Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  These words were no sooner out of the Yendi’s mouth than acted upon, both by the Empress and by the captain.

  “They can come in by the door, or by the glass,” said Khaavren. “But if they break the glass, we shall hear them.”

  “And so?” said Pel.

  “Let us position ourselves by the door.”

  “Very good,” said Pel. “But—”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you a spare sword?”

  “Blood of the Horse! You haven’t a sword?”

  “In my apartments, but, you perceive, that will be of no help now.”

  “That is true. Here is my poniard. My left hand still has some weakness, so it does me no good in any case.”

  “Very good. I will have a sword presently.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “Ah. Here they are.”

  “We can hold them for a long time at this door.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The first one through the door received the edge of Khaavren’s sword across his face, the second took Pel’s poniard in his stomach, at which time Pel stepped out from beside the door, took the sword from his hand, and kicked him backward into his companions.

  “That’s two of them,” observed Khaavren.

  “I wonder how many of them there are.”

  “Let us count them as we go.”

  “Very well.”

  “Three,” said Khaavren, as he gave the next a full-extension lunge, as pretty as if it were out of a training manual, striking his enemy in her throat.

  Pel spun his sword in a tight circle parallel to his body which ended scoring a long cut down the face and body of one, then cutting up at another who was attempting to squeeze to his side. “Four and five,” he observed.

  As it happened, the one who had sustained the long cut was not badly hurt, a fact which Khaavren pointed out by saying, “Now it is five, my friend,” as he lowered point to run him through the thigh.

  “Very well,” said Pel. “I accept that.”

  “Apropos, how is the weapon?”

  “Serviceable,” said Pel laconically, after which he added, “Six,” as he used an elegant move which involved a thrust that both deflected his enemy’s blade and, at the same time, ran her through the shoulder.

  “You must teach me that one,” said Khaavren.

  “I should be more than happy to, as soon as this is over.”

  “So much the better,” said Khaavren, adding “Seven” an instant before Pel said, “Eight,” as they both struck in the same manner at nearly the same time. Their blades pierced the hearts of the two soldiers in front of them so they both fell to the ground as dead masses, striking at very nearly the same instant, although one was considerably heavier than the other, introducing certain interesting questions concerning the physical properties of falling objects.

  Whatever the theoretical issues involved in falling objects, the practical result of the falling of these bodies was that it interfered with those attempting to enter the room. This interference was quickly translated into an advantage for Khaavren, who held to the principle that a missed opportunity in combat was identical to giving an enemy a second chance, which, in turn, was the same as if there were a second enemy. With this principle firmly in mind, he made certain that each hesitation, stumble, or slip by an enemy was greeted by as good a thrust or cut as he could manage, with the result that, in seconds, three more of the enemy were “bit by the steel snake,” as the saying is.

  Pel, who was never at any time troubled about taking any advantage that might be offered in a skirmish, was even more effective: he went for his opponent’s legs, and in the drawing of a breath, four more of them were on the ground, unable to rise.

  At this point, however, one of the enemy, in a daring maneuver, made a leap over the wounded or dying bodies on the ground, rolled, came to his feet, and turned around, striking quickly and then recovering into good guard position.

  “One of them is behind us,” observed Khaavren, who was, at this moment, dueling with next soldier who, standing on the bodies of his friends, was attempting to pass the doorway.

  “The observation is useless,” said Pel. “He has already cut me with his stick.”

  “No badly, I hope.”

  “A sting in the left shoulder, nothing more.”

  “Very good.”

  “Apropos, he’s mine,” said Pel.

  “If you like,” said Khaavren.

  Pel faced the soldier, saluted him, and said, “Hello, Lieutenant. I hope seeing me is as agreeable for you as seeing you is for me.”

  Tsanaali, whose blade did not move an inch as he waited for the engagement to begin, said, “Well, my dear Duke, that I had not expected to have the honor of your company only increases the pleasure with which I greet you. Is it not always so with unexpected guests?”

