“So he is worshiped in the East?”
“Not so much; they believe he wishes human sacrifice of them, and they are not fond of this practice.”
“And yet, do they not believe that Verra desires this, as well?”
“Yes, but Verra is happy with the sacrifice of an enemy; Tri’nagore is reputed to be happy only with the sacrifice of his own worshipers.”
“That would seem self-defeating.”
“I do not know how this belief came about. But then, I do not know how any of the Easterners’ beliefs have come about.”
“You should, however.”
“How, I should?”
“Assuredly.”
“But, why is this important, Enchantress?”
“Because, my dear apprentice, you are so very determined to go eastward and conquer.”
Sethra the Younger nodded. “I take your point, Enchantress. But, as for Tri’nagore, or—forgive me, I cannot say his full name—”
“Tristangrascalaticrunagore.”
“Yes, as to him, I’m afraid I know no more. Shall I attempt to learn what I can?”
“Yes, I believe that would be wise, if there is time.”
“Time, madam?”
“Time before whatever happens, happens.”
“You believe something is going to happen?”
“I am convinced of it. I spoke with Arra—”
“Who?”
“Arra. Morrolan’s high priestess. You met her at Castle Black.”
“Ah, the little Eastern girl.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you spoke with her?”
“She has the Sight, you know.”
Sethra the Younger looked scornful. “Do you believe in that?”
“Certainly.”
“Pah. If there were such a thing, they would never lose a battle.”
“No, it is not prescience.”
“Then what is it?”
“It is the ability to observe some thing that is happening at the moment of the Seeing, not, as is commonly thought, the ability to see the future. Sometimes, indeed, a Seer may get a glimpse into the future, but these are invariably only possibilities, and they are, furthermore, notoriously inaccurate. A true Seeing is invariably truthful, within the limits I have outlined.”
“That does not seem so much.”
“That is because, my love, you do not understand what is implied.”
“Well, and that is?”
“If one Sees a certain event, then, along with the Seeing, one has the knowledge that this certain event matters, and this fact makes it invaluable.”
The apprentice frowned, and considered this.
“It is also,” added the Enchantress, “one of very few magical arts that can be called a gift—that is, that are inherent in the person, rather than being a skill one learns. The ability to create amorphia, as you know, is another, and there are certain others.”
“Is that important?”
“It is important, my dear, only in this way: Skills that are inherent in a person are very difficult to interfere with.”
“Very well, I accept that.”
“I spoke with Arra.”
“I believe that I remember you saying something about that an hour ago.”
“I asked her to do a Seeing.”
“Well, and?”
“She said that, for the past month, she has been unable.”
“How, unable?”
“Exactly. To be more precise, she says she is being prevented.”
“And yet, you have said that it is difficult to interfere with this gift.”
“Exactly.”
“Tri’nagore?”
“It is, at least, possible.”
“And if it is the case?”
“Then certain matters are coming to a head, that is all.”
“The Jenoine.”
“It is possible.”
“Kâna?”
“It is likely.”
“You think Kâna made a pact with Tri’nagore?”
“It is not unthinkable.”
“For what reason?”
“Ah. There I cannot answer you.”
“Well, I will discover what I can.”
“Very good.”
When she had left, the Enchantress observed to the air, “I should like to see the Sorceress in Green.”
After some few minutes, this lady, in turn, arrived and gave her respectful greetings to the Enchantress.
“And how are you, my friend?”
“I thank you for asking, Enchantress. And I am, in a word, enchanted.”
“Oh?”
“You cannot fail to be aware of how much more powerful the Orb is now.”
“Yes, there can be no doubt that the gods did something to it while it was in their possession.”
“Well, and so I have been delighted in the new powers.”
“I perceive you have not yet destroyed any appreciable landmasses.”
The Sorceress laughed. “No, I have not done that. But, indeed, I nearly could, if I could contain such power long enough to shape it; because I swear to you that is all that is missing.”
“It is true that Orb has changed; the Mountain is aware of it.” As Sethra said this, she touched the blue-hilted dagger she always carried at her side.
“I beg your pardon, madam, but—”
“Yes?”
“You seem worried.”
“Not worried, my love; but concerned.”
“You make a nice distinction.”
“Well, and are not nice distinctions better than coarse ones?”
“Oh, certainly; where would we be without nice distinctions?”
“I am glad we agree.”
“But tell me—”
“Yes?”
“What concerns you?”
“Two things.”
“Well, let us see what they are.”
“First, I do not believe that Kâna has given up; it is not in his nature to do so while he yet lives.”
“Very well. And next?”
“I do not know what he is doing.”
“I comprehend your dis-ease, Enchantress. And yet—”
“Well?”
“With the Orb so much more powerful even than it was, what can he do?”
“I wish I knew the answer to that question. Which, in fact, is why I asked you here.”
“There is something you wish me to do?”
