Free Brokedown Palace by Steven Brust Page B

the structure of the doorway where he refused to bow upon passing through.
    László reached out a hand and helped the old man to his feet. Sándor made his halting way to a chair that László had knocked over. Andor hastened to set it upright.
    “What happened?” asked László.
    “I don’t know,” said the wizard. “He would only tell me that the spell hadn’t killed the dragon.” He was silent for a moment, then: “He must have been near water. That’s the only thing that will weaken that spell.”
    “Didn’t you warn him about that?”
    Sándor sighed. “To what purpose? You fight a dragon where it is, not where you want to.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, in any case. The dragon is dead, Vilmos is alive. All is well.”
    “Sándor, you are a fool.”
    Sándor glanced up at the King; the expression on his face was unreadable. “That has been said by many kings before you, Your Majesty.”
     
    SÁNDOR STOOD UP AND LEFT, BOWING TO LÁSZLÓ. ANDOR started to follow him out.
    “Andor,” said László.
    “Yes?”
    “Will you do something for me? I’m expecting visitors the day after tomorrow. Will you make sure there are suitable arrangements?”
    “What visitors?”
    “A certain Count of Mordfal and his daughter, Mariska.”
    Andor smiled. “Daughter? Is Rezstrying to get you married again, brother?”
    László shrugged. “Will you see to the arrangements and make sure there is an honor guard for them? I expect them in the forenoon.”
    “Certainly,” said Andor. “But what about Brigitta?”
    To Andor’s amazement, László actually flushed.
    “Shut up,” he said. He stood and walked out of the room.
    Andor shook his head in puzzlement and went up to his own chambers to meditate on how best to please his Goddess, before making the arrangements his brother had requested. He found himself trembling with delighted anticipation.
     
    IN HIS DREAMS THAT NIGHT, ANDOR STOOD ON A CLIFF, clothed in garments of white, his hands uplifted. Wind from the sea (which he had never seen, but which he envisioned as like a lake only bigger) ruffled his hair.
    He stood at the very edge of the cliff and felt a sudden fear, not of falling, but of jumping. His actions seemed to be predestined, and he could only wait to find out what he would do.
    He became aware that a cloud had descended, so that it was directly before him. He had no memory of its arrival, yet there it was. In the dream, this didn’t seem odd. He thought he must be high up indeed for there to be clouds, and for the first time he wondered where he was.
    Then the cloud changed (again, he wasn’t aware of the process, merely that a transformation had occurred) and it assumed the features
of a face—a face he knew to be that of the Demon Goddess. In his dream, it didn’t seem strange to him that she looked exactly as he’d pictured her (the artists of the land never really agreed on her features, and to Andor none of them were close). In his dream or out of it, he never noticed how much her face resembled that of his mother—thin, with high arching brows and deep, round eyes beneath a tall forehead.
    She spoke to him (though her mouth never moved), saying in a voice that pierced his heart, “Andor, will you serve me?”
    He watched himself tremble, seeing himself seeing her, yet seeing through his image’s eyes at the same time. He felt his own awe almost vicariously. “I will serve you,” he heard himself say as he said it.
    “Then I will guide and protect you,” she said, “and make your life full and meaningful.”
    He bowed his head. “What must I do, Goddess?”
    “You must aid and protect László.”
    He felt himself feeling puzzled. “Protect him from what, Goddess?”
    “From those who would thwart his aims, which are my aims, and from those who would tear down your home, which I have sanctified. And, above all, from himself, when he doesn’t understand that it is sometimes best to throw a lamb to the wolves.”
    “I