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Authors: Steven Brust

Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (17 page)

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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“And yet?” prompted Adron.
“I can see no reason to forge the second note,” said Khaavren. “And, as to the first—”
“Well? As to the first?”
“It would seem an effective way to keep Your Highness from attending the dedication ceremony.”
“Shards and splinters,” said Adron. “That is true. But why should anyone wish to keep me away from the ceremony?”
Khaavren shook his head and confessed himself at a loss. “Will you, then, attend after all?” he asked.
“No,” said Adron, frowning. “I have already made my excuses, and, furthermore, there is scarcely time.”
“Then what shall you do?”
“I mislike mysteries,” said Adron, in a thoughtful voice. “And shall take it upon myself to solve this one. Who can have done this, and why?”
“Why indeed?” said Khaavren quietly.
“I have,” said Adron, “every intention of finding out. Wherefore, if you will excuse me—”
Khaavren rose to his feet at once, and bowed deeply. “Of course. I thank Your Highness for receiving me, and for such pleasant conversation.”
“It is nothing, nothing,” said Adron, who seemed to be so taken up by the puzzle that Khaavren had been dismissed from his thoughts even before being dismissed from his presence.
Khaavren, realizing this, made his way out of the tent, and found his horse, which had been fed, watered, and even groomed during the time he had been visiting the Dragonlord. He saw to saddling the animal, and made his way back toward the Palace, saying to himself, “Ah, Pel, Pel! What are you doing now? And why? I will find out, if not in one way, then certainly in another!”
Which Treats of Khaavren’s Meeting
With Aerich and Tazendra,
Who Arrive in Dragaera
After a Journey in Which
They Make Very Good Time
.
 
 
 
K
HAAVREN CONSIDERED VISITING THE DEDICATION ceremony, but his route did not take him that way, and, moreover, he nourished a lingering fear that he had made a mistake about Pel’s handwriting, and that the second letter was the forgery, and that therefore the poet Adron had named would, in fact, appear, wherefore Khaavren returned directly to the Palace. He left his horse in the hands of the same groom who had brought it to him and who had, apparently, been standing in the same spot the entire time awaiting Khaavren’s return. The Captain left the reins and a silver orb in the groom’s hand, both of which the Teckla accepted as natural, after which Khaavren adjourned to his quarters, stopping only to upbraid, with two carefully chosen words, one of the guards who stood at the entrance to the wing and whose attitude was more cursory than seemed appropriate to the Captain.
Upon entering, he was saluted by those in attendance; he acknowledged with a nod, and said, “Any word of Sethra or Aliera?”
“None, Captain,” he was told.
He studied the log and found that nothing outside of the routine had happened, after which he ate a piece of bread with cheese and smoked kethna from the larder, then repaired to His Majesty’s side (His Majesty was, at this time, just sitting down to supper with the Consort), relieved Thack, and resumed his duty.
“Well, my dear Captain,” said His Majesty, who was, it seemed, in the mood for conversation. “I hope your day was fruitful.”
Khaavren stepped up to His Majesty’s elbow and bowed, first to His Majesty then to the Consort, after which he said, “Sire, I cannot say that it was.
“Oh?”
“Certain matters of security, Sire, led me to some investigations.”
“Investigations?”
“Yes, Sire. Investigations that have proven my worries to be ill-founded.”
“Well, Captain, I should rather you investigate when it is not necessary than fail to do so when it is.”
“Thank you, Sire. That has always been my policy; I am pleased to find that it is agreeable to Your Majesty.” He bowed and waited, sensing that His Majesty had yet more to say. Her Majesty seemed oblivious to the discussion, and concentrated all of her attention on a plate of sliced peaches, grapes, and rednuts that had been covered with a decoction of white wine and cinnamon mixed with sugar and sweet cream, all surrounded by tiny blocks of ice carved into the shape of trees. Khaavren, after noting it, turned his eyes firmly away, feeling uncomfortably like the family dog salivating at the bone on his master’s plate.
Presently, the Emperor turned to him and said, “I wish that a discreet watch should be kept on the movements of the Duke of Eastmanswatch.”
“Of course, Sire,” said Khaavren, pretending surprise at the question.
“How, of course? You mean, you have already done so?”
