The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  “I see that you were not.”

  “Well, but what would you expect me to say when surrounded by brigands about to rob me?”

  “I do not deny the extreme justice in what you say, only—”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you not afraid that we will now rob you?”

  Orlaan walked over and carefully removed the norska from over the fire. Holding the spit with her left hand, she made a careless gesture with her right, and, in an instant, the flames leapt up thirty or thirty-five feet. Wadre and the others in his band recoiled. The very top of the flame seemed at first to dance and sway and even lean over, as if to touch first one of the brigands, and then another, all in response to the pointing of the forefinger of Orlaan’s right hand, although in fact none of them were actually touched. After a moment, she pointed down, and the flames receded. After giving the norska a slow, careful inspection, Orlaan then put the spit back on the fire, and turned to Wadre.

  “No, I am not afraid,” she said.

  “Just so,” said the road agent.

  He turned to his lieutenant, Mora, and said, “I am sufficiently convinced. Are you?”

  “Entirely,” said Mora.

  “And the others?”

  “I believe I speak for all of them, Captain.”

  Wadre turned back to Orlaan. “On reflection, we have determined that, in point of fact, we have no business to transact with you. We therefore wish you a good—”

  “But,” said Orlaan, “it may be that I have business to transact with you.”

  Wadre shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Well, if you have something to say, I give you my word of honor I would never be so lacking in courtesy as to leave without giving you a chance to say it.”

  “That is good. Then you will listen?”

  “I assure you, I will do nothing else while you do me the honor to speak to me.”

  “That is best. But perhaps you could listen better were my mouth at the same height as your ears.”

  “There is something in what you tell me. Would you like the use of a horse?”

  “Perhaps it would be easier for you to dismount than for me to mount.”

  “Just as you say,” said Wadre, and, endeavoring not to appear nervous, climbed down from the saddle. He turned to the other brigands and said, “Stand easy, my friends. I will have conversation with this lady, and then, well, then we will be on our way. In the meantime, keep a lookout, so that our conversation will not be disturbed.”

  “That was well done,” said Orlaan.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “Then I am satisfied.”

  “Come, sit next to me.”

  “Very well, you see that I am sitting.”

  “And are you listening?”

  “With all of my attention.”

  “Then I will tell you a story.”

  “I like stories, if they are good ones.”

  “I think mine is a good one.”

  “I will listen, and judge.”

  “I can ask for no more.”

  “Begin, then.”

  “Years and years ago, I was in Dragaera City.”

  “I presume this was before Adron’s Disaster?”

  “That is natural, as there was no Dragaera City after it.”

  “That is true.”

  “As it happens, however, it was only just before it; that is, within minutes of the Disaster itself.”

  “Then you had a narrow escape?”

  “The narrowest.”

  “Very well. I enjoy hearing about narrow escapes.”

  “Oh, it was narrow, and not only because of my proximity to the city, but also because I was attacked.”

  “How, attacked?”

  “Viciously.”

  “By whom?”

  “By a set of scoundrels whom I was only barely able to escape, and who, in fact, murdered my father before my eyes.”

  “The trey! Did you kill them?”

  “There were four of them, and only one of me. I was barely able to escape.”

  “The cowards!”

  “Yes, they were certainly cowards.”

  “Did they die in the city?”

  “Not in the least. They are still alive.”

  “What, to this day?”

  “To this day.”

  “But, do you know where they are?”

  “Some of them. I hope to learn about the rest.”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  “And moreover, one of them has a son, and I do know where he is.”

  “The son?”

  “Yes. And from him, I can certainly learn where his father is. And to kill the scoundrel’s son seems fitting revenge for the murder of my father.”

  “Well, I don’t say that it isn’t.”

  “So I shall kill the son, and then I shall hunt down and kill the other four.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you like my story?”

  “It is full of pathos.”

  “Well, but there is a reason I told you of it.”

  “I had suspected this might be the case, madam.”

  “Your suspicions are well founded.”

  “Are they? It pleases me to hear you say so, madam, for I take a certain pride in my suspicions.”

  “Have you, then, any more suspicions?”

  “Oh, many. For example, I suspect—”

  “Yes, you suspect?”

  “I suspect that you wish our aid in hunting down and killing these people.”

  “There! You see? Once again you have proven yourself clever in the matter of suspicions.”

  “Then I am right?”

  “Entirely. And the proof is, I am about to make you an offer for your help.”

  “I am always glad to listen to an offer, madam.”

  “This is it, then. If you give me your loyalty, and aid me in my endeavors, I will see to it that you become both wealthy and powerful.”

  “Well, I have no objections to wealth and power.”

  “Do you not? That falls out well, then.”

  “Yes, that is my opinion.”

  “Then you accept?”

  “I do not say that I decline, and yet”

  “You hesitate?”

  “I must consider.”

  “Oh, I have nothing against considering.”

