Brokedown Palace

by Steven Brust

  So that was old Peter's story. I know it is true because before he died, he showed my father and me the bucket he had carried up. I've never tried to find the tree myself, but now that you know, you can go looking if you want to.

  SEVEN

  The Meeting

  The river had many songs, Miklós realized. Farther upstream it sang in rippling joy, almost a tinkling laughter. Near the Palace it hummed in sweet harmonies. Here, it sang a tranquil song of healing.

  He sat with his back against the same oak, and saw again that the River had healed him. He shook his head. How long could this go on? Once before, he had left the Palace injured and in fear of his life, and the River had brought him, alive and well, to this spot.

  And yet it was different, too. This time he had received a lesser injury than before, and he was less puzzled—or at least puzzled in different ways. He had seen and learned much since then. The River itself? The water wasn't the same. Even the River's shape had changed, subtly. Perhaps more of the roots of the oak were exposed now, though it was hard to tell for certain. As before, he had fled his brother. But that time, his brother's anger had been a senseless thing. This time—? Overhead, there were no jhereg circling either; merely a few songbirds.

  "Things repeat," he muttered aloud, "but they are never the same."

  He studied the landscape more closely than he had before. The River was wide here, gently curving away from him; the opposite bank perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. The grasses were long and were nearly the only flora of the region, save the oak. He looked upon a green-swept plain. Someday it would be settled, cleared, and peppers would grow here. He stood up and looked across the River. No, nothing. Only the unending sameness of grasses as tall as he was and sand along the Riverbank. In the distance, to his right, he could almost see a few more scattered trees. All around was the clean smell of growth, yet not so overpowering as it had been in the Forest.

  Well. What to do now? Perhaps he could—

  He heard a thud from behind him and caught a simultaneous flash of movement. Perhaps it was fear from having just escaped with his life, but reflexes he didn't know he had came into play. He spun away from the oak, crying aloud. The Pathway to the Source was there well before he could have thought to ask for it, and lightnings danced from his fingertips, hissing and crackling in the air and playing about the sudden form that loomed before him in the mid-afternoon sun.

  Then he stopped as suddenly as he had attacked.

  "Bölk!"

  "Yes, master," said the horse. "I see you have learned from your stay in Faerie."

  "I'm sorry, Bölk. Have I hurt you?"

  "No, master. That is not how you could hurt me."

  He stood and approached the horse, surprised to find a lump in his throat and his eyes moist. "Bölk," he whispered again.

  "Yes, master. I have awaited you."

  "You knew that I would be here?"

  "Someday."

  Miklós considered. "You were right," he said. "I am."

  Bölk nodded his great head. Miklós sat down with his back against the oak once more. The horse moved around so they could study each other.

  "You've changed," said Miklós. And he added, "Of course."

  "Yes. But little. My coat is darker, I think. And I've grown thinner. But I always change. There was a time, not too long ago, when I was a bull. This is nothing." He laughed.

  "It is good to hear you laugh," said Miklós.

  "It is good to feel myself laugh," said Bölk. "We have a long road ahead of us, master, and I may not have the chance again. Yet I am pleased to see you, and to see you so well. Physically, at least."

  Miklós, for the third time since Bölk had appeared, bit back the urge to say, "What do you mean?" In some things, at least, he was sure the horse wouldn't have changed.

  "I was just reflecting," said Miklós, "that things repeat themselves, but are never the same. It seems that this is true of you, too."

  "Yes, master. I am glad not all things repeat, however. It is better that you don't run off to Faerie a second time."

  Miklós chuckled.

  Bölk continued, "But when things repeat, they don't have to repeat fully. We are able to control them."

  "Yes. It is surprising what we can control. And what we can't."

  Bölk's nostrils flared. "There is nothing we can't control."

  "Indeed?" said Miklós. "What about others, who, in turn, wish to control us?"

  "You quibble," said Bölk.

  "I don't think so."

  Bölk was silent for a moment, then he stated, "You have fought with your brother again."

  "Yes."

  "Over what?"

