by Steven Brust
“Well, but—”
“Yes, my lord?”
For the first time in many hours, Piro felt a smile grow upon his lips, as he said, “Well, my friend, you have brought it; now you must help me drink it.”
Lar bowed. “I shall be honored to do so.”
Lar took from his pocket a small, ingenious collapsible tin cup, which Piro filled with wine, after which they silently toasted each other.
“Now tell me, good Lar, how did you happen to come here?”
“In the simplest way, my lord. I followed you.”
“You followed me?”
Lar bowed his assent.
“From where?”
“First, from where you left us, and then from Whitecrest Manor.”
“You followed me all the way?”
“Nearly. You perceive, you set out at such a pace from the Manor that I fell far behind. My horse cannot stay with yours for any length of time.”
“And then?”
“Well, I found you again when you began leading your horse. Apropos, is she lame?”
“No, merely exhausted.”
“Well, I do not blame her.”
“Very well, Lar. I now understand how you found me. But now there is another thing I wish to know.”
“If it is a question I can answer, well, I will do so.”
“I wish to know why you followed me.”
“Why? Well, because it is my duty.”
This remark was made with such simple, matter-of-fact loyalty that Piro was rendered speechless.
The celebration around them continued for some few hours, but eventually the jug-room began to clear, and Piro invited Lar to sit. Some time later, Lar stood once more, and, hauling the Viscount over his shoulder, carried him to his room.
When Piro woke, Lar, without saying a word, handed him a steaming glass of klava, full of thick cream and honey, which Piro at once drank down, and if he did not say a word, his countenance expressed all the gratitude Lar could have wished for.
When the worthy Lar judged that Piro was again able to carry on conversation, he said, in as quiet a voice as he could manage, “Whither are we bound, my lord?”
“I don’t know,” said Piro, in a voice just as quiet, but one which, nevertheless, caused him to wince. He then observed, “I do not believe, my dear Lar, that I have been designed by the Lords of Judgment to become a drunkard. I appear not to have the constitution to sustain it.”
“My lord,” said Lar, falling back upon the single statement that a servant may always rely upon when any other response is fraught with peril.
Piro sighed and made an aimless gesture which Lar correctly interpreted as a request for more klava, which drink was supplied with silent alacrity.
With the second cup of klava inside of him, Piro was able to consider, and then reject, the notion of food. He was also able to ask himself why he had consumed so very much wine, and, upon answering himself, the reasons came back with all of their force, and he bowed his head, momentarily overcome with emotion.
Lar said, “Master—”
Piro raised his head again and said, “It is nothing. Come, let us travel. Let us go back east. I will enlist in Morrolan’s army, because he is a Dragonlord, and, sooner or later, he will fight someone, and I should enjoy a good skirmish of all things.”
“Yes, my lord. But are you . . . that is, do you wish to travel now?”
“Yes, I wish to set out at once. Perhaps my head will fall from my shoulders as we ride. If it does, I swear to you by my right to Deathgate that I shall be delighted.”
“Yes, my lord. I shall prepare the horses.”
In the event, it took Piro rather longer than he would have thought to bring himself to the point where he was ready to mount, but at last they were both packed and ready to travel, albeit slowly, and they began the journey at a leisurely pace toward the county of Southmoor and Castle Black.
That night, they stayed in an inn that might have been the twin to the previous one, only this time Piro, only beginning to feel better after an entire day of exercise (for the reader ought to know, if he doesn’t, that to sit upon a moving horse is to take exercise), limited himself to no more than a small glass of wine to accompany his meager dinner of spit-roasted kethna and toast. He slept soundly that night, waking up once more with Ibronka’s face and voice in his mind. He bit his lips till they bled to keep from moaning aloud (not wishing to display this weakness before Lar, who slept on the floor at his feet) and made himself think of other things.
They mounted once more and continued on the same road they had traveled more than a year before, on the way to Dzur Mountain. As they rode, Piro observed, “Do you know, my dear Lar, I have often heard talk of pains of the heart.”
“Yes, my lord. I have heard this expression used before, often in songs.”
“And yet, I had not considered that this sort of pain could be, well—”
“My lord?”
“—as painful as it is. Do you know, I should much prefer to be pierced with a few inches of good steel, if I could arrange for this pain to be replaced. Not, you understand, that I am making complaints. I merely point out an interesting phenomenon.”
“Yes, young master, I understand.”
“That is good. I believe we can ride a little faster now. Indeed, I should like, of all things, to feel the wind upon my face, and the excitement as this fine animal stretches itself out upon the road.”
“My lord, I shall be happy to do so, but I beg to make two observations first.”
“Very well, then, what are these famous observations?”
“The first is that your horse is able to run both faster and longer than mine, so that, sooner or later, you will be obliged to wait for me to catch up.”
“Yes, I understand that. What is the second?”
“The second is that there is a horseman coming up behind us at a tremendous speed, so that we should, perhaps, wait for him to pass to avoid what might be an unfortunate meeting.”
“Very well, I accept that we should wait for this horseman to pass.”
