That’s enough for now; it’s too depressing to dwell on. Besides, I didn’t have much time to think about it, because soon we had walked beyond the edge of Appertown, and Teldra said, “If you would remove the Phoenix Stone, can you be teleported? That is, if it is still on your person?”
“Yes,” I said. “I keep a small box with me that I can put them in. It’s made of—never mind. As long as the stones are in the box, they have no effect.”
“Then, if you please, do so.”
I swallowed. I had no reason not to trust Teldra—I did trust Teldra. But it still wasn’t easy to bring myself to remove the artifacts that had protected and hidden me for the last few years. While I was hesitating, she was standing, motionless, with the air of one who expected to be waiting for a long time and had no trouble doing so.
I removed the cord from around my neck and secreted it away. The instant I closed the box, I felt horribly vulnerable. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and I kept slipping into Loiosh’s mind to see, through him, if I smelled anything suspicious in the area.
“Relax, Boss. Even if they detect you instantly, they can’t—”
“I know.”
“I apologize,” said Teldra, “for the discomfort of the teleport.”
I didn’t say anything. In fact, thanks to an amulet I had of my grandfather, there would be no discomfort; were I an Issola, I’d have told her. But then, were I an Issola, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
Teldra closed her eyes. Her lips began to move soundlessly, which is something some people do when in psychic contact; presumably she was in touch with Sethra, but I couldn’t ask without interrupting her, and that, of course, would be rude. Presently her eyes opened. She nodded to me, accompanying the nod with a gracious smile, and beckoned. I took a step closer to her; there was a moment of disorientation, and I stood in a place I had thought never to see again: the Grand Hall of Sethra’s Keep high in. Dzur Mountain.
I’ve heard it said, “By his home shall you know him,” and we all know that we must pay attention to anyone who reverses the subject and the auxiliary verb in his sentence, so let me tell you a bit about the home of Sethra Lavode. A bit is all I can tell you, because I don’t know Dzur Mountain all that well. For example, I can’t tell you how far down into the mountain her dwelling extends. I’ve been told that the mountain is riddled with natural caves, caverns, and tunnels, and that some of these connect to the areas she has carved out for herself.
One of these was where I had first appeared, long ago, in the company of Morrolan. It had seemed then that I was deep in the heart of the mountain and had to climb a long stone stairway to its peak; I have since learned that I was close to the top, and that when I emerged in Sethra’s living area we were hardly closer: Dzur Mountain is very, very big.
She had a library, but somehow I had never gotten around to inspecting it, so I can’t tell you what she reads. On one side of the library are a few well if plainly furnished guest rooms, some of which I have used from time to time; on the other is a wide spiral stairway that leads up to the kitchen, or down to a hallway from which one can reach one of three dining rooms of various sizes, two of which I’d eaten in, and the third of which, the Grand Hall, I stood in now; a sitting room where I’d once insulted Sethra (an insult stopping just smoke’s weight short of mortal); and two doors that go I know not where. At the end of the corridor is another spiral stairway: I don’t know where this one leads to going down, or how it goes up, because it seems to me that it should lead directly up into the middle of the library, but there isn’t a stairway there.
There is little decoration. It is as if, over the millennia, she had lost patience for anything that attempted to brighten what was naturally dark, ornament what was naturally plain, enliven what was naturally severe. There were no bright colors in Dzur Mountain, yet nothing was rough; rather everything was subdued but smooth, as if her home were a monument to the effects of time. Her furnishings were all simple and comfortable, with cushions on hard stone chairs and light provided mostly by simple oil lamps or candles. There was little to show her history; or, indeed, that she had a history—that is, her home was noticeably lacking in those oddities one picks up over the years as gifts from friends, or objects acquired from traveling, or trophies won from enemies. The one thing of that kind was in the library, where there was a device covered in glass, with spinning metal inside. I had asked her about it, but Sethra denied knowing what it actually was and refused to say how she had acquired it or why she valued it. Other than that, as I say, there was nothing to which one could point and say, “Sethra Lavode has this object because it means something to her.”
I admit that I have, from time to time, speculated on why she had arranged her home like that, but I kept coming up against the same question: Were I somehow to achieve her age, how would I want to surround myself? And to this question I could not know the answer, which would always end the speculation, leaving me only observations.
And that about concludes what I know about the home of Sethra Lavode—not much, considering how often I’ve been there. I’ve heard a great deal more, of course, running from the probable to the preposterous: labyrinths deep within the mountain where she conducts monstrous experiments; high towers in the very peak where she communes with the dead; hidden passageways to the Halls of Judgment; concealed rooms full of treasure; and so on. But I don’t know anything about these (except I can pretty well deny the passageway to the Halls of Judgment: if that really exists, she owes me an apology for sending me the hard way). Little is known, more is suspected, and much is guessed at.
And there you have Sethra Lavode as well, which ought to prove the point about reversing the subject and the auxiliary verb.
I didn’t see Sethra at once, so I turned around, and there she was: tall, pale, undead; she had forgotten more of sorcery, even the forbidden sorcery of the ancient world, than anyone else would ever learn. She was a vampire, but it didn’t seem to bother her much; and to those who told stories of her it was almost superfluous, like hearing that the guy who is going to cut your heart out plans to kick you in the shin when he’s done. Her origin was in prehistory, and some had come to believe that she was the living personification of the world itself, that it would end when she ended. I doubted this myself: I mislike the idea of a living personification being undead.
Her features were those of a Dragonlord, except that, if one looked for it (as I did), one could see hints of the Dzurlord in the shape of her ears and her eyes. She dressed in black, black, black—the only hints of color upon her today were a red stone about her neck, a yellow stone on a ring on her right hand, and the blue hilt of Iceflame at her hip. She wore enigma as if it had been created for her alone.
Teldra bowed to her very deeply—more deeply than I had ever seen her bow before. Sethra acknowledged it as if it were her due. I nodded, Sethra nodded back.
“Sethra Lavode,” I said. “It has been some time.” Now, there was an ambiguous remark for her to play with if she cared to.
She didn’t. She held out her arm, and Loiosh flew to her, allowed his chin to be scratched, and then, just to show his high regard for her, he bent his head to allow her to scratch the scales that concealed his ears: a special mark of honor, because jhereg are very protective of their ears. I don’t know if Sethra appreciated the honor. While she paid attention to Loiosh, I pulled the box from my pouch, opened it, and put the cord back around my neck. I felt better right away.