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Authors: Steven Brust

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After another pause, Vilmos said, “I will consider what you have said.” Then he, too, stood and left the hall.

When he was gone Miklós said, “I will have my dinner sent to my room tonight.”

Brigitta said, “Do you think he will defend you?”

“I don’t know,” said Miklós. “If he doesn’t, I am a dead man.”

INTERLUDE

O
NCE THERE WAS A BOY WHO WAS BORN WITH ALL OF his teeth. He lived beyond the beyond, right at the very shore of the great sea. Every day he would go down to the beach and dive for fish for his poor mother, who otherwise would have starved to death, as she had no one else to care for her.

When he was seven his mother passed away and he buried her in the sand near the tiny hut in which they lived. Then he went out to the beach and wept for five days.

On the sixth day he looked up. Far out on the waves of the sea he saw a lady, and he thought she was his mother. She was riding on top of a great sea turtle.

He called to her, “Mother, mother! It is I, Jancsi!” For that was his name. But she didn’t seem to hear him.

So, quick as the wind, he jumped into the sea after her. Oh, but you should have seen him swim! I didn’t see it myself, but my Uncle Béla was there, and he said that Jancsi swam so fast he plowed a furrow in the ocean that is there to this day.

For ten days he chased the lady on the turtle. Finally he caught up to her, and he saw that it wasn’t his mother after all but a beautiful
lady. He looked back, but the shore was out of sight. “Please,” he called. “My name is Jancsi, and I thought you were my mother, who only just died. Won’t you help me?”

The lady laughed at him and shook her head. Then he was close enough to see that each finger on her hand had an extra joint, and he knew that she was the Demon Goddess, and the turtle must be one of her demons.

Quick as thought, Jancsi grabbed on to the tail, determined to follow the Goddess to wherever she went. But when he looked again, she was gone. He climbed onto the turtle’s back.

Then night came. He looked up, and saw that the six stars that we now call Fenarr’s Shield seemed to be falling from the sky. When they landed, they made a tunnel in the sea. The turtle dived into the tunnel, and soon Jancsi was riding beneath the waves.

For a hundred days he rode the turtle in the ocean and under the ground, until at last they came to a place where the water rushed out of the ground. The turtle didn’t want to go up. It tried to turn around, but Jancsi wouldn’t let it. They fought for a year and a day, and their battle made the water so hot that it remains blistering even now. But Jancsi had grown strong eating the eggs of the turtle, so at last he bested it and made it bear him up.

He emerged high in a mountain. The first thing he did was to kill the giant turtle and eat it. Then he found that the meat of the turtle allowed him to understand the speech of the birds and beasts.

He turned to a bull and said, “What land is this that I have come to?”

But the bull only said, “Find out for yourself, young Jancsi.”

So Jancsi said, “Very well, I shall. But because you wouldn’t help a man, man shall always be your master.” And he put a ring in the bull’s nose.

Then he turned to a bat and said, “What land is this that I have come to?”

But the bat said, “See for yourself, young Jancsi.”

So Jancsi said, “Very well, I shall. But because you would not share your vision with me, you shall be struck blind.” And he covered over the bat’s eyes with a layer of its own skin.

Then he turned to a horse and said, “What land is this I have come to?”

The horse said, “This land is called Fenario, and you are to be its master and save it from those of Faerie who oppress it.”

“Very well,” said Jancsi. “Because you have aided me, you shall ever be the friend of man, who will care for you above all things, as you care for him. And as this land is called Fenario, and as I am to be its savior, from this day I shall be known as Fenarr.”

Then he went to the body of the turtle that he had ridden all that way. From the turtle’s shell he made a shield, and from its tail he fashioned a sword with which to oppose those of Faerie.

Then he mounted the horse and rode off to the great battle of which our histories tell.

My uncle told me about all of this. It must be true, because I know my uncle, and he is as honest as me.

FIFTEEN

The Staff

M
IKLÓS AVOIDED HIS BROTHER FOR THE REST OF THE day. He spent much of the night sleepless, wandering along the Riverbank or through the empty courtyard, stopping often by Bölk’s grave, yet finding no words to say. He finally slipped into the stables, and in Bölk’s stall he was able to sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, Brigitta was next to him.

“How did you find me?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. I just came here because—well, I suppose for the same reason you did. I shouldn’t have been surprised that you were here also.”

