Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  “Yes … I am getting a glimpse of those same things in the one window that I perceive. But then, consider: This is a gift from the goddess. We cannot expect it to make sense, nor ought we to think to see the same things.”

  “Yes, yes, you are certainly right, my lord. But I think it is less a gift than—”

  “Yes?”

  “A token of gratitude.”

  “A token of gratitude?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But, a gratitude for what?”

  “Well, what did you do this morning, my lord?”

  “Ah, ah!”

  “I think the goddess is not displeased with the removal of this god; the Aflatus implies she never cared for him.”

  “You have read the Aflatus?”

  “It is in your library, milord.”

  “I was not aware. I must read it myself, someday. But, in any case, if what you say is true then so much the better. I dare to hope the Warlord will not be displeased, either, as it seems this god had, perhaps, made a pact with our enemies here in the temporal world.”

  “I know nothing of that, milord, except it seems you have done something remarkable, and I honor you for it.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “Not in the least. Pray, how did you manage it?”

  “Oh, as to that, you know something about it, because you assisted me.”

  “Yes, that I remember, only you gave me no details of whom you were battling, nor how.”

  “Why, after I had received the invaluable assistance of the Circle, I thrust my sword into him, and, well, he died, that is all.”

  “A tolerably good thrust, I believe.”

  Morrolan bowed and continued his contemplation of the window, at last saying, “It is a grand token of gratitude, indeed. Although—”

  “Well?”

  “I could wish that it were somewhere else.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Why, so that I could have the pleasure of showing it to my guests in large numbers, instead of one at a time by bringing them up here. I wonder if it could be moved.”

  “My guess is that it cannot.”

  “You are most likely correct.”

  “My lord?”

  “Well?”

  “The windows are certainly not uninteresting to look at—”

  “Indeed.”

  “—but I wonder.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think they might have a use?”

  Morrolan frowned. “A use? Do you mean such as permitting me to look upon some interesting place?”

  “Yes, that, or something else.”

  “I had not considered that possibility. I had assumed it was, well, decorative.”

  “May I suggest you consider it, my lord?”

  “An excellent suggestion, Arra, and one that I will endeavor to follow.”

  “I think that would be an excellent notion, my lord.”

  “Well, yes. But come, this window either requires detailed exploration, or to be ignored entirely until a later date, and I have no time now for such exploration, as I have been told Her Majesty wishes to see me.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Only—”

  “Well?”

  “There is one thing I must attempt.”

  “Very well.”

  “There. Ah, it worked. Indeed, it was simplicity itself. Did you observe a change?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “How peculiar.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, that view of the white hallway, that you believe may be Verra’s home—”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “I desired the window hold that view, and, as I formulated the wish, why, so it did.”

  “But then, as I see a multiplicity of windows, it is but natural I would see no change.”

  “Oh, natural. Bah. There is no natural in anything that concerns our goddess!”

  “Since you express it so, I must perforce agree with you, my lord.”

  “It may be that I can cause it to show me other things, as well as other places. No doubt some of what I am seeing are other worlds entirely. It is most remarkable.”

  “Indeed it is, milord.”

  “I should show the Necromancer; I am convinced that she would have interesting observations to make.”

  “For my part, I am convinced that you are right.”

  “Do you know, Arra, it seems to me that I could step through that window, and I should be, well, wherever that is. The goddess’s home, perhaps.”

  “My lord, that would not astonish me. Shall you do so?”

  “I am tempted.”

  “Well, but the Empress.”

  “Yes, yes. That is true. And, as we have been assured that time runs differently in the Paths of the Dead, well, I should think the same might well be true in the Halls of the Demon Goddess.”

  “Indeed, my lord, I believe I would very nearly expect it.”

  “So, then, if I do, I might be able to explore, and return with only the briefest instant having elapsed.”

  “That is possible.”

  “Or, to the left, I might step through, and step back, and find that years, or, indeed, centuries have gone by and that as a result I have entirely missed my appointment, and offended Her Majesty.”

  “That is also possible.”

  “And, then, I might step through, and be unable to return.”

  “I had not considered that.”

  “Well?”

  “It is not impossible.”

  “Do you know, I most certainly must show this window to the Necromancer.”

  “You are full of wisdom, my lord.”

  “But, alas, I must wait until I have had my appointment; I believe empresses do not like to be kept waiting, even when they use such phrases as ‘when convenient.’ ”

  “I should not be surprised if this were true, my lord.”

  “Therefore, I must go and dress, and then make my way to Whitecrest Manor.”

  With that, he managed to tear himself away from Verra’s fascinating gift. Bidding farewell to Arra, he returned to his apartment and dressed himself in the traditional black and silver costume of a Dragon warrior.

