Several more courses followed, courses which, with the reader’s permission, we will not detail, save to say that they included fish caught that very day in the fast-flowing streams of Dzur Mountain, and roasted game-bird in a sauce of wine and fruit, and other delicacies of the region. It was while the bird was being served that Tazendra happened to remark to the unknown Teckla, “I seem to have dropped my fork, Mica, and should be glad to have a new one.”
“Mica!” cried Piro.
The worthy Teckla said, “Yes, my lord, that is my name.”
“But then, are you the Mica of whom my father, that being Khaavren, the Count of Whitecrest, has spoken of so often?”
The Teckla, who was, indeed, our old friend and Tazendra’s lackey, turned bright red, and veritably beamed with pride, and could only stammer and bow, so great was his joy at the thought that Khaavren not only remembered him, but had spoken of him to his son. Indeed, so overcome was the good Mica that he had to be reminded again to bring his mistress the fork she had requested.
We can only add that from this moment on Mica would as gladly have allowed himself to be cut to pieces for Piro as he would for Tazendra herself.
By the time they reached that portion of the dinner reserved for the sweet, which, in this instance, took the form of an assortment of local berries in a cream sauce with vanilla sugar, everyone was relaxed and ready for conversation. Nor were they disappointed in this, for the Enchantress, though she enjoyed pleasing guests with a delectable repast as much as anyone, had, in point of fact, brought everyone together with the idea in mind of having a certain amount of discussion; a discussion to which the repast had been only intended as a prelude.
She began, then, in this fashion: “My friends,” she said, “for so I hope I may call you, I have brought you here with a purpose in mind.”
“Well,” said the Sorceress in Green with a bow of her head, “that is all right, but I hope that you will do us the honor to tell us this purpose.”
This sentiment was echoed by nods and murmurs of agreement from around the table. The Enchantress herself said, “In fact, I am about to do exactly that.”
“How, this very instant?” said Kytraan.
“Yes. In fact, I am about to begin.”
“Well,” put in Piro, “for my part, after a journey of nearly two hundred miles, I think I should like nothing better than to know the reason behind the journey.”
“Listen, then, and you will understand.”
“We are listening,” said everyone at the table, giving Sethra Lavode their full attention.
“This is it, then: My friends, I propose to restore the Empire.”
“Blood of the Horse,” said Piro.
“Ambitious,” said the Sorceress in Green.
“A worthy goal,” cried Kytraan.
“If anyone can do it, it would be you,” said Sethra the Younger.
“For my part,” said Tazendra, “I nearly think I am in favor of it.”
“Well then,” said the Enchantress. “If we’re all in favor of it, I see no reason not to do it.”
Tazendra said, “But—”
“Yes?”
“Oh, I agree it would be a good thing, but, well, it seems that doing so might present difficulties.”
“Oh,” said the Enchantress. “I do not dispute that.”
“You do not? Well, that is good then. Because, you perceive, what you have expressed is a desire—”
“Oh no, my dear Tazendra. More than a desire: an intention.”
“Very well, I accept that it is an intention. And yet—”
“Well? And yet?”
“And yet it seems to me that we need a plan.”
“Ah, a plan.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, Tazendra, and do you have one?”
“Who, I?”
“Yes, you.”
“Not the least in the world. Why, so far am I from having a plan, I don’t even have the intention. You perceive, you had that.”
“Well, that is true, but you agree that it is a good intention, do you not?”
“Oh, certainly. And that is all the more reason why we need a plan.”
“And yet, Tazendra, you say you do not have a plan.”
“Say it? My dear Sethra, I insist upon it.”
“Well then, I am convinced: You have no plan.”
“I am glad we agree,” said Tazendra.
“Yes. All is well, now.”
“Oh yes, all is well, except—”
“Yes, except?”
“The difficulties.”
“Oh, yes; the difficulties.”
“Yes. What will do about them?”
“We will overcome them,” replied the Enchantress laconically.
“For my part,” put in Kytraan, “I am all in favor of overcoming difficulties. Indeed, I should feel my life wasted were I never to have the opportunity to overcome difficulties.”
“I very nearly agree with you,” said Tazendra.
“Do you, indeed?” said Kytraan. “Well, that pleases me greatly.”
“I am glad that it does. But, as to these difficulties, I wonder—”
“Oh, you wonder?” said Sethra Lavode.
“Well, yes. Many years ago, my friend Pel pretended that wondering was a sign of intelligence, and I have therefore taken the opportunity to wonder whenever I at all could.”
“For my part,” said the Enchantress, “I am not far from agreeing with him. But tell me, what do you wonder?”
“Just this. I wonder
how
we are to overcome these difficulties.”
“Oh, as to that …”
“Yes?”
“To overcome them, we need a plan.”
“Exactly what I was thinking!” cried Tazendra, slapping her hand on the table with such force that the pottery rattled. “Shall we formulate one?”
“Why not?” said Sethra, who, if truth must be told, found the conversation not unamusing. She continued, “Well, in the first place, let us see: what are these difficulties?”
“What are they? Well, to begin with, there is no Orb.”
“That is true,” remarked Piro, who had been listening quietly, but was suddenly struck by the extreme justice of this remark.
“Yes,” said the Enchantress. “That is true. But come, let us investigate. Why is there no Orb?”
