The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha) (34 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)
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It was eight or nine days later that they awoke to discover that the Mountains of Faerie, as they were called in the East, or the Eastern Mountains, were no longer upon their right hand, replaced with only the most harmless-looking hills. Morrolan and his friends looked back to the north, and saw, as it were, the trailing edges of the mountains.
“Well,” said Morrolan. “I never thought to see them end.”
“I admit,” said Arra, “that I, too, was beginning to despair of seeing their end.”
“I nearly imagine,” said Teldra, “that I can smell the sea, although it is yet more than fifty leagues distant.”
“Come, look there,” said Morrolan.
“Where?” said the warlock.
“There, between those hills. Do you see?”
“It looks.” said Teldra, “to be a small troop of horsemen.”
“Yes,” said Morrolan. “I cannot make out their number. Four? Six?”
The dog looked in the indicated direction, and began pointing, front paw up, tail straight.
“They are elfs,” said the warlock.
Teldra nodded “They do not appear to be coming in our direction, however.”
“No, they are going north, as near as I can make out.”
“Well?”
Morrolan shrugged. “Let them alone, then.”
“I concur,” said Arra.
Morrolan watched them a bit longer, then, after packing up, mounted once more.
“Southward,” he said. “And a bit to the west. The homeland of my ancestors lies ahead.”
“And much else as well,” said Arra.
“Of that,” said Morrolan, “I have no doubt.”
 
 
How Various Others Are Spending
Their Time While Our Friends
Are Traveling
 
 
 
S
hould the reader be at all curious about what has been happening with Wadre and his highwaymen, not to mention the sinister sorceress who calls herself Orlaan, we now propose to satisfy this curiosity. She was sitting, to all appearances as imperturbable as an Athyra monk, when Mora approached her and delicately cleared her throat.
Orlaan opened her eyes and looked up at the bandit. “Well?” she said.
Mora bowed with utmost respect, and said, “I am bidden to inform you that they have left Dzur Mountain.”
“Ah! Have they, then?”
Mora bowed her assent.
“Well, and in what direction have they set off?”
“North.”
“North?”
“It is as I have the honor to inform you.”
“Well. I wonder what business they have to the north. You perceive, I had been prepared for them to travel back southwest toward Adrilankha, or west toward Adron’s Disaster, or south toward the Coast, or even east as a means of escape. But I cannot imagine what might take them north.”
Mora, having nothing to add to these reflections, and being, moreover, a little uncertain in the presence of the sorceress, said nothing, but rather waited.
“Well,” said Orlaan after a moment. “Let us follow them and find out.”
“As you say, madam,” said Mora.
“Send Wadre to me.”
Mora bowed, departed, and, a few minutes later the bandit chief was standing in the very spot she had but lately vacated.
“You wished to see me, madam?”
Orlaan nodded. “As you know, our quarry is running.”
“Well, and?”
“We will follow them at a good distance. It is my desire to see whither they are bound, but not yet to interfere with them.”
“Very well.”
“Apropos, we must not permit them to see us.”
“Very well.”
“But neither must we fall too far behind them, because I may choose to attack them at a moment’s notice.”
“Very well.”
“When will we be ready to set out?”
“Well, we must saddle our horses.”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“And then, our gear must be packed.”
“I agree that you should have your gear.”
“And then, our food and other supplies must be put into our saddle-pockets.”
“Certainly we must all have food for the journey. And then?”
“Five minutes.”
“Ah. You move quickly.”
Wadre shrugged. “We are bandits. We have become accustomed to the need to be on the road with little delay.”
“That is good then. See to it.”
“At once,” said Wadre.
The brigand was as good as his word; five minutes later the entire band, with the addition of Orlaan, were mounted and moving north. They skirted Dzur Mountain, and, brave though they no doubt were, many of the brigands gave the mountain covert glances, or made superstitious gestures in its direction as their route brought them to their closest approach.
“Do you think she is watching us?” asked Orlaan, with an expression of irony on her countenance.