  “That is good.”

  “But tell me what you consider. It is possible I can help in your considerations.”

  “Well, I am considering how much wealth and power we might expect, in comparison to the amount of danger involved.”

  “You think there will be danger?”

  “I would suspect, madam—”

  “Ah!” You are suspecting again!”

  “—that were there no danger, you would need no help.”

  “I don’t deny what you say.”

  “And then?”

  “Should I succeed, I can promise you more wealth than you have dreamed of, and, I think, sufficient power.”

  “You say, should you succeed.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if you fail?”

  She shrugged. “Should I fail, I do not think you will be concerned with wealth.”

  “I understand.”

  “Have you any more questions?”

  “You say that you can find these people?”

  “I will find them.”

  “I do not doubt you.”

  “Have you any other questions, my good brigand?”

  “Only one.”

  “And that is?”

  “Are any of those you seek by any chance the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain?”

  “Sethra Lavode? Not the least in the world.”

  “In that case—”

  “Yes? In that case?”

  “I agree to your proposal.”

  “And the rest of your band?”

  “They follow me.”

  “Very well, then. We have an arrangemen
t.”

  “A mutually beneficial arrangement, I hope.”

  “Yes, let us hope so.”

  Chapter the Twenty-First

  How Aerich Required a Plan

  And Was Confident That Pel

  Could Supply One

  With these negotiations concluded, we hope the reader will permit us to turn our attention elsewhere; for if the reader has lost track of our old friend Pel, rest assured that the author has not. Indeed, we should long ago have caught up with him had he, in fact, done anything worthy of note; yet, as he had not, we chose not to waste the reader’s time by describing his travels until he reached a destination worthy of our observation. That he has now done so will be obvious to the astute reader, wherefore we will endeavor at once to give him the attention he merits.

  As we look, then, he is riding through a stone archway which our readers may remember as the entrance to Brachington’s Moor, the home of our old friend Aerich. He came, that is, past the tall hedge which surrounded the estate and so onto the grounds, following the curves of the road past the pond and the garden toward the door. On this occasion, Fawnd was informed by one of the staff of the approach of a visitor, and looking out of an upper-story window, recognized him at once, whereupon he lost no time in informing his master. The reader may be good enough to remember that Fawnd was a servant of Aerich who had, on one occasion at least, taken the role of lackey and acquitted himself well enough, and even had the honor to play an important part in helping certain of Khaavren’s household to escape Dragaera just before the city erupted into violence and destruction. Since then, age had come upon him, giving him a slight bend in the middle, adding lines to his face, and slowing his movements; yet he remained Aerich’s servant, and in this capacity, all unknowing, he had acquired a grace quite rare among Teckla.

  Thanks to this most efficient servant, before Pel had so much as dismounted from his horse, there were already stable-boys rushing to hold his stirrup and tend to his mount, and the door to the manor had already opened, and Aerich was standing in the doorway to greet his guest. Unlike Fawnd, Aerich was not in the least bent or weathered by the years; he stood straight and graceful, his dark curls falling over a dressing gown of red silk embroidered with gold thread, and his face, though certainly showing lines of age and care, shone with nobility; to those who saw him for the first time, it was as if one of the ancient warriors from the youth of the Empire had returned and now stood before them: a figure clothed in dignity, calm as Watcher’s Lake and wise as a Discreet.

  In many ways, we should note, Aerich had been lucky: there were no large cities near him, and so the plagues had all but missed his district, and the duchy of Arylle was not in the path of any invaders, nor was there a great deal of wealth to be gained from it. To be sure, he had been forced to take steps against the growing numbers of brigands, but even in this regard his domain had escaped the worst of the infestations; Arylle was, then, almost an island of civilization in a sea of barbarity, and at the center of that island sat Aerich: vigilant, careful, learned, and dignified; a representative, as it were, of a world long passed away.

  Pel smiled warmly upon seeing his old friend—an expression, we should add, to which his countenance was not accustomed. For his part, Aerich came forward to embrace him.

  “My dear Galstan!” he said. “What a joy this is!”

  “Galstan!” he cried. “Bah, what is this? To you, I am always Pel, I hope.”

  “Pel it is, then. Come, come inside, my friend. However urgent the business that brought you here, you will have a glass of wine and give me some of your company.”

  Pel took Aerich’s arm and said, “How, you pretend I am here on business?”

  Aerich chuckled. “I do not expect the dragon to form an alliance with the dzur, I do not expect the jhereg to pass up untended carrion, and I do not expect my friend Pel to be without plots and conspiracies.”

  “Oh, my friend—”

  “No, no. If you do not wish to tell me, well, I have no need to know. But do not try to convince me that you are paying this visit with nothing in mind but to pass a few pleasant hours or days in the company of an old friend.”

  Pel chuckled as they crossed the threshold into the manner. “No, you are right, as always, my friend. I am here for a purpose.”

