by Steven Brust
Andor approached Sándor and sat down next to him. The wizard held up a forefinger (in unconscious parody of Andor) while he ran his other finger along lines of ancient script. Andor winced in false sympathy to see him rubbing his finger, and looked away. Then he looked back, once more admiring the wizard's calm demeanor. Dignity, that was it. Even the unpretentious pale green robes added to the effect of calm self-assurance.
After a moment, Sándor looked up. "Yes?"
Andor was flustered for a moment to be caught staring, but he held out the injury. "Do you think you could help me with a sliver? I've tried digging it out, but I can't seem to—"
"Certainly," said Sándor. He grasped the end of the finger tightly, turning the tip purple, and reached down deftly with the fingernails of his other hand. Between the pressure from the squeezing and the light pain from the digging of the nails, Andor didn't actually feel the sliver come free, but Sándor was holding it, and rubbing now produced no pain.
"Thank you," he said.
Sándor nodded brusquely. Andor settled back and sighed. Sándor seemed to resign himself to a long conversation. "What is it?" he said.
"The flowers," said Andor. "They don't seem to be coming up. It's been more than a week now, and—"
Sándor snorted.
"What is it?" asked Andor.
Sándor snorted again. "Late autumn is not the time to plant flowers, my foolish friend."
Andor, who had been prepared for either a shocking revelation about the Nature of Truth or a severe tongue-lashing for lack of trust in the Power of Life, felt his jaw drop with amazement.
After a moment, he managed to stammer out, "But you said—"
"I said nothing. I was speaking in generalities. You chose to take my examples literally and wouldn't listen when I tried to correct your error. Flowers, indeed!"
Andor stared at him, trying desperately to understand. At last he said, "Please, Sándor."
"Please what?"
"Help me. There is something…"
"Yes?"
"Something missing. Something that I'm not seeing or doing."
"And it's making you unhappy, is that it?"
Andor nodded miserably.
"You feel an emptiness in your life, and you come to me because I seem to be fulfilled."
"Yes."
"You think there must be some secret that I have, knowledge of how to be happy."
"No, but—"
"No buts. I can hear it in everything you say."
Sándor's expression was midway between exasperation and disdain. Andor looked down, like a child confronted with the evidence of a dish found under his bed with remnants of months-old pudding still on it.
Sándor said in a suddenly gentler tone, "It isn't that easy, Andor. I have paid for my peace of mind with the burden of power, and paid for the power with years of study. The ways of the Goddess—"
"The Goddess?"
"Certainly, the Goddess. She is the living embodiment of the power of Faerie. That is why we worship her."
"Then the power comes from her?"
Sándor frowned, considering. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose it does, but—"
"I understand!" cried Andor. It felt as if, after hours of chasing lanterns, he had emerged for the first time into the full light of day. His pulse raced as exhilaration swept through him.
For years, he realized, he had been going through the duties of worship and obligation to the Goddess as if such things were separate from his personal life. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that again and again the Goddess had spoken to him, but he had chosen not to listen.
Little things, such as the flowers refusing to grow, or the fountain breaking down when he had been looking forward all day to cooling off in it, or his consistent failures at tests of arms, or even today, the splinter received while watching for flowers that would never break the soil. Hundreds of things should have pointed him in the right direction, but he had been blind.
Well, that was over, now. His search had been long, but at last he was on the right path. He could feel it.
Andor realized that Sándor was still talking.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I missed that. What were you saying?"
Sándor stopped, then looked exasperated. He threw up his hands and sighed. "Never mind. You'll do what you'll do, as always. I don't know why I bother. Now go away and—"
The door burst open. Andor turned to it, so he didn't see the peculiar color that came over Sándor's face. Instead he saw Vilmos, and a scream froze on his lips.
His brother's tunic was torn, and there were deep red stains over the tatters of it, running down to his blue leggings. His bare chest was a mass of scabs. His lips were drawn up in the snarl of a wild animal, his eyes were wide and blazing, even his beard seemed to stand on end.
Vilmos took a step into the room. He didn't bother to duck under the doorway; his head cracked against the wood at the top, breaking off a piece of the intrados. He didn't seem to notice. He took another step. Sándor rose to his feet. Andor backed up.
Vilmos took another step, then another. Sándor spoke in a low, even tone. "Tell me what happened, Vilmos." The giant growled and took another step.
Sándor stepped behind a table and backed up again. "Didn't the spell work, Vilmos? I can't think why it didn't." Vilmos lifted the table with his right hand and flung it casually behind him. Andor heard the sound of wood cracking and splintering when it landed, but he didn't look around. Sweat poured from Andor's brow as he tried to think of something to do. He took a hesitant step forward, but froze when Vilmos half turned to him.
Sándor scurried back. "Please, Vilmos!" he cried. "At least tell me what happened!"
Vilmos stopped, a look of scorn replacing the rage. "Can't you see my chest, wizard?"
"But the spell—"
"Yes! The spell! It made the dragon angry, wizard. I killed it anyway, but do you see what the thing did to me? And all because I was fool enough to listen to you!"
