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Authors: Steven Brust

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“I have thought of this, too.”

“I am not startled that you have.”

“Shall I tell you what I have thought of?”

“I should like nothing better.”

“This is it, then: You need counselors, observers, and governors.”

“Ah, ah!”

“You understand, then?”

“I think so.”

“Well, let us see.”

“Advisers to help plan the campaigns, spies to make certain I am aware of what is going on around me and throughout the Empire at all times, and rulers to secure each area as it is conquered.”

“Precisely.”

“And,” said Kana, his eyes beginning to sparkle, “as we fully secure each area, there will be fewer soldiers required to
maintain control, and thus these warriors can move out, while food for them, and fodder for the horses, which we cannot forget, will move out in regular paths to feed the army that is advancing.”

“You have grasped my plan exactly. What do you think of it?”

“My dear cousin—”

“Well?”

“I think I will be Emperor.”

“I nearly agree.”

“Have you anyone to suggest for those roles of which we have spoken?”

“Some. We will discover more as we begin our campaign. Come now, have you any maps?”

“Why yes, many.”

“Good. I perceive that you have finished your omelet and your bacon, and are now drinking your third cup of klava, whereas I have finished my biscuit and my sausage, and am just pouring my second cup of tea, so let us retire to the library, and consult these famous maps, and begin to plan this campaign of which we have been speaking.”

“An excellent suggestion, and one that I subscribe to with all my heart.”

Thus began Kana’s campaign, which at its start was one of the countless efforts of minor aristocrats to preserve the few holdings they had, and which by its end was so much more.

Chapter the Fourth

How a Band of Road Agents
Met a Sorceress Who Was Not,
In Fact, Picking Flowers

O
n a spring day in the 229th year of the Interregnum, a woman could be seen to be picking flowers in a meadow near the banks of the river that the Easterners call the Naplemente, which name, we believe, translates to “the last of the light.” The name was given it by an Eastern explorer who, having traveled as far from his homeland as he was willing to go, saw it as the farthest western point he could discern; he therefore called it by his country’s name for the end of the day, or, perhaps, the place where the last of the daylight is seen. It still goes by this name among some, especially Easterners living within the Empire, but it is more often known as the Adrilankha River, for the simple reason that it passes through this city before finding its way to the ocean.

The meadow to which we direct our attention, however, was nearly three hundred miles north of this city, and there were no cities nearby, though, to be sure, there were no small number of inns and tiny villages, as more than a few roads ran in diverse directions through the region.

As to the woman picking flowers, we should say that she was eight or nine hundred years of age, with narrow eyes, a clear noble’s point beneath dark hair that curled around her ears, a small mouth, and a face that showed that she had lived no easy life. While she was unencumbered, she traveled with a mule, which held a heavy pack, and one item of especial
note: that being a staff of white wood, polished until it nearly gleamed, and featuring a small reddish marking on one end. Other than this staff, she appeared to have nothing more than what anyone might take for extended travel in the woodlands.

Watching her as she made her slow, painstaking way through the meadow, one might suspect her of being a midwife or herbmaster, until the observer realized that she was not, in fact, picking the flowers, so much as searching through them—indeed, her concentration was so fixed upon the ground that she did not, at first, realize that she was not alone.

When she at last became aware of it, she looked up with a sharply indrawn breath to find eight or nine horsemen watching her from a distance of only a few yards.

“A good day to you, madam,” said one of them. “You appear to have lost something.”

“And a good day to you, sir. I am called Orlaan, and, as you have deduced, I have, indeed, lost something.”

The horseman looked at his companions and, with something like a smile, said, “Tell us what you are looking for, then, and, as we are all gentlemen here, we will help you find it.”

“Will you, indeed? Why, I should be most glad for the assistance, and I will tell you at once.”

“Well?”

“I am searching for a soul.”

The horseman stared, then, frowning, said, “I beg your pardon, madam, but I fail to understand what it is you do me the honor to tell me.”

