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Authors: Steven Brust

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“I know that I can find nowhere a friend as wise, nor even in a Discreet a gentleman so perfect.”

“Then, will you tell me?”

“I will. But can you not guess?”

Aerich said, “Well, I think you are worried about what to do with regards to Baroness Kaluma.”

“You have hit it exactly. I made a promise—”

“Ah! A promise.”

“Yes.”

“To a woman?”

“Yes, to a woman.”

“To a lover?”

“Oh, as to that, well—”

“Yes?”

“I don’t deny it.”

“You should learn, my friend, to have a care with women, lest your mouth place you in a position from which your feet cannot extricate you, nor your hands free you, but which will leave your brain confused.”

“But when one’s heart is engaged—”

“Then you must take even more care, for where the heart is engaged, the mind is nowhere to be found.”

“The damage is done, for I have made a promise.”

“Yet you have also made an oath, and that to Captain G’aereth.”

“I know,” said Khaavren, giving forth such a sigh as the astute Lyorn had heard him make at the shortening intervals he had mentioned. “What, then, should I do?”

Aerich shook his head. “It is as bad as I thought,” he murmured. Then, aloud, he said, “Well, let us go forward, and perhaps new counsel will present itself to us.”

“It would be most welcome if it did,” said Khaavren, and on this philosophical reflection they began to return to the inn and to their companions. They had, by this time, walked as far as the stone wall behind the hostel, when Khaavren held up his hand for Aerich to stop, while, with his other hand, he signaled him to avoid making any sounds. Aerich, who was never curious, gave a mute shrug and obeyed.

Had Khaavren actually been a tiassa—that is, the animal—this would have been one of those occasions on which his feline ears would have, first, pricked straight up, and then pointed toward the wall, for Khaavren had heard something that seemed to him to have the greatest significance. To be precise, he had heard someone speaking in very low tones; not so low, however that he had been unable to catch the words, which, in the harsh accents of the region, were, “They’re all inside fattening themselves, so we can say what we like.”

Certain errors, when we catch some unknown person making them, cry out to be corrected at once. For example, should we find someone who says, in a complacent tone of voice, that the House of the Teckla has never produced a composer of note, we should at once be forced to ask if this person has ever heard of G’hair of Clyferns who composed the Nine-Hour Symphony of the Model Sevens. Should we find someone who pretends that
Serioli no longer live in the world, we should desire to take this person to Jawbone Mountain, and there introduce him to Jggo!f’tha the bone-dancer, and then ask him again. Should we encounter an Eastern witch who asserts the superiority of his art over the sorcery we receive from the Orb, we are inclined, peaceable as we normally are, to suggest this claim be tested at once.

Certain other errors, however, might inspire in us the desire to leave the perpetrator in ignorance. To accidentally overhear someone say that he cannot be overheard, and thus imply to the other party that it is safe to whisper secrets, seems to fall solidly into the second category. This, at any rate, was Khaavren’s opinion, which is why he signaled Aerich as he did.

We return our attention then, to the place where Khaavren’s was directed; that is to say, over the stone wall which separated the yard from the gardener’s hutch. The second speaker, who was either a low-voiced woman or a high-voiced man, but, in either case, spoke with a purity of accent and pronunciation that showed him to be from the environs of Dragaera city, said, “There are five of them, then?”

“Five, yes, and a lackey.”

“Well, that is not too many.”

“No, not if they have no sorcery.”

“Well, and if they do?”

“Then, my lord, they are many more than their numbers indicate.”

The second speaker, of whom we can now say with confidence that he was masculine in character, said, “Well, if they are surprised, their sorcery will be of no help to them.”

“That is true with regards to sorcery.”

“Then that is all, is it not?”

“My lord, you have solved only one problem.”

“You pretend there is another problem?”

“A severe one, my lord.”

“Well? It is?”

“It is that we are forbidden to kill them, my lord.”

“How, forbidden?”

“It was in the orders I received directly from the lady.”

“Well then, my orders are from the other lady, the Athyra. You know who I mean, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Well, and she has no such compunctions.”

“Yet, my orders—”

“These mountains are deep, and high, and wild, and accidents can easily happen to strangers. If an accident were to happen, that is, if brigands, of which these mountains are full, were to fall upon these visitors; well, as long as the Dragon suspected nothing, there would be no reason why my generosity should fail, and no reason why any ill should come to you for it.”

“My lord, I am not an assassin.”

“No, merely an outlaw; and an outlaw with a price upon his head.”

“I nearly think you threaten me, my lord.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I beg you to remember that the mountains are deep, and high, and wild, and accidents can easily happen to strangers. And, moreover, I beg you to remember that I am an outlaw, with a price upon my head.”