  "It seems that, for some reason, any small thing I say criticizing the Palace is taken for a deadly insult."

  "For him, it is a deadly insult. The most deadly insult."

  Miklós stared at him. "Why?"

  "You have been to Faerie, have you not?" Miklós nodded. "Then you know that, by comparison, Fenario is not much of a kingdom, nor is the Palace much of a palace."

  Miklós nodded. "I remember reading, years ago, descriptions of the 'fortress' that was here before ours. The historian became excited recording that it had a stairway and a window with glass." He chuckled. "By the standards of Faerie, we have hardly improved over that. Our little Palace is to them a fortified house—and poorly fortified at that."

  Bölk nodded. "But consider that, to your brother, it is the center of a kingdom—the mightiest kingdom he has ever known. To him it isn't a mere building, it is the heart and mind of this kingdom, and he takes his responsibilities for it seriously. Perhaps there is no rational reason for him to feel as he does, but then, there is no reason for him to be rational. When you make light of the condition of the Palace, you, a Prince, who should be one of the kingdom's staunchest guardians, are striking at its heart and, to his eyes, weakening it."

  "Then why doesn't he simply repair the damage? Then the subject wouldn't come up."

  "Suppose it cannot be repaired? It is old, master. There may be nothing he can do that would help beyond delaying the inevitable for a few years. Perhaps he is aware of this. If so, then isn't he better off pretending not to see it?"

  When Bölk fell silent, Miklós considered for a long time. At last he said, "What you say echoes much of what he has said. Perhaps I should speak to him of this. Perhaps if we understood one another better—"

  "It wouldn't help, master. This may be difficult for you, but understanding isn't the same to everyone."

  Miklós blinked. "I don't see what you mean."

  "You are a scholar by nature. You see a thing, and you think of the general thing; the group of things to which it belongs. You see a swallow, and think bird, flying animal, then animal. You try to understand it and the rules by which it functions. Others don't. Others see a thing and act upon it instinctively. In you this is a weakness and a strength. In others, the same. But you must try to understand that merely pointing something out to someone such as your brother will not move him. He will not take it as you intend—he is too firmly committed."

  "What you say about me may be right, but how is it a weakness?"

  "You are too little committed."

  "I don't understand."

  "I know that too."

  "I—"

  "Wait, master. Someone approaches."

  Miklós stood and looked upstream, surprised to find that the Pathway to the Source was sharp and ready. Bölk's ears had picked up the sound of footsteps before the person was in sight, but Miklós recognized her as soon as she appeared.

  "Brigitta!" he called.

  She looked up and ran to him. "Miklós! I've found you! Ah! It is good that you have a horse."

  Miklós almost began laughing but contained himself. "Hardly," he said. "Brigitta, meet Bölk. Bölk, this is Brigitta, a friend of László's."

  "Good afternoon, Brigitta," said Bölk.

  She stared, looked back and forth between Miklós and Bö
lk, then silently mouthed the word, "táltos."

  "Yes," said Miklós.

  She started to curtsy, then stopped, looking puzzled. "I don't know what to say," she said finally.

  Miklós laughed. "Yes, I usually have that problem with him."

  "Speak of your problems," said Bölk.

  Brigitta looked startled and almost insulted. "I would have no reason to lie," she said.

  "What?" said Miklós.

  "But you dwell, for now, within the Palace," said Bölk. "And, within the Palace, everyone's life is interconnected. We cannot address one problem without addressing all, for good or ill."

  Brigitta considered this, then nodded. "I see what you mean, then," she said. "But I can't always tell what I'm feeling. Sometimes I do things, then decide why afterward."

  Bölk nodded, and Miklós wanted to ask what was going on but was somehow afraid to. Instead he said, "Why are you here, Brigitta?"

  She turned to him as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh, yes," she said, blinking. "I want to warn you. Sándor and Andor are coming for you. They're only moments behind me. I slipped out of the Palace when I heard them preparing to leave."

  "I see," said Miklós. Then, "Why?"

