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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: The Phoenix Guards
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“Now,” Khaavren continued to himself, “he is quite as good as I am in his handling of the blade, so I can expect no advantage there. But, we must not forget, he is a Dragonlord, and will hardly think of me as a worthy opponent, especially since I have now retreated from him twice. Well then, if I defend myself only, I will increase his self-confidence, and then he will
betray himself. Yet, thinking again, this plan will result in a long engagement, and my father (who should know, I think) says that long engagements are decided by a mistake, rather than by skill, and each of us is as likely to make a mistake as the other.
“So, then! Instead, if I were to cut him a few times, he will grow angry, and as I play with some skill, I will encourage him to make errors due to anger, and this will humiliate him, and lead him to make more mistakes, and then I will commit the final humiliation of passing my sword through his body. Come, this is the plan, I think.”
Having settled on this idea, Khaavren put it into action at once. As Frai cut for his stomach, the Tiassa stepped back again, but only so far as to make sure the sword missed by the smallest possible margin. As the Dragonlord pulled his blade back for another cut, his left elbow was, for a moment, unprotected, and Khaavren reached out, without changing his footing, and scratched it.
Frai bared his teeth as he felt the scratch, and swung straight down for Khaavren’s head. This maneuver forced the Tiassa to step backward, because merely tipping his head back would have allowed the blade to continue downward along his breastbone. He stepped back, then, but immediately recovered his place, and, almost delicately, put a cut across Frai’s right wrist.
At this point the Dragonlord stopped, and looked at Khaavren with a grimace of rage. He still had enough self-possession, however, not to charge into the quick hands and supple wrists of the Tiassa. Therefore, he changed his tactics, and began making quick thrusts with the point of his broadsword for Khaavren’s head, chest, and abdomen.
This was no better, however. For without the weight of the blade and the force of a long swing behind it, Khaavren was able to use his sword to parry the thrusts—with some effort, it is true. On the fourth of these thrusts, aimed at Khaavren’s neck, the Tiassa managed to push Frai’s blade to the right, while maintaining his own sword in a position on top of his opponent’s. This, for an instant, left the Dragonlord’s body open. Khaavren stepped in and thrust with his dagger at Frai’s throat, a blow which the latter avoided by leaning backward and bringing his sword up. Then Khaavren dropped the point of his sword and stepped forward again while thrusting.
The Tiassa’s blade penetrated a good inch into the middle of the other’s chest. Frai scrambled back, while Khaavren continued forward with a thrusting motion. His steps were of a strange cadence: right—teftright—leftright—teftright, and so on, and each time his left foot was forward he struck with his poniard, and each time his right foot was forward he struck with his sword.
Frai continued to retreat for a moment, then, gnashing his teeth, he seemed to lose his temper at this upstart Tiassa who was forcing him to retreat. He moved in, while whirling his blade in a continuous circle, so
that any weapon coming within it would be struck by the full weight of his blade, and, almost certainly, dropped or broken.
Khaavren stopped his advance and Frai’s eyes lit up. But the last Count of Shallowbanks, Khaavren’s father, had told him of this maneuver, saying: “I only mention this because it is an error even a skilled swordsman may make, not for you do it yourself. It is easily defeated … .” And, remembering this lesson, Khaavren matched the motion of the broadsword and, following the inward motion of a screw, ended, after three orbits, by passing the greater part of his blade through the body of the Dragonlord, who cried out, fell against the serving-counter, and collapsed in a heap next to it.
Khaavren rushed over to this counter, set his weapon on it, and knelt down by the injured man. Frai looked up at him and blinked, not seeming to recognize him at first. Then he saw him and said, hoarsely, “Give me your hand, good Khaavren.” Khaavren gave his hand to the Dragonlord, who pressed it. “It was well fought,” he said. “I am proud to have fallen by your hand, and it would please me indeed if you would, hereafter, think of me as your friend.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, good comrade?” said Khaavren.
