their respective horses, they continued together for some time.
“Do you think,” said Piro, “that we will all ever meet again?”
“As to that,” said Zivra, “I cannot say. But at least you will be able to see Lewchin and Shant when you wish.”
“That is true. Do you know, I envy them.”
“Because they have found each other?”
“Yes, that is it exactly.”
“They are fortunate,” said Zivra. “Before the Disaster, they should never have dared to display such an arrangement, one being a Dzur, the other an Issola.”
“Well,” said Piro, shrugging, “at least one good thing, then, has come from the Disaster.”
“You think so?”
“How, you disapprove?”
“Of Lewchin and Shant? Of course not, they are my friends. I shall miss them. And you, as well.”
“It is a new stage of our lives, Zivra. Yours, and mine as well.”
“You are right. And I accept it, only—”
“Well?”
“If it is to be without the friends I love, it will be hard.”
“Yes. But here is the bridge, and this is where we part.”
“I believe—”
“Yes?”
“I believe we will see each other again, Piro.”
“It is my dearest wish, Zivra.”
We ought to say that, upon leaving Piro, Zivra went to a place the reader might not expect, met with a most remarkable person, and had a conversation of considerable interest. The reader may rest assured that we will reveal place, person, and conversation when it is proper to do so. Nevertheless, we believe that we should waste no time in following the principal actor in our history: the Viscount of Adrilankha. He directed his horse through the streets, oblivious, as he always was, of the danger of riding alone through the city at night, until, without incident, he returned to the high cliffs above the sea, and thus to Whitecrest, which was the name of his home, as well as the district in which the city of Adrilankha was situated. There he gave his mare into the care of the night-groom and was about to enter the home, when he observed, in the dim light that came from the windows of the manor, the form of a man, who stood like a statue near the servants’ entrance of the keep.
Chapter the Ninth
How the Viscount Met His New Lackey,
With Necessary Digressions During
Which Something Is Learned of the
Countess and Count of Whitecrest
P iro touched his sword, which, having been removed from the saddle, was hung from the sheath-belt over his shoulder. On consideration, however, he did not draw it, but approached the figure before him, whereupon this person turned and presented a respectful bow, as to a superior, which the Viscount found unusual, as they were as yet unable to see each other clearly. Piro continued forward, and finally stopped a few feet away, at which time he acknowledged the salute and said, “I give you good evening, visitor.”
The visitor repeated his bow, as deeply as the first time, and said, “I am not yet even a visitor, noble lord, yet I aspire to be more.”
“You aspire to be more than a visitor?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Well, let us see, then.” Piro was close enough so that, squinting in the small amount of light that filtered down from an open window above, he was able to see that the stranger, who was holding his hat in his hand, had no noble’s point. “Come, what are you doing here?” asked the viscount.
“My lord, I am waiting.”
“How, waiting?”
The Teckla bowed once more. “Yes, lord: waiting.”
“But, then, for what are you waiting?”
“I am waiting for the door to open.”
Piro was momentarily confused, uncertain whether he was being mocked. He said, “You are waiting for a servant to answer the door?”
The visitor respectfully bowed his agreement with this assessment.
“You perceive,” said Piro, “that there is no one to come to the door, as we have no doorman. It is unlikely that the Countess or Count would have heard you, and the other servants have, no doubt, retired for the
“Do you think,” said Piro, “that we will all ever meet again?”
“As to that,” said Zivra, “I cannot say. But at least you will be able to see Lewchin and Shant when you wish.”
“That is true. Do you know, I envy them.”
“Because they have found each other?”
“Yes, that is it exactly.”
“They are fortunate,” said Zivra. “Before the Disaster, they should never have dared to display such an arrangement, one being a Dzur, the other an Issola.”
“Well,” said Piro, shrugging, “at least one good thing, then, has come from the Disaster.”
“You think so?”
“How, you disapprove?”
“Of Lewchin and Shant? Of course not, they are my friends. I shall miss them. And you, as well.”
“It is a new stage of our lives, Zivra. Yours, and mine as well.”
“You are right. And I accept it, only—”
“Well?”
“If it is to be without the friends I love, it will be hard.”
“Yes. But here is the bridge, and this is where we part.”
“I believe—”
“Yes?”
“I believe we will see each other again, Piro.”
“It is my dearest wish, Zivra.”
We ought to say that, upon leaving Piro, Zivra went to a place the reader might not expect, met with a most remarkable person, and had a conversation of considerable interest. The reader may rest assured that we will reveal place, person, and conversation when it is proper to do so. Nevertheless, we believe that we should waste no time in following the principal actor in our history: the Viscount of Adrilankha. He directed his horse through the streets, oblivious, as he always was, of the danger of riding alone through the city at night, until, without incident, he returned to the high cliffs above the sea, and thus to Whitecrest, which was the name of his home, as well as the district in which the city of Adrilankha was situated. There he gave his mare into the care of the night-groom and was about to enter the home, when he observed, in the dim light that came from the windows of the manor, the form of a man, who stood like a statue near the servants’ entrance of the keep.
Chapter the Ninth
How the Viscount Met His New Lackey,
With Necessary Digressions During
Which Something Is Learned of the
Countess and Count of Whitecrest
P iro touched his sword, which, having been removed from the saddle, was hung from the sheath-belt over his shoulder. On consideration, however, he did not draw it, but approached the figure before him, whereupon this person turned and presented a respectful bow, as to a superior, which the Viscount found unusual, as they were as yet unable to see each other clearly. Piro continued forward, and finally stopped a few feet away, at which time he acknowledged the salute and said, “I give you good evening, visitor.”
The visitor repeated his bow, as deeply as the first time, and said, “I am not yet even a visitor, noble lord, yet I aspire to be more.”
“You aspire to be more than a visitor?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Well, let us see, then.” Piro was close enough so that, squinting in the small amount of light that filtered down from an open window above, he was able to see that the stranger, who was holding his hat in his hand, had no noble’s point. “Come, what are you doing here?” asked the viscount.
“My lord, I am waiting.”
“How, waiting?”
The Teckla bowed once more. “Yes, lord: waiting.”
“But, then, for what are you waiting?”
“I am waiting for the door to open.”
Piro was momentarily confused, uncertain whether he was being mocked. He said, “You are waiting for a servant to answer the door?”
The visitor respectfully bowed his agreement with this assessment.
“You perceive,” said Piro, “that there is no one to come to the door, as we have no doorman. It is unlikely that the Countess or Count would have heard you, and the other servants have, no doubt, retired for the
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