The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

  Teldra smiled. “We are not so bad, you know, once you become acquainted with us.”

  “Oh, I have spoken with elfs before, I assure you.”

  “And?”

  “As you say, my lady.”

  Teldra bowed, and the warlock, turning to Morrolan, said, “What of you?”

  “Oh, I? Well, you perceive I have my name. Moreover, I have journeyed to a place where I learned many things not available to plain sight. And, as to my soul-mate, well—”

  “Yes?”

  “At first I thought it was Arra.”

  “At first?”

  “Yes, but then I came to believe it was the Lady Teldra.”

  “And yet, you were uncertain.”

  “Oh, but I am certain now.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. I am utterly convinced.”

  “That it is Teldra?”

  “No, that it is the Demon Goddess.”

  “What do you tell me?” cried the warlock.

  “The goddess, herself, is my soul-mate.”

  “Bah!”

  “It is,” said Arra, “exactly as he says.”

  “Well,” said the warlock. “I must tell you I have heard of nothing like this. Do you not think it, well—”

  “Presumptuous?”

  “Exactly. The very word.”

  “Yes, I think it is.”

  “And so?”

  “It is the truth, nevertheless.”

  “In that case, well—”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you any objection if my friends and I accompany you?”

  “Not the least objection in the world,” said Morrolan. He looked quickly at Arra and Teldra, both of whom signified that the warlock’s company would be welcome. The dog wagged its shaggy tail. The warlock, putting a thumb and finger into his mouth, gave off a loud, piercing whistle, after which a black horse trotted up, snorted, and shook its head.

  “How,” said Morrolan, “you have your horse trained to come when you whistle?”

  The warlock smiled. “In fact, I do not.”

  “You do not? And yet—”

  “Much is illusion, my brother in the Art, is it not?”

  Morrolan bowed. “Perhaps you are right, and yet, if I do not err, your horse is not an illusion, and I have never seen one so strong.”

  “You have a good eye for horses, my friend.”

  “Tell me, of what breed is it?”

  “Oh, as to that, well, I couldn’t say. But, believe me, he has a certain lineage.”

  “Oh, I do not doubt that in the least. What is his name?”

  “Duke.”

  “Well, I should think at least Prince for a horse like that.”

  “He is not presumptuous.”

  “That is good,” said Morrolan, smiling.

  After a few miles, the warlock said, “Tell me one thing.”

  “One thing? Ah, having gotten our fill of supplies, and the day being so pleasant, well, I would answer three questions.”

  “But I only have one, so I hope you will be content.”

  “Entirely, my good warlock. So come, ask your question.”

  “This is it: Exactly where are we going?”

  “Oh, you wish to know that?”

  “Awtlá, the dog, well, he is curious.”

  “Ah, I understand that. Well, the answer is, we are bound for my ancestral homelands, a county called Southmoor.”

  “Southmoor? Well, but that is near Adrilankha, is it not?”

  Teldra answered him, saying, “Perhaps fifty leagues from Covered Springs, in the southwest corner. But wait, you know Adrilankha?”

  “Know it? I nearly think so.”

  “How, you have been there?” said Morrolan.

  “Oh, indeed. I lived there for some time.”

  “The trey!”

  “It is true. And you, have you been there?”

  “Never. I have only heard of it from Lady Teldra.”

  “Well, perhaps we will go there, and I will show you some of the places of interest.”

  “I should like that.”

  That night, Morrolan asked the warlock which watch he preferred.

  “Oh, I have my choice?” he said.

  “And why should you not?”

  “And yet, are you certain you trust me?”

  “I do,” said Arra, with no hesitation.

  Morrolan shrugged. “If Arra trusts you, well, that is sufficient for me.”

  “And for me as well,” said Teldra.

  The warlock bowed. “Well then, if I can choose my watch, I should like to select—”

  “Well?”

  “All of them.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, if that is acceptable.”

  “And yet—”

  “Well?”

  “Will you not require sleep at some point on the journey?”

  “No, for I shall sleep while I am on watch.”

  “How, that is your intention?”

  “More than my intention, my dear elf, it is my plan.”

  “And yet, it seems to me—”

  “Come, I know what you are thinking. I believe I can convince you.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “Very well, then, I am prepared to be convinced.”

  As darkness fell and they made their camp with the practiced ease of old campaigners, the warlock walked out of the camp along with his two companions, and, some few minutes later, came back without them.

  Morrolan said, “Your friends, then, are on watch?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And they are trustworthy?”

  “Without meaning to give offense, my good Dragonlord, I aver that they are more reliable than any of the rest of us.”

  “Very well, then,” said Morrolan. “I have said I trust you, and, therefore, I do.”

  “That is best, believe me.”

  That night, Morrolan found that, as he lay wrapped in his blankets, his head was near Arra’s, and he said very softly, “Do you know, it almost seems as if, in the flickering of the fire, I saw a large, grey wolf circling about our camp? And it was, moreover, an extraordinarily large wolf, if I am not deceived.”

  “And I,” whispered Arra, “am convinced that I have a seen a dzur padding about at the very edge of the light.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, I think he is more accomplished in the Art than he pretends.”

