The Book of Athyra Read online

  THE CYCLE

  Phoenix sinks into decay

  Haughty dragon yearns to slay.

  Lyorn growls and lowers horn

  Tiassa dreams and plots are born.

  Hawk looks down from lofty flight

  Dzur stalks and blends with night.

  Issola strikes from courtly bow

  Tsalmoth maintains though none knows how.

  Vallista rends and then rebuilds

  Jhereg feeds on others’ kills.

  Quiet iorich won’t forget

  Sly chreotha weaves his net.

  Yendi coils and strikes, unseen

  Orca circles, hard and lean.

  Frightened teckla hides in grass

  Jhegaala shifts as moments pass.

  Athyra rules minds’ interplay

  Phoenix rises from ashes gray.

  The Adventures of Vlad Taltos

  JHEREG

  YENDI

  TECKLA

  TALTOS

  PHOENIX

  ATHYRA

  ORCA

  DRAGON

  ISSOLA

  DZUR

  Anthologies

  THE BOOK OF JHEREG

  THE BOOK OF TALTOS

  THE BOOK OF ATHYRA

  THE BOOK OF ATHYRA

  Contains the complete text of

  Athyra and Orca

  Steven Brust

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The Book of Athyra copyright © 2003 by Steven Brust.

  Athyra copyright © 1993 by Steven Brust.

  Orca copyright © 1996 by Steven Brust.

  Cover art by Ciruelo Cabral.

  Cover design by Rita Frangie.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ACE is an imprint of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace trade paperback edition / February 2003

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brust, Steven, 1955–

  [Athyra]

  The book of Athyra / Steven Brust.

  p. cm.

  “Contains the complete text of Athyra and Orca.”

  ISBN: 978-1-101-66574-9

  1. Taltos, Vlad (Fictitious character)—Fiction. I. Brust, Steven, 1955– Orca. II. Title.

  PS3552.R84 A94 2003

  813’.54—dc21

  2002033263

  Version_1

  Table of Contents

  The Cycle

  Other Books by Steven Brust

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Pronunciation Guide

  ATHYRA

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  Epilogue

  ORCA

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1

  2

  Interlude

  3

  4

  5

  6

  Interlude

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Interlude

  13

  14

  15

  16

  Interlude

  17

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  One of the questions I’m most often asked is: “In what order would you recommend reading these books?” Unfortunately, I’m just exactly the wrong guy to ask. I made every effort to write them so they could be read in any order. I am aware that, in some measure at least, I have failed (I certainly wouldn’t recommend starting with Teckla, for example), but the fact that I was trying makes me incapable of giving an answer.

  Many people whose opinion I respect believe publication order is best; this volume reflects that belief. For those who want to read the books in chronological order, it would go like this: Taltos, Yendi, Dragon, Jhereg, Teckla, Phoenix, Athyra, Orca, Issola.

  The choice, I daresay, is yours. In any case, I hope you enjoy them.

  Steven Brust

  Minneapolis

  March 1999

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Adrilankha ah-dri-LAHN-kuh

  Adron Ā-drahn

  Aliera uh-LEER-uh

  Athyra uh-THĪ-ruh

  Baritt BĀR-it

  Brust brūst

  Cawti KAW-tee

  Chreotha kree-O-thuh

  Dragaera druh-GAR-uh

  Drien DREE-en

  Dzur tser

  Iorich ī-Ō-rich

  Issola î-SŌ-luh

  Jhegaala zhuh-GAH-luh

  Jhereg zhuh-REG

  Kiera KĪ-ruh

  Kieron KĪ-rahn

  Kragar KRAY-gahr

  Leareth LEER-eth

  Loiosh LOI-ōsh

  Lyorn LI-orn

  Mario MAH-ree-ō

  Mellar MEH-lar

  Morrolan muh-RŌL-uhn

  Norathar NŌ-ruh-thahr

  Rocza RAW-tsuh

  Serioli sar-ee-Ō-lee

  Taltos TAHL-tōsh

  Teckla TEH-kluh

  Tiassa tee-AH-suh

  Tsalmoth TSAHL-mōth

  Verra VEE-ruh

  Valista vuhl-ISS-tuh

  Yendi YEN-dee

  Zerika zuh-REE-kuh

  ATHYRA

  For Martin, and it’s about time

  Acknowledgments

  A whole bunch of people read early stages of this book and helped repair it. They are:

  Susan Allison

  Emma Bull

  Pamela Dean

  Kara Dalkey

  Fred Levy Haskell

  Will Shetterly

  Terri Windling


  As always, I’d like to humbly thank Adrian Charles Morgan, without whose work I wouldn’t have a world that was nearly so much fun to write about.

