The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  “I scarcely knew him, sir,” said the envoy.

  Khaavren nodded and said in a stronger voice, “I had the honor and pleasure of knowing him well. Your name, young man, is Kytraan?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well, Kytraan, you are always welcome in my home, whether you have an errand or not, in memory of a good man, a good fighter, and a good companion.” He glanced at Daro for confirmation, and she nodded solemnly.

  “Thank you, Lord and Lady,” said the envoy.

  As if to emphasize this greeting, Lar appeared once more, this time with a plate full of bacon and onions, which he set on the table before drawing discreetly back, which bacon and onion dish was at once sampled by those present.

  We trust the reader will allow us, during this lull in the conversation, to briefly sketch Kytraan, the son of that Uttrik whom some of our readers may recall from our history of The Phoenix Guards. He was, then, a well-proportioned young man of about three hundred or three hundred and twenty, perhaps slightly short for a Dragonlord, yet with long arms and legs that gave the opposite impression when he sat. His hair was of a light brown shade, as were his eyes, and he bore a Dragonshead pendant with the jewels that marked the line of Lanya. His movements were slow and graceful, almost like a Lyorn’s, and from his countenance one would think that he smiled but rarely.

  After a few minutes of silence, during which the three of them ate bacon and onions, drank klava, and stared out over the sea, Daro said, “We received a message from Dzur Mountain, that is, from the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain, that we should prepare to receive an envoy, and that we should prepare our son for a journey, but there was no reason given.”

  Kytraan smiled. “And yet, you began to do so at once, didn’t you, even though you had no notion of what would be asked?”

  Khaavren shrugged. “I know Sethra Lavode.”

  The envoy started to speak, but Khaavren cut him off with a gesture. “Lar,” he said, “have the Viscount dress, and bring him here.”

  The servant, who had been standing by some distance away, bowed and left to carry out his orders, and some half an hour later Piro, dressed and alert thanks, in spite of his abbreviated rest, to the recuperative powers of youth, appeared before them, with a cheerful word to his father, a kiss of the hand to his mother, and a respectful bow to the stranger, who was introduced at once as an envoy from the House of the Phoenix.

  “The House of the Phoenix?” said Piro, frowning in bewilderment.

  The envoy bowed his agreement, after which they all sat down, having, we should have mentioned, stood upon the Viscount’s entrance. Piro was then given some time to eat and drink, during which he manfully attempted, with only limited success, to conceal his curiosity and impatience and to give the impression of eating and drinking with the relaxed ease that became his rank. Both the effort and its failure were noted, we should say, with both pleasure and amusement by the Count and the Countess.

  “My son,” began Khaavren without preamble when at length Piro had set aside his plate, “you are called upon to serve—I will not say the Empire, for the Empire no longer exists, but the memory of what was, and the hope of what may be again.” He stopped and spoke to Kytraan. “Will you say I am wrong?”

  “I will not,” said Kytraan.

  Daro said, “What exactly does the Enchantress wish of our son?”

  “That I do not know. Only that he is to come with me to Dzur Mountain, a distance of some sixty-five or seventy leagues. I have arrived sooner than I had expected, and so if you wish to delay the departure, there is no reason why you should not, but I can give you no more information than I possess.”

  “That is only natural,” said Daro, who glanced quickly at Piro, and then looked away. We trust the reader is able to understand what might be passing through the mind of a mother at such a moment—a moment, that is, when she is preparing to see her only child leave home for the first time, and, moreover, to leave home on a quest of uncertain results and unknown dangers. As for Khaavren, he was not immune to these feelings, yet there were other emotions as well flitting through his nerves—emotions having to do with recollections of when he had first set out from home, and of what he considered his failures since that time, and of a certain hope that his child might in some measure redeem him, and of sorrow that he would not have the chance to redeem himself, and of many other delicate shades and nuances of feeling that accompanied these.

  As for Piro—for we will not hesitate to take advantage of our position as narrator to flit hither and yon into the mind and heart of whomever we wish—it may be that buried somewhere within him was a certain regret for leaving his family, perhaps for-ever, and there may have even been the smallest hint of apprehension with regard to setting out toward unknown dangers, and it is even possible that he felt some strains of loyalty toward the cause his father had served for so long; but all of these emotions were drowned and submerged by one: the sudden longing to set out and to make his way in the world, for better or worse, for good or ill, for fortune or catastrophe.

  Each of the Great Houses has, as is well known, its own characteristics: the heroism of the Dzur, the ferocity of the Dragon, the cleverness of the Yendi, the nobility of the Lyorn, and, of course, the enthusiasm of the Tiassa. But some of these Houses, as is also well known, have also their similarities; and it is worth noting one point of similarity that the Tiassa share with the Dragon and the Dzur: their inability to keep their thoughts from being fully and immediately reflected on their countenances. Daro and Khaavren, then, saw at once what was passing in the mind of their son, and responded in the same manner: They gave a smile that was at once fond and a little sad, and reached out and took each other’s hands. Kytraan, upon witnessing this conjugal meeting of minds, coughed in confusion and looked away.

