Steven Brust - Dragon

In other words, he knew I had something on my mind and that I wasn't just coming over to visit. The thing is, I often come over just to visit, so how did he know? But never mind that. I took a tiny sip of tea, because I knew it would be very hot. It was; it was also very good, and not in the least bitter. I could have gotten by without the honey. I should have sampled it first. I said, "I have joined the army, Noish-pa."

His eyes widened, and I was delighted to have actually managed to startle him. He said, "You have joined the army?"

"Well, after a fashion."

He leaned back a little in his chair, which was a great deal like the one I was sitting in. I suddenly realized that my own furniture tended to be like my grandfather's, as opposed to the hard wood and lightly padded stuff I had grown up with while my father was alive. "Tell me of it," he said.

"I was attacked not long ago. Beaten and threatened. It was by a man who had no reason to attack me, except to warn me to leave him alone. I'd have left him alone if he had left me alone. Now I'm going to hurt him."

"By enlisting in an army?"

"An army that is soon to attack him. I will be engaging in various special services—"

"Do you think this a good reason to enlist in an army?"

"Of course not, Noish-pa."

He cracked a quick, gap-toothed smile. "But you are doing it anyway."

"Yes."

"Very well."

He knew me, and knew when it was worthwhile to try to talk me into or out of something. He rarely tried to change my mind in any case, even when he might be able to. Loiosh flew over to him and accepted having his chin scratched. Noish-pa said, "What then do you ask me?"

"You were in the army once. What should I know?"

He frowned. "Vladimir, that was a different circumstance. I was a conscript soldier in an Eastern army; this is not the same as volunteering in an army of elfs."

"I know that."

"And we were soundly beaten in our first and only battle."

"I know that, too."

He stared off into the distance. "You will do a great deal of marching; protect your feet. Stay out of the way of officers—try not to be noticed. Do your share of latrine duty, but not more than your share, though you won't need to be told that. Sleep when you can, but you won't need to be told that, either. Trust your officers, even though they will not be trustworthy; you must trust them anyway because it is worse if you don't."

The implications of that last suggestion went home, and, in a certain sense, I became aware for the first time of just what I'd gotten myself into.

"It's not too late, Boss."

"Yes, it is."

I remembered to drink more of my tea before it got cold.

"Are you hungry, Vladimir?"

"A little."

"Come, then."

We went back into his little kitchen, and I sat on a stool at the tiny counter while he made the one thing I've never been able to get to come out right: It is an Eastern bread, only slightly raised, and pan-fried in a very light olive oil. I think the trick is getting the oil at exactly the right temperature, and judging when to turn the bread, which is just before it shows any obvious signs of needing to turn; the dough was pretty straightforward, unless Noish-pa was hiding something, which would be unlike him. In any case, I've never been able to get it right, which I regretted anew as soon as the first one hit the oil and released its aroma.

I watched my grandfather as he cooked. His concentration was total, just as when he was crafting a spell. The comparison between cooking and witchcraft has been so overdone that I can't make myself discuss it, but I'll mention I was reminded of it again.

I let the first loaf (it looked more like a large, raised square of light brown dough) cool just a bit. I took a clove of garlic, cut it in two with my teeth, and coated the top of the bread with it. When I could hold the bread without burning my fingers too much, I bit into the garlic, let it explode in my mouth, then followed it with a bite of bread. I closed my eyes to enjoy the experience, and when I opened them Noish-pa had put a glass of red wine next to my elbow. We ate in silence for a while, and I enjoyed it until I realized that this would be one of the last decent meals I ate for a while. I wondered if it would be possible to teleport out of camp late at night, get something to eat, and teleport back. No, they'd doubtless have teleport blocks in place to make sure the enemy didn't show up for reasons other than cuisine.

"You've really done it this time, haven't you, Boss?"

I didn't even tell him to shut up. I embraced Noish-pa and walked back through South Adrilankha. Not much time had passed, and the street musician was still there, this time singing something about a cockroach wearing leather pants. In a better mood I'd have laughed, but I still put some more money into his instrument case, just on the chance that it might bring me good luck.

I wanted to spend the next day preparing myself for what was coming; the trouble was, I had no idea how to do so. I wasn't even certain what to pack, except to make sure I had my most comfortable boots and, of course, a good assortment of weapons. I laid them all out with a heavy cloak, a spare shirt, some extra hose, and shaving gear, and stared at them, thinking they were inadequate and ought to tell me why, then I stuffed them all into a satchel and headed over to the office because I couldn't think of a good excuse not to.

Neither Kragar nor Melestav had much to say to me, from which I deduced that Kragar had, at least, hinted to Melestav about what I was up to. And, after all, what was there for them to say? Melestav kept shaking his head; Kragar smirked periodically. I didn't think it was all that funny.

I canceled a couple of unimportant meetings because I just didn't feel I could do them justice. I couldn't decide if I hoped there'd be nothing to do so I could go home and fret or if I wanted to be kept busy with my mind elsewhere. After an hour or so of hanging around being irritated I decided I didn't care and that I'd just take the rest of the day off. I'm the boss; I can do that.

I paced around my flat. I tried to read but kept getting distracted, so I went to a club that had music but only found it irritating, so I went to another club that had Fenarian brandy, and that helped. I wondered how many times, down through the ages, has Fenarian brandy or its spiritual equivalent, so to speak, come to the help of a man the day before he became a soldier.

Hell, that was stupid. I was not becoming a soldier. I was enlisting, as a formality, so I could march with an army and do nasty things to the enemy; I was certainly not going to be around for any battles. I drank some more brandy to that thought, then went home and went to bed, and some time later I fell asleep, and then I got up late the next morning and enlisted.

8—In the Army Now

Fifty yards away there were about twenty Dragonlords, and among them, to the best of my knowledge and belief, were sorcerers skilled enough to be willing to take on the duties for an army. Now, don't get me wrong; I'm good at what I do. But marching forward across an open field, in plain sight, and just starting to cut away was not, it seemed to me, the best way to accomplish my goal.

"Now what, Boss?"

"Funny, I was just asking myself that very question."

I walked forward about half the distance; I was certainly the object of their attention now. If I had arranged an attack from some other direction, and my approach had been merely a distraction, it would have worked perfectly.

Shame about that.

I unbuckled my sword belt, let it fall to the ground, raised my hands, and kept walking.

"Got an idea, Boss?"

"No," I explained.

"Well, that makes me feel better."