by Steven Brust
I will not marry a fat old cook,
I will not marry a fat old cook,
For the larding pan I’d be forsook.
Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!
Step on out . . .
AFTER THE SILENCE THAT followed Vlad’s declaration, Polyi echoed Savn’s own thoughts: “He can’t mean it.”
Savn stared at the sleeping Easterner, but the things he’d said while delirious wouldn’t go away. “I don’t think so either,” said Savn at last. “But . . .”
“But what?” said Polyi when he didn’t continue.
“But I don’t know. Let’s get the fire going.”
“All right.”
They managed to get the fire started, and after some discussion, decided there was enough wood to keep it going for a while without having to leave the cave again, which neither of them felt inclined to do.
“Mae and Pae must be pretty worried about us,” said Polyi.
“Yeah,” said Savn.
“Well, I think we should tell them where we are,” said Polyi.
Savn shook his head. “They’ll tell Speaker, sure as drought in summer.”
Polyi stared at the sleeping Easterner, and Savn could practically feel her thinking, So what? And the worst of it was that he didn’t know how to answer that thought.
A few minutes later there was the sound of flapping wings. Polyi jumped and stifled a shriek, and the two jhereg landed on the floor of the cave.
“It’s all right,” said Savn. “They’re tame.”
“Tame?” said Polyi, sounding on the verge of hysteria.
“Well, I mean, they’re friends of his.”
She stared at the Easterner wide-eyed, while the larger of the jhereg deposited what looked like a dead norska. They walked triumphantly over to Vlad and sat down near his head.
Polyi looked a question at Savn, who said, “I guess he wanted meat.”
“But how—?”
“Let’s find something we can use as a spit.”
Polyi looked at him, questions dancing on her face, but she didn’t ask any of them. They looked through the wood they’d collected and found something suitable, while the two jhereg seemed to be arguing with each other about whether the norska should be eaten right away. Savn settled the issue by taking it away from them and proceeding to skin it as best he could, which earned him an angry hiss from the larger jhereg.
“Sometimes,” said Savn, “people say really funny things when they’re feverish. Once Needles had the Dry Fever for almost two days, and she—”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Polyi. “He can’t mean it.”
“Yes. No one can kill His Lordship anyway, because of the box.”
“That’s right.”
Savn set the bloody skin aside for the moment, wondering what to do with it so it wouldn’t attract pests. They worked the makeshift spit through the norska.
“What should we set it on?” asked Polyi.
“I don’t know. Two of the logs?”
“What if they catch fire?”
“Well, we don’t have any big stones or anything.”
“We could just sit on each side of the fire and hold it.”
“I guess. How long will it take to cook?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you tell when it’s done?”
“Can you?”
“Maybe,” said Savn, and motioned Polyi over to the other side of the fire. “Best to keep it as high as we can, so we don’t burn it.”
Blood and fat dripped on the fire, sending the flames higher and making the cave alarmingly bright, but after only two minutes Polyi announced, “My arm’s getting tired.”
“Mine too,” Savn admitted. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Well, what should we do?”
They moved away from the fire and set the slightly warmed norska down on the floor of the cave. Savn glanced at Vlad, and observed that the Easterner was awake, and watching him intently.
“Why don’t you see if you can find something,” said Savn.
“Me?” said Polyi.
“You,” said Savn.
She started to argue, then scowled and got up. “Take a torch with you,” he said. She didn’t answer.
Savn turned to Vlad and said, “They brought you some dinner; we’re trying to figure out how to cook it.”
He nodded. “Pour wine over it,” he said. “My flask—”
“All right,” said Savn, and continued, “You said some funny things while you were feverish.”
Vlad’s eyes narrowed. The torchlight illuminated the side of his face nearest Savn, and the shadow of his forehead made his eyes seem very dark. “Tell me,” he said. His voice was forceful, in spite of its weakness.
“You used the word ‘Morganti’ several times.”
“Did I? I’m not surprised.” He paused to collect his strength. “You know what it means?”
“Yes. It’s a weapon that kills, not only the body, but—”
“Yes. Well, that’s probably what they’ll use on me if they catch me.”
“Who?”
Vlad didn’t answer for a moment, and Savn thought he had fallen asleep again, because his eyes were closed. Then he opened them and said, “The people who are after me.”
“That isn’t what His Lordship’s men used.”
“No,” said Vlad, frowning, “it isn’t.” He screwed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again. He stared straight ahead, looking puzzled, then shook his head as if dismissing a line of thought. “What else did I say?”
“Lots of stuff. Most of it I couldn’t understand. And there were names and things.”
“And?”
“And you said, ‘I won’t kill for you anymore.’”
“Oh.” Vlad seemed to consider this. “Anything else?”
“Just before you fell asleep, you said you were going to kill His Lordship.”
“Did I? I must have been very tired.”
“To think it?” said Savn. “Or to say it?”
Savn waited, but Vlad made no answer to this. Savn said, “Why do you hate him so much, anyway?”
