The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  The brigand frowned, however, and said, “Looking for you? I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?” said Kytraan. “That is to say, you were not looking for us?”

  “Not to my memory. But I may be deceived on this point. Who are you?”

  “My name is Kytraan, of the North Pinewood Hold, and my companion is the Viscount of Adrilankha.”

  “Well, I must say I have never before heard those names pronounced, so that I cannot claim to be looking for you. Unless—” and here comprehension appeared to grow in his eyes. “Unless this is your way of saying you wish to join my band, in which case I’m forced to disappoint you by—”

  “Join your band?” cried Kytraan. “I hardly think so.”

  “That is well, then.”

  “But sir,” said Piro, who at last managed to find his voice, “is it not the case that you have been following us?”

  “Following you? Well, if so, it is only because it so happened that you have been preceding us.”

  Kytraan looked at the brigand, then glanced at Piro, and back. He cleared his throat. “Well, I must confess this conversation is hardly going in the direction I had expected.”

  “Things rarely go the way we plan,” said the other, shrugging. “But what would you have? It is clear you intended to fight all of us. If that is still your wish, we can oblige you, although it seems pointless. My name, incidentally, is Wadre.”

  Kytraan shook his head, “No, we are not Dzurlords, to fight to no purpose except the fighting.”

  Wadre smiled. “Nor are we.”

  “I must say,” said Kytraan, with a small bow executed from horseback, “that you seem remarkably amiable for a brigand.”

  Wadre shrugged, appearing to take no offense at the label. “If I am amiable to those I intend to rob, why should I not be amiable to someone toward whom I have no such intention?”

  Kytraan could find no answer to this question; Piro, for his part, could not help but burst out, “But why do you rob people?”

  Wadre shrugged. “Robbing animals would seem unproductive.”

  “There is some justice in your observation,” said Kytraan.

  “No,” said Piro. “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean,” said Wadre. “But, come, what would you have us do instead?”

  This question required some thought, and Piro began forthwith to think. Kytraan, meanwhile, said, “But then, if you are robbers, why do you not rob us?”

  “Have you anything worth stealing?” said Wadre.

  “Well, in fact, no,” said Kytraan, after reflecting.

  “Well.”

  Piro nodded to indicate that he was satisfied with the answer.

  “In that case,” said Wadre, “it only remains for us to wish you a pleasant journey.”

  “And to yourselves, well, I hope your ventures are prosperous.”

  “You are very kind,” said Wadre, and bowing, he led his band away.

  As they were leaving, Kytraan said, “Come, my dear Piro, do you think you may have gone too far?”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, you wished them prosperous ventures.”

  “And if I did?”

  “Well, consider that they are road agents. For them to have prosperous ventures—”

  “Well, your argument is valid. And yet—”

  “Well?”

  “Consider: Whom would you rather see prosper? Noble highwaymen, or fat merchants?”

  “You think they are noble?”

  “Perhaps not. I must consider this. They seemed noble.”

  “Yes, you consider that, while I consider the entire issue of fat merchants.”

  “Excellent. We will both be considering, and that will help the hours and days of the journey pass more pleasantly.”

  “With this plan, I am in complete agreement.”

  In this way, then, they continued. Yet before we either continue this journey, or turn our attention to those other persons with whom the reader is familiar, we believe it may be instructive to look, for the briefest of moments, to Wadre and his band of road agents, who are now riding off in another direction, looking for plunder should it appear, or a pleasant day’s ride should it not. As Wadre had expressed it once, “We prey on the helpless, but not too hard, and not too often.”

  As they rode, Wadre’s lieutenant rode up to join her chief. She was a woman named Mora, with narrow eyes, short hair with curls concealing a noble’s point, and a small mouth with thin lips. The two of them rode knee to knee for some few moments, until at last Wadre said, “Well?”

  “Well, they were a strange band.”

  “Yes, Mora?” said Wadre, who knew his lieutenant never spoke merely to make conversation.

  “I think they are marked.”

  “You saw this?”

  “Yes, or felt it.”

  “I am not startled by this news. Yet are they marked by destiny, or by fate? That is, do they ride to glory or to doom?”

  “As to that, I cannot say, only—”

  “Yes?”

  “We have crossed their path.”

  “And so?”

  “In some way, we are now bound up with them.”

  Wadre nodded. “I feared it may be so. You are certain?”

  She shrugged. “One can never be certain, but I think it likely.”

  “Well, in that case, Mora, let us wish them the best of fortune.”

  “Yes,” said Mora. “Let us do so.”

  Wadre gave a glance over his shoulder, but the strangers had long since vanished from sight.

  We return to Piro and his friends the next day when, in the light of the morning, they were able to see Dzur Mountain standing up against the northern sky. As Piro looked up at it, Kytraan said, “We must bear to the left here, and travel until I am able to recognize, by certain signs, where to turn again in order to strike the path that will lead us up the mountain.”

  Piro nodded and said, “Well, let us then turn. It still seems to be a long way off; will we arrive today?”

  “Before the afternoon has turned to evening, if we make good time.”

  “Then let us endeavor to make good time.”

  “Very well,” said Kytraan. “I agree to this plan.”