  “I nearly think you are right.”

  “Let us sleep then.”

  “Yes, let us do so.”

  The next morning, as they were preparing to break their fast, Morrolan saw the dog curled up next to the fire. It saw Morrolan looking at it and thumped its tail once. The cat lay next to the dog, cleaning itself. Morrolan shrugged.

  They traveled in this way as the days and weeks wore on, and the mountains, which were ever upon their right hand, began to seem lower and lower, until one day, very near noon, Morrolan remarked, “Do you know, I am beginning to wish that it would either rain, or clear up, but this threatening sky is beginning to wear on me.”

  “I’m afraid, my lord,” said Teldra, “that it will not clear.”

  “How, never?”

  “No, this is the Enclouding of which you have heard.”

  “How, the Hand of Faerie, as it is called in the lands where I was raised?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well,” said Morrolan, “I hope I shall become used to it.”

  “I believe you will, after a time,” said Teldra.

  “Well, let us go on.”

  It was eight or nine days later that they awoke to discover that the Mountains of Faerie, as they were called in the East, or the Eastern Mountains, were no longer upon their right hand, replaced with only the most harmless-looking hills. Morrolan and his friends looked back to the north, and saw, as it were, the trailing edges of the mountains.

  “Well,” said Morrolan. “I never
thought to see them end.”

  “I admit,” said Arra, “that I, too, was beginning to despair of seeing their end.”

  “I nearly imagine,” said Teldra, “that I can smell the sea, although it is yet more than fifty leagues distant.”

  “Come, look there,” said Morrolan.

  “Where?” said the warlock.

  “There, between those hills. Do you see?”

  “It looks.” said Teldra, “to be a small troop of horsemen.”

  “Yes,” said Morrolan. “I cannot make out their number. Four? Six?”

  The dog looked in the indicated direction, and began pointing, front paw up, tail straight.

  “They are elfs,” said the warlock.

  Teldra nodded “They do not appear to be coming in our direction, however.”

  “No, they are going north, as near as I can make out.”

  “Well?”

  Morrolan shrugged. “Let them alone, then.”

  “I concur,” said Arra.

  Morrolan watched them a bit longer, then, after packing up, mounted once more.

  “Southward,” he said. “And a bit to the west. The homeland of my ancestors lies ahead.”

  “And much else as well,” said Arra.

  “Of that,” said Morrolan, “I have no doubt.”

  Chapter the Twenty-Eighth

  How Various Others Are Spending

  Their Time While Our Friends

  Are Traveling

  Should the reader be at all curious about what has been happening with Wadre and his highwaymen, not to mention the sinister sorceress who calls herself Orlaan, we now propose to satisfy this curiosity. She was sitting, to all appearances as imperturbable as an Athyra monk, when Mora approached her and delicately cleared her throat.

  Orlaan opened her eyes and looked up at the bandit. “Well?” she said.

  Mora bowed with utmost respect, and said, “I am bidden to inform you that they have left Dzur Mountain.”

  “Ah! Have they, then?”

  Mora bowed her assent.

  “Well, and in what direction have they set off?”

  “North.”

  “North?”

  “It is as I have the honor to inform you.”

  “Well. I wonder what business they have to the north. You perceive, I had been prepared for them to travel back southwest toward Adrilankha, or west toward Adron’s Disaster, or south toward the Coast, or even east as a means of escape. But I cannot imagine what might take them north.”

  Mora, having nothing to add to these reflections, and being, moreover, a little uncertain in the presence of the sorceress, said nothing, but rather waited.

  “Well,” said Orlaan after a moment. “Let us follow them and find out.”

  “As you say, madam,” said Mora.

  “Send Wadre to me.”

  Mora bowed, departed, and, a few minutes later the bandit chief was standing in the very spot she had but lately vacated.

  “You wished to see me, madam?”

  Orlaan nodded. “As you know, our quarry is running.”

  “Well, and?”

  “We will follow them at a good distance. It is my desire to see whither they are bound, but not yet to interfere with them.”

  “Very well.”

  “Apropos, we must not permit them to see us.”

  “Very well.”

  “But neither must we fall too far behind them, because I may choose to attack them at a moment’s notice.”

  “Very well.”

  “When will we be ready to set out?”

  “Well, we must saddle our horses.”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  “And then, our gear must be packed.”

  “I agree that you should have your gear.”

  “And then, our food and other supplies must be put into our saddle-pockets.”

  “Certainly we must all have food for the journey. And then?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Ah. You move quickly.”

  Wadre shrugged. “We are bandits. We have become accustomed to the need to be on the road with little delay.”

  “That is good then. See to it.”

  “At once,” said Wadre.

  The brigand was as good as his word; five minutes later the entire band, with the addition of Orlaan, were mounted and moving north. They skirted Dzur Mountain, and, brave though they no doubt were, many of the brigands gave the mountain covert glances, or made superstitious gestures in its direction as their route brought them to their closest approach.

  “Do you think she is watching us?” asked Orlaan, with an expression of irony on her countenance.

