never mind introducing us.”
“Very well.”
“But what were you saying?”
“I was telling you about Tukko.”
“No, before that.”
“I do not recall.”
“You were in the kitchen.”
“Yes, with Chaz.”
“And—?”
“Ah, yes. Well, as I was in the kitchen bringing out biscuits after having selected the best wine—because you know my mistress has a fine palate—”
“Oh, yes. I have remarked upon it many times.”
“And, as I emerged, I heard what I took to be a child’s voice.”
“A child? In Dzur Mountain?”
“So it seemed.”
“Did you go out and look?”
“Certainly. I had to bring out the biscuits, did I not?”
“Naturally.”
“Well, and what did you see, Mica?”
“As pretty a little Dragonlord as I have ever seen, speaking to Sethra Lavode—to the Enchantress, you understand—as if she had known her all her life.”
“Do you truly tell me so?”
“I even insist up on it.”
“A Dragonlord, you say?”
“Without question. There is no mistaking the cheekbones, even in a child, and she was already growing her noble’s point.”
“Well, so the Enchantress knows this child. It does make one wonder, does it not?”
“It certainly made me wonder.”
“What was she saying.”
“Well, in fact, it was something arcane and mystical.”
“How, this child was saying something arcane and mystical?”
“I think so. At least, I didn’t understand it.”
“But, what did she say?”
“She said, ‘Tri’nagore has been missing from the Halls of Judgment.’ ”
“Well, I agree.”
“You agree that Tri’nagore has been missing?”
“No, I agree that it is arcane and mystical.”
“Oh. Yes, tolerably.”
“What did the Enchantress say upon learning this arcane and mystical thing?”
“She said nothing, but—”
“Yes?”
“She appeared to be anxious.”
“Did she?”
“Without doubt. In fact, more than anxious, she seemed concerned.”
“Well, that is certainly interesting. I wonder what it means.”
“And then—”
“There is more?”
“Yes, I have not yet told you the most remarkable part.”
“Well then, tell me.”
“The child vanished.”
“How, vanished?”
“Yes, as if she turned into a—”
“Yes?”
“Into a thousand flecks of gold, which then turned into nothing at all.”
“Do you know, I have heard that gods appear and vanish in that way.”
“Could she be a goddess?”
“Who knows? But I wonder about what she told the Enchantress. That is, I wonder what it means.”
“It means—may I trouble you for more wine?”
“You spilled most of your last cup.”
“And if I did?”
“Nothing. Here it is.”
“You are a splendid fellow.”
“Still, I am curious about what it means.”
“Oh, as for what it means, that I can tell you.”
“Well, I should be most happy to learn.”
Mica looked into the wine of his cup, such a dark red that it was nearly purple, and he said, “There is a great deal more to do.”
Chapter the Seventy-Fifth
How Khaavren Began His Search For Piro in the Heart of Adrilankha
I t was in the morning on a Farmday near the beginning of the second year of the reign of the Empress Zerika the Fourth that Khaavren began, in earnest, the search for his son. He wore a white shirt with his second-best blue singlet, a heavy cloak of light blue, and his favorite rapier, which had served him well for more than seven hundred years, although, in point of fact, he had twice had to have the blade replaced.
He required the stable-boy to bring him his favorite horse, a nine-year-old roan gelding of the breed called Táncoslábú, a horse with a fine, proud gait, as well as one capable of running at truly astonishing speeds for two full miles; beyond this, he would respond to the least pressure of Khaavren’s knees; indeed, at times it seemed that Khaavren had only to formulate his wish and the horse, whom he called Stepper, would obey. So, then, with his best horse, his best sword, and
“Very well.”
“But what were you saying?”
“I was telling you about Tukko.”
“No, before that.”
“I do not recall.”
“You were in the kitchen.”
“Yes, with Chaz.”
“And—?”
“Ah, yes. Well, as I was in the kitchen bringing out biscuits after having selected the best wine—because you know my mistress has a fine palate—”
“Oh, yes. I have remarked upon it many times.”
“And, as I emerged, I heard what I took to be a child’s voice.”
“A child? In Dzur Mountain?”
“So it seemed.”
“Did you go out and look?”
“Certainly. I had to bring out the biscuits, did I not?”
“Naturally.”
“Well, and what did you see, Mica?”
“As pretty a little Dragonlord as I have ever seen, speaking to Sethra Lavode—to the Enchantress, you understand—as if she had known her all her life.”
“Do you truly tell me so?”
“I even insist up on it.”
“A Dragonlord, you say?”
“Without question. There is no mistaking the cheekbones, even in a child, and she was already growing her noble’s point.”
“Well, so the Enchantress knows this child. It does make one wonder, does it not?”
“It certainly made me wonder.”
“What was she saying.”
“Well, in fact, it was something arcane and mystical.”
“How, this child was saying something arcane and mystical?”
“I think so. At least, I didn’t understand it.”
“But, what did she say?”
“She said, ‘Tri’nagore has been missing from the Halls of Judgment.’ ”
“Well, I agree.”
“You agree that Tri’nagore has been missing?”
“No, I agree that it is arcane and mystical.”
“Oh. Yes, tolerably.”
“What did the Enchantress say upon learning this arcane and mystical thing?”
“She said nothing, but—”
“Yes?”
“She appeared to be anxious.”
“Did she?”
“Without doubt. In fact, more than anxious, she seemed concerned.”
“Well, that is certainly interesting. I wonder what it means.”
“And then—”
“There is more?”
“Yes, I have not yet told you the most remarkable part.”
“Well then, tell me.”
“The child vanished.”
“How, vanished?”
“Yes, as if she turned into a—”
“Yes?”
“Into a thousand flecks of gold, which then turned into nothing at all.”
“Do you know, I have heard that gods appear and vanish in that way.”
“Could she be a goddess?”
“Who knows? But I wonder about what she told the Enchantress. That is, I wonder what it means.”
“It means—may I trouble you for more wine?”
“You spilled most of your last cup.”
“And if I did?”
“Nothing. Here it is.”
“You are a splendid fellow.”
“Still, I am curious about what it means.”
“Oh, as for what it means, that I can tell you.”
“Well, I should be most happy to learn.”
Mica looked into the wine of his cup, such a dark red that it was nearly purple, and he said, “There is a great deal more to do.”
Chapter the Seventy-Fifth
How Khaavren Began His Search For Piro in the Heart of Adrilankha
I t was in the morning on a Farmday near the beginning of the second year of the reign of the Empress Zerika the Fourth that Khaavren began, in earnest, the search for his son. He wore a white shirt with his second-best blue singlet, a heavy cloak of light blue, and his favorite rapier, which had served him well for more than seven hundred years, although, in point of fact, he had twice had to have the blade replaced.
He required the stable-boy to bring him his favorite horse, a nine-year-old roan gelding of the breed called Táncoslábú, a horse with a fine, proud gait, as well as one capable of running at truly astonishing speeds for two full miles; beyond this, he would respond to the least pressure of Khaavren’s knees; indeed, at times it seemed that Khaavren had only to formulate his wish and the horse, whom he called Stepper, would obey. So, then, with his best horse, his best sword, and
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