by Steven Brust
However, while we are not choosing to show the reader what Morrolan saw on the streets of Blackchapel, we must, nevertheless, insist that Morrolan saw all of it. He spent hours on the streets, speaking with the injured, consoling the bereaved, and shaking his head over the damage to the village. It should not be necessary to make the observation that Morrolan, after living there for a hundred years, knew well all of those who had been killed or hurt; indeed, had known all of their families for many generations, and the tears and groans could not leave him unmoved.
When he returned at length to the chapel, Arra, upon seeing his countenance, involuntarily stepped back from him, for she had never seen him in this mood, nor had she realized that he was capable of such wrath as he now displayed, though still tightly contained. His eyes were lit with such a hate that, while it had been seen on a thousand thousand battlefields in the Empire, had, perhaps, never been seen before on this side of the Eastern Mountains. His hand had gripped the hilt of his sword. His teeth were clenched, and his words, when he spoke, were delivered in a low, even tone through lips that barely moved.
“Let us see, then. They killed and burned without stealing, and they were looking for me.”
“Yes.”
“Whence came they?”
“The northeast.”
Morrolan nodded. “Then that is where I will go and look for them.”
“How, look for them?”
“Yes.”
“Milord—”
“Well?”
“There were seventy or eighty of them. And, while our Circle now numbers considerably more, well, they are witches, not warriors.”
“I said nothing of taking the Circle.”
“How, you will attack seventy or eighty of them?”
“Why not?”
“With that number, they will probably kill you.”
“Perhaps.”
“And if that is what they came here to do, and failed, why gift them with exactly what they wanted?”
Morrolan frowned as Arra’s reasoning penetrated the rage that consumed him. “Well, there is something in what you say,” he admitted.
“I think so, too.”
“Only—”
“Yes?”
“They have burned and destroyed my village, and killed nine of my people.”
“Well, and?”
“I wish to kill them.”
“That is but natural. Perhaps—”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps the goddess will help.”
“You think so?”
“It is possible.”
“Has she spoken to you?”
“Not in a hundred years.”
“Well?”
“It can do no harm to ask.”
“That is true. Let us ask, then. What is required?”
“Very little.”
“Then let us attempt it.”
“Place your hands upon the altar.”
“Very well, I have done so.”
“Now close your eyes.”
“They are closed; what next?”
“Now you must think about the goddess.”
“How, think about her?”
“Yes.”
“But, what shall I think about her?”
“What you know about her.”
“But in truth, I know very little.”
“You have feelings for her.”
“Well, yes.”
“Concentrate on those.”
“It is difficult, Arra. I feel little now except anger.”
“You must do your best.”
“Very well.”
“Now you must visualize her.”
“Ah. Visualize her.”
“Yes. That means to picture her in your mind.”
“Oh, I know what it means well enough, only—”
“Yes?”
“What does she look like?”
“I assure you, I have not the least idea in the world.”
“Well, that will make it more difficult.”
“That is true, but you must do the best you can.”
“Very well.”
“Are you visualizing her?”
“As best I can.”
“That is good. Continue doing so.”
“What then?”
Arra did not respond; or, rather, her response was not to him. She began speaking in some language that Morrolan was unfamiliar with—indeed, a language he had never before heard pronounced. At the same time, he noticed that the altar seemed to be growing warm beneath his hands; he considered remarking to Arra upon this strange phenomenon, but then thought better of it.
He did his best to do as Arra had bid him, difficult as it was to concentrate when in his heart he wished for nothing except to confront his enemy and rend them. Nevertheless, he tried.
He created a picture of the goddess in his mind, thinking of her with flowing yellow hair, and bright eyes, dressed in a gown of shimmering white; at the same time he held to his feelings about her, those being composed of a measure of fear, a touch of awe, and even perhaps an element of love. In his mind—already trained, as it were, by his studies of the heathen Eastern arts, which teach discipline if nothing else—the droning of Arra’s voice gradually faded from his awareness. As sometimes happens in that state when one is no longer fully awake, and yet is not entirely asleep, his thoughts began to slip out of his control, and take almost the form of a dream. On this occasion, Morrolan did not afterward remember any details or events from the dream; only that it seemed to him that he left his body, and for a while he was aware of a presence all around him. He was also aware of time passing, though he could not tell how much; it could have been minutes, hours, or days. Arra continued her chant, or, if the reader prefer, her incantation, but Morrolan had ceased to be aware of it in the way that the noise of the chickering, however irritating when it begins, soon vanishes from one’s awareness so thoroughly that one is startled and even a little puzzled when it abruptly ceases.
