The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  Your Majesty, I feel it vital to learn what this project is as soon as possible and will therefore be engaged in this task. Your Majesty may be assured that I will communicate as soon as possible, and that until then I remain Your Majesty’s obedient servant, Galstan.

  The district in which the posting house was located, a part of the county of Southmoor, was characterized by its proximity to the home of Sethra Lavode; that is, to the peasantry, every aspect of life was defined by the mountain and the Enchantress. In addition to certain sorghums, the region produced sugarcane, groundnuts, and wetcorn, as well as an endless crop of legends, myths, stretchers, and outright lies. It should hardly surprise the reader to learn that the life of the region was overshadowed—literally and figuratively—by the omnipresent peak. It has been said by a noted historian2 that every superstition found anywhere in the world eventually ended up in the counties south of Arylle, where they were all fervently believed, whether they contradicted one another or not.

  A stranger would find himself regarded with the highest suspicion; but were the stranger a clever Yendi such as Pel, he would find few peoples more subject to the particular machinations at which he was so skilled. For this reason, then, we can find him at this same house after merely a week or six days, and it should come as no surprise that in this time he has learned of whom to ask questions, and where to place inquiries, and, availing himself of these matters, has had a watch set upon Dzur Mountain itself.

  He has learned, then, of all the significant comings and goings, and these, in turn, have led him to make other inquiries, for which he finds himself required to wait.

  His waiting ended one day, as we have said, something like a week after his visit to the Enchantress. On this day there came a clap outside of his room. Upon his command, the curtain was moved aside, and there entered a Teckla of five hundred or five hundred and fifty years, who bowed to him as to one of exceedingly high rank, a salute to which Pel responded as if it were his due.

  “What is it, Tem?” asked the Yendi.

  “My lord, word has come back from my cousin.”

  “Ah!” said Pel. “Well, it has been a long wait.”

  “My lord, you have my deepest apologies for that.”

  “Well, it is all the same, if the information is reliable.”

  “Oh, as to that—”

  “Well?”

  “I assure Your Lordship I would stake my life upon it.”

  “Not only would you, my dear Tem, but you are doing so. With this in mind, let us hear what your cousin has learned.”

  “My lord, a large tribe of Easterners has crossed the mountain.”

  “Well, what of it? There have been many.”

  “Yes, my lord. But this is larger than most. Several hundred at the least.”

  “Well, but you perceive, this still does not interest me. What is it about this tribe that is remarkable?”

  “They have come, my lord, from the passes of Mount Bli’aard.”

  “Have they indeed? Well, but there are many Easterners beyond this pass.”

  “And the Easterners spoke of a band of humans they passed.”

  “Humans?”

  “Exactly. And they were able to describe them remarkably well.”

  “Then let us hear these famous descriptions.”

  “Two women and four men, all mounted, plus a pack animal. One of the women carried a large sword strapped across her back, and one of the men wore blue and white, whereas the two who always rode in back were dressed in yellow and brown.”

  “Very well, then, I agree, that is our quarry.”

  “That was my cousin’s opinion, my lord.”

  “When were they seen?”

  “Three days ago, if Your Lordship pleases.”

  “How, three days ago?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Impossible!”

  “My lord?”

  “Consider, Mount Bli’aard is five hundred leagues from here if it’s a mile. How could word reach us so quickly?”

  “Oh, as to that—”

  “Well?”

  “I cannot say, my lord?”

  “How, you cannot say?”

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “Sorry!”

  “That is to say, I regret—”

  “You know, but will not tell me?”

  “I regret to inform Your Lordship—”

  “This is insupportable.”

  We should say that Tem was, by now, noticeably trembling, and to such a degree that Pel became, rather than angry, curious about who or what could have made such an impression on the Teckla that he refused to answer the Yendi’s question. With unusual directness, then, Pel asked, “But, why can you not say?”

  “My lord, I have taken an oath.”

  “How, an oath?”

  “Yes, Your Lordship, and a most binding oath.”

  “But to whom have you taken this oath?”

  “Your Lordship must understand that to answer that question would violate the oath quite as much, and in the same way, as answering the question Your Lordship has already done me the honor to ask.”

  Pel frowned, and was suddenly struck by an idea. He said, “Tell me, my dear Teckla, if you have not heard of something called the ‘wire,’ which consists of many persons of your House, all of whom have eyes and ears, and all of whom are paid certain moneys to use these eyes and ears, and to relay messages as quickly as possible.”

  Tem’s mouth came open, and he said, “Your Lordship knows of the wire?”

  In answer, Pel smiled, and, reaching under his cloak, pulled forth a certain signet, which he showed to the astounded Teckla, who at once dropped upon his knees and said, “I should have known, my lord.”

  “Not at all. You have done well, and said no more than you should.”

  Tem bowed profoundly. Pel, now that he understood that the information had come through the very network that he, himself, had set up, returned to considering the information itself.

  “And so,” he mused aloud, “they have gone to Mount Bli’aard? Toward Redface, perhaps, or—”

  “No, my lord.”

  “How, they have not gone to Redface?”

