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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)
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“It draws the sufferer’s attention inward.”
“You think so?”
“Believe me, Count; in my work, I have seen many people in pain, and the one thing they have in common is that it is very difficult for them to consider what is going on around them, because pain in the body or suffering in the soul invariably pulls the mind to itself; it is when we are not in pain that we are able to see clearly outside of ourselves.”
Khaavren considered this carefully; Daro, we should add, remained utterly silent, but listened to Tevna with her whole attention. At length, Khaavren said, “Well, you may be right.”
“I am convinced that I am. And, if I am right—”
“Well, if you are?”
“Then you must permit me to continue.”
“Very well, continue then.”
“Here, then, is the rest: Because you are in pain, you are unable to look clearly at all that occurs around you, and, because of this, you have missed a vital fact.”
“Ah! I have missed a fact?”
“I believe so.”
“And a vital fact?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, what is this vital fact that I have missed?”
“You wish me to tell you?”
“I should like nothing better.”
“Here it is, then: The events that are happening in the world, if your wife the Countess is correct, are bigger than you.”
“Well, but I do not disagree with that.”
“You do not?”
“Not at all.”
“But, you perceive, if they are bigger than you, than, my dear kinsman, your own pain, and your own desires, are suddenly less important than they were.”
“How, less important?”
“Indeed. They matter to you, and those who love you, but go no further than that. You have been asking what you could do in the great events that are now stirring, and have found
that you could do nothing. But that is because your suffering has caused you to phrase the question in the wrong way.”
“I have phrased the question wrongly?”
“That is my opinion.”
“By asking what I could do, I have asked the wrong question?”
“Entirely.”
“But then, will you tell me what I ought to have asked?”
“I will do so this very instant, if you wish.”
“I am most anxious to hear it.”
“Then I will tell you.”
“And you will be right to do so.”
“Here it is then: Instead of asking what you could do, you ought to have been asking what needs to be done.”
Khaavren considered this for a moment, then said, “The difference, you perceive, is very subtle.”
“Perhaps it is subtle, but I believe it is important.”
“You think so?”
“More than important, it is vital.”
“You believe, then, that were I to look at matters differently, I would reach a different conclusion?”
“Well, but is that not often the case? Consider a man at some distance holding a sword. When looked at one way, you might perceive a sword, when looked at another way, you might see only a thin line, or perhaps not even that.”
“Well, you are right about that.”
“And yet, it remains a sword.”
“The Horse! You are right again!”
“I am glad we agree, my dear kinsman.”
“But what conclusion do you pretend I would reach, were I to see matters differently?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“I cannot say.”
“Ah! That is too bad!”
“And yet—”
“Well?”
“I suspect—”
“You have, then a suspicion?”
“Exactly. I have a suspicion.”
“Well?”
“I suspect that you would cease worrying about your infirmities, and, instead, you would set out to do what must be done.”
“Cha! But then, I have never been good for much, save that my sword arm was tolerably steady.”
“Well, that is not so little.”
“Perhaps not, yet that, by itself, is no longer true.”
“How, it is no longer true?”
“I give you my word, I can no longer lift my old sword, much less wield it in a manner to threaten another.”
“Well, but have you considered exercise?”
“Exercise?”
“Yes. In order to rebuild your strength.”
“Do you know, I had not thought of that.”
“Well.”
Khaavren turned Daro, a look of astonishment upon his countenance. “Do you think,” he said, “that such a thing is possible?”
“My dear Count,” she said, “I am convinced you can do whatever you set your mind to.”
“Ah. But then, I was never much good without Aerich, Tazendra, and Pel.”
“Pel can be found, I think, inasmuch as he left a means to reach him when he visited us.”
“Well, that is true.”
“And, as for your other friends—”
“Yes, as for them?”
“Once you have your strength back, well, you can send for them, or, if you do not know where they are, you can go and look for them.”
“Yes, that is true as well.”
Khaavren looked at his hand. He inspected both sides of it, as if wondering if there remained any strength within it upon which he might draw. Daro, as if reading his thoughts, laid her own hand on top of his, and, at the same time, smiled at Tevna.
“Let no one say,” she told the pyrologist, “that you are not highly skilled at your profession.”
Tevna rose to his feet and bowed to her.
Khaavren appeared not to have heard this remark, but stared into the fire, thinking, the flames reflecting in his eyes as if, indeed, the fire were coming from within him.
 
 
How Piro and Company Traveled
Toward Deathgate Falls,
Passing Sites of Some
Historical Interest
 
 
 
I
t was on a Farmday in late winter of the 246th year of the Interregnum that Piro, Kytraan, Tazendra, and Zerika, accompanied by Mica and Lar, set out from Dzur Mountain, bound for Deathgate Falls and the Paths of the Dead. In addition to their horses, they brought a pack horse, upon which were blankets, axes, rope, whetstone, needle and thread, leather tools, and various other supplies deemed necessary or desirable for the journey.
