The Phoenix Guards (18 page)

Read The Phoenix Guards Online

Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: The Phoenix Guards
5.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“My dear Pel,” said Tazendra, “is that you?”
“It is,” said the Cavalier.
“But,” said Tazendra, “where have you been that you have required that large cloak and the hat which so effectually hides your features?”
“Does it?” said Pel, mildly. “I was merely trying it out. Such hats are all the rage now in certain quarters.”
“What quarters are those?” pressed Tazendra.
“Oh, why certain—”
“Come now,” said Khaavren, rescuing the embarrassed Yendi. “We are reckoning what we will need for the journey.”
“Money, first of all,” said Pel.
“That is taken care of.”
“Ah! That is good, for I confess that I am in rather poor straits just at present.”
“Well then, we will get the money that is due us according to this note, and we will divide it equally.”
“Ah, we have a note then?”
“I think so. From the Captain.”
“Good.”
“You are not surprised?”
“He said such a thing was possible. What else?”
“Tazendra will make flash-stones for us.”
“Good. What else?”
“Aerich is supplying the map.”
“Ah. Yes, a map. Well?”
“Bandages, an axe, warm cloaks.”
“And?”
“Bread and cheese.”
“Is there more?”
“No, that is all.”
“Excellent. And when are we to leave?”
“To-morrow, at the first light.”
“Then I will rest until then. Good night, my friends.”
They all bid Pel a good night, and then, seeing the wisdom of his remarks, each retired once more to his own chamber to sleep, excepting only Tazendra, who retired to her chambers, it is true, but only to work to prepare the last flash-stone. To her credit, we must say that she spent a good many hours—six, in fact—poring over a common piece of rock, first smoothing it, then bathing it in the products of her small alembic, then using a fine stylus to carve the proper symbols upon it, and at last making arcane passes over it while chanting a few words in the language of the Serioli, of which she had at least memorized what she needed to know.
To summarize, then, she completed her work and at last put herself to bed to procure a few hours of sleep before the early morning departure.
In Which it is Shown That Some Reflect, While Others Wonder, But Many do Both at Once
T
HE NEXT MORNING, AFTER A hasty breakfast, they stopped by the Dragon treasury to draw upon the note given them by Captain G’aereth. They received, as promised, three hundred orbs, half given in gold Imperials, the rest in silver and copper. They divided it on the spot, then went and borrowed horses and a pack animal from the stables of the Guard, as well as borrowing saddles and outfits. Then Tazendra distributed the flash-stones, and they set out, passing down the streets in two ranks, with Khaavren and Aerich in the lead, Pel and Tazendra behind them.
The mist which graced the summer mornings of Dragaera City had not yet dissolved when our friends passed out by the Gate of the Flags, outside of which they stopped to splash their faces in the Foaming Pool, each leaving a few pennies in the water to bring them luck on their journey. A few drops of rain sprinkled them as they left the pool, which Tazendra claimed was a good omen. Khaavren was inclined to agree, Aerich shrugged, and Pel didn’t notice, being deeply involved in thinking his own thoughts.
Since they were not in a hurry, they made traveling easy on themselves and their horses, riding, now that the road was wider than the narrow streets of the city, four abreast, so they could easily converse as they traveled, which they did after the fashion to which they had accustomed themselves in other surroundings.
They had been traveling and conversing in this manner for two or three hours when Khaavren said, “My good Tazendra, it seems to me that you are unusually silent.”
“Well, I am,” she said.
“Then tell me, for I am curious, what accounts for this uncharacteristic quietude?”
“I reflect,” pronounced Tazendra.
“Ah! You reflect. Pel, Tazendra has been reflecting.”
“That is right,” said Pel. “And well she should.”
“And yet,” said Khaavren, addressing himself once more to the Dzurlord, “I should like to learn upon what you reflect.”
“Just this,” said Tazendra. “We are leaving the city.”
“The Horse!” said Khaavren. “I think we are.”
“I was wondering—”
“But you just said you were reflecting.”
“Oh, I was, I assure you. Only—”
“Yes?”
“My reflections transformed themselves into wonderings.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, “mine have been known to do the same.”
“It has happened to me,” admitted Pel.
“I never wonder,” said Aerich.
“But then,” resumed Khaavren, “you say your reflections gave over to wonderings on some subject about which you had questions.”
“Yes,” said Tazendra, “you have hit it exactly.”
“And what did you wonder?”
“Just this: we are leaving the city—”
“You had already reached the point while you were merely reflecting.”