“You reason well, Baaro.”

“Thank you, my lord; I think my head is tolerably long.”

“But allow me to point out something you may have overlooked.”

“Well, what is that, my lord?”

“You are only able to thrive in these mountains because of the good wishes of those who live here.”

“Well, that is natural.”

“And those who live here are loyal to Lord Adron.”

“As am I, my lord.”

“But suppose he were to set the people against you?”

“He would not do so.”

“But suppose he did.”

“Then I would be unable to survive.”

“Well?”

“Well, I repeat, he will not do that. Nor would he involve himself in anything like assassination.”

“It is not necessary that he involve himself, nor that he turn against you; it is only necessary that the people of these mountains think he has turned against you.”

“Do you pretend, my lord, that you can convince these people of such a thing without his knowing about it?”

“Are you not aware, good Baaro, that Lord Adron is, even now, in Dragaera City, negotiating for control of Pepperfield, and thus has no way of knowing what is declared in his name?”

“Well, that is true. All that is necessary, then, is to convince the people of this mountain that—what is it you have there?”

“How, you don’t recognize it?”

“It is Lord Adron’s seal!”

“Precisely.”

“By the gods! How did you come upon it?”

“That doesn’t concern you. What matters is that I have it.”

“Well, it is clear that you do.”

“Moreover, I am willing to use it.”

“I believe that you are.”

“And I can use it to such an effect that everyone will believe that Lord Adron has turned against you, rather than making everyone believe that he has turned against those others.”

“Yes, that is possible.”

“You will, then, do as I say?”

“It seems I have no choice.”

“Good. Then tell me your plan.”

“The strangers will set off to-morrow morning.”

“That is likely.”

“Just before they reach the Fordway Road, which they must take if they are to get to the castle of Lord Adron, there is a place with a stand of sycamore on one side of the road, and a line of birches on the other.”

“Very well.”

“Well, my men will conceal themselves there, and we will fall upon them with spear and sword.”

“How many men?”

“Thirty.”

“That will be enough. What else?”

“Well, we will kill them all.”

“Very well. Here is the gold.”

“Thank you, your lordship.”

“I hope, Baaro, that, notwithstanding your resistance to my mistress’s wishes, you will hold no ill-will toward me for the means I have had to use to convince you.”

“My lord, I assure you that I have the highest regard for you, and this gold removes any doubts I may have had.”

“That is well. I will see you again after your mission is completed, and you will then receive a like amount.”

“You are generous.”

“The Athyra whom I serve is generous. Never forget that.”

“I never shall.”

“That is all, then, Baaro.”

“Until to-morrow, your lordship.”

Khaavren touched Aerich’s shoulder at this point and made a sign that they should return to the inn, which they did, finding their companions just as they had left them, save that less of the cake was on the table. Khaavren and Aerich approached the table and bowed in a pleasant manner to all assembled (we must recall that, in addition to their companions, there were a few additional travelers there), and indicated by signs that they wished their friends to join them outside, after which signs being given and acknowledged, Khaavren and Aerich excused themselves and went back out of doors, where they awaited their companions.

Chapter the Twenty-third

In Which the Art
Of the Ambuscade is Discussed
And Examples Provided

T
HE FIRST TO ARRIVE WAS Pel. He raised his eyebrows at Aerich, who shook his head slightly to indicate that the moment for speech had not yet arrived. Uttrik followed after a moment, then Tazendra and Mica. “Well?” said Tazendra.

“This way,” said Khaavren, assuming command of the proceedings as if born to lead. He pointed up the road in the direction they were to proceed the next day, toward a place where a thick pile of stone had been built up, as if to prevent the slope of the mountain from covering the road with rocks and mud.

“Is there, then, something to see this way?” said Tazendra.

“No,” said Khaavren, “but there is something to talk about.”

“But then, why can’t we talk in the inn, where, I must tell you, I was most comfortably stationed?”

“Because, my friend, it would be too easy for us to be overheard there.”

“It is remarkable,” said Aerich, “how well sound carries in these mountains.”

“Well, then,” persisted Tazendra, who, notwithstanding the extreme justice of Khaavren’s remarks, was still annoyed at having to leave the inn, “do you pretend sound will carry less well here, along this road, than in the inn?”

“If you would be so good as to send Mica around to keep an eye and an ear open for observers, I should think we may be able to safely communicate some matters of importance.”

“I will do so then,” said Tazendra, and indicated to Mica that he should be about his task. The worthy Teckla nodded in a businesslike way and, still holding his bar-stool, began scouring the area.

After a moment, Pel said in a very quiet voice, “Come, what have you to tell us?”

“We are most anxious to hear,” said Uttrik.

