by Steven Brust
I did, however, come to two other conclusions. The first being that, if one were forced into the service of a Dragonlord, one was better off serving a Dragonlord who was better at being ruthless than the other Dragonlord. The second being that the river was bloody damned cold, and that it was surpassing stupid for me to be standing in it when I hardly had the strength to remain upright.
"I bid you a pleasant evening, Lord Taltos."
The voice came out of nowhere, but I must have subconsciously known there was someone around, because it didn't startle me.
"Who is it?"
I turned around. At first I couldn't see her, but then she came up to the edge of the water and nodded to me, and then I recognized her. It took me a moment to reconstruct where I had met her before, but it came back to me at last.
"You're the Necromancer," I said.
"What are you doing?" she asked me.
I considered the question carefully, then said, "Dreamwalking, I think."
Her head tilted. She was very, very thin, wispy, and her skin was so pale it almost glowed against the darkness and against the black of her garments. "I didn't know Easterners did that," she said.
"Neither did I."
"I sense that you've been injured."
I turned enough to show her my back, then faced her again.
"I understand," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"I understand why you're dreamwalking."
"Ah. But I'm really here, aren't I?"
"How do you mean that?"
Crap. Even while dreamwalking there was only so much mysticism I could take. I said, "I mean that if I drop dead I'll be really dead, and my body will be found here in the morning."
"No."
"No?"
"No. Your body will actually float downriver from here, at least as far as the next bend. If you climb up on the shore—"
I laughed, probably more than it was worth.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
"Did what?" she said.
"Made me laugh. Brought me back."
"Oh. Well, yes. You may have to fight tomorrow."
"Not the way I'm feeling now."
"Oh? Oh, of course. You were hit hard, weren't you? Come here for a moment."
I did, walking up to the bank until only my ankles were in the river, and she reached out and cradled my face in her hands. Her hands were very, very cold, and I tried not to think about what was touching me. I looked into her eyes, and it seemed she was a long way away, speaking to me from another world. I got the sense that speech for her required effort; she didn't think in words the way I did, she probably thought in—no, I didn't want to consider what forms her thoughts might take; I probably couldn't understand them anyway.
She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, and said, "Go back to your camp and sleep, dream-walker. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Right," I said. "And I'll think this was all a dream."
"Maybe. Maybe it is."
"We've been through that."
"Go back to your tent, Easterner. Go to sleep. Dream of bearded women."
"Excuse me? No, never mind. Don't explain. I don't want to know."
Now that I was myself again, the wind was really cold, especially on my wet legs. And the rocks hurt my bare feet. And I had to work to slip past several sets of pickets, more of them than I remembered from getting there.
"Well, she was pretty weird."
"Who was, Boss?"
"I hope," I said after a moment, "that you're joking, Loiosh."
"Ummmm."
"I've just had a conversation with the Necromancer, Loiosh. A real conversation. Out loud and everything. You really didn't see her?"
"Boss, I didn't see her, I didn't hear her, and I didn't hear you talking. You just walked out into the river, stood there for a while, and walked back."
"Grand," I said. "Just grand. I get myself into the army, stand up in battles I have no business in, get nailed in the back by sorcery, accept an impossible assignment to be carried out in the middle of it all, and then, just to top things off, I have to go have a mystical fucking experience. This is just great."
"Whatever it was, Boss, I think it helped. You're sounding like yourself."
"Oh, thank you so much, Loiosh."
I made it back to the camp, and to my tent, and to my cot, and I remembered to lie down on my stomach, and it was only then that I realized that whatever weakness I'd felt before was, if not gone, at least diminished. I tried to make sense of it, but I must have fallen asleep, because then it was morning, and I got up to the sound of the drum before I remembered that I probably wouldn't have had to. Rascha was outside the tent when I emerged, bare-chested and blinking.
"You all right?" she said.
In spite of everything, I managed to give her a straight answer. "A bit wobbly on my feet, and my back itches, and I could use about another forty or fifty hours of sleep, but yeah, I'm okay."
"Think you can take a spot on the line?"
"Sure."
"Good. We had some casualties."
"Did they attack last night?"
She looked at me. "Just before dawn. Glad we didn't wake you up."
"I think you could have burned the tent down without waking me up."
"Today, I think."
"Hmmm?"
"I think today will settle things."
"Oh. That's good."
"Yes. And our end of it shouldn't be too bad. All we have to do is hold this hill. Unless, of course, the powers-that-be change their minds and have us do something else."
"Holding the hill might be rough enough," I said.
"Maybe. Go get some food in you."
"Good idea," I said.
I went back inside and grabbed my jerkin and inspected it. I found that it no longer had a back—just a big hole, about a foot in diameter, with ugly burn marks around the edges. I started to feel queasy again.
"Boss—"
"Yeah. Impressive, isn't it?"
"What are you going to do for a jerkin?"
"I brought a spare."
"Oh. Good thinking."
