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Authors: Steven Brust

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BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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“I am one,” said Sethra, putting her hand on the dagger at her side.
Aliera set down the glass rod which had been in her hand, stepped back from the table, and drew a moderately long sword which was suspended from her hip by a leathern baldric. “Some,” she said coolly, “might worry about the etiquette of drawing a sword against someone armed only with a dagger. Yet, as I know something of that dagger, and of the person who wields it, I do you the honor to believe I am not overmatching you. If, therefore, you would be pleased to draw—and instantly, at that—we can, I think, arrive at an accommodation without any further delay.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Sethra, bowing slightly. She made a movement as if she would draw, the frowned and appeared to reflect.
“Why do you not draw?” said Aliera.
“For the simple reason,” said Sethra, “that I find this an unfortunate location for such games. Here we have the remains of several men who have died by violence, and who I intend, after having the honor of dispatching you, to investigate. I should, therefore, dislike to think that in our activities we should accidentally upset one, or in our excitement do something that will make the investigation more difficult. Let us, instead, go out from this basement into the open air, and, on the way, we can find seconds and an Imperial Witness—I have no doubt that Sir Khaavren will act as judge. Therefore, in addition to saving this evidence from damage, we will have observed all the forms, so no one can have any cause for complain. Come, what do you think of my reasoning?”
“I find it excellent,” said Aliera, replacing her sword in its sheath. “So good, in fact, that I will even tell you what I have discovered, so that if, in fact, you should prove victorious in our contest, I will have made your task less
burdensome. It will only take a moment to inform you, and then we can adjourn upstairs and out of doors, where the weather is so pleasant, and settle our differences in the best way.”
“You are very courteous, and entirely a lady. So much so that, if we do not slaughter one another, I have no doubt that, in the future, we shall have much pleasure in one another’s company.”
Aliera bowed.
Sethra returned her gesture and said, “What, then, have you discovered?”
“This man, in the corner—”
“Smaller,” said Khaavren, “an intendant of finance.”
“Very well,” said Aliera. “This intendant was killed by the simplest of sorceries; that is, the major vessel of his heart was suddenly constricted, causing a hemorrhage which resulted in a death that was almost instantaneous. As the simplest of spells killed him, so the simplest of spells would have protected him, and there is no evidence of concealment, from which I must conclude that he had no understanding of sorcery.”
“Very well,” said Sethra.
“This man—”
“Gyorg Lavode,” said Khaavren and Sethra together.
“Yes. Although he was killed by a knife wound, there can be no doubt a spell was placed upon him to ensure he wouldn’t awaken first. Look—” she picked up the glass rod she had been holding when they entered and handed it to Sethra. “You perceive the yellow coloring at the end? This was the result of casting the Mirror of Sandbourne above his eyes.”
“It is,” said Sethra, “only the faintest of yellow.”
“He died more than a day ago,” said Aliera.
“And yet,” said Sethra, “why did not the rod become green, which is how the Mirror ought to have responded to a change in the mind’s energies?”
“It is exactly this upon which I was musing when you entered,” said Aliera. “My suspicion—”
“You have, then, a suspicion?”
“Very much so.”
“Then I should be glad to hear it.”
“This is it, then: The green appears, as you know, from a combination of the yellow, which indicates external energy having disrupted the workings of the mind, and blue, which is how the Mirror of Sandbourne signals the presence of sorcery invading the sanctity of the mind—or, at any rate, the brain. Yet if, instead of having been directed at the mind, the spell was placed about the area, the Mirror would not detect an influence in the mind, but only sorcery around it.”
“Well,” said Sethra. “There is some justice in what you say.”
“And yet,” said Aliera, “I should be glad to know where there is a spell of sufficient subtlety to penetrate the Amulet of Covering that Gyorg wore, yet powerful enough to work on the area in which he rested—all, be it understood, without waking him up before putting him to sleep.”
“That is easily answered. Do you perceive that, as I cast the Holding of Bren upon this instrument, the yellow dissolves and flows from one end to the other?”
“Well, yes, but what does it mean?”
“It means that the energies of the sorcery were not closely directed, but were dispersing even before the spell was cast.”
“Which means?”
“It can only mean that the spell had been prepared some hours or days before it was cast.”
“In other words,” said Aliera, “the spell was placed in an amulet or a wand, and released, perhaps by someone with no knowledge of sorcery at all.”
