The Book of Taltos by Steven Brust
“Aibynn,” I said. “Have you come to tend my poor afflicted body? Or minister to my spirit?”
He sat down on the other bunk, looking faintly surprised to see me. “Hey,” he said. “I guess you aren’t used to dreamgrass.”
“I was in a weakened state,” I said. “Try it on me again sometime.”
He nodded thoughtfully and said, “I didn’t think you’d be alive. I thought they were going to, you know—” He made a chopping motion at the back of his neck.
“Probably are,” I said.
“Yeah. Me, too.” He leaned back, not seeming at all disturbed. I got the impression that he carried fatalism maybe a bit too far. Of course, it was quite possible that he was working for them. It was also possible that he wasn’t, that he’d been put in here so we could have conversations for them to overhear. The level of subtlety was about right for what I’d seen of these people.
I said, “Had any good meals?”
He considered this carefully. “Not really, no.”
“Neither have I.”
“I wouldn’t mind—” He stopped, staring up at the window. I followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything remarkable. I looked back at him.
“What is it?”
“There are bars on the window,” he said.
“Yes?”
“The room I was in didn’t have a window.”
“What about it?”
He picked up the wooden spoon from the remainder of my last meal, went up next to the window, and tapped one of the bars.
I said, “You think you can knock it loose?”
“Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that. But listen.” He tapped it again. It gave out the usual sound of thick iron when struck by thick wood. “Doesn’t that sound great?”
I tried to decide if he was joking. “Ummm, I think it needs tuning,” I said. “That’s true. I wonder if it would work to wrap a strip of cloth around part of it.”
I sighed and settled back onto my bed, hoping they were, in fact, listening. A few hours later the door opened. A pair of guards held their short spears and looked like they knew how they functioned. My friend the Royal whatever was behind them. He nodded to me and said, “Please come with me.”
I nodded to Aibynn and said, “Drum for me.”
“I will,” he said.
To bushy-brows I said, “I’m not certain I can walk very far.”
“We can carry you if necessary.”
“I’ll try,” I said. And I did. I was still a bit shaky on my feet, and my back hurt, but I could do it. I wobbled a bit more than I had to just on the principle that it couldn’t hurt if they thought I was worse off than I was. We only went a few feet down the hall, though, to a room which had a pair of low backless stools and several windows. He took one of the stools, and I lowered myself onto the other, not enjoying it.
He said, “There has been considerable discussion about what to do with the two of you. Some are in favor of suspending the ancient laws against torture. Others think you should be publicly executed right away, which will prevent the riots that seem to be brewing.”
He paused there, to see if I had anything to say. Since I didn’t think he’d want to hear about how my back felt, I stayed mute.
“At the moment His Majesty Corcor’n, the son of the man you killed, has everyone convinced to wait until we hear from the mainland. We expect them to deny having sent you, but we want to give them the option. If they do the expected, we will probably execute you. If you’re curious, most people are in favor of stoning you to death, though some think you should be bound and thrown to the orca.”
“I’m not really curious,” I said.
He nodded. “While we’re waiting, you still have the chance to tell us about it. We will also be telling your comrade the same thing. If he talks before you do, he will most likely be exiled. If you talk, he will die and you might be allowed to leave. At least you will be allowed to take poison, a far more pleasant death than either of the other two.”
“You know that from personal experience?” I said.
He sighed. “You don’t want to tell us about it? Who sent you? Why?”
“I just came here for the fishing,” I said.
He turned to the guards. “Return him to the cell and bring the other one.” They did this. I could have said something clever to Aibynn as we passed, but nothing came to mind. I’d have given quite a bit to be able to hear what went on between the two of them, but I still had no connection to the Orb, and witchcraft, as I’ve said, wasn’t working. Maybe they were just sitting around playing s’yang stones long enough to make it look good. Or maybe they really believed he was helping me. Or maybe there was something else entirely going on that I was completely missing. It wouldn’t be the first time.
THEY LEFT US THERE for two more days, during which I learned the distinction between “popping” a beat and “rolling” a rhythm, between fish and animal skin heads, how to tell if there is a small crack in the jawbone one intends to use as a beater, and the training that goes into making a festival, or “hard-ground” or “groundy,” drummer; a ritual, or “crashing surf” or “surfy,” drummer; and a spiritual, or “deep water” or “watery,” drummer. Aibynn had studied all three, but preferred surfy drumming.
I was less interested in all of this than I pretended to be, but it was the only entertainment around. I was interrogated twice more during this time, but you can probably fill in those conversations yourself. Conversation with Aibynn was more interesting than the interrogations, when he wasn’t drumming, but he didn’t say anything that helped me figure out if he was really working with them or not.
At one point he made a passing reference to the gods. I considered the differences between Dragaeran attitudes toward the divine and Eastern attitudes, and said, “What are gods?”
