Dragon student sythyrys.., p.53
Dragon Student: Sythyry's Journal 1, page 53
When I rule Choinxeia as tyrant lizard with a forepaw of iron, I will proclaim the Third of Lage to be “Complain to the Zi Ri About Unanswerable Matters” day. Of course, it’s not quite clear who would dare to complain to the tyrant lizard ruling them with a forepaw of iron, but I suppose some other Zi Ri might get quite an earful now and then.
Anoof is now living with one of his fiancés and three other Cani. Anoof managed to lose the choof on organizing the apartment. (I gather the contest involved Anoof and the roommate setting up cleaning schedules and seeing which was the most popular with the other roommates. Nobody but Anoof liked Anoof’s.) Which means of course that it is hideously messy and dirty and dingy and grungy and disgusting and mold-enslimed and filled with layers and layers of pestilential stinking rotten fruit husks after only a few weeks. Or, at least, that it wasn’t up to Anoof’s standards. He complained greatly to me about these matters. I declined to show him my new bedroom, which is messy dirty dingy grungy disgusting mold-enslimed and filled with layers and layers of pestilential stinking rotten chub-beetle carapaces after only a few weeks. Or, at least, isn’t up to Anoof’s standards. Despite Jarmiet tidying it up every three days.
Agrimony complained to me about how much living with Dustweed is displeasing to him, not because zie is a both-female but because ... it’s wrong. Also zie’s traff. I had no great advise or response to him. Saying, “I’m traff, too” seemed too overwhelming to contemplate. And probably wouldn’t have helped, except to get Agrimony complaining to other people about both of us.
Jarmiet, who you think would never complain to anyone about anything, complained to me that she couldn’t get pregnant despite lots of trying. (“I’ve been trying ever so hard with Ilottat and haven’t managed it either,” I didn’t say.) This is getting to be a serious issue in her family. They had one litter without her, and they are trying for another litter, and she’s all embarrassed and upset and stuff. I expressed a great deal of sympathy. I didn’t provide her with a ritual spell of fertility, since, well, I don’t have one, and don’t have that much influence with anyone who does.
Leiska briefly complained about Anoof challenging someone else to a duel again. “Since he got skewered last time, especially.” I didn’t get the details — Leiska was walking one way down a street I was flying the other way down. Probably one of his roommates.
Thelvion complained about something too tedious to record, involving clothing that was stored in a box for too long.
Vingi complained ... no. Vingi never complains. Vingi was determinedly cheerful about Real-Eel breaking up with him. Again I could get few details, but I collected Dustweed, Ghirbis, and Strenata, and we will take him out to dinner for soup, sloop, and sympathy. (Strenata offered to bring Rhedwy for soup, sloop, Sleeth, and sympathy, but we persuaded her that the Sleeth would pretty much negate the sympathy.) More when I know more.
Sythyry finally got the courage to talk to Levande for complaining about countly and suchly matters, but of course she’s in her country estate and not due back for a bit. Zie left zir card and a polite request.
Anger a Countess
Levande [4 Lage 4261]
She was riding her distinctively undistinctive purple and brown swifthorse, with her distinctively shabby and well-made riding gear, and, if anything, she was a bit fatter and less beautiful than before. She is probably the richest and most powerful of my mortal friends, unless Crown Prince Nestrune has decreed that he is my friend this week. I saw her from my bedroom window, and flew down the stairs to meet her at the front door, but Jarmiet had gotten there first and caught me on the stairs.
Jarmiet: “Sythyry, the Countess of Gloun has ridden up, in person, to speak with you. I’m pretty sure it’s her at least. She doesn’t look much like a countess.”
Me: “Gloun doesn’t, so it’s probably her.”
I evaded Jarmiet and landed on a decorative urn next to the front door, where Levande was looking distinctly nervous and unnoble.
Me: “Countess! I was hardly expecting you to ride here in person, much less so quickly.”
Levande: “Excellent, for I love alarming people suchways. May I alarm you further?”
