In the meantime, Piro and Grassfog had not been idle. Stepping past Noarwa's horse, they saw three warriors facing them, and at once charged into them, attempting to attack them before they could separate. In this they were at least partially successful, in that Grassfog struck one through the throat almost at once. Unfortunately, while Piro dueled with another, the third managed to step over the body of his fallen comrade so that Grassfog's back was, for a moment, exposed to him. He did not waste this opportunity, but, on the contrary, cut viciously, striking Piro's friend and comrade in the middle of his back with a horizontal stroke.
Grassfog arched his back and moaned, and at the same time thrust his sword blindly behind him, by luck striking his enemy just above the hip. Piro, upon hearing the soft moan, understood what it meant, and, suddenly feeling a terrible fear—for his friend, be it firmly understood—sent his blade flashing around his enemy's eyes and ears so quickly that the other was bewildered, and Piro then put her down with a good thrust through the shoulder, following it, almost as an afterthought, with a slash across the face so that she did not get any foolish notions about continuing the contest.
Piro turned to Grassfog, who gasped, "Never mind me. The others!" Piro nodded, and stepped forward three steps to where Ibronka, Iatha, and Ritt were dueling with five of the enemy. Piro did not even consider such niceties as whether it was proper to strike from behind; we beg leave to doubt if, under the circumstances, even Aerich would have, so that, in an instant, instead of five of the enemy, there were four; and just as quickly Ibronka found the blade of her enemy and twisted, sending his weapon flying, and Ritt made a sudden stop-cut, striking under his enemy's shoulder and causing him to stumble backward and fall, after which he quit the contest. The remaining warrior, suddenly realizing that, in this part of the battle, it had suddenly become four against one, decided that the money he had hoped to earn was not worth dying for, especially as he would be unlikely to be able to collect the reward if he were dead and his enemies escaped; so he begged off the remainder of the fight by the simple expedient of taking to his heels.
Then, without another word being spoken, Piro, Ibronka, Iatha, and Ritt charged the nine enemies who had surrounded Kytraan, Röaana, and Belly. None of our friends had been wounded, and the only damage they had yet done to their enemies was a scratch Röaana had inflicted on a forearm that had gone too high and delayed too long before striking.
Ibronka was about to engage, but Piro held up his hand for her to wait. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Gentlemen, may I invite you to retire?"
While some might consider it absurd for seven warriors to make such an offer to nine, the fact that shortly before it had been eight against twenty-two made it appear less preposterous. And, considering that, with such odds, it seemed unlikely that they would be able to bring back enough of the bandits to justify the risk, the question was far more reasonable than it might at first seem. Certainly, that was the opinion of the nine remaining warriors.
"Will you permit us to take our wounded and dead comrades?" said one of them.
"Certainly," said Piro.
"And our horses and carts?"
"We shall not quarrel over such trifles."
"Then we will withdraw."
"Well, but one thing—"
"And that is?"
"Your purses, gentlemen."
"That is but fair. Here they are."
"Very good, then."
"And we bid you a good day."
As the warriors collected their wounded and dead and loaded them onto the carts, Piro rushed over to Grassfog.
"My friend, are you all right?"
"Ah, Piro. Is it over?"
"Oh, yes. And you are the only casualty."
"Well, that is good. Twenty-two of them, were there?"
"That, or something close. I did not check his arithmetic."
"A pretty little victory."
"But you, are you all right?"
"I confess, there have been times I have felt better."
"We must find a physicker for you."
"Useless," said Grassfog, wincing suddenly.
"What do you tell me?"
"I have no feeling below my waist; I am tolerably certain of what that means. Moreover, my kidneys have been laid open. It was a good stroke."
"Blood of the Horse! Ah, I led us into a trap! It is my fault!"
"Not in the least. Never worry your heart about it, Blue Fox. Such things are part of the game. Do you imagine I didn't know how I would end? And, twenty-two against eight, well, that is worth a song."
"I think so!"
"Piro, you must do something for me."
"Name it."
"There is a chain around my neck."
"I see it."
"Can you see that my sister gains possession of it? It is a family heirloom of sorts."
"Of course I will. But, how do I find her?"
"Her name is Tsira."
"Very well."
"She lives not far from a village called Six Horses, on the northern slopes of South Mountain."
"Not far from it?"