“You have understood me exactly.”
“You know you have but to name it.”
“I will accept your offer with all the frankness with which it was made.”
“So much the better.”
“I would like you to see if you can find out where Kâna’s troops are. I think you know how to perform such a search. I know that, a thousand years ago, it would have been prohibitive, but, with the increased powers of the Orb, I think it worth the effort to search.”
“Then, Kâna still has troops?”
“At any rate, he did. And, in the confusion of the march to Adrilankha, and finding a place for the Court to sit, and advising Her Majesty on the Imperial Palace, I lost sight of them.”
“I collect you are still acting Warlord?”
“Precisely.”
“Then I shall search until either I find them, or—”
“Well?”
“Or until I can convince you that they no longer exist.”
“That is exactly right.”
“I will begin at once.”
“You are charming.”
“Until next time, Enchantress.”
“Until next time, Sorceress.”
These tasks having been accomplished, the Enchantress took herself back down to the lower chambers of Dzur Mountain, visiting several, one after the other, with the attitude of a general inspecting his troops, or the captain of a ship studying the arrangement of ropes and sheets, and then, evidently satisfied, she returned once more to her library, where, selecting a volum
e called Sketches of the Early Eleventh Cycle, by Early of Alban, she began reading. Shortly thereafter, Tukko appeared, and gave her a very small glass of dark red wine.
“I believe, madam, that you have read that book before,” observed Tukko.
“Not above a hundred times, I believe. But then, it is the mark of a good book that it rewards many readings, is it not? And I find Lord Early to be a delightful writer; his sketches of the people of the time are amusing and insightful. Moreover, I believe they are accurate, insofar as I recall. Of course, it is the case that my memory of this work is now stronger than my memory of any of those people, so perhaps the words have replaced the reality in my mind. Nevertheless, it helps to take my mind away from my troubles for a time.”
“I had thought you preferred novels for relaxation.”
“Sometimes. But then, I judge a novel more harshly.”
“Do you? Why is that?”
“Because history is able to rely upon the truth, of course. A novel, in which all is created by the author’s whim, must strike a more profound level of truth, or it is worthless.”
“And yet, I have heard you say that any novel that relieves your ennui for an hour has proved its usefulness.”
“You have a good memory. It must have been ten thousands of years ago that I uttered those words.”
“And if it was?”
“In another ten thousand, perhaps I will agree with them again.”
“In my opinion, the proper way to judge a novel is this: Does it give one an accurate reflection of the moods and characteristics of a particular group of people in a particular place at a particular time? If so, it has value. Otherwise, it has none.”
“You do not find this rather narrow?”
“Madam—”
“Well?”
“I was quoting you.”
“Were you? It must have been an eon ago.”
“Tolerably long, yes.”
“Well, now I find those standards too narrow.”
“You are changeable.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Perhaps it is.”
“How so?”
“It makes one unpredictable.”
“Is, then, predictability, by itself, a virtue?”
“It is not sufficient, Enchantress, but I believe it is necessary. Am I not predictable? When you sit down in the library, does the wine not appear directly? When you receive an Imperial summons, is not your Lavode costume laid out directly? When the klaxon tells us that the Makers are stirring, is not your Pendant of Felicity found waiting near the Six Rods?”
“I have never complained of your service, my dear Tukko.”
The servant bowed. “I was not speaking for self-aggrandizement, Enchantress, but to make an observation about predictability and virtue.”
“You are unusually loquacious today.”
“Well?”
“I had not predicted that.”
“Perhaps you ought to have.”
“Indeed?”
“With the Makers only kept out by a hair’s breadth, and an Empress who is complacently sitting upon a trembling throne as if it were immovable, and a gifted Seeress finding herself blind, and a god missing from the Halls of Judgment, and you discovered reading light entertainments, well, you ought to have predicted that I would have something to say.”
“I am not, then, permitted an hour of relaxation?”
“An hour? Oh, yes, certainly an hour. But—”
“Well?”
“I have never known you to open a book and then close it again in an hour.”
The Enchantress sighed. “What would you have me do?”
Tukko moved over to the shelves, selected another volume, and, with a bow, placed it on the small, grey, stone table next to Sethra’s right hand. She glanced at it. “The Book of the Seven Wizards? I have attempted it a hundred times, and I still understand nothing of it.”
“Well,” said Tukko shrugging.
“The author appears to enjoy obscurantism for its own sake.”
“But the author is, at least, a good servant, and predictable.”
The Enchantress condescended to let a chuckle escape her lips, after which she said, “Come, Tukko. What are you trying to tell me?”
“Enchantress, like the author of this book—” here he tapped the volume on the table, “—if there was a way to say it more plainly without introducing errors of tremendous magnitude, well, I would say it that way.”
