Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) (17 page)

“That is my opinion, sir; I am glad that we are in agreement.”

“Before we continue with our business—”

“Then,” interrupted Piro, “you agree we have business?”

“Oh, certainly; you have convinced me completely.”

“Very well then. But forgive me; you were saying?”

“Yes, before we continue with our business, will you permit me to put a question to you?”

“That is only just,” said Piro. “What, then, is this question?”

“Are you not, in fact, the Blue Fox?”

Piro bowed. “You have named me, sir.”

“And so, then, there is a reward, is there not, of a thousand imperials for your capture? And that, in case you should (may the Favor preserve us) be brought in dead, you are still worth five hundred imperials?” (The reader may observe that, in two years, the size of the reward has increased.)

“Sir, permit me to observe that, with regards to numbers, you reckon like a true arithmetist.”

“Well, it is true that I have a tolerably long head. And, is it not also the case that there is a reward of eight hundred imperials for each of your companions if you are brought in alive?”

“Why, yes. And if these figures were all added together, why, it would be a good round number.”

“Thanks, my lord. That is my opinion as well.”

“But then, I hope you do not think of attempting to collect these funds?”

“I fear, my friend, that this was exactly my thought.”

“I beg to observe that you will not be given this reward unless we are brought in.”

“Of this statistic I am already aware.”

“And that does not deter you?”

“Not in the least.”

“You perceive, nothing good can come of such a rash intention.”

“You think not?”

“Well, consider that we are all tolerably skillful players.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt. I hope you will be equally generous with regard to us?”

“Certainly, I have no doubt at all. But yet—”

“Well?”

“Eight against seven. Come, you must know that some of you will be killed if you make this effort. Is it worth it, just for a bit of gold?”

“I think so. And then, I must dispute with your numbers.”

“How, my numbers are wrong?”

“You have said I was something of an arithmetist.”

“That is true, I do not doubt your skills in this regard.”

“Very good. Then attend.”

“I am listening.”

“It is true that your number is eight.”

“Ah, I am glad of that, at least, because it proves that I am not given over to illusion.”

“Oh, there is no question of that.”

“And then?”

“It is in regard to
our
numbers that your estimate may be incorrect.”

“Well, let us see then.”

“Yes, we will count carefully, so that there can be no mistake.”

“Very well, we will begin with you, as you are in command. That is one.”

“One, yes. Go on.”

“Then there are three who are directly behind you, and who are even now exchanging grimaces with my three friends.”

“You are right again, which makes—?”

“Four.”

“I agree. Four. Go on.”

“There are another three in the back, who are facing three of my
friends, all of whom have drawn weapons, and they but await the word to begin what promises to be a frightful—and, I should add, unnecessary—slaughter.”

“So then?”

“Well, that makes seven.”

“That is true.”

“And so?”

“But then, you have not counted the carts.”

“The carts?”

“Yes. The five carts.”

“Well, but what about them?”

“Why, each cart has room for two soldiers.”

“Oh, I agree that each has the room, but does each have the soldiers?”

“Certainly. Why else should they be covered? Gentlemen!” he called. “If you please, it is time.”

The covers on the carts were thrown back, and, indeed, each cart held a pair of warriors, each of whom now stood up, leapt to the ground, drew, and placed himself on his guard.

“Now then,” continued the officer. “If my reckoning is correct, twice five is ten.”

“It is,” said Piro, who was endeavoring to overcome his astonishment at the contents of carts which he had assumed carried only goods to be traded.

“Well, and ten and seven is, let us see, seventeen, is it not?”

“Oh, I have already said that I cannot dispute with you as to figures.”

“So then, it appears, our numbers are seventeen to eight, and—”

“Yes, and?”

“Then there are those who appear to be merchants.”

“Ah, you say, ‘appear to be.’ ”

“Well, yes.”

“So then, they are not in fact?”

“Not in the least.”

As he said this, the five supposed merchants pushed aside their robes, revealing that each had a sword, which he now drew in good style.

