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  Now, for the first time, he had some understanding of the remorse that dominated his father's life: the sense of having committed himself to a cause, and to fall short in the test. Though still stunned by the suddenness of what had happened, he also tasted bitterness. Piro had been prepared for hardship, for pain, even for death; he had not been prepared for failure and the loss of a friend.

  And yet, we must remind the reader that Piro came of strong stock, and that he was, moreover, young. And so for this reason, the bitterness to which we have just alluded, while there, did not overwhelm him. As he stood upon the cliff, staring out over Deathgate Falls, he set his jaw, and he clasped the hilt of his sword.

  "Well, but what do we do now?" said Tazendra.

  "To remain here is useless," said Kytraan.

  "Well, but then? If our mission has failed—"

  "Yes?" said Kytraan. "If it has?"

  "Well, then at least we can gain satisfaction."

  "How, satisfaction? What sort of satisfaction do you speak of?"

  "What else, but the satisfaction of tracking down the rest of those brigands?"

  "Ah," said Kytraan. "Yes, I can understand that. For my part, I think it an excellent plan."

  "Do you?" said Tazendra. "That is splendid. And you, Piro?"

  "No," said Piro, turning from the cliff to look at his companions.

  "No?"

  "No, we return to Dzur Mountain."

  "And yet—"

  "Above all, we must speak with Sethra Lavode. It was she who gave us this mission, and to her we must report on its results."

  "And yet," said Tazendra. "To permit those brigands to escape—"

  "They are nothing. They are beneath our notice."

  "Well, but what about that Orlaan?"

  Piro frowned. "Well, as to Orlaan, there is something there."

  "Yes. I wish I could remember… ah! I have it!"

  "Well?"

  "She is Greycat's daughter."

  "How, Greycat? Garland? Who hurt my father's hand, assassinated several nobles, and was the cause of so much trouble at the end of the last Phoenix Reign?"

  "The very one. His daughter ran from the fight, and must have escaped the Disaster, though it could not have been by much. Now, what was her name?"

  "Grita," said Piro, who, perhaps because of how rarely his father was willing to speak of the past, was all the more certain to remember every detail when he did.

  "That is it," said Tazendra.

  "Grita," repeated Piro, as if to himself.

  "What then?" said Kytraan.

  Piro considered for several minutes; then at last he said, "We return to Dzur Mountain. And as for Grita, well, we need not worry about finding her; she will find us. And I think it may be that our friend Wadre will find us as well. We must not relax our vigilance for an instant."

  "We will not relax our vigilance," said Tazendra, who, the reader may note, at this moment surrendered to Piro the command entrusted to her by Zerika. We hope the reader will not judge her too harshly for this. In any case, so far as we know, the Empress at no time uttered a word of criticism on the subject.

  "And what of the wounded?" said Kytraan.

  Piro looked at the brigands, one insensible, others wounded and striving to stanch their bleeding. "Leave them," he said. "Let us go."

  Piro gave a last look at Deathgate Falls, then turned and led his friends in retracing their steps, less than an hour in time from when they had reached that place. No one spoke as they made their way slowly back up the Blood River.

  Chapter the Thirty-First

  How Sethra Lavode Received a Visitor

  As our friends rode, there was a very remarkable sight some five hundred leagues away—indeed, one very worthy of remark, had there been anyone there to see it. Of course, it is an oft-debated question as to whether there is such a thing as a sight without an observer, a sound without a hearer, or a flavor without a taster. This debate, we should point out, occurs mostly among philosophers of the House of the Athyra, rarely among historians of the House of the Hawk. The reason for this is simple enough: An event happens, and it produces an effect. Both the event and its effect are part of history whether they are known at once, learned of centuries later, or never discovered at all. To put it another way, the historian must take history as it actually occurred, and has not the freedom (or, rather, the apparent freedom) to consider whether or not something that happened has a metaphysical unreality, any more than a Dragonlord in the midst of battle has the luxury to consider whether enemy soldiers are mere phantasms conjured by his imagination for the playing out of tactical scenarios. The reader might argue that there are, indeed, certain persons who are both mystics and historians; to this, we can only suggest the reader take for himself the trouble to read what such persons produce, after which the reader is invited to draw his own conclusions as to the result of such unnatural combinations.

  This settled, then, we repeat that, though there was no one to see, there was a remarkable sight some five hundred leagues to the south and a little west. An observer would have seen, in a grove of trees in a small wooded area in the western part of the duchy of Arylle, a peculiar shimmering in the air, similar to the distortion that can be caused by particularly warm air, although confined to a narrow space. This shimmering gradually intensified, and took on a golden, glittering quality, as if the sparks of a fire were swirling about in a minuscule cyclone. Over the course of just a few seconds, these sparks coalesced until they came to resemble the outline of a human body standing upright. The sparks became more solid until it was, indeed, a human body, in particular one resembling a lady of the House of the Dragon, standing there—although whether it enveloped a human soul is a question we will leave to those Athyra philosophers with whom we dispensed in the preceding paragraph.