“Yes,” said Tazendra determinedly. “And I began to wonder what we were leaving the city to do.”
“But surely you heard that it was with the intention of finding Kathana e’Marish’Chala?”
“Well, yes, I did hear that.”
“And then?”
“But I wonder
why
we are finding her.”
“Oh, as to that … .”
“Yes?”
“Well, we are either going to arrest her or to save her from being arrested.”
“But, my dear Khaavren, there is a difference, is there not?”
“What? A difference between causing her to be arrested and causing her to escape arrest? Barlen! I think so!”
“Well, but then, which is it to be?”
“I haven’t the least idea in the world,” said Khaavren. “We have determined, have we not, that it would be a great blow to Lanmarea if she were to be arrested?”
“That is true.”
“Therefore, you perceive, we ought to arrest her.”
“But then—”
“Ah, but I have been asked to save her, and that by someone who, well—” Khaavren colored slightly but continued, “—someone I think it good to listen to.”
“But then, when we find her, what shall we do?”
“Do? We shall do what you have been doing since we left the city.”
“We shall reflect?”
“Exactly. And, if that is not sufficient, then we shall proceed to wonder.”
“To wonder,” put in Pel, “is not bad, as it makes the time go quickly. But to reflect, now, reflecting is more difficult. Taro the Wise once said, ‘A
minute spent gathering wheat is worth a day spent sifting flour.”
“Yes,” said Tazendra. “Only, what does he mean?”
“Ah, you would know that?”
“Well, I would.”
“Then I bid you reflect.”
“Oh,” said Aerich, in a singular tone.
Khaavren turned to him and said, “Excuse me, but do you see something?”
“I do,” said Aerich. “Directly ahead of us on the road there seem to be three persons who are neither wondering nor reflecting, but rather, waiting.”
“So it would seem, good Aerich. Could they be waiting for us?”
“It is possible,” said Aerich laconically.
“At any rate,” said Khaavren, “they are watching us closely.”
“Well,” said Tazendra, touching the hilt of the greatsword slung over her back. “It is all the same to me if they are waiting for us or for another, if they refuse to clear the road so we may pass. You perceive, the grass is wet, and I should dislike to have my poor horse get his feet wet, for it will make him unsteady. Therefore, if they do not get out of the road, well, I shall charge them.”
“But then,” said Pel, “shall we not stop and speak with them first? It would be polite.”
“I think we should charge them,” said Tazendra, who, we must add, had not had a fight in some time.
“Bah!” said Aerich. “Charge them? Without speaking first?” Then he addressed the two gentlemen and the lady before them, saying, “I give you good day. You seem to be blocking our path.”
One of them, a slight young Dragonlord with large eyes who was dressed in sufficient ruffles and lace to have made a dance-party for the court, said, “I beg your pardon. Grant me two words, and we will step aside and allow you to pass.”
“Well, that’s fair enough,” said Aerich. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Uttrik e’Lanya, of the North Pinewood Hold.”
“Well, I am called Aerich.”
“I perceive that one among you is a Tiassa.”
“Well?”
“Is he called Khaavren of Castlerock?”
“I am,” said Khaavren, speaking in his turn. “You seem to know my name, and yet, I confess, your name has never sounded in my ears.”
“That is impossible.”
“Do you give me the lie, my lord?” said Khaavren. “I assure you that I have never heard your name pronounced before this moment.”
“You may persist in saying that if you wish.”
“I more than say it; I assert it.”
“Nevertheless, I wish to exchange thoughts with you.”
“Upon what subject?”
“First, allow me present my friend, Sir Wyth.” Here he indicated a wide shouldered Dzurlord mounted upon a piebald gelding. “And this,” he indicated the lady upon his other side, who was seated upon grey charger, “Is Cohra of Lastchance, of the House of the Hawk, who is here as an Imperial representative. You have a friend, my dear Khaavren, and I am willing to accept your other friends as witnesses.”
Khaavren frowned. “You wish to play, then?”
“Exactly.”
“And for what reason?”
“Reason? How, you pretend you don’t know?”
“I assure you, my lord, I am entirely ignorant of how I may have offended you.”
“Hunh,” said Uttrik. And, apparently having done with speaking, he turned toward the gentleman called Wyth, who bowed to Khaavren and said, “Is this Lyorn gentleman your friend?”
Khaavren looked at Aerich, who shrugged. “He is,” said Khaavren.
“Well then,” said the Dzurlord, “we wish to propose a contest to be held here and now, with no healer present, with the game to continue until one of the players is dead.”
