by Steven Brust
"Your Majesty, there are other powers than mine in the world."
"For instance."
Sándor shrugged. "You know, do you not, that there are still witches, hiding in covens in the Wandering Forest or in the marshes to the south."
"You think a witch—"
Sándor waved it aside. "No, no. It was only an example. I can smell their puny efforts when I meet them. It is nothing like that."
"Then what?"
"I am not yet certain. I must find out. I am only saying that it would be an error to assume—"
"By the Goddess, Sándor!" exploded the King. "I am assuming nothing! I want to know what is causing this, and how we can remove it."
Sándor sighed. "Do you know of nothing that has power other than Faerie, near us, of which the legends tell strange stories?"
László said softly, "The River."
"Yes," said Sándor. "Think, Your Majesty: We have a tree sinking its roots into soil that is saturated with water from the River. You and I, who have studied these things, know that many strange tales have been told of the River. I, who have studied the power of Faerie, know that these tales do not speak of things such as that power would do."
László shook his head. "But how—?"
"I don't know. That is why I have been reluctant to speak of it. But I am suspicious. I don't like that River—"
The King laughed softly. Sándor glared at him. "I know, I know," said the King, still laughing. "You don't like the River. You have spent more than a hundred years dwelling next to it, and you have hated it every moment. And such impotent hate, too, Sándor. The River provides the livelihood for half of the people of the realm, it—"
"Not that many."
"Allows us to move our goods back and forth, it feeds us, and more. And who could stop it anyway? You?"
Sándor shook his head.
"So," the King continued, "when you see something you don't understand, you rush to blame—"
"No, Your Majesty," said Sándor firmly. "As I have said, I am not yet sure, but I am not rushing to blame the River for no reason. Think about what I have said. What else could it be? We know that there is a mysterious power associated with the River, and we know that anything planted near the River grows faster than anything planted elsewhere. It affects people strangely. It—"
"Why this hatred, Sándor? I have never understood it."
The wizard stopped and considered. Oddly, he had never even asked himself this question. It had been an instinctive thing, as far back as he could remember. What was it?
"Have you ever spoken to a Riverman?" he said at last.
"I have spoken to my brother Miklós," said László, laughing lightly. "He spent nearly his whole childhood there."
"Miklós knows something of it," Sándor admitted. "But a real Riverman, such as a few of the fishermen in town, can tell you every tiny whirlpool along it, and where you can find how many fish of what kind. Some of them know only a small part of it, but they know it so well they could name every pebble in it. It seems they know each time someone throws a stick into the water."
"Well?" said László. "What of it?"
Sándor shook his head. "I don't know. But there is a mystery there that defeats me. Some are so fascinated by the River they make it their lives. Others take it for granted. Others fall in between. A few hate it. I am one of those. I don't know why."
The King nodded.
"But," said Sándor, "this in no way affects what I am saying. It would be just as true if I loved the River as Miklós does. There is something about it that is feeding and protecting that tree. I am convinced of it."
"It is true," said László, "that the River is known for making things grow faster. Yes, what you say may be. But if so, what do we do about it? We can't stop the River."
"I know. But I also know that for every problem there is a solution. I have not yet found the solution for this problem. Rest assured, Your Majesty, I will."
The King nodded. "Very well, Sándor. But whatever the solution, it should be soon. The tree is growing at a truly alarming rate. I begin to fear for the Palace."
"I am considering it." Then, "Your Majesty?"
"Yes?"
"Have you seen Miklós's horse?"
"The táltos horse? No. I've been almost afraid to. I never thought there would be a táltos in the Palace during my lifetime. Why do you ask?"
"I think it is involved in this."
"Do you? Why?"
"Because it is there."
"Eh?"
"Consider: the tree is growing in Miklós's room. Miklós turns up with this horse. The horse is arrogant and hostile to you and all you stand for. We know little of táltos animals, but they could have the power to—"
"What about the River?"
Sándor shrugged. "There is no reason why both could not be involved."
László shook his head. "What you are doing, without saying it in so many words, is accusing Miklós of causing this."
Sándor said, "I am not certain that he is. But consider the possibility."
"I have considered it," said the King. "And I still am. I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because I saw the look on his face when he saw the tree in his room, and I heard his voice while we talked about it."
"Could you not have been fooled?"
"I could have been. I don't think I was."
Sándor nodded. "Very well, Your Majesty. Perhaps—" He paused.
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you should see this horse, after all."
László looked at him. "Very well, then. Let us go."
They stood up, and Sándor slowly led the way down to the main floor, then out toward the stables. It was late afternoon, and the sun was nearly behind the outer walls. Sándor made a sign to the idol of the Demon Goddess as he passed.
They found the horse at once. It turned to look at them and Sándor caught a malicious gleam in its eye.
"Greetings, horse," said the King. "I am László, King of Fenario."
"Greetings, doomed King," said the horse. "I am Death."
Sándor heard the sharp intake of breath from the King, but controlled his own rage.
"Why am I doomed?" asked László carefully.
The horse seemed to consider before answering. "Because you have failed."