Zerika insisted upon riding in front, and, because of this, Tazendra could not be prevented from riding with her. Piro and Kytraan came behind, and the two lackeys brought up the rear, leading the pack horse.
The first part of the journey was pleasant enough—they rode northeast toward their meeting with the Laughing River, through what had once been good farmland, although during the last two centuries the forests were beginning to reclaim it.
“Do you know,” said Kytraan, “we have set out at a remarkably fortuitous time.”
“How so?” said Piro.
“Well, you perceive that it is still winter.”
“Well, that is true, but it never becomes cold in these latitudes.”
“Exactly. And we are traveling north, are we not?”
“Well, and if we are?”
“Just this: By the time we reach the colder climes, well, it will be at least spring, if not full summer, and thus we will miss the worst of the cold as well as the worst of the heat.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“It is a stroke of fortune, is it not?”
“Well, if it is an omen, I think it is a good one.”
“We cannot ask for more than that.”
“Did we bring the maps?”
“All of them. Why do you ask?”
Kytraan turned around and gestured toward Dzur Mountain, which still loomed over them. “It is not yet too late to turn back, if we have forgotten anything.”
“Ah. Well, we have the maps. And our swords. And, above all, we have Zivra, that is to say, Zerika.”
“Then we have forgotten nothing important.”
“That’s my opinion.”
Piro looked around. “This is all new to me. You perceive, on the way here we approached from the southwest. But this district I do not know.”
Kytraan said, “It is the county of Southmoor, and was once a domain of the House of the Dragon dating back to the earliest days of the Empire.”
“Well, it is very old then,” observed Piro.
“It would have been grand to live then!”
“When? In days of the formation of the Empire?”
“Exactly! Every rock or bush, you perceive, might conceal an ambuscade. Every chance meeting might lead to mortal combat. Every—”
“But, that is exactly what we face today,” observed Piro.
“Well, that is true. But then they were building an Empire.”
“How, is that not what we are doing here?”
“Yes, but we have no army.”
“It is true that we have no army. Yet—”
“Well?”
“Perhaps, before all is over, we will.”
“That would be splendid!”
“You think so?”
“I am convinced of it. You see, if there is an army, there must necessarily be spectators to watch it.”
“And then?”
“Well, some of them will certainly be girls.”
“That is true,” said Piro. “And we can watch to see which of the girls are the bravest, and pick them to have conversation with.”
“Well, there is some justice in what you say, only I had thought of it more in the sense of the reverse.”
“How, pick the least brave?”
“No, no. I had referred to permitting them to see us being brave, so they could choose to have conversations with us.”
“I see, I see. Yes, that would be a fine thing as well.”
“Then we are in agreement?”
“Perfectly, my dear Kytraan.”
That night, they made camp still within sight of of Dzur Mountain. As Tazendra prepared to light the fire that they would use to cook (or, more precisely, to heat) their evening meal, Piro said, “Do we need a schedule of watches?”
“As it happens, we do not,” said Tazendra.
“How, we do not?”
“Not in the least.”
“And yet, is there no danger in this region?”
“There is some,” said the Dzurlord.
“But then, should we not stay alert for this danger?”
“Oh, certainly, but no watch is required.”
“And yet, my dear Tazendra, I fail to comprehend.”
“Shall I explain?”
“Oh, if you should explain, well, I assure you I will be most grateful.”
“Well, this is it, then: I have learned sufficient sorcery to be able to establish an enchantment around the area to alert us if anything larger than a norska approaches our camp.”
“How, you can do this?”
“Of a certainty. And the proof is, it was Sethra Lavode who taught me the spell.”
“Even without the Orb?”
“Even without the Orb.”
“Well, my dear friend, I can only say that I am pleased you are here with us, and for more reasons than I had thought.”
Tazendra bowed, and turned her attention back to the fire, over which, after preparing it in the usual way—with larger
fagots on the bottom, interspersed with small twigs and such dried leaves as could still be found, as well as a good number of pine needles with which the area was abundantly supplied—she passed her hand several times, and, muttering certain enchantments under her breath, caused a small fire to begin.
Piro watched in awe, for he had never before actually witnessed sorcery. When the fire was going, she pulled from it a burning stick of medium length and with it walked in a circle about thirty feet in diameter, still muttering under her breath. When she had finished, she took in her a hand a long, pale staff with a small green jewel at its tip, and, with this, walked around the circle once more. When she had finished, she said, “Well, that should be sufficient.”
“If you believe it is,” said Kytraan, “than I, for one, am satisfied.”
“As am I,” said Zerika.
Tazendra bowed.
Whether the Dzurlord’s enchantment was successful is something that we cannot know with any certainty, because it chanced that they were not disturbed that night.