Me: “If I were to say yes, I would be expecting something alarming, making it harder to alarm me. I shall thus refuse you the privilege.”
Levande: “Then I shall, without permission, eschew all court formalities, and even neglect to discuss the duke’s wardrobe.”
Which was pretty much a command to speak plainly.
Levande: “Have you seen Thery lately?”
Me: “I have. She looks awful.”
Levande: “Her family is furious at her, you know.”
Jarmiet brought us this and that, and we went into the kitchen alcove to eat it. On the basis of Levande’s commande, I am not calling it the Lightly Scaled Refectory. This is challenging.
I told her everything I knew about Thery’s state of health and state of mind, which is a fair bit more than I have felt like writing down in here, because writing it down makes it feel more absolute and permanent, and I still hope it can be changed.
Levande: “That’s not very good, is it?”
Me: “It’s not very good. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s not very good.”
Levande: “How much is Yarwain doing?”
I told her everything I knew about Yarwain’s efforts. This week the healers recommend various herbal decoctions and tinctures and whatnots, lots of shrimp in cream sauce, and a fairly fancy spell cast on Thery three times a day. Since Thery is not very mobile, this means that a fairly fancy healer has to come to Yarwain’s apartment three times a day.
Levande: “Yarwain had better sell a lot of figs.”
Me: “I believe that Yarwain and his family have taken out a loan, using the town of Quistma as collateral.”
Levande whistled, low and dark. “That is something which nobles do not do lightly.”
Me: “They do not. Yarwain’s family has welcomed Thery utterly: so much is clear.”
Levande: “Right. What do we do?” She used the inclusive ‘we’, inflected to refer to precisely the people in the room at the time.
Me: “We?”
Levande: “You and me. Your maid may be excused.”
Jarmiet curtsied and fled.
With much shame, I felt rather like doing the same. I was not quite sure I could go halves on something with the third-or-fourth-or-something-like-that-th richest noble in Vheshrame.
I also rather wondered if I could switch the conversation around to what I had actually wanted to talk to her about.
Levande [4 Lage 4261]
Me: “What sort of ‘what do we do?’ do you mean?”
Levande: “How do we take care of Thery? I, personally, see three questions. First, what sorts of help are medically possible? Second, how much will it cost, or how do we otherwise acquire it? Third, how do we persuade Thery to accept it?”
Me: “First, I have no idea. Second, more than I can afford. Third ... I can try. It might work better coming from me than from you, after what you did sponsoring her at the Academy.”
Levande: “That was a mistake, yes. But I think you might have some better contacts than I do on the first.”
Me: “Who?”
Levande: “Glikkonen.”
Well, of course. Everyone seems to want to use me to get to Glikkonen, eventually.
This is understandable, I suppose. Glikkonen is famous ... Glikkonen is downright legendary. Glikkonen is a first-created Zi Ri, over four thousand years old. Glikkonen invented a goodly bit of magic, some of it still used today. Glikkonen can make city walls, or terrible devices used in the Holocaust Wars, or the more subtle ones used to clean up after the Holocaust Wars.
And of course Glikkonen gets tricked and manipulated now and then, in ways that other wizards are sometimes too canny for. Zie’s immune to flattery, but zie’s a sucker for a plausible story about doing good, sometimes.
But zie’s a bit standoffish now and then. Not quite reclusive, but apt to put off strangers for a year or two unless they catch zir at just the right moment. But zie generally has time for friends and relations.
Now, I have spent more time with Glikkonen than most people ever will. Zie knows me by sight, and zie replies to my letters ... or at least zie did when the letters were “HlLlLLo Grandparrt!” scribbled with a stick of charcoal on a sheet of paper that had previously been used to wrap some books my quasi-mother had bought. I don’t write to zir all that often anymore — three times since I started school, I think — or as enthusiastically, though I try to be a bit more literate. Zie hasn’t answered my last letter, though likely zie hasn’t gotten it yet. Zie lives underground at Drchmaer much of the time, and only stops by settled places to check mail every month or so.
