But, more remarkable than the name is the fact the city—and we do not err in calling it a city, for even at the time of which we have the honor to write, it boasted a population of eleven thousands, more than twice its elevation measured in meters—more remarkable than the name, we say, is the fact that the city continued to thrive in a region devoid of ore, empty of timber, and barren of land for the raising of either grain or livestock, save for the few goats that could subsist on the scanty mountain grass. At the time of the reign of Kiva VI of the House of the Jhegaala, an Imperial representative asked the Speaker how the people managed to survive there, a question to which the Speaker responded by saying, “My lord, we grow rocks.”
The truth, in fact, if less witty, is no less interesting. The people of these mountains have always fiercely guarded whatever independence they could wrest from the Empire, and have done so to such an extent that it became the custom to leave Imperial troops garrisoned nearby on the pretext that if the Easterners were not, at any given time, either invading or about to invade, then no doubt the local population was either involved in an uprising or preparing one; occasionally these things happened together.
The result was that there grew up a friendship between Easterner and human that has rarely been seen elsewhere; and so the people of Bengloarafurd survived on the produce of that friendship; which is to say, by smuggling in both directions. It is no accident that, to this very day, in order to achieve combat with a resident of the area (dueling is almost unknown there; the preference is for less formal violence) all that is necessary is to refer to an individual as a “tax-man,” and swords will instantly be free of their scabbards.
From the city, then, we will pass on to the inn, which was founded near the beginning of the last Jhegaala Reign by an itinerant Tsalmoth scholar named Black who was fleeing from the fall of the Teckla Republic. He fell in love with the mountains, and with the people who lived there, so he thought to serve them by keeping them drunk, and himself by becoming rich on the trade of the mountain passes. He therefore procured a supply of wine and ale, and arranged for supplies of choice victuals, and opened his inn beneath a sign on which were written letters spelling out “Black’s Public House.”
After nearly starving for fifty years, it occurred to this worthy gentleman to ask one of the servants who was starving with him why he never received any travelers. “Because, master, no one who passes by knows this is an inn.”
“But,” said Black, in some confusion, “doesn’t my sign say ‘Public House’?”
“I don’t know,” said the servant; “I can’t read.”
“How, can’t read?”
“No, my lord.”
“But then, this is intolerable. What must I do?”
“I am willing to learn, master.”
“No, no, idiot. How am I to gain patrons for this house?”
“Master, it is the custom to declare an inn by putting out a sign painted with some device, by which the house will be known.”
The scholar left, shaking his head and muttering, and the next day returned with a sign on which could be seen letters spelling out, “The Painted Sign.” This failed to bring about the needed improvement in his business, however, and the enterprise no doubt would have failed had he not had the good fortune to be captured by mountain brigands while he was returning for supplies. Black had never had any experience with brigands, nor had the brigands any experience with scholars, hence when they took the supplies of food destined for his inn, he, in all innocence, made out a bill and humbly presented it to the leader of the bandits.
At the first the bandit-chief laughed, then he saw that the bill, which was for a good supply of wine and smoked kethna, was, in fact, rather small. He said, “Come, you don’t seem to require much for your food.”
“How not? It is the same I am asking at my inn.”
“What, you have an inn?”
“Indeed yes. Less than two leagues along this very road, where the road splits to pass by a rock shaped like a hawk’s beak, and there to the right, you will pass it upon your right side.”
“Well, I’ve seen the place. You say it is a public house?”
“It is, sir, and I assure you you would be most welcome there.”
“And these are your prices?”
“Nearly. They are a trifle more, you perceive, if I must go to the expense of putting them on plates and paying a servant to bring them to table.”
“But, well, here’s your money, my friend, and I will no doubt see you again.”
“It will my pleasure to serve you as it has been my pleasure to-day.”
In this way, word of the inn quickly spread, and when Black died, leaving the inn to his oldest son, whose name was Brown, the family had amassed a reasonable fortune and the inn was a landmark of the region.
It was here, then, that our friends came and found food, wine, stables for their horses, and rooms in which to rest themselves while they prepared for the final stage of the journey. Along with a few other travelers, they enjoyed the noon repast, which consisted of sausages roasted on a spit, and a broth made of fresh mountain mushrooms, bacon of kethna, and certain herbs which were grown in the yard of the hostel. At the end of the meal, the host caused to be delivered a large cake made of mulberries and rednuts, topped with boiled fruit and a cream made from goat’s milk.
