by Steven Brust
“Perhaps,” said Pel, “we ought to question the survivors, if any are still alive, to learn who it was who set them on us.”
“You persist, then,” said Aerich, “in thinking this ambuscade was directed at ourselves?”
“Well, don’t you?”
“It is not impossible,” admitted Aerich.
“Well,” said Khaavren, “we may learn something by interrogating this Teckla who wields a stool so well.”
“Well thought,” said Aerich. “Do you interrogate him, while I—”
“Yes? While you?”
“Blood! While I order another bottle of this fine Gegaare wine.”
“Very well,” said Khaavren. “You, my friend, come tell us your name.”
The Teckla whom Khaavren addressed was unusually lean for a Teckla, and he was moreover of early middle years, and had a roundish face with small eyes and a protruding lower lip. His fingers were short and stubby, proclaiming his House even were it not for his straight, light brown hair and bowlegged gait. He said, “My lord, I will happily give you my name, which is Mica, and will, moreover, thank you deeply, for there is no doubt in my mind that you saved my life.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, “but what did those ruffians want with you?”
“As to that, I confess I have no knowledge whatsoever.”
“What?” said Khaavren. “You pretend you have no notion about why they attacked you?”
“None at all, my lord.”
“Well, but the thing is impossible.”
“Not at all,” said Pel.
“Perhaps,” said Khaavren, who was as yet unconvinced, “but tell us how it came about.”
“Well, my lord, three times a week I come here to this place, and am given a meal in exchange for doing whatever work Master Cleff (who is, I should mention, the host) can find for me.”
“That is, then, your livelihood.”
“It is, my lord.”
“And what do you do for meals on the other two days?”
“My lord, I do what Kieron the Conqueror did upon the cliffs of Adrilankha.”
“That being?”
“I await the morrow.”
“Decidedly, you are a clever fellow, Mica, and not lacking in courage, to judge by your treatment of your attackers. But continue your story, for I must say that you interest me.”
“Well then,” said Mica, bowing, “today is the day upon which I am to work, and I was arriving with that in mind, when I saw those ill-favored persons whom you have so effectively put to flight.”
“And what were they doing?”
“My lord, they were standing grouped together outside the inn, speaking in low tones.”
“Well, and then?”
“As I approached, one of them pointed at me, and the others turned to observe me, and nodded. I had no knowledge of their intentions, yet something made me wary, for a I took a wide path around them. You perceive, my lord, that, as I am not a gentleman, I may avoid danger without dishonoring myself.”
“Yes, that is true. Go on.”
“Well, they walked over in a mass, my lords, and barred my way. One of them said, ‘Tell us, for we wish to know, what is your intention with regards to this public house?’
“I said, ‘My lord, I intend to enter, with the plan of working here in exchange for a meal.’
“‘What?’ cried the man, ‘you wish to enter this place?’
“‘If it is not displeasing to you,’ I said. ‘If you would rather I did not,’ I continued, ‘I will remain without.’
“‘Oh, no,’ they said, ‘we are happy that you intended to go in. We will even help you to do so by providing you with the means of gaining entry.’
“And, without another word, my lords, they took me and cast me through the window, with the results of which you are acquainted.”’
“Well then,” said Pel, “do you doubt that I am right? This was a snare that had been set for us, which we escaped only because our friend the Dzurlord knows how to use flash-stones, because we have with us a Dragonlord who hates injustice, and because this Teckla knows how to strike back.”
“I no longer doubt what you say,” said Aerich. “But who is it who so desperately wishes to stop us?”
“Why, whoever it was that attempted to convince Uttrik to kill Khaavren.”
“That being?”
“The same person who attempted to warn Khaavren away.”
“And that is?”
“I have no idea.”
“Unfortunate,” murmured Aerich.
“But,” added Tazendra, “we seem to have escaped.”
“And for that,” said Khaavren, “we have you to thank.”
“I especially, my lady,” said Mica to Tazendra, “thank you. And if there is anything I can do to aid you in anything, you need only ask; henceforth, I would lay down my life for you.”
Tazendra bowed, then, suddenly struck by a thought, said, “But, have you not said that you eat only three times a week?”
“Yes, my lady, but that is twice a week more than I ate before I gained this position.”
“But then, would you wish for a better position; one that will allow you to eat, not three times a week, but four times a day?”
Mica’s mouth seemed to water at the thought, and, to judge by the way his eyes lit up, he had no complaints to make of any plan with that as its object. He bowed to the Dzurlord and said, “My lady, that would suit my greatest wishes. Only tell me what I must do.”
“Well, first you must travel with me.”
“Travel with such a lady as you? Oh, that would be a fine thing.”
“Good.”
“But, what next?”
“Next, you must wear my livery.”
“Ah, to be dressed in the arms of a Dzurlord! Such happiness is beyond me. But, what else?”
“Well, after that, you must care for my horse.”
“I love horses, and have been caring for them all my life. What next?”
“You must learn to clean, polish, and sharpen my weapons.”