  “They have not gone to Mount Bli’aard.”

  “And yet, did you not just tell they were seen there?”

  “They were seen there, but they did not travel to the mountain, my lord.”

  “But then, where did they go?”

  “North, my lord.”

  “North? North from Mount Bli’aard?”

  Tem bowed his assent.

  Pel frowned. “But north of Mount Bli’aard there is nothing except …” His voice trailed off as he considered. After a moment he said, “Could there possibly have been a corpse with them?”

  “How, a corpse?”

  “Yes, a corpse. A dead body.”

  “I am convinced there was not, Lordship.”

  “That is very interesting indeed, Tem.”

  The Teckla bowed.

  Pel was silent for a long time, considering everything he knew, all that he suspected, and much that he guessed, and at last he said, “Have the host prepare my bill, then return and assist me to pack. I will require my horse to be prepared as well. I will be leaving tonight.”

  “Yes, my lord. And may I be permitted to hope Your Lordship will return someday?”

  “Yes,” said Pel. “You may hope.”

  As for what Pel intended to do, as this does not enter our story for some time yet, we must, regretfully, delay the revelation until a more appropriate moment. For now, we will return once more to the point in time when Orlaan was asking herself where Piro and his friends were going; yet it is not Orlaan on whom we look, nor is it our friend the Viscount, but, instead, we will observe a place many long miles to the west and south where, sitting on the ground in another campsite, Ibronka asked Röaana, “Is that not the ocean-sea I am smelling?”

  “As to that,” said Röaana, “I believe it may very well
be. Or, at any rate, if it is not, well, I am imagining the same thing.”

  “Then, if we can smell the sea, we must be nearing the coast.”

  “That is my opinion as well.”

  “And, moreover—”

  “How, there is more?”

  “Nearly. Moreover, when we reach the coast—”

  “Yes?”

  “We say farewell to the caravan of handsome Dragonlords.”

  “Ah!”

  “You say, ‘ah’?”

  “Yes, my dear Ibronka.”

  “But what do you mean?”

  “I mean, my love, that upon saying farewell to the caravan, well, you must also say farewell to that handsome corporal who has been paying you such attention for the last hundred leagues.”

  “Why, Röaana, upon my word, I have no idea what you mean.”

  “How, you don’t know why he has been dropping back to see to his rear echelons twenty or thirty times a day?”

  “My love, there is a certain emphasis in how you say ‘rear echelons’ that causes me some distress.”

  “Is that why you are blushing?”

  “Bah. I could make you blush as well, if I wished.”

  “Could you? I cannot think how.”

  “Well, my dear Röaana, I might mention a certain subaltern with extraordinarily long and flowing hair who fixes saddle cinches so well. Or perhaps he does not fix them so well after all, for if he did, he would not need to check his work at least once each hour.”

  “Oh, that means nothing.”

  “I beg your pardon, but it must mean something, or else—”

  “Yes, or else?”

  “Or else you would not be blushing.”

  “Well, you perceive that at least we match.”

  “Yes, that is true, at any rate.”

  “And, as for the subaltern, I will tell you something.”

  “Well, I am listening.”

  “He kisses well.”

  “How, you permitted him to kiss you?”

  “And, if I did?”

  “Well, and how was it?”

  “I assure you, my dear Ibronka, I could come to enjoy this pastime.”

  “Well, but when did you find time to kiss him?”

  “Do you recall a time two nights ago when there was a disturbance among the horses, so that half the caravan was alerted?”

  “Why yes, my dear, I do remember it.”

  “After it was over, I happened to be standing near those horses, and it chanced that Saynac—”

  “That is the subaltern?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, go on.”

  “It happened that Saynac came by after seeing to the horses, and, well, we went for a short walk.”

  “I never knew!”

  “Well, but have you never had the chance to kiss your corporal?”

  “How, you pretend I would let him kiss me?”

  “My dear Ibronka, if you wouldn’t, then, well, I tell you plainly you are missing out.”

  “Well then, I am not missing out.”

  “Ah! Well, but when did you kiss?”

  “You were just speaking of the evening when the horses were disturbed?”

  “Why yes, in fact, I was.”

  “Well, that is to say, it was Dortmond and I who disturbed the horses.”

  “You shameless thing!”

  “Well, and what of yourself?”

  “Oh, I am equally shameless, I promise you. Your corporal’s name, then, is Dortmond?”

  “Yes, that is his name, and his kisses are superb.”

  “Well then, as I said, you shall miss him.”

  “It is true what you say, as, no doubt, you shall miss your subaltern.”

  “But, leaving dalliance aside, my friend, we must consider what we are to do when we reach Hartre, which is the end of the caravan, but not of our own journey.”

  “Well, to continue together would be safer than for each of us to continue alone.”

  “With this I agree. And more pleasant as well, for I tell you plainly that I enjoy your company so much that I consider us friends.”

  “Well, and I agree entirely, my dear Röaana. Here is my hand.”

  “And here is mine.”

  “Then it is settled. When we reach Hartre, we will continue together along the coast, and if there are dangers, well, we each have good steel, and a good friend.”