  This done, he took himself once more to the courtyard and very carefully (he was rather weary by this time, the klava notwithstanding, and so felt the need to be particularly careful in his use of potentially dangerous sorcery) caused himself to appear in Adrilankha, at the only place he was sufficiently familiar with, that being outside of Whitecrest Manor. As this was his destination, it did not, in the end, present any inconvenience.

  He took himself inside to appear before the Empress, where he received her sincere congratulations on his latest accomplishment, about which she seemed remarkably well informed.

  “Your Majesty is too kind,” said Morrolan.

  “Not in the least. In fact, I have not even begun to be kind, because, in fact, I have not yet had the opportunity for kindness. But I hope and expect to remedy this soon, wherefore I must insist that you return in a week’s time.”

  “A week, Your Majesty? I will not fail to be here.”

  “Very good, my dear Count,” said Zerika, and dismissed him with a thousand compliments.

  As he had made the journey, he took the opportunity to fill himself in on the events of the day, which afforded him, in addition, the chance to receive the congratulations of several others, including Sethra the Younger. He learned of the attempt on the Orb, as well as the death of Aerich and Tazendra, both of whom held his esteem. He had saluted Pel while visiting Her Majesty, but had not yet seen Khaavren, for which reason he asked Sethra the Younger where the Tiassa might have gotten to.

  “He is arresting the Pretender,” she said.

  “Ah, is he? How large a detachment did he take?”

  “He went alone.”

  “Did he? Well, do you think he might need some help?”

  Sethra the Younger considered this for a moment
, then said, “It is unlikely.”

  Chapter the One Hundredth

  How Khaavren Carried Out The Arrest of Kâna and Reported The Results of His Mission

  When his conversation with Sethra the Younger was concluded, Khaavren mounted once more and set out at a good speed along Lower Kieron Road. At first, he passed Imperial regiments that were involved in pursuing the remains of Kâna’s army; then, after a mile or two, he began to catch up with some of those who were fleeing. At no time was he offered violence, or, indeed, anything but a few looks of fear—the Pretender’s once proud army was beaten and demoralized; now divided among those who were fleeing as fast as they could, and those who, too weary and depressed to even run, had thrown themselves by the side of the road to wait for capture, or whatever else fate might have in store for them.

  Those few with horses were luckier than the others, except when they were dragged from their horses by panic-stricken infantrymen who would then fight over who should get the use of the animal, until it either ran off by itself or was taken by someone and ridden a mile or two until he, in turn, would be pulled off and the process repeated. Khaavren, however, was not touched, and those who looked at his naked sword, blazing eyes, and grim countenance quickly gave him room to pass as he traveled along the road littered with swords, javelins, spears, shields, uniform cloaks, service caps, and emblems of rank.

  We should add that, as fast as Khaavren traveled, and as weary as he was from a day full of battle, death, and even heartbreak, nevertheless his keen eyes missed nothing; indeed, had anyone asked, he could very nearly have given a full list of the items he passed.

  In this way, Khaavren soon came to a place where, next to the side of the road, a banner lay upon the ground—a banner upon which he recognized the arms of the Duke of Kâna. He drew rein here and considered. Looking around, he realized instantly that this was where the Pretender had set up his field headquarters.

  Here he dismounted, tied up his horse, and spent some few moments making a careful study of the ground, beginning with the banner and moving in a slowly widening spiral until his sharp eyes had scanned every inch of terrain in a circle some forty yards in diameter. This done, he mounted upon his horse once more and again set off along the road, now riding, if anything, even faster.

  After about an hour he made a turn, following a smaller road to the north, and he continued along this, now having left all remnants of the fleeing army behind, for a period of nearly three hours. As darkness was falling, he observed a quiet inn built of wood, and painted white. He tied his horse to a rail in front of the house and took himself to the stables, where he found a stable-boy in the process of grooming and brushing a proud black mare, with another horse, this one grey, patiently awaiting its turn.

  He handed the boy a silver orb, saying, “Saddle these two horses and have them outside of the house in ten minutes.”

  “But my lord,” said the boy, “they have only just—”

  “Do as you’re told,” he said.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As the boy obeyed his orders in a fashion most military, Khaavren turned on his heel and brought himself into the house, where the host, a wizened little man, recognizing the gold half-cloak he wore, at once gave him his full attention and an obsequious bow not unmixed with a certain look of discomfort. Khaavren, with no hesitation, drew his sword and placed the point at the host’s throat.

  “Which room?” he said.

  “My lord, I do not understand—”

  Khaavren applied a little bit of pressure, the point very nearly breaking the skin.

  “Which room?” he repeated coolly.

  The host swallowed and, after a moment during which he must have performed a number of close calculations, he said, “All the way in the back, on the right.”

  “Where?”

  “Through that curtain.”