  “Good. You tell the truth, then. But wine first, and a toast to our absent friends.”

  “I agree to this plan.”

  They entered the sitting room, where Fawnd had already prepared glasses and a decanter. When they each had a glass, they lifted them, and Aerich said, “To Khaavren and Tazendra.”

  “To Tazendra and Khaavren,” said Pel. “Ah. I perceive you have not lost your taste for the Ailor wine.”

  Aerich smiled. “For once, you are wrong, my friend.”

  “Bah! Wrong?”

  “This is my own wine we are drinking.”

  “What? Your own?”

  “Yes. Of course, the Master Winemaker I hired is a certain Corniff, who is from—”

  “Ailor, of course. Well, I should expect nothing less of you.”

  Aerich bowed to acknowledge the compliment, and said, “Have you met Khaavren’s son?”

  “No, I have not had that honor.”

  “Nor I. Yet I hear that he is a fine boy.”

  “And I have heard the same.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, the next generation is gathering. You and I seem not to have done our part, my friend.”

  Aerich chuckled. “That is true; I am unmarried, nor have I any prospects. But what of you?”

  Pel shook his head. “I, my friend, am not the problem today.”

  Aerich gave a small smile and said, “There is, then, a problem?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid there is, and it is not a question of joking.”

  “Well, then let us speak of it. What is this problem?”

  “Our friend Khaavren.”

  “Ah!”

  “You say, ‘ah.’”

  “Well?”

  “I know what it means when you say that.”

  “And so?”

  “And so, you knew there was a problem with him?”

  “I have suspected it from what our friend omits from his letters.”

  Pel nodded. “I have just been to visit him.”

  “And?”

  “He is a broken man, Aerich.”

  The Lyorn shook his head. “It is as I feared.”

  “We must do something.”

  Aerich glanced up sharply. “Is that what brings you here?”

  “Yes and no, my friend. I have business in this region, it is true, but only the business of passing through it on my way to another place where I am engaged in certain works of charity. It was the thought of Khaavren that led me to stop here.”

  Aerich nodded. “I believe you, my friend.”

  “And then? Can you go to him?”

  Aerich shook his head. “I had thought about it, and several times I very nearly went, but—”

  “Yes? But?”

  “I do not believe it would help him.”

  “How so?”

  “To see me, my friend, would remind him of the best times of his life, and how they are gone now. It would drive him deeper, no matter what I said.”

  Pel sighed. “I am afraid you are right. And yet, we must do something. We cannot leave him in that condition.”

  “That is true, but what?”

  Aerich shook his head. “If I knew, believe me I should have done it already. We need an idea, and our friend with the ideas is no longer with us.”

  “Perhaps,” said Pel, “we should find another Tiassa to inspire us.”

  “Yes,” said Aerich, suddenly struck by an idea. “Perhaps we should.”

  “Bah. I was jesting, my friend.”

  “I was not,” said the Lyorn.

  “What, you think we should find another Tiassa?”

  “Yes, of a particular sort.”

  “I’m afraid that
I don’t understand.”

  “Well, then I will explain.”

  “Do so, I am listening.”

  Aerich explained while Pel listened carefully. When the Lyorn had finished, he said, “Come, what do you think of my plan?”

  “I believe, my friend, that there is some merit in it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes, only—”

  “Well?”

  “How will you convince this Tiassa to do what you wish?”

  “In fact, my dear Pel, I have a plan for that, too.”

  “I should be most happy to hear this plan.”

  “This is it: I will have you do it.”

  “How, me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You pretend that I can convince him?”

  “I do not know if you can convince him, Pel, but I am certain you can arrange for him to do as we wish, one way or another. He lives within a day’s easy ride, and you always have means of communication at your disposal. I do not know how you will arrange it, but I am certain you can do so.”

  Pel considered this for some few moments, then said, “My friend, I believe that I have thought of a way.”

  “That does not astonish me.”

  “Would you like to hear it?”

  “No, I think I would rather not. I have no need, for I have implicit faith in you.”

  Pel chuckled. “Very well. I will proceed to make the arrangements, and then—”

  “Yes?”

  “Then I must be about the charity work that brought me to this district.”

  “I recognize you so well in that, my friend!”

  “Well, we are what we are.”

  “Your argument, my dear Galstan, is irrefutable.”

  “Bah. How often must I remind you that to you, I am always Pel?”

  “I have not forgotten; I merely remind you that I know well that there are more sides to you than one.”

  “My friend,” said Pel, “do I perceive a hint of criticism?”

  Aerich shook his head. “Not the least in the world. You cannot be other than what you are, and I love you for all our shared pain and glories and would not change you if I could. But you must forgive me, as well, if I cannot help but let you know I am not deceived.”

  The Yendi smiled. “You can no more help being you than I can help being me.”

  “Then let us drink, this time, to ourselves.”

  “I agree.”