Authors: Steven Brust

The Phoenix Guards (34 page)

BOOK: The Phoenix Guards

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“Well,” said Khaavren, happy to be distracted by someone else’s misery, “you are looking mournful.”

“It is true, my lord.”

“But then, have you a reason for this look? Or is it due to the rain that is soaking us to the skin and making us fear our horses will slip on this treacherous mountain path and lead us to break our necks? Do you know, we had planned to bring oiled cloaks with us, we even counted on it, but somehow we forgot to bring them. It is a sad comment on the human condition
when even correct planning is of no benefit. Is it this that saddens you, good Mica? For, if so, I am in full agreement.”

“No, it is not that at all, my lord.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“You wish me to tell you?”

“I do.”

“Then I will.”

“Go on, then, I await you.”

“Well, this is it: I have been doing sums in head.”

“But then,” said Khaavren, “I have done sums in my head, and it never makes me sad; on the contrary, it sharpens my wits, which, in turn, increases my amusement with the world, and that makes the hours go by in a very pleasurable way.”

“I will try to follow your example, my lord.”

“You will be pleased with the results, Mica, I assure you.”

“But I have been doing more than sums, my lord; I have been making
projections.
”

“Ah,
projections
. Well, that is another matter entirely.”

“I am pleased that you think so, my lord.”

“Oh, I do indeed. Projections are far more serious matters than sums.”

“And moreover—”

“What, there is more?”

“There is, my lord, and, if you want to hear it, I shall tell you.”

“I should enjoy hearing it if for other reason than because the clipped tones of your accent tickle me; you speak so differently from the northern twang of the city or the lilt of my own country.”

“Well, my lord, it may be that the subject upon which you calculate sums is different from the subject upon which I make projections.”

“Well, that may be, Mica, because I had not known you were making projections on a particular subject.”

“I have been, my lord.”

“And what, then, is this famous subject?”

“It is soldiers, my lord.”

“How, soldiers?”

“Exactly. Attend: were you not, before I had the honor to meet you, attacked by one man?”

“Well, yes, I was, and the proof is, it was Uttrik, who now rides with us.”

“And then, at Beed’n’s Inn, were there not twelve brigands who attacked us?”

“Why, that is exactly the number, Mica.”

“And then, when we were leaving The Painted Sign, were we not set on by some thirty of the enemy?”

“That is to say, we set on them, but your numbers are correct.”

“Well, and, were there not at least a hundred of the enemy who were driven off by my lady’s stratagem?”

“This time, I think, you may be in error.”

“But at least, my lord, there were a good deal more than thirty.”

“With this I agree.”

“Well then, it is upon this subject that I have been making projections, toward the goal of determining how many enemies will face us next time.”

“I see. Well, and what have you determined, Mica?”

“That there will be many more of them than there are of us.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that you are correct.”

“An army, my lord. I fear they will bring an army.”

“It could happen, good Mica.”

“My lord, I know you are brave and strong, and my mistress fights like a dzur, and I perceive that Lord Aerich is very cool under fire, while the Cavalier Pel is both clever and fierce, and both Lord Uttrik and Lady Kathana are Dragons, and I, though a Teckla, can keep my head well enough when matters become hot and I have a bar-stool in my hand—”

“I know it well, good Mica, for I have seen it.”

“Thanks, my lord. And yet, well, an army, my lord?”

“What, then, you are afraid of dying?”

“Afraid? Oh, no, my lord, I beg you to believe that I wouldn’t dare to be afraid. But I am sad, because serving my lady has seemed to be such a fine thing for me, that I hate to see my life end at the very moment it has become sweet.”

Khaavren reached out his hand and patted Mica on the shoulder. “Take heart, good Mica,” he said. “All is not lost, and, who knows, but something may, as Aerich has suggested, occur that will save both of us—you from death, and me from something worse. Besides, you have only made a projection; perhaps they have given up and will make no more attempts.”

“Oh, do you believe it, my lord?”

“Cha! It is possible. And, in any case, I have no idea where they could find an army even if they desired to raise one.”

“I hope you’re right, my lord,” said Mica, but he shook his head as if to say, “I put no faith in it, however.”

Chapter the Twenty-eighth

In Which Both Stage And Players
are Put Into Position for The Conclusion
of Something Like a Tragedy

A
ND, IN FACT, MICA WAS not far wrong, for at that moment, some few leagues behind them a certain nobleman was causing his name to be announced to Lord Adron, and in his hand was piece of paper, a mere scrap, which, by the time it had finished its business, would have irrevocably altered the destinies of everyone with whom our history concerns itself.

The nobleman was admitted at once upon giving his name, and was led into the same room that we have already visited, where Lord Adron rose, bowed and studied him. “Good day to you, Count Shaltre,” he said.

“And to you, Your Highness,” said the Lyorn, bowing low out of deference to the Dragonlord’s rank, but not so low as he might have, since he came as a messenger from his Majesty.

Adron, who was able to interpret this bow, said, “You have something to convey to me?”

