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Authors: Steven Brust

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“They would understand.”
“How, they would understand?”
“Certainly.”
“I beg leave to doubt that they would understand, my dear girl. On the contrary, I am convinced that they would not understand
at all, but, rather, would be entirely displeased with how we had exercised care of the young lady whom they entrusted to us. I believe that, had I a daughter of your age, and sent her somewhere to be safe, I would take it amiss were her guardians to send her off into the wilds in search of exactly the sort of danger from which I had hoped to have her protected. Indeed, I should find myself more than a little annoyed at this behavior. That is my opinion, and if you think it wrong, well, tell me so at once.”
Röaana set her countenance in an expression both unyielding and unhappy, and said nothing, looking at the floor of the terrace. Khaavren looked at the young lady in question, and, when she did not speak, he turned his gaze out to the ocean-sea once more. The Countess, for her part, looked at the girl for some few moments, as if reading her thoughts by the expression on her face.
“My lord husband,” said Daro with a slight smile. “I must admit that there is, I believe, something that you have not considered.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, “if there is something I have not considered, then tell me what it is, and, well, I will consider it.”
“I ask for nothing more,” said Daro.
“And then?”
“It is this: Our guest’s mother and father—that is, Röaanac and Malypon—will be displeased to learn that their daughter has been held in chains.”
“How, chains?”
“Assuredly.”
“But, why should she be held in chains?”
“Because,” said Daro at once, “I am convinced she would soon bite or rub through any ropes we could find.”
Khaavren frowned. “And yet,” he said, “I fail to see—”
Daro chuckled. “My lord, I am implying that, unless she is secured, she will certainly set out after you, and it is safer for her to travel with you than on her own, following.”
Khaavren considered this for some few moments, still frowning. Then suddenly he smiled. “You are right, madam, as you usually are.”
Daro smiled back at him.
“But my dear,” said Khaavren. “Should anything happen to her—”
“I will explain to them.”
“But will they understand an explanation? Consider—”
“My lord—”
“Yes?”
“It is difficult to make such a decision, but, yes, I believe they will understand.”
Khaavren nodded slowly, then, at last, he said, “Very well, then, it will be as you say.”
“Which means?” said Röaana, looking up with an expression of one who hardly dares to hope.
“Yes,” said Khaavren. “You may come with me.”
The young Tiassa beamed, and was about to speak when she was interrupted by Cook, who arrived with a bow and the news that a messenger was at the servant’s entrance.
“Well?” said Daro. “For whom is this famous message? Is it for my lord Khaavren, or is it for me?”
“My lady,” said the cook, “it is for our guest.”
“A message for Röaana?” said Khaavren.
“A message for me?” said Röaana.
“That is it exactly,” said Cook.
“Well, but then,” said Daro. “Let this messenger come to us here.”
The cook bowed and left, to return in a few moments with a Teckla dressed in the livery of the House of the Dzur. This worthy bowed to all present, and then addressed himself to the youngest of them, saying, “You are, then, my lady, Röaana, of the House of the Tiassa?”
“Well, that is my name,” she said. “And you have a message for me?”
The Teckla bowed once more in sign of assent, saying, “Your Ladyship has understood exactly. I have a message.” With this, he produced a small, rolled-up piece of parchment, tied up with a silver ribbon. The girl at once took the message, untied the ribbon, unrolled the parchment, and said, “Ah! It is
from my dear friend, Ibronka, of whom I have told you so much.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Daro. “But, what does she say?”
Röaana laughed. “She says, in fact, that she is nearly dying of ennui, and begs me to find an amusement for her.”
“Is there a reply?” asked the Teckla.
“Oh, a reply?” said the young Tiassa. “Well—” She frowned and looked at Daro, then at Khaavren.
Daro said, “Your friend, as I recall, is a Dzurlord, and is of your own age?”
“Nearly,” said Röaana.
Khaavren and Daro exchanged glances, whereupon Khaavren sighed and said, “Very well, then. She may accompany us as well.”
Röaana smiled.