The horseman, however, did not pass, but, rather, upon reaching Piro and Lar, instead drew rein.
“Ibronka!” cried Piro, standing up in his stirrups.
It was, indeed, the Dzurlord, who did not make a reply in words, but, rather, leapt from her saddle directly at Piro, knocking him, in turn, from his saddle, so that he landed on his back, breathless from the landing, and Ibronka on top of him, where she covered his face with kisses.
Piro, when he had recovered his breath, said, “Why, madam, there are tears on your cheeks.”
“They are now tears of joy, Viscount.”
“Now?”
“I have been attempting to bespeak you for two days!”
“Bespeak me? How?”
“Why, through the Orb.”
“Ah. That is, no doubt, why I have, so often, heard your voice in my mind with such clarity. But I didn’t know—”
“It doesn’t matter. Now we are together.”
“Together? Yes, but, my dear Ibronka, my father—”
“I know about your father; he spoke to me.”
“He spoke to you?”
“He was—that is to say, he never failed in courtesy.”
“Oh!”
“He was sufficiently cold, however, that I had to sit before a fire to become warm again. Of course, I at once took my leave of Her Majesty, and did not set foot in Whitecrest Manor.”
“Oh!”
“Shall we rise? You perceive, we are lying in the road, and people are required to walk around us.”
“Let them.”
“And if one should step on us?”
“Lar will hit him in the head with an iron cook-pot.”
“Very well. There is more.”
“Tell me.”
“I was able to use the power of the Orb to speak with my mother.”
“And—?”
“She agrees with your fath
er on all counts.”
“Oh!”
Ibronka buried her head in Piro’s shoulder. The Viscount stroked her hair and said, “It is wrong of them.”
“It is.”
“I thought I could tear myself away from you, and that it would be best for you if I did, that you would forget me, and—”
“It was wrong of you, Piro.”
“Perhaps it was. I am glad you are here. But—”
“Yes?”
“What can we do?”
“Where were you going?”
“To offer my sword to Morrolan. Apropos—”
“Yes?”
“How did you find me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I simply knew where you would be.”
“Well, that is love.”
Ibronka smiled and held him closer. At length, she rose, and assisted him to his feet.
“Where is Clari?” he said as he stood up.
“She is behind me. My horse is rather faster than hers, and, if truth be told, she is not much of a horseman. But she will be along.”
“Then let us continue at a walk.”
“Yes, with this plan I agree.”
They mounted their horses again, and, with the worthy Lar behind them, rode knee to knee in companionable silence. By the end of the day, they were close to the western border of Southmoor, and were looking for an inn.
“If my memory serves me well,” observed Piro, “this is the Nacine road, and here is where it crosses the Shallowway Pike. Therefore, we should turn eastward here.”
“Very well. But, what is that I hear? Horses. Perhaps it is Clari.”
“Let us see, then.”
“There are several horses. It is hard to tell in this fading light. Might it be road agents?”
“I hope so,” said Piro, touching his sword.
“Well, now that you mention it, so do I. In all truth, I have nothing worth stealing except my horse and my sword; but I should welcome the attempt.”
“I have a few coins, that would hardly be worth a bandit’s effort, but I give you my word, I should welcome the attempt as well.”
It was not, however, road agents, but instead the worthy Clari who appeared, and was given a friendly greeting by Piro, Ibronka, and Lar.
“But who is coming behind you?” asked Ibronka.
“How, you cannot guess?”
“Why it is we,” said Kytraan, coming up at that moment. “It is Röaana and I. Come, you could not imagine that, after all we have gone through, we would leave you!”
“Oh, my friends!” cried Piro, tears coming to his eyes. “How did you find us?”
“Why, in the simplest possible way,” said Röaana. “We followed the good Clari.”
“But, Clari, how did you find us?”
“I promise you, my lord, it was not difficult. I merely had to ask passersby if they had seen a beautiful young Dzurlord mounted upon a dappled stallion and riding like the wind. Madam is difficult to miss.”
“Yes, I believe that readily enough, my dear Clari. Only—” He turned to Kytraan and Röaana. “—why did you do so?”
“Why did we do what?” said Röaana.
“Why did you follow?”
“Why,” said Kytraan, “in order to find you. You could not imagine that we could dissolve our little band, did you?”
“Indeed,” said Piro. “I had thought I was alone.”
“You will never be alone,” said Ibronka.
“Well said,” remarked Röaana. “And now, unless I am mistaken, you are even less alone.”
“How, what do you mean?”
“Observe who is now riding up.”
“I cannot tell. It is very nearly dark.”
“That is true,” said Kytraan. “But it happened that I saw them behind us some hours ago, and so I know who they are.”
“Well then, who are they?”
“No one but ourselves,” said Grassfog, riding up at that moment. “That is, it is I, and Iatha, Ritt, and Belly.”
“But,” cried Piro, “why are you here?”
“Oh, we did not care for the army. And now that, it seemed, we had fulfilled our duty in serving Her Majesty, why, we obtained a leave. We had nowhere else to go, so we thought we should join you, as you seem to be amiable enough companions. If, that is, you do not object to our presence.”