  Bölk turned to him. "To warn you," he said.

  Miklós was about to answer that he knew that but wanted to know why she wished to warn him. He was distracted by Brigitta, who, at Bölk's words, blushed and muttered, "There was no need to say that."

  Bölk said, "It is the truth."

  Brigitta said, "You didn't?"

  Miklós said, "What, in the name of the Demon Goddess, is going on around here?"

  Bölk turned back to him. "What is going on is that two persons from the Palace are coming, presumably to take you back. What do you wish to do?"

  Miklós glanced at Brigitta, who was nodding. Then he said, "I can run, or I can wait for them."

  "Yes," said Brigitta. Bölk nodded.

  "I'll wait, then."

  "Very well," said Bölk.

  "I'll wait with you," said Brigitta.

  Bölk trotted over to the Riverbank, looked up it, and came back. "I can hear them," he said. "They'll be here soon."

  "All right," said Miklós.

  Brigitta shot Miklós a quick, puzzled glance; then said, "I don't know. Perhaps the same way I did."

  "A reasonable plan," said Bölk.

  "I just followed the River and hoped," said Brigitta.

  As she finished speaking, Andor and Sándor appeared from behind the bend. Miklós, Bölk, and Brigitta turned to wait for them, the afternoon sun forcing them to squint to see the new arrivals.

  "Good day, wizard," said Miklós. "Brother."

  Andor tried to meet his brother's eyes, but couldn't. "Miklós," he began, "I—"

  "Keep silent," said Sándor. "I'll speak to him."

  Without being aware of making a decision, Miklós found that he had stepped forward and slapped Sándor across the face. The old man stepped back, his eyes wide.

  "Have a care how you speak to my brother," said Miklós softly.

  Andor winced and took half a step back, as if he were the one who had been struck. Sándor glared at Miklós. "You are not making this any easier on yourself," he said.

  "I'll learn to live with that," said Miklós.

  "Will you, indeed?" said Sándor. He didn't quite sneer.

  Andor seemed to notice Brigitta for the first time. "You!" he said. "Why are you here?"

  Brigitta smiled cynically. "I felt such distinguished visitors required someone to announce them."

  Sándor snorted. "Yet it seems he didn't take advantage of the announcement to flee."

  "I have fled twice already," said Miklós. "I think that is enough. Besides, I have fled from the King. I don't see that I am required to flee from his lackey as well."

  To his surprise, Sándor didn't take offense at this. "If that was supposed to be an insult, I see no shame in being lackey to the King of Fenario. It says a great deal to me that you do."

  Miklós was silent. Bölk said, "He is right, master; it does."

  Andor gave a cry and stepped back. Sándor's eyes grew wide. Brigitta laughed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have introduced you. This is Bölk. Bölk, this is Prince Andor, and this is Sándor, the King's wizard."

  Andor recovered from his surprise enough to manage a sneer. "Introduced to a talking horse by a serving wench and whore! I never thought a Prince of the realm would come to this!"

  For a moment, Brigitta's gaze darkened, then she laughed. "I take no shame in being the King's whore," she said. "It says a great deal about you that you think I should."

  Andor flushed. Sándor, who was still staring at Bölk, said softly, "At táltos horse!"

  "Indeed," said Miklós.

  "A pleasure to meet you," said Bölk.

  Andor looked puzzled. "What did he say?"

  But Sándor's face grew flushed. "How dare you!" he cried.

  "What?" said Miklós.

  Brigitta said, "He was only stating his position, Sándor. He didn't threaten you."

  The wizard didn't seem to hear her. He stared at the horse long and hard. "What gives you the right to say such things to a representative of the King of Fenario?"

  "I exist outside of Kings," said Bölk.

  "I will too," said Brigitta.

  "What?" said Miklós.

  "What did he say?" said Andor.

  "By the Goddess!" cried Sándor. "I have come by my powers by toil and risk! I will not have them sneered at by anyone—táltos horse or not!"

  Brigitta looked at Miklós. "There is something going on here that I don't understand."

  "Huh," said Miklós. "I'll say."