Vlad’s widened nostrils flared. When he spoke, his voice was almostnormal. “He’s a necromancer. He works with souls. When he needs one, he takes it, and does what he will. Do you understand what I’m saying? Does that mean anything to you? Would you like it if your life was snuffed out one day, with no warning, and for no crime, just because someone needed your soul, the way you might need a yard of cloth? What sort of person does that, Savn?”
Then he fell back, and he seemed to fall asleep at once.
A few minutes later Polyi returned. “I’ve found a couple of stones that might work,” she said. “But you’re going to have to help me roll them in.”
“All right,” said Savn.
“Did he wake up?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Yes. He really is going to kill His Lordship.”
* * *
THE SMELL OF COOKING norska filled the cave, and Vlad still slept as Savn and Polyi continued their discussion. “I still say we should tell someone,” said Polyi.
Savn shook his head. “Even if no one will believe us?”
“Even so.”
The jhereg watched them, seemingly fascinated. Savn doubted they could understand the conversation, and hoped he was right.
“And even if His Lordship isn’t in any danger?”
“How can you know that?”
“No one can kill him, because he hides his soul in a magic box.”
“Well, we should still—”
“And even if they kill Vlad, if they find him?”
“He might be lying about that, you know,” said Polyi.
“I don’t think he is,” said Savn.
Polyi started to speak, looked at the sleeping Easterner, and shut her mouth. Savn turned the spit once more. Fat dripped; the fire blazed up, then died down again. Savn�
�s mouth was beginning to water and his stomach was growling.
“How long?” asked Polyi, who was evidently feeling the same way.
“I don’t know. How do you tell when it’s done?”
“Well, it’s brown on the outside. Pae always cuts it open, though.”
“Yeah, but what does he look for?”
“I guess if it looks like it’s ready.”
Savn scowled and found Vlad’s dagger, and cut open the norska. Some of the flesh was white, but some of it seemed translucent. “Well?” he said.
“I don’t know what norska should look like,” said Polyi. “I’ve never eaten any.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s done. Let’s let it cook some more.”
“I’m hungry,” said Polyi.
“Me, too.”
She stared at the fire and the roasting norska, and said, “Why does he hate His Lordship so much?”
“I don’t know, exactly. But he thinks His Lordship killed Reins, and—”
“He couldn’t have!” said Polyi.
“Why not?” said Savn.
“Well, because, he just couldn’t have.”
“I don’t know. But Vlad thinks so, and I guess he liked Reins or something.”
“Liked him? Were they, you know, lovers?”
“I don’t know.”
“They must have been,” said Polyi. “I mean, you don’t go killing somebody just because he killed someone you like, do you? If people did that, we’d have killed every soldier in the army by now.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s the same thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll bet they were lovers.”
“So now you think maybe His Lordship really did kill him?”
“Well, no, I’m not saying that.”
“Then what?”
“Well, just that maybe Vlad thinks so.”
“He seemed pretty sure.”
“So? He’s an Easterner; maybe they’re always like that.”
“Maybe,” said Savn, and fell silent.
This was, he realized, what anyone would call an adventure, and it felt like it. Yes, in a way it was terrifying, but it also had an odd, storylike quality to it—it wasn’t quite real.
Savn had never seen people killed before his eyes, and yet here was this Easterner talking very seriously of killing His Lordship. None of it had a sense of being his own memories; it was as if these were things he heard of in a song. The cave was real, and the feeling that he had embarked on something that he’d be able to tell stories about for the rest of his life; but the death and danger were off in the distance, not actually present, like when he had been standing outside of his house.
He kept coming back to that experience, he decided, because it puzzled and intrigued him, and because it seemed to mark a starting point. It had seemed, at the time, to be the beginning of something, but he hadn’t expected it to be the beginning of a time when he would be going through one thing after another that seemed unreal. In retrospect, though, it made a certain kind of sense.
He looked at Polyi. Was it real for her? She was wearing a frown of great concentration. He hoped that whatever her thoughts, they were not carrying her into a place she’d have trouble coming back from, because that would be truly, truly sad. For that matter, how was it going to affect him when it was over? Would he have nightmares for the rest of his life? Would he and Polyi wake up screaming for no reason that they could explain? He shuddered.
He caught Polyi glancing at him speculatively, and it occurred to him that she had seen him with the Easterner, and heard him agreeing that something that she might—no, would see as a great crime—was reasonable. He thought about trying to explain things to her, but realized that he really had no explanation; he was going to have to wait until she brought it up herself, if she ever did.
After a time, she said hesitantly, “Savn . . .”
“What is it, Polyi?”
“Will you tell me something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you like Lova?”
* * *
“VLAD, WAKE UP,” SAID Savn. “I think the food’s ready.”
“I’m awake,” said the Easterner in a voice so low Savn could hardly hear it. “Let’s see the norska.”
