“Don’t be absurd,” said Aerich disdainfully. “Where is the Baroness?”
The Teckla shrugged and turned his back on Aerich, as if to say, “I have given my answer.” Aerich scowled and stepped forward, raising his hand to chastise the impudent peasant, but the Teckla, not running, but walking at a good rate, had already disappeared within.
Aerich scowled again, but the briefest reflection convinced him that he ought not to lower himself by pursuing a Teckla, and that the indignity of giving the chastisement the servant deserved was greater than that of accepting it; in other words, he decided that such an insult was beneath his dignity to give heed to, and so, without giving the matter another thought, he stepped into Castle Daavya.
The most notable feature about the Great Hall of Castle Daavya was the domed ceiling, some seventy or seventy-five feet above the floor. The dome itself had been built with the castle, but Tazendra had replaced it with one with alternate triangular sections of colored glass, so that red, blue, green, and yellow shone down on the floor during daylight. Moreover, she had hung upon the walls samples of her own artwork—most them oils or pastels on tapestry—some renderings of Tazendra’s ancestors (in many cases of which resemblances to our Dzur friend could be seen, especially in the wide forehead and the arch of the eyebrows), others depicting such scenes as a dzur fighting a dragon, a tiassa about to land on the back of a darr, a man armed only with a poniard fighting a bear.
These depictions were, we should say, violent, yet they had also a certain grace to them, as if the artist strove less to show the violence of the encounter than the ennobling aspects of the struggle. For while many artists—and viewers of art—may enjoy only the prurient aspects of works that show us violent activity, it is nevertheless the case that it is in moments of violence, of danger, of the greatest threat to life, that human character can become its most base, or its most sublime. As to why the artist may focus on these matters, this is revealed, in painting, by the use of light, shading, emphasis, and texturing; and the sympathetic viewer will, even if unaware of these things, nevertheless find himself moved by them. Certainly, Aerich was not unmoved, the more-so as he had a nervous, sensitive nature, and had been, himself, in mortal danger frequently enough to understand something of the feelings engendered by such extremities, although we must say that to our Lyorn such events were occasioned only by a strict sense of duty and obligation, and so many of the loftier, more ennobling, or, if we may, more Dzur-like facets of struggle were an enigma to him.
But then, to the left, it is exactly here that art may play its most vital rôle: by opening the heart and mind to feelings, the particular expressions of feelings, of which it had been otherwise unaware. Indeed, the fact that the same work of art might touch the heart of beings as disparate as a Teckla and a Phoenix, or a Serioli and an Easterner, is, more than anything else, the proof both of the value of that work in particular, and of art in general.
And what greater proof of the power of art can exist than that these reflections are caused by the work of Tazendra, whose personality, as the reader must by now be aware, is defined by violent activity, strong passions, and a certain lack of sensitivity which must almost inevitably characterize someone who can, with sword and staff, make herself as feared as our Dzurlord?
Another aspect of the Great Hall which impressed itself on Aerich’s mind was that there was, by Tazendra’s design, no place in it to sit. To be sure, she wished all of her guests to see, admire, and be moved by the grandeur of the hall, but for conversation, she preferred a more comfortable and intimate setting, which she assured herself would happen by making certain that anyone wishing to engage in discourse with her for any length of time would have to find another place in the castle in which to do so.
Aerich, after a moment’s study, passed on, and began a general tour of the castle, looking for Tazendra, or Mica, or Srahi, or, indeed, anyone else he knew. In fact, he saw no one except the Teckla he had earlier encountered, and who made a point of keeping out of his way.
After assuring himself that Tazendra was not there, Aerich went back through the castle, all sixty-one rooms of it, a second time, on this occasion studying each room, each corner, each closet, each drawer, looking for something that might give him an idea of where she might be, or what might have happened to her.
It was, we should add, a mark of how serious Aerich considered the matter that he submitted to the need for this sort of intrusion. This careful, detailed inspection took him into the next day. When he was finally overcome with weariness, he slept for a while in one of Tazendra’s guest rooms, then continued his work. He ate three times from the supplies Fawnd had packed for him, and was also required to stop a few times to care for his horse. Eventually, however, he had inspected the entire castle.
After finishing this survey, conducted with a care that Khaavren would have approved, he returned to a small room where Tazendra had been accustomed to carry out the business of her barony—a room little used at the best of times, as Tazendra’s custom was to let things go as they would until some event forced her to pay attention to the normally dreary responsibilities of her position.
In this room there were two large maps: one of them showing her barony in great detail, and the other a map of the Empire drawn during the Seventeenth Cycle. What had caught Aerich’s eye was a tiny red dot on the map of the Empire. It was significant for the simple reason that it was the only mark that had been added to either of the maps. Returning to this room, Aerich studied the maps once more, then opened up drawers of Tazendra’s secretary until he located where she kept her other maps, of which she had a good supply, most of them drawn on paper, but some on leather, and one or two on cloth. He carried out a minute inspection of these maps, until he was able to determine that Tazendra was, indeed, one of those who did not care to make markings on maps, presumably because she considered it defacement.
