by Steven Brust
“Well, but that is of no importance.”
“It isn’t?”
“Not in the least. You perceive, she has still a nose. And eyes. And, unless I am mistaken, she has, in addition, a full complement of fingers and toes.”
“You are right about that.”
“So then?”
“That is a total of twenty-five packages.”
“I cannot fault your arithmetic.”
“Oh, I have always been skilled in that field.”
“I am convinced of it.”
“Twenty-five should prove sufficient, I think.”
“Oh, I am convinced of that, too. We will not need so many, but it cannot hurt to have spares.”
“Then what do you think?”
“Of your plan?”
“Yes.”
“It is a splendid idea.”
“Yes. First we will awaken her, but leave the binding spell in place.”
“Very well. And after?”
“After that, we will wait for our Lyorn.”
“I agree. Next?”
“Once he is there, it will be time to very quickly release the binding spell.”
“Yes. And once we have done that, why, we will play the part of the battlefield surgeon.”
“Exactly.”
“I will sharpen the knife.”
“Very good.”
The first thing that crossed Tazendra’s mind as she awoke was the reflection that she had been asleep for a long time. Then her memory began to return—walking into her home, the sudden explosions behind her, the feeling of a spell penetrating her defenses, and the sudden dizziness. And, as her memories came back to her, she realized that she was not alone, but, on the contrary, there were two individuals standing over her. She looked from one to the other, then said, “Hello Madam Grita or Orlaan, or whatever your name is. I hope I find you well.”
“Well enough,” said Grita.
“And, you, madam, look familiar. You are—?”
“Illista.”
“Ah yes. It comes back. So, then, the two of you are together? I trust you will forgive the insult when I tell you that I find this entirely appropriate. Indeed, it is rare that anything falls out so well.”
“We are together,” said Illista, bowing. “Just as you will soon be, if I may use the expression, apart.”
“Indeed?” said Tazendra, yawning. “You will forgive me if I am a little weary after my long sleep. Otherwise, you may be certain, I should display more emotion.”
“Oh, we don’t mind,” said Illista. “No doubt, you will display more emotion presently.”
“No doubt. How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long. Less than a year.”
“No wonder I feel so extraordinarily well rested.”
“Are you prepared?” said Illista.
“For what?”
“I was speaking to my associate.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I am prepared,” said Grita. “As soon as we hear the chime, I will be ready to begin.”
“Very well,” said Illista. “But, when that happens, you must work quickly. You perceive, once I release the binding, she will be able to move.”
“Oh,” said Tazendra, “am I unable to move?”
“How,” said Grita, “you hadn’t noticed?”
“I have had no occasion to try,” lied Tazendra.
“Try now, if you’d like,” said Grita.
“No, madam, I have no reason not to believe you. After all, you would surely not lie; that might compromise your honor.”
“Is the knife sharp?” asked Illista of Grita.
Grita held it aloft. “It is.”
“Good then.”
“I am ready when you are.”
“What am I to lose?” asked Tazendra.
“Everything,” said Grita.
“All at once?” asked Tazendra in a tone of idle curiosity.
“No, we are beginning with your left ear.”
“Ah. Splendid. I have never liked that one. Indeed, I have often considered removing it myself.”
“We are pleased to be able to perform this service for you.”
“Well, why do you not begin?”
“Oh, we will in a moment, I assure you. We are only waiting for a guest.”
“Oh, a guest. Well, I understand that you might wish to save the entertainment until your guest has arrived.”
At that moment, there was a sort of chime from near the mouth of the cave.
“That must be your guest now,” said Tazendra complacently.
Sliding carefully past the large black emptiness to which we referred earlier, Grita made her cautious way to the front of the cave.
“Well?” called Illista.
“It is only a Teckla, come to watch.”
“To watch?”
“Well, at any rate, he has brought his own chair.”
“Mica!” called Tazendra.
“Mistress? You are alive!”
“Nearly,” said the Dzur.
“Who is this?” demanded Illista.
“My lackey. But, Mica, how did you find me?”
“There was a spot marked on the map in your study.”
“Pah. I never make marks on maps.”
“Exactly,” said Mica, bowing.
“Well, and so you knew where I was. Still, how did you find the cave?”
“My lady, you may recall, I have been in this cave before, only then it was not so deep. When I came up the mountain and didn’t see you, well, I thought of this cave at once.”
Tazendra frowned. “But, when I saw you last, you were at Dzur Mountain!”
“The Enchantress suggested I return to Daavya to find you.”
“How, she did?”
“She not only suggested it, but sent me there as well.”
“But then, you have walked all the way here from Daavya?”
“Oh, I have become skilled at walking.”
“That is enough of this conversation,” said Grita. “You, Teckla, may watch, if you like, but do not speak. We are still awaiting another guest.”
“It is true, what my lackey says,” said Tazendra, addressing Illista. “You seem to have dug out this cave; it did not used to be so deep.”
“And a good piece of work, was it not?” said Illista.
