[Vlad Taltos 06] Athyra

by Steven Brust

  Savn shook his head. “But he’s never done anything to us.”

  Vlad’s eyebrows twitched. “Doesn’t he come by and pick the best portion of your crop, and take it for himself?”

  “Well of course, but that’s just—”

  “I don’t want to argue it,” said Vlad. “There’s no point in talking about all of the things you take as the natural order of life that I don’t think are. But that’s part of the answer to your question, which is just to ask questions of everyone, and of yourself. Try to identify the assumptions you make, and see if they stand up. Master Wag, you said, scoffs at witchcraft, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, why do you chant to drive fevers away? The incantations you use resemble witchcraft more than a little.”

  “Maybe they do,” said Savn. “But I know witchcraft works, so why shouldn’t the chanting?”

  “Sure,” said Vlad. “But how does Master Wag explain it?”

  “Well, it’s because the Fever Imps—”

  “How do you know there are Fever Imps at all?”

  “Because the chanting works.”

  “Fair enough. Why, then, do you also use herbs, and why go to such effort to keep me cool?”

  “You need all those things.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe the herbs would work by themselves. Maybe the chanting would work by itself. Maybe all I’d need is to be kept cool. How do you know?”

  “Well, I assume, since it’s been done that way for years—”

  “Don’t assume, find out.”

  “You mean, I can’t know anything until I’ve proven it for myself?”

  “Hmmm. No, not really. If someone learns something, and passes it on, you don’t have to go through everything he learned again.”

  “But, then—”

  “But you don’t have to accept it on faith, either.”

  “Then what do you do?”

  “You make certain you understand it; you understand it all the way to the bottom. And you test it. When you both understand why it is the way it is, and you’ve tried it out, then you can say you know it. Until then—”

  “But can you ever really understand something?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Savn fell silent. Eventually, Vlad cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid I haven’t helped you much.”

  Savn looked up at his odd face, with the thick black hair down in front of his ears and above his thin lip, more dark hair falling in waves inelegantly to his shoulders, with wrinkles of age on his forehead where none should yet be. Savn wondered how many people he had killed, and how rich he had become doing it, and why he had stopped.

  “No,” he said. “You’ve helped me a great deal.”

  Vlad gave a terse nod.

  Savn said, “Would you like to tell me what you’re going to do now?”

  “What, before I know whether you plan to help me or betray me?”

  “Haven’t you been asking me to trust you, in spite of all the reasons you’ve given me not to?”

  “I suppose I have,” said Vlad.

  “Well, then, why shouldn’t I ask you to trust me, in spite of those very same reasons?”

  Vlad looked at him for what seemed to be a long time. Never before had Savn wished so much to know what someone’s thoughts were; he was very much aware of the two jhereg, sitting patiently at Vlad’s side, with their poison fangs barely concealed by their reptilian jaws. Then, abruptly, Vlad laughed. “Well taken. I can’t argue, so I concede. But what about you?” he added, looking at Polyi.

  She stared back at him, then turned to Savn. “Whatever you do, I’ll go along with it.”

  “Are you sure?” said Savn.

  “Yes.”

  Savn turned back to Vlad. “Well?” The Easterner nodded. “If you follow the waterway, you’ll find it seems to run into a wall. If you go under the wall, it splits into several streams, none of which has much water, and all of which end in identical walls that look natural. Some of these—four, as far as I can tell—actually lead into the basement of the manor house. They are probably sorcerously controlled.”

  “Can you get past them?”

  “Yes, given enough time.”

  “How?”

  “You mostly wear your way through with diligence, patience, and a chisel.”

  “Can’t you knock it down with sorcery?”

  “Not without alerting him; he’s very good.”

  “Then why can’t he find you?”

  “Because I’m very well protected against being found.”

  “So is that what you’re going to do? Break through the wall and ... and murder him?”

  “Not a chance. He may be expecting me to do that, he may not, but he’ll certainly be guarding against it. I might, however, make him think that’s what I’m doing. It’s the obvious way in.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’ve got a few things going for me, but I haven’t figured out how to make them work.”

  “What things?”

  “The assassin. He’s not getting along with Loraan at all.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he’s been there for more than a week, and Loraan made that attack on me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Jhereg,” said Vlad, looking straight at Savn, “want me to be killed with a Morganti weapon. Loraan’s attacks were not bluffs—he tried to kill me and almost succeeded. He—”

  “Wait a minute. Attacks?”

  “Yes. There have been two so far.”

  “I only know of the one at Tem’s house.”

  “The other happened the day before. I got careless and allowed myself to be seen too close to his manor house, and he made a sorcerous attack on me.”

  “And it failed?”