“I have that honor, Your Highness,” said Shaltre.

“Well, I await you.”

“Here it is, then: I require a thousand troops, with you to lead them, in order to capture certain fugitives.”

“Fugitives? That is to say, criminals?”

“I don’t say they are criminals, Your Highness, yet they must be taken or killed.”

“Well, and how many of these fugitives are there?”

“There are, at present, six.”

“How, six? You require a thousand men to capture six fugitives?”

“There are many miles of mountain to search, Your Highness.”

“Ah, you require a search, then. But I assure you, my lord, that a search can be far more effectively carried out by a few trackers than by a thousand soldiers.”

“It may require many soldiers to bring them home once the trackers have found them, Your Highness.”

“Then they are dangerous, my lord?”

“Exceedingly.”

“And their names?”

“I do not know all of their names, Your Highness. There is one called Khaavren, and another called Uttrik.”

“Those gentlemen?”

“None other.”

“They are fugitives?”

“Indeed they are, and even very much so.”

“Well, I know them. They have been my guests, and departed my home two days ago. I am afraid that by now they are far from here—too far for soldiers to catch them.”

“Not at all, Your Highness. We have reason to believe that they have taken the road to the Floating Bridge.”

“Well, but then?”

“They have, for reasons best known to themselves, taken a lengthy route; perhaps so they could keep their horses. If we leave within the hour, and you direct us through the high passes, we could in nine hours be where they are now.”

“You know the terrain very well, Count.”

“Your Highness is kind.”

“I’m sorry, then, but I must refuse.”

“How, refuse?”

“They have been my guests, and, moreover, they have with them one—”

“Whose name need not be mentioned, Your Highness. Not all of them need be taken or killed; that is why you must lead the troops yourself, to be certain no mistakes are made on this score.”

Adron frowned, trying to puzzle out the complex interrelations of policy and intrigue which had led to this particular Imperial request. At last, unable to guess, he said, “Nevertheless, as I have had the honor of telling you, I must refuse His Majesty in this case. If for no other reason, than because I was informed, while in the city, of a build-up of Easterners near the Pepperfields, and I must bring my troops there lest we be faced with an invasion.”

“Allow me to remind your Highness that you are not Marquis of Pepperfield.”

“Well, nor is anyone else. Yet I assure you that the Easterners will not delay any invasion they may have planned because His Majesty has delayed designating a Marquis for that estate.”

“It is, nevertheless, an Imperial matter at this time, and some may wonder at your determination to place your own forces there.”

“The Easterners, I assure you, will not wonder.”

“So you are determined to bring your forces to the Pepperfields, rather than to submit to His Majesty’s request?”

“Blood! I think so; I have killed two horses in order to return here for that purpose.”

“Yet, I declare the thing is impossible, Your Highness,” said Shaltre.

“How, impossible?”

“When His Majesty makes a request—”

“It is still a request; therefore, I may act upon it or not. While I am not anxious to offend His Majesty, nevertheless—”

“But if it were not a request, rather, if it were an order?”

“Well, that is another matter. Then, in my capacity as Duke of Eastmanswatch, a position which bears Imperial signets, I must obey.”

“Exactly.”

“Well?”

“Well, it is an order.”

“And yet, you explained that it was a request.”

“It was a request, Your Highness, until the moment you refused; it then became an order.”

Adron studied the Lyorn carefully. Then he said, “You have, I suppose, some proof of His Majesty’s will?”

“If your Highness would deign to read this paper?”

Adron’s frown deepened, but he took the paper that Shaltre presented him, and he read, “Lord Adron: By our will, you are to follow Shaltre’s instructions exactly in all matters regarding the capture of Khaavren of Castlerock and his companions.—Tortaalik.” Adron checked the seal and the signature, and fought to keep his face expressionless. Finally he bowed, because he did not trust himself to speak.

“Is it sufficiently clear, Your Highness?” said Shaltre.

After a moment to regain his composure, he said, “We will be ready to leave within the hour, my lord.”

“I will await Your Highness without.”

We will now return to our friends, who knew nothing of this interchange of ideas. By the time the daylight began to fail, they had reached a place within two leagues of the Pepperfields. Uttrik was for pressing on and finishing his affair with Kaluma that very night, but at last Khaavren convinced him to wait for full light, so that they settled in for one last rest before the morning, at which time they expected to resolve the issues before them.

It was, we should note, quite cold, as they had reached an elevated position, but there was still no lack of firewood, so after seeing to the horses, they built the fire up very high and had a meal of bread and cheese, during which even Tazendra seemed silent and brooding. They sat thus, well wrapped in cloaks and blankets, huddled about the fire, yet saying nothing to each other, all of them aware that the next day would see an end, among some of them, of certain friendships they had grown accustomed to and comfortable with. From time to time, Kathana would look at Uttrik speculatively, as if wondering what sort of friends they might have been had circumstances been different. Uttrik, for his part, avoided looking at Kathana, as if, though bound by his word and his duty, he no longer relished the thought of mortal combat with her.

