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Authors: Steven Brust

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BOOK: The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)
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“And if you fail?”
She shrugged. “Should I fail, I do not think you will be concerned with wealth.”
“I understand.”
“Have you any more questions?”
“You say that you can find these people?”
“I will find them.”
“I do not doubt you.”
“Have you any other questions, my good brigand?”
“Only one.”
“And that is?”
“Are any of those you seek by any chance the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain?”
“Sethra Lavode? Not the least in the world.”
“In that case—”
“Yes? In that case?”
“I agree to your proposal.”
“And the rest of your band?”
“They follow me.”
“Very well, then. We have an arrangement.”
“A mutually beneficial arrangement, I hope.”
“Yes, let us hope so.”
 
 
How Aerich Required a Plan
And Was Confident That Pel
Could Supply One
 
 
 
W
ith these negotiations concluded, we hope the reader will permit us to turn our attention elsewhere; for if the reader has lost track of our old friend Pel, rest assured that the author has not. Indeed, we should long ago have caught up with him had he, in fact, done anything worthy of note; yet, as he had not, we chose not to waste the reader’s time by describing his travels until he reached a destination worthy of our observation. That he has now done so will be obvious to the astute reader, wherefore we will endeavor at once to give him the attention he merits.
As we look, then, he is riding through a stone archway which our readers may remember as the entrance to Brachington’s Moor, the home of our old friend Aerich. He came, that is, past the tall hedge which surrounded the estate and so onto the grounds, following the curves of the road past the pond and the garden toward the door. On this occasion, Fawnd was informed by one of the staff of the approach of a visitor, and looking out of an upper-story window, recognized him at once, whereupon he lost no time in informing his master. The reader may be good enough to remember that Fawnd was a servant of Aerich who had, on one occasion at least, taken the role of lackey and acquitted himself well enough, and even had the honor to play an important part in helping certain of Khaavren’s household to escape Dragaera just before the city
erupted into violence and destruction. Since then, age had come upon him, giving him a slight bend in the middle, adding lines to his face, and slowing his movements; yet he remained Aerich’s servant, and in this capacity, all unknowing, he had acquired a grace quite rare among Teckla.
Thanks to this most efficient servant, before Pel had so much as dismounted from his horse, there were already stable-boys rushing to hold his stirrup and tend to his mount, and the door to the manor had already opened, and Aerich was standing in the doorway to greet his guest. Unlike Fawnd, Aerich was not in the least bent or weathered by the years; he stood straight and graceful, his dark curls falling over a dressing gown of red silk embroidered with gold thread, and his face, though certainly showing lines of age and care, shone with nobility; to those who saw him for the first time, it was as if one of the ancient warriors from the youth of the Empire had returned and now stood before them: a figure clothed in dignity, calm as Watcher’s Lake and wise as a Discreet.
In many ways, we should note, Aerich had been lucky: there were no large cities near him, and so the plagues had all but missed his district, and the duchy of Arylle was not in the path of any invaders, nor was there a great deal of wealth to be gained from it. To be sure, he had been forced to take steps against the growing numbers of brigands, but even in this regard his domain had escaped the worst of the infestations; Arylle was, then, almost an island of civilization in a sea of barbarity, and at the center of that island sat Aerich: vigilant, careful, learned, and dignified; a representative, as it were, of a world long passed away.
Pel smiled warmly upon seeing his old friend—an expression, we should add, to which his countenance was not accustomed. For his part, Aerich came forward to embrace him.
“My dear Galstan!” he said. “What a joy this is!”
“Galstan!” he cried. “Bah, what is this? To you, I am always Pel, I hope.”
“Pel it is, then. Come, come inside, my friend. However urgent the business that brought you here, you will have a glass of wine and give me some of your company.”
Pel took Aerich’s arm and said, “How, you pretend I am here on business?”
Aerich chuckled. “I do not expect the dragon to form an alliance with the dzur, I do not expect the jhereg to pass up untended carrion, and I do not expect my friend Pel to be without plots and conspiracies.”