“Ah! By the Lords of Judgement, I think you have pierced my lung.”
“A healer!” cried Khaavren. “Find a healer!”
A healer was sent for. Frai, who was well acquainted with wounds, was correct: Khaavren’s blade had been traveling up, and had passed just to the right of the clavicle, between the second and third ribs, puncturing a lung, missing the pulmonary artery, it is true, but making small cuts in the aorta and esophagus, and had exited near the backbone, below the neck. We can see, therefore, that while his lung was, indeed, damaged, he was bleeding internally as well.
It may be supposed that a soldier as experienced as Frai would have recognized the signs of such wounds, but he said nothing to Khaavren, merely smiled and pressed his hand until, just as the healer walked into the inn, the Dragonlord coughed bloodily and expired. The healer, a man of fair, delicate skin dressed in the white and red robes of the House of the Athyra, merely shrugged upon seeing the body.
Khaavren stood up. “Very well, then,” he said crisply. He pointed to four of the persons who stood watching with great interest all that occurred. “Bring him with me.”
He sheathed his sword after cleaning it on a towel provided by the innkeeper. Then he donned his cloak with a fair imitation of the flourish he had noticed in Tazendra as she had first donned hers. The four he had spoken to hadn’t moved. He drew himself up. “On the Imperial Service!” he cried, putting a hand to the hilt of his sword, whereupon they shuffled forward and picked up the body. Khaavren found the purse that Frai had received from the Jhereg, and drew a single gold coin from it, which he presented to the healer. “For your trouble,” he explained, and, with a last glance at the Athyra, he led the way out of the inn.
In Which the Results of the First Patrol are Discussed At some Length with the Captain
,
Who is Less than Pleased
T
HEY WALKED BACK TO THE Dragon Gate, and into the sub-wing of the Imperial Guards, where Khaavren paid each of the four two orbs from the same purse. They left the body in Captain G’aereth’s antechamber, and told the attendant that he wished to see the Captain. This worthy looked at the body and went to give the message. He returned at once, and signed that Khaavren should enter at once.
“Well, my good Tiassa,” said the Captain, motioning Khaavren to a chair. “It seems that something has happened. I am anxious to hear the details.”
“My lord,” said Khaavren, “I will tell you of the entire affair.”
“That is precisely what I wish to hear,” said the Captain.
“That is well. Here it is, then.” And he explained exactly what had occurred, with the precision of detail only a Tiassa is capable of. As he spoke, G’aereth’s eyes became hard. When he had finished, the Captain opened his mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by the attendant, who said that the Cavalier Pel wished to be admitted.
The Captain shrugged, and signed to Khaavren that he should be patient. “Very well,” G’aereth said to the attendant. “Send him in.”
Pel bowed to the pair of them.
“Well?” said the Captain.
“There has been a small misadventure, my lord,” said Pel.
“A misadventure?”
“Precisely.”
“Of what kind?”
“On the part of my partner.”
“Your partner?”
“Yes.”
“She is hurt?”
“Ah! You say, hurt.”
“That is to say, injured.”
“It seems likely.”
“But not badly?” asked G’aereth hopefully.
“On the contrary, my lord.”
“On the contrary?”
“Yes. It is very bad.”
“But, she still lives, does she not?”
“Oh, as to that … .”
“Well?”
“I regret to inform your lordship—”
“Lords of Judgement! She is dead, then?”
“It is my sorrowful duty to say it, my Captain.”
“But how did it happen?”
“Oh, it was a strange thing.”
“Well?”
“Well, as we walked along the perimeters of Castlegate, where the revelries of the season were just beginning, my partner and I were discoursing on some subject—”
“On what subject?”
“That is to say … on the subject of …”
“Of dalliance, Cavalier?”
“Oh, certainly not, my Captain!”
As he said this, Khaavren noticed a flush on the pale features of the Yendi, and wondered if the Captain had seen it, too. Pel continued, “It was on the subject of sorcery, my lord.”
“Of sorcery?”
