by Steven Brust
Loiosh spotted the enemy pickets and guided us past them. I don’t think any of my little band figured out what Loiosh was up to; they just followed me. That was best. Once past the pickets, we had to remain hidden until Loiosh and I could identify the cook-tent. We entered the enemy camp and I had them wait while Loiosh and I searched. The supply wagons were near the mess-tent, which was both good and bad for my purposes. The cook-tent was less than thirty yards from the river, which was good.
“Well? Are they guarded?”
“Four guards, Boss. Moving rightwise around the wagons and the tent. You want to try the same trick we used last time? That was fun.”
“No. Too much danger they figured it out. And I won’t discuss your idea of ‘fun.’”
“What then?”
“We wait.”
“Clever, Boss. Do you think if I had opposable thumbs I could come up with plans like that?”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
EPILOGUE: TROPHIES
When it was over, my dining room table was suitable for firewood, and the upholstery on two of my chairs was suitable for rags, but my favorite chair had escaped with only a slight nick in one leg, and my carpet had no blood on it. Sethra the Younger lay next to the window box, half conscious, her eyes rolling about in her head.
Morrolan, who had broken up the fight, much to Aliera’s disgust, stood between them and addressed me: “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, back during the battle. You knew.”
“I only knew what Fornia had in mind, and I didn’t find that out until the end.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“My job was to get the weapon. I got it. I didn’t much care who ended up with it.”
“But you knew—”
“Yes, dammit, I knew. And now you know. There was a Great Weapon concealed inside that blade Fornia had taken from Baritt, just as you suspected. I assume it was Baritt who concealed it, and that he did it for reasons of his own. Fornia was able to find it, but didn’t know how to release it from its concealment. His idea was that if it clashed with another Great Weapon, it would emerge. I tried it tonight. It worked.”
“And Fornia,” said Aliera before Morrolan could compose a response, “set up his battle so that he would cross blades with a Great Weapon, either Blackwand or Iceflame. He could,” she added reflectively, “have just challenged Morrolan to a duel and gotten the same result.”
“He probably would have,” said Morrolan reflectively. “But I launched a war, and he was never one to turn down a challenge like that.”
The weapon in question lay on the floor midway between Aliera and where Sethra the Younger sprawled. All around it were pieces of the greatsword in which it had been hidden. With its concealment gone, it appeared as a dull, black short sword. No one touched it.
“You could say thank you,” said Morrolan suddenly.
Aliera said, “For what?”
“For saving your life, cousin. Do you think you could have gone up against a Great Weapon?”
“Yes. Besides, Cawti was going to stick a knife in her back.”
Morrolan looked at Cawti, who was leaning against the wall with her arms folded. She dimpled and dropped Morrolan a curtsy. I was surprised that Aliera had noticed. Aliera added, “And Loiosh was going to attack her, too, I think. She never really had a chance. If you hadn’t butted in—”
“If Morrolan hadn’t butted in,” I said, “we wouldn’t have discovered the Great Weapon, which I take to be—what did they call it, Morrolan?”
“It is called Pathfinder.”
“Well named,” said Aliera. “It found its way to me, eventually.”
“To you?” said Morrolan.
Aliera stepped forward, bent over, and picked it up, transferring Kieron’s greatsword to her left hand. “Yes,” she said.
“And what do you suppose Sethra the Younger will say about that?”
Aliera unbuckled the sheath she wore on her back and tossed it onto the floor near Sethra. Then she put Kieron’s sword next to it. “She’ll say we have a bargain,” said Aliera.
“You know, Vlad,” said Morrolan, “I’ve suspected for years now that there were things you never told me about the Wall of Baritt’s Tomb.”
“There were things I didn’t want to think about,” I said. “Some of it I still don’t want to think about, and some of it I still don’t remember clearly. But you told me to get that sword—you didn’t, by the way, tell me anything about how to go about it or what to do when I’d gotten it—so I went and got the sword. And—as I say, that’s all I remember.”
“That’s all you remember, is it?”