  Lar made no remark, nor did he give any indication about whether the making of good time was to his liking, or if he should have preferred to delay as much as possible. For the sake of completeness, we should add that the morning, as well as being hazy, was chilly, so that our friends saw their breath before them, as a reminder of how cold they were. They sat close to the small fire upon which Lar had made the “camp-coffee” they gratefully consumed as they studied the mountain before them.

  Piro said, “Is it true what they say about her?”

  This was not the first time he had asked this question, in one form or another; nor was it the first time Kytraan had replied with a shrug of his shoulders. Lar packed up the gear in the various saddle-bags, prepared the horses with saddle and bridle, and said, “My lords, we can leave whenever you are ready.”

  Kytraan and Piro arose at once, indicating that they were, in fact ready that very instant.

  “Soon I will be able to judge for myself,” said Piro, and climbed into the saddle. Piro’s horse, a reddish-brown mare called Brush, gave him a quick look, as if to say that she would be delighted, if only because it would be the end of her work for a while.

  Kytraan set off, and Piro rode beside him, Lar bringing up the rear. They at once turned in such a way that the wind was blowing into their faces, so by common consent they pulled their cloaks up to cover themselves.

  “The Horse,” murmured Piro. “We nearly appear to be brigands ourselves!”

  “What did you say?” asked Kytraan, who was unable to distinguish Piro’s words through the muffling of the cloak.

  Piro shook his head and huddled more fully into his cloak, shivering. Kytraan, notwithstanding the need to stop several times to look for landmarks, l
ed them well, finding paths that brought them ever higher up into the rocky heights of Dzur Mountain. By noon, they were well into the mountain, so that it had long ago lost its form; indeed, by the peculiar trick of mountainous terrain, while they knew they were climbing, they could no longer see their ultimate destination, but rather the next rise ahead of them always appeared to be the last, although Kytraan assured them they had yet some distance to travel. They stopped and ate without starting a fire, in part because they all wished to arrive quickly, in part because, although they had climbed well into the mountain, the day had nevertheless become warmer, and in part because there was nothing at hand to burn. Having finished their meal of bread, cheese, and dried fruit, they mounted once more and continued.

  “We are rather high up now, aren’t we?” asked Piro some time later.

  “I don’t know our elevation, but yes, I believe so.”

  Piro happened to glance back at about this time, and noticed that Lar had a peculiar expression on his face, as he looked up. Piro slowed down until he was knee to knee with the Teckla, then said, “Come, my good Lar, something seems to be troubling you.”

  “I do not deny it, my lord,” said the servant.

  “Well, tell me what it is.”

  “You wish me to do so?”

  “Yes, and this very instant.”

  “I will tell you, then.”

  “I am listening.”

  “We are climbing.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “Moreover, we are gaining height.”

  “Yes, that is natural when we climb.”

  “So I had thought!” exclaimed Lar.

  “And then?”

  “Well, it seems to me if we go much higher, we shall reach the Enclouding.”

  “Well, it is possible we shall reach it.”

  “But then, I have understood that to reach above the Enclouding is to, well …”

  “Yes? Is to what?”

  “To have one’s soul ripped from one’s body.”

  “Oh, indeed, have you heard that?”

  “All my life, my lord. Indeed, I have been told the Enclouding is nothing more than the disembodied souls of those who have entered it.”

  “How is that possible, Lar? Consider that a thing cannot be what it absorbs, otherwise, well, there would be nothing to do the absorbing before the first thing was absorbed.”

  Lar tried to work this out. At length he said, “But consider that every living thing absorbs substances into itself and makes them part of it, only we call it ‘eating.’ Indeed, I believe that is what it means to be alive.”

  “I have said that you are a philosopher, Lar. Now I insist upon it.”

  “I would never venture so far above my position to dispute with you, my lord. Yet—”

  “Well?”

  “You perceive, this has not allayed my fear.”

  “Very well, then. Consider that the Enchantress lives above the overcast.”

  “But it is well known that the Enchantress has no soul.”

  “Ah! I had not known this circumstance.”

  “Well, but then?”

  “You should also consider our friend Kytraan, who has been to Dzur Mountain, and returned.”

  “So he claims,” said Lar doubtfully.

  Piro considered, then he said, “Very well, my good Lar, here is what I will do. I shall be riding ahead of you.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Well, as we are on the same trail, and as the trail is climbing, it follows that I will reach the Enclouding before you do.”

  “Your reasoning seems good to me.”

  “Well, I will enter it, and I will let you know if my soul is ripped from my body, and if it is, well, you will have leave to ride back down.”

  “That is very kind of you, my lord.”

  “Cha! It is nothing.”

  This difficulty being settled, Piro spurred his horse back up to where Kytraan continued to lead. Piro noticed that, in fact, the Enclouding did seem very low. He wondered for a moment if the Teckla’s superstition could be correct, but then, he decided, he was hardly going to turn back now, and he would know soon enough.