“Yes. She pretended that no one who was not an accomplished sorcerer could have a place in the Imperial Guard.”
“Well, and?”
“I had the honor to inform her that the reign of the Athyra had ended fifteen days ago.”
“Ah.”
“I feel she took my words amiss, for she raised her hands, as if she would cast a spell upon me.”
“Ah! And you?”
“Well, your lordship must understand that I could hardly permit a spell of an unknown sort to take effect on my person. It could have harmful effects. I had no choice but to draw my sword.”
“Oh, but you stopped with drawing it, I hope.”
“Most certainly, my Captain. I recovered myself, and I pleaded with her, as eloquently as I could, not to set out on this hasty course, from which no good could possibly occur.”
“And she? Was she convinced?”
“Entirely.”
“Well?”
“Well, upon seeing the wisdom of my words, she rushed to embrace me, and, in so doing, spitted herself upon my sword.”
“My good Pel!”
“It is as I have the honor to inform you, my Captain.”
“And yet—”
“We were observed by many, my Captain. There should be no difficulty in confirming what I have said.”
“You may assure yourself that I will investigate her death as thoroughly as I investigate the death of Frai.”
“Frai?”
“Khaavren’s partner, whom you doubtless observed in the antechamber.”
Pel gave Khaavren a glance full of meaning. “Has your partner also had an accident then?”
“Not at all,” said Khaavren. “We had occasion to fight.”
“Yes,” said G’aereth. “In fact, I was about to say—”
“Hold a moment,” said Pel. “I believe your attendant is calling.”
In fact, at that moment, the door-warden approached to announce the arrival of Aerich.
“Send him in, then,” said the Captain.
Aerich entered, and bowed gracefully to the room at large and to each man present.
“Well,” said G’aereth. “What have you to report?”
“My Lord Captain, it is with sorrow that I must report the death of my partner.”
“Her death?”
Aerich bowed.
“But how did she die?”
“I killed her,” said Aerich coolly.
“What?” cried the Captain. “This is infamous!”
Aerich shrugged. Pel and Khaavren exchanged glances.
“How did it happen, then,” said G’aereth. “Did you quarrel?”
“Oh, as to that,” said Aerich. “It took place on the Street of the Cold Fires, at the Circle of the Fountain of the Darr. It was not, you perceive, in a private place, so no doubt you can discover any details that interest you.”
“But I, sir,” said the Captain. “I wish to hear of it from you.”
“Very well,” said the Lyorn, losing none of his coolness. “We did quarrel.”
“Ah! And what did you quarrel about?”
“Diamond mines.”
“Diamond mines?”
Aerich bowed his assent.
Beads of sweat broke out on the Captain’s brow. “How did you quarrel about diamond mines?”
“Your lordship is aware, perhaps, that there have been diamonds discovered in County Sandyhome?”
“I am indeed aware of it, sir, but I am anxious to learn how you became a party to this knowledge.”
“I was told of it.”
“By whom, then, were you told?”
“By my partner.”
“Ah! Well, she told you that diamonds have been discovered. Then what?”
“Your lordship is, no doubt, aware that County Sandyhome, once in the possession of the Empire, is now in the possession of the Easterners.”
“Yes, yes, in fact, it was a Dzur who lead the expedition which discovered the diamonds.”
“Furthermore, my lord, you may be aware that there are so many Easterners there that it would be a major campaign for the Imperial army to remove them?”
“I know that indeed, sir.”
“My partner, then, said that the Emperor wished to do exactly that—to mount such a campaign to take this area which has no military value—”
“Oh, as to that … .”
“Yes?”
“It has immense economic value.”
Aerich shrugged to signify that he had no opinion of his own on this subject.
“Go on, then,” said the Captain.
“My partner felt that this would be a useless waste of the Imperial armies, when our real project ought to be—you understand, Captain, that these are her words—ought to be the defense of the Pepperfields, which are necessary to the security of the Empire.”
“She is entitled to think whatever she wishes,” said G’aereth.