“My memory sometimes plays tricks on me, Morrolan. Just a couple of days ago, I suddenly remembered a few things about our trip to Deathgate that I’d forgotten up until then. Maybe, someday, I’ll remember more about this.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“You have to believe it; you’re in my house. Next time I’m at Castle Black you can call me a liar if you want.” His lips twitched. I added, “And with everything you knew but didn’t tell me, you have no cause to come down on me about not telling you everything.”
“Hmmm. I may concede on that point,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Do that,” I said. “In the meantime, why don’t you get your things, including that”—I pointed to Sethra the Younger—“and leave me alone. I’m sure she wants to go plan the invasion of the East, and Aliera wants to play with her new toy, and you, well, maybe you’ll want to go start another war or something.”
“Vlad—”
“Never mind, Morrolan. I just want to relax now.”
“I’ll send someone over to clean up the mess.”
“No, I can get it. I’ll see you … sometime.”
He nodded.
They gathered up Sethra and headed for the door. Aliera carried Pathfinder. Morrolan started to say something at the door, then shrugged and walked out. What they did after that I neither know nor care about; the Wall of Baritt’s Tomb was finally over for me, except for the final telling. And at the cost of a table and a couple of chairs I considered it a pretty good deal.
I sat down in my favorite chair, and, because the others were destroyed, Cawti sat in my lap. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
“That,” I said, “is what the Dragons call negotiating.”
“Mmmm,” she said. “What now?”
“As I said, I’ll clean the place up tomorrow. Eventually I have to go put this whole thing behind me by having a last session with an odd metal box, and then—what day is it?”
“Farmday.”
“Right. Valabar’s won’t be too busy. Thinking about all those months of bad food has made me want something good, and I’m in just the mood to have someone else cook it and bring it to me and then wash the dishes.”
“My treat,” she said.
“Mine. I’m finishing a job and getting paid.”
“All right. When are you going to go talk to the box?” She leaned her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled of sandalwood and was very soft.
“Soon,” I said. “But not instantly.”
Loiosh flew over and landed on my shoulder. I didn’t much want to move, but it would be good to have the whole thing finished. I opened my eyes and looked at the wreckage of my flat, thought back on my days in the army, and stroked Cawti’s hair.
If just surviving can be counted as a win, I was way ahead of the game.
BIO
What would you like to know about me, assuming that you care? My full name is Steven Karl Zoltán Brust. I was born in 1955, so I’m forty-two at the time of this writing, and I have a big bald spot which I cover up with a hat, but I was wearing the hat before I developed the bald spot so it doesn’t really count. I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, except that I spent this last winter in Arizona, and if you don’t know why, you haven’t spent a winter in Minnesota.
I play drums, guitar, banjo, and Middle Eastern percussion, and I’ve written some songs, and I have produced a solo record called A Rose for Iconoclastes; if you want information on the record you can get it by sending E-mail to [email protected], and if you don’t understand the title you need to read more Roger Zelazny.
In addition to the abovementioned Zelazny, my heroes are: Alexandre Dumas, Mark Twain, Leon Trotsky, Dorothy Parker, Mickey Hart, and Mike Caro. If you don’t recognize one or more of these names, it doesn’t make you a bad person.
I have a Strapping Son named Corwin and three Charming Daughters named Aliera, Carolyn, and Toni. I live with my Lovely Associate, Liz Cooper, in a beautiful house in a crummy neighborhood. I have a dog named Miska and a double-yellow-headed Amazon parrot named John Henry Holliday, and if you don’t know his nickname you should see Val Kilmer in Tombstone.
Liz has a cat named Rogue and an African Grey parrot named Loiosh, and if you don’t know where the name “Loiosh” comes from, why are you even reading this bio?
My favorite games are Texas Hold ’Em and Stud hi-lo/8. If you don’t know what those are, I’d be glad to teach you.
Steven Brust
Lake Havasu City, Arizona
February 1998
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DRAGON
Copyright © 1998 by Steven Brust
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
eISBN 9781429996341
First eBook Edition : March 2011
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-23558
First edition: November 1998
First mass market edition: November 1999