“But, what could be simpler? There is a soul somewhere hereabouts.”

“I … that is to say, a soul?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, how did you come to lose it?”

“Oh, I never had it.”

“But … then, it is not your soul?”

“No, it belongs to another.”

“But, how is that possible?”

“For another to have a soul?”

“No, no. For there to be a disembodied soul. I have never heard of such a thing.”

“It was a strange effect of Adron’s Disaster.”

“But that was two hundreds of years ago!”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you have been searching for it all this time?”

“Oh, certainly not. It was scarcely a hundred years ago that I realized it was missing. It took me that long, you perceive, to train my skills to the point where had an awareness of such things, and to perform the divination that revealed that it existed.”

“But now you know it exists?”

“I have Seen it, yes.”

“And it is here?”

“As to that, I cannot say. I traced a line from Dragaera City—”

“Dragaera City! That is a sea of amorphia, from all I have heard.”

“Well, so be it, then. From the sea of amorphia to Dzur Mountain, and I began my search at the edge of the sea, as that is where I happened to be when I made the discovery, and my search has, so far, brought me here.”

“But, well, what will you do if you find it?”

“Oh, I will find it.”

“Very well, what will you do
when
you find it?”

“I will put it into that staff which you observe on my mule.”

“Well, and then?”

“I have not the least idea in the world. But I am convinced it will be useful. Such an object—”

“Madam, I believe you are doing yourself the honor of mocking me.”

“Not in the least,” said Orlaan coolly.

“You should be aware, madam, that we—that is, my friends and I—had only intended to rob you of your mule and your possessions, and perhaps to sport with you a little. But, as you have chosen to mock us—”

“Oh, I have been aware of your intentions all along.”

“Have you? Well, you do not appear worried.”

“I have no reason to be worried.”

“And, would you care to tell me why? Quickly, if you please; you perceive my associates are becoming impatient.”

“I will be as fast as the Great Flood of Thuvin.”

“Very well, I am listening.”

“I have mentioned that I was near the Sea of Amorphia.”

“That is, the Lesser Sea.”

“Yes, yes. The Lesser Sea. Well, can you imagine what I was doing there?”

“Why, I have not the least idea in the world.”

“I was coming to an agreement with it.”

“With the amorphia? The Gods! You consider me too credible by half!”

“Not, perhaps, a conscious bargain on its part, but I was learning how to speak with it, to convince it to do what I wish. In a word—”

“Elder sorcery!”

“Exactly.”

“Pah! I do not believe you.”

“Well,” said Orlaan, shrugging. “It then remains only for me to convince you.”

Some hours later, a certain Teckla, who had been kept by the brigands to cook for them and help with tasks around their encampment, observed that his band had not returned. After consulting with himself (there being no one else around with whom to consult), he went off searching for them in the direction in which they had departed. Soon enough, he found what remained of them, and could only speculate on what sort of catastrophe could have left these blackened and burned remains. He did, we should say, feel a slight twinge of sorrow—the brigands had not been as unkind to him as they might have been, but then he realized that, with the booty they had left, he would be able to live comfortably for many years, if he managed it well. And, when his means began to run low, he could, no doubt, hire a boat to bring him down the river to seek his fortune in the city.

As for Orlaan, there was no sign. It had happened that, on that day, she had found what she had been seeking.

Chapter the Fifth

How Arra Prevented Aging
And Morrolan
Discovered
His
Growing Notoriety

I
t so happened that on a spring day Morrolan entered the chapel at Blackchapel, looking for his Priestess, Arra, who was, naturally enough, often to be found there, as it was not only where she consulted with penitents, and not only where she conducted her services, and not only where she worked with and trained what had come to be called “the Circle,” but was also where she lived.