“Oh, my friend—”
“No, no. If you do not wish to tell me, well, I have no need to know. But do not try to convince me that you are paying this visit with nothing in mind but to pass a few pleasant hours or days in the company of an old friend.”
Pel chuckled as they crossed the threshold into the manner. “No, you are right, as always, my friend. I am here for a purpose.”
“Good. You tell the truth, then. But wine first, and a toast to our absent friends.”
“I agree to this plan.”
They entered the sitting room, where Fawnd had already prepared glasses and a decanter. When they each had a glass, they lifted them, and Aerich said, “To Khaavren and Tazendra.”
“To Tazendra and Khaavren,” said Pel. “Ah. I perceive you have not lost your taste for the Ailor wine.”
Aerich smiled. “For once, you are wrong, my friend.”
“Bah! Wrong?”
“This is my own wine we are drinking.”
“What? Your own?”
“Yes. Of course, the Master Winemaker I hired is a certain Corniff, who is from—”
“Ailor, of course. Well, I should expect nothing less of you.”
Aerich bowed to acknowledge the compliment, and said, “Have you met Khaavren’s son?”
“No, I have not had that honor.”
“Nor I. Yet I hear that he is a fine boy.”
“And I have heard the same.”
“Well?”
“Well, the next generation is gathering. You and I seem not to have done our part, my friend.”
Aerich chuckled. “That is true; I am unmarried, nor have I any prospects. But what of you?”
Pel shook his head. “I, my friend, am not the problem today.”
Aerich gave a small smile and said, “There is, then, a problem?”
“Yes, I’m afraid there is, and it is not a question of joking.”
“Well, then let us speak of it. What is this problem?”
“Our friend Khaavren.”
“Ah!”
“You say, ‘ah.’”
“Well?”
“I know what it means when you say that.”
“And so?”
“And so, you knew there was a problem with him?”
“I have suspected it from what our friend omits from his letters.”
Pel nodded. “I have just been to visit him.”
“And?”
“He is a broken man, Aerich.”
The Lyorn shook his head. “It is as I feared.”
“We must do something.”
Aerich glanced up sharply. “Is that what brings you here?”
“Yes and no, my friend. I have business in this region, it is true, but only the business of passing through it on my way to another place where I am engaged in certain works of charity. It was the thought of Khaavren that led me to stop here.”
Aerich nodded. “I believe you, my friend.”
“And then? Can you go to him?”
Aerich shook his head. “I had thought about it, and several times I very nearly went, but—”
“Yes? But?”
“I do not believe it would help him.”
“How so?”
“To see me, my friend, would remind him of the best times of his life, and how they are gone now. It would drive him deeper, no matter what I said.”
Pel sighed. “I am afraid you are right. And yet, we must do something. We cannot leave him in that condition.”
“That is true, but what?”
Aerich shook his head. “If I knew, believe me I should have done it already. We need an idea, and our friend with the ideas is no longer with us.”
“Perhaps,” said Pel, “we should find another Tiassa to inspire us.”
“Yes,” said Aerich, suddenly struck by an idea. “Perhaps we should.”
“Bah. I was jesting, my friend.”
“I was not,” said the Lyorn.
“What, you think we should find another Tiassa?”
“Yes, of a particular sort.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”
“Well, then I will explain.”
“Do so, I am listening.”
Aerich explained while Pel listened carefully. When the Lyorn had finished, he said, “Come, what do you think of my plan?”
“I believe, my friend, that there is some merit in it.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, only—”
“Well?”
“How will you convince this Tiassa to do what you wish?”
“In fact, my dear Pel, I have a plan for that, too.”
“I should be most happy to hear this plan.”
“This is it: I will have you do it.”
“How, me?”
“Exactly.”
“You pretend that I can convince him?”