“I will tell you then,” said Khaavren.

“What is it?” said Pel.

“Just this,” said Khaavren. “Aerich and I were absent when the cake was eaten.”

“Well,” said Tazendra. “We knew this. In fact, I even remarked upon it, did I not, Sir Uttrik?”

“You did,” said the Dragonlord.

Khaavren continued, “We took a walk behind the inn, where there is a stone path about several small clear-water pools, which it would do you good to look into, should you wish to reflect upon the infinite.”

“Oh,” said Tazendra, “I am done with reflecting.”

“Well, but, we were not.”

“And what did this reflection lead to?”

“Oh, that is unimportant. What is important, was what we heard while we were reflecting.”

“Oh, you heard something?”

“That is to say, overheard.”

“And what is it that you overheard?” asked Pel mildly.

Khaavren quickly described the conversation, as nearly word for word as he could, which was very nearly indeed, for he had a large head, and, as is well known, a large head gives greater capacity for memory. As he was finishing, Mica appeared and bowed to the company, “Gentlemen,” he said, “I have made three circuits of the area, at widening intervals. At one time I thought I heard a listener, but a closer examination proved it to be a norska, who seemed as anxious about my intentions as I was about hers.”

“Very well, Mica. You may remain here,” said Tazendra.

“But then,” said Uttrik, “where is this ambuscade to take place?”

“Ambuscade?” said Mica.

“Hush,” said Tazendra.

“Along this very road, if I understood correctly,” said Khaavren.

“That was my understanding, as well,” said Aerich. “Perhaps half a league further along.”

“What then ought we to do?” said Pel.

“Well, I,” said Tazendra, “think we should wait above the point of the ambuscade until we find these brigands, and then carry off our own ambuscade.”

“Shame,” said Aerich. “A surprise attack?”

“Well,” said Khaavren, “I am not far from agreeing with Tazendra. Consider that we are five against thirty, and that, furthermore, they intended to attack us in exactly that manner.”

“And yet—” said Aerich.

“My dear friend,” said Pel, “consider that we are dealing with brigands, not gentlemen.”

“That is true,” said Aerich. “Nevertheless—”

“And consider further that, if we do not, we must either admit that we have failed in our mission, which would suit my temperament but poorly, or else walk into an ambuscade, which would have results at least equally unsatisfactory, since I declare to you that I prize my skin nearly as highly as I prize success.”

“Well, we could go behind them, and proceed on to the castle.”

“And leave an enemy behind us?” said Uttrik.

Aerich sighed. “Very well, then. Have you a plan of battle?”

“I have one,” said Uttrik.

“Tell it,” said the others.

“Here it is, then. We must leave the inn as planned in the morning, only we must take care to depart in a very slow manner.”

“For what reason?” said Tazendra.

“I will tell you. There is no doubt that, when we set off, there will be someone to watch us, and to inform the ambuscade that we will reach it soon. It will be good if they are told that we are not moving in a great hurry.”

“And why is that, my lord?” asked Pel with the greatest courtesy.

“Because then, you perceive, it will not be deemed suspicious if we take a great deal of time of get there.”

“Well,” said Tazendra, “if we are moving slowly, then it is only natural that we will not get there as soon as if we trotted our horses.”

“Exactly,” said Uttrik.

“That is well thought out,” said Khaavren.

“But it would seem,” said Tazendra, “that we must nevertheless reach the ambuscade, and if we do so slower—”

“Tazendra,” said Aerich gravely, “does not comprehend.”

“Well, that is true,” said Tazendra.

“We intend,” said Pel, “to circle behind the ambuscade. Using Uttrik’s plan, with which I am in full agreement”—here he bowed to the Dragonlord, who returned the courtesy—“we will not alert them needlessly.”

“Shall we divide our forces?” said Khaavren.

“Well, Tazendra, have you had the chance to charge the flash-stone you used so effectually before?”

“No, I have not had the opportunity.”

“In that case—”

“Excuse me,” said Pel, “but you might go on to ask if any of the rest of us have such devices.”

“What? More of them?”

“Well, if one is the friend of a sorcerer”—here he bowed to Tazendra—“then it is practically the same as if one could prepare the rocks by one’s self.”

“So, then, how many of these famous devices are there?”

“Three, my lord,” said Pel. “And mine is a very heavy load indeed, such that I might knock four of the enemy off their horses.”

“Well, that one, and two others?”

“It is as I’ve said, my lord.”

“Then do you and Tazendra take the portion of the road above them, and Khaavren, Aerich, and I will secure the road below them.”

“And the signal?” said Tazendra.

“You, Pel, when you judge the time is right, will simply discharge your flash-stone at the largest group of them, whereupon we will all attack.”

