by Steven Brust
“And the evidence?”
“Irrefutable; the more so because she has made no effort to deny it; she pretends she hates His Majesty, and that anyone attempting to kill him has her favor.”
“She does not deny it?”
“Not in the least.”
“Will there be a trial?”
“A mere formality, unless she changes her mind and chooses to deny what she did; but even in that case there can be little doubt that His Majesty, who was, I assure you, displeased by the attempt on his life, will surely find her guilty.”
“And then?”
“And then, I’m afraid she must be executed.”
“Executed!”
“Yes.”
“By what means?”
“She will be taken to the Executioner’s Star, and there each of her appendages will be removed, in order, by a single blow of the ax. It may be that His Majesty will be kindly disposed, and will thus order the executioner to begin with her head; but it may be otherwise.”
“Well, I understand. Tell me, Captain: if I let you go, will you pursue me? For I must admit that I am inclined to let you live, if for no other reason than to avoid giving Dunaan’s shade the satisfaction of knowing that you were killed, should this shade come to hear of it. And yet, I will not allow myself to be arrested—I have matters to attend to and issues to resolve.”
Khaavren shrugged. “You have, as I said, saved my life, even if you did so for your own reasons, so I will tell you this: I will not now pursue you. And to-morrow my time will be so taken up that I will not have a moment to spare. But, beginning the day after that, I will bend all of my efforts to tracking you down.”
“Agreed. Perhaps I will see you again, Captain.”
“Perhaps so, assassin.”
“For now, farewell, Khaavren.”
“And fare you well, Mario. When we next meet, one of us will die.”
Khaavren heard no sounds, but somehow he knew that Mario had vanished into the shadows. He bent then, to inspect the body as well as he could in the dim light that emerged from the buildings across the way. He made as good an inspection as he could, although, in truth, standing alone on the street where he had lately been attacked caused him a certain amount of worry; still, he finished his investigation in good order (the results of which investigation we will spare our readers, as they play no material part in our history) and then walked the hundred meters to his house, where, as he lighted a lamp and poured himself a small glass of wine and sat on the couch, he was pleased to see Daro appear next to him.
She seated herself with some effort, which Khaavren noticed. “Madam, are you still in pain?”
“I confess, I do feel a certain discomfort when I endeavor to move.”
“And yet, was there not a dose?”
“Perhaps I will take it later; for now I wish my mind entirely clear. Do you know that your friend, Aerich, has ordered the servants out of the house, out of the city, and even out of the district?”
“Yes, so he told me. I was going to do the same, but he acted first. Apropos—”
“Yes?”
“You should leave the city as well, madam.”
“How, I? You think I am in some danger?”
“The city is going mad and Lord Adron is attacking, and a madman believed he could assassinate His Majesty in spite of the Orb, only I am convinced he was not mad; yes, madam, you are in danger, as is everyone who stays here.”
“And you pretend that I should run from this danger?”
“You pretend that, wounded as you are, you can fight?”
“Well, there is some truth in what you say, yet this very wound makes travel unlikely.”
“A coach—”
“How, is there a coach to be found? Aerich’s servant, Fawnd, took every minute of the hour he was allotted to find a mere wagon, and he returned covered with blood and bruises, so that I do not believe he had an easy time of it.”
“I can find you a coach.”
“His Majesty’s?”
“What of it?”
“I no longer hold the position at court I once did; hence I no longer have a right to ride in His Majesty’s coach, my dear Captain.”
“Would that stop you from doing so?”
“It would.”
“Hmmm. You are stubborn.”
“Well, I am a Tiassa, and moreover, I am from Adrilankha, where each day we must contend with the sea; we must give way now and then, it is true, but we learn to always return to our position, and to build our walls the stronger for the battering they must endure.”
“I take your point, madam. And yet, to merely use one of Their Majesty’s coaches, and a coach which otherwise—”
“No, Captain.”
“Well, I have a thought.”
“Then share it with me.”
“If we were affianced, that is, if you were to consent to marry me, well, then you could ride in the Coach as the fiancée of the Captain of the Guard and no one could have reason to object; what do you say to that?”
Daro had nothing to say to that for some few seconds, after which she said, “I will admit, Captain, that, in the first place, marriage had never occurred to me.”
“Well, and in the second place?”
“If it had, I do not believe I should have anticipated a proposal such as you have offered.”
“Is it any the less welcome for that? Come, you know that I love you, for I have said so; do you love me a little?”
“You know that I do.”
“Will you permit me to kiss you?”
“Willingly.”
“Well?”
“Here, then. Ah!”
“Yes?”
“Be careful of my wound.”
“Oh, Countess. I am sorry.”
“Think nothing of it. Once more, but carefully.”
“There.”
“That was better.”