“I sharpen the knives for Master Cleff, as well as cleaning and polishing the silver that he keeps in case a prince should honor his house, which he has never used in two hundred years, but which must, nevertheless, be polished every week against the chance that his fortune changes.”
“You must help me to dress.”
“My grandmother on my mother’s side used to live with us when I was but a child, and she had the aryes so bad she could not dress herself, so I performed this service for her every day for three hundred years. What next?”
“You must bring food and wine for me and my friends when we require it, with the understanding that any scraps of meat or dregs of wine are yours.”
“It is just this I have been doing for Master Cleff for the last year; and he is a tolerably stern taskmaster. What next?”
“That is all.”
“Well, I do not conceal from you that it would bring me the greatest possible joy to hold this position.”
“Then, my dear Mica, it is yours.”
“But stay,” said Pel, frowning, “surely you are aware that it is no longer the fashion to have lackeys.”
“Blood!” said Tazendra, “That is true. I had not thought of it.”
Mica trembled as all of his hopes for the future collapsed. Uttrik felt great sympathy for him, since the Dragon had, after all just saved his life, but could think of nothing to do except to lean over and whisper in Khaavren’s ear, “We must do something.”
“Indeed?” said Khaavren. “Why?”
“Are you not moved to tears by the look on his face?”
“Well, but what can we do?”
“The Horse! You are a Tiassa; think of something.”
Khaavren had a reply ready for this: he was about to say, “You are a Dragon; kill someone,” when this thought led to another, which led to still another, and he finished by addressing Tazendra.
“My dear friend, attend m
e.”
“Well?”
“Suppose, upon wishing to enter this fine hostel, we had met with a gentleman who forbade you from entering. What would you do?”
“What would I do? Why, I should take my sword and separate his head from his body.”
“Good. But then, what if, when you are in the garden taking your morning exercises, someone should say, ‘Your activities offend me; I insist that you stop them.’ What then?”
“Oh, then, well, then, if I had not my sword with me, I should take a flash-stone and see how large a hole I could make in his body with it.”
“Good. But then, let us pretend that one day you are dining by yourself in the Longwood Arms hotel, and an individual should insist that he, rather than you, should have the table at which you are sitting, and which commands a view of the river?”
“Why, I think I should give him a better view of the river than he had asked for by sending him directly into it. But, good Khaavren, why all of these questions?”
“Because it seems to me that if you are unwilling to let individuals dictate your decisions for you, how is it you are willing to let such an abstract thing as fashion decide how you are to lead your life?”
“Well,” said Tazendra, “your words are full of truth. And I have changed my mind once more; Mica, you are my man.”
“Yes, my lady, and I shall only be happier than I am now on the day when you shall command me to be cut to pieces in your service.”
“I must say,” said Pel, “that I am also moved by these arguments; I no longer have any objections to make.” But, as he said this, he frowned. After a moment he whispered to Aerich, “Do you think my idea was right in regards to those brigands with whom we have just finished arguing?”
“Yes, my dear Pel, I have told you so.”
“Will you listen to my next idea?”
“You know, Cavalier, that I will listen to anything you have to say to me.”
“Well then, I do not trust a Teckla who fights too well.”
“So you think—?”
“That perhaps the entire purpose of this plan was to convince us to take along a spy in the person of this Mica.”
Aerich furrowed his brows at the word “spy,” then studied the countenance of the Teckla before him, and at last shook his head. “No, good Pel, I believe you are wrong in this. I have seen this man, and if I am any judge, and I nearly think I am, this is an honest man, though a Teckla.”
“Then you think we can trust him?”
“I think so.”
“Very well; I submit to your perspicacity.”
“Well then, let us be off, for I begin to tire of this house, however diverting the entertainments.”
It cost them three orbs to settle with Master Cleff, which amount would have been more except that they were willing to give him the despoiling of those who were left on his floor, which left him in a state of happiness only rivaled by Mica, who led the way out the door, stopping only to pick up the stool he had used in the melee, against the chance that, in this company, he should need it again, which proved that he was no fool.
They then went so far as to select the best of the horses left by the deceased brigands and gave it to Mica to use, whereupon Tazendra rendered this worthy even more happy, if it were possible, by saying, “Come along, Mica,” as the Guardsmen, augmented by one Dragonlord and a lackey, set off once more.
Chapter the Twentieth
In Which the Author Believes to see what Seodra Has been Up To
MEN HAVE INVENTED VARIOUS NAMES in which to measure distance, and have taken a certain pleasure in assigning units of one to the other, in the sense that it is so many inches to the span and so many spans to the league; or in converting one to the other, in the sense that a league in the Sorannah is almost two leagues within the ancient confines of Seawall, that is, within the barony that once held the city of Dragaera, and, at the time of which we have the honor to write, still held a portion of it; yet, for all of this measurement, it is understood by those who travel and by those who listen to travelers that the meaningful unit by which distance can be measured is time.
