by Steven Brust
“You think so?” said the Teckla doubtfully.
“I heard nothing.”
“And yet—”
“Lead the way, my friend.”
“As Your Lordship wishes.”
The continued on for perhaps another mile before the Teckla stopped again.
“What is it?” said the merchant. “My lord, I am convinced that we are being followed.”
“You think it is this Blue Fox?”
“No … that is to say, I don’t know.”
“But, if it were, why have they not waylaid us?”
“As to that, I cannot say. And yet—”
“Well?”
“I am frightened.”
“And yet, didn’t you say that an honest man has nothing to fear?”
“That is true.”
“And are you not an honest man?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“I once cheated at cards.”
“That is not so bad.”
“You think it isn’t?”
“Not unless you make a habit of it.”
“Nevertheless, I am worried.”
“Well, if they are behind us, we cannot go back.”
“That is true.”
“And remaining here, well, we should not make any appreciable progress.”
“I cannot dispute with Your Lordship.”
“Then let us go on.”
“And yet—”
“Go!”
“Yes, my lord.”
From that point, they had not gone half a mile before they halted again, only this time it was not from the Teckla’s orders, but, rather, from the orders that came from behind a particularly thick tree—one that would have easily concealed a man even without the additional aid of the heavy darkness. Upon hearing the imperious command, the Teckla and the Tsalmoth both drew rein, the Tsalmoth saying quite coolly, “The Blue Fox, I presume.”
“So I am sometimes called, sir,” said the other, stepping out from behind the tree, and showing, in the dim light of the lantern, that he held a naked sword. Moreover, other figures now appeared, behind them, and the glint of steel came from their hands as well.
The merchant, however, said, “Address me as Your Venerance,” in a tone that assumed respect would be given—indeed, in a tone far different from what the Teckla had yet heard him use.
“Very well,” said the Blue Fox. “I have no objection to courtesy.”
“So much the better.”
“Now, if Your Venerance will be good enough to hand over his purse, why, he may be on his way without delay.”
“I’m afraid,” said the other, “that there must be a delay in any case.”
“Oh, indeed? I sincerely hope Your Venerance does not contemplate resisting us. There are, after all, several of us, and we are all armed, and know what to do with steel, and, I give you my word, if you force us to pierce you, we will have your purse in any case, leaving you poorer than you would otherwise be, being reduced by not only whatever coins you may carry, but also by some quantity of blood, and perhaps even your life, upon which Your Venerance may place some value.”
“Some,” said the other.
“Well then—”
“But you mistake, I am not alone.”
“Oh, Your Venerance refers to Jami, your friend on the mule.”
“You know him?”
“Well enough; he has been of service to us before.”
The Teckla, Jami, bowed at this, while the merchant said, “It is good to have friends.”
“You think so?”
“I am convinced of it.”
“Then we are in agreement.”
“I have friends of my own, in fact.”
“Do you?”
“Assuredly. In fact, it was my own friends to whom I referred just now. I have three, as it happens.” And, even as he spoke, there was the sound of horses, and, indeed, three more drew up.
“Make light,” said the Blue Fox, and two of the bandits behind him lit lanterns, illuminating the face of the merchant.
The Blue Fox stared at the merchant in the growing light, and suddenly cried out, “Pel!”
The Yendi dressed as a Tsalmoth bowed from his horse, even as the three riders behind him drew up into the light.
“Hello, my son,” said Khaavren in a grim tone. “Well met.”
Chapter the Seventy-Seventh
How Father and Son Spoke
After a Separation of Some Length
“Well met, my father,” said Piro in a shaky voice. “You perceive, I had not expected you.”
“Am I less welcome for that?”
“Did you expect to be welcomed?”
“I had, perhaps, hoped.”
“As to your welcome, I cannot say. But at least you may dismount your horse—or, rather, follow us a short distance, and we will give you what hospitality we have in our camp.”
“Very well. I thank you for the hospitality.”
Piro bowed from his saddle, turned his horse’s head, and led the way.
“If the rumors are true, then I understand you are no longer in the service of the Empire, my lord.”
“The rumors are true, Viscount.”
“So much the better, as you are not, then, required to arrest me, and I am not required to decide if I am to resist you.”
“Would you have resisted me, Viscount?”
Piro shrugged. “I am pleased, my lord, that the question has not arisen.”
As promised, the bandit’s encampment was very close, and so, in a short time, they had arrived there, where Lar, who had been cooking, was more than a little astonished to see that he had additional guests for dinner.
“My lord Khaavren!” he cried. “And Your Venerance! And … oh my goodness!” After this outburst, and observing that Mica was not there, he retreated in confusion back to his work, which, at this moment, was to be certain each horse that had returned was safely tied up and well groomed, which task he carried out with his usual precision before beginning on either a very late supper or a very early breakfast, a distinction the Blue Fox was in the habit of neither making nor requiring, wherefore the good Lar meticulously followed this example.
