by Steven Brust
Ibronka nodded. “Soon, however. In this company, well, it cannot be long before a sword is drawn from sheath with the intention of finding more than a whetstone!”
“Oh, as to that,” said Kytraan. “There is no doubt you are right. It cannot be long.”
Ibronka smiled at this thought, an expression which suited her countenance splendidly.
“Indeed,” said Röaana, “we did not leave our homes with the notion of merely riding horses from one place to another, however estimable the company.”
“But,” said Kytraan, after bowing to acknowledge his share in this compliment, “why did you leave your homes?”
“Oh, as to that,” said Röaana, glancing quickly at her friend.
“Well, the truth is,” said Ibronka, flushing slightly, “we were told to. But Röaana will explain.”
“I will?”
“Why not?”
Röaana did her best to answer this question, aided now and then by Ibronka, and with comparisons to the equivalent answers by Piro and Kytraan, and so in the way the history of each of the four was gradually revealed.
This conversation has been given to show how our friends carried out their journey. While they did so, their elders were concerned with the pursuit. Khaavren was always in the lead, head forward, nearly sniffing like a hound. Zerika walked next to him, at times appearing to hold him back: developing, one might say, a serenity quite Imperial in its character. Behind them came Aerich, Tazendra, and Pel—Aerich saying little and smiling much, Tazendra doing most of the talking, and Pel putting in an occasional remark. Next were those brigands who had, either from loyalty to the Empress or from coercion at the point of a sword, come over to our friends’ side: Grassfog, Iatha, Belly, and Ritt; with the servants walking behind them, and the younger generation, as it were, bringing up the rear in the fashion we have already had the honor to describe.
Near the end of the day, they found a small village called Barleytown, which is in the southern portion of the district called Agate for reasons of which we must admit our ignorance, as it cannot be considered a rocky area by any means. Doubtless it was settled by someone who had taken his name from another region in which agates of various kinds are common, for this is how names often come to be associated with places; indeed, for every “Stonybrook” that was named for a nearby stream that was full of rocks, there may be two or three that are named because Lady Stonybrook first settled it, and another named in honor of Lord Stonybrook for some action he took that was meaningful to those who settled the new town. As there are so many places in our Empire in which agates might be found, and so many nobles who have taken their name from such places, there is no reliable way to ascertain the source of the name of this district, at least until some presently unknown records should come to light (this author does not, as a rule, accept oral tradition as a reliable source of historical data!). As we are, thus, unable to determine the origin of this name, we will avoid wasting the reader’s time by discussing it.
There was not much to this village—that is to say, it consisted of what had once been a posting station but was now a sort of general indoor market shared by tradesmen who would gather there on Marketday, and a small inn marked by a sign depicting a bouquet of blue flowers which was painted every year and replaced every ten years so that it remained in good condition—better condition, in fact, than the inn itself, which was of crumbling stone that had sunk nearly a foot in front, and perhaps half a foot in back, so that the entire structure had a dramatic forward tilt. The insides of this inn were filled with Teckla and ingenious devices making use of the principle of the inclined plane to prevent drinks from following the slant of the building and arriving on the floor. And in addition to the Teckla and these various devices, the place was also filled with our friends, who had entered the inn within minutes of spotting it from the road.
After taking a moment to permit their eyes to adjust to the darkness within (there was only one window, far in the back, and but two lanterns hanging from the roof), our friends looked around, only to discover that everyone in the room was looking back at them, and that no conversation of any sort was taking place. To be sure, it was a sizable little troop that invaded this position, and, more than its size, it included, above all, Zerika herself, the Orb circling her head as it had the head of the Emperor from time immemorial, which would certainly be enough to attract notice, even without the company of sixteen persons who entered all in a troop, as if they were the occupying force of an army. And we must add that this troop entered an inn that was already crowded, this being Marketday, and the inn being the only one for fifty miles in any direction.
For a moment, no one spoke, and the silence may have become uncomfortable, perhaps even threatening, but then Zerika said, “Captain, speak to them.”
Khaavren winced at this title, but he responded nevertheless, clearing his throat and saying, “Greetings. Are there horses to be purchased anywhere nearby? We have silver with which to pay for them.”
There was murmuring, but, for a moment, no words could be distinguished. Then, at least, a burly woman with heavy eyebrows said, “I have several, but they are a trifle winded just now, and should rest.”
“I should,” said Khaavren, “very much like to see them.”
“In that case, my lord,” said the Teckla, “I shall be glad to show them to you, and this very minute, if you wish. Although—”
“Yes?”
“While you are here, you may wish to consider sampling the muskellunge.”
“Muskellunge?”
“It is similar to the common pike, but with fewer bones and better flavor. Nowhere else in the world—”
“Just the horses, if you please.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Khaavren turned to to Zerika and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Yes,” said the Empress. “We shall remain here, in the meantime; we can all use refreshment, I believe.”
“As Your Majesty wishes,” said Khaavren, bowing.
Soon, they were all sitting, occupying one small table and one very long one, with the locals moving aside to give them room. Piro found himself sitting across from Ibronka, with Röaana on one side of him, and Kytraan on the other. “Well, my friend,” said Kytraan as they seated themselves, “it seems that we have, indeed, had an adventure.”