“Why, I must admit it was, although I cannot imagine why.”
“What, you cannot guess?”
“You perceive, I have never been a good at guessing.”
“I believe that,” said Grita, who at this point returned holding Mica by the ear. “Put your chair there, and sit on it, and watch,” she instructed the Teckla.
“I will do so, only—”
“Well?”
“It is not a chair, it is a bar-stool.”
“Sit down and keep silent.”
Mica shrugged and obeyed.
“To answer your question,” said Grita, “for I have no objection to satisfying your curiosity, it is that we needed more space, and so we created it. It wasn’t difficult.”
“Well, but, if I may ask—”
“Oh, certainly,” said Illista. “Ask anything you wish.”
“Why make this cave bigger, instead of finding one already that large?”
“Why, because of its properties,” said Grita.
“This cave has properties?”
“Certainly. You must be aware of what happened here.”
“Well, we fought a skirmish here.”
“Well, but what else happened?”
“After the skirmish—”
“Yes?”
“We fought a larger skirmish.”
“That is true. And what else?” prompted Grita.
“Well,” said Tazendra, considering, “this is where we met with Her Majesty.”
“Yes, exactly. Here is where you met the charming lady with the Orb.”
“So then?”
“Do you know where she had been before she
emerged in the cave?”
“Why, it never crossed my mind to ask her.”
“Can you not deduce it?”
“Oh, at deduction I am even worse than guessing.”
“Then, shall I tell you?”
“I confess, I would like to know.”
“Before being in the cave, she was in the Halls of Judgment.”
“How, was she?”
“Why yes, that is where she acquired the Orb.”
“It is true she had the Orb.”
“So, there you have it.”
Tazendra frowned. “And so—?”
“And so, that indicates this cave has certain specific and interesting properties. You must understand, it is not everywhere in the Empire from which one can appear from the Halls of Judgment.”
“It is not?”
“Had you thought it was?”
“In all truth, well, I had never given it a thought.”
“Believe me, there are only certain places which have that arcane pathway.”
“I believe you, madam.”
“So much the better, because now you understand why we used this cave.”
“Perfectly, only—”
“Yes?”
“Why do you wish to go to the Halls of Judgment?”
“Oh, we don’t,” said Illista. “Moreover, we cannot; the connection only works in one direction. This is a place from which one can emerge from the Halls, but one can only get there from Deathgate.”
“Ah, well, I comprehend. But then, if you are not going to the Halls of Judgment, well, why did you require the properties of this cave?”
“Why else, but to provide access to a Jenoine.”
“A Jenoine?”
“Certainly. His Majesty, Kâna, requires one to neutralize the powers of the Orb, and, at the same time, we required one to permit us to use these spells with which we intend to dispatch all of your friends.”
“Well, but to permit a Jenoine access to our world—”
“What of it?”
“I cannot but consider it a bad idea.”
“Oh, you need not fear. After you and your friends are dead, and the Orb is in our hands, well, we will banish it once more. You perceive, it is not fully here, it has only been given a certain opening, if you will, which permits some of its powers to manifest.”
“Well, but what if your friends fail to take the Orb, and my friends and I slaughter you?”
“Oh, that will not happen.”
“Yet, if it does?”
“Why then, being dead, you perceive that I shall not be concerned with what the Jenoine does.”
“Yes,” said Tazendra, “I understand that you might see it that way. And yet—”
“Well?”
“I see it rather differently.”
“That is but natural,” said Illista magnanimously.
At this moment, there was another chime from in front of the cave.
“Perhaps,” said Grita, “that is our guest.”
“Let us hope so,” said Illista. “I confess, I am growing impatient.”
“Bide, my dear Dzurlord,” said Grita. “We must see to our visitor.”
Illista moved to front of the cave and called back, “It is he!”
“Welcome, my dear Lyorn,” called Grita.
“Come,” said Illista. “Let us begin, then.”
“Aerich!” cried Tazendra. “It is a trap!”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Aerich. “But the observation is useless.”
Illista walked behind the table where Tazendra lay, drew out a large, curved knife, and said, “On my word, my dear, release the spells, and I will perform the surgery we discussed.”
“I am ready,” said Grita, drawing a poniard.
Aerich, at this moment, stepped into the light of the lamps, dressed in his old red blouse and skirt, vambraces gleaming, wrists crossed over his chest, holding his sword in one hand, poniard in the other. He was looking, however, not at Tazendra, but at the immense, impenetrable darkness that rose directly before him.
“Aerich, don’t!” said Tazendra.
“Now,” said Illista coolly.
Grita released the spell.
For an instant, Tazendra was free. She started to rise, but Illista struck her hard in the chest with the butt end of the knife—Tazendra’s head struck the table, and Illista quickly grasped her ear, holding it out to be removed. Tazendra coughed.
Mica stood up, picked up the bar-stool upon which he had been sitting, and struck Illista in the face.
Grita snarled and stabbed Mica in the back with such force that the point of her weapon actually emerged from his chest.