“Agreed,” said Pel.

“And mind, we will be attacking through the woods, and using flash-stones, wherefore, if we make sufficient noise, they may believe there are more of us, and break off the engagement.”

“Nevertheless,” said Khaavren, frowning, “there are, to be sure, thirty of them.”

“Well, yes,” said Uttrik. “And?”

“I still wonder how five of us can defeat thirty of the enemy.”

“Well, perhaps we will not defeat them,” said Uttrik.

“But it will be a good battle,” said Tazendra.

“Of that, there can be little doubt,” said Pel, who smiled grimly and rested his hand upon his sword. With this they returned to the inn, for the hour had grown late as they spoke.

The Empress Undauntra I, shortly before the end of the War of the Wine Cups, that is, on the day of the battle that won for her the Orb, made the following observation as she inspected the army: “I can always tell who has never seen battle before.”

A certain subaltern, in the letters from which we know the story, overheard, and asked if it was because they seemed nervous. “No,” she snapped, “anyone in his right mind is nervous before a battle.”

“Well then, is it that they are more eager than those of more experience?”

“In my army, everyone is eager for battle.”

“Then tell me, my lady, how you can tell?”

“Because they look more tired than the rest.”

No matter how many duels one has fought, or how many skirmishes of the type that arrive unexpectedly, there is still, on the eve of one’s first battle, a feeling unlike any other. To rest one’s head upon the pillow saying to one’s self, “This may be last time I sleep in this life,” or to wonder, each time one’s eyes begin to close, “Will I still be alive and whole at this time to-morrow?” is enough to drive any notion of sleep far into the nether reaches of possibility.

It is to Khaavren’s credit that on this, the night before his first real battle, he managed at last to fall asleep some four hours before the time the host had agreed to wake them with hot, sweet klava laden with honey and goat’s milk.

He awoke then, if not fully refreshed, at least, we say to his credit, eager enough to make up for the deficiency, which is to say, fully alert, and, though nervous, also cool-headed and ready for battle.

It was precisely half past the hour of eight in the morning when Khaavren reached the top of the stairs, and encountered Tazendra and Mica. The latter had a look of some worry upon his face, while the former’s eyes fairly gleamed as only a Dzurlord’s will when about enter a battle in which
she is outnumbered. At the bottom of the stairs they met Aerich, who was sitting calmly at a table staring out the window. Uttrik was outside seeing to the horses, and Pel came down the stairs only a moment later. They settled up with the host and, on the advice of Uttrik, the most seasoned campaigner among them, took extra care to see to their saddles and gear, and made certain that their flash-stones were near at hand, and that their blades were loose and ready.

“Well then, come, gentlemen,” said Uttrik.

“But slowly,” said Khaavren, making no effort to speak softly. “It is a fine morning, and I wish to enjoy the ride.”

“As you wish,” said Pel, and they led their horses out of the yard of the inn of the painted sign.

It was, as Khaavren had remarked, a beautiful morning. Though still high summer, the mountains, as they will, cooled the air, and the constant streams and swirling breezes for which Mount Bli’aard is justly famous cooled it still more; also the orange red sky was thin, as it is in the east, and today was so far above them that it took on a faint lilac color, and the Furnace, which one can always feel but never see, was nearly visible, in that there was a direction, nearly straight ahead of them, in which one could not look without one’s eyes watering and wishing to shut on their own, and giving one the strange, unaccountable desire to sneeze, which each of them did several times.

They made their slow, steady pace for a league up the road; then, just before reaching the last turn which would bring them to the place of the ambuscade, Uttrik made a sign; whereupon they rode their horses off to the sides of the road, dismounted, and tied them to trees, then slipped off, each to the place which had been prescribed.

Though there were trees on each side of the road, they were not so thickly placed that Khaavren had to worry about striking branches with his head, or tripping over extended roots. And since, for the most part, they were mountain pines, they provided excellent concealment, which Khaavren, along with Aerich and Uttrik, used to good advantage. They moved far back down the slope, circled wide, and began to come back up. They crossed what were clearly the tracks of a dragon, but, fortunately, saw no more sign of the beast than that. At last Aerich said softly, “Oh.”

“What is it? Do you see them?” whispered Uttrik.

In answer, the Lyorn pointed up the slope, to where more than a dozen ill-dressed men and women waited with drawn weapons, staring at the path.

“Let us get closer,” said Khaavren, in whose head the blood was beginning to pound.

“Very well,” said Uttrik. “But carefully.”

They maneuvered so close they could nearly make out words the brigands spoke as they whispered among themselves.

“Now,” said Uttrik into Khaavren’s and Aerich’s ears, “we must wait for—”