Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) Page 12
“Only of a particular kind.”
“Go on, then.”
“We all obey the laws of nature.”
“Well, how can we not?”
“Exactly. And then there laws of man, which some obey, and some do not, and most of us—”
“Yes, most of us?”
“Why, most of us walk a sort of line, choosing which of these to obey, and which to ignore as inconvenient.”
“You think so?”
“Well, those with whom we are sharing a meal—except for you, of course—have chosen to ignore the laws that say if a man buys a pound of bacon for ten pennies and sells it for twelve, he is entitled to the two extra.”
“That seems a good law to me.”
Pel shrugged. “Perhaps it is. To be sure, if there were no such law, it would be more difficult to find someone willing to sell a pound of bacon.”
“That is my opinion as well. And then?”
“Why, you remember when we were in the Guards, and we met those charming fellows who believed they could ignore the laws that required taxing of all games of chance.”
“I remember.”
“And our fellow guardsman who so much agreed with them that they felt they, in turn, could ignore the laws that said a guardsman must not turn his head from violations of the law, and certainly must not accept money to turn his head.”
“You remember that I took no such money.”
“You are above normal men, Aerich.”
“Well.”
“Yet those who took the money, they were good guardsmen, good Dragonlords, and often good citizens.”
“I see where you are going.”
“It is clear enough is it not?”
“It is a matter of honor.”
“Precisely, Aerich. The laws of honor speak of duty, and love, and friendship, and loyalty, and place them in a nice order. The laws of honor are how we make choices among them, and choices of which of the laws of men we obey.”
“You make a powerful argument, Pel. Don’t you agree, Tazendra?”
“Oh, well, yes, certainly. I had been remarking upon this. Duty, that is Aerich. Love, that is Khaavren. I am friendship, and Pel is loyalty. There, you see? That is why we get along so well.”
“No doubt you are right,” said Pel.
“So then,” continued Aerich, “each man has his own laws of honor?”
“Certainly,” said Pel. “Inherited from his family, his friends, and everyone and everything he meets every day of his life. Except for you, of course, my dear Aerich.”
“I am the exception?” said the Lyorn with a smile.
“Certainly. You were born with the laws of honor intact, and they have never varied a day in your life. That is why you cannot understand them. You can no more understand your own sense of honor than you can tell the flavor of your tongue.”
“I do not know if you give me too much credit, or too little.”
“Well.”
“But, you believe, this gives you license to break the laws of men, if you follow those of honor?”
“Certainly. Not everyone, Aerich, can always follow both. Sometimes you must break one or the other. Were you confronted with such a choice, I know which direction you would go, and so do you.”
“My dear Pel, to be confronted with such a choice means that either there is something wrong with your code of honor—”
“Yes, or?”
“Or something is wrong with the laws.”
“With this, I agree.”
“Ah. Well, you see, I am wrong; I had not thought we would agree on anything.”
“How could we not, Aerich, when, for an inflexible, supercilious termagant, well, you are most agreeable. I should clink my cup with yours, if you had anything in it but water.”
“How, that prevents you?”
“Nearly. I should not like to dishonor the sentiment.”
Aerich chuckled. “Well then, in my heart I drink with you. But tell me—”
“Yes?”
“Was it your sense of honor that led you to abandon the service of the Pretender? Or was it perspicacity, knowing that Zerika would ultimately triumph?”
“Neither. Either of those would have led me to support Kâna; in the first place because I had committed myself, and in the second because I thought he would win.”
“Well then, what was it?”
“You know that very well, Aerich. It was friendship, of course, which is not unlike love.”
“So then, friendship and love can conflict with honor?”
“Friendship and love are part of honor. Friendship and love, however, can conflict with each other, and both can conflict with duty. Witness our poor friend Khaavren at this moment, not to mention his son.”
Aerich sighed. “I believe you are right. How do you think it will end?”
Pel shook his head. “The fact is—”
“Well?”
“I have not the least idea in the world.”
Aerich and Pel (and occasionally Tazendra) carried on this conversation as if they were alone in the world or back in the old house they had lived in in Dragaera City, instead of sitting among a number of highwaymen keeping a respectful silence. Ibronka, for her part, stared at them and listened, as if she had been permitted to eavesdrop on conversations of the gods—something only the reader has been permitted to do in fact. And as this conversation went on, Khaavren and his son continued their long, slow walk.
“So then,” said Khaavren. “Tell me something, Viscount.”
“I will answer any question you ask.”
“What do you wish?”
“What do I wish?”
“Yes, Viscount. What would you like to happen?”
“Why, I should like you and the Countess my mother to embrace Ibronka, and for her mother to embrace me, and then I should like to return to Adrilankha.”
“Do you think this can happen?”
“It seems unlikely.”
“You ask a great deal of me, Piro.”
“On the contrary, my lord. I ask nothing of you at all. You did me the honor to ask what I wished, that is all.”
