cannot but prove wearisome to the reader, so instead we will direct our attention to Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha, as he and his friend Kytraan pass through the unadorned yet somehow magnificent hallways of Dzur Mountain.
Chapter the Sixtieth
How Family, Food, and Philosophy
Provide Good Subjects for Discussion,
With Special Emphasis on the Pomegranate
Piro and Kytraan had, to this point, caught a glimpse of the Sorceress in Green (pointed out to them by Lar, who had learned the identity of this mysterious person from Tukko), but had not yet seen Sethra Lavode, who was, without doubt, still involved in sending supplies to Morrolan and bringing elements of the army to Dzur Mountain.
“I have not seen many of the soldiers brought over from Morrolan’s temple,” observed Kytraan. “Where do you suppose they are?”
“Oh, that is easily enough answered,” said Piro. “Lar tells me that, as they arrive, they are sent out of doors, to a camp on the slopes of the mountain.”
“A cold and uncomfortable camp, it would seem.”
“Perhaps. But I am told that the Enchantress has done what she could to provide warmth, and whatever comforts are available.”
“Still, I confess that I am glad to be in here, rather than out there.”
“Oh, I quite agree, my dear Kytraan. There is nothing like travel in the wild to make one grateful for the comforts of a good shelter and warm food.”
“I could not agree with you more, Viscount. Apropos—”
“Yes?”
“On the subject of warm food, well, I perceive the kitchen is only two steps down this hallway, and you know we were invited to partake of whatever is there.”
“That is true, and it seems this Tukko is a tolerable cook.”
“I have made the same observation.”
“And then?”
“After you, my dear Viscount.”
“I am leading the way, my lord.”
Upon entering the kitchens, however, the Viscount stopped so abruptly that Kytraan could not help but run into him with a certain amount of force. The Dragonlord was just in the process of formulating a remark—some observation that would serve as both apology and gentle remonstrance, when he, that is, Kytraan, observed the reason for Piro’s sudden halt.
Quickly deducing that his friend might be at a loss for words, Kytraan stepped around Piro, bowed, and said, “Ladies, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Indeed it is,” said Röaana. “We sent Clari for wine, and thought to procure ourselves some biscuits to accompany this repast. Would you care to join us?”
“A splendid notion,” said Kytraan, “and one I subscribe to with all my heart. And, you, Viscount, do you agree?”
“What is that? Oh, certainly, certainly. Yes, wine and biscuits. A capital idea, upon my honor.”
Clari appeared with wine, and was at once sent to fetch glasses, while Kytraan and Röaana found the biscuits. Piro, during this activity, made a careful study of a corner of the kitchen ceiling, perhaps to see if any arachnids had left webs there at any time; Ibronka, for her part, made an equally careful study of a lower corner, no doubt to see if there were signs of rodents.
When Clari returned, they marched at a good pace to the nearest sitting room. Upon reaching it, Clari, setting down the glasses, begged leave to run water out to the soldiers who were setting up camp outside.
“That is a good plan,” observed Ibronka. “You should bring them water, lest they become overly dry in among the streams leading down from Dzur Mountain.”
“Perhaps,” said Clari, “I will, instead, bring them fresh fruit that I have observed in the kitchen.”
“That might be better,” said Ibronka. “You know how much danger there is of developing the toothfall to anyone in a mountain such as this, where only small-apples and redberries grow in abundance.”
Clari suppressed any reply that might have sprung to her mind, bowed, and left. As Clari was leaving on this vital errand, Kytraan remarked, “My dear Röaana, there is a matter that I wish to discuss with you, having to do with the economy of certain districts of the Kanefthali Mountains.”
“Oh, indeed, sir? Well, that falls out remarkably well, because there are certain matters concerning training for small engagements that I have been wondering about, and it seems there is no one like a Dragonlord to answer such questions.”
“Well then, if you might be good enough to accompany me, we shall stroll together and discuss these matters.”
“I should like nothing better.”
“Your arm?”
“Here it is.”
And, without another word, they made their exit, leaving Piro and Ibronka quite alone.
