by Steven Brust
"Why?" I said, just because I was annoyed.
"Well, we have to figure the enemy is nearby; we've been skirting his territory for days, and he can't let us just wander anywhere."
I mentally pulled out the map of the area. Oh, that's where we were. Okay, that made sense; once we crossed the river, we could follow it downstream right into the heart of Fornia's territory; if Sethra wanted to force him to attack us, that would be the way to do it.
The drum ripped out, and by now I had no trouble recognizing the call to form up and prepare to move. We did, grumbling. Virt and Aelburr seemed like the only two in the company who didn't mind; just my luck to be in the only squad in the company with two irritatingly cheerful footsloggers. I made a remark to that effect to Napper, who nodded glumly.
Rascha approached before we started across and said, "Taltos, you're a bit shorter than the rest; if you want to wait for a wagon you can."
"I'm fine," I said.
"Boss, I'm never going to figure you out."
"Shut up."
The Captain led the way, dismounting and leading his horse across, then we moved out, and got wet and cold and fought the current, and climbed up over the rocks on the other side and moved back about a hundred yards from the bank. Eventually fires were lit, and we put up our tent by their light, and they served the food, and we sat around the fires getting warm and dry, which translated to happy, which in turn translated to not too discontented.
At the next fire over, they were playing S'yang Stones, and I knew that Aelburr would be there, maybe following my advice and winning, but more likely playing his own game and losing. I thought about playing myself, but sitting by the fire was too pleasant. Napper was off somewhere; the rumor was he'd formed a liaison with a woman in another company. I ended up sitting next to Tibbs, who kept trying to find humorous anecdotes that I thought were funny, and failing. When he got to the one about the headless private carrying the legless corporal back to the physicker, Loiosh said, "Aw, c'mon, Boss. That was funny."
"If you say so," I said.
"If you stay in the army long, Boss, your sense of humor is going to vanish entirely."
We were joined by a young-looking Dragonlord; in the flickering of the campfire he seemed little more than a boy. Tibbs said, "Hey, Dunn. Where have you been?"
"Fishing."
"Catch anything?"
"No."
"Told you."
"I had to try."
"Yeah, you did, didn't you? This is Vlad. Vlad, Duntt."
"I've seen you."
"A nice guy, Boss; he's fed me."
"All right, Loiosh. I won't kill him, then."
Dunn and I exchanged greetings. Tibbs said, "What are you looking so glum about?"
Dunn said, "Crown says I still can't carry the colors next time we go into action."
"Congratulations," said Tibbs. "Why are you so all-fired anxious to be killed?"
Dunn didn't answer. Tibbs shook his head and remarked, "You should have been a Dzur."
"I'd challenge you to a duel for that," said Dunn, "but there aren't enough of you."
Tibbs gave a short, barking laugh.
Rascha came by about then, wished us all a good evening, and said, "You may want to sharpen your weapons tonight."
Tibbs said, "You think we'll see action tomorrow?"
"Nothing's for certain, but it looks likely."
We nodded and thanked her for the information. I went back to the tent and borrowed Aelburr's whetstone, then returned to the fire and put it to use.
Loiosh said, "What about the whole plan to bug out when the fighting starts, Boss?"
"Shut up, Loiosh."
Interlude
Defend
I spent last night with Cawti, an Eastern girl who has agreed to marry me. She has a wonderful smile and a good hand with a dagger, and she knows how to listen. We lay in my bed, pleasantly exhausted, her hair all over my chest and my arm around her shoulder, and I spoke with her about the proposal from Sethra the Younger. She listened without a word until I ran down, then she said, "And?"
"And what?" I said.
"And why did you expect anything different?"
"Well, I don't suppose I did."
"Are you still angry?"
"Not so much. Like you said, I should have expected it."
"And what about her proposal?"
"What about it? Can you imagine me accepting it?"
"Certainly."
"You can?"
"I have a great imagination."
"Among other things, yes. But—"
"But, if she hadn't been so annoying, what would you have thought about it?"
"Why should I care?"
"Aliera."
"What about her?"
"She's why you should care."
I sat up just a little, found a glass of a very dry white wine that we'd kept cold by setting it in a bucket of ice. I drank some, then held the glass for Cawti. She squeezed my shoulder by way of thanks, and I said, "You think I owe her something?"
"Don't you?"
"Hmmmm. Yeah. What with one thing and another, I suppose so."
"Then you should probably tell her about the offer, so she can decide for herself."
"I hate the idea of doing a service for Sethra the Younger."
"Yes, I know. I hardly blame you, but … "
"Yes, but."
The wine went down nicely. A welcome breeze came through the window.
"I think it's going to rain," said Cawti.
"I'll speak to Aliera tomorrow," I said.
"Would you like me to come along?"
"Very much," I said.
"All right. I think I'm sleepy now."
"Sleeping comes highly recommended as a cure for that."
"You think? Next you'll tell me that eating is a good cure for hunger."
"Temporary, but it'll take care of the symptoms. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, but I'm more sleepy."
"Then we'll have breakfast tomorrow. One problem at a time."
"Good idea," she said sleepily, and nestled into my shoulder.