He lifted his hands and walked toward Sándor again. His massive back blocked Andor's view of the wizard. In desperation, Andor screamed. "No, Vili! Don't—"
"Quiet, brother," said Vilmos without turning.
"Vilmos," said Sándor, fighting to remain calm. "You need rest and healing. Look how injured you are."
The giant was upon him now, and his hands began to descend. A blue light suddenly flickered around Vilmos. He jumped back, startled, then advanced again.
"Your tricks are useless against—"
"No trick, Vilmos. I'm healing you. See? Already your chest is better, isn't it."
Vilmos looked down, then growled. For a moment, he seemed unsure of himself. The blue light flickered again.
"Do you see, Vilmos?" came Sándor's quivering voice. "Don't you feel better?"
The giant stirred. "Nice try, wizard," he said, stepping forward again. "But—"
"Vilmos!"
Andor turned, and László stood in the doorway. The King entered quickly, his eyes flicking from his brother's chest to the crumpled, frightened form of his wizard.
"Did his spell fail you, Vili?"
"It did, brother. But we need never worry about that again." He turned back. But with speed that amazed even Andor, who thought he knew him, László ran up and leapt between giant and wizard.
Vilmos stopped. "What are you doing, Laci?"
"I need him, Vili. The kingdom needs him. If you want to harm him, you'll have to harm me, too."
"I could destroy you, Laci," said Vilmos.
"I know," said László.
For a moment, Andor studied the tableau as an outsider. The giant's hands were still raised, but László stared up calmly. The loudest sound in the room was Vilmos's breathing. Andor became aware of a pungent odor, and realized that he was smelling his own perspiration.
Then, with a curse that Andor shuddered to overhear, Vilmos turned and stormed from the room, his head making yet a new dent in the structure of the
doorway where he refused to bow upon passing through.
László reached out a hand and helped the old man to his feet. Sándor made his halting way to a chair that László had knocked over. Andor hastened to set it upright.
"What happened?" asked László.
"I don't know," said the wizard. "He would only tell me that the spell hadn't killed the dragon." He was silent for a moment, then: "He must have been near water. That's the only thing that will weaken that spell."
"Didn't you warn him about that?"
Sándor sighed. "To what purpose? You fight a dragon where it is, not where you want to." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter, in any case. The dragon is dead, Vilmos is alive. All is well."
"Sándor, you are a fool."
Sándor glanced up at the King; the expression on his face was unreadable. "That has been said by many kings before you, Your Majesty."
* * * *
Sándor stood up and left, bowing to László. Andor started to follow him out.
"Andor," said László.
"Yes?"
"Will you do something for me? I'm expecting visitors the day after tomorrow. Will you make sure there are suitable arrangements?"
"What visitors?"
"A certain Count of Mordfal and his daughter, Mariska."
Andor smiled. "Daughter? Is Rezső trying to get you married again, brother?"
László shrugged. "Will you see to the arrangements and make sure there is an honor guard for them? I expect them in the forenoon."
"Certainly," said Andor. "But what about Brigitta?"
To Andor's amazement, László actually flushed.
"Shut up," he said. He stood and walked out of the room.
Andor shook his head in puzzlement and went up to his own chambers to meditate on how best to please his Goddess, before making the arrangements his brother had requested. He found himself trembling with delighted anticipation.
* * * *
In his dreams that night, Andor stood on a cliff, clothed in garments of white, his hands uplifted. Wind from the sea (which he had never seen, but which he envisioned as like a lake only bigger) ruffled his hair.
He stood at the very edge of the cliff and felt a sudden fear, not of falling, but of jumping. His actions seemed to be predestined, and he could only wait to find out what he would do.
He became aware that a cloud had descended, so that it was directly before him. He had no memory of its arrival, yet there it was. In the dream, this didn't seem odd. He thought he must be high up indeed for there to be clouds, and for the first time he wondered where he was.
Then the cloud changed (again, he wasn't aware of the process, merely that a transformation had occurred) and it assumed the features of a face—a face he knew to be that of the Demon Goddess. In his dream, it didn't seem strange to him that she looked exactly as he'd pictured her (the artists of the land never really agreed on her features, and to Andor none of them were close). In his dream or out of it, he never noticed how much her face resembled that of his mother—thin, with high arching brows and deep, round eyes beneath a tall forehead.
She spoke to him (though her mouth never moved), saying in a voice that pierced his heart, "Andor, will you serve me?"
He watched himself tremble, seeing himself seeing her, yet seeing through his image's eyes at the same time. He felt his own awe almost vicariously. "I will serve you," he heard himself say as he said it.
"Then I will guide and protect you," she said, "and make your life full and meaningful."
He bowed his head. "What must I do, Goddess?"
"You must aid and protect László."
He felt himself feeling puzzled. "Protect him from what, Goddess?"
"From those who would thwart his aims, which are my aims, and from those who would tear down your home, which I have sanctified. And, above all, from himself, when he doesn't understand that it is sometimes best to throw a lamb to the wolves."