“Yes,” said Aerich to himself. “There is no question. The mark was put on the map by whoever has taken Tazendra. Moreover, it was put there for no purpose except to be found. And found by me, of course. This means that it is someone who knows me, which means that, not only is there a trap, but it will be a tolerably clever one, and thus all the harder from which to extricate both Tazendra and myself. But, to the left, a living Tazendra will be better bait than a dead Tazendra, because, if I am to go in after her, I shall require some proof that she is still alive. Therefore, there is hope.
“Next,” he continued, “there is the question of who might have done this. Well, the answer to that is simple: Grita, who else? We know well enough that she is involved with the Pretender, who is probably even now preparing his attack on the Empire. So then, Grita has taken Tazendra. The question remains: What to do about it? She has, almost certainly, prepared for all of the most obvious means of attack, and prepared even more for the subtle ones.”
He sat behind Tazendra’s secretary, staring at the map of the Empire, and reflected for some time. After completing his reflections, he walked out of the now deserted castle (at least, he had seen no sign of the Teckla for some time), saddled and mounted his horse, and began riding west.
Chapter the Seventy-Ninth
How Piro Met Someone Who
Proved to Be Skilled at Arithmetic,
And Grassfog Discovered That
He Was Something of a Prophet
Thirteen or fourteen months had passed after Khaavren spoke with his son: months that included great and sweeping changes in all of the cities, especially in Adrilankha, which changes gradually slowed down and diminished as one got further away from the great centers of commerce. In many ways, the nearly two years between Zerika’s appearance with the Orb and the Battle of Adrilankha saw more changes more quickly than had ever occurred before, or ever would again.
It could also be said that the changes produced by the end of the Interregnum (the term coming to be used for the period of history ended either by Zerika’s emergence with the Orb or her arrival in Adr
ilankha) had effect in direct proportion to the effect of the Interregnum itself—in other words, if a certain area had only slowly and gradually felt the effects of Adron’s Disaster, then it only slowly and gradually felt the effects of the return of the Empire.
One of these regions where change was felt only slowly was, to be sure, Mistyvale County, where Piro, still under the name of the Blue Fox, inspired fear in the hearts of all travelers. To some extent, even in the short months to which we referred above, Grassfog’s prediction had been proven correct: Some travelers, indeed, preferred to pay a sorcerer to teleport them from one place of safety to another. But for those who had goods to deliver—and with the kerosene refineries and the smelters beginning to work again, there were plenty of these—the cost of having goods teleported would have been prohibitive, and so, instead, they used the time-honored system of caravans, hoping that large numbers of merchants traveling together, along with mercenary soldiers in good numbers, would give them a measure of protection against road agents in general and the Blue Fox in particular.
The caravan system met with some success, at least as far as Piro was concerned. While some of them were small enough to be taken, Piro had, regretfully, to let many of them pass by, as he did not choose to risk injury to his small band any more than was necessary.
On the occasion of which we write, the size of the caravan was barely respectable, consisting of five small carts, covered in heavy canvas, and pulled by mule or pony, and the escort was only three warriors in front and an equal number in back, commanded by a tired-looking captain on a tired-looking horse. As the caravan came around a turning of the Great Southern Road (it had once been at least relatively great, and certainly ran through the southernmost part of Mistyvale County) Piro, looking through a particularly fine touch-it glass (ebony with gold embossing, a recent gift from Ibronka), remarked, “I believe we can take them easily enough. Grassfog and I to stop them, first group take the flank, second group in reserve from behind.”
“I have no quarrel with this plan,” said Ibronka. “Come, let us act quickly before they reach a place where they can run, giving us that much more difficulty in chasing them down.”
“With this I agree. You will take the first group?”
“Of course. And Kytraan the second?”
“Naturally.”
“Then I will inform them.”
“Do, and send Grassfog to me. But first—”
“Yes?”
“I should like to kiss your hand.”
“Certainly. Here it is.”
“You are precious.”
“My brave bandit!”
“Quickly now!”
“I am already leaving.”
It took only minutes to arrange everything: by this time, the Blue Fox and his band were well versed in such games. Grassfog returned with the word that everything was ready, and everyone understood his instructions. Piro nodded, and together they stepped out onto the road. Piro held up his hand, and the captain of the escort, who was riding in front, drew rein and looked down, saying, “Well, gentlemen? Is there something you wish? I beg you to speak quickly, because we are in something of a hurry, wishing to reach Covered Springs before night falls.”
“Oh, I do not believe that will present any problem. In only a few more miles you will strike the road that runs directly to it; but I am certain you are already aware of your route.”
“Entirely.”
“Then all is well. It remains merely for us to transact our business, and you can be on your way.”
“Business? I do not understand what you do me the honor to say. What business have we to transact?”