  Andor said, "Miklós, what has the horse been saying? I can't understand his speech."

  Miklós put a hand up to shade his eyes for a moment, and shook his head. "I'd rather know what Sándor has been hearing."

  Bölk said, "He hears what he must hear, being what he is."

  "Gah!" cried Sándor. "I will listen to no more of this. Prince Miklós, I am here to return you to the Palace. Will you come?" .

  "Yes," said Miklós.

  "Good. Then let us—"

  "In my own time."

  Sándor's face was flushed; his breathing heavy. "How am I to interpret that?" he said.

  "However you wish," said Miklós.

  "If your own time is not now—"

  "It isn't."

  Sándor paused, and seemed to get his anger under control. "I must insist," he said.

  Miklós laughed. "Insist away."

  Sándor looked at him. For perhaps half a dozen heartbeats, there was silence except for the sound of the River against the roots of the oak. When the wizard spoke again, his voice was softer, and more threatening.

  "I don't know what this táltos horse can do, Prince Miklós. But I have been sent to bring you back. Unless it has more power than I, and you know something of mine, you should return voluntarily. You know that my abilities are greater than yours. If I must force you, we will both be the worse off."

  "I understand," said Miklós.

  "Well?"

  Miklós glanced at Bölk, but the horse remained motionless, staring at Sándor. "I will return to the Palace," said the Prince.

  "Now? With me?"

  "No. Later. At a time, and with company of my own choosing."

  "To me, that is the same as a refusal."

  "You may take it as you like."

  "Well, then, if it is your desire—" Sándor raised his hands, and Miklós felt, as if from a distance, the faint tremblings of Power from a Pathway that wasn't his own. Bölk moved slightly, and Miklós noticed that the sun was no longer in his eyes. Bölk had not interposed himself between him and the wizard, but Miklós was in his shadow.

  Sándor relaxed. "You seem able to protect him, horse," he said. "But can you protect yourself?"

  "Sometimes," said Bölk.

  The wizard raised his hands again. This time, t
o the surprise of the rest of them, Bölk spun and kicked with his hind legs, the left one catching Sándor squarely in the forehead. The latter gave a short cry and dropped senseless to the ground.

  No one moved or spoke for a moment, then Andor knelt at the wizard's side. "Is he… dead?" he asked, as if they could tell better than he.

  Bölk snorted. "Such as he are not so easily destroyed," he said. "Although they can sometimes be made harmless for a while."

  "What did he say?" said Andor.

  Brigitta answered before Miklós could. "He said he should be returned to the Palace," she said.

  Miklós stared at her, but said nothing.

  Andor blinked. "But… how am I to take him back? I can't carry him."

  Bölk chuckled and said, "Throw him in the River, and let him make it flow backward."

  Miklós laughed. Brigitta gave him a puzzled look.

  "What did he say?" asked Andor, hysteria beginning to creep into his voice.

  Brigitta answered him. "He said if you bathe his face he may recover enough to walk with assistance."

  Andor nodded and did as she had suggested. Sándor seemed to rouse somewhat, and Andor helped him to his feet. The wizard seemed content to be led back toward the Palace.

  As Andor led him away, he said, "What about you, Brigitta?"

  She stared at the ground for a moment, looked at Bölk and Miklós, then said, "I'll return soon."

  Andor nodded. "And you, Miki?"

  "I will be coming, brother. I don't know when yet, but I will be coming. You may tell that to the King our brother."

  Andor nodded and led Sándor away.

  After watching them leave, Miklós resumed sitting with his back against the oak. He sighed, then smiled at the horse. "Thank you once again, my friend," he said.

  "It is only my duty, master."

  "Is that what it is? Why?"

  "I serve those who can use me," he said. "As I told you two years ago."

  "I see. Then tell me this: why is it that everyone who hears you, hears something different?"

  "Because no two people who listen to me are the same. And because not everyone listens to me."

  Miklós looked at Brigitta, who seemed puzzled but was remaining silent. He spoke again to Bölk.