“So then,” continued the captain, who, we should add, no longer
appeared to be as tired as he had, any more than the “merchants” appeared to be pale, “seventeen and five is twenty-two, is it not?”

“You calculate soldiers the way a merchant counts coins—that is to say, without a flaw.”

“So then, it seems we have twenty-two against your eight, and so—”

“Yes, and so?”

“It only remains for me to beg you to surrender.”

“Oh!”

“Well?”

“That word! ‘Surrender’!”

“Is it not a perfectly good word?”

“I confess, I do not like how it sounds in my ears.”

“And yet, consider that, to resist, well, I believe you, yourself, used the word ‘slaughter.’ ”

“That is true.”

“And so?”

“Will you permit me to put to you a question?”

“It seems to me that you were sufficiently complaisant to permit a question from me; how can I do any less? What, then, is this famous question?”

“Did you, in fact, set out to-day with the intention of setting a trap for me?”

“How, you don’t know?”

“Oh, I suspect; nevertheless, I should like to hear if my suspicion is correct.”

“Sir Blue Fox, you must know that you are not popular among the merchants.”

“Well,” said Piro, shrugging.

“To answer your question, yes. We set out to-day to capture you.”

“I am honored.”

“I am glad you take it that way, sir.”

“How else?”

“Some might disdain us for our choice of industry.”

“Perhaps, but I would not be one to do so. You are procuring your bread with your sword arm, as soldiers have always done, and, moreover, as we do ourselves.”

“You are very gracious, sir.”

“It is nothing. Only—”

“Well?”

“It is a shame that, from time to time, such gentlemen as ourselves must cross swords. But then, if we did not, why, what reason would we have to exist?”

“Do you truly mean to resist?”

“Cha! Can you doubt it?”

“But, what of your friends?”

“Well, if you will give me a moment, I will ask them.”

“Take as much time as you need; the day is young, and contrary to an earlier remark I may have made, we have nowhere we need to be.”

“You are very kind. Well, my friends? Do any of you wish to surrender?”

This produced an immediate, emphatic, and unanimous denial, followed by Ibronka saying, “My dear Blue Fox, are we to begin the dance soon? I am beginning to feel a certain ennui.”

Piro returned his attention to the captain and shrugged. “You see how it is?”

“Then, there is nothing that remains but to play it out.”

“One thing first, sir.”

“And that is?”

“I believe that, in an instant, I am going to do my very best to pass my sword through your body; I anticipate you attempting to be just as polite with regard to me. Therefore, I should very much like to know your name.”

“That is only just, but—”

“Well?”

“I only know you as the Blue Fox, which I am certain is not your real name.”

“So then?”

“If you give me your actual name, well, then I shall give you mine.”

“But consider, sir, that, as I live outside the law, well, I have good reason for not wishing my name to be known.”

“Oh, I do not dispute your reasons.”

“So that, if I were to tell you my name, it would follow that I would have to kill you in order to keep my secret.”

“That is but natural.”

“You are sanguine about this?”

“Perfectly.”

“Very well, then.” And dropping his voice, he said, “I am called Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha.”

The other bowed and said, “I am Noarwa e’Tennith.”

“Honored.”

“The same.”

“Would you prefer to give the charge, or receive it?”

“Oh, on that subject, I am utterly indifferent.”

“Very well then,” said Piro, at last drawing his sword, “we are about to have the honor of charging you.”

“Very well.”

“Charge!” cried Piro, and lunged up at the one called Noarwa. The Dragonlord parried the attack, using his knees to direct his horse to the side; but that is exactly where Grassfog was, and the latter, also striking upward, caught Noarwa with a thrust that entered under his rib cage and penetrated very nearly as far as his right shoulder. It is probable that this would have killed him in any case, but Piro, wishing to take no chances with his identity, made certain by severing the Dragonlord’s throat as he slid off his horse.