“Why, yes, Sire, and the proof is that I can inform you of his activities, nearly minute by minute, from when he left the Palace.”
His Majesty lifted his eyes from his plate to the Consort, who, although she attended carefully to her food, seemed ill-at-ease; Khaavren knew that she preferred matters of state to remain off of the supper-table, where they would, in all probability, clash with the decor and conflict with the comestibles. Nevertheless, the Emperor said, “Tell me briefly, then.”
“Sire, he has returned to camp and remained there. Moreover, he has canceled a planned appearance at the Dedication of the Pavilion of Kieron.”
“Canceled, you say?”
“Yes, Sire. A forged note is the cause of the cancellation; I am still searching for the agent of the note.”
“I see. And he now remains at his camp?”
“Yes, Sire. Where there is a moderate guard, good discipline, and only the most minimal of training, consisting of post, dismount, and rolling attack drills.”
“Rolling attack?”
“Exactly.”
“I am unfamiliar with this term.”
“Shall I explain it?”
“I would be pleased if you would do so.”
“Then I shall.”
“I await you.” His Majesty assumed an attitude of great concentration.
“Sire, the troops are worked in companies of forty horsemen, who ride sometimes in ten files of four, sometimes in eight files of five, sometimes in other arrangements. At a word of command from the officer in charge, the soldiers dismount and cause their horses to lie down and form lines, either two or three deep, with one or two meters separating the lines and perhaps one meter separating the horses. The soldiers then draw sword and assume guard positions behind their horses. Then, at another word, they cause their horses to rise, after which they—that is, the soldiers—mount, ride, reform lines, and charge—all of which actions are accomplished in amazingly short length of time, and are, moreover, executed with great precision.”
“Well, I understand,” said His Majesty. “I perceive that you have, indeed, been keeping a close watch.”
Khaavren bowed. “And yet, Sire, I have a question, if Your Majesty will deign to permit one.”
“Very well, ask.”
“Did Your Majesty request that His Highness arrive with his battalion? For, if not, I confess that I am confused about why he should have arrived with them—they are, Your Majesty may perceive, a more formidable honor guard than one might expect of a Prince.”
“Ah, ah. Yes, Captain, I ought to have told you, but I did make this request some months ago, when it appeared that the citizens were becoming unruly, and it appeared, moreover, that the army might be needed in the Holdfree Mines to the north.”
“I remember the time, Sire.”
“Well, is your question answered, then?”
“Entirely.”
“Then, if you are willing, answer one for me.”
“If I can at all do so, Sire, I shall, and without delay.”
“This is it, then: Does this cancellation of His Highness’s appearance at the Pavilion of Kieron seem at all odd to you, Captain?”
“It does, Sire. More than odd, it seems strange.”
“Then you wish to learn the reason for it?”
“Very much, Sire.”
“Well, so do I.”
“Then I will address myself to the issue.”
“How?”
“How? With Your Majesty’s permission, I will attend the event myself, or, at least, the end of it, and see with my own eyes if there is any unusual occurrence. If there is none, I shall attempt to discover who forged the letter to His Highness, which will perhaps tell us who stands to benefit from His Highness’s absence at the ceremony.”
“Very good, Captain.”
“Then, if I may retire—”
“You may.”
“Until to-morrow, Sire.”
“Until to-morrow, Captain.”
Khaavren left at once, hastening to be out the room before he could overhear whatever remarks the Consort might choose to let fall before His Majesty in payment for the interruption of her supper. In fact, his exit was quick enough to miss Her Majesty’s remarks, which included observations on the specific heat of ice, the nature of time, and other aspects of the physical world.
The Captain, though he had never given thought to the specific heat of ice, was well aware of the nature of time, and so wasted none of it while retracing his steps and calling for a horse, which was duly delivered. We should acknowledge, here, that we have, in fact, said little about the characteristics of the horses which have paraded across our pages. This is because Khaavren, though a good judge of horses (as every soldier who spends time on horseback must, to one degree or another, become), considered them nothing more than a means of transport, and gave no thought, except on the rarest of occasions, to any of the purely aesthetic aspects of the beasts. And, in fact, although Romances are often filled with long, loving descriptions of horses, it is the fact that to most of those who used these noble animals every day, transportation is exactly how they were considered; these literary descriptions usually represent nothing more than the desire of an author to extend, by a page or two, the length of his narrative. We wish to assure our readers that at no time will we indulge in this or any similar activity, and, moreover, if at any time we do stop our narrative to speak of the particulars of this or that horse, if it had a particularly fine gait, or held its head unusually high, or had the thin ankles that indicate speed or the proud chest that speaks of great strength, it will be for no other reason than that our history absolutely requires it.