“That is correct.”
“The Jhereg,” said Aliera.
“That is most likely,” said Sethra.
“But, if it is the Jhereg,” said Aliera, “there ought to be about the body the marks of the sorcerous waves—the patterns of energy—which are so different from those left by the sorceries of the Athyra, the Dzur, or the Dragons.”
“Indeed. Have you noticed them?”
“In fact,” said Aliera, “I have not looked.”
“Then let us do so,” said Sethra. “I would recommend the Norbrook Threepass Test.”
“Perhaps,” said Aliera. “And yet, it has been more than a day. Perhaps we ought to attempt the Lorngrass Procedure at first, which has the advantage that, should it fail, it will not disturb the fields in any way.”
“Very well, then,” said Sethra. “I agree to the Lorngrass Procedure. But in that case, at the same time, we ought to look for these wave markings upon the aura from Smaller’s remains.”
“That should not be difficult,” said Aliera, “provided we first prepare the area …”
And the two sorceresses, forgetting both Khaavren and the duel they had all but agreed upon, proceeded upon a discussion that left Khaavren quite befuddled. He smiled, however, as he realized what had happened, or, rather, what would not happen, and, determining that he could be of no assistance to the two ladies, turned without another word and made his way back to the suite of rooms above, from which he was accustomed to carry out his duties.
Which Treats of Our Old Friend Aerich,
Certain Messages He
Received,
And the Resolution He Therefore
Undertook
.
 
 
 
W
E OUGHT TO TAKE A moment to consider that, while to the pages of history (and to our own pages as well) a messenger may be a nameless figure, who carries dispatches, news, gossip, or letters, more or less important, from place to place—from the hand of one to the eye of a second—and that said messenger may appear in this brief role for only as long as necessary to carry out his function, after which he will vanish forever from the page and from history, yet to the messenger himself, he is the central figure of his own drama. What he thinks about this drama we can never know—whether he sees himself as a vital link in a chain of destiny the outline of which he can only glimpse, or whether he is concerned with his pay and promotion, or his plans upon returning from his mission, or his hopes, more or less specific, for his future, and thus cares not a bit for the broader issues at work—of all of this we must remain ignorant.
But if (as, in fact, we are about to do) we skip lightly over him, being more concerned with the personages on either end of our metaphorical chain, and with the message itself, still, let us, for just a moment, consider that these connections are made by a human agent, with his own thoughts, feelings, cares, and personality. Let us recall that someone has taken a letter (in this case) and secured it in some way against the elements and the chance of loss, and has brought it, by one means or another, to its destination, with what feelings of relief or satisfaction we can only conjecture.
That said, let us arrive shortly after the messenger at the lower door of Brachington’s Moor, where are received such visitors who are above peasants and merchants, yet not, by rank, fully deserving the Upper Door, and observe a tall, thin man of the House of the Teckla who is richly though tastefully dressed in the brown and red of the House of the Lyorn as he carries the rolled-up parchment he has taken from the nameless messenger through the indoor terraces that distinguish the structure that is at once the chief residence
of the County of Bra-moor, the seat of the Duchy of Arylle, and the home of our old friend, Aerich, whom we do ourselves the honor to trust the reader will not have entirely forgotten from his appearance in our earlier history.
Ah, but we have nearly been remiss in our duties, it seems, for we have been about to bring the reader through this manor house without in any way placing it either on the map, except in the most cursory way, or in the reader’s mind; allow us to repair this deficiency at once.
The Duchy of Arylle is (that is, it was then, and, as it still exists, it still is), to begin with, an unlikely place. It comprises eleven counties of neat, elegant farmland, with the southernmost, called Groomsman, extending to a point abutting the Duchy of Luatha on the edge of the Great Plains. The westernmost county, called Pitroad, is separated from the Yendi River by the Collier Hills which, in fact, form something like a ring around the entire Duchy. It was settled during the Ninth Issola Reign by a privately funded expedition launched by a certain Lyorn named Corpet, who named it for the expedition’s leader, a Dzurlord called, as our readers may have guessed, Arylle.
