The Phoenix Guards (47 page)
Read The Phoenix Guards Online
Authors: Steven Brust
In fact, the Tiassa was thinking furiously, recalling this latest conversation from an entirely different view. It was as if Pel were softly urging him to question everything, while Tazendra touched his shoulder, reminding him of the duties of friendship, and Aerich looked at him somberly, as if asking if he ought, at the bidding of this woman, to murder a man who had shown him kindness. And yet—
And yet, there is no question that she was lovely beyond his dreams, and she had the sort of coquettish smile in her eyes that drives men mad. The thought that she was within his reach burned, so that he still hesitated for a moment, filled with that strange emotion that lies midway between true love and the desire to possess, yet balancing this with the memories of all that he had shared with his friends.
At last he sighed. “I cannot,” he said.
“How, you cannot?”
“I cannot leave my friends. We must all leave here together. Surely you can arrange that—”
“But, they will speak, and no word of this agreement with the Easterners must be allowed to escape, or—”
“Well, or?”
“Or all my plans will be undone.”
“What plans are these?”
“Ah, you persist with the questions.”
“Well, and if I do?”
“Yet, you said—”
“Bah. You had said nothing about asking me to leave my friends to rot in prison.”
“Well, you will not do that for me?”
“Not in a thousand years.”
“Then you will allow my enemies to triumph over me? You, who claim you love me, who claim you will do anything for me, who—”
“Friends who have saved my life a hundred times over? With whom I have fought, have killed, have bled, have eaten and drank? And you, who wish for my love, desire to consign them to prison? Impossible!”
She drew herself up and stared at him coldly. “Prison? No, the Executioner’s Star.”
Khaavren felt himself trembling as this awful name was pronounced. “What do you say?”
“They will not languish long before they are brought to Justicer’s Square, and you with them. I might have saved you from that, but now it is too late.”
“All of this for an insult?”
She looked at him with such an expression of mingled hate and contempt that any lesser man might have crumbled merely from the blow to self-love, coming, as the look did, from one to whom he had poured out all the sincere devotion of his heart. And, moreover, to accompany this look, she said, “You are a fool. There was no insult; it is policy. This treaty must never be consummated; therefore, all who know of it must die. Do you think you have saved that fool, Adron? No, only now I must call in Seodra, who knows Jhereg who will perform for money the task you would not perform for love. And with him will die the last, for your heads will already be sealed beneath the marble slabs of the Square.”
By now, Khaavren was filled with so many emotions, and those all locked in battle with each other, that the fear of the ignominious death with which he was threatened meant nothing to him. His love for Illista was as strong as ever, yet now was combined with hatred and contempt in that oddest of appositions to which we are sometimes subjected. He adored her, yet he despised her, as if, looking upon her visage, she was at once a goddess whom he ought to worship, and a reptile he ought to strike down.
He said, “Cha, you venomous yendi, I will denounce you.”
“You? Denounce me? Ha. You will remain here, unable to communicate with anyone, until you are brought to the Square, and that will not be long, I assure you; two words to Seodra, a message to the Warlord, his Majesty’s seal on a scrap of paper, and all is done.”
“Perhaps,” said Khaavren. “But I will denounce you from the Star as I am strapped down.”
“No,” she said, smiling the way the chreotha might smile at the norska which had blundered into its net. “For you will be gagged; it can be managed, and it will be. You could have had several days of pleasure with me before I cast you aside; instead you will have nothing except the axe. I hope you are happy with your choice.” As she finished, she pulled a cord that was hanging near her hand, at the same time crying out, “Guinn! Come, escort me out of here, for I have nothing more to say to this wretch.” She rose, turned her back on Khaavren, and walked to the door. When it was opened, she turned back and gave one last glance of withering contempt, and left the room in flurry of skirts and hair.
