“To begin then,” said Zerika.
“Yes, yes,” said Piro. “By all means, begin!”
“The story is, my friend Piro, that it was your father who convinced my father to send my mother out of Dragaera City, and she only barely escaped the Disaster. As it was, she hardly survived my birth, although whether it was childbirth that took her, or plague, or brigands, or some other cause entirely, I don’t know. But I know that Sethra Lavode was aware of me, and, although she will say nothing, I suspect it was by her hand that I eventually came to my foster parents in Adrilankha.”
“Do they know who you are?”
“No,” said Zerika. “Sethra tells me they are entirely ignorant, knowing only that I am an orphan, and that they were to surrender me to the Enchantress should she ever call for me.”
“Very well, they were ignorant. What next?”
“Why, I was raised as their child until Sethra Lavode deemed the time was right, whereupon she sent for me, which I heard about just as I told you some weeks ago, and which you might remember.”
“Remember! How, do you pretend I could forget?”
“Then, upon the morning when I was to set out, I was given the direction in which I was to travel.”
“Well, it is good to have a direction. And then?”
“And then, in only three or four hours, I met with a companion upon the road.”
“Well, it is good to have a companion.”
“Oh, she was jolly enough, I promise you.”
“Well, and then?”
“And then, after traveling for two days, she revealed that she was, in fact, Sethra the Younger, and had been sent to bring me to Dzur Mountain.”
“Well, so you had a strong hand beside you in case of danger. Apropos, did you meet any?”
“A little. But, as you said, I had a strong hand nearby.”
“And so you arrived?”
“Yes, in good time: it took us only eight days!”
“That is good time!”
“And since then—”
“Well, since then?”
“I have been learning.”
“But, what have you been learning?”
“What else but how to survive the Paths of the Dead?”
As these words were pronounced, Piro was unable to repress a shudder, yet he kept his emotion off his countenance. He turned and caught Kytraan’s eye as he said softly, “We are really going to do it.”
Kytraan nodded to him as if the same thought had occurred to him at just that moment. For her part, Zerika said, “Yes, I believe that we really are.”
Tazendra said, “The Gods! After all of this, I hope so!”
Piro smiled as big a smile as he had, perhaps, ever smiled, and he said, “My dear Zivra—that is to say, Zerika—well, I had thought we might never see each other again, but instead, we not only see each other, but we are about to have an adventure! Together! What could be grander?”
“I could not agree with you more,” said Zerika, smiling in her turn. “And, moreover, an adventure in which the issues at stake are sufficiently important to satisfy a Dzurlord!”
“Oh, I agree with that,” said Tazendra.
“As do I!” said Piro.
At this moment, the Enchantress came through the door once more, this time in the company of Sethra the Younger, and carrying several rolls of parchment. She walked up to the long table at the far end of the room, and, setting aside most of the rolls, opened one of them and spread it out, using several nearby cups as weights to counter its natural tendency, caused by many years existing in a roll, to curl up on the ends.
“Come,” she said to the others. “I have here several maps. Let us plan our campaign.”
“There can be no more doubt about it,” said Piro, rising and going to the table.
They clustered around the map, and Sethra put her finger down and said, “We are here.”
“Are we?” said Tazendra. “And yet—”
“Well?”
“Your finger is pointing to a place on the table, rather than on the map.”
“Yes, my dear. That is because Dzur Mountain does not appear on this map. But, were the map only a little longer, it would, and here is where it would be. Do you comprehend?”
“Oh, yes, only—”
“Well?”
“It is a shame they make maps so short.”
“Yes, that is true, my dear. But, to continue—”
“Yes, yes. By all means, continue.”
“We are about midway between the Adrilankha River and the Eastern River. Either would be suitable for a southward journey, but, as it happens, you will be going north.”
“And then?” said Piro.
“Well, it means you cannot take the rivers. At all events, you cannot take the Adrilankha River, because it is too swift for upstream travel. While it is true that the Eastern River is slower, there are too many places where you should be required to carry such boats as you had. You would save no time in that way.”
“Well,” said Kytraan, “but are there roads?”
For answer, Sethra moved her finger to a spot near the edge of the map. “There is a road through the jungle, here, that crosses the Eastern River here, at a good ford. The road then turns east toward the Shallow Sea, but if you continue north to this spot, you will reach a place where you will find a road running through the jungle until you arrive at the market town of Wilder, and that will put you on the edge of the Pushta, where horses can travel in any direction without regard to roads.”
“Well, and our direction?” said Tazendra.
“North and little east. You may meet a tribe of cat-centaurs near there, but they are rarely hostile unless given a reason to be.”
“We will give them no reason,” said Zerika.
“That is best,” said the Enchantress. “You continue northward, then, until you get to the mountains, here.”
Tazendra started to speak, but then shrugged. Sethra said, “Yes, I know, I am on the table once more. But this time, you perceive, I have another map.”
“Ah!” said Tazendra. “Another map!”