“Dead!” murmured Khaavren. “The Horse! I seem to have offended this Dragonling.”
Aerich turned to Khaavren and said, “Do you accept?”
“Well, yes,” said Khaavren.
“Very well,” said Aerich to Wyth, who bowed and spoke to the lady, who said to Tazendra and Pel, “Will you witness?”
“We will,” they said, at which time everyone concerned dismounted. The Hawklord bowed to them all and indicated a space on the side of the road. When both seconds had agreed, she drew the circle with, Khaavren noted, the point of her dagger.
“Have a care, Khaavren,” said Pel. “The grass is wet.”
“Well, and is it not equally wet for him and for me?”
“Nevertheless, have a care.”
“I have more than a care,” said Khaavren. “I have a fine piece of skin which is wrapped around all of those charming organs that allow my breath to flow, my blood to pump, and my mind to think. I will, therefore, do my utmost to see that my epidermis finishes this conflict in the same condition in which it began it.”
“That is right,” said Pel.
As Khaavren watched, Aerich, who stood next to him on the other side, said, “This is absurd. Do you know him?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“And you have no guess what his quarrel with you is?”
“None.”
“And yet he asked for you by name.”
“But he did not recognize me. You perceive, then, that he has been set upon me.”
“Well, but he isn’t an assassin.”
“That’s clear enough.”
Tazendra, who had been watching the one called Uttrik as he removed his doublet, drew his sword, and began taking practice thrusts with it, said, “Good Khaavren.”
“Well?”
“I do not think this gentleman will give you much sport.”
“You think not?”
“Well, you perceive how, in practicing, he strikes only at the air.”
“That is not unusual, when preparing for a contest.”
“No, and yet he seems to miss with every third stroke.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And, furthermore, you will note how stiff his back leg is, and, still, how far apart his legs are when he advances.”
“Perhaps,” said Aerich, “he seeks to mislead you.”
“Bah! If he needs to resort to such tricks as that, you’ll have little enough trouble with him.”
Khaavren, for his part, agreed with the flaws Tazendra had seen, but also noticed that the Dragonlord’s sword arm was very fast, and that he could change the directions of his cut with, seemingly, very little effort. He was, therefore, inclined to be prudent, as he was in all things in which his life was concerned.
“Come, then,” said the Hawklord to Aerich. “Are you ready?”
Aerich looked at Khaavren, who nodded. “We are ready,” said the Lyorn coolly, and escorted Khaavren to his end of the circle, and assisted him in removing his cloak and belt. Khaavren then drew his sword, saluted the judge and his opponent, and placed himself on his guard.
They were still close enough to Dragaera that the road was in heavy use, so the incident had gathered a certain crowd, who began to place bets on the probable outcome. As the two pieces of steel touched, however, the betting ceased, as did the mutterings of the crowd—that particular type of conversation peculiar to horse-races, norska fights, and duels.
The Tiassa, still fatigued from the blow to his head the night before, began the contest in his usual cautious manner, attempting to determine what sort of man he was up against. In this case, all the flaws that Tazendra had noticed seemed true, but the Dragonlord was, in fact, very fast on his feet, and moreover had a strength of arm, and a heavier sword, which forced Khaavren to work harder than he liked to parry the many ferocious attacks that Uttrik directed at his body and head. He therefore maintained a defensive posture and guarded himself closely, using the “nine-point system of aggressive protection,” a product of the baroque school of the fence, which rendered his head and torso all but invulnerable while still crowding
the other and forcing him to respond to a complex pattern of nine sequential feints and attacks, a pattern which Khaavren hoped to break as soon as it was established.
While doing so, he also, as was his custom, studied the countenance of his opponent. He saw, then, a gentleman with a good set of features excepting only his eyes, which were too large. His eyebrows were well separated from each other over the bridge of the nose, a sure sign of an orderly mind; his forehead was well-creased, indicating a contemplative personality, and, moreover, Khaavren detected in his eyes that the twin forces of anger and frustration vied for control of his mood. Anger, Khaavren deduced, at himself for whatever real or imaginary offense had prompted the contest, and frustration over his inability to bypass the furious defense the Tiassa offered.

Other books

The Devil's Waters by David L. Robbins
Enduring Armageddon by Parker, Brian
Steel by Richard Matheson
Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan
Poached by Stuart Gibbs
Davita's Harp by Chaim Potok
Chased Dreams by Lacey Weatherford
Elyon by Ted Dekker