It is true, for example, that the distance from the Gate of the Darr to Ripple Point is scarcely a league, while it is a good thirty leagues from the Gate of Iron to Fosson’s Well, yet, because the latter is over level ground with a good road laid on it, while the former is nearly straight up a mountainside covered in loose and crumbling rock, we may in justice assert that each of these places lies the same distance from the heart of Dragaera City, that distance being about thirty hours, or a full day and a night.
Therefore, if we say that our friends had a distance of many days ahead of them, we hope our readers will be neither offended nor confused by the apparent embarrassment of measurements.
What followed the fight at the inn, then, was a measure of time spent riding, in a leisurely way, through the beautiful Ironwood Gap of the Boiling Mountains which, while pleasant enough to those who had the leisure to travel in this way, will have, we suspect, little enough interest for those who have chosen to come along on this journey in the capacity of observers. These observers, by which, be it clearly understood, we mean the readers of these pages, might well have enjoyed the beauty of the divers mountain streams that rushed in a hundred variations through the mountains, anxious to join together to form the northern Yendi River; and might also have appreciated the way the cool, gentle winds of the pass circulated over the traveler’s face; and would almost certainly have been pleased to see the explosion of red and gold from the Creeping Woods as it was spread out below Sorcerer’s Rock high in the pass; and could hardly have failed to enjoy the fragrance of the tunnis and the blossoms of the late-apple; but all of these treats are reserved for those among the readers who witnessed these things before Adron’s Disaster, some five hundred years after the events herein described, which took these sights, sounds, and smells away forever as it took the Palace, the city, and all those who dwelled therein. For the rest, such things are useless to describe; therefore we shall not take up our readers’ time with them, but pass on to events of more direct importance to the history we have the honor to relate.
We come, then, back to the city, some hours after the events at that hostel which was informally called Beed’n’s Inn. To be more specific, we will find ourselves in the Dragon Wing, in the lofty and spacious apartments of the Warlord, which are, as we peer at them from our invisible vantage point, occupied by Lytra, the Warlord, and an ill-favored gentleman who is distinguished both by a curious half-circle-shaped scar reaching from his right temple nearly to his lip, and by the fact that he is wearing the grey and black of House Jhereg.
“So,” said Lytra, “you failed; is that what you have to tell me, Fayaavik?”
“It is, Excellency,” said the Jhereg, showing no signs of embarrassment.
“Well then, tell me of the affair.”
“Excellency, my task was to prevent certain persons from continuing their journey, using any means possible.”
“Save killing them, Fayaavik.”
“Yes, lady, those were the orders. But that is unnecessary; I would no more countenance assassination than you would, Excellency.”
“I believe you entirely, Fayaavik,” said Lytra, in tones that indicated she believed him not at all. “Go on, then.”
“Excellency, I found a friend with whom I was on tolerably good terms—”
“In other words, he was indebted to you?”
“If you wish.”
“Very well, go on.”
“My friend—”
“Had he a name?”
Fayaavik gave a sign indicating that it didn’t matter. “My friend,” he continued, “found ten companions, and, by means of stratagem, attempted to convince a certain one of the travelers to expose herself without the others. We would then take this opportunity to make one of them unable to continue, and so on, until we had them all, or at least, the one for whom you expressed the most desire.”
“That seems to be a sound plan.”
“I am glad you think so. But in brief, Excellency, the stratagem failed and they escaped.”
“But how did it come to fail? That is what I wish to discover. You say there was your friend, and ten others. It seems to me that this makes eleven. The ambuscade was intended to defeat only four.”
“It is true that I was told that there would be four of them.”
“Well, that is the right number.”
“I beg to differ with you.”
“How so?”
“Because there were five of them.”
“Five, Fayaavik?”
“Truly, Excellency. And moreover the Teckla, quite outside of expectation, delivered a blow or two himself, which makes six.”
“But still, eleven against six, and one of them a Teckta—”
“Excellency, they had prepared themselves with flash-stones.”
“Ah. I hadn’t known they had such means.”
“The report I received is most explicit on the point.”
“But still, eleven against five. Were any of them wounded?”
“Of the enemy? No. My friend was killed, however, as were two of his companions. Three others were injured, more or less seriously.”
“Incredible,” muttered Lytra. Aloud she said, “But who was this fifth man?”
“That I cannot tell you.”
“How, cannot?”
“Because, having no knowledge of who you expected to be there, save the Tiassa whom you described, I have no knowledge of who was unexpected.”
“Well, one was a Dzurlord.”
“That I know, because it was she that my friend thought to separate from the rest, as a Dzur will invariably defend someone, right or wrong, if numbers are against him.”
“Still another was a Lyorn.”
“Yes, it was he who was about to command his comrades to discharge their flash-stones when the survivors made a retreat.”
“There was a Yendi.”
“I don’t deny it, but you know, my lord, that they are hard to identify. Still, there was one man who was described to me as small and handsome, very well dressed, of black hair, dark eyes, and wearing a cloak very similar to the uniform of the guards.”