“What then?” said Kelchor. “If not to give counsel?”
“I meant help of a more practical kind. Those We Do Not Name may become active the instant this Phoenix emerges with the Orb, if, indeed, she does so.”
“If we permit her to,” said Ordwynac.
“For my part,” said Nyssa, “I believe she should not be permitted to, because of what her race did with the Orb the last time, if for no other reason.”
“Her race,” said Verra, “created the Orb.”
“And yet—”
“Now is not the time for that discussion,” said Barlen. “For now, the question is this: What have they to defend against Those We Do Not Name? Sethra Lavode and Dzur Mountain, it is true, as well as Sethra’s apprentice. But these may not be enough. That is why I believe that we should send them an emissary. If we decide not to give them the Orb, well, the emissary can be recalled.”
Verra said, “We could send them Kieron the Conqueror. His shade has been here longer than any other, and I know he would like nothing better than to go forth and engage in battle once more.”
“No, it is not battle and war that worries me.”
“It worries me,” said Kelchor. “The stirring of this warlord from Kâna could ruin everything.”
“Nevertheless,” said Barlen, “Kieron is too unpredictable, as are all of his race. The last time, he came within a hairsbreadth of attempting to take the Orb himself and undoing all our plans. Do you pretend he could be controlled now?”
“He would abide by an oath,” said Kéurana.
“He would not take such an oath, sister,” said Verra.
“Well,” said Moranthë, “but what then?”
“One of us?” said Kelchor.
“Never!” said Nyssa. “Those We Do Not Name would know at once. Our hope is that, however strong they are, they are slow to act, and so we may have prepared for them before they are aware of the opportunity. If one of us emerges, they will look, and they will see, and they will know, and we will be lost.”
“That is true,” said Barlen.
“What then?” said Kelchor.
“A demon,” said Trout.
All of those assembled looked at him. After a moment, Barlen said, “How, a demon?”
“Yes,” said Trout. “One sensitive enough to know when the Others may attempt to gain entry, skilled enough to aid Sethra in preventing that entry, and, moreover, a demon whose presence will not alert them.”
There were nods from around the circle. After a moment, Nyssa said, “I know one.”
“That doesn’t astonish me,” said Verra.
“Who?” said Barlen.
“She comes from the World of Seven Doors,” said Nyssa, “and she knows six of them.”
“How, six?” said Verra, appearing astonished for the first time.
“And she is not entirely unacquainted with the seventh.”
“But, how is it we have never heard of her?”
“She is without ambition.”
Moranthë said, “How could one without ambition have learned six of the doors?”
“She is well supplied with curiosity.”
“And no little skill, it seems,” added Kéurana.
“That is true,” said Nyssa.
“And yet—” said Kelchor.
“Well?” said Barlen.
“To set a demon loose upon the world, uncontrolled.”
“That is true,” said Barlen. “It is not something to be done lightly.”
“As for the demon,” said Nyssa, “I vouch for her behavior.”
“In that case, I like this plan,” said Kelchor.
“I have no objections,” said Ordwynac.
“If Ordwynac has no objections,” said Verra, “than I believe there must be a flaw. Nevertheless, I am in favor.”
“And I,” said Kéurana.
“And I,” said Moranthë.
“And I,” said Tri’nagore.
“And I,” said Barlen.
“And Trout, proposed it,” said Verra.
“Has anyone any objections to make?” asked Barlen, now speaking to all of the gods and demigods present in the Halls of Judgment. No one responded, and so Barlen said, “Very well, Nyssa. Summon the demon, so that we can instruct her.”
“I will do so,” said Nyssa.