“Mica!” cried Tazendra.
The faithful Mica stood very still, an expression of surprise on his face, as blood began to trickle from his lips.
“They killed Srahi,” he observed.
As this happened, Grita reached into the area of darkness with her left hand, and, with her right, she made a gesture, and immediately a sort of glow began to emerge from her skin, and, at the same time, from Illista’s. Grita then gestured at Aerich, who, before he could move, was picked up and thrown against a wall of the cave.
Tazendra rolled off the table and onto her feet, stumbled, fell to her knees, and rose again even as Illista recovered from the blow struck by the brave Mica—we should add that this blow had cut her face so that she was bleeding, and was, moreover, forced to spit out two or three teeth.
Aerich shook his head and made an effort to rise, but Grita, still with one hand in the darkness, reached out at him, slowing drawing her hand into a fist. Aerich threw his head back and his mouth opened as he struggled vainly to breathe. “Do you see, Dzurlord?” cried Grita. “I am killing your friend.”
Illista, who had left her knife in Mica’s back, drew a sword as the Teckla, moaning softly, fell face-forward onto the ground.
And, once more, there came a chime from the front of the cave.
Grita frowned and looked toward the mouth of the cave, the spell she had been casting momentarily relaxed, and Aerich took in a great lungful of air.
“Who are you?” said Grita.
“I am the Viscount of Adrilankha,” said Piro coolly. “And these are my friends. This gentleman and that lady are friends of my father. What are you doing to them?”
“Killing them,” said Grita.
“I believe,” said Piro, “that I will attempt to stop you.”
“Good luck,” said Grita. As she spoke, she made a certain gesture, and a sound not unlike that made by the striking of a large gong echoed throughout the cave. “You may now have the honor of contending with the troops I have just summoned. Should you survive them, you are welcome to do your best against us.”
“May I inquire about that strange glow the two of you seem to be emitting?”
“Why? Don’t you think it fetching?”
“Oh, certainly.”
Grita shrugged. “Well then.”
Piro turned to those behind him, and said, “Spread out. It seems we are about to be attacked.”
“So much the better,” said Kytraan, gripping his sword. “But I would suggest we attack first.”
“An excellent notion, my friend,” said Piro.
“Let us do so at once.” Illista, who, we should say, was not exceptionally skilled as a fighter, swung her sword at Tazendra, who easily ducked beneath it. The Dzurlord then stepped back, reached down, and removed the poniard from Mica’s back. The Teckla moaned softly. Tazendra continued her motion and, ducking under another wild swing by Illista, struck with the poniard at the Phoenix’s chest with tremendous force, all of her anger adding to her own natural strength.
Rather than penetrating, however, the blade snapped off near the hilt.
Grita pointed her finger at Kytraan, who gave a strangled cry as his head, neatly severed by some invisible force, fell from his shoulders.
“I hope,” observed Illista, “that this answers the question you have aske
d about the peculiar glow we are emitting. You can no longer harm us.”
Chapter the Ninety-Third
How Tsanaali Attempted
To Take the Orb
No doubt the reader is, by now, curious about what might have become of Tsanaali, whom we last saw about to enter the presence of Her Majesty in an effort to take the Orb itself. Be assured that it was not our intention to hold the reader in needless suspense, which we will prove by answering this question at once.
Khaavren had been in the covered terrace, sitting quietly in a corner having a conversation with Pel, when he suddenly heard Zerika cry out softly. Soft as it was, such a sound from the Empress at once caused the captain to come to full alert; he fairly dashed over to her. “Your Majesty, what is it?”
The Empress looked at him with an expression in which alarm mixed with confusion. “The Orb,” she said.
Khaavren had been about to ask what about the Orb caused her alarm, when he realized that, instead of circling her head and glowing with some color that gave a chromatic representation of her spirits at the moment, it was a dull black, and lying in her hands.
We should explain that, in fact, the Orb was not completely inert: no one has reported, during this time, becoming aware of a disconnection to it, as thousands upon thousands reported at the moment of Adron’s Disaster. Yet, it was clear at once that something was very seriously wrong with it.
“Your Majesty,” said Khaavren, “what can cause such a thing?”
“I have not the least idea in the world,” said the Empress, in a tone that indicated a laudable if not entirely successful attempt to remain cool.
At this moment, Pel approached them and bowed. “Your Majesty—”
“What is it?” said the Empress, a hint of desperation tingeing her voice.
“I do not know what is causing this, but, I wish to make two observations.”
“Very well, I will listen to whatever you have to say.”
“First, you know that we have been looking for the Pretender to strike from an unexpected direction, as he cannot possibly win a purely military action. I make no doubt that this is, at the least, part of his plan.”
“Very well. Next?”
“Next, unless I am mistaken, I heard sounds in the corridor that I like not at all, wherefore I would suggest that Your Majesty take herself and the Orb into that corner, and that my friend Khaavren draw that sword which has served the Empire for so long, and we be prepared to do what we must.”