by Steven Brust
I said, "Fornia?"
"Yes," said Morrolan.
I studied the man, then turned once more to Morrolan. "Well, here you both are."
"Yes?"
I shrugged. "Why don't you just kill him?"
He graced me with a scaled-down smile. "There are more reasons than I have time to expound upon."
"Name three."
"All right. One: We are at a ceremony where violence would be improper. Two: If I initiated violence at this ceremony, everyone would take his side and we'd be outnumbered about three hundred to one. Three: I want to see what happens if he's left alone."
I grunted. The second answer seemed convincing enough. And what happened was that Fornia and Ori approached us. Morrolan bowed deeply, Fornia acknowledged; I assume the difference in the bows had to do with respective age. Fornia looked me over and said to Morrolan, "What is he doing here?"
"Taking your measure, Lord Fornia. He seems to have developed a grudge against you, and I permitted him to accompany me so that he might get a good look at you. For later," he added.
"I've just explained to him why he ought not to do anything improper just at the moment."
This seemed to be my cue, so I gave Fornia a big smile.
Fornia turned his head and spat.
I said, "In the desert culture of my people, to spit in a man's presence is to demonstrate loyalty. Am I to assume that you are my vassal?"
"You're making that up, aren't you, Boss?"
"What do you think, Loiosh?"
Ori said conversationally, "I should have killed you."
"Yes," I said promptly. "You should have. Your mistake. You won't be permitted another."
He took a step closer, so that he could look down on me. "Are you threatening me, Easterner?"
I grinned up at him. "Yes, but not as an Easterner; as a Jhereg. That's an entirely different matter, isn't it?" At that point Loiosh, who has always had a gift for theater, emerged from my cloak and climbed up to my shoulder.
Ori jumped, startled, in spite of himself, then he scowled. He said, "I will rip your soul from your body and bind it to an iron kettle so I can contemplate how your arse burns when I cook my stew."
"Good thinking," I said. "I know some excellent stew recipes if you need them. Adding a little fennel, for example, will—"
"That's enough, Vlad," said Morrolan.
"If you say so," I told him. "But I tell you, you Dragaerans don't know how to cook."
"Vlad—"
"Except for the occasional Lyorn, who seem—"
"Vlad!"
I shrugged and gave Fornia and Ori another big grin.
Fornia said, "I am not worried. You would not countenance assassination, Lord Morrolan."
"Of course not," said Morrolan. "And I assure your lordship I've been trying to talk my associate out of doing anything rash."
"Your veiled threats," said Fornia, "are as empty and absurd as your pet Easterner's coarse ones."
"Exactly," said Morrolan with a bow.
"If you want what is mine," said Fornia, "you may attempt to take it from me."
"Yours by right of theft, my lord?"
Fornia laughed. "You stand with a Jhereg at your heel and speak to me of theft?"
"You stand with a thug at your elbow and speak to me of Jhereg?"
"This is pointless," said Fornia, and turned away.
"So, as I understand it, is the weapon you've taken."
Fornia turned back, gave Morrolan a smile over his shoulder, then walked away, Ori trailing after him.
"And that, my dear Vlad," said Morrolan as soon as Fornia was out of earshot, "is what we came for."
"To bait him?"
"No, to see that smile."
"Oh. And what did you learn?"
"That whatever he was after, he got it."
"Excuse me?"
"The sword he took was what he was after, not a test, and not a failed effort at something else."
"But then, what is it?"
"I don't know."
"Morrolan, it was a very weak, very large, Morganti greatsword."
"No, it was more than that. Exactly what it is I still don't know, but more than that. I now know at least that much for certain."
"Because of that smile?"
"Because of that smile."
"If you say so. And, I take it, I was here to provide a basis for the sparring match?"
"That, yes, and to make him think. And maybe to worry him a little."
"If you worry him too much, he may decide you really do intend to have him assassinated, and he might beat you to the punch."
"He'd no more hire an assassin than I would."
"But Morrolan, you have."
"You know what I mean."
"Sure. But does he?"
"We've made our point here, Vlad. I must stay for the service, but you can return home if you wish. Or stay; it's up to you."
"What's going to happen?"
"Aliera will go forward and deliver a benediction, asking the Gods to receive Baritt's soul, and then his deeds will be related, and those who knew him will tell all manner of lies about what a fine fellow he was, and a bullock will be sacrificed to whoever his patron deity was—Barlen, if I'm not mistaken—and Aliera will perform another benediction, and then we'll all go home. It should take about ten hours."
"Ten hours?"
"More or less."
"Why Aliera?"
"It is her right and her duty."
"Why is that?"
"I assure you, Vlad, you don't need to know details of the internal politics of the House of the Dragon, nor would I be justified in telling you."
"All right. I guess I can skip the services."
"Very well. I'll be in touch."
"I imagine you will."
I walked away so I could perform my slow and clumsy teleport out of the sight of all those Dragonlords.
"Do you think he was telling the truth, Boss?"
"Who?"
"Morrolan."
"About what?"