Khaavren sighed, and said, “My friends, I will tell you that I am not happy about what we are doing. In Dragaera, it seemed a fine idea to go off on a campaign, win favor, and become heroes, but now that we are here, nothing seems as simple as it did.”

“Well,” said Tazendra, “you are right, and I, for one, freely admit that I do not understand why.”

“It is,” said Aerich, “because we have embroiled ourselves in the affairs of the Empire, and we have done so for our own reasons, rather than to serve the Empire. This was an error, and I confess myself to be guilty of it.”

“Oh, bah,” said Pel. “Yes, it is because we are involved in Imperial matters, but there is no fault in that if the Emperor is strong; it is exactly thus that a gentleman discovers his own strength. But when the Emperor is weak, gentlemen who serve him discover only their weaknesses.”

Khaavren frowned. “The Emperor is weak, you say? I fail to see how.”

“Do you?” said Pel. “But look at our own affair. We four—I must excuse you, Uttrik, and you, Kathana—we four left our homes in Dragaera City on the Imperial service. That is, we serve the Empire, which is personified by his Majesty and the court.”

“All you say is clear,” said Khaavren. “Go on, then.”

“Well, this court, like a chreotha web whose ropes have come undone in the wind, waves tendrils of intrigue about in a fashion which is so haphazard one might not err in using the term anarchistic. It has been our misfortune to find ourselves caught in these tendrils as if by accident. These tendrils have no central mind controlling them, else we would have been well snared before we left the city. The central mind that ought to be controlling them is that of the Emperor. If he does not, then we know that he is weak.”

“But then,” said Khaavren, “what makes the Emperor weak?”

“Well, in the first place, he is young.”

“But well intentioned,” said Aerich.

“Oh, I don’t deny that. But he is young, and, moreover, has the worst failing an Emperor may have.”

“That being?” said Khaavren.

“Poor advisors, to whom he listens.”

“Well, he must listen to someone.”

“Yes, but he must gain experience in order to determine to whom he ought to listen.”

“And how is he to know who these people are?” said Khaavren, who was fascinated by this novel look at Imperial politics.

“In exactly the way Aerich has said: he must find advisors who have, at their heart, the interest of the Empire.”

“Well, and what has he now?”

“Now he has advisors who look after their own positions, and seek to advise him only in such a way as to gain his favor, thus they contradict one
another needlessly, and leave policy, which ought to be the force which unites all of the Imperial decisions into a single direction, scattered and uncertain. Hence we see the Pepperfields undefended, the Baroness”—here he bowed his head to Kathana—“unarrested, and campaigns that exist only to capture baubles with which to please his love of bright stones.”

“Well,” said Aerich, with a smile, “if only he had you as an advisor—”

“Oh,” said Pel, perhaps too quickly, “I have no such ambition as that, I assure you.”

Aerich and Khaavren caught each other’s eye, and exchanged a fleeting smile.

“Nevertheless,” said Tazendra, who had missed this interchange, “If you were an advisor, what would you tell His Majesty?”

But Pel merely shook his head, as if aware that, lulled by the cold night and warm fire, he had said more than he had intended to. Aerich said, “I must confess, that were I an advisor, a post for which I hold no more ambition than does Pel, I should advise him, first of all, to arrest the lady Kathana.”

The lady referred to started at this, but Aerich’s attitude was so polite that she could not take offense. Uttrik stared at him, but said nothing. Khaavren, who felt suddenly uncomfortable, said, “Well, my lady, what will you? Ashes! We cannot go around killing those who don’t like our paintings.”

“You do not paint,” said Kathana coldly.

“Well, that is true, so I will say no more.”

After an interval, she spoke again, very softly, as if her words were intended for none but herself. “He was too arrogant,” she said. “I had worked on that painting for thirty-nine years, of which eleven were spent in the jungles watching dragons, sometimes sneaking into their lairs. For five years I worked on the background, so that every plant, every stone, every shadow was more real than the models from which I drew them, and yet supported the theme of my work. And for fifteen years I sketched dragons, until I could read the expression on a dragon’s face, and, moreover, show it to one who didn’t know dragons had such expressions. And then I painted and painted, and then I glossed and finished, and then I very humbly brought it to my Lord e’Drien, and, as I stood there, prepared to present it, this person walks by and, in one glance, dismissed it as unworthy of comment.”

She fell silent again. Tazendra coughed and said, “You are saying, then, that you were angry?”

Kathana smiled and said, “Well, if truth be known, I regret what I did.”

“How,” said Uttrik, “you regret it?”

“Yes. I wish I had not killed him; or, at least, that I had taken more time to insure that he was prepared to defend himself. Yet, I was so angry.”

“Well,” said Uttrik, “I understand anger.”

“That’s well,” said Kathana. “I, in my turn, understand vengeance.”

“We understand each other then,” said Uttrik.

“Entirely,” said Kathana.

BOOK: The Phoenix Guards

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