Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) (29 page)

As we look upon him now, he is sitting in an attitude of complete relaxation—indeed, his eyes are nearly closed, as if he is so unconcerned by the mission upon which is about to embark as to have difficulty remaining awake. To a degree, this was because he had the sort of cool disposition that did not, in fact, become overly concerned or agitated in such circumstances (as opposed, for example, to either Kâna or his cousin); but another reason was, undoubtedly, his understanding that the display of such an attitude could not fail to have a beneficial effect on his subordinates.

These subordinates had already begun to arrive at the small house which opened onto an alley behind Tenfingers Road in the southwestern
part of the city. Each time another arrived, Tsanaali would open an eye, grunt a greeting, and then return to his apparent nap, sitting on a rickety-looking wooden chair with his feet, crossed at the ankles, up on a table.

At length, with something like the sigh or soft groan one might make upon coming from a light nap to wakefulness, he put his feet down, stood, clasped his hands together behind his back, and said, “Gentlemen, it is very nearly time, and, moreover, it seems we are all gathered here—that is, there are twenty-one of us, including myself and the signal officer who is on the roof watching for the signal, which, being four squads of four, is exactly the number we ought to have. Indeed, everything is in place, and we only await the word to go—which word we will receive from our signal officer.”

“That is all very well, Lieutenant,” said one of the soldiers (for they were all soldiers, although, to be sure, they were dressed, as were the others, as simple noblemen, in doublet, breeches, and tall black boots), “but, well, what is the mission?”

“Oh,” said Tsanaali, “you wish to know that?”

“Well,” said the other, “you perceive we have been in this city, hiding and staying out of trouble—”

“For the most part,” said another.

“—for weeks now, and we have avoided all meeting at once, and have merely been waiting. But now that it is nearly time to carry out the mission for which we have been brought here, well, we will be better able to carry it out if we know what we are doing.”

“That is very true,” said the officer, struck by the extreme justice of the remark.

“So then?”

“Why, I will discover it to you this very instant.”

“In that case,” said the soldier, “you will have, I promise you, our entire attention.”

“Then, gentlemen, this is it: You know that His Majesty, Kâna the First, who has won the right to the throne through conquest, is being deprived of the Orb because of a successful adventure on the part of an ambitious Phoenix.”

“We know this very well,” said the soldiers.

“So then, it remains for His Majesty to fight one final battle to put away all doubts in the hearts of those who believe the Orb, a powerful
sorcerous artifact and symbol of the Empire, confers a sort of divinity upon its wielder—in other words, that whoever happens to have the Orb deserves the throne in spite of law and blood, merely by that fact alone.”

“It is true,” said one of the soldiers, “that many people believe that; I have heard such talk frequently.”

“And you did not dispute it, did you?”

“No, Lieutenant. Your orders were to engage in no such disputes by word or action, in order to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. And we have obeyed your orders to the letter even when this obedience required us to listen to the most insulting conversation concerning His Majesty. The proof of can be found in my mouth.”

“Your mouth?”

“Exactly. I have ground my teeth and bitten my lips sufficiently to provide irrefutable evidence that I have obeyed your orders, and I believe my comrades are in the same condition.”

“And you have done right, however much your mouth may regret it. But that time is over, my friends. The battle has, even now, begun.”

“This does not startle us. Have we not, on the way here, seen patrols of exactly the sort a commander would order to keep the streets free for troop movements?”

“You are good observers.”

“We are soldiers.”

“Well, that is true.”

“So then, His Majesty is attacking?”

“Precisely. Even as we speak.”

“Are we, then, to attack the enemy in the rear? If so, well, I hope there are more than twenty-one of us!”

“Not in the least. Our orders are for something entirely different.”

“Well, and that is good.”

“In fact, my friends, I will go further. I will say that the entire attack currently raging west of the city, is nothing more than diversion.”

“A diversion? Well, a diversion for what?”

“For our mission.”