  She stood still for a moment, her eyes closed, then opened them and looked around with the curiosity of a baby; or, at any rate, of something newly born into the world. She showed no fear; indeed, other than a mild curiosity, she displayed upon her countenance no emotion of any kind. After looking around for some few moments, she began moving. We will not say "walking" because what she did was not precisely walking, although her feet moved back and forth in much the manner of someone walking. Nor did she appear to be flying, because she never rose in altitude. It was, perhaps, not unlike floating, except that she remained in an upright position and, as we have said, her feet continued to move.

  We must say that, in all of history, and in all of the natural and magical sciences, we have never heard, before or since, of anyone traveling in this manner, and, what is more, we must regretfully admit that we do not know how it was accomplished, yet there is no question that it happened, because the traveler was witnessed repeatedly during the journey; and it should come as no surprise to the reader that to the simple-hearted peasants along the traveler's route, the sight was a cause of fear and awe; and stories are still told of the ghost, or the ghoul, or the demon, or the evil wizard, who walks through the fields at night and eats babies, or steals cattle, or does whatever else monsters are supposed to do for the entertainment and terrorizing of children.

  Needless to say, none of these things happened. All that happened was that the traveler continued, and at great speed—indeed, whatever else can be said for her method of locomotion, it was certainly the quickest that had ever been seen in those regions, save for the occasional glimpses of cat-centaurs—so quick, in fact, that she had covered twenty leagues before three hours had elapsed from her mysterious appearance. Now, we should add that these were not any twenty leagues—that is, not twenty leagues in general, but a very specific twenty leagues; to be precise, the twenty leagues between where she arrived upon the world and Dzur Mountain, which was her immediate destination. In other words, three hours after she had arrived she was upon the slopes of Dzur Mountain, where she slowed down, and began walking in a more typical manner, perhaps because she did not wish her peculiar means of travel to be obser
ved, or perhaps because that means of travel could not be used except on level ground, or perhaps for some other reason unknown to this historian.

  She came to Dzur Mountain from the north and the east, which permitted a more gentle, gradual ascent up that part of the mountain that resembled the tail of the great cat, and then along its back until, reaching its head, she came around to the west in order to climb that which can be called its face for two different yet related reasons.

  There are many entrances to Dzur Mountain, some open, some concealed, and some (many, perhaps) known to the Enchantress and never discovered by anyone else. The one the traveler came to was as much of a "front door" as Dzur Mountain boasted; that is, it was a large, plainly visible—that is to say, undisguised—door, facing west and near the northern edge of what, seen from a distance, would appear to be the left ear. The traveler climbed up easily, without any apparent difficulty, even where she was required to pull herself up using only rocks as handholds. To an observer, it would have appeared that she only touched the rocks, and then, with the least effort, floated up until, in a very short time, she stood before the doorway we have just had occasion to mention.

  The door itself was solid iron, which iron was wrought with the symbol of a dzur. Upon reaching it, the traveler stopped, considering, as if for the first time uncertain how to proceed. Her dilemma, if, indeed, she had one, was solved by the door itself opening inward to reveal a Teckla whom we have already met, and whom we know as Tukko. This worthy poked his head out of the door, gave the traveler a quick look, and said, "Go away," upon which he shut the door. Or, to be more precise, he endeavored to shut the door; the intention being foiled by the traveler, who prevented him from carrying out his plan in the simplest possible way—by placing a hand upon the door, stopping it, and then pushing it back with a strength that caused Tukko to be propelled backward at a great speed and to land unceremoniously on his back a considerable distance down the hallway.

  After taking a moment to regain his feet, his composure, and his memory of his duties, by which time the traveler had fully entered the hallway, Tukko turned and pulled upon a bell-rope that was hanging a few feet behind him. Having accomplished this, he backed away, as if afraid he was about to be attacked. The traveler, however, made no hostile move, but, on the contrary, raised up both of her hands, palm out, as if to show that she was unarmed. And, indeed, it was only at this point that Tukko realized that the strange visitor did not, in fact, appear to be carrying a weapon of any sort. Now, as this was unusual, even to say unprecedented in Tukko's experience—particularly from someone who, by countenance and garb, appeared to be a Dragonlord—he suddenly became unsure of how to proceed. He looked at the visitor, his head tilted to the side like a bewildered dog's.

  The visitor, now that she was inside, stood still, as if waiting for something or someone. If she was, in fact, waiting for the Enchantress, she was not disappointed; Sethra Lavode appeared in two minutes, looked over the situation, spoke briefly with Tukko, and frowned.

  "Who are you?" she said.

  "A friend."

  "A friend? Well, that is good. Were you aware that it is not usual for a friend to enter a friend's home by force?"

  "No."

  "No? You were not aware of this fact?"

  "I was not."

  "You pretend you did not know that you should not force your way into the home of someone you call a friend?"

  "I give you my word, I was never informed of this circumstance."