"I don't understand, Goddess."
"Trust your heart, Andor, my child," she said, and there was only a cloud before him. Then that, too, was gone.
Andor awoke, then, and rolled out of bed. He cast himself full-length onto the rough wooden floor and prayed.
The next morning he became aware that he had picked up another splinter, this one on top of his right foot. Before doing anything else he set off in search of Sándor, limping slightly.
* * * *
It was still early in the morning when Andor decided what he must do to fulfill his promise. Firm with new resolve, he set off in search of Vilmos.
Calling at his brother's door brought no answer, so he tried the next obvious place and found him at once. Vilmos knelt on the floor in the alcove beneath the stairway to the wine cellars, looking incongruously huge in the tiny space. He was feeding scraps of vegetables to several norska in a small enclosure built there.
Andor watched for a moment, trying to keep the disgust off his face. Even Vilmos's clothing—dirty wool leggings, boots that bunched around his ankles, a tunic of some indefinable color that was ripped along the side—bespoke one who had no understanding of his role, who took no pride in his station. Finally Andor said, "Don't you get tired of the smell?"
Vilmos looked up, seeing him for the first time. He grunted "No," and went back to the feeding.
Andor braced himself and said, "We need to talk."
Vilmos grunted again, this time not even looking up.
"We need to talk now, Vilmos."
The giant administered another scrap of something green and leafy, then sat back on his heels.
"Well? What is it then?"
"It's about your attitude toward our brother and our Goddess."
Vilmos cocked his head to the side. "You say them as if they were the same."
Andor paused, startled, then began again. "No, but it's all part of the same problem. I am older than you, Vilmos. My memory stretches back further than yours. I remember when László first took the throne from our father."
Vilmos nodded solemnly and waited for the other to continue. Andor blinked. "I think you should consider your duties. Yesterday you were near to killing—" he choked, then continued, "—actually killing Sándor, who is vital to the kingdom."
Vilmos snorted. Andor raised his voice and said, "Yes, vital. How could you do that? As I think about it, Vilmos, I see that your attitude toward the Goddess is perfunctory. Yes, you perform the rituals every seven days, but is your heart in them? If you could but see what I see, you would understand that the Goddess is the one who protects the kingdom, and our prayers and sacrifices to her are part of how we all contribute to the well-being of each other. Yet you seem interested only in… those animals of yours, as if they were more important to you than your duty to the kingdom. Do you understand what I'm saying, Vilmos?"
Vilmos looked at him and blinked twice. Then he went back to feeding the norska. Andor felt himself suddenly filled with anger.
"Must you learn it only to your sorrow?" he cried. "To all our sorrow? You have benefited by living here, by your position as Prince of Fenario. Can you only take without giving?"
Vilmos stood up and faced his smaller brother. For a moment, Andor had the sudden fear that he'd pushed his brother to violence, but Vilmos didn't approach him. Instead, he ripped open his shirt, showing Andor three pink (already nearly healed) scars that went from high on the right side of his chest across his belly almost to his left hip. He gave Andor a look of contempt and returned to feeding the norska, making small clucking sounds.
Andor gritted his teeth, trembling with rage. He said, "Bah!" and half walked, half ran back up to the main floor of the Palace.
* * * *
Dinner that evening was much as usual, except for the underlying tension between Andor and Vilmos. It occurred to Andor that László probably wouldn't notice it, absorbed as he was with the problems of the kingdom, especially since, he suddenly realized, there was a great deal less conversation among the three of them than there had bee
n a year or two ago. During the silence of much of the meal Andor pondered this, and decided that it was probably due to their falling away from the Goddess. If so, he realized, it was up to him to remedy the situation.
He cleared his throat and said, "I understand, László, that there have been problems with the Northmen."
László appeared startled at the sudden break in the silence, but collected himself and said, "There have been, yes, but we seem to be dealing with them adequately." He turned his attention back to—what was it? Some kind of bird covered with a reddish sauce. Cherry.
"How is that, László?"
"Hm?" The King appeared faintly annoyed, as if he had been thinking about something. But after swallowing he said, "Marshal Henrik is attending to it." He took another sip of wine and attacked his food again.
"What is he doing, then?"
László put his knife down, wiped his lips with the white linen napkin, and replaced it on his lap. He leaned forward and said, "He is defeating the enemy."
Andor realized that this was not accomplishing what he wished to accomplish, so he smiled and nodded, somewhat embarrassed, and turned his attention back to his own food. Vilmos, across from him, had never stopped eating.
The rest of the meal proceeded in strained silence, broken only by eating sounds and the unobtrusive coming and going of servants. Andor occasionally followed one of them with his eyes. What was her name? Juliska. There was something pleasing about her: quiet, small, slim, and with a perpetually frightened and vulnerable look about her. But, he reminded himself, she was below his station, and it would be unfair. László, whatever his own faults, never used his position to force his attentions on an unwilling wench. Andor resolved to be guided by this.