The soldiers stared at each other, heads turning back and forth. At length, one of them said, “Lieutenant, do you truly say that the present battle is nothing more than a diversion for our mission?”

“I say it, and I even repeat it. So, you perceive, when we consider
our mission, well, you must understand that there is no question of joking.”

“But then, what is this mission?”

“I am about to answer that very question. So much so, in fact, that I would already have answered it if you gentlemen had not been positively peppering me with questions and interjections.”

“Then we shall be mute as Athyra monks, General.”

“And you will do right. To explain, then: Gentlemen, we are to make our way, by different paths, to Whitecrest Manor. If you look at this map, you will see your routes. The first squad follows the red line, the second squad follows the green line, the fourth squad follows the blue line, and my own squad will follow the black line.”

“Very well,” they said, studying the map.

“There is no surprise there,” observed one of the squad leaders, “as, you perceive, you have been causing us to learn these routes for the last two weeks.”

“But then,” said another, “what are we to do when we get there?”

“Once there,” said Tsanaali, “we are to do nothing less than take the Orb itself.”

“How, the Orb?” they cried.

“Exactly. We are to take the Orb.”

“But, isn’t that impossible?”

“Not in the least,” said Tsanaali.

“But, it has never been done.”

“Well, and before Lord Tigarrae, no one had ever teleported himself, either.”

“That is true, Lieutenant, and yet—”

“Moreover, we are assured that arrangements have been made that will keep the Orb sufficiently busy that, during our attack, it will have entirely lost its ability to defend either itself, or she who currently has possession of it.”

“Oh, apropos—you mention this Phoenix.”

“Yes?”

“What of her?”

“Well, what
of
her?”

“Do we kill her?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “As to that, it doesn’t matter. If she is killed in the scuffle, there is no harm in it. If she survives without the
Orb, well, that is satisfactory as well. We are not assassins, gentlemen, we are soldiers. Let us keep this in mind.”

“We will not forget,” they said.

At this moment, the door opened and a gentleman entered, saying, “Lieutenant—”

“Well?”

“A plume of smoke to the west.”

“And then?”

“Broken off three times, so that it became three plumes.”

“That is the signal, gentlemen. Let us be about it. You are all aware of your routes. My squad will see to the guards outside of the Manor, and those directly inside, which is where we will rendezvous, and all move into the chamber being used as a throne room. Now, let us go.”

Taking their cue from their commander, none of the soldiers displayed the least emotion as they rose, made certain of their arms, and filed out of the house. This put them in the narrow alley behind the house, from which place they all went in their appointed directions.

Tsanaali’s path, like the others, involved back streets and alleys, which avoided the patrols which were making certain the main arteries of the city remained clear. Moreover, there was nothing about these five individuals to attract attention. After some fifteen minutes of walking, Tsanaali approached the doors of Whitecrest Manor and addressed the guardsmen, saying, “I give you a good day, my friend, and I wonder why there are patrols out upon the street.”

“As to that,” said the guardsman, “I cannot say.”

“How, you don’t know?”

The guardsmen shrugged. “I only know that I am assigned to this position, so that, as a good soldier, why, I remain here. If there is anything special that is occurring to-day, well, you must know that I am not permitted to speak of it.”

“And you are perfectly right not to,” he said.

By the time he had completed this speech, two members of his squadron had approached the other guard as if to speak to him as Tsanaali was speaking to the first. No more speech occurred, however; instead, Tsanaali drew a poniard and, with a practiced hand, drove it into the guard’s heart; in the meantime, the other guard was similarly treated.

“Quickly,” said Tsanaali. “Drag their bodies behind these shrubs before we are observed.”

The other two members of Tsanaali’s squad appeared, and this operation was smoothly and efficiently carried out. After which the five them gathered in front of the door.

“Very well,” said Tsanaali. “It is time.”

They drew their swords, opened the door, and entered. The affray was short and furious—the two guardsmen within, armed with pikes, falling instantly to the five swords that charged them out of nowhere; they did not even have time to raise an alarm.