“No,” said Wadre.
“Well, and why do you believe she is not?”
“Because if I thought she were, well, I should be forced to scream and then, turning my horse, to run from here as quickly as possible. This would be inconsistent with my dignity as a bandit leader. Therefore, you perceive, I must believe she is not watching us.”
“Ah! You are a pragmatist.”
Wadre shrugged. “It is the only philosophy suitable to a brigand, don’t you think?”
“Well, that, or perhaps fatalism.”
“Bah! I am of too optimistic a nature to be a fatalist.”
“You must be very optimistic, my good Wadre, to maintain your optimism in the very lap of Seth—”
“Now please,” said Wadre. “Whatever your own beliefs, please do me the courtesy of respecting my own, and do not name her, especially while we are within the shadow of her home.”
“As you wish,” said Orlaan, shrugging.
That evening, they stopped and made camp, and, as they were cooking up a sort of stew, Wadre said, “I wonder how far ahead of us they are?”
“Eleven and a half miles,” said Orlaan.
“Bah!” said Wadre. “How—” Then he stopped in mid-sentence, shrugged, and continued stirring.
“I wonder where they’re going?” said Orlaan quietly, speaking to herself.
We are not going to detail yet another in what, we confess, is in danger of becoming an endless sequence of wearying episodes of travel. When we portray these episodes, we do so with regret, and only because the history we have taken it upon ourselves to relate absolutely requires it; thus when we are able to pass them by, as we do now, we readily take the opportunity to do so.
The reader may, then, rest assured that, for several weeks, and even months, they continued in the trail of Piro and his friends, and that, at the expiration of that time, Orlaan was quietly asking herself the same question, and, as of that time, had not arrived at an answer.
It was during that time—that is, during these weeks and
months—that there came a visitor to Dzur Mountain, and a visitor, moreover, with whom the reader is already acquainted, that being our old friend Pel, who was, as the reader may recall, given the task by Kana himself to treat with the Enchantress.
The entrance Pel found was, typically, one of the lesser-known doorways into the strange keep of Sethra Lavode—in particular, it involved climbing to the very top of the mountain, slipping between two large boulders which did not appear to have any space between them, moving aside a doorway that appeared to be a stingerbush, and climbing down a ladder into a sort of entry-way made of brown rock.
Once down, he waited, assuming his entry would be noted. In this, he was not disappointed; it was the Sorceress in Green who appeared on this occasion, a sword in her hand. Pel did not draw a weapon, but instead made a bow and said, “I am the Duke of Galstan. Do I have honor of addressing Sethra the Younger, of whom I have heard so much?”
“No,” said the Sorceress, “you do not. Is it your custom to enter homes unannounced?”
“Not in the least,” said Pel. “On the contrary, I would have wrung the clapper, were it not for the fact that I didn’t see one. Moreover, I would have entered by the front door, if I knew where it was. I am an emissary of his Imperial Majesty Kâna, of the House of the Dragon, and I request an audience with Sethra Lavode.”
The Sorceress studied him, then abruptly sheathed her sword and made a certain motion with the fingers of her left hand. Upon seeing this, Pel, his eyes widening slightly, made a similar yet different motion with the fingers of his left hand, after which the Sorceress said, “Follow me, then, my lord Galstan.”
Pel bowed and followed her.
Soon Pel was in the room our friends had occupied some weeks previously. The Enchantress entered, and said, “Well, it is Pel, isn’t it?”
“How,” said the Sorceress. “You know him?”
“Oh, indeed,” said the Enchantress. “He is the Duke of Galstan, of the House of the Yendi, but he styles himself Pel, after a small river in the northwest.”
“And you were aware that he is a Yendi?” said the Sorceress.
“Oh, certainly.”
“Well.”
“It has been some time,” said Pel.
“Indeed. And word has reached me that you are here on behalf of Skinter.”
Pel bowed.
The Enchantress studied him for some time, at last saying, “You perceive, I do not ask you to sit.”