“Why, only that my friend and I,” here Grassfog bowed elegantly, “are anxious to assist you by reducing your burden. That way your animals will not have so much weight to pull.”
“Reduce our burden? Well, and by what do you wish to reduce our burden?”
“Well, let us see what you are carrying so that we may consider the matter.”
The horseman frowned. “You want to see what we are carrying in order to consider how to reduce our burden?”
“You perceive, you have only repeated my statement, turning it into the form of a question.”
“Well, but it very nearly sounds as if you are proposing to rob us.”
“I admit it is something very like.”
“I do not wish to insult you by laughing—”
“Ah, you are delicate. So much the better.”
“But there are two of you, and seven of us, and, moreover, I am mounted, and you are not.”
Piro, who had been closely following the other’s arithmetic, nodded his agreement with these calculations and said, “I have no argument with what you say, only—”
“Well?”
“You may observe by looking behind you that, in fact, instead of two of us, there are five.”
The captain of the escort dutifully looked back, as Ibronka emerged from the woods, and, next to her, stood Iatha and Ritt.
“Well, but you perceive, seven is still greater than five. And then, there is, in addition, the matter that, by spurring my horse forward, I could ride you down easily enough.”
“As to the second, sir,” said Piro, “that is, without question, true. But you must perceive that, should you be so precipitate as to spur your horse at me, my friend here would be obliged to run his sword through your body.” As he finished this speech, Grassfog coolly drew his sword, which was nearly as heavy as the one Ibronka carried, and held it in the relaxed grip of one who knew its length.
“Well, that is true for the second, but what of the first?”
“Oh, as to that, if you would look again, you will see that our numbers are, in fact, eight.” As he spoke, Kytraan, Röaana, and Belly emerged, swords drawn, and positioned themselves behind the caravan.
We should add that, during all of this, the merchants themselves had grown successively paler. As for the captain, he observed the new arrivals, and said, “Yes, the numbers do alter the case.”
“That is my opinion, sir; I am glad that we are in agreement.”
“Before we continue with our business—”
“Then,” interrupted Piro, “you agree we have business?”
“Oh, certainly; you have convinced me completely.”
“Very well then. But forgive me; you were saying?”
“Yes, before we continue with our business, will you permit me to put a question to you?”
“That is only just,” said Piro. “What, then, is this question?”
“Are you not, in fact, the Blue Fox?”
Piro bowed. “You have named me, sir.”
“And so, then, there is a reward, is there not, of a thousand imperials for your capture? And that, in case you should (may the Favor preserve us) be brought in dead, you are still worth five hundred imperials?” (The reader may observe that, in two years, the size of the reward has increased.)
“Sir, permit me to observe that, with regards to numbers, you reckon like a true arithmetist.”
“Well, it is true that I have a tolerably long head. And, is it not also the case that there is a reward of eight hundred imperials for each of your companions if you are brought in alive?”
“Why, yes. And if these figures were all added together, why, it would be a good round number.”
“Thanks, my lord. That is my opinion as well.”
“But then, I hope you do not think of attempting to collect these funds?”
“I fear, my friend, that this was exactly my thought.”
“I beg to observe that you will not be given this reward unless we are brought in.”
“Of this statistic I am already aware.”
“And that does not deter you?”
“Not in the least.”
“You perceive, nothing good can come of such a rash intention.”
“You think not?”
“Well, consider that we are all tolerably skillful players.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, of that I have no doubt. I hope you will be equally generous with regard to us?”
“Certainly, I have no doubt at all. But yet—”
“Well?”
“Eight against seven. Come, you must know that some of you will be killed if you make this effort. Is it worth it, just for a bit of gold?”
“I think so. And then, I must dispute with your numbers.”
“How, my numbers are wrong?”
“You have said I was something of an arithmetist.”
“That is true, I do not doubt your skills in this regard.”
“Very good. Then attend.”
“I am listening.”
“It is true that your number is eight.”
“Ah, I am glad of that, at least, because it proves that I am not given over to illusion.”
“Oh, there is no question of that.”
“And then?”
“It is in regard to our numbers that your estimate may be incorrect.”
“Well, let us see then.”
“Yes, we will count carefully, so that there can be no mistake.”
“Very well, we will begin with you, as you are in command. That is one.”
“One, yes. Go on.”
“Then there are three who are directly behind you, and who are even now exchanging grimaces with my three friends.”
“You are right again, which makes—?”
“Four.”
“I agree. Four. Go on.”
“There are another three in the back, who are facing three of my friends, all of whom have drawn weapons, and they but await the word to begin what promises to be a frightful—and, I should add, unnecessary—slaughter.”
“So then?”
“Well, that makes seven.”
“That is true.”
“And so?”
“But then, you have not counted the carts.”
“The carts?”
“Yes. The five carts.”
“Well, but what about them?”
“Why, each cart has room for two soldiers.”