The Phoenix Guards (19 page)
Read The Phoenix Guards Online
Authors: Steven Brust
It was not long, then, before Khaavren judged that Uttrik had fallen well into the complex pattern, and abruptly left it. The Dragonlord, at this time, had been making an attack for Khaavren’s left flank, which his last parry had left open. Khaavren, however, twisted slightly to his right, with which same motion he struck down with the flat of his blade upon Uttrik’s sword arm, and felt his own weapon shudder from the contact. Khaavren resumed his defensive posture in time to parry an attack from the other’s dagger, but no such attack was forthcoming, as Uttrik groaned and stepped back, his sword falling from the numbed hand.
At this time Khaavren took a step in, deflected the dagger that the Dragonlord raised in feeble defense, and put the point of his sword against Uttrik’s throat. “Well, my lord,” said he, speaking in an even tone to show that the contest had not exhausted him. “Now, if you would be so good as tell me why you have attacked me, well, perhaps I will spare your life.”
“Fie,” said the other. “You still pretend ignorance then?”
“I assure you, my lord, I am entirely mystified.”
“But then, my name means nothing to you?”
“Does that astonish you?”
“Nearly.”
“Well?”
“And yet, if I were to say that I am the eldest son of the late Lord of Pepperfield, what then?”
“Ah,” said Khaavren. “Then that is different.”
“You know me, then?”
“That is to say, I’ve heard of your father, and am aware of his unfortunate death.”
“Well, and does this explain my enmity for you?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“What? You still claim that you have no notion of the cause of my hatred for you?”
“None at all, my lord.”
“My lord, I am astounded.”
“Well?”
“If you wish, I will tell you.”
“Shards! I think I have been asking for nothing else for an hour.”
“Well, two words will explain all.”
“I await you.”
“But first, if you please, remove the point of your sword from my throat, where it hampers my elocution. I am fully aware that you have won our contest, and my life now belongs to you; and I assure you that if, after I have answered your question, you still wish to kill me, well, I will not resist.”
Khaavren nodded and lowered his sword. At the same time he spoke to his friends, saying, “Before we terminate our play we are going to have some speech together. Exercise patience, then, for I think it will be worth our while.”
His friends bowed their assent, while the crowd, impatient for a conclusion to the duel, muttered unhappily. Khaavren turned back to Uttrik and said, “Come then, speak, for I must admit that you have excited my curiosity. I fully expect you will say things that will cause me to reflect, and perhaps even to wonder.”
“Oh, as to that, it is not improbable.”
“Begin then.”
“Well, my argument, then, is this: the Baroness of Kaluma, that is, Kathana e’Marish’Chala, murdered my father.”
“Well, of this I am aware.”
“You are aware of this?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“And yet you do not know my quarrel with you?”
“My lord, it is now twenty times that I have repeated it.”
“But I say that it is impossible.”
“My lord, I don’t know the custom in the House of the Dragon, but among the Tiassa, well, we consider that when we are at a man’s mercy is not the time to give him the lie.”
“Your pardon, good Khaavren. You are right. I render my deepest apologies.”
“But then, you perceive, you still have not answered my question.”
“Well, I will tell you then. If the Baroness Kaluma murdered my father, and you wish to save her—”
“Stop.”
“Eh?”
“I believe you have pronounced the words, ‘wish to save her.’”
“And if I did?”
“But, why do you think we wish to save her?”
“Well, don’t you?”
“Oh, as to that, I don’t even know myself.”
“How, don’t know?”
“My lord, it is not for you to question me; do you agree?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then tell me how it was that you thought I intended to assist the Baroness of Kaluma.”
“Why, in the simplest possible manner.”
“That being?”
“I was told.”
“You were told?”
“Exactly.”
“What were you told?”
“That to-day or to-morrow there would be a gentleman named Khaavren, of the House of the Tiassa, in the uniform of the Red Boot Battalion, and that this gentleman intended to assist my enemy in escaping from justice.”
“Well, your information, if wrong, is not the less complete for that.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“But then, who told you this?”
“Why, I hardly know.”
“How, you don’t know?”
“I assure you, I never met the gentleman before.”
“But then, how did he explain himself?”
“Why, no explanation was necessary.”
“But then, an unknown man approached you and said, ‘I shan’t identify myself, yet such-and-such a man will be in this place at that time and do these things?’ My lord, it is not possible.”
“Well then, it did not happen that way.”
“Then, if you will be so good as to tell me in what way it happened, I will be very pleased.”
“Well, I will.”