  “Nearly,” said Pel. “But come, my dear Lieutenant. Must I beg you to engage with me?”

  “Not at all,” said Tsanaali, who did not need to have such a compliment paid to him twice. He feinted a lunge for Pel’s body, then executed a furious cut at the Yendi’s head; a cut which the Yendi parried with a quick motion of his wrist, after which he replied by lunging at the lieutenant’s torso with such speed that the officer was saved only by twisting his body at the last instant.

  “Come,” said Pel, “was that close enough?”

  “Nearly,” said Tsanaali, and attempted the same head-cut again, only this time dropping the point and striking for Pel’s side, an attack that Pel parried easily enough by dropping the point of his own blade, and then, with a wrongwise twist of his wrist, he brought the Dragonlord’s weapon out of line, after which Pel simply straightened his arm, running the point directly through Tsanaali’s heart.

  “That was closer,” observed the Yendi.

  “I believe it was close enough to kill me,” said Tsanaali.

  “I think you are right,” said Pel, as the lieutenant, dropping his sword, fell to the ground. “Unfortunately, you have caused me to lose count.”

  The lieutenant, being quite dead, did not reply.

  This contest, as it happened, had left Khaavren facing two of the enemy. As was his custom under such circumstances, Khaavren had given ground slowly, parrying widely and striking for the sides of his enemies in an effort to prevent them from separating. This technique was sufficiently successful as to delay them until Pel was able to rejoin him, at which point, seeing that their commander was dead, and that more than half of their number were either wounded or dying, they became demoralized, and, instead of attacking, or even defending themselves, at once turned and, in a body, fled the way they had come.

  Khaavren followed them out after calling to Pel to remain behind and guard Her Majesty. In the antechamber Khaavren saw that Sergeant, the son of his old comrade, Sergeant, had been killed by a thrust through his heart before even having time to draw his sword. Khaavren reached down and gently shut the guardsman’s eyes.

  He continued down the corridor, observing the others who had died: Nyla, Segure, Baan, and Cendra. He refused to let himself grieve over them, however, reminding himself that he still had work to do.

  He then carried out a brief but thorough inspection, finding (though he had expected it) the others of his guardsmen who had been struck down outside of the doors. This inspection assured him that the threat, at least for now, was over. Then he returned to the covered terrace. Noting that he was still holding his bloody sword, he knelt down and carefully wiped it clean on Tsanaali’s body, after which he sheathed it and looked at the wounded.

  Pel, after disarming the prisoners, had been coolly guarding them as they lay, some of them moaning in pain, others silent either from fortitude or weakness.

  “Are you all right, Pel?”

  “Scarcely a scratch, good Khaavren. And yourself?”

  “Nothing at all. There should be an errand-runner or two around somewhere; do you think you can find one?”

  “Assure
dly.”

  Khaavren took over watching the prisoners while Pel left to find a runner. That his mission was successful was proven by the arrival of a runner in two minutes, who presented himself to Khaavren respectfully.

  “Find the Warlord. My compliments, and inform her that there has been an attack on the Orb. All is well, Her Majesty is safe, but I wish for a company to guard the Manor, and another company to take charge of the prisoners. Do you understand?”

  “Your Lordship may judge: Compliments to the Warlord, an attack on the Orb, Her Majesty is well, two companies to be sent.”

  “That is it. On your way now.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Pel returned and took over the guard duty, freeing Khaavren to address Her Majesty. He bowed to her and said, “For the moment, we are secure. I have sent a messenger for a troop to replace my guards.”

  Zerika, still holding the lifeless Orb, appeared rather pale as she nodded.

  “Is Your Majesty all right?” asked Khaavren.

  “Yes, Captain. But I had never before been in danger when I was unable to do anything about it, but simply had to watch. I must say, I don’t care for it.”

  “I understand, Your Majesty.”