“What, then, is my lady’s opinion?”
“You kiss well.”
“Cha! You are laughing at me; you know that was not the question.”
“You wish to know my opinion?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I wish.”
“Very well, here it is.”
“I am listening.”
“I believe, in the first place—”
“Yes, in the first place?”
“That we ought to get married, and have some number of children.”
“Yes, we shall make boys as pretty as their mother.”
“And girls as brave as their father.”
“How, you deny you are brave?”
“Well, you deny you are pretty?”
“You confuse me, Countess.”
“Does that make me less attractive?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well, then.”
“But what about the second place?”
“Oh, in the second place, I believe that, marriage or no, I wish to stay here with you, whatever may happen.”
“Madam, I am going into danger to-morrow.”
“I know. I wish—”
“Yes. But you cannot. You know that your wounds prohibit it. And, moreover—”
“Yes?”
“You know that I love you.”
“Yes. Take my hand.”
“Here it is.”
“When then?”
“If I go into battle to-morrow worried about you—”
“Ah, my brave Captain, that is unfair!”
“I know. Yet, it is true; I would be worried for you, and, worrying, I—”
“Well, I understand.”
“And then?”
After an interval of silence large enough to hold a small conversation, Daro sighed. “Where shall I go, and for how long?” she said.
“Follow the servants to Aerich’s estate, and I will join you there when this is over; I shall request of His Majesty a leave of absence, which he cannot fail to grant me, and then we shall be married.”
�
��Very well. When must I leave?”
“To-night.”
“How, to-night?”
“I shall send for the coach, for, if you are to leave, you must be out of the city before the first light breaks.”
“If anything happens to you—”
“I think that nothing will.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because I love you, and you will be waiting for me, and we will be married; nothing will happen to change that.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“I take you at your word.”
“You may do so.”
“Then send for the coach, and we shall spend the time until it arrives in holding hands, and speaking of the future.”
“That is an admirable plan, Countess.”
“I am glad you think so, Captain.”
As they put this plan into practice, we trust the reader will not need to intrude on these few moments of privacy, but will allow us to follow Mario as he walks through the streets toward the small hotel where he makes his home. He did not, in fact, arrive at his destination.
Contrary to any expectations this phrasing might give the reader, it was not because he, in turn, was set upon by an assailant; rather, it was because he was set upon by an idea. No doubt the reader, whether because of a familiarity with history, or because of a close reading of this very work, is ahead of the historian—that is, the reader knows already the idea that has just occurred to Mario as he makes his way toward home after killing Dunaan and choosing not to kill Khaavren. If so, the historian is rather pleased than otherwise; while there is, without question, a certain joy in surprising the reader with a revelation, we cannot fail to take pleasure in knowing that we have provided the reader sufficient clues to remove the possibility of surprise. Or, to put it another way, whether the reader at this moment knows what Mario intends to do, or whether the reader will only discover this when the time comes to reveal it, in either case, we beg to submit that we have done our job.
To return, then, to Mario—he stopped at a particular street corner upon being struck with this sudden notion, paused for some few minutes, during which time the idea, dropped some minutes earlier on ground which had been tilled in the Palace, sprouted at that moment and grew like a veritable jumpweed. When it had matured, a process which took, as we have implied, only a few minutes, he abruptly turned on his heel and went off in an entirely different direction from the one he had been taking before. This brought him, after traversing streets still relatively crowded with those who were, because of prescience, gossip, or just good sense, fleeing the city, to an unprepossessing leather-goods store, and through it, to a door in back, where he at once clapped.
Soon enough the door was opened a crack, revealing a small woman of about a thousand years, with close-cropped light hair and the round, pleasant face of a Teckla, save for the excessively dark eyebrows and large nose. She wore the grey and black of the House of the Jhereg.
She said, “It is late; what do you want?”
Mario wordlessly held out a small piece of paper. The woman, whose name was Cariss, studied the paper carefully, her eyes growing somewhat wide, then opened the door fully and stood aside for Mario to enter. The apartment, though not spacious, was cluttered with cut glass, strands of jewels, and small sculptures done in ivory or bronze, as well as plush furniture, and the whole of the floor was covered by a thick, dark carpet—the room spoke of comfort, luxury, and wealth. Wealth, as it happened, was the subject that was first discussed after Mario had been seated in a soft chair near a burning lamp, so that the light made his face appear to glow in its luminance.
“I perceive,” said Cariss, “that you are in funds.”
“The bill,” said Mario, “is negotiable, in whole or in part, and can be drawn on the Jhereg treasury.”
“So I perceive. It is not a small amount.”
“I require but a tenth part of it; the rest can be yours.”
Cariss nodded slowly. “I will not pretend that I am uninterested. What do you want?”