Chapter the Nineteenth
How Sethra Lavode At Last,
Much to the Relief of Piro
And, No Doubt, of the Reader,
Reveals Her Ideas; And a Difficult
But Necessary Distinction Is Made
Between Intentions and Plans
Piro stared at the Enchantress for some few moments; indeed, he stared at her until, eventually, he realized that he was doing so, at which point he dropped his eyes and attempted to apologize, only to find that he could not manage to bring up the required words, which had evidently lodged themselves in the back of his throat, creating an obstruction that threatened to make breathing problematical. Sethra Lavode, who was perfectly aware of what was transpiring within the young Tiassa’s mind and heart—not to mention his throat—chose to ignore it, and merely said, “Welcome to Dzur Mountain, Viscount, and thank you for agreeing to visit me.”
To this, at least, Piro knew how to respond: he bowed very low. Sethra continued, “And welcome back, Kytraan. You succeeded admirably, and in good time.”
“It was nothing,” said the Dragonlord, bowing in his turn.
It must be said that there was little about the Enchantress, at least upon first glimpse, to match Piro’s expectations. She appeared to be a slim woman, not exceptionally tall, rather gaunt of face, with long, black hair that set off the pale skin which was her only remarkable feature. To look at her, one might at first think of her as a Dzurlord from the slant to her eyes and the point to her ears; yet a closer inspection would reveal the bridged nose and high cheekbones characteristic of the House of the Dragon. Further, she had the strong chin that denotes determination, and the close eyebrows which would indicate that she spent a great deal of time in her own company. Her countenance indicated a reserved warmth, if the reader will permit such a formulation.
“Please, sit down,” she said. “I trust the journey was without incident?”
“Entirely,” said Kytraan. “We met only harmless beasts, friendly sorcerers, tame brigands, and a Dzurlord who was willing to listen to reason. As the journey to Adrilankha went quickly, we took our time returning and made a holiday of it. Moreover, the weather did nothing untoward, beyond a sprinkle of rain as I was on the way to Adrilankha, and a bit of misty chill this morning. Therefore, you perceive, the journey was entirely pleasant and free from any occurrences which might give rise to complaints.”
“That is well, then. I have sent word that you are here; certain individuals will be arriving in order to meet you, after which we will have conversation.”
“And then,” said Piro, whose throat had now become sufficiently free of obstructions that he was able to force words past it, “will I learn why it is my presence here was requested?”
“How, you have some curiosity about that?”
“I do not deny it,” said Piro.
“Well, I think your curiosity will be satisfied.”
“That is well, then,” said Piro. “And will Zerika be there as well?”
“Oh, as to that, I am not certain. She is reading, and studying, and attempting in only a few weeks to learn what should take years, and so she is, you perceive, busy, and, when not busy, she is resting.”
“Well, I understand that,” said Kytraan. “And yet, I am anxious to meet her.”
“For my part,” said Piro, “I admit to some interest as well to have the honor of meeting this lady who, it seems, has asked for me, although I have never, so far as I know, laid eyes upon her.”
“You will meet soon enough,” said Sethra. “In the meantime, I beg you to be patient, and to recover from your journey, and to enjoy what hospitality I can manage to show you.”
“I shall do as you say, madam,” said Piro.
“And you will do right to do so,” said the Enchantress. At this moment, Tukko walked in the door behind Sethra. Piro just had time to notice that he was carrying the satchel that had lately been hanging from Piro’s saddle when the Enchantress, without turning her head, said, “Tukko, be good enough to show Piro to his room, where he can rest until food is prepared.”
The servant stood before Piro and waited. The Tiassa rose and bowed to his hostess, whereupon Tukko led him out of the room by the door in the far side. Piro realized that, in fact, he was rather weary, and looked forward to resting quietly for a while: young though he was, he had already discovered the joys of ease that many only discover at an advanced age.
Tukko set Piro’s bag down and left the Viscount to his rest. The room, though not large, was well appointed, and the bed not uncomfortable; and, moreover, the sheets were clean and cool. These observations, be it understood, were the last Piro made for some few hours, when a clap outside of the door made him aware that he had been sleeping. Upon rising, Piro opened the door, where a Teckla he did not recognize bowed to him and said, “My lord, I am informed that a bath has been drawn for you in the bath-room, and, moreover, dinner will be ready in half an hour.”