“Why?” cried Tazendra. “Because Lord Adron destroyed it, that is why!”
“You think so?” said the Enchantress, smiling a little.
“Why, I am very nearly certain of it. I was there, you know, when the city was destroyed, and was the Orb not in the city?”
“Oh, it was in the city.”
“And could the Orb survive an explosion large enough to create a Sea of Amorphia?”
“No, it could not.”
“Well then,” said Tazendra, “there you have it. If the Orb was in the city, and everything in the city was destroyed, then the Orb was destroyed.”
“Well, my dear Dzurlord, you reason like Clybur himself, only—”
“Yes?”
“You are wrong.”
“But, in what way am I wrong?”
“In this way: The Orb was not destroyed.”
These words produced an effect in the room similar to that a harlot might make walking into the Citadel of the Deniers; everyone sprang to his feet and began speaking at once, and for a moment, confusion reigned. But then the Enchantress cleared her throat, and such was her power that everyone stopped speaking, sat down once more, and awaited her words.
“I repeat,” she said at last. “The Orb was not destroyed.”
“But,” said Sethra the Younger, “how is that possible? If it was in the city at the time of Adron’s Disaster—”
“Well, it was.”
“But then, as Tazendra said—”
“Oh, she was right, as far as she went.”
“Then how could it have escaped destruction?”
“Shall I explain?”
“Explain? I think we have been asking for nothing else for an hour!”
“The explanation, then, is this: The explosion itself may have seemed instantaneous, but it was not. That is, the entire affair lasted some few seconds, perhaps three or four.”
“Well,” said the Sorceress in Green, “so it lasted three or four seconds. And then?”
“In the first second, the Orb was able to detect it. In the second, to know what it meant. And in the third, to act.”
“To act?” said Tazendra. “But, in what way did it act? For, you perceive, it did not act to stop the Disaster, or, by the Horse, I think we should know it.”
“Stopping the Disaster was beyond it, that is true. But the Orb had still the power to transport itself away.”
“Transport itself!” cried the Sorceress in Green.
“By itself?” said Sethra the Younger, narrowing her eyes.
“Or did it have help?”
“Oh, as to that,” said the Enchantress, “who can say? What is important is that before the catastrophic waves of amorphia reached the Imperial Palace, the Orb had removed itself.”
“But,” said the Sorceress in Green, “where did it remove itself to?”
“Ah!” said the Enchantress. “That, in fact, is what I asked myself.”
“Well?” said Tazendra. “And did you answer yourself as well? For it is one thing to ask one’s self a question; I have done so many times. But to—”
“Yes, I answered it. That is, I had a theory.”
“Oh, a theory!” said the Sorceress in Green. “It is good to have a theory.”
“Yes,” said Sethra the Younger. “But theories must be tested.”
“My theory has been tested, and it has been proven correct.”
“Then,” said Kytraan, “where is the Orb?”
“You wish me to tell you?”
“I should like nothing better, I assure you.”
“Then I will. The Orb lies, at this moment, in the Paths of the Dead.”
“Blood of the Horse,” said Tazendra.
The Enchantress nodded. “It is in the keeping of the Lords of Judgment.”
The Sorceress in Green shrugged. “Well, it is in good hands, in all events.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Sethra Lavode.
“And yet, I do not see that it is much better than it would be had it been destroyed. Consider: No one who is living can enter the Paths of the Dead, and no one who is dead can leave it. Unless—”
The Enchantress seemed to read her thoughts, because she said, “No, the Lords of Judgment would not surrender it to me, nor could I leave if I were to return there.”
“Well, then—”
“But there is a way.”
“Indeed?” said Sethra the Younger. “Well, I, for one, wish to hear of it.”
“As do I,” said Tazendra.
“And I,” added the others.
“I will explain,” said the Enchantress. “The one thing that would allow someone to return out of the Paths is the Orb itself.”
The Sorceress in Green chuckled. “Now there’s a pretty riddle,” she said. “I shall be curious to learn how you solve it.
We cannot enter the Paths unless we have the Orb, and we cannot get the Orb unless we enter the Paths.”
“Pah, there is nothing to prevent a living man from entering the Paths of the Dead.”
“There is not?”
“No, provided he is able to survive the descent of the Falls, and the hazards of the Paths themselves, and avoid becoming lost.”
“As I said,” said the Sorceress.
“Well, but most of the hazards of the Paths will have no effect on a living man. And the descent can be managed in many ways. Indeed, some believe that the Falls will refuse to take a life, so that one cannot drown in the Blood River even if one wishes to.”
“And do you believe this?”
The Enchantress shrugged.
“But then,” said Sethra the Younger, “will the Lords of Judgment release the Imperial Orb into our hands?”
“They will release the Orb to only one person,” said the Enchantress.
“Well?” said Tazendra. “And that is?”
“To the Empress.”
“But you perceive,” said the Dzurlord, “that there is no Empress.”
“No, but there is an Heir,” said Sethra Lavode.
“How, an Heir?”
“Exactly,” said the Enchantress.
“Ah,” said Sethra the Younger.
“You say, ‘ah,’” said Sethra Lavode.
“Well, and if I do?”
“You have, then, guessed the name of the Heir?”
“Say rather,” said Sethra the Younger with a bow as to a master, “I now understand who your guest is.”
“Zerika,” said the Sorceress in Green.