"I wonder what Aliera will say. She doesn't think much more of Sethra the Younger than I do."
Cawti didn't answer. If she wasn't already asleep she was close to it. I set the wineglass down next to the table, then pulled the covers up. Outside, it began to rain. I thought about shuttering the windows, but it was too much work, and the rain smelled nice.
That was yesterday. This morning Cawti and I found Aliera in the library of Castle Black. Going there today, after spending so much time thinking about, remembering, those first few times I'd been within the walls of that peculiar place, caught me up. I looked at it as if seeing it anew—as I'd first seen it years ago before war and love and war. To me Castle Black has always seemed palatial, with the grand, sweeping stairway and the three great chandeliers lighting the enormous hallway, all of them decorated by artwork one might expect to find in the Imperial Palace itself, artwork that is violent and beautiful at once, as, I suppose, are the Dragons at their best.
At their worst they are brutal and ugly.
Aliera said, "Greetings, Vlad, Cawti."
We both bowed. Cawti said, "How is Norathar?"
"Adjusting. Becoming reconciled. She'll make a good Empress."
I glanced at my betrothed, but if the subject was still painful for her, which I was certain it was, she gave no sign of it. Every once in a while I wondered how the House of the Dragon felt about its next Empress having once been a Jhereg assassin, but chances were good I'd be long dead by the time the Cycle turned, so I didn't give it that much thought, and it was one of the things Cawti and I still had trouble talking about so I don't know how she felt about it.
I said, "I have a proposal for you."
Aliera put down her book—I didn't catch the title—and tilted her head. "Yes?" she said, in a tone that indicated, "This is bound to be good."
"It comes from Sethra the Younger."
Her green eyes narrowed and appeared slightly grey. "Sethra the Younger," she repeated.
"Yes."
"What does she want?"
"Kieron's greatsword."
"Indeed? The sword of Kieron the Conqueror. She wants me to give it to her. Well, isn't that sweet."
"I'm just passing on a message."
"Uh-huh. And what is she offering for it?"
"I think you can guess, Aliera."
Aliera studied me, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I suppose I can, at that. Why don't you both sit down."
She looked at us, her grey eyes squinting. She held her wineglass, a fine piece of cut crystal, so that the chandelier made a rainbow through it that decorated the dark wood table next to her.
"What do you two think?" she said at last.
"We're delighted, of course," I said. "We'd like nothing better than to have Sethra the Younger butcher a few thousand Easterners."
She nodded. "There's more to this than that, however."
"Yes," I said. "There is."
"I'm surprised you're even bringing me the proposition."
"I wasn't going to," I said. "But Cawti talked me into it."
Aliera turned an inquiring gaze at Cawti, who said, "It's something you should know about."
She nodded. "Morrolan claims to have an idea what it is, but Sethra the Younger claimed it, and he didn't have the—well, he chose not to dispute it."
"If you get it," I said, "he still won't. Unless you give it to him."
"It may be," she said, "that, whatever it really is, a Great Weapon, as we suspect, or something else entirely, it has been trying to come to me all along."
I thought back on the Serioli, and on the Wall, and on everything that had happened, and I said, "That is a disgusting thought."
She turned her glance to me, frowning as if I'd spoken in a foreign language, but continued her thought without answering me. "If so, to fail to take it would be to ask for more trouble, and greater."
"On the other hand," I said, "I seem to remember Kieron the Conqueror promising to come after you if you gave his sword away."
"Yes," said Aliera. "And that is, of course, another advantage."
11
Breakfast with Chef Vladimir
There was a certain amount of doubt in the eyes of the soldiers in front of me, either because they weren't all that happy about cutting down a single unarmed Easterner or, more likely, because Ori was not authorized to give them orders. But for whatever reason, they hesitated; Ori, on the other hand, did not. He took a step forward, and as his arm came up, I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, and then there was something black and ugly crackling and coming toward me.
And here my memory plays tricks on me again, because I know how fast such things move, and so I know I didn't really have time to make the cold, disinterested observation that I remember making, and I certainly wouldn't have had time to deliberately fall over backward while swinging Spellbreaker before me, and to listen to the crackling in the air, and notice that particular odor that accompanies thunderstorms, and be simultaneously planning what I was going to say if I were still able to say it, but that's how I remember it happening, and if my memory is to defy reason, well, I still have to go with my memory, and so there is the smell, the crackle, the roll, and even now the muscle memory of Spellbreaker's weight in my hand, and the feel of the ground beneath me, and even a small rock that bruised my shoulder as I hit, rolled, and came up, aware that my left arm was numb, and my brain was going tick tick tick as I made deductions and decisions and was able to keep my voice cool and rational as I said, "That was uncalled for, Ori. Do it again and I'll destroy you. I'm here to talk, not to kill, but if I change my mind I'll burn you where you stand even if your bodyguards slice me to ribbons in the next instant. Now stop it, and we'll talk."