For a moment, Miklós felt something like jealousy, but he quickly forced it down into the place where he kept all such things. He studied her face in the dim sunlight that sliced through slats in the stable walls. She was mostly in shadow, but the hollow of her cheeks and the arch of her throat were clear. He reached out and basked in the thrill it still gave him when she placed her hand in his.

But in the next moment of silence, the stall around them reminded him of Bölk and of his duty. He squeezed her hand and released
it, then clasped his hands together as he tried to decide what his next step should be.

At length he said, “Vilmos has had enough time to think. We must get agreement from him.”

“Are you not afraid that you will frighten him off if you push him too hard?”

“Last night we told him that we weren’t pushing him—the very condition of the Palace was pushing him. Did you believe it then, or were you just saying it?”

Brigitta glared at him briefly, but then shook her head. “No, I meant it. But will he see it that way?”

“He has to.”

“How will we show him?”

Miklós wrapped his arms around his knees.
Good question,
he thought.
But remember, Vilmos isn’t stupid. He acts that way sometimes, but he isn’t. Very well, Miklós my friend, how were you convinced?

He stood up, brushing straw from his clothing. “Come,” he said.

She took his hand again, and they made their way into the courtyard, past the pedestal and the fresh grave. They stopped there for a moment, heads bowed.
I am on my own now, my friend. I hope you would approve of what I’m doing.

They entered the Palace, Brigitta going first over the plank. When Miklós was on it, he knelt and called down below, “Vili, are you there?”

The answer was muffled and confused with echoes.

Miklós said, “It is I, Miklós. I wish to speak to you.”

There was another muffled response, then the giant’s head appeared. “Yes, Miki?”

“Have you a moment? I’d like you to come with me.”

Vilmos squinted up at him, then shrugged his massive shoulders.
He ignored the rope ladder that still trailed into the cellar, and, standing on the pile of rubble, pulled himself up into the Palace proper.

He dusted himself off. Miklós and Brigitta led him around the main passageway to the diminutive corridor, with its pale, dim walls and oppressive dust-laden atmosphere, where the Princes’ chambers were. They came to the room where the tree waited.
It took me a long time before I could see it for what it was,
thought Miklós.
Will Vilmos? But then, he must have felt something for it or he would have destroyed the roots.

Miklós came to the curtain. Before he could open it, he heard voices from within. He held up his hand. Whoever was inside, they were speaking loudly. But then, he realized, they must be deeply involved in what they were saying or they would have noticed the trembling of the walls as Vilmos approached.

The first voice he heard he identified as Viktor’s. “We must act at once, Your Majesty, before it gets any worse.”

Mariska spoke next, saying, “And I still think—”

László cut her off. “I know what you think. You have explained it repeatedly. But it has gone beyond that. Very well. Viktor, send for the guards and have them bring oil and torches—and water. Lots of water. Line up buckets outside. We can at least try to keep it from spreading.”

Miklós looked at Brigitta, who was looking back at him.
It is time,
she said with her eyes.

“Come,” said Miklós softly, and motioned to Vilmos.

At that moment, Viktor appeared from within the room, saw the three of them, and stopped cold.

“You!” he said, and the hate in his voice was unmistakable. Miklós stared at him.
What have I done to him?
Then he almost laughed. The Goddess, of course; it was what he had done to everyone. He matched the captain’s gaze, though it made him feel
queasy. Anger, somehow, was easier to contend with than hate; anger could pass. What would Bölk have said?
Get used to it, master,
or something equally helpful. Miklós braced himself, then nodded to him and proceeded into the room. From the corner of his eye he saw Viktor walking away.

He stood in the doorway. Arrayed before the tree were László, Mariska, Andor, and Sándor. One by one, they turned to look at him.

“So,” said László.

“Good morning, brother,” said Miklós. He felt his heart begin to hammer within his chest, and it came to him that his body knew, somehow before his mind, that this was to be the decisive confrontation between them. He felt that his hands were shaking but forced himself not to look.

“Good morning,” said the King. “It is time to destroy this thing before it destroys the Palace. I assume you are here to aid us?” His tone of voice told Miklós plainly that he assumed no such thing.

“No, László. I have discovered that it is the Palace that must be prevented from destroying the tree.”

Now it was the King’s hands that trembled, though Miklós could see that it was from rage. “What do you think to do about it?” said László

“I must protect the tree, László.”

“I see.”