  Special thanks to Betsy Pucci and Sheri Portigal for supplying the facts on which I based certain portions of this book. If there are errors, blame me, not them, and, in any case, don’t try this stuff at home.

  Prologue

  WOMAN, GIRL, MAN, AND boy sat together, like good companions, around a fire in the woods.

  “Now that you’re here,” said the man, “explanations can wait until we’ve eaten.”

  “Very well,” said the woman. “That smells very tasty.”

  “Thank you,” said the man.

  The boy said nothing.

  The girl sniffed in disdain; the others paid no attention.

  “What is it?” said the woman. “I don’t recognize—”

  “A bird. Should be done, soon.”

  “He killed it,” said the girl, accusingly.

  “Yes?” said the woman. “Shouldn’t he have?”

  “Killing is all he knows how to do.”

  The man didn’t answer; he just turned the bird on the spit.

  The boy said nothing.

  “Can’t you do something?” said the girl.

  “You mean, teach him a skill?” said the woman. No one laughed.

  “We were walking through the woods,” said the girl. “Not that I wanted to be here—”

  “You didn’t?” said the woman, glancing sharply at the man. He ignored them. “He forced you to accompany him?” she said.

  “Well, he didn’t force me to, but I had to.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And all of a sudden, I became afraid, and—”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of—well—of that place. I wanted to go a different way. But he wouldn’t.”

  The woman glanced at the roasting bird, and nodded, recognizing it. “That’s what they do,” she said. “That’s how they find prey, and how they frighten off predators. It’s some sort of psychic ability to—”

  “I don’t care,” said the girl.

  “Time to eat,” said the man.

  “I started arguing with him, but he ignored me. He took out his knife and threw it into these bushes—”

  “Yes,” said the man. “And here it is.”

  “You could,” said the woman, looking at him suddenly, “have just walked around it. They won’t attack anything our size.”

  “Eat now,” said the man. “We can resume the insults later.”

  The boy said nothing.

  The woman said, “If you like. But I’m curious—”

  The man shrugged. “I dislike things that play games with my mind,” he said. “Besides, they’re good to eat.”

  The boy, whose name was Savn, had remained silent the entire time.

  But that was only to be expected, under the circumstances.

  1

  I will not marry a dung-foot peasant,

  I will not marry a dung-foot peasant,

  Life with him would not be pleasant.

  Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

  Step on out and do not tarry,

  Step on back and do not tarry,

  Tell me tell me who you’ll marry.

  Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

  SAVN WAS THE FIRST one to see him, and, come to that, the first to see the Harbingers, as well. The Harbingers behaved as Harbingers do: they went unrecognized until after the fact. When Savn saw them, his only remark was to his little sister, Polinice. He said, “Summer is almost over; the jhereg are already mating.”

  “What jhereg, Savn?” she said.

  “Ahead there, on top of Tem’s house.”

  “Oh. I see them. Maybe they’re life-mates. Jhereg do that, you know.”

  “Like Easterners,” said Savn, for no other reason than to show off his knowledge, because Polyi was now in her eighties and starting to think that maybe her brother didn’t know everything, an attitude he hadn’t yet come to terms with. Polyi didn’t answer, and Savn took a last look at the jhereg, sitting on top of the house. The female was larger and becoming dark brown as summer gave way to autumn; the male was smaller and lighter in color. Savn guessed that in the spring the male would be green or grey, while the female would simply turn a lighter brown. He watched them for a moment as they sat there waiting for something to die. They left the roof at that moment, circled Tem’s house once, and flew off to the southeast.

  Savn and Polyi, all unaware that Fate had sent an Omen circling above their heads, continued on to Tem’s house and shared a large salad with Tem’s own dressing, which somehow managed to make linseed oil tasty. Salad, along with bread and thin, salty soup, was almost the only food Tem was serving, now that the flax was being harvested, so it was just as well they liked it. It tasted rather better than the drying flax smelled, but Savn was no longer aware of the smell in any case. There was also cheese, but Tem hadn’t really mastered cheeses yet, not the way old Shoe had. Tem was still young as Housemasters go; he’d barely reached his five hundredth year.

  Polyi found a place where she could watch the room, and took a glass of soft wine mixed with water, while Savn had an ale. Polyi wasn’t supposed to have wine, but Tem never told on her, and Savn certainly wouldn’t. She looked around the room, and Savn caught her eyes returning to one place a few times, so he said, “He’s too young for you, that one is.”