  “I have,” said Vlad, “a few tricks up my sleeve. I was really sloppy in staying at Tem’s house long enough for them to find me. My only excuse is that it’s been some years now since I’ve had to worry about that sort of thing. In any case, neither attack would have been Morganti; neither would have satisfied the Jhereg. So my conclusion is that Loraan is just barely cooperating with them, and they are just barely cooperating with him. They need each other, because this is Loraan’s area and because the Jhereg have the expert assassins. But neither of them like it. That’s what I hope to use. I’m not certain how to go about it, though.”

  “I see,” said Savn. “Have I answered your questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, do you care to tell me what you’re going to do?”

  “I won’t turn you in,” said Savn. That seemed to satisfy Vlad, who closed his eyes and breathed deeply, leaning against the wall. “You tire easily, don’t you?”

  “I think,” he said, “that I’ll be able to begin healing myself in a day or two. After that, it shouldn’t be long.”

  “So the idea is to keep you safe for two days.”

  “More or less. Less, I hope.”

  “Do you think this place is secure?” Vlad frowned, then looked at the jhereg, who rose and flew out of the cave. “Maybe,” said Vlad. “But, in any case, we will now be warned of anyone approaching, so, as long as they don’t put a teleport block up over the entire area, I’ll have a chance to get out.”

  “A what over the area?”

  “Never mind. Loraan would either have to know exactly where I was, or be willing to use a great deal of power to cover the entire area.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Skip it. I’m saying that whatever happens, at least we’ll be warned.”

  Savn stared at the place where the jhereg had disappeared into the narrow corridor that accompanied the subterranean stream. “Yes,” he said. “At least we’ll be warned.”

  * * *

  Savn and Polyi cleaned up the cooking pot, which Savn put back into the bag. He carefully wrapped the good kitchen knife. They assisted Vlad once more to get t
o his blankets; he needed less help than he had before.

  It didn’t seem to matter that outside the cave, which was already beginning to feel like another world, it was early afternoon; Polyi claimed to be tired, and so lay down among her furs, and soon began to breathe evenly. Savn lit fresh torches and tidied up the area. Was it Endweek again? If he were at home, would he be cleaning? What would Mae and Pae say when they saw him again? Were they really worried?

  Could he trust anything Vlad said?

  While Vlad and Polyi slept, Savn thought over all that Vlad had told him. What if the herbs were unnecessary to combat fever, and they’d just been used from the custom of years uncounted? What if any custom could be wrong? What if His Lordship was undead?

  He considered truth and knowledge and trust, and responsibility, until they whirled around in his head empty of meanings, only occasionally coming to light on some real example of deceit, ignorance, betrayal, or neglect, which would give him some hint of understanding before vanishing once more into the whirlpool of half-understood platitudes and questionable wisdom.

  He kept returning to one phrase the Easterner had let fall: “Don’t assume, find out.”

  He thought about this very carefully, feeling the truth in the phrase, and asking himself if he was trusting the Easterner, or logic.

  Even after he’d decided, he hesitated for some time before taking the obvious next step.

  Savn stood at the Curving Stone for a long time, staring down the road that led to the door of His Lordship’s manor house, which was itself out of sight behind a curve in the road. A score of years before, he and his friends had played on the grounds, hidden from all the glass windows except the one in the highest dormer, enjoying the feeling of danger, though safe in the knowledge that the manor house was empty.

  Now His Lordship was in residence, and now Savn, though he wasn’t certain what he was doing, was not playing. He walked on the road as if he belonged there, step by step, as if he were himself a visiting noble, although he had heard that these people teleported instead of walking, even when they only needed to go ten or twenty miles.

  The manor house came in sight—a wide, tall building, full of sharp angles. In the years since he had seen it up close, he’d forgotten how big it was, or else decided it was only the exaggeration of a child’s memory. Now he stared, remembering, taken again with the feeling that the magnificence of the house must reflect the power of he who dwelled within.

  The roof looked like the edge of a scythe, with dormers on either side like wisps of straw. The brick of the house itself was pale green, and high on the front wall were wide windows made of glass—Savn could even see light creeping around the edges of the curtains inside. He strained his eyes, looking for movement. He looked for and eventually found the gully he had daringly played in so many years ago, as close to the house as one could get without being seen. There were glass windows on that side, too, but he remembered quite clearly that if you kept your head down you were only visible from the one lonely window high on the side.

  Oddly enough, it was only then, looking at all the windows, that he realized it was becoming dark, and was surprised once more by how fast time went by in the cave. At that moment, more light began to glow around the far side of the house. He stopped where he was, and soon a servant appeared from around that side. Savn watched as the servant walked around the house using a long match to light lamps that were stuck onto the house at various points. When he was finished, the entire house was lit up as if it were burning.

  When the servant was gone, Savn watched the house a little longer, then resumed his walk along the road, directly toward the house, and up to the large front door. He felt very much as he imagined a soldier would feel marching into battle, but this was another thought he didn’t care to examine closely.

  He stood before the door and stared at it. It seemed like such a plain door to be part of His Lordship’s manor house—just wood, and it opened and closed like any other door, although, to be sure, it had a brass handle that looked too complicated for Savn to operate. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them, and clapped.