“In some ways,” said Khaavren, speaking slowly, “I should prefer that I was able to disregard—that is to say, completely ignore—the rules and the laws of society, and the way I was reared.”
“In some ways only, my lord?”
“It seems simple to you, doesn’t it? You love, and your love is pure, and so that which follows from your love must be pure as well, and that which interferes with your love must be evil.”
“My lord the Count, I am not such a fool as that.”
“Well then?”
“How much am I to sacrifice, my lord? And to whom or to what is this sacrifice to be made? Who gains, and how much?”
“You sound like a merchant.”
“Then I am ahead of my time, that is all.”
“How, you think we are all to become merchants?”
“In ten years, it will be impossible to survive as a highwayman in this region. In a hundred years, it will be impossible anywhere. And in a thousand years, no one will be able to speak the word ‘honor’ without a disagreeable smirk upon his countenance.”
“Do you really think it will come to that, Viscount?”
“I fear that it might.”
“If so, well, I pity Aerich.”
“And I pity you as well, my lord.”
“Well, and you?”
“Oh, I do not pity myself; that would be useless, and nearly infamous.”
“I meant, what will you do if all of these dire predictions of yours come to pass?”
“I shall have to find a way to survive that is less satisfactory than this, that is all. I am still young; I can always change my name and take a career in arms. Didn’t you tell me once that, when you joined the Phoenix Guards, half of your comrades had enlisted under assumed names?”
“I should not like you to have to change your name, Viscount.”
“Yes. The Blue Fox. Apropos—”
“Well?”
“Do you believe there is something noble and romantic about being a highwayman?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“I very nearly do.”
Khaavren sighed. “I imagine that, at your age, well, I would have thought so, too.”
Piro bowed. “That was a noble admission, my lord.”
Khaavren chuckled. “Well, but you must promise not to let my friend Aerich learn that I said it. You perceive, it would shatter his inflated opinion of my attributes.”
“I will not say a word.”
Khaavren smiled and fell silent once more.
In a little while, Piro said, “You will give my love to the Countess?”
“Of course, but you make it sound as if I am about to leave.”
“Is there a reason to continue, my lord? You will not accept the woman I love, and I—”
“Yes, and you?”
“I will never leave Ibronka.”
“Are you sure of her?”
“Cha! Are you sure of my mother the Countess?”
“Some might consider the question impertinent, Viscount. But I will simply say yes. But—”
“But?”
“I have never asked her to live in the woods, and survive by robbing poor merchants.”
“Rich merchants, my lord.”
“Very well, then, rich merchants.”
“No, you have never asked her to live in the woods and rob. But, if you had, what would she have said?”
Khaavren frowned. “Well, that is to say—bah! Why could this girl of yours not have been a Tiassa?”
“For much the same reason that I could not be a Dzur.”
“And yet, Viscount, it is wrong, that which you wish to do. Each time I try to bring myself to your position, I cannot get past that.”
“What makes it wrong?”
Khaavren sighed. “The world is what it is, my son; not what we wish it to be.”
“Have you not always taught me that we should make it what we wish it to be? And, indeed, haven’t you been so engaged for the last year? I hope so, because that is what I thought I was doing as well.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
“I am in love; love answers everything.”
“No, it does not, Viscount.”
“Well, for a nature such as mine, it thinks it does, and that is very nearly the same.”
“It pains me to leave with matters unresolved between us, Viscount.”
“You can always reach me in care of Kékróka, at the Deepwell Inn.”
Khaavren nodded. “Viscount, I am going to take my friends and return to Adrilankha, where I must have a conversation with Princess Sennya that I look forward to not at all.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Before I go—”
“Well?”
“I should like to embrace you, Viscount.”
“My lord, I should like nothing better.”
Chapter the Seventy-Eighth
How Aerich Discovered Certain
Unsettling Things Near His Home,
And Was Able to Draw Various
Carefully Deduced Conclusions
It was on a Farmday in early winter—that is to say, more than half a year after the last chapter of our history—when Fawnd presented himself before his master, Aerich, Duke of Arylle.
Aerich was, at this time, sitting before the fire in his parlor reading poetry, which was a customary way for him to spend time when nothing more pressing was occurring, and he was not inclined to crochet. On this occasion, the book was an anthology of some of the Athyra poets of the early Ninth Cycle, which he was reading because it would naturally include Redgrew, to whom the Lyorn was especially partial. Fawnd, observing his master’s activity, signaled his presence with a slight cough, and then waited, perfectly motionless, with complete confidence that Aerich would give him attention after he finished the present canto.
The Lyorn eventually turned his limpid eye from book to servant and raised an eyebrow, indicating, “What is it?”
“A messenger, Your Venerance.”
“From whom, pray?”
“From the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain, Venerance.”
“Indeed?” said Aerich, at once setting his book down. “Then let him be brought in at once.”
In an instant, the messenger had presented himself before Aerich and bowed. “Your Venerance,” he said, “I have a communication from Sethra Lavode.”
“Very well, hand it over.”