"Failed? How?"
"Look! Your house is falling down around you! What else could that mean?"
Sándor caught a flicker of motion as the King's hand went to Állam at his side. He didn't draw it, however. He said only, "Have a care, horse, if you can be hurt."
"I can be hurt, unhappy King," said the horse. "But not by the likes of you."
Sándor could see that László's lip was now trembling with controlled rage. The King said softly, "Miklós should have not brought such an animal to our home."
The horse's ears pricked forward. "He has done nothing," said the horse. "Nor have I. I can do nothing, while I remain out here. But the instant I am in your home, beware! I will be the end of you, King. And, more particularly, of you!" This last was said to Sándor, who suddenly felt the first fear he had experienced in more than a hundred years. In an odd way, it was almost pleasing to discover an emotion he had thought lost years ago. He smiled as he touched the scar on his forehead where the horse had kicked him before.
The King said, "Sándor, can we do nothing about this animal? I will at least ask Miklós to remove it from the stables, and judge him by his answer!"
"Poor judgment," said the horse, "is the mark of a poor ruler."
László's grip on the sword tightened, but he made no answer.
"We cannot easily kill him, I think," said Sándor. "He is táltos, and he is tricky. I tried once before." He again touched the scar on his forehead. "But perhaps we can make it easier if we—"
He turned away and rummaged around the stable until he found a good, strong rope. Then he came back. "Here now, horse. It seems that I cannot use my powers against you directly. But try
this!"
He tossed a rope end into the air, and immediately drew upon his power. Like a snake, the rope wrapped itself around the horse's right foreleg just above the knee, then its left foreleg, then attached itself to the side of the stall. Sándor tied the other end to a hitching post. He found more rope, this time tying the horse's head so it couldn't move. The horse made no effort to resist.
"There!" said Sándor. "Perhaps that will keep you out of mischief for a while."
The horse still said nothing, but Sándor had the uncomfortable feeling that it was laughing at him.
"Perhaps, Your Majesty," said Sándor, "you should now use Állam."
The King, his temper under control, said, "No. Not without first speaking to Miklós."
Sándor nodded. "As you wish."
"Let us go," said the King. "I have seen enough."
They left the stables without looking back. As they passed through the courtyard, Sándor said, "Do you agree with me, now, Your Majesty?"
"That the horse may be responsible? Yes. It is very possible. With or without Miklós's knowledge."
Once more, as they walked by the idol of the Goddess, Sándor made a sign with his right hand.
They stopped and looked at it—tall and graceful, it was white in the pure daylight, but was now turning gray in the sunset.
The King said, "Does she have something special to do with your powers?"
Sándor nodded. "She has everything to do with them."
"They come from her?"
"Not exactly. It is more that she is the personification of those powers. I ask for her guidance in their use, and her help when I need it."
"I see. Has she ever failed you?"
Sándor chuckled. "With her, it is hard to know when she has helped, and when it would have worked out anyway. I believe that is how she wants it. I can say that I have never failed when it most mattered. I am still here, after all."
The King nodded. They stood silent for a moment longer. Sándor seemed to see a glittering light in her eyes.
"I imagine you will need her help soon," said the King.
"Yes," said Sándor. "I imagine I will."
The King grunted. "Than I hope you have it—for all our sakes."
A moment later he said, "You know, do you not, that Mariska thinks we can build up the strength of the walls and contain the tree that way?"
"Yes," said Sándor. "I heard her."
"Can you use the power of Faerie for that?"
"I think so," said Sándor.
They continued on into the Palace. Sándor stopped and addressed the guard at the door. "Tell Viktor that he is to have Prince Miklós's horse watched at all times. If it does anything, we are to be notified. Furthermore, no one is to untie it. No one. Do you understand?"
The guard nodded. László and Sándor continued into the Palace proper.
"Well done," said the King.
Sándor grunted. "What will you do about the horse, Your Majesty?"
"I will speak to Miklós about it. I want it dead, or out of here." Sándor heard that his voice trembled with rage and he regretted bringing it up. Or did he?
"Let me know what he says," said Sándor.
INTERLUDE
So, you wish to know of the old king, eh? János, his name was. János the Sixth. Did you know how he met Teréz, his Queen? Well, he was a lad of sixteen then, and used to take himself around the countryside visiting places, and playing his fiddle everywhere he went. One day he came across a man who was looking for a cow that had wandered off. Now, János was dressed no different than you or me, for he wasn't a King yet, you see. So the man didn't know him at all, and just complained about how his cow was missing.
"Well," says János, "we'll find your cow for you, I think," and starts playing on his fiddle. Well, he had hardly started when up comes the cow, with a calf at her side. The man thanked him, of course, and said he could have the calf, in payment, but János just laughed and walked along.
As you may guess, this story spread pretty fast. Soon, everyone was talking about it from one end of the River to the other. János found that he couldn't go anywhere without being asked to bring back a cow, or a goat, or a horse, or a pig, or even a rooster. But he didn't mind, he just walked around playing his fiddle, and every time he found a stray, the man who owned it would offer him one of its young, but he always turned it down.