Miklós turned and saw Vilmos, whose eyes were wide and fixed on the tree as if seeing it for the first time. Miklós turned back to László. “We defend. If you do not attack, there will be no cause for conflict between us.”

László spat. “Don’t play the hypocrite now, Miklós. The role doesn’t suit you.”

Miklós waited for rage to build in him, but it didn’t. After a moment
he said, “You’re right. The conflict is inevitable. I just wish it didn’t have to be.”

László’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled slightly. “On that, brother, we can agree.”

As they looked into each other’s eyes, Miklós felt that now, of all times, they were actually close and could understand each other. The expression on his brother’s face was not hate, nor even anger, but sorrow that mirrored what he, Miklós, felt. László had seemingly learned more than Miklós had thought. He had learned more than to cut and to thrust, or to attack or to retreat, or to plead or to threaten, or to tax or to export. He had learned duty. And, with painful empathy, Miklós knew that he, himself, would never understand it to the depth that his brother did.

Miklós heard sounds from behind him and the spell was broken. He turned and saw that the entire hallway was filled with guards, their bright red uniforms making them seem as if they were a vision from another place, planted in the pale, dim corridor by the hasty brush stroke of an apprentice painter; one who would never graduate from charcoal to oils, or from needlepoint to portraiture. Instead of torches and oil, however, they carried naked swords. Miklós felt his pulse quicken even more and wished there were someone he could pray to.

Viktor called past Miklós, “We are ready, Your Majesty.”

“Very well,” said László. He looked at Miklós. “If you leave here and promise never to return, you may have your life.” He gestured at Brigitta. “That one may accompany you.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Miklós shook his head. He felt Brigitta touch his arm. “What?” he whispered.

“Whatever happens, let us be fully in the room when it does.”

He nodded.

They took a step forward. László’s eyes were burning, almost
feverish. Sándor remained calm, but Andor’s hands were twitching nervously, and he was blinking rapidly, his head making tiny motions. Mariska said, “A moment, László.”

The King glanced at her impatiently. “Yes?”

Her eyes darted back and forth between László and Viktor. At length she said, “We should speak privately, Your Majesty. Before anything else is done here. It is important.”

The King studied her and blinked twice. “Just say it, Countess.”

“I think,” she said slowly, “that that would be ill-advised.”

Miklós stared at them, feeling as if he were a servant who happened to be present while the lord and lady of the manor discussed their private affairs.

“I insist,” said the King.

She looked at him again, looked at Viktor, then back at the King. “Very well then,” she said. “I do not believe you should enter into battle here under the impression that your Captain of the Guards is trustworthy.”

Miklós glanced quickly at Viktor, who, notwithstanding that he turned pale, stiffened and could not keep his eyes from darting to (for some reason) Sándor, nevertheless put forth an amazing performance of being unconcerned. A few of the guards behind him gasped.

László’s eyebrows arched. “How is that, you say?”

“I have reason to believe that he is conspiring against you for the throne. I have only just received proof. I know this is not the best time to say it, but this may be just the opportunity he wants to strike. I feel you must know, and you insisted it be spoken of publicly.”

“Quite right, quite right,” said László evenly. “Well, if that is all—”

“All!” cried Mariska.

He looked at her curiously. “Mariska, my dear, you must know that Viktor is, by birth, not excessively far from the throne.”

“You knew that?” she said, saying in words what Viktor seemed to be saying most eloquently without the benefit of spoken language.

“It is Rezs

’s job,” said the King, “to be certain that I know such things. And naturally, in a time of crisis such as this, Viktor’s thoughts will stray to how much better he could do at managing it than I can. Don’t you know the story of the Baron and the Runaway Coach? ‘Well then,’ said the coachman, ‘you can have them!’ And he vanished in a puff of smoke. Is that what you think I’ll do? Or am I to lose a fine soldier like Viktor merely because he takes his duties very seriously? No, no. I knew of this, and I’ve sent word to Henrik to make sure he gets no support of the army. This sort of thing always happens. My father tells me—”

“Your Majesty,” said Sándor.

The King looked at him. “Yes?”

“Excuse me, but these fine people seem to be awaiting our pleasure. I think it unseemly to delay them further.”

Viktor seemed to have something caught in his throat. “Your Majesty,” he managed, “I—”

“Hush, Viktor. We have no time now to discuss it.”

Miklós stared at his brother as if he were a stranger.
So this is what it means to be King
.

László nodded to Sándor. “Yes. You are right. Now, where were we, Miklós?”