"About why he brought you along."
"Oh. I imagine so. Why?"
"I think he was telling half the truth."
"All right. What's the other half?"
"He wanted you committed to helping him against Fornia."
I thought that over. "You're probably right," I said at length.
"It worked, didn't it, Boss?"
"Yeah, it worked."
Eventually we reached a large rock that I could step behind to perform the teleport. I never saw the services for Baritt. I hope they went well; I assume Aliera did a good job of whatever she was supposed to do. Actually, now that I think about it, I know why it is that it was Aliera's right and duty, but never mind; you don't need to know details of the internal politics of the House of the Dragon.
"What it comes down to, Loiosh, is that I just don't like the guy."
"Is that any reason to—"
"Of course it is. And if you say I'm taking this personally, I'll trade you in for a mockman and use its tail for a door-tapper."
"Heh."
I walked to the front of my flat, passed the bed, and opened the shutters on the window that looked down into the street. It was late evening, and as I watched the passersby I had the feeling that I was giving up the security of what I knew for a world in which I was ignorant and helpless as a newborn.
"Loiosh, no one's messed with my head, right?"
"I'm afraid not, Boss. This is all you."
"Just checking."
"You may want to visit your grandfather, Boss."
I felt a touch of annoyance, then sat on it. "You're right, chum. I will, before I actually do anything. But—"
"I know, Boss. You're committed."
"I hate being pushed around, that's all."
"But you don't mind being manipulated?"
"You talking about Morrolan?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, I mind. But he didn't have me beaten."
; Loiosh fell silent, leaving me to think about it. I watched the people in the streets below me and thought about going out for a drink, then thought better of it. I touched my side, which was still a little sore, but getting better. In a day or two there would be nothing left of the beating I'd gotten except the memory.
"I'm going to take this guy down, Loiosh."
"I know you are, Boss."
I pulled the shutters closed.
6
Assault on Helpless Wood
There are, according to Sethra Lavode, in a brief conversation I got to listen to before I marched off to war, two basic schools of thought in terms of generalship: lead from the front, or lead from the rear.
The former is better for morale but can have unfortunate consequences if your officer gets killed. The latter has many advantages in terms of communication and observation, but soldiers don't fight quite so well for a leader who is playing it safe. Sethra says that, really, it depends on circumstances, and a good general ought to be willing to lead either way when appropriate. In the case of our enemies, the officers in charge of brigades—a brigade being about three thousand strong, according to Sethra's intelligence reports—led from the front. The brigade size made sense, she explained, because that was about the largest number of soldiers who could hear the officer shouting orders. The other officers were in back, along with the chief of the sorcerers corps and whatever aides might be appropriate. The brigadier, as a compromise with safety considerations, tended to be surrounded by some elite group of warriors, dedicated to protecting him during the course of the battle. The higher ranking officers received similar protection, but they didn't need it as much—I suppose it was a status symbol the way having a lot of bodyguards is in the Jhereg.
The placing of sorcerers in battle also varies according to tastes of the general and needs of the situation, but, more often than not, sorcerers were attached to a brigade and hung around next to the brigadier. Thus, not only were the sorcerers able to receive orders quickly, but they could do a lot to protect the officer directing that part of the engagement.
Got all that?
I mention it because it flashed through my mind as I went over that hillock, behind the front line my company was engaged with, to seek out the command staff.
In other words, I was going to have to go up against an elite force of warriors as well as some number of sorcerers in order to accomplish my goal.
What was I doing here again? Oh yeah, I lost my temper and talked myself (I can't blame anyone else) into offering Morrolan my services, and he was rude enough to accept, that's what happened. And now—
And now things were moving, which is just what I'd wanted back then when everything came to a standstill. I got what I wanted; isn't that grand?
Still, as I said earlier, I don't enjoy waiting, and, especially after I've made a tough or questionable decision, I want things to be moving, and as usual when I want things to be moving, everything slowed down.
Nothing surprising there: Once you've determined to do something time is needed to make plans, gather materials, and put your plans into motion, all of which causes events to unfold too slowly; it's when you are forced into action before making a decision that things happen too quickly. Watching Morrolan and Sethra taught me that this is true in military matters, and I've always known it was true in my own life.
Or else it's just the universe being perverse; that's the other possibility.
Whichever, I spent several days having fruitless and aimless conversations with Morrolan, who agreed that I could be useful but was infuriatingly vague on the specifics. He seemed to understand without my saying it that I had become committed to helping him. This, in turn, increased my suspicion that the beating had been a setup on Morrolan's part to recruit me, and I retained that suspicion for some time, but I won't keep you in suspense: I eventually learned that Morrolan had nothing to do with it; the attack was just what it seemed.
Every once in while, a Dragon will do something obvious and direct that is no more than it appears to be. I think they do it to throw you off.
I met with Morrolan, Sethra, Aliera, and a pale Dragonlord I didn't recognize. Morrolan didn't perform any introductions. I didn't say anything, because I didn't know what to say and because I was still a bit intimidated to be in the presence of Sethra Lavode.