Having introduced the subject of living quarters, and, moreover, observing that the reader last had occasion to look in on Blackchapel several scores of years earlier, we consider it our duty, before continuing, to say two words about Blackchapel as it was at this time—that is to say, in the 243rd year of the Interregnum (although, the reader must not forget, an Interregnum that had no direct effect and little indirect effect on matters this far to the East of the old bounds of the Empire).

Since we have last visited, then, there have been considerable changes. In the first place, what had been a sort of low, swampy field north of the chapel had been drained by clever engineering on the part of a certain Cecilia, and a series of low cottages had been built there to house those who had been steadily arriving in the village—or, more properly, the town—ever since Arra had begun her work.

Blackchapel had absorbed these new citizens in the simplest
possible way: When they were not engaged in their training in the magical practices, or working with Arra to send out the strange psychic calls to attract more of their number, they put their talents at the disposal of the local citizens. The most annoying of the pests who disturbed the local agriculture were now almost unheard of. Lost livestock no longer remained lost. There had not been a bad year for fish as long as the current generation could remember.

All of these services for the townspeople were performed at the absolute insistence of Arra, who pretended that the instant the Circle became a burden on Blackchapel, the slow, steady, peaceful growth of the Circle would be, at best, interrupted. Morrolan, for his part, paid little attention: he had the single-mindedness (and, to be sure, the accompanying tendency to be oblivious to everything outside of his immediate focus) that seems to be as much the birthright of the young Dragonlord as the fierce temper and callous disregard for life.

To be sure, Morrolan was of a naturally cheerful disposition, and had had no occasion for any display of temper. The townspeople considered him something like their pet demon (though, of course, they would never think of using such terms to his face) and as such, considered him something like a living token of good fortune, and he made friends easily both among the townspeople and the witches. These friendships were hampered only by Morrolan’s observation that the people who surrounded him—indeed, everyone except himself and Arra, who were marked by the special favor of the goddess—tended to grow old and die at an alarming speed.

Over the decades, the distinctions tended to diminish between the two groups: local peasant girls could not help but find the witches fascinating, and no one is as attractive to a peasant boy as a woman with the mysterious powers of a witch. The populations therefore tended to mix, with only those newly arrived remaining separate, for a time, from the life of Blackchapel.

And so, as we have said, there was nothing but harmony in Blackchapel between those whose families had dwelt there for generations uncounted, and those who drifted in to become part of the Circle, a harmony that, so far as Morrolan
knew, was entirely natural and normal, he being unaware of Arra’s diligent work to maintain this state.

Arra, for her part, could not help but be aware of the aspects of Morrolan’s character to which we have referred, and so, without complaint, simply added to her duties all of those matters that can be called “politics”; that is, the requirements of maintaining harmony between her witches and the locals of Blackchapel.

On the occasion of which we now write, she heard Morrolan call her name, and so emerged from a back room into the chapel itself, dressed only in a long towel of a particularly absorbent material, and with water streaming from her hair and collecting in small pools on the hard stone floor.

“I beg your pardon,” said Morrolan. “I was not aware—”

“It is nothing, milord,” said Arra. “I was merely immersing myself in sanctified water to which certain salts and herbs have been added, as part of the process of maintaining my youth. The favor of the goddess does a great deal, but, you perceive, even she can use aid in her endeavors from time to time.”

“Oh, as to that, you seem to have maintained all of your youth with no change, so far as my eyes can see.”

“You are most kind.”

“Not at all. And, come to that, when I look in the glass, I do not seem to have particularly aged myself, which speaks strongly for the powers of our goddess, and the rejuvenating effects of the Circle, does it not?”

“Oh, in your case I believe there are other reasons,” said Arra, smiling. “But tell me, what is it that you wish? For I am convinced that you did not enter, calling my name in that strong voice, without having had in mind some particular issue.”

“Oh, as far as that goes, you are entirely correct. But, before discussing it, I should rather wait until you, that is, until—”

“Until I should have dressed myself, my lord?”

“You have said it precisely.”