Khaavren, unable to speak, was escorted back to his cell. Aerich, who could see that something was amiss with his friend, was unable to find out what it was, for Khaavren was too stunned to speak, and, moreover, could find no reason for sharing the hopelessness of the situation with his friend. In fact, more than a few tears fell from Khaavren’s eyes as he lay on the straw pallet in his cell, nursing a grief rendered ten times worse by his unwillingness to share it. And we should add that Aerich, puzzled by Khaavren’s
misery, nevertheless partook of it to such a degree that his recent joy at having avenged himself on Shaltre was all but wiped away.
misery, nevertheless partook of it to such a degree that his recent joy at having avenged himself on Shaltre was all but wiped away.
It would not be unfair, then, to say that our friends were unanimous in being miserable, if to different degrees and in different ways. Happily, it was not long after Khaavren’s interview with Illista that they were called by Guinn to make themselves as presentable as circumstances permitted, for they were to appear before an august personage.
When Khaavren and Aerich were so informed, Khaavren’s eyes flashed, and he said, “The executioner is an august personage?”
“How,” said Guinn. “The executioner?”
“Well, is that not the individual to whom you have just done us the honor to refer?”
“I assure you I know nothing about it.”
“Then you have no reason to think I’m wrong.”
“Well, but I hope you are.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“It is more likely,” said Aerich, “to be the Emperor himself.”
Khaavren shook his head, but would not explain the reasons for his conviction that Aerich was deceived. He made up his mind, however, to face the Star bravely, beginning with that very moment, so no one would be able to say he had shown fear. Accordingly, after they had made the best toilette possible in a cell without soaps or perfumes, Khaavren drew himself up and made a sign to Guinn and the other guards that they could proceed.
They were first brought into the light of day on what were called the Dark Stairs, which was an extremely wide, straight stairway that was one of three entrances into the Wing; the others being the Justicer’s Door and the Winged Stairs. The Dark Stairs lead down into the dungeons of the Wing, or, more precisely in this case, up from the dungeons to the Pavilion of the lorich. It was always watched by six pair of guards, each consisting of one Phoenix Guard in the gold cloak, and the other an lorich Guard wearing a black hood and carrying a halberd. We should say that Khaavren, Aerich, Pel, and Tazendra had each, at one time or another, had this duty, and it was one of the least favored, as the Iorich Guards were silent and grim, off duty as well as on. But, tedious as it was, it had never occurred to them that would soon be passing by on their way to captivity, nor returning past them in the hope of freedom or expectation of immediate death, according to the thoughts of the individual.
Fortunately, this week was the turn of Lanmarea’s battalion to stand this duty, so neither in arriving nor departing had they seen anyone they recognized, which would have embarrassed all concerned.
From the Dark Stairs they were invited into two carriages with the Iorich arms. Pel, Uttrik, Aerich, and Khaavren were bidden to enter the first, while the second was for Tazendra and Kathana. Mica was required to walk the distance, with two silent Iorich Guardsmen flanking him, though it is only fair to say that seeing the daylight again more than made up for the
walk, which was not of a greater distance than he had been accustomed to in any case.
walk, which was not of a greater distance than he had been accustomed to in any case.
Once in the coaches, they were informed that all speech was forbidden them, which Khaavren took as the final slab of marble over his head, though he said nothing of the matter to his friends. There were six Iorich Guards, four in the coach and two on top, to see that this rule was obeyed, and that, furthermore, no attempt was made by the prisoners at communication with the outside or at escape. They contented themselves, therefore, with such greetings and communications as could be given by smiles and grimaces. It should also be said that the windows of the carriages were not only barred, but also enclosed in slatted iron coverings, so that they were not only stuffy, but almost completely dark, and, moreover, our friends could not see where they were going, from which Khaavren assumed the worst.
At the end of the ride they were commanded to quit the carriage and, still flanked by Guards, they discovered that they were outside the Imperial Wing.
“What is this?” cried Khaavren, almost afraid to hope.
“Why,” said Uttrik, “it is the Imperial Wing. Where had you thought—”
“Silence,” commanded the guard.
Aerich shrugged. They were brought into the Wing, where, after a wait of some few minutes, during which time Mica was reunited with them, and also during which time Khaavren began to feel hope returning to him in all its effusion, they were brought into the presence of His Majesty, the Emperor.