As they fell, the other squads began arriving, and with such timing that, in less than a minute, all of them were assembled in the hallway.

“Very well, gentlemen,” said Tsanaali. “Down this corridor will be six or eight more guards; we must strike quickly. Beyond that is an antechamber with a single guard. Beyond that, a covered terrace where we will find Her Majesty, holding an inert Orb. Let us go.”

The small troop moved down the corridor toward the Orb.

How Piro Carried Out
Grassfog’s Last Wishes
And Learned a Little of
His Family History

W
e must now, with some trepidation, back up just a few short hours, because, while we are not insensible to the reader’s desire to know what is to become of our friends in Adrilankha, at this point our history absolutely requires that we look in on Piro, who, as the reader may recall, had been given an errand by a dying friend; and as everyone knows, few obligations are more sacred than those given by a dying friend. This conclusion, which we daresay is inarguable, brought Piro to a small village on the northern slopes of South Mountain. The village, to remind the reader, was called Six Horses, as it was founded by a lady of the House of the Tsalmoth who boasted this as her wealth. Like most mountain villages, there was little enough there: three small private cottages, a Speaker’s house, a community spring house, and a sort of general merchandise store that performed double duty as the inn. Nowhere else in the area could wine or liquor be purchased, and so quite naturally this store became the community gathering place, especially on Marketday, which was the only time there was any sort of population in the village.

On this occasion, it being a Farmday, the village seemed to Piro to be all but deserted—in fact, it might be observed that the arrival of the small company that included Piro, Ibronka, Kytraan, Röaana, Iatha, Belly, Ritt, Mica, and Clari caused the population of Six Horses to effectively double. Indeed, their arrival would have created something of a sensation had there been a sufficient populace for a sensation to have anything to work with.

In the event, they stopped outside of the general store to which we have just referred, recognizing by its wide front and swinging door that it was a place of some importance. Leaving their horses in the care
of Lar and Clari, the rest of them entered hoping to find wine with which to wash down the dust of traveling. They all went directly to the long shelf propped up by two barrels which served as a bar, except for Piro, who carried out an inspection of the store.

The proprietor was a Tsalmoth called Marel—indeed, the descendant of the very lady who had founded the village. Instead of horses, however, whose company he had never found agreeable, he had a store that did a brisk business on Marketdays, and provided him with sufficient wine and foodstuffs to satisfy his own needs on the other days. In addition to those items usual in such a store—milled flour from the plains below, nails and hammers from the blacksmith to the west, and wine from the local vines—there was a considerable number of furs hanging from nails along the back wall, and cloaks and coats made from this fur prominently displayed in front. The most numerous were made of the fur of the norska, but there were also fox, wolf, and even a few lyorn skins.

Piro spent a few moments studying these—both the furs, and the items that had been made from them—while Marel studied Piro. Marel’s study was very precise after the manner of his class: that is, he was able to estimate to the copper penny with whom he was dealing, and, moreover, make shrewd guesses as to how best to treat with him in order to wring the most possible good—that is to say, money—out of their acquaintance. Accordingly, Marel said nothing, barely even nodding a good day, and concealed his study, waiting until the Tiassa should speak first. This was easier to do as, for some time, he was very much involved in serving Piro’s friends.

Eventually Piro spoke, saying, “My dear merchant—”

“My lord,” said Marel with a slight bow. He had actually considered, “My lord highwayman,” as a form of address, but rejected it.

Piro continued, “These furs.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“They are very fine indeed.”

Marel bowed again. “This region is known for only two things, my lord. One is the quality of the fur from the norska who dwell nearby.”

“Very well, I can see that. And the other?”

“The drafish from our streams. Nowhere else in the Empire, my lord, can be found—”

“I have no doubt that is true, good merchant. But at this moment,
you perceive, I have no interest in fish. Whereas, in fact, considering norska fur—”