“Exactly.”
She rolled up the first map, and opened another, which was smaller and appeared to be older, but upon which the details were still clear and easily understood.
“As you can see,” she said, “you will be skirting the Eastern Mountains, but not entering them. You must be especially careful in through here, for brigands in those mountains are particularly fierce.”
“We will be careful,” said Kytraan.
Tazendra shrugged, as if to say that the notion of confronting brigands did not bring thoughts of care to her mind.
“Here,” continued the Enchantress, “you will once more pick up the Eastern River, and you will remain with it upon your left hand until here, where you will cross it once more.”
“But, how will we cross it?” said Zerika.
“Oh, as to that, well, there was once a bridge, but it may now be gone.”
“And then?”
“Well, in that case, you may need to find boats, or to fashion rafts. But you will then be near the lower slopes of Mount Klassor, which is heavily forested, and so you will have no trouble finding wood.”
“Apropos,” said Kytraan, “we ought to bring axes.”
“Very well,” said Piro. “I agree with the need for axes.”
“What next?” said Zerika.
In answer, the Enchantress rolled up the map, and unrolled another, the largest of the three.
“Here,” she said, “is where you yet again cross the Eastern River. It is, you perceive, only a score of miles from there until you reach the feet of the Ash Mountains. You continue, then, until you reach this point, where you will ascend until you meet the Blood River, which you follow into Greymist Valley, and, thus, to Deathgate Falls.”
“Well, and after that?” said Piro, who wished to speak to show that these names did not frighten him.
“After that, w
ell, Zerika will descend and, we hope, emerge again with the Orb. You will then return to Dzur Mountain.”
The Enchantress straightened her back and said, “That, then, is the route I propose. Do any of you have any questions?”
Piro cleared his throat and said, “Well, there is, in fact, one question that occurred to me while you were speaking.”
“If you ask it, well, I will attempt to answer.”
“This, then, is my question: In describing the route we are to take, you seemed to use the word you a great deal.”
“Ah, you noticed that?”
“I more than noticed it, I remarked upon it.”
“Do you know,” said Tazendra, “I had observed this circumstance as well.”
“But then,” said the Enchantress, “that is merely an observation. Is there, then, a question as well?”
“Oh, certainly. And a most significant question at that.”
“Well then, ask it.”
“I am about to do so.”
“Very well.”
“Does this use of you indicate that you will not be accompanying us on our journey?”
“Yes, exactly,” said the Enchantress. “You have understood precisely what it means.”
“It is remarkable,” observed Tazendra, “how much can be communicated by so small a word.”
“Well, but,” said Piro. “You perceive, your presence would be useful during our journey.”
“Oh, I understand that,” said Sethra.
“And then?”
“Alas, it is not possible.”
“Not possible?”
“Or, rather, not advisable.”
“And yet—”
“If you succeed—that is, if Zerika manages to acquire the Orb—there will be certain forces who will learn of it at once. Indeed, it has been only with complex and subtle illusions—and some amount of luck—that they have been held away to this point, and when the Orb is gone, these illusions will necessarily go with it. From Dzur Mountain, I may be able to thwart them.”
“Ah,” said Piro, who had the feeling that he would not be able to understand a more comprehensive explanation, and accordingly didn’t ask for one.
“‘May’?” said Zerika. “You say you may be able to thwart them?”
“Yes, exactly,” said the Enchantress.
“Well, but—”
“Yes?”
“What if you fail?”
“Oh, if I fail—”
“Yes?”
“Then, no doubt, they will destroy you, take the Orb, and subjugate our world.”
“And yet—”
“It is nothing to worry about, my dear Phoenix.”
“How, nothing to worry about?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well, but why should I not worry?”
“For the best reason in the world, my dear: because nothing can be done about it.”
“Well, that is a reason, at all events. And yet—”
“Well?”
“I am not reassured.”
The Enchantress shrugged.
“But after all,” said Tazendra carelessly, “they can only kill you once or twice.”
Zerika turned on her quickly, saying, “Madam, I beg you to believe that it is not my life that concerns me; thanks to Fortune I was not born entirely deficient in courage. What concerns me is my mission. You perceive, to me has been given the task of restoring the Empire—the Empire, do you understand me, madam? I think the task is of sufficient importance to be worth a few questions to see that it does not fail. If you disagree, well, say so plainly, and then we will consider what to do about it.”
Tazendra, for her part, looked at the Phoenix with something like a glint in her eye, and said, “I hope to the gods I was not questioning your courage; do you be as kind in not questioning my loyalty. Therefore, if we have now reached an understanding, I beg you not to stare at me with those twin fires that are blazing behind your eyes, but show me a little kindness as befits one preparing to lay down her life for you as well as for the cause to which we are all dedicated.”
Zerika rose and bowed to Tazendra, saying, “I’m sorry if I have misunderstood you, and, well, if I haven’t, I cannot stay angry with you in any case; you know how grateful I am to have your strong arm for support.”