So I certainly understand why people think I have a quick powerful conduit to Glikkonen. Compared to most people, I do. I imagine that in a thousand years, if I’m generally sensible and cooperative to zir in the meantime, I’ll actually be able to call zir up and ask for the occasional favor.
But now ... no, not really. I might get zir attention if it was my life at risk. But Rassimel die all the time, even pregnant ones, even ones that Zi Ri care about. You can’t expect Glikkonen to intervene all the time.
Me: “Unlikely. Zie’s not at my beck and call.”
Levande said various unhappy things which I will not record. She even accused me of not being mighty and powerful. I pointed out that I am not, in fact, mighty and powerful: that I am younger than she is, and, while of honorable and important lineage, my family’s power is sorcerous not political or financial, and that takes time to develop.
Levande: (Eventually accepting my point) “Well, what can we do?”
Me: “Um ... talk to Thery’s healers and see what our choices are, if money were not an object?”
Levande: “Compared with tracking down an immortal wizard and demanding favors that we cannot repay? Bah, far too simple a plan.”
So we tried. Rather, Levande asked her factotum to make all appropriate inquiries and get us an appointment with whoever the right healer is.
And I never did get to ask her questions about copulating with counts. Just as well, really. I was rattled enough that she’d probably think I was making a pass at her.
Healing Those Who Are Not Injured [4 Lage 4261]
Levande’s factotum is remarkable. Or, at least, the name of the Countess of Gloun exerts a great deal of force when skillfully applied. Levande herself is not particularly skillful at using it, but her factotum is, so we got to speak to Baron Chrentothany slightly before dinnertime.
Levande: “Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice, Baron.”
Chrentothany: “Oh, a pleasure to have a visitor in my office who is not sounded, deformed, or ailing.” He is a very small and compact and tidy Rassimel, with impossibly tight rings on his tail. He uses a spell to rearrange his fur’s colors into impossibly tight rings; I checked. Which was, incidentally, my most effective action the whole day.
Levande: “Though we do wish speak to you in your professional capacity.” Levande hasn’t mastered court speech as well as, oh, most first-year Academy students. She really ought to.
Chrentothany: “Of course, of course: about Teltheryan oa Vinness’s pregnancy.”
Levande: “Well, yes.”
Chrentothany: “You are, no doubt, familiar with the history of Duke Haniet Vo-Uacca, from Girath, in the years 3778 to 3779?”
Levande: “Well, no.”
Chrentothany: “She was a challenging woman, or so the histories relate. She confiscated the property of the temple of Kvarse in the city, for one thing, and had the great statue of Kvarse by Neen Den Tenden burnt.”
Levande: “I had no idea. Though I am barely aware that there is a city called Girath.”
Me: “It’s on Aradrueia. It’s famous for skyships.” I had taken a course on Aradrueia not so long ago, and was quite grateful to have a chance to contribute to the conversation, no matter how fruitless or irrelevant it turned out to be in the end.
Levande: “Ah.”
Chrentothany: “Some time later, one of her many enemies cut off the greater part of her left leg in a duel. The goddess Kvarse immediately sent word to every healer on Aradrueia not to heal her of this wound.”
Me: “Kvarse is a goddess of pungent opinions at times!”
Chrentothany: “Indeed. So what do you suppose happened?”
Levande: “This Haniet came here to be healed?”
Chrentothany: “Not a bit so. The head of the Healers’ Guild of Girath — who was, in fact, one of Haniet’s political enemies, and had lost a great deal of property when the Kvarse temple lands were confiscated — healed her himself.” He came to a full stop, seemingly satisfied with his story.
Levande: “And...?”
Me: “And...?”
Chrentothany: “The Healers’ Guild, as you may understand by this story, heals people.”
Me: “I might understand such a thing from the very name of the Guild!” Someone has to speak in proper courtly phrases when there are so many nobles around such a small table.
Chrentothany: “From time to time, people want us to avoid healing someone. We generally refuse such requests. Even personal requests from the goddess who rules over healing and is the founder and nominal ruler of the Healers’ Guild.”