“I assure you I shall consider myself to be in your debt if you do.”
“Here it is then: I was partaking of refreshment at an inn outside of the city, in the district of Longwater.”
“At what inn?”
“The sign of the small scarlet capon.”
“Very well.”
“And a gentleman sat down next to me.”
“Of what House was this gentleman?”
“Why, I assure you I have no idea.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, remembering Aerich’s remarks concerning Jhereg and Yendi, “what then? He sat down next to you.”
“Yes, and we became engaged in conversation.”
“On what subject?”
“On the death of my father. For you perceive that I had been in mourning, and consequently had touched no spirits, until that very day.”
“That is clear.”
“So the subject was fresh on my mind, and the wine was well placed before me.”
“I understand that.”
“Now this gentleman—”
“Whose House you are ignorant of.”
“Yes. He had heard of my father’s death, and expressed sympathy for me, which seemed well done.”
“It seems so. But then?”
“Why then, he related to me that he had heard that an attempt was being made to rescue Kaluma from the authorities, in whom, until that time, I had put my trust.”
“Yes, well?”
“I pressed him for details, and at last he relented.”
“He relented, you say?”
“Exactly.”
“And gave you my name?”
“Your name, good Khaavren, your description, and your mission.”
“Well, but he was misinformed.”
“So you say.”
“But then, with your life in my hands, why would I conceal my intentions from you?”
“That is true.”
At this time Khaavren was struck by one of those sudden thoughts to which Tiassa are, in some measure or another, subject; those flashes of inspiration which drive some to disaster and some to wild success. Khaavren, true to his ancestry, acted upon this thought at once, saying, “Well, I will release you from the terms of this duel, and furthermore, I invite you to accompany us.”
“Accompany you? But where are you going?”
“The Horse! We are going to find Kathana e’Marish’Chala!”
“But you said—”
“I did not say we were going to aid her.”
“But then, are you going to arrest her?”
“Oh, I don’t say that, either.”
“But then, when you find her what will you do?”
“The Gods! When we find her, well, we will reflect.”
In Which Uttrik, Being Interviewed, Is Found to be Satisfactory, and, In the course of a Meal, Aids Tazendra in Acquiring a Lackey
T
HE DISCUSSION ENDED HERE, AND Khaavren made a sign to the judge that the affair was at an end, whereupon Khaavren conducted Tazendra to where his friends awaited him. “This gentleman will be traveling with us,” he explained.
HE DISCUSSION ENDED HERE, AND Khaavren made a sign to the judge that the affair was at an end, whereupon Khaavren conducted Tazendra to where his friends awaited him. “This gentleman will be traveling with us,” he explained.
Aerich shrugged, Pel raised his eyebrows, but Tazendra said, “How, this gentleman?”
“None other.”
“He will travel with us?”
“Yes, you have guessed it.”
“He who, but a minute ago, tried to kill you?”
“Kill or wound, yes.”
“Do tell me why, good Khaavren.”
“Why, my dear Tazendra? Because I will have it so. Do you protest?”
“Well, no. But I—”
“Stop, then, before your lips produce some word or other that I have heard too often already.”
Tazendra then shrugged in her turn. “Very well, be it so.”
Uttrik bowed to them all, then went off to hold a conversation with Wyth. “Of what do you think they are speaking?” said Pel.
“Well, they are friends, and they are parting. No doubt that is the subject of the conversation. Or else they are communicating matters to be attended to while Uttrik is absent.”
“Or,” said Pel, “they are preparing something of a nature that they do not wish to disclose to us.”
“Well, that is possible.”
“And if it is true?”
“We shall be on our guard.”
“Very well.”
When Uttrik had bid farewell to Wyth and paid the judge, they mounted upon their horses and continued along the road. They had not, in fact, been traveling for more than an hour when Tazendra remarked to the world at large, or rather, to anyone who would listen, “It seems to me that Khaavren must be hungry.”
“Explain to me why you think so,” said Khaavren, “for I am most anxious to learn.”
“Why, because you have a fought a duel.”
“Well, and?”
“I have merely watched you fight, and yet I have gained sufficient hunger to go a fair way toward devouring every one of those sausages I perceive hanging in the window of the hostelry we see before us. You, then, having fought, rather than merely watching, must be even more hungry.”
“If I were to disclose my true thoughts,” said Khaavren, “well, I would admit that hunger would not be far from them at this moment.”
“Food,” said Pel reflectively, “would not hinder my enjoyment of the afternoon.”