Savn suddenly wondered how much of the conversation Vlad had overheard, and decided it had been stupid to talk about it right in front of him in any case. He took the spit off the stones and showed it to Vlad.
“It’s done,” announced the Easterner. “Help me sit up.”
Savn and Polyi put the spit back on the stones, then helped him sit up.
“Now I want to stand.”
Savn said, “Are you sure you should—”
“And help me to the latrine.”
“Oh. All right.”
They took his arms and helped him up, and guided him to the other cave, and held him up until he was done. Then they brought him back and helped him sit up against the wall of the cave. The jhereg scampered along with him all the way. He sat there for several moments, breathing deeply, then nodded. “Let’s eat,” he said.
While they’d been helping him, part of the norska had burned slightly, but the rest was fine.
They ate in silence at first. Savn thought it was one of the best things he’d ever eaten. He wasn’t certain what Polyi thought, but she was eating with great enthusiasm.
“Do you know,” said Savn suddenly, “it just occurred to me that if there are people looking for us, and if they are at all nearby, the smell will bring them right to us.” He took another bite of roasted norska.
Vlad grunted and said, “Should my friends take that as a compliment on their choice of food?”
Savn took his time chewing and swallowing, then said, “Yes.”
“Good. I think the cave is deep enough that no smells will escape.”
“All right,” said Savn.
Polyi was still eating and not talking. Savn tried to decide if she was looking sullen, but he couldn’t tell.
“It’s the wine that does it,” said Vlad. His voice seemed slightly stronger; at any rate, he seemed to have no trouble talking. “Cooking over an open flame is its own art, and doesn’t have much to do with oven cooking or stove cooking. I’m not really good at it. But I know that wine always helps.”
Savn wondered if it was the wine that made the norska taste so good, or if it was really the circumstances—if it wasn’t still the feeling that he was on some sort of adventure. He knew there was something wrong with thinking about it this way, but how could he help it? He was sitting in a cave with a man who spoke of killing His Lordship, and he was eating norska taken with magic—
“Vlad,” he said suddenly.
“Mroi?” said Vlad. Then he swallowed and said, “Excuse me. What?”
“I had always heard that it was bad luck to hunt with magic, except for finding the game.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
“Well, then,” said Savn. “What about—”
“Oh, this? Well, it wasn’t exactly magic. At least, not directly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. It isn’t important.”
Savn decided that he was probably never going to understand what Vlad thought important. The most trivial things seemed to provoke the biggest reactions, like when Savn had mentioned that His Lordship’s men hadn’t been using Morganti weapons. Savn shook his head, wondering.
All of a sudden Polyi said, “You can’t kill His Lordship.”
Vlad looked at her without speaking.
Savn said, “Polyi—”
“Well,” she said to Vlad. “You can’t.”
“Of course not,” said Vlad.
“But you mean to. I know it.”
“Polyi—”
“Just out of curiosity,” said Vlad, “why couldn’t I kill him?”
“He’s a wizard.”
> “So?”
Polyi frowned. “They say that he can never die, because his magic protects him. They say that there are rooms in his keep where he just walks in and comes out younger, and that he is only as old as he wants to be. They say—”
“And how much of this do you believe?”
“I don’t know,” said Polyi.
Savn said, “If it’s true, though—”
“It’s true that he’s a sorcerer.”
“Well, then?”
“No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.”
Savn couldn’t find an answer to that, so he didn’t make one. He looked at Polyi, but she was just staring angrily at Vlad. There was a sense of unreality about the entire conversation—it was absurd that they could be talking about killing His Lordship as if discussing the price of linen. There had been a time, some five years before, when he, Coral, and Lan had drunk wine until they had become sick. The thing he remembered most clearly about the incident, other than walking around for the next week hoping Mae and Pae didn’t find out about it, was sitting with his head bent over, focusing on nothing except the tabletop, slowly memorizing every mark on it. The memory came back to him with such a rush that it almost brought along the giddy, sickly, floating feeling he had had then.
At last he said, “But what if he is undead, like you say?”
“He is,” said Vlad. “That makes it a little trickier, that’s all.”
“Then you admit you’re going to do it,” said Polyi, in the same tone of voice she used upon discovering the piece for her game under Savn’s blankets.
“What if I am?” said Vlad. “Do you think I should just let him kill me?”
“Why don’t you teleport away?” said Savn.
“Heh,” said Polyi. “Teleport? If he could do that, he could have fixed his finger.”
“Polyi—” said Savn.
“First of all,” said Vlad, looking at Polyi, “I’m not a physicker. A physicker who knew sorcery could have healed my hand if I’d gotten to him quickly. Now it would be very difficult, and I haven’t been in touch with anyone that good in some time.
“Second,” he continued, looking now at Savn, “never attempt complicated sorcery—and teleportation is complicated—when you’re weak in the body. It upsets the mind, and that can be fatal. I’ve done it, when I’ve had to, and I will again, if I have to. But I’ve been lucky, and I don’t like to depend on luck.