“I shall do so at once, Your Venerance.”
As good as his word, he handed Aerich a neatly sealed letter, the seal of which Aerich at once broke, after which he unfolded the letter and read. It took him only an instant, as the message was tolerably short, after which he said, “Very well. There is no reply. Fawnd, give the messenger an orb for his troubles and see him out. Then return.”
Fawnd bowed and escorted the messenger out of the room and the manor. Aerich, notwithstanding his excellent memory and comprehension, read the brief note a second time to be certain he understood it. The message was simplicity itself, and we will reproduce it at once: “My lord Temma,” it said, “I have become worried about Tazendra, who left Dzur Mountain last spring to return to her home, as she said, ‘for a while.’ I have not heard from her since, nor am I able to touch her mind. I should be glad if you could make certain she is all right, and let me know what you discover. I declare myself, sir, your servant, Sethra Lavode.”
By the time Aerich had completed his second reading, Fawnd had returned. Aerich addressed him with these words: “Send me Steward. Then find my vambraces, sword, and an appropriate costume to match and lay them out. Have Ranger saddled and ready, with a supply of food in the saddle-pockets sufficient for a week, and an equal of amount of grain.”
Fawnd bowed, and permitted himself only six words, “Am I to accompany Your Venerance?”
“Not on this occasion.”
Now knowing everything he needed to know, the worthy servant set off to perform his tasks, with the result that, in only minutes, Steward arrived and presented himself. Aerich spent some few moments with his steward, making certain that his various fiefs should continue functioning during his absence.
He then opened the bottom drawer of his secretary and removed from it a metal box, which he opened with a small, ornate key that he kept on a chain around his neck. He opened the box and removed from it a small sheaf of papers, which contained the disposition of his property to be made after his death. He reviewed this document carefully, made a few small corrections, then replaced it in the box. The box went into the drawer, but the key he left out in plain view on top of the secretary. He indicated the key with a gesture to Steward, who, without a word being required, only bowed to indicate that he understood.
When the Lyorn’s arrangements were complete, he dismissed Steward and returned to his apartment, where Fawnd assisted him into his loose-fitting red blouse, vambraces, warrior’s skirt, and darr-skin boots; after which he buckled on his old, beaten belt with sword and poniard. Then he simply walked out of his manor, mounted his horse, and turned its head toward the barony of Daavya, setting out at a good speed.
As the reader may recall from our previous works, Daavya not only was part of the duchy of Arylle, but, in addition, happened to directly abut Bra-Moor County, of which Aerich was, of course, count. And so, as he rode at a good, martial speed, on a good horse, it was not many hours before Aerich had crossed over the small brook (one of thousands of streams with the name Barony Brook, as it marked the limits of a barony) and was then within the confines of Daavya.
Within a mile or so after crossing this boundary, Aerich drew rein and looked around. “Blood of the Horse, as my friend Khaavren would say,” he murmured to himself.
All around him were indications of some great catast
rophe: that is to say, every tree in sight was a blackened stump with the exception of a few saplings that appeared to be very recent. Even certain of the rocks showed signs of having been through some sort of conflagration. Aerich took a second, more careful look, attempting to judge how long ago it had occurred, and came to the conclusion, from the health of the grasses and various other signs, that it had been some months since whatever had happened.
“But,” he wondered, “how is it possible that such a thing could have happened without my awareness, only a few miles away? Someone ought to have seen the flames if it was night, or the smoke if it occurred during the day, and reported it to me in my capacity as Tazendra’s liege.”
He frowned and considered. “Sorcery,” he decided at last, and urged his horse forward at an even greater speed.
Presently, he came to Castle Daavya, which was, indeed, a castle in the old sense, having been built over two thousand years before (on the site of the previous castle) and kept up continuously. There was the traditional courtyard, where livestock, fodder, and supplies could be kept, as well as the peasants protected, in time of siege or attack. The castle itself was tall, with battlements, towers, and walls from which javelins, stones, or sorcery could be hurled. As for sorcery, there were large staves permanently set in all corners of both the outer and inner walls, so that spells could be more easily placed.
But it was none of this that struck Aerich’s eye; rather, it was the fact that there were no signs in the castle of whatever had devastated the surrounding landscape. It seemed as if the spell had not passed the outer wall, either because of some protection surrounding the castle, or because it had not been intended to. This was, however, an indication that it was not mischance—that is, that whatever had happened was not the result of one of Tazendra’s experiments having gone awry.
He also observed, in the dust of the courtyard, footprints, indicating that there were still dwellers within, and for a while he felt hope.
He tied his horse to a hitching post near the great front doors, approached them, and pulled the clapper. Presently, the doors swung open and he found himself facing a servant he did not recognize.
“I am Temma, Duke of Arylle, here to see the Baroness,” he said.
The Teckla gave him a bow, but not the bow of a Teckla, instead one that, very nearly, mocked the salutes of the courtiers, and he said, “I am master here. How may I be of assistance?”