Aerich gave a shrug which indicated that he, too, would enjoy eating. Uttrik simply nodded. So saying, they entered the hostelry, which was marked by a sign containing a picture of Beed’n, the Cavalier minstrel of the early Sixteenth Cycle, easily recognized by the peacock feathers he wore trailing down from his beret.
This is the second time we have entered that peculiar institution called the rural inn since we began our history, and since we were too busy the first time to describe it, and, moreover, as we will find ourselves in such a place more than once in the course of our journeys, we will permit ourselves now to say two words about it.
If, as the Thirty-third Marquis of Goi once remarked, there is always a rebellion in progress somewhere within the Empire, then there will always be hostels to serve as the breeding grounds of sedition. If, as K’verra e’Tenith said, there are always more bandits than there are forces to contend with them, then there will always be inns to give them a place to rest between robberies. If, as Zerika II said, there are always traveling procurators, tinkers, solicitors, and peddlers on the highways to pick up anything missed by rebels and bandits, than there will always be inns to provide them with a warm place to rest before resuming their trade.
In our own happy days, when we can look back upon rebellion with a shrug, search in vain for the highwaymen who made unarmed travel impractical, and pretend that the trade of procurator, tinker, solicitor or peddler is an honest one, the character of the inn has changed markedly, and, we are forced to admit, not always for the better. In those days, it is clear from all accounts, the floors were always swept free of dirt, the tables were polished morning and evening until they fairly glistened; the glasses of wine and ale were cold and full; the plates of food were hot and plentiful, and had, moreover, always the particular characteristics of the region; and the host, who never knew if he was about to meet a rebel, a highwayman, a tinker, or one who had the duty to confound the others, took pains to be polite to all and partial to none; assuming, of course, the patron was of gentle birth.
The layout was simpler, then, as well; usually confined to a large common room, one or more private rooms in back, and a few chambers to let on the upper story (it was a rare inn that boasted more than two stories). The benches, tables, and chairs were always simple, but built to last for a thousand years; in those ballads we hear so often which speak of brawls in which the ruffians are breaking furniture over each other, we may be sure that, in fact, a blow by a simple fireplace stool would have broken the skull of the unfortunate upon whom it was rendered without a single crack appearing on the bludgeoning instrument.
To such a place, then, our friends came and presented their horses to the stable-hands, and themselves to the hostelry, where, in a room empty save for a pair of merchants, they sat at a bench near a front window; thus being as far as possible from the cooking fire. This fire, we should say, had no purpose, the weather being still warm, but to serve the several spitted fowls, the two slabs of kethna-ribs, and the leg of mutton that were making the flames dance to the call of their dripping fat.
After the companions arranged themselves, they called first for the mutton, but, upon being told that it wanted yet two hours before it should be suitable, happily settled for two of the capons, which, along with warm poppy-seed bread, sourfruit, several kethna sausages, and a decanter of the local sweet red wine, made for a satisfactory repast.
At first the conversation was stilted; the addition of Uttrik had turned the convivial alliance into an uncomfortable association. But as they finished eating, that is, when they reached that point in the meal when it is necessary to speak in order to feed the hunger of the mind as capons will feed the hunger of the stomach, Khaavren said, “So, good Uttrik, you are from Pepperfield?”
“Well, yes.”
“And have lived there all your life?”
“Oh, not at all. I spent much of my life in Dragaera City, where I have been training for a career in arms.”
“But have you yet gone beyond training?”
“Only twice, Sir Khaavren.”
“Tell us, then, about those two occasions.”
“That is easily done,” he said. “Both of these were in the south-west, and came about shortly after my father’s death, which of necessity interrupted my period of mourning.”
“That is understandable,” said Tazendra. “But, tell us about these battles.”
“Well, to be precise—”
“Precision is always good,” put in Khaavren.
“—they took place in the duchy of Fautonswell.”
“Ah,” said Tazendra. “You then served, did you not, under the Duke of Twinoaks?”
“I had that honor.”
“Against Kliburr, and the Carriage House Uprising?”
“So it has been called.”
“Twinoaks is an able general, by all accounts.”
“Well, I can testify to that. My first battle was a skirmish, when we were sent against a small cavalry unit to teach them to respect the supply lines that connected us with Lynch.”
“Well,” said Tazendra, who was becoming interested. “Did you teach them?”
“Nearly. They were coming out of the hills in an ambuscade when—”
“How many?” said Tazendra.
“Of them? Only thirty or forty.”
“And you?”
“Thirty-two plus our officer, Lady Duraal.”
“Well, and then?”