  Nothing happened.

  He waited for what seemed like several hours, although in fact it was hardly more than a minute. Still, he felt his courage slipping away. He tapped his foot, then stopped, afraid someone would see.

  Why didn’t someone come to the door?

  Because he couldn’t be heard, of course; the door was too thick.

  Well, then, how was someone supposed to get the attention of His Lordship’s servants?

  He looked around, and eventually saw a long rope hanging down in front of the door. Without giving himself time to think, he gave it one long, hard pull, and almost screeched when he heard, from inside, a rattling sound as if several sticks or logs were rolling against each other.

  His heart, which had been beating fast for some time, began to pound in earnest. He was, in fact, on the point of turning and bolting, when the door opened and he found himself looking up at a slight, sharp-featured man in the livery of Baron Smallcliff. After a moment, Savn recognized him as someone called Turi, one of His Lordship’s servants who occasionally came into town for supplies. Come to think of it, Turi had been doing so ever since Reins had quit—

  He broke off the thought, and at the same time realized he was staring. He started to speak but had to clear his throat.

  “Well?” said the servant, frowning sternly.

  Savn managed to squeak out, “Your pardon, sir.”

  “Mmmmph.”

  Savn took a breath. “May I request an audience with His Lordship? My name is Savn, and I’m the son of Cwelli and Olani, and I—”

  “What do you want to see His Lordship about, boy?” said Turi, now looking impassive and impenetrable.

  “If it please His Lordship, about the Easterner.”

  Turi slowly tilted his head like a confused dog, and simultaneously raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have information for His Lordship?”

  “I ... that is—”

  “Well, come in and I will see if His Lordship is available. Your name, you said, is Savn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are a peasant?”

  “I’m apprenticed,” he said.

  “To whom?”

  “To Master Wag, the physicker.”

  At this Turi’s eyes grew very wide, and for a moment he seemed at a loss for words. Then he said, “Come in, come in, by all means.”

  The inside of the house was even more magnificent than the outside, especially when it became clear to Savn that the room he stood in—which contained nothing but some hooks on the wall and another door opposite the one he’d come in—existed for no other purpose than as a place for people to wait and to hang up their cloaks.

  “Wait here,” said the servant.

  “Yes, sir,” said Savn as Turi went through the inner door, closing it behind him.

  He stared awestruck at the fine, dark, polished wood, realizing that this one, unfurnished room must have cost His Lordship more than Savn’s entire house was worth. He was studying the elaborate carved brass handle on the inner door, trying to decide if there was a recognizable shape to it, when it turned and the door opened. He braced himself to face His Lordship, then relaxed when he saw it was Turi again.

  “This way, boy,” said the servant.

  “Yes, sir,” said Savn, and, though his knees felt weak, he followed Turi into a place of splendor greater than his mind could grasp. The walls seemed to shimmer, and were adorned with richly colored paintings. The furniture was huge and came in amazing variations, and Savn couldn’t imagine sitting on any of it. Bright light filled every corner of the room, glittering against objects of incomprehensible purpose, made of crystal, shiny metal, and ceramics that had been glazed with some unfathomable technique that made the blues and reds as deep and rich as the soil.

  “Watch your step,” s
aid Turi sharply.

  Savn caught himself just before walking into a low table that seemed made entirely of glass. He continued more carefully, while still looking around, and it suddenly came to him that some of the crystal and metal objects were drinking vessels. He didn’t think he’d be able to drink from such objects—his hand would be shaking too much.

  The shape and color of his surroundings changed. He had somehow entered another room, which might as well have been another world for all the sense he could make of anything around him, until he realized that every one of the objects that filled the room were books—different books—more books than a man could read in his entire lifetime—more books than Savn had thought had ever been written. There were hundreds and hundreds of them. These were cases that had obviously been made just to hold them. There were tables on which they lay, carelessly flung open to—

  His gaze suddenly fell on a figure standing before him, dressed in a gleaming white shirt, which set off a bright red jewel suspended from a chain around his neck. The pants were also perfectly white, and baggy, falling all the way to the floor so that the figure’s feet were invisible. Savn looked at his face, then looked away, terrified. On the one hand, though he was big, it seemed odd to Savn how human he looked; the thought, He’s just a man, after all, came unbidden to his mind. But even as Savn was thinking this, he discovered that he had fallen to his knees and was touching his head to the floor, as if in response to something so deeply buried within him that it went beyond awareness or decision. As Savn knelt there, confounded and humbled, with the image of the Athyra nobleman burned into his mind, it struck him that His Lordship had seemed very pale. Unnaturally pale.

  Savn tried not to think about what this might mean. When His Lordship spoke, it was with an assurance that made Savn realize that Speaker, with all his shouting, raving, and fits of temper, had only pretended to have authority—that real audiority was something stamped into someone from birth or not at all. He wondered what Vlad would say about that.