While the horses were thus being tended, the others sat down around the fire, except for Piro and Khaavren, who set off walking through the darkness together.
For a time, neither of them spoke, Khaavren because he could not think of what to say—or, at any rate how to say it; and Piro because, as he was the one who had been hunted down, he did not feel it was his responsibility to begin. This train of thought, however, led him to eventually break the silence with the words “How did you find me?”
“Ah, you wish to know that?” said Khaavren.
“You must understand my curiosity. I had thought I was sufficiently well hidden.”
“You must recall we had Pel searching for us.”
“Ah yes, that is true. You have told me no few stories about him.”
Khaavren nodded. “He tricked your friends, Shant and Lewchin. It is true that he also tricked me, but I will not play the hypocrite and claim that I object to this.”
“I understand. So it was from them that you learned where I might be found?”
“Yes, after spending some time with a map and determining which Mistyvale County was most likely. Of course, it was Tazendra who observed that this Mistyvale County was where the Blue Fox could be found.”
“The Blue Fox? But, how were able to determine that I was the Blue Fox?”
“From Aerich.”
“Aerich?”
“He speaks more languages than I knew existed. The ancient tongues of the Dragon and of the Lyorn, and even some of the Yendi. He can squeak like a Serioli, yowl like a cat-centaur, and grunt or trill some ten or twenty of the Eastern languages, in one of which the name that you used to Shant and Lewchin translated to Blue Fox.”
“Ah. I comprehend.”
“After that, it was Pe
l once more, as you saw.”
“Yes, and, permit me to say, a well-played stroke.”
“Pel will, I am certain, be pleased to hear you say so.”
“Then tell him, if you please.”
“I will not fail to do so.”
“Well, now I know how you found me.”
“Yes.”
“It remains for me to know why.”
“Can you ask?”
“The Horse! I not only can, it seems to me that I did!”
“Well, that is true. You know that your mother misses you.”
“I miss her.”
“It is wrong of you to be away from her.”
“It was wrong of you to make me choose between romantic and filial love.”
“Then you feel some filial love?”
“You know that I do.”
“I had hoped.”
“Well?”
“You perceive, it was not I that forced this choice upon you, it is the world that forces this choice.”
“Ah, Father, you are wrong to hide behind such a claim; it smacks of the sycophant.”
“You would use such a word with me?”
“It was you who taught me that there is a time to state unpleasant truths. Can you deny that this is such a time?”
“You believe, then, there is no justification for my claim that it is the world itself that is to blame?”
“There is some, I do not deny that.”
“Well?”
“But it was you who made me to know that I could not love the woman I love, and still retain your affection.”
“How, you believe that?”
“It seems to me that you were adamant on the subject.”
“It is true that I felt strongly.”
“Well?”
Khaavren looked down. “Let us speak of this.”
“Cha! I thought we were doing exactly that!”
“Let us continue to do so.”
“Very well, with this I agree.”
In spite of the comment he had just made, Khaavren found that he was unable to say anything—or, at any rate, that his next words ought not to be uttered without at least a certain amount of thought. He felt, in fact, as if he were walking on a tension-wire; it seemed to him that a single wrong word, and he might lose forever his son. And yet, an answer was required. Piro, for his part, remained silent and permitted him to think, either out of courtesy, or for lack of anything to say.
At length, Khaavren said, “Did you give any thought to this marriage before suggesting it?”
“No,” said Piro.
“Well, do you not think that marriage—that is, the agreement to remain together for a lifetime, which is tolerably long—ought to be given some thought?”
“No,” said Piro.
“How, you do not?”
“I love her. I cannot conceive of life without her. You perceive, such a life would be meaningless to me. Therefore, well, what is there to think about?”
“And what of your children?”
“Perhaps we shall have none.”
“That would be a pity, to have no children.”
“It would be a pity to spend my life alone.”
“Well, that is true.”
“Moreover, it would be a pity to have children with a woman I did not love.”
“That is true as well,” admitted Khaavren.
“Or to spend my life with someone toward whom I am indifferent.”
“Well, of course, not all marriages last for-ever—”
“Father, do you hear what you are saying?”
Khaavren sighed. “Yes. Will you permit me to withdraw my last observation?”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you.”
They continued walking for some time, just within sight of the fire, which was always to their left.
As they spoke, indifferent to the smells of the food, Lar took a heavy cook-pot and, with Clari’s help, began dishing out a sort of stew made of norska, tubers, and onions, along with various seasonings. Lar having added a certain quantity of water to the stew, as well as a few extra tubers, there was plenty for all. Lar served portions of this stew to everyone except for Aerich, who declined, pretending he was not hungry. When everyone had food, Lar passed around the wine, which, significantly, was a Khaav’n, and one that Lar said was of a very nice year. Lar, Clari, and Jami served it out to everyone except Aerich, who again declined, saying he wasn’t thirsty.