Arra, we must confess, took a certain pleasure in embarrassing Morrolan, but she merely said, “Very well, I shall return in a moment, properly attired.”

Morrolan bowed, and Arra left, although not without permitting the towel to drop just as she vanished through the doorway. Soon she was back, properly covered in her priestly robes. “I hope,” she said, “this causes you less discomfort, my lord.”

Morrolan bowed.

“Well then,” she said when they were seated, “what is it that you wish to discuss with me?”

“A peculiar thing happened.”

“Well, I am listening.”

“I was on my way from my apartments to the dry goods store, when I happened to pass a stranger—that is, someone I had not met before.”

“Yes, I understand. A stranger. They pass through Blackchapel from time to time. Indeed, many of them end up joining the Circle, at which time they cease to be strangers.”

“Well but this stranger—a clean-shaven gentleman of middle years with a large belly and very little hair—seemed to be looking at me in a very peculiar fashion.”

“Yes?”

“That is, he was staring at me.”

“I understand.”

“And then—”

“There is more?”

“Yes. He stopped Claude, who happened to be passing the other way, and spoke to him, pointing at me in a way I considered impertinent at best, and probably rude.”

“Yes?”

“And, after that, he stopped, dropped to his knee, and bowed to me!”

“Well?”

“But, my dear Arra, why would he, a stranger, have done such a thing?”

“No doubt he has heard of you.”

“Heard of me?”

“Why, yes. You cannot imagine that what we have done has not been noticed, and that you are not seen as the mover behind it.”

“What we have done? You mean, our Circle?”

“Precisely.”

“But why?”

“Why, milord? You wonder why?”

“Yes, exactly. And, if you know, I should consider it a great favor were you to tell me.”

“Then I will do so.”

“I am listening.”

“You must consider that we have gathered together three hundred and eighty-three witches. We have been working together, learning more of the Art, and sending out messages to all with the sensitivity to hear them—messages that reach farther and farther as we add more to the Circle.”

“Well, I know all of this.”

“But, nothing like this has ever been done before!”

“I had not known that. But still—”

“And we have done more. Do you recall last year, the Seeing?”

“You mean, when you saw the raid that was to be conducted on Carrick?”

“Exactly. And we warned them, and the raiders were driven off.”

“Oh yes, certainly, I can never forget it any more than I can forget the ten barrels of
oushka
that we were sent as a mark of gratitude. But—”

“My lord, you seem not to understand.”

“Understand? I do not understand? Goddess! I have been telling you for an hour that I do not understand!”

“My lord, for a hundred miles around, everyone knows of the Circle, and, to them, the Circle is you.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“Arra, what do you mean, the Circle is me?”

“I mean that everyone has heard of you, and of the Circle, and sees them together.”

“For a hundred miles around?”

“Maybe two hundred.”

“They know the Circle, and know me?”

“Your description travels by word of mouth—they perceive you are a very distinctive man.”

“Well, but—it is strange.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that it is. But it is true.”

Morrolan frowned and considered the matter. Arra waited patiently while he did so. At length he said, “Arra, a thought has occurred to me.”

“Well, and it is?”

“That band of raiders, would they have heard of us, too?”

“It is possible, yes.”

“Are there very many of them?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. They come from considerably less than a hundred miles away. They are from a region called Sylavya, around thirty-five or forty miles around the lake, and, whenever they have a bad harvest—which happens often, as the god they worship does little to give them good harvests—they plunder those around them.”

“Yes, I see. Well—”

“My lord?”

“It has come to my thoughts that if we should continue warning their victims of impending raids, they may take it ill.”

“That is possible, my lord. As I consider it, I think it is very possible.”

“So I had thought.”

“Do you think, well—do you think we ought to stop giving these warnings?”

“Oh, no!” said Morrolan. “I certainly would suggest nothing so drastic as that!”

“That is well. For a moment, I was afraid—”

“Yes?”

“I was afraid that you were beginning to show your age.”