  “Well,” said Daro after a moment, letting go of Khaavren’s hand with a gentle squeeze and recovering herself, “we must confer as to details, but, at any rate, you, good Kytraan, will spend the night beneath our roof, to which end you must be shown to a room. The servant—” She paused, realizing she didn’t know the servant’s name and the servant could not yet have knowledge of the manor. “The servant,” she continued, “will have the maid show you to a room, and we will meet again at dinner.”

  Kytraan rose and bowed, and allowed himself to be escorted from the room, leaving Daro, Khaavren, and Piro alone. When they had seated themselves again, Khaavren said, “You understand there may be danger.”

  “I understand that.”

  “I trust you will acquit yourself bravely, because you are, after all, a Tiassa.”

  “Yes, Father, and more-so because I am your son.”

  “Well, it is true I have never lacked for courage, although there have been times—”

  “None of that,” said the Countess gently. “Be brave, my son, but not foolish.”

  “I give you my word,” said the Viscount, “that I will be inspired and guided by your examples, and I will always hold to those principles by which I have been raised.”

  “Well,” said Daro, “let us hear those principles.”

  “You wish, then, for me to recite them?”

  “Exactly. We will see what you have learned.”

  “Very well. I think you will not be disappointed. I will recite them now.”

  “I am listening. What are your principles?”

  “To seek understanding before taking action, yet to trust my instincts when action is called for. Never to avoid danger from fear, never to seek out danger for its own sake. Never to conform to fashion from fear of eccentricity, never to be eccentric from fear of conformity. To preserve the honor of my name and House, and to cherish the memory of the Empire. To always care for my horse, my lackey, and my equipage as if they were part of my own body. To hold myself to higher standards of conduct than I hold another. To never strike without cause, and, when there is cause, to strike for the heart. To respect, love, and obey those whom the gods have made my masters, for
their sake when deserved, for my sake should my masters be unworthy, and for the sake of duty at all times. To be loyal to my House, my family, my name, and the principles of the Empire.”

  “That is it,” said Daro. “Now see to your horse, lackey, and equipment, for you will leave in the morning.”

  Khaavren responded to this with a sharp intake of breath. Daro looked at him quickly, but he nodded. “A delay,” he said, “would only …”

  “Yes,” said Daro.

  Piro stood, respect battling excitement in his address, yet he bowed and walked from the terrace without unseemly haste before breaking into a run that took him through the manor and out to the stables, to give his favorite horse an extra measure of grain, and to begin the other preparations necessary for his journey.

  The Count and Countess of Whitecrest took klava on the terrace overlooking the Southern Coast of Dragaera; the sight, smell, and sound of the sea filled their senses. Khaavren never took his eyes from the reddish waves.

  “My lord,” said the Countess. “For what do you look?”

  “Ships, my lady, from distant ports.”

  “Someday you will see them,” she said.

  After this they spoke no more for the better part of an hour. At length, Khaavren said very softly, “It seems that I did some good after all.”

  “You speak of the Princess Loudin?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, but speak more clearly.”

  “It is nothing,” said Khaavren. “Only that, in this one matter, it seems that I was a tool of the gods.”

  “And does this give you joy?”

  “I feel that, in some measure, the burden is eased.”

  “Then I am glad.”

  Khaavren looked at her quickly. “It cannot have been easy, my dear, to—”

  “Come, do not speak of it. Rather, let us watch the ocean-sea and wonder at its farther shores.”

  “Yes, let us do that.”

  And that is what they did, until at last Daro took her leave to be about the business of Whitecrest. Khaavren sat where he was until, well after noon, he was joined by the Viscount, who saluted him respectfully and, at Khaavren’s sign, sat next to him.

  “You are ready to leave in the morning?” said Khaavren.

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “How will you travel?”

  “Sir, I will take my horse, and, with your permission, we will load the supplies on the seveck gelding, who is large and strong and will also carry the lackey; unless you, my father, believe we should take a mule. Yet I thought to bring as little as possible, and thus travel the more quickly.”

  “No, no, my son. I subscribe to your plan exactly.”

  “Then that is what I will do.”

  “And you will leave early, will you not?”

  “Before it is light.”

  “In fact, before the Countess and I have risen.”

  “That is our intention, sir, for I know that you have said that an early start on the first day is of utmost importance in a long journey, and so I have taken your words to heart.”

  “That is good, Viscount. And you have come to see if I have any other words, that is, any last words of advice to you before you leave?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I am gratified that this thought came to you. Well, I do not, for I have taught you what I could, in words where I could not do so by example, and whatever you have learned must serve you as best it can. What of your friends?”

  “I shall write to them this evening.”

  “That is well. It is important that we not neglect our friends, for they are our anchors, and good friends can hold in any storm, provided we do not cut them loose.” He laughed. “You perceive what living near the sea has done to my habits of speech.”

  “You have had good friends, sir, have you not?”

  “I have indeed. But distances have grown longer since the Disaster, and we no longer have the posts, so that one must remain ignorant of what is passing with old friends, unless one is Sethra Lavode.”

  “Apropos, sir.”

  “Well?”

  “Do you think I will meet her?”