“Then we engaged them from the side, coming on them out of a grove of elms such as are found in abundance in that area. We left five of them dead, captured twice that number, and drove the rest away.”
“And did you then give chase?”
“We were not permitted to do so.”
“Well, and your casualties?”
“We were fortunate enough not to have had any.”
“Well,” said Tazendra nodding, “that was not bad work. And you yourself?”
“Oh, I engaged my man. He had not the skill of Sir Khaavren, I am happy to say. And, moreover, I have some knowledge of fighting on horseback. I had the honor to set my sword against the spear of an enemy, and I was able to give him a good cut on the arm and another on his leg, which convinced him to leave off the battle and retreat.”
“And that was well done, I think,” said Khaavren.
Uttrik bowed.
“But then,” said Tazendra, “you spoke of two battles, I think?”
“The second was the Battle of Fautonswell itself.”
“Ah,” said the Dzurlord. “My cousin, Tynn, was wounded in that one. Not, however,” she added, “before accounting for ten or twelve of the enemy.”
“Well, it was a warm affair. They charged first, and our officer, Duraal, went down. That is, her horse was killed, and she was speared while she tried to recover.”
“Was she killed?”
“She was mortally wounded, and died before the battle ended, but not before arranging our skirmish-line and reorganizing our force in preparation for the general’s charge, and even, wounded though she was, leading our lines into the battle on the horse of an enemy swordsman she had brought down.”
“Oh, that was well done.”
“Those were my thoughts.”
“And you,” said Khaavren. “What was your role?”
“I played my part, I assure you. The General ordered our battalion to force the enemy back toward the hill, where his lancers were stationed, and, in doing so, I had the honor to bring three of the enemy to the earth; one with a flash-stone and two with my blade.”
“Come, that’s not bad,” said Tazendra.
“Well, it was pretty hot, but we fought mercenaries, which gave us the advantage.”
“That is true,” put in Aerich. “They fought for pay, but you fought for the Empire.”
“That is it exactly,” said Uttrik. “And for the honor of our General, in whom we all took great pride. A gentleman always fights better when he is with cause, for then he is not afraid of what he will meet when he passes over Deathgate Falls.”
“That is full of justice,” said Aerich, who then murmured, “I think I shall end by liking this gentleman.”
Pel, who overheard him, gave the sort of peculiar half-smile which was part of his nature and said softly, “I agree with you, my friend, but I say nothing on the matter of trust.”
Aerich shrugged once more, and exactly as he did so, there came a cry from near the door, which sound was followed by the peculiar sound of a large sheet of thick oiled paper torn asunder. Khaavren and Tazendra were on their feet at once, looking toward the noise; Uttrik, who was facing that way, merely pushed his chair back and let his hand stray to his sword hilt; Aerich and Pel contented themselves with looking up.
The source of the cry and the cause of the sound were at once apparent, in the form of a small man in the colors of the House of the Teckla, who, contrary to the custom prevailing at all times in all public houses, had been thrown through the window into the inn, where he lay on his back, endeavoring to rise in spite of a certain confusion that appeared to have afflicted his brain, due, no doubt, to the effects of his means of arrival.
He was followed at once by several—Khaavren counted eleven—burly-looking men of no discernible House, save that ill-defined “House” that makes up those who are born neither to serve nor to be served, neither to make nor to sell: in other words, common riff-raff of the highways. In one of them, it is true, the sleek, pale countenance of the Orca could be discerned, but he wore no insignia, and thus could not claim the title of gentleman.
These ruffians, then, entered the house by the door, and at once found the Teckla who had come flying through the window, with, presumably, their help. They picked him up, then, and two of them held him while a third, holding a stick of good weight, prepared to lay it
upon the unfortunate. Khaavren, on seeing this, frowned; Aerich shrugged as if, since none of them were gentlemen, it was none of his affair; Pel settled himself back with a look of idle curiosity, but Tazendra, who had already risen, cleared her throat significantly, while Uttrik stood and took a position next to her.
upon the unfortunate. Khaavren, on seeing this, frowned; Aerich shrugged as if, since none of them were gentlemen, it was none of his affair; Pel settled himself back with a look of idle curiosity, but Tazendra, who had already risen, cleared her throat significantly, while Uttrik stood and took a position next to her.
While the sound of the Dzurlord’s throat-clearing might have communicated a certain menace, in this case it failed in its object, as the sounds made by the scuffling necessary to keep the Teckla from falling over effectively blocked out any noises softer than speech. Observing this, Tazendra took the necessary action; that is, she spoke. “Excuse me, my friends.”
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