The Enchantress gave Tukko a look impossible to describe, and then, taking the book into her hands, opened it to a random page, glanced down, and read aloud: “ ‘Each wizard is a coachman. It is true that the destinations may vary, and the horses, and the style of driving; yet it must be observed that few indeed are those who notice anything beyond the difference in the color of the coach.’ ” She closed the book with a thump and said, “I trust you will permit me to remain skeptical upon that point.”
“And yet, I swear that it is true.”
“Well, if you swear to it, I cannot doubt you.”
Tukko bowed.
“Very well,” said Sethra, opening her book again. “Give me an hour. After that, you may return once more, and I promise you I will endeavor to do something more useful.”
Tukko bowed again.
“Sometimes,” said the Enchantress, “I become very weary.”
Tukko bowed yet a third time, and departed, while Sethra began reading. Some few minutes before the expiration of the agreed-upon hour, however, Tukko returned, saying, “The Sorceress in Green.”
The Enchantress sighed and put her book down. “Very well,” she said.
The Sorceress entered and said, “I have found them.”
“Who?”
“Why, the troops. What had you sent me to look for?”
“I am astonished, madam. That took you no time at all.”
“That is because they were in, if not the first place that I looked, then the second or third.”
“Well, and that is?”
“There are some twenty or twenty-one thousand troops two days’ march west of Adrilankha, and moving east.”
“Two days?” cried Sethra.
“No more than that.”
“Twenty thousand, you say?”
“At least.”
Sethra stared at her, as if expecting her to announce that, in fact, she was only jesting, and she had really returned because she desired a glass of wine. At length, the Enchantress rose and, addressing Tukko, said, “My Lavode costume and my best cloak. I must go see the Empress at once.”
She retired to her apartments where, in two minutes, Tukko had returned with the costume, the cloak, and Sketches of the Early Eleventh Cycle. In response to her look of inquiry, Tukko observed, “You may be required to wait before seeing Her Majesty.”
A teleport—once an astonishing feat of thaumaturgical genius, but now, reflected Sethra, hardly more difficult than stepping into a carriage—perhaps a moving carriage, but still no great effort once one had practiced the skill sufficiently—a teleport, we say, brought the Enchantress to a place just outside of Whitecrest Manor, where she was admitted at once, and asked to wait until the Empress was able to see her. The waiting room contained seven or eight courtiers, emissaries, or envoys, but no one with whom Sethra wished to carry on a conversation at that moment, for which reason she seated herself on a bench along with the others (that is, five of the others; the rest were pacing).
She had, in fact, just opened her book when Sergeant called her name, and, ignoring certain looks from the others in the waiting room, some of these looks directed at her from those who knew who she was, and others from those who didn’t, she closed her book and, following the guardsman, came at once before Her Majesty.
Chapter the Eighty-First
How Her Majesty Considered Maps
While Sethra Formulated
A Plan of Battle
Sethra Lavode, upon entering the room in which Her Majesty
conducted Imperial business, found there not only Her Majesty, but also an Issola she did not recognize, but who was introduced to her as the Lord of the Chimes—given the title Lord Brudik by tradition. Sethra greeted them both respectfully, after which Brudik, who had just taken his post, went about his duties.
Once the Lord of the Chimes had left the room, Sethra turned back to the Empress, who was studying certain papers that were arrayed—or, rather, disarrayed—upon the table that was serving as her work area. Before Sethra could speak, the Empress, holding one of them aloft, said, “Tell me, Warlord, have you ever heard of the Blue Fox?”
“The Blue Fox? I must admit to Your Majesty that this name, or title, is completely new to me.”
“A highwayman, operating in the west, in the area between Bra-Moor and Southmoor. It seems that it is beyond the ability of the local barons to catch him, and Imperial aid has been requested.”
“A new brigand? Just when we have the resources to deal with them? How foolish.”
“Yes. But clever enough to work in a region with plenty of travelers, no count, and no duke. Damned few barons, even, although you know how effective they are at the best of times.”
“Does he work alone?”
“He has a band of some size; a score or so, according to this note.”
“I will send a detachment of cavalry, when we can spare one.”
“When we can spare one, Warlord? Is there, then, some demand upon our forces?”
“Nearly.”
“You must explain to me what this demand is. But first, did you observe a gentleman out there dressed in a very rich blue?”
“Yes, Majesty. He was sitting next to me on the bench, his eyes closed, and he seemed to be either thinking deeply or sleeping lightly.”
“That is the emissary from Elde. I am hoping to find a way to heal the rift with them. You know our last emissary was sent home.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“The last time I met with that gentleman who now awaits my pleasure, he demanded that their ships be permitted full trading rights with Greenaere.”
“Indeed?”
“I need hardly tell you how the Orca and the Tsalmoth would feel about that.”
“Well, and, if I may ask, how did Your Majesty respond?”
“I said that we should be most happy to, if they would give us full access to water and provision our ships in Redsky Harbor.”