“Well,” said Daro, smiling. “You will certainly be the envy of all you behold, traveling with such companions.”
“Bah. You are pleased to jest with me,” said Khaavren, smiling in his turn.
“Well.”
“When shall we set out?” said Röaana, betraying an understandable eagerness.
“Early to-morrow morning,” said Khaavren.
“Well then,” said Röaana, addressing the messenger. “Tell my dear friend Ibronka to prepare herself for a long journey, and to be here by first light in the morning. And be certain to tell her not to forget to bring a sword of good length.”
“I will not fail to convey your message,” said the Teckla, bowing first to Roaana, then to the others, after which he took his leave.
After the messenger had left, Khaavren turned to Daro and said, “We must begin preparations at once.”
“Yes,” she said. “I understand this. Where shall we begin?”
“I shall begin at the stables, and attempt to determine which horses to bring, and, in addition, which equipage.”
“Very well,” said Daro. “And I will instruct Cook to prepare such comestibles as are suited for traveling.”
Khaavren nodded, and cast his gaze once more to the reddish ocean-sea before him.
“Are you looking for ships, my lord?” said Daro, smiling.
“I always do, madam,” said Khaavren.
“Someday you will see one.”
“Yes.”
Khaavren stood up and extended his hand. The Countess placed her hand in his, and Khaavren bent over and tenderly kissed her hand; then, with a nod to Röaana, he set off for the stables, leaving Daro smiling fondly after him. Röaana, for her part, blushed in confusion at this display of conjugal affection, and rose in turn, explaining that she would begin her packing.
Ibronka arrived early the next morning, just before dawn, in fact, as Khaavren was completing his preparations for departure, and Daro and Röaana were on the terrace taking klava. Cook announced her arrival, and shortly after she appeared, clad in black traveling garb and carrying a sword in a baldric slung over her shoulder. Röaana stood, and introduced her friend to Daro, who received her with a graciousness that would have done credit to an Issola.
“And where?” said Röaana, “is our dear Clari?”
“Outside, awaiting us, and causing another horse to be saddled.”
Ibronka was seated and given klava and warm butterfly rolls with honey. At around this time Khaavren entered to say that all was now ready.
“My lord,” said Röaana, “you know that we are now four?”
“So I have been informed,” said Khaavren. “Quite a pretty troop we will make, too—me and three young girls. As the Countess has said, I shall excite no small amount of envy as we pass.”
He was, we should add, dressed in his old, worn traveling clothes, very like those that he had worn when we first had the honor to bring him to the reader’s attention in the town of Newmarket, nearly eight hundred years before. At his side was a sword that, like himself, was beaten and scarred, but still strong, flexible, and able to give a good cut or two.
Khaavren took a glass of klava and a roll, though he declined the honey because he pretended that it would delay them several hours if he had to wash it off his hands. Daro smiled at this, and adjusted the long, tapering collars of his blouse, as if it were important that he look his best as he set out into the wilderness—an attention to which our friend could not help but respond with an affectionate smile.
He was introduced to Ibronka, to whom he bowed solemnly, then said, “I perceive you have a Nelshet.”
Ibronka frowned and said, “My lord, I do not understand what you have done me the honor to tell me.”
“Your sword,” said Khaavren. “It was made by Nelshet.”
“Ah. That may be. You perceive, I am not familiar with the maker of the weapon.”
“It is good steel that comes from the best iron taken from the northern-most reaches of the Kanefthali Mountains, and smelted by a special process known only to the masters in Krethtown, and then crafted by Nelshet or his offspring. I identified it at once by the curve of the hilt and the heart-shape of the guard, which are always the marks of a Nelshet weapon. You will, moreover, find an ornate ‘N’ on the strong of the blade, very near to the guard. It is one of the very best of blades. I had one myself for a number of years, but lost it during a skirmish before the Three Hands Road campaign, when I was forced to leave it in the possession of an officer in the service of Count Rockway, because I could not afford the time to extract it from his person. I have always regretted the loss, the more-so because this officer had no use for it.”
“This one,” said Ibronka, “was a gift of my mother, and I treasure it for that reason, if no other.”