Piro had not remained at Dzur Mountain long enough to have lost his acclimation to sleeping on the ground; therefore he slept well, and by the time ten or twelve days had passed, it seemed that he had spent his whole life in that way: riding and riding, stopping to eat and rest the horses, then more riding, a night’s sleep, and back to riding. And yet, the company made for a time that was not unpleasant: Piro would discuss history with Kytraan, and reminisce with Zerika about their childhood, and speak with Tazendra about her adventures with his father, and jest with the two lackeys, and in this way the miles fell behind them.
“Do you know this region, my good Piro?” said Tazendra one day.
“I must confess that I do not.”
“Well, you should, because we are now in the duchy called Luatha.”
“Ah!” said Piro, looking around eagerly. “And the Sorannah?”
“Do you mean Sorannah the region, or Sorannah the
county? You perceive, this entire province has the name as well as a county within the duchy of Two Rivers.”
“I mean the county; because that county has a certain history for me.”
“It is that way,” said Tazendra, pointing with her left hand. “Across the Shallow River.”
“The Shallow River?” said Piro. “And yet, I had thought it was the Laughing River.”
“Oh, it is called that, too,” put in Kytraan. “It is all a matter of who you ask.”
“And so, where is Newmarket?”
“If it still exists,” said Tazendra, “it is thirty or forty miles in that direction.”
“Well, I should like to visit it, but perhaps we should postpone that journey for another occasion.”
“That is my opinion,” said Zerika.
“And then,” said Piro, “the marquisate of Khaavren cannot be far.”
“No, it cannot,” said Tazendra, “and yet, I do not know precisely where it is. But then, were we to turn around and travel back downriver to the place where the Yendi River joins with the Shallow, and were we to wait there, well, even now we might see barges carrying that famous wine down to the delta.”
Piro sighed. “Another journey we cannot make.”
“That is too bad,” said Kytraan.
“I believe,” remarked Zerika, “that it is going to rain.”
Tazendra said, “Well, I regret to say that I have learned no weather magic.”
“In that case,” said Zerika, shrugging, “well, we will get wet.”
“It seems likely,” agreed Kytraan. “Mica, did we remember tents?”
“My lord, we have oiled blankets, and we have poles, and we have rope, and we have spikes.”
“Well, then it seems to me that we have tents.”
And they did get wet, and, what is more, they stayed wet for several days, as spring in Luatha is not a dry season; yet they continued, and eventually the rains ceased.
“Eventually,” said Zerika, “the rain will always cease.”
“Well,” said Tazendra, “but then, soon or late, there will be rain again.”
“That is just as well,” said Kytraan, “or the whole world would be a desert.”
Mica turned to Lar and said, “They are becoming philosophical.”
Lar nodded. “It may amuse you know that my master accused me of being a philosopher.”
“How, he did?”
“I give you my word on it.”
“Well, being a philosopher is not so bad.”
“You think it is not?”
“At any rate, it keeps the mind active during drudgery.”
“Well, I am acquainted with drudgery.”
“Oh, as to drudgery, I could tell you stories.”
“You will forgive me if I suggest that these stories might not be entertaining.”
“Doubtless you are right, my friend, wherefore I will refrain.”
“That is kind of you.”
“Do you think so? Well—but what is that?”
“Horsemen, or I am blind.”
“I agree.”
“And a good number of them.”
“At least ten, or I’m no arithmetist.”
“And they seem to be approaching us.”
“Well, I nearly think you are right.”
“Brigands, do you think?”
“I have my bar-stool near to hand, if they are. And yet—”
“Well, and yet?”
“They appear to all be Dragonlords.”
“Are there no brigands who are Dragonlords? I tell you plainly there must be, and the proof is that I knew some.”
“And yet, I have never heard of an entire band of them.”
“Well, that is true. Perhaps you are right.”
“Nevertheless, as I have said, I have my bar-stool ready, and, you perceive, my mistress rolled her shoulders.”
“Well, and is there meaning to this rolling of shoulders?”
“Oh, I give you my word, it is full of significance.”
“But then, what does it mean?”
“It means, my dear Lar, that she wishes to be certain her sword is correctly hanging behind her back in a good position to be drawn quickly if it is required.”
“Well, but then she fears we may be involved in a discussion?”
“Bah! What is it you say? My mistress fears nothing.”
“No, no; I only meant—”
“Hush, they are speaking.”
“Then let us listen.”
To Piro’s eye, the most remarkable aspect to the appearance of the knobby, sinewy, dark-complexioned Dragonlord before them was that, unlike Piro and his companions, he showed no signs of having been traveling: that is, his uniform was clean, and even showed signs of sharp creases, such as are made by a one who engages in cleaning and pressing of uniforms as a profession. When the Dragonlord spoke, it was to Tazendra, and he said, “I give you a good day, my lady.”
Tazendra bowed from her horse, which horse, Piro noted, was rather larger than the Dragonlord’s, and said, “And to you, my dear Dragonlord. I am called Tazendra Lavode. Have you observed that the rain has stopped?”

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