She spread out a map, pointed to a spot, and said, "We strike here, wait for a counterattack, and retreat this way, toward the Eastern Mountains."
There were nods around the table. I'd been there for about half a minute and I was already confused.
She went on, "Of course, if there is no counterattack, we continue this way, hit here, and here, and here, until there is one, then retreat as planned. If he should allow us all the way to here, we can lay a siege, but I can't imagine it playing out that way."
"What will be the organization?" said Morrolan.
"Divisions. Three of them. I want each self-contained, with its own infantry, cavalry, sorcerers, and engineers. The First Division will be mine, and will make the attack. The others will guard our flank and cover the retreat."
"Marching in column, then?" said Aliera.
"There are plenty of good roads leading into and out of the place; once we near the mountains we'll come back together to bivouac. Here." She pointed to another spot. "We can arrange for provender from the area along this route; we'll need to make arrangements if we're west of the Flatstone River, or north of Turtle. Who's doing logistics?"
"I will take personal charge," said Morrolan.
Sethra nodded. "Sorcery," she said.
The pale woman spoke. Her hair was very black, and her voice soft. "His lead sorcerer is named Ori—"
"Ori!" I heard myself say.
"What is it, Vlad?" said Morrolan.
"Nothing," I said, embarrassed. "Never mind."
The woman looked at me, or, rather, through me, then continued. "He is adept at reconnaissance spells; especially eavesdropping on councils. I have protected this meeting. We must always be careful to do so, and to avoid discussing our plans without protection. In battle he is unlikely to come up with anything we can't counter, but he'll keep throwing spells our way to keep our own sorcerers too busy to concoct anything big."
Sethra nodded. "Anything else?"
"Yes," said Aliera. "Why is he here?" She was looking at me.
Sethra turned to Morrolan, who said, "Because I wish it."
Aliera started to speak, then changed her mind and was silent. The meeting broke up; Aliera and the Dragonlord I didn't know left, Morrolan and Sethra spoke together quietly about details of supply, occasionally venturing off into matters of military theory that I cared about as little as I understood them, and I sat there staring at the map. It was a psiprint, like the one Melestav had shown me, but was more detailed and even cleaner.
Eventually Morrolan noticed that I was still there. "What is it, Vlad?" he said.
"Huh? Oh, nothing. I'm just looking at the map. I like maps."
"Very well. You have no questions?"
"Oh, I have a lot of questions, but I don't know if you feel like answering them."
"Like what?"
"Like why plan for a retreat?"
Morrolan looked expectantly at Sethra. She said, "I prefer a defensive fight when possible, especially when the numbers are close, and these will be. We might, in fact, be outnumbered overall."
"I see. Well, actually, I don't. What are we trying to do?"
This time Sethra looked expectantly at Morrolan. He said, "We need to curb his ambitions. This can best be done by handing his army a severe defeat. Sethra feels she can best do this by convincing him to attack us. We have an edge in our engineering corps—that is, we can construct quick and effective defenses better than he can. So we're going to invade, and invite him to attack, and then beat him."
"All right. I think I get it. And then, what, you expect him to return the sword he stole?"
"Maybe. We may have to negotiate aft
er that."
"What's so special about that sword?"
"The fact that he wanted it."
"But, of all the weapons in that room, why did he take that one?"
Morrolan nodded. "That's what I want to know. I trust we'll find out eventually."
"I see." I considered. "Is there any more you can tell me about Baritt?"
"What do you want to know?"
"For starters, what were the circumstances of his death?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."
"Great."
"If your task were to be easy," said Morrolan, "you wouldn't be earning such a large fee for it."
"Don't play games, Morrolan."
"It's not a game," he snapped, and looked at me through narrowed eyes; I suppose the look was intended to intimidate me. It worked. He started to say more, then, I guess, decided that he'd cowed me enough and didn't have to.
To change the subject, I said, "Who was the pale woman?"
"The Necromancer," he said. "She will be in overall charge of our sorcerers."
" 'The Necromancer,' " I said. "I've heard of her. Heck of a name. Will she raise the dead for us?"
"If necessary," said Morrolan. "But I could do that. If circumstances call for it, she can open a gateway for us that will bring us to a place where eternities pass in an instant, and where life and death have no meaning, and where space can only be measured by the twisting of one's soul. An effective escape, if things go wrong."
I was sorry I'd asked. "Could have used her in the Paths of the Dead," I suggested.
He didn't consider that worth a response.
I said, "I wish I knew what this was all about."
"War," he said.
"Yeah. Over what?"
"In part, whether he's going to keep pushing boundaries."
"Is he pushing yours?"
"Not yet. But he will, if he thinks he can get away with it."
"I see. What else?"
He hesitated. "All right, I'll tell you part of it. Baritt was feared as a sorcerer. He had a great deal of influence within the House and within the Empire. He was very good at getting what he wanted. Before the Interregnum, he was Imperial Sorcerer for a few hundred years. He defended himself against various attacks from various sources with amazing success. He … well, he was very good."