  “Your guards,” she said suddenly. “What of them?”

  “Dead,” said Khaavren. “All of those who were on duty were killed.”

  Zerika bowed her head. “For me,” she said softly.

  “For the Orb,” corrected Khaavren gently.

  “Well, yes, that is true.”

  “It was a treacherous attack,” said Khaavren.

  “No, it was an act of war,” said the Empress. “With as much—or as little—justification as the Pretender has for engaging in this contest.”

  Khaavren bowed. “As Your Majesty says.”

  Zerika looked down at the Orb in her hands. “I wonder,” she murmured.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “I wonder what could do this to the Orb.”

  “For my part,” said Pel, “I wonder how much worse things will get before they get better.”

  “I wonder that as well,” said the Empress.

  “And I,” said Khaavren, “wonder how long until the additional companies come for the prisoners. Because, until they do—”

  “Well?”

  “There is no point in getting the maid to come in here and clean the blood off my floor.”

  Chapter the Ninety-Fourth

  How the Battle of Adrilankha

  Was Proceeding up to This Point

  In order to understand subsequent developments, it is now necessary for the author to make a brief survey of how matters stood, over-all, in that bloody and significant military engagement that became known afterwards as the Battle of Adrilankha. We must say that, as matters now stood (it being very nearly the hour of noon in Adrilankha), the death of Tsanaali and the failure of his mission, though certainly a severe blow to Kâna, was the only notable setback he had faced hitherto.

  The Warlock made continual efforts to use his abilities to summon from the jungles west of town various beasts (of which, just as to-day, there is no shortage) to fall upon the enemy, but thanks to the intervention of the god known as Tri’nagore, he could achieve no results. Yet he remained at his post, sitting behind the command tent within the fortress on the Hartre Pike, ignoring the sounds of mayhem and the feverish activity all around him, and did not falter in his attempts.

  As near as we can determine, it was at this moment that the gods first became aware of the rôle played by this renegade deity, and at once launched upon a furious debate as to the best way to counter it. We shall not take up the reader’s time with this debate, as, in fact, it continued for some hours or days or perhaps weeks (it is, as the reader may recall, difficult to understand the flow of time in the Halls of Judgment) past when the matter had become moot. In other words, as is so often the case with immensely powerful individuals weighed down by the sense of their own responsibility, they did nothing but confer until the time for action was well past.

  On Lower Kieron Road and on the Hartre Pike, the Imperial forces, while able to hold their positions, were not having an easy time of it. We are forced to admit that both of Kâna’s young generals, Brawre and Izak, were proving their abilities as tacticians: Having the initiative, both of them, but most especially Izak, used the pieces of their game with undeniable skill—sending pikemen against cavalry, cavalry against spear phalanxes, spear phalanxes against infantry, infantry regiments against javelin throwers, and javelin throwers against pikemen. Sethra the Younger, we should add, displayed no small skill herself in this game of matching regiment against regiment, but, as she was on the defensive, it was more difficult for her to break off a particular skirmish to substitute a particular unit. Indeed, on the Hartre Pike in particular, it has been asserted by several officers that, were it not for the constant and well-aimed barrage of javelins from the two forts, as well as the well-placed obstructions on the road, there would unquestionably have been a breakthrough.

  Sethra the Younger’s difficulties were increased by the fact that Adrilankha is not surrounded by a wall such as existed in the old Dragaera City: while those two roads were the sites of the most intense combat, nevertheless she could never forget that the enemy was capable of sending units to either side in order to come into the city from some small roadway or side-street and thus striking the defenders from the rear, or making an assault on Whitecrest Manor itself. As much as she could, she used her scarce cavalry regiments to defend against this possibility, but at times she would receive reports of such an attempt being made, find she had no cavalry to send, and so would have to quickly call up another unit to meet the threat. At times, the threat would turn out not to be real, having been either an error on the part of some scout, or a feint from one of the enemy generals (how often each of these happened is still debated by military historians), but this added to her difficulties.