  “Do nothing, make no sound.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Khaavren turned his back on the host, went through the indicated curtain, and walked all the way back until he was opposite the last door on the right. He remained still, listening until he was able to make out soft breathing from within. Then, taking a step backward, he gave the door a kick with such force that it was pulled entirely from its hinges.

  Inside were two persons: a woman lying on the bed as if asleep, and a man sitting in a chair, legs stretched out in front of him, also appearing as if he were asleep—or had been asleep until rudely awakened by the door falling in.

  Khaavren held his sword out in front of him with the relaxed confidence of one who knows its length and said with tolerable coolness, “Your Venerance the Duke of Kâna, and my lady the Marchioness of Habil, I have the honor to arrest you in the name of the Empress.”

  For an instant neither moved. Kâna made a glance at his sword, which was within his reach but not in his hand, and appeared to be considering. Khaavren said nothing, content to let the Duke make his own decision. At length, Kâna sighed and said, “Very well. Sir, I am your prisoner.”

  Habil said, “I am not dressed. May I beg for a moment? I will give you my parole.”

  “Certainly, madam. His Venerance and I will wait outside.”

  In two minutes, Habil joined them. Khaavren said, “Your horses are outside, saddled.”

  “Who are you?” said Kâna.

  “A soldier.”

  “More than that, I think. Who betrayed us?”

  “No one.”

  “Bah. Then how did you find us?”

  “That is of no importance, Your Venerance. And now if you will be good enough to accompany me?”

  Kâna sighed, nodded, and preceded Khaavren down the hall. “A soldier, you say?”

  “I have that honor.”

  “The Imperial Guard.”

  “Yes, Venerance.”

  “The captain?”

  “I am the captain, yes.”

  “May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

  “Khaavren of Castle Rock.”

  “Khaavren!”

  “That is my name.”

  “I had thought you had resigned!”

  “I did, but then I was cured.”

  “I see.”

  “I must explain that, should you attempt to escape, I will kill whichever one of you is in reach, and then chase down the other.”

  “I understand.”

  “As do I.”

  “Then let us go.”

  He led them out past the host, who, in strict obedience to his orders, had made neither sound nor motion. They emerged into the night, mounted on their horses, and, without a word spoken, turned back toward Adrilankha at a sedate walk.

  In the middle of the night they reached the Manor, where Khaavren instructed a guard to place them in one of the empty rooms with the understanding that they were to be watched at all times. He made a careful inspection of this room to assure himself that it contained nothing they could use to aid an escape, then remained there until he was certain the guard detachment had arrived, after which he went to report to the Empress. Upon learning that Her Majesty had gone to bed, Khaavren quickly determined to do the same.

  He entered his apartment, where he was greeted by Daro, who said, “Ah, you are back!”

  “Cha! You are awake, madam?”

  “I wished to wait for you, though I didn’t know how long you would be gone.”

  “I am told that you played the hero to-day, madam. Indeed, I hear you praised from no lesser quarters than Her Majesty, the Warlord, and Sethra the Younger.”

  “Bah, it was nothing.”

  “On the contrary, madam, it was a great deal. And I am delighted. But are you injured?”

  “Merely a scratch on my hand. But what of you?”

  “Oh, me? I had a tolerably full day.”

  “And yet, it seems that all is not as it should be.”

  “You are perspicacious, madam. But I cannot yet speak of it.”

  “When you need me, my lord, I will be
here.”

  “You always are.”

  “I am glad you are home at last.”

  “Yes, I have done some riding. I had to complete an errand for Her Majesty.”

  “Well, and have you done so?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Khaavren. “It is done now.”

  Early the next morning, Khaavren presented himself to Her Majesty.

  “You are back already, Captain,” observed Her Majesty. “I returned last night, Majesty.”

  “There is, then, some trouble?”

  “Trouble, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes. Have you returned because there is some sort of difficulty?”

  “None whatsoever,” said Khaavren.

  “There being no trouble, then, did you require to return for additional troops?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Well, but then, why have you returned so soon?”

  “Because the mission with which you entrusted me—”

  “Yes, the mission?”

  “It has been completed.”

  “How, completed?”

  “Entirely.”

  “What do you tell me?”

  “I have the honor to inform you that the Duke of Kâna and the Marchioness of Habil are now in an upstairs room of this manor, with guards outside of their door, and another outside of the window—which window, incidentally, I also caused to be barred, because I should have been embarrassed to have to arrest them again.”

  “Then they are here? Prisoners? In this house?”

  Khaavren bowed.

  “And you say they are under this roof?”

  “Yes, Majesty, and guarded. I have even made certain this morning, before I did myself the honor to wait upon Your Majesty, that they have gone nowhere.”

  “So then—”

  “They are here, awaiting whatever fate Your Majesty might select.”

  “As to their fate,” said Zerika grimly, “there is no possible doubt.”

  “I should imagine not,” observed Khaavren, shrugging to indicate that this was no concern of his.