“I do not know if you can convince him, Pel, but I am certain you can arrange for him to do as we wish, one way or another. He lives within a day’s easy ride, and you always have means of communication at your disposal. I do not know how you will arrange it, but I am certain you can do so.”
Pel considered this for some few moments, then said, “My friend, I believe that I have thought of a way.”
“That does not astonish me.”
“Would you like to hear it?”
“No, I think I would rather not. I have no need, for I have implicit faith in you.”
Pel chuckled. “Very well. I will proceed to make the arrangements, and then—”
“Yes?”
“Then I must be about the charity work that brought me to this district.”
“I recognize you so well in that, my friend!”
“Well, we are what we are.”
“Your argument, my dear Galstan, is irrefutable.”
“Bah. How often must I remind you that to you, I am always Pel?”
“I have not forgotten; I merely remind you that I know well that there are more sides to you than one.”
“My friend,” said Pel, “do I perceive a hint of criticism?”
Aerich shook his head. “Not the least in the world. You cannot be other than what you are, and I love you for all our shared pain and glories and would not change you if I could. But you must forgive me, as well, if I cannot help but let you know I am not deceived.”
The Yendi smiled. “You can no more help being you than I can help being me.”
“Then let us drink, this time, to ourselves.”
“I agree.”
This plan was no sooner agreed to than acted upon. Pel, after draining his glass, said, “Farewell, then, for this time, my friend. I must go see about a fire.”
“And may it burn well and brightly,” said Aerich.
Pel left the next morning, after a warm embrace from Aerich which he returned in full measure, after which he was helped onto his horse, bowed once more, and turned his horse’s head away from Brachington’s Moor. As he passed through the archway, he murmured under his breath the words “It is good, and rare, to have friends.” He traveled for several hours, letting his horse, which was a brown and white mare of the Cramerie breed, which Aerich had always favored for its endurance and its noble appearance, proceed at a walk. After several hours had elapsed, he murmured under his breath the words “I hope it won’t be necessary to kill too many innocent people.”
The reader may be interested to learn that these two statements, separated by hours and miles, were, in fact, the product of one continuous chain of thought. On the chance that the reader might be curious about how such apparently disparate thoughts could lead one to the other, we will take it upon ourselves to intrude on the thoughts of the Yendi in order to satisfy this curiosity.
To begin, then, Pel was reflecting not only on all the memories
he had shared with Aerich, but also with Khaavren, whom they intended to help if they could manage to do so, which led to his first remark. From there, he considered Tazendra, whom he had always especially loved, perhaps because her simplicity formed such a compliment to his own complexity. As the miles passed, he recalled many of the incidents that formed the association of which he was a part, and, moreover, he considered the ways of friendship, formed in furnaces of shared trials, and, though this thought made him happy, he knew with a certain sorrow, that, while the friendship remained, the youth that surrounded and enriched it was gone forever.
“But then,” he reflected, “so many things are gone. ‘Cha,’ as my old friend Khaavren would say. I have seen what an innkeeper must do in order to procure ice for patrons who wish their drinks cold. And I have passed rivers, once the domain of those giant man-made fish called ‘barges,’ now almost empty, as transportation is broken down in every phase. Speaking of rivers, half of the bridges have collapsed, and the others are no longer safe. The landlords cannot trade, one with the other, and, in the same way, the merchants cannot safely acquire those things the peasants need. And, while I am not of a disposition to be ordinarily moved by the suffering of people I don’t know—indeed, I have always found it easy to maintain equilibrium in the face of others’ misfortunes—still, I have seen too much, too many since the collapse of the Empire, to say nothing of the Plague, which seems to re-emerge each time we think we have forgotten about it. And, how can it not? Such a mundane matter as the disposal of refuse, which was solved tens of millennia ago, is now a problem that each village must solve anew, and without sorcery, and without the means to easily communicate its solution to others. And then, the arts of the physicker relied so heavily upon sorcery that what was once the most easily cured illness is now fatal as often as not.
BOOK: The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)
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