“But then,” said Kytraan, “if the Enchantress—” here he bowed to the lady thus indicated, “—is not to accompany us, well, perhaps it would be good to know who is.”
Sethra Lavode nodded. “That is a good question,” she said.
“Do you think so?” said Kytraan. “Well, then I am pleased.”
“Yes,” said the Enchantress. “It is so good a question, in fact, that I will answer it.”
“Ah. Well, if you will answer it, I will listen, and I think my friends here will listen as well.”
“I hope so. Here it is, then: In addition to Zerika, we will have you, Kytraan, and you, Piro, and Tazendra.”
“Well, yes,” said Piro. “But is that all?”
“By no means. You will also have your lackeys.”
“Well, but no one else?”
The Enchantress shrugged and said, “If a Dragon, a Dzur, and a Tiassa cannot deliver a Phoenix to Deathgate Falls, then I fail to see how any others could help.”
Kytraan said, “You believe, then, that more would not help?”
“More would be an army, and, as such, would call attention to itself.”
“Attention?” said Zerika.
“There are a score of warlords who dream of re-creating the Empire with themselves as Emperor. Some of them would yield to Zerika, upon learning of her ancestry and goals. But others, perhaps, would not.”
Zerika nodded and said, “Very well, I understand.”
“Then,” said Tazendra, “we have our troop, and we have our destination. What else remains?”
“Well, we must pick an auspicious time for a departure,” said Sethra the Younger, who, according to her custom, had said little.
“That is always good when beginning a journey,” agreed Tazendra.
“Well,” continued Sethra, “I have done so. I cast the cards this morning.”
“And?”
“The day after to-morrow, at the stroke of noon.”
Zerika shrugged. “That is later than I should have liked to set out, but if is auspicious, then, well, it cannot harm us to have as much of Fortune working with us as we can.”
“That is my opinion as well,” said Tazendra.
“Then,” said Kytraan, “we at least have plenty of time to prepare what we will need for our journey.”
“And to rest before we begin,” said Piro.
“And to study the maps,” said Zerika.
“And to sharpen our swords,” said Tazendra, “because I should be more than a little astonished if we do not need them.”
Chapter the Twenty-Fifth
How Tevna the Pyrologist
Came to Play a Small
Yet Crucial Rôle In History
It is well known that moments of historical drama cast people as well as situations into a new light—that is, the place of men in relation to circumstances is highlighted, changed, and, in general, clarified. This is true in general—that is, for the great masses of people; and also in particular—that is, for any individual upon whom we might choose to focus our attention. Many who seem important are shown, at such times, to be insignificant; while others, hitherto undistinguished, are pushed forward onto the stage of history to be tested in the most public of lights, where flaws and virtues are magnified as if seen through one of Baroness Holdra’s glasses. Indeed, one might say that a crisis of historical magnitude is the best way known to determine the true character of those who wish to claim a place in the memory of the race. We will mention in passing that it is exactly for this reason that the historian as well as the writer of romance will devote his energies to situations of high drama and to characters who face mortal danger: while some critics decr
y the love of “adventure” on the part of the writer and of the reading public, yet at no other time can one see so clearly into the soul of a man or of historic circumstance; and if an historian or an artist cannot illuminate the soul, for what purpose does he wield a pen?
What then lies at the soul of those who deserve the attention of the historian? What can we find at the heart of those moments in history when accumulated tension meets intolerable pressure? To answer these question, we direct the reader’s attention to the brave Khaavren, whom we left some time ago saying farewell to his old friend Pel, after already saying farewell to his only son, sent off to do that which the brave Tiassa was unable anymore to do himself.
Several days after Pel had left, Khaavren was watching the sea from the terrace on the south side of Whitecrest Manor—the sight of the ocean-sea, with her infinite variety of rhythmical, rolling, crashing sameness being always conducive to such moods as melancholia tinged with pride, and such being the flavor of Khaavren’s recent thoughts. In the midst of these thoughts, which we hope the reader will permit us to leave with no more invasion than those generalities we have already perpetrated, Khaavren was interrupted by the cook, who was also doing service as doorman, wine servant, and several other domestic occupations.
“My lord?” began the servant hesitantly.
Khaavren slowly turned his head, showing no signs of having been startled. “What is it, then?” he said.
“My lord, there is someone who inquires if you are at home.”
“Someone?” said Khaavren. “You perceive that to say
‘someone’ is to supply little information. So little, in fact, that I am unable to determine whether I wish you admit the inquirer into my presence, or, instead, to require you to tell one of those polite social lies—which you, as a Teckla, are permitted to tell—that will preserve my solitude.” We would be remiss in our duty as historian if we failed to mention that Khaavren’s tone of voice indicated a certain lassitude, as if he did not care very much what sort of answer he might receive to his question.
“And then, my lord, you wish me to provide more information about the caller?”
“You have divined my meaning exactly.”