  At this moment, the Enchantress was joined by Sethra the Younger, who appeared in response to the alarm Tukko had raised, and now rested her hand upon her sword, which was a heavy weapon of tolerable length. She said, "Who is this?"

  "I am uncertain," said the Enchantress. "Yet, she claims to be a friend."

  "If she is a friend, why did Tukko raise the alarm?"

  "There may have been a misunderstanding on some level."

  "Ah," said Sethra the Younger, continuing to gaze upon the stranger with a suspicious eye.

  "What is your name?" said the Enchantress.

  "Name?" said the stranger. "Oh, as to my name, well, what do you wish it to be?"

  The Enchantress frowned. "You are a demon," she stated.

  The visitor bowed.

  "Who sent you to me?"

  "The gods."

  "How, the gods?"

  The demon bowed once more.

  The Enchantress looked at her apprentice. "We have been sent a demon," she said.

  "So it seems. But to aid us, or to hinder us?"

  "Oh, to aid us."

  "You think so?"

  "I am convinced of it." Then, turning back to the demon, she said, "Please come in. Follow me, we will sit and speak, one with the other."

  "Very well," said the demon.

  The Enchantress led them within, and, when they were all seated (the author cannot, in all honestly, say comfortably seated, because the demon did not appear comfortable, but, rather, appeared stiff and even rigid as she sat), she offered wine, which was politely refused.

  "Well then," said the Enchantress, "let us have conversation."

  "Very well," said the demon. "To this I agree. We will have conversation."

  "Good. Then tell me, if you will—"

  "Oh, I will, I assure you. You need have no fear that I will not answer any question you do me the honor to ask to the best of my ability."

  "—why have the gods sent you to me?"

  "As to that, well, I cannot speak for the gods, because they are ineffable."

  Sethra the Younger made a sort of sound, earning her a glance from the Enchantress, who then cleared her throat and said, "I do not mean their motives, my dear."

  "You do not?"

  "Not the least in the world. I mean, what have you been sent to do?"

  "Ah. Well, you perceive that is a different question entirely."

  "And one that you can answer, I hope."

  "Certainly, and the proof is that I am about to do so."

  "And this instant, I hope."

  "Yes, indeed, this very instant."

  "Then I am listening."

  "Here it is, then: I have been sent to aid you."

  "To aid us?"

  "Exactly."

  "But, to aid us in what particular?"

  "Oh, against the Jenoine, of course."

  "Ah. Then the gods believe we could have trouble on that score?"

  "Exactly."

  "That is well, because I am of the same opinion. And you have some skill that could be useful against them?"

  "I believe so."

  "But tell me, what skill is this?"

  "I know something of how to open and shut the holes that exist between the worlds."

  "You are, then, a necromancer?"

  "Exactly. That is the very word the gods used in describing my skills when they did me the honor to teach me your language."

  "I begin to understand," said the Sethra the Younger.

  "As do I," said the Enchantress.

  "It is good that you understand," said the necromancer.

  "So then," said Sethra the Younger, "the gods believe, as do you, that the Jenoine are liable to interfere with Zerika's effort to retrieve the Orb."

  "It is good," said the Enchantress, "to find one's self in agreement with the gods."

  "Is it?"

  "Yes. It shows that the gods have some wisdom."

  "Well."

  The Enchantress addressed the necromancer, saying, "What then, do you require in the way of preparation or material?"

  "As to that, I am here to aid you in any way you require."

  "So then, I am to make my own preparations, and you will assist?"

  "You have understood me exactly."

  "Well, I am, unfortunately, in a position that no general ever wishes to be in."

  "What position is that?" asked Sethra the Younger.

  "Conceding the initiative. That is, I am unable to act, but am forced to respond."

/>   "But," said Sethra the Younger, "have you not often said that you prefer the defensive?"

  "I prefer the tactical defensive but the strategic offensive."

  "Well, I understand that. But then, what are we to do?"

  "We have no choice about what we do: we must wait."

  "I mislike waiting," said Sethra the Younger.

  "I know," said the Enchantress.

  "For myself, I don't mind," said the necromancer.

  "How, do you not?"

  "Not the least in the world, I assure you."

  "You do not grow impatient?"

  "Well, but to wait is to hold one's self still in a place."

  "And then?"

  "There are other places, where one need not hold one's self still."

  "Other places?"

  "One place is the same as another. You perceive, the mind moves where it will, and if the body is to wait in one place, well, the mind can be busy in another."

  "By the Mountain," said the Enchantress. "You are a necromancer."

  "Well."

  "What do you mean?" asked Sethra the Younger.

  "I mean that our friend," here she indicated the necromancer, "treats as matters of simple practicality what others consider as most abstruse theory."

  "I do not understand what you do me the honor to tell me, Sethra."

  "Well then, Sethra, permit me to explain."

  "I will be delighted if you would do so."

  "I am about to."

  "I am listening."

  The Enchantress then turned to the necromancer and said, "Have you observed that I am undead?"

  The necromancer shrugged as if it was of no importance, and said, "Of course."