It happened that Khaavren had eaten more of the sausages than he should have, being unused to spicy mountain cooking (which was, moreover, influenced by proximity to the Easterners), whereas Aerich never ate sweets of any kind because he pretended they would ruin his teeth, in which he took more pride than in any other aspect of his personal appearance. Therefore, while the other guests of the inn settled down to attack this cake, which, be it understood, rested upon a platter that filled an entire table, Aerich took the opportunity to make a sign to Khaavren that he wished to speak with him privately.
They adjourned, then, from the common room and strolled arm in arm about the yard of the hostel, which was laid out with a stone garden on one side, a vegetable and herb garden on another, and a high stone wall in back (enclosing a second yard), with gates in the wall whereby one could reach the outbuildings, which consisted of a pair of commodes, the stables, and the gardener’s house.
As they walked, Khaavren said, “You had something to communicate to me, my friend?”
“I have observed your countenance,” said Aerich.
“Well, and?”
“You seem troubled.”
“I? Not the least in the world.”
“Well, you say I am deceived.”
“Undoubtedly, good Aerich.”
“So you have not been biting your lip, so that even now I perceive it is raw?”
Khaavren licked his lips, as if to hide with his tongue the work of his teeth. “Well—”
“And you have not been digging your fingernails into the palms of your hands, so that the gouges are clearly visible?”
Khaavren flushed and quickly turned his palms inward. “That is to say—”
“And you have not been emitting sighs, increasing in number over the last four days of our journey, so that Pel and I have begun to catch each other’s glances just before you are about to give another one, so predictable have they become?”
Khaavren blushed deeply this time and said, “Is it true, have I been doing all that?”
“My word, I think so.”
“Well, it is true that I am troubled in my mind.”
“Then, if you wish, I will listen to your troubles, and counsel you as best I can.”
“I know that I can find nowhere a friend as wise, nor even in a Discreet a gentleman so perfect.”
“Then, will you tell me?”
“I will. But can you not guess?”
Aerich said, “Well, I think you are worried about what to do with regards to Baroness Kaluma.”
“You have hit it exactly. I made a promise—”
“Ah! A promise.”
&nbs
p; “Yes.”
“To a woman?”
“Yes, to a woman.”
“To a lover?”
“Oh, as to that, well—”
“Yes?”
“I don’t deny it.”
“You should learn, my friend, to have a care with women, lest your mouth place you in a position from which your feet cannot extricate you, nor your hands free you, but which will leave your brain confused.”
“But when one’s heart is engaged—”
“Then you must take even more care, for where the heart is engaged, the mind is nowhere to be found.”
“The damage is done, for I have made a promise.”
“Yet you have also made an oath, and that to Captain G’aereth.”
“I know,” said Khaavren, giving forth such a sigh as the astute Lyorn had heard him make at the shortening intervals he had mentioned. “What, then, should I do?”
Aerich shook his head. “It is as bad as I thought,” he murmured. Then, aloud, he said, “Well, let us go forward, and perhaps new counsel will present itself to us.”
“It would be most welcome if it did,” said Khaavren, and on this philosophical reflection they began to return to the inn and to their companions. They had, by this time, walked as far as the stone wall behind the hostel, when Khaavren held up his hand for Aerich to stop, while, with his other hand, he signaled him to avoid making any sounds. Aerich, who was never curious, gave a mute shrug and obeyed.
Had Khaavren actually been a tiassa—that is, the animal—this would have been one of those occasions on which his feline ears would have, first, pricked straight up, and then pointed toward the wall, for Khaavren had heard something that seemed to him to have the greatest significance. To be precise, he had heard someone speaking in very low tones; not so low, however that he had been unable to catch the words, which, in the harsh accents of the region, were, “They’re all inside fattening themselves, so we can say what we like.”
Certain errors, when we catch some unknown person making them, cry out to be corrected at once. For example, should we find someone who says, in a complacent tone of voice, that the House of the Teckla has never produced a composer of note, we should at once be forced to ask if this person has ever heard of G’hair of Clyferns who composed the Nine-Hour Symphony of the Model Sevens. Should we find someone who pretends that Serioli no longer live in the world, we should desire to take this person to Jawbone Mountain, and there introduce him to Jggo!f’tha the bone-dancer, and then ask him again. Should we encounter an Eastern witch who asserts the superiority of his art over the sorcery we receive from the Orb, we are inclined, peaceable as we normally are, to suggest this claim be tested at once.
Certain other errors, however, might inspire in us the desire to leave the perpetrator in ignorance. To accidentally overhear someone say that he cannot be overheard, and thus imply to the other party that it is safe to whisper secrets, seems to fall solidly into the second category. This, at any rate, was Khaavren’s opinion, which is why he signaled Aerich as he did.