“Not in the least,” said Piro. “Only, how did you find us?”
“How else? We followed Kytraan and Röaana.”
“The Gods! Is anyone else going to appear?”
“I do not believe so, my lord. So far as I know, no one came after us.”
“That is just as well,” observed Piro. “And I cannot but say that I am touched—” He broke off and fell silent, unable to continue his remarks for the emotion that washed over him.
Kytraan coughed to cover his confusion and said, “Come, let us find an inn and celebrate the re-uniting of our band.”
“I agree that this is a good plan,” said Piro, “only—”
“Yes?”
“Have you any money?”
Kytraan dug into his pockets, and was able to produce six copper pennies. Röaana had less, and, combined with what Piro had, they were scarcely able to arrive at an orb. As for Grassfog and his friends, they had nothing whatsoever.
“We have enough for a loaf of bread, some cheese, and few bottles of wine, in any case,” said Kytraan. “And, for my part, I have no objection to sleeping out of doors. We have done it often enough in this last year.”
“That is true,” observed Röaana.
Piro said, “Yes, but—ah, who is this? A good evening to you, sir.”
“And to you, young man,” said a gentleman who had come up, driving a pony-cart. This gentleman, dressed in the simple yet tasteful garb favored by certain Chreotha merchants, stopped his trap and gave a polite bow of his head, accompanying this courtesy with the words “Have you heard that the Orb is back?”
“Yes,” said Piro. “This fact has not escaped my attention.”
“Oh,” said the stranger, “but is it not the most wonderful thing? An Empire once more! The roads will be safe, money will flow from pockets again, and I—”
“Yes, and you?”
“I will become rich.”
“Tell me, good sir, how you intend to become rich? You perceive, I am most curious, for I am too young to know how life changes with the coming of the Orb.”
“Then I will explain to you in terms that leave no room for doubt.”
“That will be best, I promise you.”
“This is it, then: I travel with my little cart here to Nacine, and there I purchase items made from the good clay of the district, as well as glass bottles made from sand from the Great Sand Flats.”
“Very well, you purchase pottery and glasswork.”
“Exactly. And then, I take this pottery, and I travel to Rough-ground, where there is a winery, and a brewery, and a distillery. I then trade these pots and bottles, and, in exchange, I receive some of them back, filled with wine, beer, and spirits, as well as a certain amount of good money.”
“So you have wine, beer, and spirits. What next?”
“I next take these to the Collier Hills, where they have little to drink, but a great deal of iron.”
“So then, you get iron.”
“Pots, pans, and even weapons now and then.”
“I understand. But what do you do with these iron goods?”
“Why, I bring them to Nacine, where they are happy to pay for them with good coin, and where, in addition, I can purchase more glasswork and pottery.”
“Why, that seems simple enough.”
“Oh, it is. The only problem is—”
“Yes, what is the problem?”
“The roads are not safe. Indeed, the roads are fraught with peril for a merchant such as I. Or, that is to say, they were.”
“They were?”
“Yes. Now
there is an Empire again, and so no road agent would dare to appear on a main road for fear of meeting a detachment of Imperial troops, or else soldiers who serve the Count, who is now back as well.”
“Ah, there, my dear sir, I must disagree, although I do so most respectfully.”
“How, you disagree?”
“Respectfully.”
“But, in what way do you disagree?”
“There are still road agents, bandits, and brigands on these roads.”
“Oh, perhaps on the smaller roads, but here, on this fine avenue that runs between Roughground and Nacine, there will be no—but what are you doing?”
“I? I am drawing my sword.”
“But why are you doing this?”
“In order to point it at your breast, my dear sir.”
“You are going to do me an injury?”
“Oh, no. Believe me, I should be very sad if I were forced to injure you in any way. And I promise you that I will not, if—”
“Yes?” said the merchant, in a small voice that was nearly a squeak. “If?”
“Why, if you will hand your purse over to me.”
“You wish my purse?”
“Certainly. You have no objection to giving it to me, do you?”
“Why … that is to say, none at all.”
“Very good, then.”
“Here it is.”
“You are courteous. And now—”
“Yes, my lord? And now?”
“Why, now it leaves me with nothing to do except to wish you a very pleasant and peaceful good evening.”
“You are most kind.”
“It is good of you to say so.”
The merchant, in spite of his still-shaking hands, was able to signal to the pony to resume his interrupted journey. Piro inspected the purse, and observed, “Six Imperials and a little more.” Then, looking at his friends, he remarked. “Has anyone any observations to make? If so, I give you my word, now is the time to dis-associate yourself from what I have just done.”
Kytraan studied the viscount and said softly, “You are, then, serious about this?”
“Entirely, my friend—for so I hope I may still call you. I have his purse, and have not the least intention of returning it. On the contrary, it is my hope to gain many others like it.”
“As for me,” said Grassfog, “I rather enjoyed the life I led, and I willingly accept you as leader.”
“But what of you, Kytraan.”