Piro studied an upper corner of this room as assiduously as he had inspected the kitchen a few minutes before; while Ibronka shifted her attention to the toes of her boots. This, of course, could go on only a certain amount of time without becoming intolerable. At length, Piro gave up his efforts to find a good excuse to leave, and, clearing his throat, said, “So, madam, do you have a brother?”
Ibronka looked up suddenly, as if she had been unaware of his presence. “No,” she said.
“Ah,” said Piro.
After another uncomfortable silence, he said, as if to be certain that he had understood, “No brother?”
“None.”
Piro cleared his throat again, and ventured to say, “That must be a trial to you.”
“Oh, you think so? Have you a brother?”
“No.”
“Ah,” said Ibronka.
Dzur Mountain was most remarkably silent, its dark stone shielding any conversation or other sounds that might penetrate thinner walls.
“Or sisters,” added Piro.
“Nor have I sisters,” said Ibronka.
“Ah, well.”
Piro began drawing small circles in the arm of his chair with his forefinger. Ibronka, for her part, shifted her position slightly and cast an anxious glance at the door, as if hoping for rescue (a rescue, we should point out, that would not come, for the simple reason that Kytraan and Röaana, without a word spoken between them, had positioned themselves each at one end of the hallway to be certain no one entered the room).
For the third time, Piro cleared his throat, then said, “So, do you know of the twisted noodles, made from a decoction of whipped hen’s eggs, prepared in the fashion of the Southern Coast?”
“Why yes, I had this in Hartre.”
“And did you like it?”
“Well, yes, I must say I did.”
Piro nodded, searching for something else to say, and at length fell silent.
Ibronka glanced up quickly and noticed perspiration on Piro’s upper lip—perspiration that, in fact, matched a certain dampness on the palms of her hands.
“Well,” said Piro. “Tell me this: If you had a brother—”
“Viscount,” said Ibronka.
“Yes?” said Piro, eager for anything at all that might help him out of the conversational desert into which he had strayed. “Yes, what is it?”
“Come over here, Viscount, and kiss me, before I die of embarrassment.”
As these events were occurring, Clari, faithful to her errand, was traveling through the camp on the slopes of the mountain, or, rather, what would become the camp as soon as more of the army had arrived. At present, there were only a few officers and men there, busy laying out the boundaries of where the latrines were to be dug, the bedrolls laid, the pavilions set up, the food stored, and the horses stabled. Clari traversed these grounds with the thoroughness of a cutpurse traversing a fair, making sure each of them had received a piece of fruit until at last her basket was empty.
The last piece of fruit, a pomegranate, happened to go to a certain Dragonlord of middle years distinguished by
a large build, and a bright, animated face beneath a head full of unusually fair hair.
“Is this for me?” he said.
“Certainly,” said Clari.
“Well, I thank you. Please, sit down.”
“You aren’t busy?”
“Oh, yes, there are things to do. But five minutes more or less will make no difference.”
“This chair is very comfortable.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Isn’t it awkward to carry when marching?”
“It collapses by removing this pin and then pushing here.”
“How clever!”
The Dragonlord bowed.
“You must have considerable experience as a soldier.”
“Why, yes, if one numbers years, certainly. And if one counts armies, then I would also have to agree. If one were to number battles, then, perhaps, not so many.”
“But you fought in the recent engagement, did you not?”
“Oh, yes, and I even bloodied my sword a little.”
“Oh!”
“It was nothing. Someone attempted to separate my head from my shoulders, and I believe I may have scratched the impudent fellow on the arm as I ducked.”
“It sounds exciting!”
“It was certainly unsettling. Although what happened the next day was even more unsettling, in its own way.”
“Oh, and what was that?”
“In the first place, I am sorcerously transported from one place to another.”
“Yes, I can imagine that would be unsettling. In fact, I had the same reaction.”
“And in the second place, I suddenly find that I do not know what army I am in.”
“Oh? How is that possible?”
“Well, we went into battle in the service of this fellow Southmoor—”
“My lord Morrolan, yes.”
“Yes. A good Dragonlord, so far as I can tell. I did some garrison duty for his father before the Interregnum. E’Drien, the same line as my esteemed mother, although I am inclined to think I take more after the e’Terics line of my father.”
“Well, and?”
“And then to-day I am told that I am in the Imperial army, which is another matter altogether.”