“That is true,” said Piro. “And yet, you speak as if it were over.”
“Oh, not the least in the world, I assure you. On the contrary, it is clear that we are quite in the middle of it, and it is far too soon to say what will happen. Yet, already, it has been an experience to remember, has it not?”
“Oh, as to that, I cannot disagree with you. But yet, my mind is drawn to what will happen next to such a degree that I have some trouble considering where we have been.”
“Come then,” said Ibronka suddenly. “Tell my friend and me—” here she indicated the Tiassa, “what you have done, for you perceive your conversation has made us most curious, has it not, my dear Röaana?”
“Oh, as to that,” said her friend, who glanced quickly at Kytraan, before flushing and lowering her eyes, “I do not deny that I should like to hear of it.”
Ibronka frowned suddenly at her friend, but then quickly turned back toward Piro and Kytraan and smiled. Kytraan, who had not noticed this interaction, glanced at Piro, who had not understood it. The Viscount said, “Well, you must understand that, for me, it was no small thing to meet the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain.”
“How,” said Ibronka, “you have seen the Enchantress?”
“Seen her?” said Piro. “I give you my word, I have been as close to her as I am to you at this moment.”
“Well, but then, what is she like?” said the Dzur. “You must tell me.”
Piro frowned, and, after opening his mouth and closing it again more than once, he turned to Kytraan and spread his hands.
“Oh, as to what she is like,” said Kytraan, “well, she is very mysterious.”
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“How, mysterious?” said Röaana in a small voice. “In what way?”
“Why, in every way,” said Kytraan, himself at a loss as to how to describe Sethra Lavode, a predicament in which he was not alone, as countless works of history and romance can bear witness—indeed, this author will confess freely that, of all the tasks he has set for himself in placing these events before the reader, those which touch upon Sethra Lavode are certainly the most difficult. In the event, Kytraan found that he had fallen silent, leaving the question unanswered.
“And then,” said Piro, attempting to save his friend from the embarrassment that he, himself, had just felt, “we had the honor of assisting Zivra—that is to say, Zerika, the Empress, in arriving at Deathgate Falls.”
“Oh, you were there?”
“There?” said Kytraan, back in the conversation once more. “I nearly think we were! And I will take my oath, there was hard steel involved in the mission!”
“You fought?”
“Fought? Almost! And, if you do not believe me, well, you may ask some of our ill-favored companions, at the far side of this table, because it was some of them who were on the other end of our blades.”
“And yet,” said Piro, “on that occasion they could get no advantage on us, and in this endeavor, my friend Kytraan played no small role.”
“Ah, is that true?” said Röaana suddenly. “Was he, that is to say, Kytraan, much in the battle?”
“Nearly,” said Piro.
“Well, I do not deny that my weapon tasted blood that day,” said Kytraan modestly.
“Bah,” said Piro. “He was everywhere at once, was my friend the Dragonlord. Even as was our friend the Dzurlord, Tazendra. Between them, well, they put matters to rest quickly enough, and settled all outstanding questions so that there was no room for argument.”
Kytraan smiled. “I do not deny that I played my rôle, yet my friend leaves out that he, himself, was in command of our little band at the time of the engagement.”
“How, you?” said Ibronka, startled. “You were in command during the melee?”
“Oh, as to that,” said Piro. “Well, a decision was required, that is all. And, as Zerika was no longer there, and, in fact, as far as we knew, was now dead—”
“How,” said Ibronka, looking at Piro with an expression full of interest. “You thought Her Majesty was dead?”
“Well, you perceive, at that time, she was not Her Majesty,” said Piro, as if this intelligence explained everything.
“Nevertheless,” said Ibronka, “how is it you thought she was dead?” We should note that the Dzurlord dropped her voice slightly when saying “she,” proving that, to her at least, the Empress was most certainly the Empress.
“Oh,” said Kytraan carelessly, “we all assumed this when she leapt from Deathgate Falls.”
“How?” said Röaana. “She leapt from Deathgate Falls?”
“Not precisely,” said Kytraan. “It would be more accurate to say that, at her command, her horse leapt from the Falls, and she was mounted upon the horse.”
“But, how did she survive such a leap? Is it not said that the fall is three miles deep?”
“I have heard a quarter of a league,” said Ibronka. “But, nevertheless—”
“We were never able to get the complete story from her,” said Piro.
Kytraan nodded. “She does not appear to wish to discuss it. The last time I asked her, she only said, ‘It killed my poor horse, alas.’ And, as for us, well, it is difficult to insist, when she is the Empress.”
“Yes,” said Ibronka. “I understand that. But, nevertheless—”
“Yes,” said Piro. “I should very much like to hear about it. Perhaps, someday, we shall. But first, well, it seems we must continue forward for a time, before we have the leisure to look back.”
“That is true,” cried Ibronka. “Whatever adventures we have had, well, I think there are considerably more to come. Do you not agree, Viscount?”
“Even if I did not,” Piro found himself saying, “I could hardly find it in me to express disagreement with you.”