Levande: “OK...?”
Me: “Ah, I believe the Baron is mistaken about our purpose here.”
Chrentothany: “I am, ultimately, concerned about my patient. Not about her patron.”
Levande: “What?”
Me: “He thinks we’re coming to bribe or force him not to tend Thery properly.”
Levande: “Why would I want that?”
Me: “There are rumors that you’re feeling cheated by Thery — or possibly even jilted. Angered countesses have been known to seek revenge.”
Chrentothany: “Yes. I will not — the Guild will not — be an instrument for your revenge. We will not be the instrument of our goddess and patron! Countess though you are, you do not have a fraction of Kvarse’s potency.”
Levande: “Oh. That’s all very well I suppose, but I'm not very good at revenge and I was planning to skip it altogether.” (I don't think that is entirely true.)
Chrentothany: “Really.” (I think he just read my parenthetical note somehow. Sneaky doctor! He didn't sound like he believed her.)
Levande: “Really. Doctor, if money were no object, what treatment would you recommend for Thery?” (Levande’s revenge will not be the direct sort where she does horrible things to Thery. She will do overwhelmingly nice things to Thery and make Thery feel guilty. I think that's revenge. It might be love. I have trouble telling those apart sometimes.)
Chrentothany: “I will take you at your word for the moment, but do not expect kindness if you are lying. Hum. Her regimen would be slightly improved if I stayed by her side constantly rather than visiting her thrice a day. But I have other patients as well, equally deserving of my attention, and in any case the improvement would be slight.”
Levande: “So nothing more can be done?”
Chrentothany: “At this point, no.”
Levande: “And how likely is this to help?”
Chrentothany: “With it, I should expect six mothers and five children to survive out of every seven. Without, it is five mothers and four children.”
Levande: “So little improvement?”
Chrentothany: “The main concern at this point is prevention of birth defects in the child.”
Levande: “Oh. So ... nothing more can be done?”
Chrentothany: “Not this month. Near the actual birth there are several choices. I favor Birth the Wise Child.”
Levande: “Well, is that the best choice, if money were no object?”
Chrentothany: “Well ... how much money of no object is available? I could bring in, say, one of those”[he pointed at me] ”or someone else of undue power and undue price. For a smaller but still extravagant gesture, I could, say, learn Alivistiver’s Delivery Ritual and use that instead.”
Levande: “How much would that cost.”
The Baron was nonplussed.
Me: “And how much would it help?”
Chrentothany: “I’m ... not quite sure.”
Me: “Can you find out? At least approximately?”
Chrentothany: “Are you seriously considering it?”
Me: “I don’t have the money. The Countess might.”
Chrentothany checked in a few handbooks. “It’s cheaper than I thought.” He named a sum which probably wasn’t much more than a dozen times Iska’s tuition. “And less useful, too.” He described a dozen assorted disasters, from routine to horrific, and their chances of happening, from modest to tiny.
Me: “That doesn’t sound less useful. It sounds better than Birth the Wise Child.”
Chrentothany: “Less useful than I had remembered.”
Levande: “Is there anything more useful?”
Chrentothany: “Unlikely that there is anything I could cast. Or anyone else in Vheshrame.” Likely true — there aren’t very many ritual mages in Vheshrame. It’s icky wicked stuff, even if it’s used for healing.
Levande: “Describe them!”
The Baron gave us a summary of extravagant rituals, most of which had only been cast three or four times, and for which very little information was available. By the end of it, I was quite dizzy, and Levande was worse.
Levande: “Well, order up ... the one that you could cast. I’ll pay.”
Me: “Alivistiver’s Delivery Ritual, she means.”
Levande: “Yes.”
Chrentothany: “The full price, including my time to learn it and cast it, will be rather more.”
Levande: “I’ll pay.”
Me: “How much “rather more”?”
We discussed the matter for some while. I pointed out that buying him an exceedingly expensive spell was a form of payment, and that he should at least be willing to reduce the rates for other things as a result. I think I saved the Countess about three Iska-tuitions.