“Very well,” said the Tiassa.
The Teckla bowed once more, making a marked contrast with Tukko, and went off down the hall, limping slightly. Piro found the bath to be rather warmer than he was used to, yet very pleasant, and so, rested, bathed, and dressed, he found himself to be very hungry indeed, and took himself back the way he had come with no little eagerness.
When Piro reached the sitting room where he had first met Sethra Lavode, he found it empty except for Tukko, who said laconically, “This way,” and walked out of the other door. Piro followed him for some few minutes, through doors, hallways, and up a set of stairs, until they arrived at a small dining room, where were seated the Enchantress, Kytraan, and Tazendra, as well as two women Piro had never seen before, all of whom stood as Piro entered.
The Enchantress spoke, saying, “Sorceress, Sethra, I should like you to meet Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha. Viscount, this is the Sorceress in Green, and this is Sethra the Younger.”
“A pleasure, Viscount,” said the two women.
“An honor,” said Piro, bowing to each, and, moreover, adding a smile to his bow for reasons which we will hasten to explain.
We trust that, as Piro takes his place between Sethra Lavode and Kytraan, and the others sit down once more, the reader will permit us to say two words about the mysterious and intriguing Sorceress in Green, a person about whom history speaks much, yet knows little. She was exceptionally tall, and from her general aspect and complexion, one might take her for an Athyra, although, in fact, no one has established her House for a certainty. This historian will not indulge in speculation upon matters for which no proof is available, unlike some of those who have suggested, on the basis of no evidence whatsoever, that she was one of those unfortunates born of a mother from one House and a father from another. That she was of noble blood is certain; a cursory glance at her long, delicate hands and the haughty arch of her eyebrows were sufficient to establish this even if one ignored her noble’s point. She had thin lips, a sure sign that she did not often let her emotions escape her heart, yet she had also the narrowness of the eyes that indicate a fierce temper. Her hair was a light brown, and would have been rather wavy than otherwise, save that it had been severely bound up at the nape of her neck. And, as the reader no doubt has already deduced, she invariably affected green garments, for reasons which we cannot state with certainty, although we can speculate that it was because she found the color more pleasing than other colors, especially favoring a dark green, such as that found in the needles of certain evergreen trees.
Her real name, like her lineage and House, are unknown, and a few historians, as well as several scores of popular writers masquerading as historians, have advanced theories more or less preposterous and explanations more or less prosaic to answer these questions. But whatever her origins, her subtlety as a sorcerer is indisputable, her fame stretching as far back as the Fifteenth Tsalmoth Reign, when she created the Wall of the Circling Winds to hold back a tidal wave that threatened large portions of the southwestern coast. Later, during the Fifteenth Chreotha Reign, she was brought in by Sethra Lavode during the Littleshell War, where by herself she held at bay the entire sorcerers’ corps of Baron Niefivre for three full days, permitting Sethra to make the flanking maneuver that won the war for the Empire. From there, her fame, at least among those who studied the magical sciences, grew quickly; indeed, she was one of only three sorcerers from outside the House of the Athyra who were offered command positions in the Guard during the Seventeenth Athyra Reign; a position, we should add, which she declined, pretending she had finished with Court life.
As to her age, there is no one who can say; except that it is generally accepted that she is one of oldest living human beings, although her skill at her art combined with her vanity insured that her appearance was that of a girl of not more than two or three hundred. Piro, not in the least indifferent to these charms, and, perhaps, less aware of her fame than would be someone more familiar with magical history, added a warm smile to his bow.