Ibronka frowned. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Oh,” said Piro, flushing suddenly. “Because, that is to say—”
“Yes?” said the Dzurlord, appearing genuinely confused.
“Well, I mean—but stay, is that not my father returning? Yes, yes there be no doubt. Perhaps he has found us horses. I confess, I should be glad to be mounted again; my feet have not enjoyed the last few days nearly as much as I should have liked them to, although do not think I complain.”
“Well, yes,” said Kytraan, rushing in to help his friend. “Perhaps he has. See, he is even now approaching the Empress, and is, no doubt, explaining to her the results of his mission.”
“I am convinced that that is exactly what he is doing,” said Piro.
“And yet,” said Ibronka, “I wonder what you meant—”
“No doubt,” said Kytraan, “we will soon discover the answer, and then, perhaps, we must be ready to leave quickly.”
“You are right,” said Piro. “I will pay the shot.”
“No,” said Ibronka, “permit me.”
“Nonsense,” said Kytraan. “I will—”
“No,” said Röaana. “I insist that I—”
At this moment, Zerika, who had been sitting at the end of the table, speaking quietly with Pel and Tazendra, rose and announced, “We have acquired horses and equipment—to be precise, we have reacquired our own, which those we are pursuing traded for fresh ones two days ago. As this is Imperial business, I will arrange for certain supplies to be gathered, and will, in addition, settle the score with our host, after which we shall be on our way. I apologize to the brave captain, who has not been able to refresh himself as the rest of us have, but, nevertheless, I begrudge the time. And so, all of you, prepare to set out at once.”
There was nothing to say to this except for some form or another of murmured agreement; wherefore they all rose and made their way out of the door, where they found, as Zerika had said, that their own horses were waiting for them on the street—in addition, of course, to a number of other horses, these being the ones originally belonging to Tsanaali’s troop, and which he had traded for fresh mounts. In addition, the Empress had procured all the necessary equipage for those horses—simple leather, without decoration, but perfectly serviceable.
It took some time for each to find his horse, and to get reacquainted with it; and during this time Zerika, speaking directly to the servants, arranged for fodder and other provisions. When she had finished it was becoming dark, and there was some talk of remaining the night, but Zerika pretended that they could get two or three good hours of travel in, and declared that she begrudged every hour of delay, and so they set off as soon as they were ready, leaving the village of Barleytown, where the town annals recorded the event with no mention of the Orb circling the head of the visitors, and no apparent realization of the larger events of which this was, in fact, just a small part; indeed, one with which we should not have taken up the reader’s time were it not for our desire to answer the question of how they managed to acquire horses, as well as our wish to describe, at least in passing, the conversation among our four young friends.
Chapter the Fiftieth
How Morrolan Attempted to
Collect Certain Funds
He Believed Were Due Him
As Lord of Southmoor
Morrolan, who was traveling at the same time as those to whom we have just had the honor to allude, had no one to carry on a conversation with, save only his horse, who, though occasionally spoken to, did not reply.
The distance from Morrolan’s encampment to Dzur Mountain was not long—only some forty or forty-five miles, which journey Morrolan managed to complete by easy stages, arriving in the middle of the morning of the day after setting out. By “arriving” in this case, we mean that at this time he found himself at the very foot of the mountain, straining his neck looki
ng at the imposing height, whose peak was lost in the Enclouding, and wondering exactly what he ought to do next. He resolved to look for a road or a path, or at least some way to bring his horse further up the mountain, and, at length, he found one—not, in fact, the same road that, the reader may recall, our friends had traveled up earlier, but one that was, if not so steep, rather narrower.
Morrolan negotiated this path with a certain amount of care, being rather fond of his horse and anxious not to see it come to grief, and so it was well into the afternoon before he reached a level plateau near the top of Dzur Mountain and somewhat above the Enclouding. On either hand stood peaks rising several hundred additional feet. He looked out over the plateau, and away from the brightness of the Furnace at his back, casting a long shadow before him that reminded him of late afternoon in the Eastern lands where he was born and raised.
The Dragonlord frowned as he considered the two peaks, first looking at one, then the other. Eventually, it seemed that he descried motion from the one to his left, so he continued watching that direction, and soon was convinced that, indeed, there was someone or something alive, and that, moreover, it was slowly working its way toward him.
He checked that his sword was loose in its scabbard and turned his horse’s head and began riding to meet it. It became clear that it was a human figure, slowly making its way down a path toward him. Soon the figure was close enough for him to see that it was a woman dressed all in black, save for something, perhaps a gem, that glittered blue at her waist. She did not, at first glance, appear to be armed. Morrolan dismounted and stood beside his horse, waiting. Presently, she stood before him, bowed slightly, and said, “My name is Sethra Lavode.”
Morrolan returned the bow, saying, “I am Southmoor.”
“Well, your name is Morrolan,” said the Enchantress, “and I believe I shall call you that.”
“You know my name?” said Morrolan.
“So it would seem.”
“But how?”
“From the demon you know. She has communicated with me.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Come, Lord Morrolan, let us repair within my home, where it is more comfortable. I can provide stabling for your horse and wine that may suit your palate.”