  “That is my opinion exactly.”

  At this point Clari approached them and said, “Excuse me, my ladies.”

  “Yes, Clari?” said Ibronka.

  “I have just learned that we arrive in Hartre to-morrow, my lady, and I thought you should know.”

  “Yes, that was well thought. Thank you, Clari.”

  “You are welcome, my lady.”

  The maid bowed, and prepared to depart, but Röaana said, “One moment, my good Clari.”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “I am curious as to how you came by this information.”

  “How I came by the information?” asked the maid, appearing slightly uneasy.

  “Yes, Clari, if you don’t mind telling me. And, moreover—”

  “There is more, my lady?”

  “Well, I wonder where you have been this last hour since we made camp.”

  “Oh, madam, if you or my mistress required me—”

  “Not at all,” said Röaana. “As I said, I am merely curious.”

  “Come to that,” said Ibronka, “well, I am too. How is it you have learned that we will arrive to-morrow when neither I nor my friend Röaana have come by this information?”

  “Oh, well—”

  “Yes?”

  “That is to say—”

  “Come, come, Clari. What is it?”

  “Well, there is this Captain—”

  “How!” cried Ibronka.

  “A Captain?” said Röaana.

  “That is to say—”

  “No, no,” said Ibronka. “You have said quite enough.”

  And the poor maid was required to stand and listening to the Dzurlord and the Tiassa laughing like children for quite five minutes before she was dismissed and permitted to return to her Captain and resume their interrupted conversation.

  Early the next day, the caravan arrived outside of Hartre, which, as we have already had the honor to mention, was a once-thriving port city as well a center of fishing, though its prosperity had fallen off considerably since Adron’s Disaster. It was Kâna’s plan to rebuild this city both as a defensive bastion against Elde Island (he considered Rundeel too close, and Adrilankha too far), and, simultaneously, to establish regular shipping between it and Northport, the latter of which was well located for his home in the Kanefthali Mountains. It was to this end that he had caused a caravan full of trade goods and accompanied by a small part of his army to be sent to Hartre. His intention was to arrange for a ship to be built, refurbished, or commandeered, depending on circumstances, then filled with goods and sent to Candletown, where other goods might be traded for, and to sail from there “around the corner” (as sailors call it) to Northport.

  It was, in the opinion of this historian, a good plan, and one that showed that Kâna, or, at any rate, his cousin, had that ability to see into the future in some degree that marks a true leader. Indeed, it would be instructive to follow this expedition, with all its unexpected turns and repercussions; yet as it only occasionally and indirectly intersects with the history we have chosen to relate, we cannot permit ourselves more than a brief summary of its goals, as we allow it to pass us by while we follow those persons who were as incidental to Kâna’s mission as this mission is incidental to our history. What is more significant to our history, then, is the fact that a day after their last conversation, the Tiassa, the Dzurlord, and the maid met at the rapidly dwindling encampment to discuss their plans for the next day.

  “Well,” said Ibronka, “we must leave early in the morning, and get a good start.”

  “Yes,” said Röa
ana, “to this I agree.”

  “I will be ready, my lady,” added Clari.

  “But,” said Röaana, “apropos, have we supplies for traveling?”

  “Oh,” said Ibronka, “as to supplies, well, I am on tolerably good terms with one of the quartermasters, and so we can get all we need.”

  “Well, that is good then. And as to fodder, there will, I believe, be grass all of the way, and I can procure for us a certain amount of oats, as one of the grooms has been showing me some attention.”

  “And I,” said Clari, “have found a merchant who pretends to have more canvas than he requires, and has made me an offer of some of it when he learned we would be traveling.”

  “Bah,” said Ibronka. “My dear Röaana, this girl will show us both up.”

  “That is true, my dear Ibronka, yet we will have our revenge, for each time she does—”

  “Yes, each time she does?”

  “Well, we will make her blush.”

  “Ah, that is a good revenge.”

  “Well, there is no more to say about that, then.”

  Needless to say, the matter of revenge was entirely successful, as the poor Teckla was fully flushed.

  Röaana then said, much to the relief of Clari, “On another subject entirely, I have something to say.”

  “Well?”

  “I am not ashamed to admit to you that, well, I have some concerns.”

  “How, concerns?”

  “Yes. We have more than five hundred kilometers to travel, and that is if we go in a straight line; you perceive it is even longer if follow the coast.”

  “Well, and then?”

  “There are only two of us and the pretty Clari, and I know little enough of the lands through which we will be traveling, and, to be honest—”

  “Yes, yes. Be honest, by all means.”

  “Well, I should be sorry to meet an ignominious end before ever reaching our destination. That is to say, the sort of adventures I anticipate do not involve being waylaid by highwaymen in a lonely jungle in the dead of night. It does not seem to be a very romantic way to die.”

  “Do you know,” said Ibronka, “there is a great deal of justice in what you say. But then, can you think of anything to do about it?”

  “Oh, you wish for an idea?”

  “Yes, exactly. An idea. Do you have one?”