Well, you probably know what happens next, but I'll tell you anyway. One day a man comes up to János and says, "Are you the János with the fiddle who has been finding strays everywhere?" And János says he is, and the man says, "Well, we haven't been able to find our daughter for a week now, and that isn't like her at all."
So János says not to worry, and he sets out looking for the daughter. Well, he travels for a while, and pretty soon he crosses over into Faerie. Right there, on the other side of the mountain, she was lying asleep, and elfs were all around her. So János looked closer, and oh! but she was a pretty. Only fourteen years old she was, lying on a bed of roses, her hair all done up in ribbons, and János fell in love on the spot.
So he went there, and asked the elfs how she came to be sleeping. The elfs said they'd done it, because she was so beautiful and they wanted to look at her. János said he wanted to take her home, but they'd have none of it, and they had swords and like that, and looked mighty angry. Well, János plays on his fiddle, and pretty soon along comes a calf, only by now it's grown into a bull. And a horse. Then a billy goat and a big hog and a rooster. Then more and more of them. All of the animals János had been offered came running when he called them, because after they'd been offered, they were really his, you see.
So they charged down out of the mountains like nothing you ever saw before, and the elfs gave out a shriek and ran off. Then János tried to wake up the girl, but he couldn't. He was trying to think of what to do when the first bull comes up to him and says, "Master, if you can play your fiddle for as long she's been asleep, she'll wake up again."
Now by this time she'd been sleeping for a hundred days, but János didn't let that stop him. He took out his fiddle and played, and played, and played. He didn't stop to eat, either, so pretty soon there was nothing left of him but bones, but he still didn't stop. And sure enough, on the hundredth day, she starts to wake up.
Then János says to the bull, "You were right, but I can't let her see me like this, I'm nothing but a pile of bones because I haven't eaten in a hundred days."
The bull says, "Don't worry, master," and it gives out a bellow, and all the other animals come running up. The goats brought him cheese, the roosters brought eggs, the bulls brought wine, and they had everything you can imagine. So János gobbles it all down until he had flesh on his bones again, and just about then the girl wakes up, sees him, and falls in love right there.
So all the animals bring them home again, and János goes up to the man and says, "Here's your daughter back, but now I want to marry her."
And the man says, "Well, you've done me a good turn and I'll be in your debt as long I live, but I can't let anyone marry my daughter who can't give her a good life."
So János says, "That's pretty fair, so I should tell you I'm the eldest son of the King, and I'll be King when he dies."
"What?" says the man. "You're János the Prince? Why, your father died a hundred days ago, and the whole country has been looking for you to make you King!"
"Well, they need look no more," says János. "I will be King, and your daughter Teréz will be my Queen."
And that is just how it was. If you don't believe me, ask my father. He was right there with me, and we saw the whole thing.
ELEVEN
The Stable
Miklós stopped in the small dining room and helped himself to one of the loaves of fresh bread that had been put out for the family. Not stopping even to butter it, he went out to the stables to speak to Bölk.
There was much on his mind. Not only was the tree growing in his room still a mystery, but what about Vilmos
and his strange reaction to it? And, more immediate, there was Sándor's offer to him. He had been awake half the night thinking about it. Why such an offer? Should he accept? What would it mean? Certainly, it would give some direction to his life.
His feet kicked up dust in the courtyard. He saw a guard all in shining red standing straight and tall next to the entrance to the stables. Miklós motioned him away. The guard moved; Miklós stepped inside.
His gaze fell on Bölk, tied by the neck and legs. A gasp escaped his lips, and red fury filled his heart. He rushed up to the horse, crying "Bölk!"
"I am well, master. This is nothing."
"Nothing?" cried Miklós. "It will soon be nothing!"
He was looking around for a cutting implement when the guard stepped through the doorway.
"You!" called Miklós. "Lend me your sword."
The guard looked uncomfortable. "I cannot, my Prince."
"What? You cannot? Then use it yourself to cut these ropes. I will not have this horse tied up!"
"I am sorry, my Prince, but I am commanded not to let anyone undo them."
"By whom?" snapped Miklós.
"The captain gave the order, my Prince."
"Viktor? I will deal with Viktor. Now lend me your sword, quickly."
"I cannot, my Prince. The captain says the order has come from the King himself."
"Oh, has it?" said Miklós. He glanced around the stable, but was unable to find a knife. He turned back to the guard. "For the last time, I command you—give me your sword."
In answer, the guard turned away, leaned out the window, and shouted something that Miklós couldn't quite hear. Then he turned back.
"Very well," said Miklós. He allowed the Power to flow through him. He had called for the Power when startled, and he had called for it when calm. Never before had he used this extra sense, this appendage, in the fullness of rage. It came to him and filled him, until he thought he would burst with exhilaration, and he realized how much easier it would be to attack the guard directly, rather than to use subtlety and skill. He resisted the temptation; he had made his decision rationally and he knew that to change it now would indicate that his emotions had power over his intellect.