“This fact had not escaped me.”
“Well then, is our business concluded?”
“To my regret, madam, I must confess that it is.”
“Well. The Sorceress will see you out by the same way you entered.”
Pel bowed once more, and, following the Sorceress in Green, left Dzur Mountain, after which he made his way to a near-by posting house, some twenty or thirty miles away, from which he contrived to have this message dispatched back to Mount Kâna:
Your Majesty, I have the honor to report that I have met with the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain. We discussed those issues with which I was charged, and I regret to report that I wad told, in terms that can Leave no room for confusion, that the Enchantress intends to oppose us with all of the forces at her disposal, and even with all of those which, not being presently at her disposal, she can contrive to assemble for the purpose of thwarting our intentions. She is, in other words, an implacable enemy. She went so far as to insist, using Language that was unmistakable, that she questioned even Your Majesty’s right to the duchy of Kâna. Other than this, I was able to learn little, except that she is engaged in a project of some soft that is working directly counter to our aims; but she was too cautious and too clever to give me so much as an opportunity to learn anything about it.
Your Majesty, I feel it vital to learn what this project is as soon as possible and will therefore be engaged in this task. Your Majesty may be assured that I will communicate as soon as possible, and that until then I remain Your Majesty’s obedient servant, Galstan.
The district in which the posting house was located, a part of the county of Southmoor, was characterized by its proximity to the home of Sethra Lavode; that is, to the peasantry, every aspect of life was defined by the mountain and the Enchantress. In addition to certain sorghums, the region produced sugarcane, groundnuts, and wetcorn, as well as an endless crop of legends, myths, stretchers, and outright lies. It should hardly surprise the reader to learn that the life of the region was overshadowed—literally and figuratively—by the omnipresent peak. It has been said by a noted historian
2
that every superstition found anywhere in the world eventually ended up in the counties south of Arylle, where they were all fervently believed, whether they contradicted one another or not.
A stranger would find himself regarded with the highest suspicion; but were the stranger a clever Yendi such as Pel, he would find few peoples more subject to the particular machinations at which he was so skilled. For this reason, then, we can find him at this same house after merely a week or six days, and it should come as no surprise that in this time he has learned of whom to ask questions, and where to place inquiries, and, availing himself of these matters, has had a watch set upon Dzur Mountain itself.
He has learned, then, of all the significant comings and goings, and these, in turn, have led him to make other inquiries, for which he finds himself required to wait.
His waiting ended one day, as we have said, something like a week after his visit to the Enchantress. On this day there came a clap outside of his room. Upon his command, the curtain was moved aside, and there entered a Teckla of five hundred or five hundred and fifty years, who bowed to him as to one of exceedingly high rank, a salute to which Pel responded as if it were his due.
“What is it, Tem?” asked the Yendi.
“My lord, word has come back from my cousin.”
“Ah!” said Pel. “Well, it has been a long wait.”
“My lord, you have my deepest apologies for that.”
“Well, it is all the same, if the information is reliable.”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“I assure Your Lordship I would stake my life upon it.”
“Not only would you, my dear Tem, but you are doing so. With this in mind, let us hear what your cousin has learned.”
“My lord, a large tribe of Easterners has crossed the mountain.”
“Well, what of it? There have been many.”
“Yes, my lord. But this is larger than most. Several hundred at the least.”
“Well, but you perceive, this still does not interest me. What is it about this tribe that is remarkable?”
“They have come, my lord, from the passes of Mount Bli’aard.”
“Have they indeed? Well, but there are many Easterners beyond this pass.”
“And the Easterners spoke of a band of humans they passed.”
“Humans?”
“Exactly. And they were able to describe them remarkably well.”
“Then let us hear these famous descriptions.”
“Two women and four men, all mounted, plus a pack animal. One of the women carried a large sword strapped across her back, and one of the men wore blue and white, whereas the two who always rode in back were dressed in yellow and brown.”

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