  And, in fact, it was perhaps an hour later that Piro noticed an odd smell: a mixture, as it were, of certain harsh odors, with a kind of tangy sweetness, none of which he could identify. At the same moment, he realized that the ground had acquired a bit of a reddish tinge, and, moreover he could no longer see more than ten feet in any direction; it occurred to him that he was, in fact, passing through the Enclouding. He turned back to the Teckla and said, “Well, I seem well enough so far.”

  Lar shrugged, as if to say he was resigned to his fate. We should add, lest the reader feel later that he was held needlessly in suspense, that there were no ill effects from passing through the Enclouding; in fact, even Lar instantly forgot the danger as he suddenly got his first clear sight of Sethra Lavode’s home, or her “lair” as some have styled it, at the top of Dzur Mountain. As if by common consent, they all drew rein to look at it. Although not apparent from a distance, even on those occasions when the Enclouding was of sufficient altitude for Sethra’s residence to be visible, this portion of Dzur Mountain was formed of smooth, dark blocks of stone, rising up at a sharp angle and, from below, appearing majestic and awe-inspiring. From the angle at which our friends studied it, it seemed to form a pyramid, its walls sheer and with no evident means of entry; not even a window was apparent.

  After some few moments, Lar remarked, “My neck hurts.”

  “That is natural,” said Kytraan. “For, you perceive, you have been staring at a tall object for some time, and thus your neck has been asked to hold a position it was never intended to.”

  “That is true!” exclaimed Lar. “All is explained, then!”

  “I am glad of it,” said Kytraan.

  Piro said, “You have truly been there, Kytraan?”

  “I have truly been there.”

  Piro continued staring upward for a moment longer, then said, “Let us go on.”

  Kytraan shrugged.

  They turned their horses up the slope, where the path seemed to be carved out of the middle of a corpulence of grey slate that towered well over their heads. It was as they were passing through this that a voice called to them, saying, “Permit me to suggest, my friends, that you come no further, unless you wish your heads to be sent down the hill without your bodies, which I give you my word will make further journeys on your part inconvenient.”

  Chapter the Seventeenth

  How Piro and His Friends,

  Upon at Last Reaching Dzur Mountain,

  Met Someone Whom We Hope the Reader

  Will Consider an Old Friend

  The three of them stopped upon hearing this remarkable speech, and looked toward the voice, which came from well above them. Even looking up, however, they could not see who had spoken, because the Enclouding was so low on that day that they had by now quite passed through it. The reader may, indeed, wonder why it is that being above the level of the Enclouding made it difficult to see who had spoken to them; rest assured we will explain at once. Once past the Enclouding, there was, in fact, nothing between them and the Furnace, which was visible, as it is in the East and upon the top of certain mountains. As is well known to those who travel to such regions, the Furnace is not only hot, but, just as a fire that gives off heat also emits light, so the Furnace, which emits enough heat to warm the entire world, also gives off so much light that one cannot stare into it without feeling more or less pain; indeed, there are cases of travelers being blinded by nothing more than looking into the heart of the Furnace in all its incandescent glory. In this case, it chanced that the speaker stood more or less between our friends and the Furnace, and so it was quite impossible for any of them to get a good look at her.

  Recognizing at once that the speaker was a woman, however, Kytraan, while attempting to shield his eyes from the glare and still look at it—a futile effort, we might add—said, �
�Is that you, Sethra? It is I, Kytraan, and I have returned from the errand upon which you did me the honor to send me.”

  “Well,” said the other, “I do not doubt that you are Kytraan, but if you are correct about that name, you are still wrong about the other, for I am not Sethra.”

  “So much the worse,” said Kytraan.

  “Well,” said the other.

  “If you wish to fight,” said Piro, “we will happily oblige you, because it is our duty to continue to the home of the Enchantress, and duty is a stern master.”

  “How,” said their interrogator. “Your duty?”

  “Nearly,” said Kytraan. “The Enchantress sent me to bring this gentleman to her, and he has agreed. It is, therefore, both of our duties.”

  “You perceive,” said the other, “that if she wishes to see you, that is entirely another matter. I am only here to keep away visitors she does not wish to see—which class of visitor, you perceive, have been appearing in no small numbers of late.”

  “In truth?” said Piro.

  “It is as I have had the honor to tell you.”

  “Well,” said Kytraan, “but then, you perceive, we have no quarrel.”

  “No,” said the other, in tones of deep regret. “It appears we have none.”

  “Cha!” said Piro. “It nearly sounds as if you are sorry that we cannot slaughter each other.”

  “Well,” said the stranger. “I do not deny it. But, alas, it seems I must be denied the pleasure.”

  “You perceive,” said Piro, “that being slaughtered would not be nearly so great a pleasure for us.”

  “Oh, I understand that. But I was so looking forward to fighting you both at once, as I have had not such an opportunity for some years.”

  “Cha!” said Piro. “She is not lacking in confidence.”

  “A moment, please,” said the stranger.

  “Well?”

  “If I am not mistaken, that is the second time you have used the expression ‘cha.’”

  “Well, and is it not a good expression?”

  “Oh, I have nothing against it, I assure you. Only—”

  “Yes?”

  “Star me if I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

  Piro shrugged. “I am certain there are others who have used it. As for me, I learned it of my father, who would say it at times when an oath seemed called for.”