This said, we will find Khaavren making his way at a good pace through the crowded streets near the Palace and the less crowded streets of the Hill District, where the newly begun Pavilion of Kieron was to be located. He was forced to slow down once he reached the Street of Ropes because of the traffic—foot, horse, and carriage—that began to come his way. He observed the colors of the House of the Dragon on several passersby, and concluded that he had, indeed, missed the ceremony. He wondered also at the lack of the parade which, he had been told, would begin at the end of the ceremony, and speculated whether the parade had been canceled when Adron had failed to appear. Khaavren determined, nevertheless, to continue on his route, hoping to learn something from those who, no doubt, still loitered at the site.
Khaavren was, to be sure, surprised at the size of the crowd, and wondered uncomfortably if he had dispatched enough guardsmen to manage it, although, in point of fact, there was no visible disorder. He looked around for gold cloaks, and was pleased to see two or three who seemed to be carrying out their tasks in a manner thoroughly professional. At length they saw him and saluted; he returned the salute and indicated by a gesture that they should continue their duty—which they did, though with perhaps a touch more alacrity, now that they were under the eye of their Captain. There were also, we should add, some number of police-men, who saluted Khaavren with the respect due an officer of a kindred corps.
With the subtlest of pressure from his knees—for he was a horseman of no small skill and had, moreover, arranged for the training of the horses—Khaavren directed his mount to bring him through the crowd, made of up Teckla who parted before him like water, bourgeois who parted before him like oil, and nobles who parted before him like sand or pebbles according to the rank, House, and disposition of the aristocrat in question. A widening in the street told him that he was approaching the market before the pavilion—an opening like the mouth of a river before the ocean of leveled dirt where the lofty pavilion was destined to be erected. Amid a mass of humanity like drops of water in this sea was the wooden platform upon which the speakers had stood, and which now served as a gathering place for those who chose to depart by carriage. The tide, Khaavren observed, appeared to be ebbing; the area in front of the platform cleared as more and more of those who had assembled for the ceremony made their way down one of the three streets that came together in the wide circle which had been prepared for the construction due to begin on the very next day. Here and there he caught the flash of a gold cloak, which assured him that his orders had not been neglected.
He looked at the platform, lit by a number of torches against the onset of night, where some number of nobles, most of them Dragonlords, engaged in casual conversation, but he did not spot Adron. He signaled for one of the guardsmen to approach, and, dismounting, gave his horse into the care of this worthy. His plan was to make his way on foot to the platform with the intention of asking if any unusual incident had marred the presentation, and, moreover, if the poet Calvor had, in fact, appeared.
The astute reader will deduce from our careful use of the phrases
his plan was
and
with the intention
that, in fact, something unexpected disrupted both plan and intention, so that what next occurred was both surprising to Khaavren and important to our narrative (for the reader is by now aware that, were Khaavren’s journey to the site of the Pavilion unimportant, it would have been summarily omitted from our history); any such deductions on the part of the reader are correct, as we are about to have the honor to demonstrate.
Khaavren had made his way through most of the crowd, and was only a step or two from the platform, which stood at about the height of his head, when his eye caught a sudden motion behind him and to his right, originating, it seemed, from under the platform itself. With the instincts and reactions acquired in five hundred years of training and battle, Khaavren moved sideways while turning and reaching for his weapon, yet he was keenly aware that he had been taken by surprise, and was certainly too late should the motion represent a treacherous attack—which, we hasten to add, is exactly what it represented.
From the corner of his eye he noticed what has so often been called “the glint of steel” that we dislike making use of the phrase, yet it is so descriptive of the phenomenon that we hesitate to forsake it. The realization that he was under attack and that, moreover, he had been caught sufficiently off guard as to be, in effect, helpless, occasioned in Khaavren neither fear nor anger, but, rather, annoyance directed against himself for having allowed the situation to occur.
BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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