We shall not, however, carry the analogy any further. The sound did not abruptly cease; rather, Morrolan gradually became aware that some time had passed. He then realized that Arra was no longer standing next to him, but, rather, had collapsed onto the floor next to him. Once fully aware of this occurrence, he lost no time in kneeling next to her. Or, to be more precise, he began to kneel next to her, but, for reasons he did not at once understand, he continued down until he was next to her indeed, on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling of the chapel. After some thought, he came to the conclusion that whatever he and Arra had done had been more exhausting that he had at first realized. He considered further and decided he would take some time before attempting to rise.
After a moment, he said, “Arra? Are you well?”
“Sword,” she said, which seemed to be a not entirely responsive answer.
“I beg your pardon,” he said after a moment, “but I fail to comprehend what you have done me the honor to tell me.”
“Sword,” she repeated.
“Well, I do have a sword,” he said. “Shall I draw it? I am not quite able to do so at this moment.”
Arra shook her head, tried to struggle to her feet, and failed. “Sword,” she said.
Morrolan would have shrugged, but he lacked the strength to do so, wherefore he decided to wait until either he was able to move, or matters became clearer.
Presently Arra stirred, and said, “My lord Morrolan, are you well?”
“Well enough. Did you speak with her?”
“Yes. She said you must have a sword.”
“Well, yes. If I am to attack these people, I must indeed. But, as it happens, I have a tolerably good one.”
“No, she means a particular sword.”
“Ah. That is different.”
“Entirely.”
Arra struggled to her feet, leaning upon the altar. Morrolan, not to be outdone, did the same, and soon they were, more or less, standing next to each other.
“Did
she say what it was about this sword that makes it special?”
“No.”
“Did she say anything about where to find it?”
“In fact, she did not.”
“Hmmm. That makes it more difficult, then.”
“Yes, I can see that it might.”
“Did she say anything that might help me to find it?”
“She said that, when the time came, it would find you.”
Morrolan thought about this for some few moments, then said, “This would require me to wait before acting against those who raided Blackchapel.”
“And?”
“You know, I think, that I am not of a disposition to enjoy waiting.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“I am at this moment less inclined to wait than I have ever before been in my life.”
“I know that, too, milord.”
“And, moreover—”
“Well?”
“If we do nothing, what is to stop them from returning?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“There is more the goddess told me.”
“I am listening.”
“We must leave Blackchapel.”
“How, leave?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“That is hard.”
“It is. But consider: we are not strong enough to fight them, and they know where we are.”
“Both of those statements are true,” admitted Morrolan.
“And moreover—”
“Yes?”
“The goddess has said so.”
“Well, that is a strong argument.”
“That is my opinion; I am gratified that it coincides with yours.”
“And our Circle?”
“What of them?”
“Will they be willing to leave Blackchapel?”
“If you lead, they will follow.”
“You think so?”
“I am convinced of it. Consider: You are their leader, who has brought them together, and they have all learned more of the Art from this, and share in the power we are gathering.”
“That is true.”
“And consider as well that, if they stay here, they will be subject to more depredations from jealous or frightened neighbors.”
“The Goddess! You are right about that, too!”
“Then, are you convinced?”
“Nearly.”
“Well?”
“There is something I wonder about.”
“And that is?”
“When we leave Blackchapel—”
“Yes, when we leave?”
“Where do we go?”
“Oh, as to that …”
“Yes?”
“I have not the least idea in the world, I assure you.”
“But then, we cannot set out without setting out in some direction; that is a natural law.”
“Oh, I do not quarrel with natural laws.”
“Then we must determine, if not a destination, then at least a direction.”
“Perhaps we will receive a sign.”
“You think we might?”
“It is possible.”
“Is the goddess known for giving signs?”
“She does sometimes, when it suits her purposes.”
“Well then, perhaps it will—what is that?”
“What is what?”
“I heard something.”
“What did you hear?”
“Something clattering, outside of the chapel.”
“Clattering?”
“And the sounds of horses’ hoofs.”
“Perhaps it is a coach.”
“Well, if there is a coach, perhaps there is a passenger.”
“That is not impossible.”
“Let us look.”
“Very well, let us do so; I believe that I am able to walk now.”
“As am I.”
“Then let us go outside.”
“Very well.”
Chapter the Seventh
How Morrolan Is Astonished
To Learn Something that the
Reader Has Known All Along
Having made the decision to determine the exact nature and cause of the sound outside of the temple, Morrolan and Arra stepped around the altar, and took what seemed to them to be a long walk to the doors. They stepped out and blinked their eyes in the sudden brightness.
“It is a coach,” said Arra.
“And a coachman,” said Morrolan. “Miska, is it not?”
“The same,” said Miska, as he climbed down.