For her part, Sethra the Younger was a slightly shorter, heavier, and darker version of her namesake, although those features of Sethra Lavode that made one think of the House of the Dragon, such as the sharpness of the chin, the hook of the nose, and the depth of the eyes, were accentuated in her apprentice. For that, of course, is what Sethra the Younger was: the latest in a long line of apprentices to whom the Enchantress had wished to teach her art, hoping that, someday, one of them would assume the power of Dzur Mountain, whatever that might be, and permit the Enchantress to retire peacefully. In character, Sethra the Younger was, one might say, Sethra Lavode carried to an extreme: more ambitious, more jealous of her prerogatives, more arrogant, and fiercer. Yet, for the sake of completeness, we must say that, from certain words that Sethra Lavode has let fall over the years, apprentice was not unlike what master had been years and years ago, when Enchantress and Empire were young together. Sethra the Younger’s greatest moment had occurred during the Third Battle of Hartstongue Wash. On this occasion, she was serving as a brigadier under Sethra Lavode, who had entrusted to her the Flooding Pass, vital as the supply line to the army, with the instructions “If they wish for this real estate, you must bargain with them for it, and be certain you get a good price.” Now Sethra the Younger, intrigued by this formulation, decided to take it more literally than it had been intended, and so, when the Duke of Softrock threatened her position, she came forward under a flag of truce, and said to him, “My dear Softrock, I believe you wish to control this pass.”
“Well, and if I do?”
“Then you may have it.”
“How, you surrender it?”
“Exactly. But I must receive for it one-third of your command, to be sent back to the prison camps behind our lines.”
“What? A third of my command?”
“Yes, my dear Duke. That is the price. And, if you are wise, you will take it!”
“Bah! The price is too high.”
“You think so? Well then, come and see if you can gain it for any less,” upon which she returned to her lines, and, in the event, defended the ground with such skill and ferocity that the Duke lost some ten percent of his force in killed, wounded, and captured, and at no time came close to taking the position. We hope this story will serve to tell something of the character of Sethra the Younger, for it is all we wish to say of her at this time, and therefore the reader is obliged to be satisfied.
Once everyone was seated, Tukko came forward and poured wine, while the Teckla Piro had seen earlier went around with a platter of finely chopped kethna, mountain mushrooms, scallions, rednuts ground into a powder, and sweet peppers, all wrapped in an unraised bread of the type ea
ten in the northern reaches of Suntra; the combination resulted in a very small package with, if the reader will excuse the expression, a very large flavor.
“Blood of the Horse,” said Piro when he had tasted one. “May I ask who prepared this?”
Sethra gestured toward Tukko, who gave a nod that could, perhaps, be interpreted as a bow if one were sufficiently liberal in one’s interpretation.
“Much is explained, then,” said Piro. “It is splendid.”
“I am glad you are pleased,” said the Enchantress, who was, in fact, only nibbling at her own. The others, we should add, made no secret of their pleasure at the food. Sometime later, the next course was served, which consisted of various vegetables served with a sort of cream sauce flavored with the same wine they were drinking; we can say that this was as successful as the first.
As they ate, Piro said, “I had thought that, perhaps, the mysterious Zerika would do us the honor of joining us for this magnificent repast.”
“I had hoped so,” said Sethra. “But she was too exhausted from her labors, and has decided that rest is a more urgent requirement than food.”
“Well, I understand that,” said Piro, who could remember being that tired, and who, indeed, had been in very nearly the same state a few short hours before.
Several more courses followed, courses which, with the reader’s permission, we will not detail, save to say that they included fish caught that very day in the fast-flowing streams of Dzur Mountain, and roasted game-bird in a sauce of wine and fruit, and other delicacies of the region. It was while the bird was being served that Tazendra happened to remark to the unknown Teckla, “I seem to have dropped my fork, Mica, and should be glad to have a new one.”
“Mica!” cried Piro.
The worthy Teckla said, “Yes, my lord, that is my name.”
“But then, are you the Mica of whom my father, that being Khaavren, the Count of Whitecrest, has spoken of so often?”
The Teckla, who was, indeed, our old friend and Tazendra’s lackey, turned bright red, and veritably beamed with pride, and could only stammer and bow, so great was his joy at the thought that Khaavren not only remembered him, but had spoken of him to his son. Indeed, so overcome was the good Mica that he had to be reminded again to bring his mistress the fork she had requested.