The area had been unsettled for countless years except for coal-mining not far away because, when viewed from the hills, the district had an ill-favored look, appearing at once marshy and barren. Yet when Corpet, who had been driven from his lands to the East by certain political and economic pressures which originated with the Emperor’s desire to have a more direct control of the lines of coal in Corpet’s old land (still known as Corpet County), the look proved illusory, and the region proved to be wonderfully rich farmland, at least as excellent as those lands on the Great Plains which surrounded the Collier Hills, with soil and climate ideally suited to wheat, maize, and various obscure but nutritious legumes.
The County of Arylle was raised to a Duchy by the Ninth Vallista Emperor in recognition of Corpet’s daughter, also called Corpet, who assisted in the Siege of Blacktar by refusing passage of supply trains through her domain, and, furthermore, by refusing to sell her produce to the rebellious Baroness of Lockfree. Corpet the Younger, upon being made a peer, immediately raised each of her eleven baronies to counties, winning her much gratitude and friendship among her vassals and sowing the seeds of jealousy and resentment with her southern neighbor, the Lyorn Count Shaltre—seeds which were not destined to sprout for some thousands of years.
It should be noted in passing that the district between Shaltre and Bra-moor was given to the Dzurlord, Arylle, and within it was a barony called Daavya, which, our readers may recall, was the home of our old friend Tazendra.
Bra-moor County consisted of rolling hills, speckled with woods, streams,
and ponds, and distinguished by a large population of curkings, whose bark could be heard from before dawn to well after dusk, and who could be found waddling in neat rows from pond to pond, occasionally venturing across one of the neat, tree-lined dirt roads that connected the cottages and villages of the district to one another and to the central estate of the duchy, a fine, four-story, thirty-room house called Brachington’s Moor, which was reached by a wide road that ran from the hamlet of Moortown, some three leagues distant, up to the nine-foot hedge that concealed the gateway to the estate. The gate being opened, the road, albeit far narrower, actually seemed to continue, turning into a path that circled past the Duke’s fishpond, the simple outbuildings of the estate, the gardens, and then met itself once more; in the course of which meandering it gave off shoots which led to each of the doors of the manor house itself, by one of which arrived, and would subsequently depart, the messenger to whom we had the honor of referring in the initial lines of this chapter of our history.
To resume, then: Aerich’s tall, thin servant, whose name was Fawnd, found our old friend Aerich sitting at a sort of desk in a corner room of the manor house, where he was rereading a letter he had received some few hours before, and occasionally glancing out at the fishpond, as if in a reverie. Fawnd coughed delicately, and waited.
Aerich looked up, and took a moment to return his thoughts from whatever travels in time and space they ranged to, then said, “What is it?”
“A letter, Your Venerance.”
Aerich raised one of his graceful eyebrows. “A letter? Another one? Pray, bring it here.”
Fawnd delivered the parchment, bowed, and departed the room as silently as he had appeared. Aerich studied the seal, and his glance involuntarily darted to the letter he had been holding a moment ago. “Well,” he murmured. “First Khaavren, then Pel. And on the same day. What is happening in the city?” With this, he broke the seal and scanned the top of the letter, noting that, whereas Khaavren’s letter had arrived a short, but reasonable three days after being sent, Pel had caused his letter to arrive in rather less than two days, testifying at once to the Yendi’s urgency. After forming this conclusion, Aerich read the letter, after which, frowning, he at once read it a second time. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he reached for one of the ropes that hovered above his desk, and pulled it once. After another few seconds of thought, he reached for a second bell-rope and pulled it twice.
An instant later Fawnd was back in the room, to be joined almost at once by a small, middle-aged Teckla named Steward. Fawnd said, “Yes, Your Venerance?” while Steward contented herself with bowing her head and waiting.
“Is the messenger still here, Fawnd?”
“He awaits Your Venerance’s reply.”
“Very well, then.”
He turned to his desk, and taking up a good quill, black ink, and strong, bleached paper, dashed off a quick note, which we will reproduce in full:
My dear Pel, I have never known you to err in such a matter, and I hope I retain enough of a sense of duty to respond in the proper manner, and in good season, wherefore I shall call upon you as soon as I can manage. Apropos, if you will find some means of letting good Khaavren know, that will be so much the better. I will be bringing Tazendra along, because there are no arms as strong nor a heart as loyal, and I fear that we shall have both our strength and our loyalty put to the test in the months, weeks, or even days to come.
I remain, my old friend, your affectionate, Aerich
He sealed the letter, and handed it to Fawnd to deliver to the messenger, along with a small quantity of silver.