“A god,” he said, “is someone who isn’t bound by natural laws, and who can morally commit an action which would be immoral for someone who wasn’t a god.”
“Sounds like you memorized that.”
“I have a friend who’s a philosopher.”
“Does he have any philosophy on escaping from cells?”
“He says that if you escape, you are required to bring your cellmate with you. Unless you’re a god,” he added.
“Right,” I said. “Does he have a philosophy about drumming?”
He gave me a curious look. “We’ve talked about it,” he said. “Sometimes, you know, when you’re playing, you’re in touch with something; there are things that flow through you, like you aren’t playing at all, but something else is playing you. That’s when it’s best.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s the same thing with assassination.”
He pretended to laugh, but I don’t think he really thought it was funny.
AFTER HE CAME BACK from his second session with the Royal Whootsidoo, I said, “What did he ask you about?”
“He wanted to know how many sounds I could get out of my drum.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“How many?”
“Thirty-nine, using the head and the shell, both sides of the beater, fingers, and muffling. And then there are variations.”
“I see. Well, now I know.”
“I wish I had my drum.”
“I suppose so.”
“Has it rained since you’ve been here? I didn’t have a window at first.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
“Good. Rain would ruin the head.”
A little later he said, “Why did we kill the King?”
I said, “We?”
“Well, that’s what they asked me.”
“Oh. He didn’t like our drum.”
“Good reason.”
Silence fell, and, when we weren’t talking, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to live, which got pretty depressing, so I said, “Those times you feel like you’re in tune with something, do you think it might be a god??
He shook his head. “No. It isn’t anything like that. It’s hard to describe.”
“Try,” I said, and he cooperated by keeping me distracted until I drifted off to sleep.
EARLY IN THE AFTERNOON on the second day after Aibynn had joined me, I was listening to an impromptu concert on iron bar (tuned with pieces of a towel), wooden spoon, and porcelain mug, when I felt a faint twinge in the back of my head. I almost jerked upright, but I held myself still, relaxed, and concentrated on making the link stronger.
“Hello?”
“Boss?”
“Loiosh! Where are you?”
“I . . . coming . . . later . . . can’t . . .” and it faded out. Then there was connection with someone else, so strong it was like someone shouting in my ear. “Hello, Vlad. I hope all is well with you.”
It only took me a moment to recognize the psychic “voice.” I almost shouted aloud. “Daymar!”
“Himself.”
“Where are you?”
“Castle Black. We’ve just finished dinner.”
“If you tell me about your dinner I’ll fry you.”
“Quite. We understand from Loiosh that you’re in something of a predicament.”
“I think the word predicament is awfully well chosen.”
“Yes. He says that sorcery doesn’t work there.”
“Seems not to. How did he get there?”
“He flew, apparently.”
“Flew? By the Orb! How many miles is that?”
“I don’t know. He does seem rather tired. But don’t worry. We’ll be by for you as soon as we can.”
“How soon is that? They’re planning to execute me, you know.”
“Really? For what?”
“A misunderstanding involving royal prerogatives.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes. Well, never mind. When can you get here?”
“Since we can’t telep—” And the link broke. Daymar, a noble of the House of the Hawk and a fellow who has worked very hard at developing his psychic abilities, is capable of being arbitrary and unpredictable, but I didn’t think he’d chop off a conversation in midsentence. Therefore, something else had. Therefore, I was worried.
I cursed and tried to reestablish the link, but got nothing. I kept trying until night had fallen and I had a headache, but I got nothing except morbid thoughts. I fell asleep hoping for rescue and vaguely wondering if I had dreamt it all. I woke up in the middle of the night with the half memory of a dream in which I was flying over the ocean, into a nasty wind, and my wings were very tired. I kept wanting to rest, and every time I did an orca with the face of a dragon would rise out of the water and snap at me.
If I’d’ve had half a minute to wake up, I would have figured out what the dream meant without any help, but I didn’t have the half a minute, or any need for it.
“Boss! Wake up.” His voice in my head was very loud, and very welcome.
“Loiosh!”
“We’re coming in, boss. Get ready. Is anyone with you?”
“No. I mean, yes. A friend. Well, maybe a friend. He might be an enemy. I don’t—”
“That’s what I like about working with you, boss: your precision.”
“Don’t be a wiseacre. Who’s with you?”
But there was no need for him to answer, because at that moment the wall next to me turned pale blue, twisted in on itself, and dissolved, and I was face-to-face with my wife, Cawti.
I stood up as my roommate stirred. “You and how many Dragonlords?” I said.
“Two,” she said. “Why? Do you think we need more?”
She tossed me a dagger. I caught it hilt-first and said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She walked over to the door, played with it for a while, and I heard the iron bar outside hit the floor. I looked a question at her.
“There may be things in the building you want,” she said. “Spellbreaker, for example.”
“A point. Is, um, anyone still alive?”