In Which His Majesty Attempts to Pick a Strand
Of Justice from a Nest Of Accusation,
And is Fortunate to Receive Help
Of Justice from a Nest Of Accusation,
And is Fortunate to Receive Help
O
UR FRIENDS, WITH THE EXCEPTION of Mica, were admitted to His Imperial Majesty’s presence in the Balcony Room, which was a narrow sitting room which overlooked the Embassy Hall. The Embassy Hall was one of the principal residences of the courtiers, being a place where His Majesty was accustomed to greet official visitors on matters of State. Any time His Majesty deigned to appear there, the affair was a serious, or at least, a formal one; therefore to be seen near His Majesty in that room bequeathed a certain status. Hence, a good number of those anxious to achieve this status, that is, to be considered someone upon whom it was worthwhile to bestow favors, would often spend their time wearying themselves against the hope that the Emperor would appear.
UR FRIENDS, WITH THE EXCEPTION of Mica, were admitted to His Imperial Majesty’s presence in the Balcony Room, which was a narrow sitting room which overlooked the Embassy Hall. The Embassy Hall was one of the principal residences of the courtiers, being a place where His Majesty was accustomed to greet official visitors on matters of State. Any time His Majesty deigned to appear there, the affair was a serious, or at least, a formal one; therefore to be seen near His Majesty in that room bequeathed a certain status. Hence, a good number of those anxious to achieve this status, that is, to be considered someone upon whom it was worthwhile to bestow favors, would often spend their time wearying themselves against the hope that the Emperor would appear.
The Balcony Room was a long, narrow place painted in light colors, dimly lit, and sparsely furnished. It looked down upon the scene we have described, and, though little used by many Emperors, had become a favorite place for Tortaalik to have face-to-face meetings, because the fire was small, the furniture comfortable, and the general atmosphere more confined than spacious, which allowed him to feel a certain intimacy from which he pretended he could better judge the true thoughts and feelings of those whom he questioned.
Khaavren, along with his friends, was brought into this room and directed to stand before His Majesty. Also present, we should add, were Lytra e’Tenith and Captain G’aereth, at the left and right hand of the Emperor. The Captain’s face was without expression, whereas the Warlord stared at Kathana with a look of cool calculation.
Now, although Khaavren didn’t know the thoughts of the Warlord, it is worth while to say two words about her state of mind. We have witnessed the quiet conversation between Lytra and Allistar, during which he had informed her, that, whatever happened, it was vital that nothing of the truth come out; that is, although neither of them knew what had happened in the east, Allistar had become convinced that Khaavren and his friends knew enough to compromise their plans, and had informed the Warlord of this circumstance. Lytra had, by this time, gone too far with G’aereth to permit her to back out of her agreement to press for an audience with His Majesty, and, to her credit, had sufficient interest in justice to wish to see this interview
take place, but now that it came to the point, as it were, her agile mind was filled with thoughts on how to prevent these troublesome individuals from ruining everything.
take place, but now that it came to the point, as it were, her agile mind was filled with thoughts on how to prevent these troublesome individuals from ruining everything.
The prisoners filed in, and, as one person, bowed to His Majesty. Khaavren, with great difficulty, managed to conceal perhaps half of the agitation he felt at being for the first time in the presence of the Emperor. Uttrik, if he felt any dis-ease at all, was able to conceal the whole of it. Tazendra was too concerned with the sort of impression she was making to allow room for anything as pedestrian as intimidation. Pel was deep in thought, and all of the wheels, if we may be permitted such an expression, were turning rapidly as he made the various calculations his quick mind suggested to him. Kathana had been in the presence of the Emperor several times before his ascension to the throne, on the occasion of His Majesty doing her the honor to view certain of her works, as he fancied himself a connoisseur of painting. Aerich, knowing exactly the position his rank entitled him to with respect to his Majesty, had that confidence which comes from secure knowledge of one’s place and the duties attendant upon it. Mica, as we have said, was not present.