  She didn’t blush; another indication that she was growing up. She just said, “Who asked you?”

  Savn shrugged and let it go. It seemed like every girl in town was taken with Ori, which gave the lie to the notion that girls like boys who are strong. Ori was very fair, and as pretty as a girl, but what made him most attractive was that he never noticed the attention he got, making Savn think of Master Wag’s story about the norska and the wolf.

  Savn looked around the house to see if Firi was there, and was both disappointed and relieved not to see her; disappointed because she was certainly the prettiest girl in town, and relieved because whenever he even thought about speaking to her he felt he had no place to put his hands.

  It was only during harvest that Savn was allowed to purchase a noon meal, because he had to work from early in the morning until it was time for him to go to Master Wag, and his parents had decided that he needed and deserved the sustenance. And because there was no good way to allow Savn to buy a lunch and deny one to his sister, who would be working at the harvest all day, they allowed her to accompany him to Tem’s house on the condition that she return at once. After they had eaten, Polyi returned home while Savn continued on to Master Wag’s. As he was walking away, he glanced up at the roof of Tem’s house, but the jhereg had not returned.

  The day at Master Wag’s passed quickly and busily, with mixing herbs, receiving lessons, and keeping the Master’s place tidy. The Master, who was stoop-shouldered and balding, and had eyes like a bird of prey, told Savn, for the fourth time, the story of the Badger in the Quagmire, and how he swapped places with the Clever Chreotha. Savn thought he might be ready to tell that one himself, but he didn’t tell Master Wag this, because he might be wrong, and the Master had a way of mocking Savn for mistakes of overconfidence that left him red-faced for hours.

  So he just listened, and absorbed, and washed the Master’s clothes with water drawn from the Master’s well, and cleaned out the empty ceramic pots, and helped fill them with ground or whole herbs, and looked at drawings of the lung and the heart, and stayed out of the way when a visitor came to the Master for physicking.

  On the bad days, Savn found himself checking the time every half hour. On the good days, he was always surprised when the Master said, “Enough for now. Go on home.” This was one of the good days. Savn took his leave, and set off. The afternoon was still bright beneath the orange-red sky.

  The next thing to happen, which was really the first for our purposes, occurred as Savn was returning home. The Master lived under the shadow of Smallcliff along the Upper Browncl
ay River, which was half a league from the village, and of course that was where he gave Savn lessons; he was the Master, Savn only an apprentice.

  About halfway between Smallcliff and the village was a place where a couple of trails came together in front of the Curving Stone. Just past this was a flattened road leading down to Lord Smallcliff’s manor house, and it was just there that Savn saw the stranger, who was bent over, scraping at the road with some sort of tool.

  The stranger looked up quickly, perhaps when he heard Savn’s footsteps, and cursed under his breath and looked up at the sky, scowling, before looking more fully at the lad. Only when the stranger straightened his back did Savn realize that he was an Easterner. They stared at each other for the space of a few heartbeats. Savn had never met an Easterner before. The Easterner was slightly smaller than Savn, but had that firm, settled look that comes with age; it was very odd. Savn didn’t know what to say. For that matter, he didn’t know if they spoke the same language.

  “Good evening,” said the Easterner at last, speaking like a native, although a native of a place considerably south of Smallcliff.

  Savn gave him a good evening, too, and, not knowing what to do next, waited. It was odd, looking at someone who would grow old and die while you were still young. He’s probably younger than I am right now, thought Savn, startled. The Easterner was wearing mostly green and was dressed for traveling, with a light raincape over his shoulder and a pack on the road next to him. There was a very fragile-looking sword at his hip, and in his hand was the instrument he’d been digging with—a long, straight dagger. Savn was staring at it when he noticed that one of the Easterner’s hands had only four fingers. He wondered if this was normal for them. At that moment, the stranger said, “I hadn’t expected anyone to be coming along this road.”

  “Not many do,” said Savn, speaking to him as if he were human; that is, an equal. “My Master lives along this road, and Lord Smallcliff’s manor is down that one.”

  The stranger nodded. His eyes and hair were dark brown, almost black, as was the thick hair that grew above his lip, and if he were human one would have said he was quite husky and very short, but this condition might, thought Savn, be normal among Easterners. He was slightly bow-legged, and he stood with his head a little forward from his shoulders, as if it hadn’t been put on quite right and was liable to fall off at any moment. Also, there was something odd about his voice that the young man couldn’t quite figure out.