“Probably.”
Enter Aliera: very short for a Dragaeran, angular face, green eyes. She gave me a courtesy.
I nodded.
“I found this.” She handed me a three-foot length of gold chain, which I took and wrapped around my wrist.
“Cawti had just mentioned it,” I said. “Thanks.”
My roommate, who didn’t seem at all disturbed by these events, stood up. “Remember what we said about the philosophy of escaping from cells?”
Cawti looked at him, then back at me. I considered. He might really be just what he seemed, in which case I’d gotten him into a great deal of trouble for helping me. I glanced at the door to the cell. Aliera was now in the room, and there was no commotion to indicate anyone had noticed us escaping. Behind me was a roughly circular gap in the wall, eight feet in diameter, with nothing on the other side but island darkness, fresh with the smell of the ocean.
I said, “Okay, come on. But one thing. If you have any thoughts of betraying me—” I paused and held up the dagger. “In the Empire, we call this a knife.”
“Knife,” he said. “Got it.”
Loiosh flew in and landed on my shoulder. We stepped through the wall and out into the night.
Lesson 5
Returning Home
CAWTI LED THE WAY, with Aliera bringing up the rear. We slipped past the single row of structures that represented the city. I realized that I’d been right next to the Palace, and that we were copying almost exactly the route I’d taken after the assassination. We entered the woods outside of the town and stopped there long enough to listen for sounds of pursuit. There were none. My feet were not enjoying the woods. I considered sending Loiosh back to find my boots, but I didn’t consider it very seriously. I glanced back at Aibynn, who was also bootless. It didn’t seem to be bothering him.
“It’s good to have friends,” I remarked as we started walking again.
Cawti said, “Are you all right?”
“Mostly. We’ll have to take it slow.”
“Were you, um, questioned?”
“Not the way you mean it. But I’ve managed to damage myself a bit.”
“It’s well past the middle of the night already. We’re going to have to hurry to be there by morning, not to mention losing the tide.”
“I’m not sure I can hurry.”
“What happened?”
“I’m too old to be climbing trees.”
“I could have told you that.”
“Yes.”
“Do the best you can,” she said.
“I will.” My back already hurt, and now my hand started throbbing. I said, “If we meet anyone drumming in the woods, let’s not stop for conversation.”
“You’ll have to tell me about that,” said Cawti. I heard Loiosh laughing inside my head. Aibynn, walking directly in front of me, either didn’t hear the comment or chose to ignore it. Branches slapped against my face, just as they’d done last time. Last time I hadn’t had Cawti and Aliera with me, so I had cause to be optimistic. On the other hand, the branches still stung. Cheap philosophy there, if you want it.
After an hour or so we stopped, as if by consensus, though no one said anything. I sat down with my back against a tree and said, “What’s the plan?”
Aliera said, “We have a ship waiting for us in a cove a few miles from here.”
“A ship? Can you drive one of those things?”
“It has a crew of Orca.”
“Are you sure they’ll be waiting for us?”
“Morrolan is there.”
“Ah.” And, “I’m flattered. Grateful, too.”
Aliera smiled suddenly. “I enjoyed it,” she said. Cawti didn’t smile. After a few minutes’ rest we stood up again. Loiosh left my shoulder to fly on ahead, and we made our way through the woods once more, now at a brisk walk. It was still very dark, but Aliera was making a small light that hung in the air a few paces ahead of us, bouncing in time to her steps.
“Trees,” he said. “Don’t run into them. It hurts.”
“Falling out of them isn’t much fun, either, but I don’t think that’s a real danger just at the moment.”
“Were you unconscious when you landed?”
“I expect so. I don’t really remember anything about it. I was pretty much gone as I fell.”
“Too bad,” he said.
“Why?”
“The sound you made when you hit. It was a good one. A nice, deep thump. Resonance.”
I couldn’t decide if I should laugh or cut his throat, so I said, “I’m glad you didn’t tune me, anyway.”
I kept my eyes on the light, watching it bounce, and I wondered how Aliera had been able to produce it without sorcery to work with. For that matter, though—“Aliera?”
She turned her head without slowing down. “Yes, Vlad?”
“I was told sorcery doesn’t work on this island.”
“Yes. I lost my link to the Orb about ten miles from shore.”
“Then how did you melt down that wall?”
“Pre-Empire sorcery.”
“Oh. The rough stuff.”
She agreed.
“Getting good, eh?”
She nodded.
“Isn’t it illegal?”
She chuckled.
Cawti still hadn’t said anything. About then Aibynn increased his speed and caught up with Aliera. “This way,” he said.
I said, “Why?” at just the same moment Aliera did.
“Just want to see something.”
“Loiosh, is anyone around?”
“I don’t think so, boss. But you know I can’t always tell with these guys.”
“Eyeball it. Check out the way our friend is heading.”