The reader ought to understand that, at the time of which we have the honor to write, matters were often handled in a manner that today we would consider “high-handed,” that is, the question of what degree of formality was appropriate to certain cases was left to the Emperor’s own sense of propriety. He could, if he chose, convene a full court of justicers and peers to hear the confession or testimony of a prisoner, or he could, protected as he was by the Orb, simply listen and decide himself. The magnanimous and equal justice such as flows from our own Empress, whom the gods preserve, was then, if not entirely unknown, at least not expected as a matter of course.
In this case, the Warlord and the Captain had come before His Majesty and made claims of injustice, and begged him humbly to hear the matter himself. Now, as Tortaalik was well acquainted with history, and as “injustice” has been the most common pretext which the House of the Dragon has used to make war upon the throne, His Majesty felt inclined to give the Warlord complete satisfaction. Yet not so much, as we may have implied, from fear of the consequences—it was as yet far too early in the Phoenix reign for any such considerations to be appropriate—as from the certain knowledge that he would find himself explaining his conduct to His Discretion the Duke of Wellborn, and he knew very well how unpleasant such discussions could be if he had not acted in a manner that he, himself, would consider correct and honorable.
His Majesty, therefore, after bringing together those who had brought the complaint with those to whom the complaint referred, was disposed to listen with as much impartiality as he could bring to bear. The Orb, slowly circling his head, reflected this impartiality by emitting a pale yellow color.
“Well, then, my lords and ladies,” he said. “I know some of you. You are the Baroness Kaluma, who stand accused of the murder of the Marquis of Pepperfield. And you are the Marquis’s son, are you not? I believe you are called Uttrik, and, until recently, dwelt in the North Pinewood Hold, on the estates of the Pepperfields, and are Baronet of Kurakai.”
These two bowed to acknowledge His Majesty’s perspicacity, but said nothing.
“As to the rest of you, I perceive that you are Guardsmen, and, from certain insignia, that you are of the Red Boot Battalion, commanded by our own Captain G’aereth. But I do not know your names, and I wish to, for I am greatly interested in what you have to tell me.”
Aerich spoke first, giving his name and protesting his devotion to His Majesty.
“How, Aerich? That is not the name of a Lyorn.”
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon. It is the name under which I have taken service in the Guards. Otherwise, if it please Your Majesty, I am Temma, Duke Arylle, Count of Bra-moor, and before Your Majesty I also lay claim, at this moment, to the county of Shaltre, which is mine according to the customs of my House.”
At this his Majesty started, and narrowed his eyes. The Orb darkened for a moment, becoming faintly red, then returned to its neutral yellow. Tortaalik said, “We will see about that by and by. And you?”
“I am Tazendra,” said the Dzurlord. This time, it was Lytra e’Tenith who started, and then an expression of anger crossed her features, as this name was not only known to her, but had unpleasant associations.
Tortaalik frowned. “What, another assumed name?”
“I have renounced my titles, Sire.”
“Renounced them? Well, but tell me the titles you have renounced.”
Tazendra looked unhappy and said, “Does Your Majesty truly command this?”
“And if I do?”
“Then, I will tell you, although I am not proud of my name, Sire, wherefore I have renounced it for all time.”
His Majesty shrugged and said, “We will call you Tazendra, then. And next?”
“I am Pel,” said the Yendi, bowing gracefully.
“Ah,” said the Emperor, with a small smile. “Well, I will not question your name further, for that is the name that has come to my ears, and it has sounded in connection with actions that were, if perhaps not entirely noble, at least not lacking finesse.”
Pel bowed.
Tortaalik said, “And you, my good Tiassa?”
“I am Khaavren of Castlerock.”
“What is this?” said His Majesty, laughing. “A Guardsman who gives his true name?”
“It is the only one I have, Sire,” said Khaavren.
“Well, well, and no titles to go with it?”
“Our lands were sold ten hundreds of years ago, Sire,” said Khaavren.
“Ah, well, there is no shame in that,” said His Majesty. “But now, it seems to me you have stories to tell?”
“If it please Your Majesty,” said Pel, “we hope to make them good ones.”
“I ask nothing better. Who is to begin?”