“That was my opinion, my Lord Captain. I am delighted to find that it coincides with yours.”
“Well, go on, then.”
“It was then, Captain, that my partner made certain statements slandering the character of the Emperor.”
“Ah!”
“We were, as I have had the honor to inform you, in the Circle of the Fountain of the Darr, that is, in a public place, and a place, moreover, filled with Teckla of all sorts. I therefore hastened to inform her, in a quiet voice, that it was the duty of all gentlemen to support and defend the Emperor, and that for those who had the honor to carry a sword in his name, this was twice as true.”
“And she said what to this?” asked the Captain, on whose brow beads of sweat could still be seen.
“She said that her opinion was that of the lady Lytra, the Warlord of the Empire, and that it was not my place to dispute her.”
“And then you said … ?”
“I replied that the lady Lytra had not said anything of the kind in my presence, and I doubted that she had said so in a public place, nor would she approve of saying so.”
“And your partner?” asked the Captain, whose breath was now coming in gasps.
“She asked if I pretended to teach her manners.”
“And you?”
“I assured her frankly and sincerely that I was only acting as any gentleman ought to act.”
“By the Orb, sir! She drew her blade, then?”
“Excuse me, Captain, but her blade had been out since I questioned her first statement.”
“Ah! Had you drawn, as well?”
“Not at all,” said Aerich.
“Well, did you then draw it?”
“My partner became adamant on the subject; I felt it rude to refuse.”
“Then she attacked you?”
“Oh, she attacked me, yes.”
“Well?”
“She was very fast, my lord. I was forced to pierce her heart. I called for a healer at once, but, you perceive, it was already too late. I paid a pair of Teckla to keep watch upon her body so it may be brought to Deathgate Falls, should her House deem her worthy of it.”
“But then, among the three of you—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” said Pel, mildly. “The four of us.”
“What is that?”
“I believe I hear the attendant announcing the lady Tazendra.”
G’aereth shook his head. “Send her in, then. I hope she, at least, has a different tale for us.”
Aerich shrugged. Tazendra entered, then, her eyes flashing with the cold anger of a Dzurlord. “My Captain,” she said.
“Yes?”
“It gives me great pain, but I must make a complaint.”
“What? A complaint?”
“Yes. Against the individual with whom I was partnered.”
“The Cavalier Fanuial?”
“Yes, that is his name.”
“Well? And your complaint?”
Tazendra drew herself up and flung her long hair over her shoulders, and thrust forward her fine jaw as she said, “He is no gentleman, my lord.”
“How is this?” asked the Captain, astonished.
“My lord, I will tell you the entire history.”
“I ask nothing better.”
“Well, it fell out in this manner. We began our patrol in the hills of the Brambletown district. We arrived, and had hardly set foot upon the Street of Ringing Bells when I saw a young gentleman walking toward us, who seemed to be looking at me quite fixedly.”
“In what way?” asked the Captain.
“Oh, as to that, I am too modest to say.”
The Captain’s eyes traveled from Tazendra’s thick black hair to her finely shaped legs, stopping at all points of interest in between. “Yes, I understand, madam. Go on.”
“I stopped to speak with this young gentleman, who appeared to be a count—” she glanced quickly at the others, cleared her throat and amended, “or perhaps a duke. Yes, undoubtedly a duke, of the House of the Hawk.”
“Well?”
“Well, my partner made remarks about this young noble of—of a particularly rude and personal nature.”
“I see. And what was your response to this?”
“Well, I was tempted to fight, Captain.”
“But you didn’t, I hope?”
“I could not, Captain. You understand, do you not? I am a Dzurlord, he only a Dragon. It would have been dishonorable to attack him.”
“I quite agree,” murmured the Captain. “What did you do, then?”
“Do? Why, naturally I suggested that he find four or five friends, and that, if they would do me the honor to all attack me at once, I would engage to defend this young Hawklord of whom he had spoken so disrespectfully.”

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