I caught his eye and held it, and for a moment I didn't even notice the twenty-odd Dragonlords who might or might not be about to cut me down. I waited. Before me stretched gentle, green hills; behind rose the cliff called the Wall, with the plain flat monument to Baritt, his "tomb" standing up before it; and around me were the Eastern Mountains; they all seemed to hold their breath with me. I wondered if I were to die here. It would have been appropriate if I'd had some sort of premonition, but I don't get premonitions, at least, not reliable ones. In any case, I'd had no premonition when I had first reached the Eastern Mountains.
At their feet, I had learned when we first reached them, long miles from where I now stood, the day arrives suddenly. For once I was almost glad to be made to wake up early, because otherwise I should never have seen the red and gold tickling the peak of Mount Drift in the false dawn, with the overcast, very high and thin, looking like a product of the mountain, and the splintered light turning the camp into a giant field of mushrooms and the river into a ribbon of purple.
Forgive me; you know we hardened soldiers are all philosophers, and philosophers are all poets. Well, actually, we hardened soldiers are usually drunks and whoremongers, but philosophy's a good way to pass the time in between.
I was poetically given latrine duty that day. Rascha explained, apologetically, that there hadn't been enough "defaulters" to do the job, so lots had been drawn, and my name had come up. But I could breakfast first. I took it philosophically.
I won't spend a lot of time describing latrine duty, but I can say it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be—a lot of digging, mostly, and, in any case, everyone else was involved in digging more earthworks under the guidance of the engineers, so it wasn't much more work than what everyone else was doing, just slightly more unpleasant. I did get a laugh out of a few of my comrades by taking a piece of salted kethna, throwing it into the pit I'd just dug, and covering it over. "Just thought I'd cut out the middle part," I explained.
But I learned one thing of real value that impressed itself upon my consciousness even more than it had during the march, which is when I first began to suspect it: A Dragonlord squatting over a field toilet looks no more dignified than anyone else in that position. That is knowledge I am happy to carry with me.
We held the position on the riverbank for three days, three relatively pleasant days, in fact. It was hot, but we didn't have anything to do except relax or bathe in the river, and, best of all, no one tried to kill us. I had thought we were waiting there with the expectation of being attacked, but I learned later that, in fact, what we were doing was letting the other divisions move into position for a three-pronged attack on the heart of Fornia's realm. Fornia, of course, was busy with marches and countermarches to defend against exactly this. We heard rumors of skirmishes on our flanks, and they turned out to be true, but they were only minor, unimportant little probes of our defenses—unimportant, that is, except to whoever was killed or maimed in the actions. Since the fatalities were all in other companies, we didn't have funeral services for them.
Most of our time was spent sitting around gabbing—or, in the case of Napper and me, complaining. Most of the conversation was pretty low on the scale: sex and liquor, with drugs and food coming second. The rest of the conversation was at a considerably higher level—there was very little middle ground. Philosophizing, as I mentioned before, is a highly respected activity. At one point I said to Virt, "The trouble with you Dragonlords is that to you killing is so impersonal."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I'd expect to hear from a Jhereg."
"How so?"
"I'd thought some of your associates were in the habit of having people killed for business reasons."
"Sure," I said. "But one at a time."
"I imagine that's an important distinction to whoever gets it."
"Well, no; but it matters a great deal to everyone else in the neighborhood."
"Maybe to the House of the Dragon," she said, "the means must be broader because the ends are more sweeping."
"Excuse me?"
"We're not fighting for control of this-or-that brothel, but for this-or-that barony.
While that may not be better, it is certainly bigger, so there would naturally be bigger forces involved."
"You think that accounts for it?"
"It is, at least, the most widely accepted theory, and I believe it."
"Uh … 'the most widely accepted … ' There are theories about this?"
"Oh, certainly. There are theories about every aspect of war."
"I see. And are they useful?"
"Some more so than others. But the ones that aren't useful are usually entertaining."
"I see. I hadn't thought of 'entertaining' as having much to do with war."
"No, you wouldn't have. And the idea that it might be probably disgusts you." I didn't say anything. After a moment she said, "Haven't you ever been in mortal danger and discovered after it was over that you'd been having the time of your life? Haven't you ever taken pleasure in making detailed plans, pleasure that had nothing to do with how good, or bad, or important, the end result was? Can't you imagine the pleasure in setting up a complex problem and watching the pieces line themselves up, and all the forces come together, and having things work out the way you wanted them to?"
This, of course, set me thinking of Assassinations I Have Known. I said, "Yes."
"Well?"
"Yes, but."
She nodded. "Go on." It occurred to me suddenly that she was enjoying the conversation. Then I realized that I was, too. Was this significant of something?
I let my mind run and my eyes wander; she waited patiently. I said, "Well, maybe it's just numbers. But it seems that the more lives are being lost, the more important the cause ought to be. Don't you think?"
" 'Ought' is a tricky word. So is 'important.' "
"I can't deny what you say about danger. Yes, certainly, even though I try to avoid putting myself in danger, I know what you mean about the feeling of, well … "
"Of being fully alive?" she said.
"Yes, that's it. But that's me, and maybe even the guy I'm facing, if he's another volunteer. But what about those conscripts you've mentioned?"
"They're Teckla," she said.
"True," I admitted. "Okay, back to 'ought' and 'important,' then—"