  “No,” said Wadre.

  “Well, and why do you believe she is not?”

  “Because if I thought she were, well, I should be forced to scream and then, turning my horse, to run from here as quickly as possible. This would be inconsistent with my dignity as a bandit leader. Therefore, you perceive, I must believe she is not watching us.”

  “Ah! You are a pragmatist.”

  Wadre shrugged. “It is the only philosophy suitable to a brigand, don’t you think?”

  “Well, that, or perhaps fatalism.”

  “Bah! I am of too optimistic a nature to be a fatalist.”

  “You must be very optimistic, my good Wadre, to maintain your optimism in the very lap of Seth—”

  “Now please,” said Wadre. “Whatever your own beliefs, please do me the courtesy of respecting my own, and do not name her, especially while we are within the shadow of her home.”

  “As you wish,” said Orlaan, shrugging.

  That evening, they stopped and made camp, and, as they were cooking up a sort of stew, Wadre said, “I wonder how far ahead of us they are?”

  “Eleven and a half miles,” said Orlaan.

  “Bah!” said Wadre. “How—” Then he stopped in mid-sentence, shrugged, and continued stirring.

  “I wonder where they’re going?” said Orlaan quietly, speaking to herself.

  We are not going to detail yet another in what, we confess, is in danger of becoming an endless sequence of wearying episodes of travel. When we portray these episodes, we do so with regret, and only because the history we have taken it upon ourselves to relate absolutely requires it; thus when we are able to pass them by, as we do now, we readily take the opportunity to do so.

  The reader may, then, rest assured that, for several weeks, and even months, they continued in the trail of Piro and his friends, and that, at the expiration of that time, Orlaan was quietly asking herself the same question, and, as of that time, had not arrived at an answer.

  It was during that time—that is, during these weeks and months—that there came a visitor to Dzur Mountain, and a visitor, moreover, with whom the reader is already acquainted, that being our old friend Pel, who was, as the reader may recall, given the task by Kana himself to treat with the Enchantress.

  The entrance Pel found was, typically, one of the lesser-known doorways into the strange keep of Sethra Lavode—in particular, it involved climbing to the very top of the mountain, slipping between two large boulders which did not appear to have any space between them, moving aside a doorway that appeared to be a stingerbush, and climbing down a ladder into a sort of entry-way made of brown rock.

  Once down, he waited, assuming his entry would be noted. In this, he was not disappointed; it was the Sorceress in Green who appeared on this occasion, a sword in her hand. Pel did not draw a weapon, but instead made a bow and said, “I am the Duke of Galstan. Do I have honor of addressing Sethra the Younger, of whom I have heard so much?”

  “No,” said the Sorceress, “you do not. Is it your custom to enter homes unannounced?”

  “Not in the least,” said Pel. “On the contrary, I would have wrung the clapper, were it not for the fact that I didn’t see one. Moreover, I would have entered by the front door, if I knew where it was. I am an emissary of his Imperial Majesty Kâna, of the House of the Dragon, and
I request an audience with Sethra Lavode.”

  The Sorceress studied him, then abruptly sheathed her sword and made a certain motion with the fingers of her left hand. Upon seeing this, Pel, his eyes widening slightly, made a similar yet different motion with the fingers of his left hand, after which the Sorceress said, “Follow me, then, my lord Galstan.”

  Pel bowed and followed her.

  Soon Pel was in the room our friends had occupied some weeks previously. The Enchantress entered, and said, “Well, it is Pel, isn’t it?”

  “How,” said the Sorceress. “You know him?”

  “Oh, indeed,” said the Enchantress. “He is the Duke of Galstan, of the House of the Yendi, but he styles himself Pel, after a small river in the northwest.”

  “And you were aware that he is a Yendi?” said the Sorceress.

  “Oh, certainly.”

  “Well.”

  “It has been some time,” said Pel.

  “Indeed. And word has reached me that you are here on behalf of Skinter.”

  Pel bowed.

  The Enchantress studied him for some time, at last saying, “You perceive, I do not ask you to sit.”

  “This fact had not escaped me.”

  “Well then, is our business concluded?”

  “To my regret, madam, I must confess that it is.”

  “Well. The Sorceress will see you out by the same way you entered.”

  Pel bowed once more, and, following the Sorceress in Green, left Dzur Mountain, after which he made his way to a near-by posting house, some twenty or thirty miles away, from which he contrived to have this message dispatched back to Mount Kâna:

  Your Majesty, I have the honor to report that I have met with the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain. We discussed those issues with which I was charged, and I regret to report that I wad told, in terms that can Leave no room for confusion, that the Enchantress intends to oppose us with all of the forces at her disposal, and even with all of those which, not being presently at her disposal, she can contrive to assemble for the purpose of thwarting our intentions. She is, in other words, an implacable enemy. She went so far as to insist, using Language that was unmistakable, that she questioned even Your Majesty’s right to the duchy of Kâna. Other than this, I was able to learn little, except that she is engaged in a project of some soft that is working directly counter to our aims; but she was too cautious and too clever to give me so much as an opportunity to learn anything about it.