Kathana stepped forward and said, “I am willing, for I came to the city with the intention of surrendering myself to Your Majesty, and, for me, to be arrested is no more than I expected.”
“Very well, what have you to say? For you are, you know, charged with nothing short of murder.”
“I can only say, Sire, that I am guilty, that I repent of my action, and am entirely willing to submit to whatever justice Your Majesty may require.”
“That is clear enough. What does the son of the murdered man say to this?”
“Sire,” said Uttrik. “For my part, since she repents, I absolve her.”
“You absolve her?” said Tortaalik.
“If it please Your Majesty, I even forgive her, for she is honestly repentant, and, moreover, we have fought side by side, so that I know something of her character, and I believe, though I do not say it without pain, that she was provoked.”
“Well, well,” said His Majesty. “We will consider this later. Let us pass on to the rest of you. Who will speak next in answer to the charges?”
Khaavren bowed and said, “Sire, we cannot speak, for we are entirely ignorant of what these charges consist.”
“How, you don’t know of what crimes you stand accused?”
“Not the least in the world,” said Khaavren.
“But,” said Pel, bowing, “we are anxious to find out.”
“Well, it is easily stated. You are accused of the murders of Count Shaltre and Lord Garland.”
“How, murder?” said Tazendra. “Impossible.”
“I think, my lady,” said the Emperor, the Orb turning a cold blue, “that you are disputing with me.”
“We humbly beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” said Pel coolly. “It was amazement at these charges that caused my companion’s outburst. We assure you that no disrespect was intended.”
While he spoke, Lytra was whispering in the Emperor’s ears, and the Orb’s color turned into a blue that was like ice. His Majesty said, “Well, and what, also, of the murder of the Cavalier Kurich, the younger brother of the Warlord, which took place in the seclusion of the archery range attached to the sub-wing of the Imperial Guard shortly before these gentlemen left the city?”
“How, murder?” said Tazendra.
Aerich said, “Sire, the word is hard.”
“Well, what then of the deed?”
“Oh,” said Tazendra carelessly. “The deed was easy enough.”
Lytra turned pale, and shot a glance full of anger, first, at Tazendra, then at G’aereth, who withstood the shot with the cool silence he had maintained since the interview began.
Khaavren said, “If Your Majesty will permit me?”
Tortaalik scowled, but nodded.
“It seems to me that there are, at issue, four murders, which are: Pepperfield, Kurich, Shaltre, and Garland.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Emperor impatiently. “What then?”
“May I have permission to speak of them individually?”
“Very well.”
“As to the first, then, the Baroness has, as you have heard, confessed her guilt, but I hope to show Your Majesty that she has more than made up for her error.”
“We will see. Go on.”
“As to Kurich, well, Sire, I saw the entire affair, and if it had not all the trimmings of a duel, well, Kurich asked for the meeting, and agreed to the terms, and he fought tolerably well, and died bravely. I do not think he would have wished to see a prosecution against the Lady Tazendra. Moreover, if Your Majesty will condescend to question his seconds, the Cavaliers Uilliv and Rekov, we believe so firmly that they are honorable gentlemen, that we will stand by whatever they might say on the matter.”
Lytra bit her lip and looked at his Majesty, who said, “We will come back to this, too. What of Shaltre?”
“I beg you to believe that this was in no sense a murder, Sire. Aerich challenged him before witnesses, those being ourselves, as well as Lord Garland and Lord Adron e’Kieron, all of whom can testify that, in response to this challenge, Shaltre initiated a cowardly attack on Aerich, who merely defended himself.”
“As for Adron,” said his Majesty grimly, “we will have our own dealings with him. Garland cannot so testify, for he has also been murdered. What have you to say to that?”
“That we are entirely unaware of it. He was alive when we saw him last, and running on foot through the mountains. It may be that some mischance happened to him, but I assure you we are unaware of it, and had no part in it.”
Tortaalik frowned and said, “In fact, it may be that he still lives, we have no certain knowledge beyond the fact that he has neither returned, nor has there been any message from him. But it could be that he will appear.”
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