  Another factor that caused “the command headache” for Sethra the Younger was the corps of adepts. Although it is demonstrably untrue, in spite of the remarks of certain historians, that Sethra Lavode had counted on the adepts for all of her communication, it is nevertheless the case that, when sorcerous communication became “inoperative” (as the Sorceress in Green expressed it), a certain confusion and delay was involved in returning to the system of errand-runners—a confusion and delay that had no effect on Kâna’s forces, as they had never counted on any other means of communication.

  As it was, the defenders held fast through the first hour after noon, though afterwards there was no shortage of veteran soldiers to assert that it had been among the most difficult of battles in which they had ever been engaged, a report that is confirmed by not only the number of casualties, but, even more, by the number of deaths that occurred when wounded soldiers were trampled by those on both sides fighting over the same ground. In some places, it has been said, entire units fought on a carpet of bodies, their feet never actually touching the road. Whether this is literally true or an exaggeration, it nevertheless gives an idea of the intensity of the combat for the main entrances to the city. It is said that the bloodstains on the Hartre Pike, especially in the “Brutal Curve” below the fort, could still be seen half a year after the battle.

  The bridges over the Adrilankha River presented a different sort of problem. While, thanks to Khaavren’s explanation, the defenders had prepared themselves to hold these bridges, the plan to destroy them had to be abandoned when sorcery failed. While this was certainly to the advantage of the citizens of proud Adrilankha after the battle, at the time it was a source of considerable vexation to Berigner, who was in charge of these defenses. The problem became worse when Berigner himself was wounded by a magnificently thrown javelin, that had to fly very nearly the length of the Iron Bridge in order to find him, striking him in the upper chest and laying him out on the ground. He had to be brought to the field hospital that had been established in Round Park, and was thus out of the
battle.

  Command devolved on a certain Taasra, who at once sent a message to Sethra the Younger (although she thought she was sending it to Sethra Lavode) explaining the perilous situation on that bridge, as well as passing on reports she had received of heavy fighting on the Two Pennies Bridge, farther upriver. Upon receiving these messages, Sethra the Younger made the courageous decision to move the remainder of the force excepting only a token regiment away from Northgate Road (which had still not sustained an attack) to reinforce the bridges.

  In the end, the defense of the bridges was successful for several reasons: First, the defense of a bridge, more than nearly any other tactical situation, gives all of the advantages to the defenders, owing to the relatively narrow space in which the combat occurs. Next, because of Beringer’s skillful placement of his defending units, augmented by Taasra’s continuing efforts (Taasra afterwards received a Imperial barony for her efforts).

  The third factor was Daro, the Countess of Whitecrest, who left her manor in the fourteenth hour of the morning and spent the day riding from bridge to bridge. Many of the defenders of these bridges have mentioned, in letters and memoirs, seeing her and being inspired by her stern countenance, her exhortations, and her mere presence (although, to be sure, many of these refer to her as a Lyorn, there can be no question of who was meant). At one point, she herself led a countercharge of a pike regiment over the Iron Bridge against a spear phalanx (or something very like it) of determined Islanders. The reader who is unfamiliar with infantry tactics should be the more impressed as it is not in the nature of pikemen to charge; yet the Countess picked the first regiment she saw and went forward. In this attack, Daro sustained a minor wound on her left hand, but not only was the charge successful, her example did so much to inspire the defenders and depress the spirits of the attackers that for the rest of the day, that bridge was never seriously threatened.

  In short, as we have had the honor to say, the bridges were held. The damage to South Adrilankha committed by the Islanders (most of it, to be sure, being done during their retreat) has never been accurately stated, but is certainly less than what would have been done had they successfully crossed the bridges and established themselves. To say the least, any questions about the loyalty of the Countess’s family that might have remained after the Whitecrest Uprising were on this day put to rest for-ever.