“Is that all, Venerance?”
“Not in the least,” said Aerich.
The servant waited patiently.
Aerich considered for a moment, then spoke in this fashion: “Fawnd,” he said, “be good enough to prepare for an expedition. Two horses, traveling and court dress, and my sword. Take ten imperials from the chest, most of it in silver. You will be coming along as my lackey.”
“Yes, Venerance.”
“Be ready to set out within the hour. You should, therefore, be dressed for traveling as well.”
“Yes, Venerance,” said Fawnd, with no change of expression. He bowed and set about his business.
“Steward, see to the residence. I cannot say how long I will be away, most probably some weeks.”
“Particular instructions, Venerance?”
“Yes. I shall give them to you now.”
“I am listening, Venerance.”
“Here they are, then: Inform Goodman Loch that I will see to his dispute on my return; he must understand that he will disoblige me by taking any action on the matter himself. The same, of course, applies to any representatives of Goodman Handsweight who should appear.”
“Very well, Venerance.”
“Be certain Smith finishes the hinges on the lower door.”
“I will not fail to do so.”
“If the Petrose Brook does not clean itself—that is, if there are insufficient rains—those who live along the Seeming Road may fish my pond—but only they, mind; not all of their friends and acquaintances throughout the county.”
“I understand, Venerance.”
“Speak to Warder about keeping an eye out for poachers in the back woods.”
“Yes, Venerance.”
“The Westering Road may be opened for transport from the mines, and the miners are welcome in any of the markets, but only in groups of six or fewer. Apropos, any hardship cases among my tenants may be sent with maize and beans to sell to the mines; you know the rates.”
“I do, Venerance.”
“The rent-list is here, in this drawer; have Warder collect the rents as they come due, unless I have returned; and he may keep a twentieth part for his trouble. He is, however, to take no action in the case of default—all such instances will await my return, or the arrival of heirs in the case of misfortune.”
“I will be certain he knows Your Venerance’s wishes.”
“Urgent matters may be forwarded to me in care of Sir Khaavren, whose address is in this box.”
“I know the box, Venerance, and I will find the address should it prove necessary.”
“Do you understand all of this, Steward?”
“Your Venerance may judge,” she said.
“Let us see, then.”
“The residence; Goodman Loch’s dispute to be delayed, he to do nothing; Smith to see to the hinges; those on Seeming Road may fish the pond; Warder to watch for poachers; Westering Road for transport; miners to the market, but no more than six at once; hardship cases may sell maize and beans at the mines, Warder to collect the rents for a twentieth part; Sir Khaavren’s address in the box.”
“That is it.”
“I hope I may be permitted to wish Your Venerance a prosperous and not unpleasant journey.”
Aerich nodded; then, on a sudden idea coming to him, said, “Bide.”
While Steward waited, Aerich turned back to his desk, and once more set quill to paper, writing a short note to which we will give the same courtesy that we gave his earlier literary endeavor:
My dear Baroness, [said the note] I believe our old friends to be in some danger. We must, therefore, depart at once for the City. Pray
make ready for a journey of some duration, which will commence upon my arrival at your door, where I hope to be not more than an hour after this message. Please have four horses ready, two of them equipped for you and a servant. Your Affectionate friend, Aerich
He read the note over once to be certain he had said everything that was required, then gently poured sand over it, making certain it wouldn’t smear, after which he folded, sealed, and handed it to Steward. “For the Baroness Daavya, to be delivered at once,” he said.
Steward bowed, took the letter, and left without delay—she had served Aerich long enough to understand that he would not thank her for standing on courtesy when he was in a hurry.
These matters attended to, then, Aerich repaired to his dressing room, where Fawnd assisted him into his traveling clothes, which consisted of his brown skirt and a loose-fitting but well-cut red shirt, over the sleeves of which he slipped his copper vambraces. Fawnd then clipped onto Aerich’s belt the sword Aerich had purchased so long ago, upon the occasion of his joining the Imperial Guard, and opposite it hung a simple poniard. Fawnd had, by this time, dressed himself in dark garments suitable for the rigors of travel, with the Lyorn crest over the breast of his jerkin; he gave an appearance, to be sure, somewhat at odds with his demeanor—almost comical, in such informal apparel—but if Aerich noticed this he gave no sign of it.
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