I put it on and my back started itching. I filled the ribs and sleeves and the collar from my old shirt, then put a light cloak over it, and made sure that I was properly packed. I ate three biscuits and drank a lot of water, then got myself shaved and cleaned up as best I could.
My knees felt very shaky by then, and I wasn't looking forward to taking a spot on the line. If I'd remembered what I had promised Morrolan I'd do I might have panicked, but my brain was still a bit scrambled and that didn't occur to me until later. The experiences of the night before came back in pieces, and I kept wanting to think of the whole thing as a dream, but I couldn't convince myself, and then I made the mistake of asking Loiosh, who confirmed that at least some of it had actually happened.
When I returned to the tent, I found Rascha sitting with Virt and Aelburr. I sat with them, and soon after that Crown came along. "Morning, soldiers," he said cheerfully. "Today we take them."
Rascha nodded. "What do you think of the earthworks on the southwest side? They got pretty messed up last night."
He nodded. "It wouldn't hurt to build them up again."
Dunn came over then. He said, "Sergeant, I'd like—"
"No," said Crown. "Mora's taking the colors. If she goes down, then you're up. So stick by her. And keep her alive, if you can. You can answer to Dortmond if she shines."
"Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant."
Dunn walked away. I shook my head. "I just don't get it."
Crown looked me up and down. "No, you wouldn't, would you?" He walked off.
"I think," I said, "that I've just been insulted."
"Don't let it keep you up nights," said Virt.
From farther down the line someone called out, "Here they come," and we walked up to the remains of the earthworks and waited for the assault to begin.
They came, and we held them off, a
nd they came, and we held them off. The whole time Loiosh remained on my shoulder, maybe for whatever effect it might have on anyone who faced me. I kept asking him why he didn't get to somewhere safe, but I didn't get a satisfactory answer, just questions to which I couldn't give a satisfactory answer. My legs kept wanting to buckle—residual effects from getting hit the day before, but I never quite collapsed at the wrong time. If the Necromancer had actually done something, well, it must have worked.
After the second attack, Virt said, "Have you noticed that every time they attack they've been knocking away at the earthworks?"
"Uh … you're right."
"And that they attack with more troops each time?"
"Right again," I said. "You're on a roll. Don't stop now."
"They're forming up for another charge," she said.
Rascha came by and said, "Up to the line again. Where's Aelburr?"
"I'll sit this one out, I think," he said.
That was when we noticed that he was flat on his back, bleeding from two distinct chest wounds and another on his right leg. "Physic!" came the call, from Rascha and Virt at the same time.
As the physicker approached, Virt said, "We're awfully cut up. Do we have anyone left to plug the holes?"
"No," said Rascha. "We've got holes everywhere. About twelve percent casualties. And, from the looks of things, I don't think we can expect any support from Brigade."
"Oh," said Virt.
"Time for someone to think of something clever," I suggested, at which moment the juice-drum gave the call to prepare for a charge. I said, "That wasn't the sort of clever I was thinking of."
Virt said, "This should be interesting."
"Interesting?" I said. "We're too weak to defend, so we attack? That isn't sound military practice, is it?"
"No," said Virt.
"Well good," I said. "See? I've learned something."
"I'm sure it will do you a lot of good next time you enlist." She paused. "It's been done before, though. And it isn't that bad an idea. One time, at Kipper Bay, we—" She broke off abruptly and pointed. "I'll tell you the story later," she said optimistically.
They were coming up the hill, and there was something horribly determined about how they came. I didn't like it at all. We prepared to go down the hill. I liked that even less. At least we had elevation on our side.
One way or the other, we were going to settle it right now.
"Well," said Loiosh. "Here you are."
"No shit," I said.
16
The Limitations of Wit
I turned back toward Fornia and stood there next to Daymar as Napper approached from behind me to my left, and the whole bloody war approached from behind me to my right.
Napper got there first. He came up next to me, holding a short, heavy sword that was streaked with red. I glanced over at him, and his eyes were shining, and he wore a delighted smile all over his face. I said, "Napper, meet Daymar. Daymar, Napper. And that is the Count of Fornia. Anyone bring wine? Cheese? I could manage some biscuits."
The three who had been assigned to watch us didn't think I was very funny, but neither did they construe my remarks as suspicious enough to cut us down. "Your weapons," said one of them.
"Daymar, can you break through the block and get us out of here?"
"No," he explained gently. "They strengthened the block after I broke through it."
"Pity," I said.
"If I can get about half an hour—"
He might as well have asked for half a year. "Yeah, well, I'll let you know."
"Weapons," repeated the soldier. "Now."
"What's the plan, Vlad?" said Napper, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"The good news is that we're negotiating," I told him. "The bad news is that I surrendered."
"You what?"
"On the other hand, if he plans to kill me, I'll have to say the surrender is off. In the meantime, you'd best give the nice man your sword. I would, too, but I don't have one."
"Carefully," added the guard. "Unbuckle the belt and let it fall."