“Well, but you are Dzur.”
“I am, sir. And then?”
“There is no doubt that, sooner or later, you will come to appreciate its other qualities as well.”
Ibronka bowed.
“And you, Röaana,” continued Khaavren. “I perceive you also have a tolerably long stick with you, and I know well enough that you can play with it. Be certain to check your
sheath each time we stop, for the fit of the weapon into it is not perfect. I have known pebbles kicked up from the road to become stuck in a sheath, causing the weapon to be wedged into it, to the embarrassment of the player.”
“I will not fail to do so,” said Röaana.
“That is good, then.” He then turned to Daro and said, “Come, my dear, and embrace me. It is time that we left.”
Daro came into his arms, and, upon being given a glance by Röaana, Ibronka permitted herself to be led from the terrace to permit the Count and Countess a little privacy to say farewell to each other.
“Madam,” said Khaavren, “I am not insensitive to your wish to accompany us.”
“Ah, sir, do you hear me complain?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well then?”
“Nevertheless, I know this is difficult for you. Should it be you leaving on such an errand, and I required to remain, well, I should not care for it.”
Daro smiled. “My lord, you must understand that my delight in seeing you active again overcomes any trifling annoyances caused by inaction.”
“And yet, I well know that you are not cut from a fabric suited to looking on while others act.”
“My lord, it has often been remarked that you are unusually reticent for a Tiassa.”
“And then?”
“Then permit me to be unusually patient. My time will come.”
“Then I have nothing more to say. Embrace me, madam.”
“Gladly.”
Khaavren met Ibronka and Röaana near the side door of the manor, and led them out to the stables, where three horses were saddled and ready. Clari was already mounted upon a fourth, and awaiting them. Khaavren looked around, observing the fine weather—warm, but not hot—and nodded, as if satisfied that it would be a satisfactory day for travel. Anyone who knew him well would have seen a certain light come into
his eyes—the warrior once more returning to arms after having felt himself useless and finished with life for long years. He set his hand upon the hilt of his sword and his eyes upon the path they were to take, then returned his attention to his companions.
“We will travel light,” said Khaavren. “That is, we are not taking a pack animal. This means that, alas, we will not be eating as well as we should like.”
Both of the ladies indicated that this would not upset them to any great degree. They mounted their horses with the aid of the night-groom, while Khaavren himself used the mounting post. His thoughts as he looked at the manor are impossible to describe. It had been hundreds of years since he had set out on a mission of any sort, or since he had left his home without the expectation of returning to it by nightfall. He bit his lip and frowned, and then, seeing Daro standing in the front door, he raised his gloved hand in a salute to her, then directed his horse’s head away from the manor, lightly touched his spurs to its flanks, and and set out upon the road, the two girls riding knee to knee behind him, Clari coming last.
They took the long path down to Kieron Road, and took this eastward across the canal, both Röaana and Ibronka recognizing places they knew from their arrival in the city. They were, we should say, quite remarked upon as they passed through Adrilankha. Some of these remarks expressed curiosity, others surprise, and a few amusement; while there were one or two that nearly passed the bounds of what a gentleman could tolerate regarding ladies in his company. We say “nearly” because, in the first place, this was no longer the Khaavren of old, who welcomed any opportunity to test his steel against another’s, and, in the second, because the merest glance from the Tiassa was sufficient to cause the comments to be bitten back into the mouths from which they nearly emerged. Ibronka and Röaana, of course, did not deign to give notice to any remarks or comments of any kind, and Clari quite wisely kept her own thoughts or reactions entirely to herself, and so in this way they at length passed out of the city along what was still called the Eastgate Road in spite of the
fact that there had not been an East Gate since the city walls had been taken down, which had happened thousands upon thousands of years before (at least, according to those who claim the city was once walled; the prevailing opinion among historians is that Adrilankha had never been a walled city, in which case the name “Eastgate Road” presents its own puzzle, but one which we hope the reader will forgive us for merely making an observation upon without following it with the careful exploration that, perhaps, it merits).
BOOK: The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)
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