  “It seems you may. And if you do, you must not fail to present my respectful greetings.”

  “I will do so, sir.”

  Neither spoke then, for a moment, until the Viscount said, “My lord?”

  “Yes, Viscount?”

  “You wish you were going, don’t you, instead of I?”

  Khaavren sighed. “I am in no condition to go, Viscount. I could perhaps still lift my old sword, but I could neither cut nor parry. And my old bones do not allow me to sit astride a horse for more than a few hours. And if this mission is what I suspect it is, it requires someone who …”

  “Yes, sir? It requires someone who … ?”

  Khaavren shook his head. “No, you will go forth, and do what must be done. That is all of it.”

  “Yes, sir. I will not disgrace you.”

  “No, Viscount, I am certain that you will not. And you will bid a fond farewell to the Countess before you go?”

  “I will visit her in her chambers as soon as I have left you, sir.”

  “Good.” They sat once more without speaking; then Khaavren said, “What do you think of your lackey?”

  “He pleases me, sir, for he seems to have some courage, and his conversation amuses me.”

  “That is best. A lackey can sometimes be almost a friend, you know, and I will tell you that, to this day, I wonder what has become of my old servant, Srahi, and I hope that she is happy with her companion, whose name was Mica, and who serves my friend Tazendra of whom I have told you so much.”

  “I will not fail to attend to Lar, sir.”

  Khaavren nodded, and then, with an effort, he rose. Piro did the same. “Come, Viscount, embrace me, and then take your leave of your mother.”

  “Gladly, sir,” said the young man, and embraced his father with enthusiasm and affection, after which, with a last tender salute, he re-entered the manor. Khaavren, for his part, sat down once more and continued looking out over the ocean, where none could see the glistening in his eyes.

  Chapter the Eleventh

  How the Duke of Galstan

  Whom the Reader May Remember as Pel,

  Has Acquired New Responsibilities;

  And a Brief Discussion of What

  These Responsibilities May Entail

  Early the next morning, if one were able to look out over the broad expanse of terrain that had once been the Empire, one would have found, in fact, that almost nothing worth our notice was occurring. To be sure, the western half was still covered in darkest night, but even in that portion upon which we have turned our attention, that is, on Whitecrest Manor in Adrilankha, all the observer might have observed was this: Three figures, those being Piro, Kytraan, and Lar, walked to the stables, secured their provisions and supplies on a pack animal, mounted horses, and began riding slowly east.

  In some sense, this may be considered a momentous occasion, because of all the later events set in motion by this simple departure; yet it is a startling truth that simply because an event has historical importance, that does not necessarily make it interesting; and as the reader has the right to demand that everything in a romance be both significant to the unfolding of events and absorbing in its own right, the author has no choice but to leave these three individuals to find their own way onward, while the reader is guided toward matters by which his imagination and sympathy may be evoked.

  At the moment, then, when our three friends are setting out, we must look hard for any activity of both interest and significance to our story; much of the land is asleep, and, of those who are awake, nearly all are involved merely in the day-to-day life that takes up most of the time and energy of the aristocrat, the tradesman, the peasant, and, if truth be known, even the historian. The exception could be found, if one looked, in the far northwestern portion of the continent, on a peak called Kana, in the Kanefthali Mountai
ns, where a certain Dragonlord with the same name as the peak to which we have just alluded and his cousin have, since we last saw them, achieved an expansion that is certainly worthy of note.

  Much (indeed, in the opinion of this historian, most) of Kâna’s success can be attributed to his ability and determination to find the most talented individuals in different areas of expertise and recruit them into his project. By the time a half century had elapsed from the Disaster, he had fought, subdued, and killed or recruited all of the smaller warlords in the area around the mountains; by the end of the first century he had established communication, intelligence, and transport lines to the Ocean-sea in the south and west, and nearly to the desert in the East. Over the next century, he bargained and traded with those larger holdings near the mountains, and then, one by one, swallowed them, until, by the time of which we have the honor to write, that is, near the middle of the third century of Interregnum, he controlled almost a third of the land that had once been the Empire, and his influence was felt over another third.

  We should mention in passing, by the way, that, some fifty years previously, his agents had learned of Khaavren, and had considered recruiting him, but had decided against it upon learning of his general demoralization and weakness of body and spirit. Should they have attempted to add him to their number, it is impossible to say if they would have succeeded, or how history might have unfolded differently.

  But if Kana (or, more precisely, Habil acting through Kâna) missed Khaavren, there is another of our acquaintances who was not missed, that being Pel, who gravitated toward the gathering of power as naturally and inevitably as an orca will swim toward a place in the water where blood has been spilled. Pel had, a hundred years before, been a minor and almost accidental pawn in Kâna’s vast information network; but in the manner of the Yendi that he was, he had learned more on his end of the “wire,” as it was called, than Kâna had learned from his assistance, and Pel had soon grown more and more important in this organization, showing a talent for not only the gathering of facts, but for making almost uncannily correct deductions from the fewest threads of information until, for the half century leading up to the time of which we have the honor to write, he had, in fact, been in charge of the operation of what Kâna still called spies and Habil called observers and Pel only referred to as his “friends.”