He looked fairly tough. So did the others. I didn't like Napper's chances against all three of them. One was between us and Fornia, the others flanked us. Napper began to comply, with exaggerated slowness.
"I don't suppose, Daymar, you know what they're doing?"
"No," said Daymar. "He has me bbcked." Daymar sounded hurt.
Orders came barking out from somewhere in the group, and swords were drawn. I drew in my breath, terrified all over again, but the honor guard and the sorcerers turned to face the approaching battle. For an instant, with all the movement, I had a clear shot at Fornia, but then it was gone before I could have taken it even if I'd been so inclined.
There was an odd, unreal quality to the whole thing that lingers in my memory even now. I stood with Daymar on one side of me and Napper on the other, with the whole war, or at least a crucial part of it, rushing down on me, with Fornia amidst his honor guard and sorcerers turning away from us as if we were suddenly no part of their world and certainly no threat to them.
Well, okay, we were no threat to them.
I knew what Fornia was doing, I knew why he was doing it, I knew where it would lead; and there wasn't anything I could do about it.
There's a certain frustration that players of S'yang Stones get when their best shots fail and their opponents keep getting lucky breaks. I've seen it, and I've had it happen to me. You start just throwing your stones, even the flat ones, almost at random, as if you want to punish yourself for your bad luck by playing badly. I was feeling the same thing right now.
Was I making a bad play out of frustration, or was I really getting the odds I needed, now that the battle was loud and everyone had their backs to us?
I threw a shuriken into the throat of the man in front of us, the one who was threatening Napper, and then planted a knife in the throat of the one to my left; I heard Napper draw his sword, and by the time I turned around the third of the guards was dead and Napper was finishing off the one I'd started on. I caught of glimpse of Daymar staring, wide-eyed.
Better yet, Fornia hadn't noticed, nor had any of his group.
Napper said, "What's the plan?"
That almost made me laugh. A little demon in my head wanted me to say "Kill them all," but I resisted temptation.
"Boss, does this situation seem a little absurd to you?"
"Absurd? Well, among other things, yes."
Then Morrolan's band reached Fornia's honor guard, and the game was being played in earnest.
I saw Aliera, now dismounted, standing next to Morrolan; around them were several others I didn't recognize, and behind them—where she came from I couldn't say—behind them, mounted, was Sethra Lavode, holding the weapon I knew to be Iceflame. They were all of them heading straight for Fornia, who was waiting with the patience of a gambler who has staked everything he has on one throw and knows, now that the coins are spinning, that all he can do is wait and see which way they land.
My task was simple, put that way: just reach my hand out and scoop up the coins before they stopped spinning. And somehow contrive not to have my hand cut off.
Now that was a thought.
Good. I had a thought. All I had to do was combine thought with opportunity and I'd have something else: a chance.
I tried to make contact with Morrolan, but either I didn't know him well enough or he was concentrating on his mayhem too hard, or both. Probably both. I knew Aliera even less, but it was a worth a try—
And at that moment Fornia's honor guard fell back toward us as a body, struck by Morrolan's attack—or, more exactly, the remnants of the Eastern cavalry that was being pushed into Fornia's honor guard—and the three of us had to scramble or be trampled down.
"The plan," I told Napper, "is not to get killed."
"We could attack from behind."
"And get maybe two each at the most before they wiped us out. I don't think so."
Now, you
must understand that, as we were speaking, we were also running to get away from the retreating honor guard. This left me facing the northeast, the highest part of the hill. I touched Napper's arm and said, "Look. What's that?"
He stopped in his tracks, watching another mass of humanity head toward us. "That's the hammer," he said. He gestured back over his shoulder and said, "And that's the anvil."
"Well, we had to expect him to have reinforcements handy once Morrolan started breaking through."
"That makes me feel better," said Napper.
Daymar, who had been silent this entire time, said, "I think I am perhaps no longer useful here."
"Does that mean you can teleport now?"
"Not exactly. I was thinking of a different method."
I thought of Morrolan's window and an idea began to form. I said, "Tell me about it."
He stared at me with a puzzled expression and said, "I was thinking about running."
"Oh," I said. "I hadn't thought of that."
The battle continued pressing toward us, and the approaching company looked to be light infantry.
"Do you think Morrolan will reach Fornia before the reinforcements arrive?" said Napper.
"If Fornia has his way, he will."
"Beg pardon?"
"I have to do something," I said.
"Like what?"
"Something clever."
We backed up a little farther. "Clever," said Napper, "will only get you so far."
I didn't answer, because things had gotten even louder, and that just wasn't the right moment to be philosophical. The light infantry was closing on us quickly, and on the other side Easterners were dying, and to the smells of battle that I've already refused to describe once we can add the distinctive and equally unpleasant smell of dead and dying horses.
What Napper said was reasonable, though: Fornia's plan wasn't "clever" in the usual sense; rather it was a bold, calculated gamble, like redoubling the bet when the pattern is in your opponent's favor but one perfect throw could give you the game and you're down to your last flat stone.