“I am pleased to see you still among the living. I would have thought—”
“No, my good Dark Star. Priestesses of the Demon Goddess are immortal, elfs are long-lived, and coachmen—”
“Yes, what of coachmen?”
“We are eternal.”
“Very well, I accept that you are eternal. In any case, I am pleased to see you. I would offer you brandy, only it chances that I have none.”
Miska shrugged. “It chances that I have a flask of it, so I require no more at the moment.”
“That is well,” said Morrolan. “Tell me, what brings you here?”
“I am delivering a passenger.”
“A passenger?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“How did you acquire this passenger?”
“She was kind enough to buy me a flask of brandy, so I offered to bring her to where she should be.”
“Ah, and this is where she should be?”
Miska shrugged. “So it would seem, for I am here.”
“Is that how you know?”
“Assuredly. You must understand, my dear Sötétcsilleg, that when I set out upon a journey, I do not always know where I am going. But I always know when I have arrived, and, as I have said, I am here.”
“Well, that is true,” put in Arra, who had been following this conversation closely.
“Then,” said Morrolan, “let us meet this famous passenger.”
“You are about to,” said Miska.
“Then we await you,” said Morrolan.
Miska, having by now climbed down from his box, stepped up to the door, with its two windows, both of which were shuttered, and struck the door twice with the knuckles of his right hand, evidently as a signal or warning; after which he grasped the door handle and, with a practiced maneuver, turned it, which not only permitted him to open the door, but, at the same time as the door opened, caused a small stairway to descend from the coach to the ground. The coachman held out his hand, and another hand, this one covered in a green glove, took it delicately, after which appeared the arm connected to the glove, then a face, then neck and shoulders, until at length all of the mysterious passenger had appeared, set foot upon the stairway, and descended to the ground.
In addition to her gloves, which, as we have already said, were green, she wore a gown of the same color (with the addition of white trim) that fit very close, left bare her right shoulder, and, save for a few small ruffles, was without decoration. In addition to this, she had a white wrap of some sort of fur, and for jewelry she wore a pair of small, plain, gold ear-rings and a ring upon the fourth finger of her right hand in which three tiny rubies were set in silver. Her hair was rather dark than otherwise, and her face narrow and angular. Her figure, as could be clearly discerned from the tight fit of the gown, was quite slim; but what caught everyone’s attention at once was her height, which was nearly the equal of Morrolan’s, which height, as we said earlier, was such as to tower well over all the Easterners with whom he surrounded himself.
“My good Dark Star, and my dear Arra, I present to you the Lady Teldra.”
“It is a great pleasure to meet you all,” said the one called Teldra, “but, I must say that I am especially pleased to meet you, Lord Morrolan, as I had no idea I was to have the honor of meeting, here so far to the East, another such as I.”
Arra and Morrolan bowed, and Morrolan said, “Another such
as you? You must refer, then, to the fact that we are both exceptionally tall? Well, but permit me to say that your surpassing beauty commands my attention far more than the mere distance between your forehead and the ground upon which you do the honor to tread.”
This speech, as it happened, was remarkable in two ways: for one, it was the first time anyone had heard Morrolan assume such tones and manner; and, for another, it seemed to everyone present that Morrolan had overlooked something that, to them, seemed obvious—more than obvious, in fact, it seemed conspicuous.
Miska was the first to point it out, saying, “How, you think she made reference to her height, when she observed that you two have something in common?”
“Well, I had thought so. Do you refer to something else?”
“Entirely. Or, rather, we refer to a cause of which her height, and your own, is merely an effect.”
“Well, I am most anxious to hear about this cause.”
“How, you do not know it?”
“Know it? Why, I cannot so much as hazard a guess about it.”
“How, you cannot even guess?”
“I have said so.”
“And yet, I have trouble believing it.”
“Oh, you should believe it, and for two reasons: in the first place because I have said so, and in second place because it is true.”
“Well,” said Miska, “you begin to convince me that you really are unaware of what we are suggesting.”
“That is good. But there would be something better.”
“Oh, and what would be better?”
“If you would enlighten me. For I confess that I am entirely perplexed—so much so, that you might as well call me Erik.”
At this, Teldra in turn looked puzzled, but Miska gave a gesture indicating that it was not worth explaining. Arra, in the meantime, was staring at Morrolan with undisguised astonishment. The latter, observing her countenance, said, “What, you too?”
“My lord,” said Arra, “would you permit me to ask you a question?”
“If it will help me to comprehend, you may ask three.”
“This, then, is the question: Have you never wondered why it is you are so much taller than everyone around you?”
“Why, I had thought it rather a fluke, in much the same way that Kevin is so much fatter than everyone else, or that Lara has hair that is so much redder than everyone else’s.”