If anyone was disturbed by Aerich’s lack of interest in food or drink, the Lyorn was not: he sat placidly on the ground, leaning against his saddle, his legs stretched out in front of him, and a calm smile on his noble countenance as a being perfectly happy within himself, unconcerned for the rest of the world, which world was presently eating and drinking with great energy, the only conversation being praise of the food or demands for more wine. Jami, still humiliated by having been taken in by the Yendi, remained in the background, saying nothing and doing his best not to be seen; Lar, for his part, responded to both praise and demand in the same manner: that is, by bowing. Clari served the wine as needed.
Tazendra, who always ate quickly, was the first to begin the general conversation, which she did by saying, “It is good to see you again, my dear Kytraan.”
“Why, it is a great pleasure to me as well, and permit me to offer you my wish for good fortune in the upcoming battle.”
“Ah!” said Tazendra. “There is to be a battle, then?”
“I think so,” said Kytraan. “With whom?”
“With the Pretender. You perceive, it is nearly all anyone talks about.”
“What do they say?”
“That the tyrant must be defeated.”
“Tyrant?” said Pel, now listening to the exchange.
“The Pretender,” explained Kytraan.
“Ah. I had not known he was a tyrant.”
“Well,” said Kytraan, shrugging. “Anyone who attempts to take the Orb and fails is a tyrant. At least, that is the general opinion.”
“So then, if he succeeds he will not be a tyrant?”
“Exactly. If he succeeds, then Zerika will become the tyrant.”
Pel shrugged. “I do not pay especial attention to general opinions.”
“Nor does Piro,” put in Ibronka. “You perceive, that is what he and his father are now discussing, I think.”
“That,” said Pel, “or specific opinions, which are another matter entirely.”
“Yes. And while we are talking of specific opinions—”
“Well?”
“Has anyone,” asked Ibronka, “heard from Her Highness, Sennya?”
“I only know that she has been to court,” said Pel.
“But she said nothing about me?”
“She spoke of you to Her Majesty,” said Pel, “desiring you to be found, and using terms that left no doubt about her continued affection for you. But, as I heard this conversation as part of my official duties, you perceive that I cannot relay it to you.”
“Well, I understand.”
Clari addressed Aerich, saying, “Would Your Venerance care for wine now?”
Aerich declined with a gesture of his hand and returned to his contemplations.
Pel said, “Offer him water.”
“Would Your Venerance care for water?” said Clari obediently. “It is fresh from a clear spring not twenty steps away; we made our camp around it, and I can testify as to its purity.”
“Very well,” said Aerich.
While Clari went to fetch the Lyorn a cup of water, Röaana said softly to Pel, “Has His Venerance giving up the drinking of wine?”
“No,” said Pel. “But, if I were to guess—”
“Well?”
“I believe he does not wish to partake of anything that was purchased with money from robbery.”
“Ah,” said Röaana, “I had not considered this circumstance.”
“And you,” said Kytraan, “You have no such compunctions?”
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“Oh, it is different for me,” said Pel. “You perceive, I eat from Her Majesty’s table.”
“Well, and then?”
“Her Majesty’s table is filled from tithes given by the Great Houses, and these tithes are collected from taxes on homes, and on grains, and on trade.”
“So that?”
Pel shrugged. “So that, one might say, all I partake of is purchased with money from robbery.”
Tazendra said, “You see no distinction between taxes and robbery?”
“Oh, no doubt there are differences, but I do not bother with them.”
“That seems odd,” said Ibronka, “for an official of government.” Pel shrugged.
“There is a difference,” said Aerich quietly. “It is the difference of law.”
“Oh, law,” said Pel, shrugging again.
“You disdain the law, my friend?” said Aerich, smiling a little.
“Nearly.”
“So then, you have nothing to say against our friends here, who waylay travelers to relieve them of their purses, filled with coins earned by more or less of hard work?”
“More or less,” repeated Pel. “I wonder which it is?”
“As to that, who can say?”
“Exactly. Who can say?”
“But then, my dear Pel, you should prefer to live in a society without laws?”
“Such a thing is impossible,” he said. “If there are no laws, then, you perceive, there is no society.”
“I beg your pardon, my friend,” said Aerich, “but it appears to me you contradict yourself.”
“Not in the least,” said Pel.
“I do not comprehend.”
“Then I shall explain.”
“Very well, I am listening.”
“There are laws, laws, and laws, my dear Aerich.”
“Three sorts?”
“More than that, but let us simplify.”
“I am in favor of simplifying, if nothing of consequence is lost.”
“We will see.”
“Very well.”
“First, there are laws of nature.”
“I understand those.”
“Then there laws of man.”
“That is clear enough. And the third?”
“Laws of honor.”
“Are these not laws of nature?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then, they are laws of men?”