Ibronka took the word “charge” in its most literal sense, and, wielding her longsword in both hands, she stepped forward, striking down from right to left; then, without ever stopping the motion, from left to right, after which she took another step forward and executed a two-handed lunge. The most likely explanation for the results of the first instant of battle is that the warriors had not truly expected to receive a charge; or, if they had, they had not considered that it would occur so quickly. But the fact remains that Ibronka’s first three strokes had removed three of them from combat, one with a slash across his chest and stomach, a second who was missing her sword hand, and a third who had received two feet of steel fully in her chest. Before the others around these three had quite recovered, Ritt and Iatha were next to Ibronka, and furiously dueling—indeed, so furiously that Iatha gave one a cut on his wrist that caused him to drop his weapon from a nerveless hand.

Kytraan, notwithstanding the order to charge, had something of a grasp of tactics in such combat, and so he quickly arranged his small force—that is, himself, Röaana, and Belly—in a sort of triangle facing out, where they endeavored to keep their blades moving continually to
avoid any injury to any of them, while simultaneously looking for any openings their enemies might give them. This method was so effective that, although they did not inflict any wounds, neither did they receive any, although they were, in point of fact, holding off nine opponents.

In the meantime, Piro and Grassfog had not been idle. Stepping past Noarwa’s horse, they saw three warriors facing them, and at once charged into them, attempting to attack them before they could separate. In this they were at least partially successful, in that Grassfog struck one through the throat almost at once. Unfortunately, while Piro dueled with another, the third managed to step over the body of his fallen comrade so that Grassfog’s back was, for a moment, exposed to him. He did not waste this opportunity, but, on the contrary, cut viciously, striking Piro’s friend and comrade in the middle of his back with a horizontal stroke.

Grassfog arched his back and moaned, and at the same time thrust his sword blindly behind him, by luck striking his enemy just above the hip. Piro, upon hearing the soft moan, understood what it meant, and, suddenly feeling a terrible fear—for his friend, be it firmly understood—sent his blade flashing around his enemy’s eyes and ears so quickly that the other was bewildered, and Piro then put her down with a good thrust through the shoulder, following it, almost as an afterthought, with a slash across the face so that she did not get any foolish notions about continuing the contest.

Piro turned to Grassfog, who gasped, “Never mind me. The others!” Piro nodded, and stepped forward three steps to where Ibronka, Iatha, and Ritt were dueling with five of the enemy. Piro did not even consider such niceties as whether it was proper to strike from behind; we beg leave to doubt if, under the circumstances, even Aerich would have, so that, in an instant, instead of five of the enemy, there were four; and just as quickly Ibronka found the blade of her enemy and twisted, sending his weapon flying, and Ritt made a sudden stop-cut, striking under his enemy’s shoulder and causing him to stumble backward and fall, after which he quit the contest. The remaining warrior, suddenly realizing that, in this part of the battle, it had suddenly become four against one, decided that the money he had hoped to earn was not worth dying for, especially as he would be unlikely to be able to collect the reward if he were dead and his enemies escaped; so he
begged off the remainder of the fight by the simple expedient of taking to his heels.

Then, without another word being spoken, Piro, Ibronka, Iatha, and Ritt charged the nine enemies who had surrounded Kytraan, Röaana, and Belly. None of our friends had been wounded, and the only damage they had yet done to their enemies was a scratch Röaana had inflicted on a forearm that had gone too high and delayed too long before striking.

Ibronka was about to engage, but Piro held up his hand for her to wait. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Gentlemen, may I invite you to retire?”

While some might consider it absurd for seven warriors to make such an offer to nine, the fact that shortly before it had been eight against twenty-two made it appear less preposterous. And, considering that, with such odds, it seemed unlikely that they would be able to bring back enough of the bandits to justify the risk, the question was far more reasonable than it might at first seem. Certainly, that was the opinion of the nine remaining warriors.

“Will you permit us to take our wounded and dead comrades?” said one of them.

“Certainly,” said Piro.

“And our horses and carts?”

“We shall not quarrel over such trifles.”

“Then we will withdraw.”