"She lives in the mountains, hunting, fishing, and trapping. You may—" Here he stopped and coughed for some period of time, his face growing more pale by the second. At length he continued, "You may have to look for her."
"Very well. I will do it."
"Take my hand."
"Here it is."
He looked up the others, all of whom were kneeling next to him, and gave them a smile. "Never trouble yourselves, my friends." He pressed Piro's hand and the Viscount returned the pressure. Grassfog closed his eyes then, and his breath became more and more shallow. Presently he gave a sort of sigh and his breathing stopped altogether.
Piro, and, indeed, all of them remained there for some few minutes, until at last Piro disengaged his hand, then reached forward and removed the chain from around Grassfog's neck, putting it around his own. Then he stood up. Ibronka placed her hand in his.
After a moment he looked at the others. "We will burn his body before doing anything else; let us speed him to his next life."
There were murmurs of agreement with this plan; Grassfog had not been the least liked of the band.
"Come then," said Piro. "Let us pick him up and hasten to break camp. We must see to his body, and then I wish to be on our way to South Mountain before nightfall."
Chapter
the Eightieth
how sethra lavode attempted to relax with a good book
One day near the end of winter, as Piro and his band were approaching South Mountain, where they hoped to find Grassfog's sister, Sethra Lavode emerged from the depths of Dzur Mountain and said, "Find me my apprentice." She spoke in an even, conversational tone, with no special emphasis; nor was this order at all unusual, as she often had reason to consult with Sethra the Younger; the only thing about her request that is worthy of note is that, to all appearances, there was no one anywhere near her. She added, "Have her meet me in the library," to the emptiness around her, and continued through narrow hallways, up narrow stairs, to wider hallways and stairs—the latter showing less sign of having been carved out of the stone of the mountain.
This steady, leisurely walk presently brought her to her library, where, after a short time of looking around and considering what she wished to read, she was joined by Sethra the Younger, who said, "Tukko says you wished to see me."
"Tukko is right."
"Well, madam?"
"You have studied the gods, have you not?"
"I think so, Enchantress! I seem to remember a good number of years where, at your insistence, I did little else!"
"Yes, only—"
"Well?"
"It seems you have continued your studies beyond what I suggested."
"Suggested!"
"Well, required then."
"Yes, I confess, I have become fascinated by what it means, metaphysically, to be a god, and by the duties and responsibilities of the Lords of Judgment,
and by the characteristics of some of them. But why do you ask me?"
"Because not long ago I received a piece of intelligence."
"Concerning the gods?"
"Exactly."
"And this intelligence, it has been preying on your mind?"
"Your comprehension is perfect. I find myself disturbed and anxious, and, at length, I came to the decision that perhaps there was something to be concerned about."
The apprentice bowed. "If there is any knowledge I have that is useful, madam, you must know it is at your disposal."
"That is good of you, madam."
"But then, what is this intelligence?"
"I have been told that Tri'nagore has been entirely absent from the Halls of Judgment for some time."
"Time? And yet, you know as well as I—that is to say, better than I—that time means little enough in the Halls of Judgment."
"That is true, but there is, necessarily, some relationship."
"How, is there?"
"Certainly. The gods have an interest—more than an interest—in the Empire. They sent us that demon."
"The Necromancer."
"Yes. As you know, she was of great aid in delaying the Jenoine, so that they still have made no effort against us. And she was even of some assistance against the Pretender."
"This is all true. And then?"
"It proves that there must be a connection, of some kind, between time in the Halls of Judgment, and time as it flows here."
"Very well, I accept that there is a connection."
"And so, if Tri'nagore is absenting himself from the Halls, it may mean something."
"That is possible."
"And, so, I wish to know what it means."
"I can tell you what I know of this god, but—"
"That is exactly what I wish."
"Truly?"
"My dear apprentice, am I in the habit of being jocular?"
"I beg your pardon, Enchantress."
"Well, go on then."
"Tri'nagore was one of the servants of the Jenoine, as was Verra, and so he goes back to the beginning. He has, however, always been independent—has rarely had anything to say to the other gods. He dislikes all of them, they dislike him, although, to be sure, he has never failed to do his share against the Jenoine."
"Well, go on."
"No one of any consequence has ever made a pact with him, at least, so far as my knowledge extends, and this is probably because he has no especial talents, save some skills in the Eastern magical arts."
"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 volume 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."