We return our attention then, to the place where Khaavren’s was directed; that is to say, over the stone wall which separated the yard from the gardener’s hutch. The second speaker, who was either a low-voiced woman or a high-voiced man, but, in either case, spoke with a purity of accent and pronunciation that showed him to be from the environs of Dragaera city, said, “There are five of them, then?”
“Five, yes, and a lackey.”
“Well, that is not too many.”
“No, not if they have no sorcery.”
“Well, and if they do?”
“Then, my lord, they are many more than their numbers indicate.”
The second speaker, of whom we can now say with confidence that he was masculine in character, said, “Well, if they are surprised, their sorcery will be of no help to them.”
“That is true with regards to sorcery.”
“Then that is all, is it not?”
“My lord, you have solved only one problem.”
“You pretend there is another problem?”
“A severe one, my lord.”
“Well? It is?”
“It is that we are forbidden to kill them, my lord.”
“How, forbidden?”
“It was in the orders I received directly from the lady.”
“Well then, my orders are from the other lady, the Athyra. You know who I mean, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Well, and she has no such compunctions.”
“Yet, my orders—”
“These mountains are deep, and high, and wild, and accidents can easily happen to strangers. If an accident were to happen, that is, if brigands, of which these mountains are full, were to fall upon these visitors; well, as long as the Dragon suspected nothing, there would be no reason why my generosity should fail, and no reason why any ill should come to you for it.”
“My lord, I am not an assassin.”
“No, merely an outlaw; and an outlaw with a price upon his head.”
“I nearly think you threaten me, my lord.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I beg you to remember that the mountains are deep, and high, and wild, and accidents can easily happen to strangers. And, moreover, I beg you to remember that I am an outlaw, with a price upon my head.”
“You reason well, Baaro.”
“Thank you, my lord; I think my head is tolerably long.”
“But allow me to point out something you may have overlooked.”
“Well, what is that, my lord?”
“You are only able to thrive in these mountains because of the good wishes of those who live here.”
“Well, that is natural.”
“And those who live here are loyal to Lord Adron.”
“As am I, my lord.”
“But suppose he were to set the people against you?”
“He would not do so.”
“But suppose he did.”
“Then I would be unable to survive.”
“Well?”
“Well, I repeat, he will not do that. Nor would he involve himself in anything like assassination.”
“It is not necessary that he involve himself, nor that he turn against you; it is only necessary that the people of these mountains think he has turned against you.”
“Do you pretend, my lord, that you can convince these people of such a thing without his knowing about it?”
“Are you not aware, good Baaro, that Lord Adron is, even now, in Dragaera City, negotiating for control of Pepperfield, and thus has no way of knowing what is declared in his name?”
“Well, that is true. All that is necessary, then, is to convince the people of this mountain that—what is it you have there?”
“How, you don’t recognize it?”
“It is Lord Adron’s seal!”
“Precisely.”
“By the gods! How did you come upon it?”
“That doesn’t concern you. What matters is that I have it.”
“Well, it is clear that you do.”
“Moreover, I am willing to use it.”
“I believe that you are.”
“And I can use it to such an effect that everyone will believe that Lord Adron has turned against you, rather than making everyone believe that he has turned against those others.”
“Yes, that is possible.”
“You will, then, do as I say?”
“It seems I have no choice.”
“Good. Then tell me your plan.”
“The strangers will set off to-morrow morning.”
“That is likely.”
“Just before they reach the Fordway Road, which they must take if they are to get to the castle of Lord Adron, there is a place with a stand of sycamore on one side of the road, and a line of birches on the other.”
“Very well.”
“Well, my men will conceal themselves there, and we will fall upon them with spear and sword.” r />
“How many men?”
“Thirty.”
“That will be enough. What else?”
“Well, we will kill them all.”
“Very well. Here is the gold.”
“Thank you, your lordship.”
“I hope, Baaro, that, notwithstanding your resistance to my mistress’s wishes, you will hold no ill-will toward me for the means I have had to use to convince you.”
“My lord, I assure you that I have the highest regard for you, and this gold removes any doubts I may have had.”
“That is well. I will see you again after your mission is completed, and you will then receive a like amount.”
“You are generous.”
“The Athyra whom I serve is generous. Never forget that.”
“I never shall.”
“That is all, then, Baaro.”
“Until to-morrow, your lordship.”
Khaavren touched Aerich’s shoulder at this point and made a sign that they should return to the inn, which they did, finding their companions just as they had left them, save that less of the cake was on the table. Khaavren and Aerich approached the table and bowed in a pleasant manner to all assembled (we must recall that, in addition to their companions, there were a few additional travelers there), and indicated by signs that they wished their friends to join them outside, after which signs being given and acknowledged, Khaavren and Aerich excused themselves and went back out of doors, where they awaited their companions.