“First, you must answer me a question or two.”
“Very well. Will you have klava?”
“It would keep me awake.”
“Tea? Wine?”
“Have you water?”
“I have a well; the water is sweet.”
“Excellent.”
“A moment.”
She returned with the water, sat, and said, “Now, ask your questions.”
“How much power can you summon?”
“Power?”
“Yes.”
“The question is meaningless.”
“Excuse me, it is not.”
“But … power to do what?”
“Nothing.”
“Power to do nothing?”
“Exactly.”
“I do not understand.”
“I am not surprised, for it is unlikely anyone has ever before asked such a question.”
“Then you must explain.”
“Attend me.”
“I am attending.”
“The pure power through which sorcery works, the power which the sorcerer shapes and controls in order to work the changes in matter that the sorcerer desires—that is the power I wish to summon at a certain time and a certain place. But it is important that there be a great deal of it, hence, I wish to know how much of it you can cause to be summoned.”
Cariss considered. “Well, you want to know how much undirected power can be pulled through the Orb—”
“Not through the Orb.”
“Not through the Orb? But how else—”
“Elder sorcery, of course.”
“Elder sorcery?”
“Exactly.”
“You know more than I would have thought, young man.”
“It is necessary for me to know a little of everything. Yes, I am speaking of elder sorcery.”
“Such a thing would be illegal.”
Mario gave her a look impossible to describe.
“If,” she said at last, “you would explain exactly what you are trying to do—”
“No,” said Mario.
A look of impatience crossed Cariss’s features; Mario touched the pouch into which he had put the bill; Cariss shrugged.
“I will tell you this much,” said Mario. “I need to be able to summon an immense amount of power, using elder sorcery, and I need to put it into a certain area and keep it there, though only for a few seconds.”
“You speak of power as if it were a glass of water that you could simply put somewhere.”
Mario set his glass on a table near his elbow. “Well?” he said.
“This power will do nothing,” said Cariss, shaking her head.
“That is what I wish.”
“And you want to do it yourself?”
“Exactly.”
“Even more difficult.”
“I am not offering a small sum of money,” said Mario. “Nor are you unskilled.”
“Are you attempting to flatter me?”
“No, madam, I am attempting to purchase your services.”
“To do what?” she said, beginning to sound a little vexed.
“To fill an area with power,” said Mario, who was, himself, becoming annoyed at having to repeat himself. “Is it possible?”
“Possible? Anything is possible. There would need to be a medium, and—”
“A what?”
“Something upon which to lay the power.”
“Would the air not work?”
“Too insubstantial—too thin.”
“What then?”
“Thick air.”
Mario frowned. “I do not understand.”
“Fog. Mist. Air with a great deal of water mixed in, so that the energy can attach itself to the water.”
“How much energy can you supply?”
She shook her head. “You still do not comprehend—it doesn’t matter how much, because it won’t be doing
anything.
“Good,” said Mario. “Then I wish for a great deal of power. A great deal.”
“If your wish is to attract the attention of every sorcerer in a thousand-mile radius, well, I assure you there are easier ways to go about it.”
“That is not my wish.”
“It will happen, nevertheless.”
“Then let it.”
Cariss stared at him, as if trying to see into his mind to discover the use to which he intended to put this unusual spell. Then she sighed and said, “Does it matter what form it takes?”
“I do not understand.”
“The spell must be invested into an object if you, rather than I, are to use it. Does it matter what object?”
“No. Something small.”
“Will you be setting it off, or will another? If it might be another, I will instruct it to release upon a word or a sign. If it is to be you, then we can arrange for it to respond to your will. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange it so you simply open it like cracking an egg.”
“That would be best.”
“That is how it shall be.”
“Then you can do it?”
“I can do it.”
“How much power?”
“There is no limit to the amount of power available, only to the amount one person can control. When the energy isn’t doing anything, it need not be controlled.”
“And so?”
“And so we will summon more power than, I think, has ever been seen before in one place—and all of this power will do nothing except to exist, alerting every sorcerer for a thousand miles in all directions, and then it will be as if it had never happened.”
“Excellent.”
“How long do you wish it to hold together? A few seconds is easy; after that, I must find power to hold it together, and this power can only come from the Orb, or from itself; and I have no wish to attempt to control that sort of power even for something trivial—especially for something trivial.”
“Ten seconds would be good, five seconds may well be enough.”
Cariss considered for a moment, then said, “Eight seconds, then; or perhaps a little more. I can do that safely enough.”
“So be it. Eight seconds. How, precisely, will it work?”
“It will be a small glass ball. You will shatter the glass, and the area—how big an area?”
“A fifty-foot diameter will be sufficient.”
“Very well. The area will fill with fog—”
“How long will it take to fill?”