Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Page 15

  “How, interesting?”

  “Well, the public scrolls spoke of his intention to speak at the dedication of Kieron’s Pavilion, which is, as you know, to take place this evening, and, moreover, he has informed us of this intention.”

  “What makes this so interesting, Sergeant? Be laconic, I beg, for you must know that I am in a hurry, and will be setting off when my horse is ready.”

  “I shall endeavor to please you, Captain.”

  “His Highness has been, as I requested, keeping us informed of all public appearances, has he not?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “He told us he would be at the dedication ceremony this evening?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “And he still intends to be there?”

  “No, Captain.”

  “How, he does not? He has canceled this appearance?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “How has he informed us of this change in plans?”

  “A note that has just this morning arrived by a messenger in his livery.”

  “Have you checked the seal?”

  “I have, Captain.”

  “Well?”

  “It is, indeed, his seal.”

  “But, does he give a reason for this change?”

  “In a way, Captain.”

  “In what way?”

  “Captain, he pretends that he is indisposed.”

  “Hmmm,” said Khaavren, thinking deeply. “Very well.”

  At this moment, it was announced that Khaavren’s horse was standing, saddled and equipped, by the door, where a groom was also waiting to help Khaavren in mounting. “I will be back this evening, my friends,” said Khaavren. “You know your duties—attend to them.”

  “Yes Captain, we will,” said all the guardsmen present, and Khaavren took himself out of the sub-wing, his long sword slapping reassuringly against his leg. Once mounted, he set off from the Palace, and, after making his way to the Gate of the Dragon, left the city at a good speed, still considering all he knew of His Highness and wondering what approach to take in order to confirm or deny the suspicions that continued to grow in Khaavren’s mind even as the leagues fell before the feet of his horse.

  At this same time, a short distance away, His Highness Adron, Duke of Eastmanswatch, Count of Korio and Sky; Baron of Redground, Tresli, Twobranch, Pepperfield, and Erfina; Knight of the Orders of Kieron, Lanya, and Zerika; Imperial Baron of Noughtfound, who was standing in the tent which served as his quarters, drew himself up with all of the dignity of the Dragon Heir to the Throne and the scion of e’Kieron line of the House of the Dragon, turned to his chainman, and said, “Stuff.”

  The chainman, who was called Molric e’Drien, was, in the first place, Adron’s nephew, and, in the second place, a good-looking, earnest young man who took his position very seriously indeed. He said, “I beg Your Highness to consider that, not only had you said you would be there, and not only is the pavilion to be dedicated to your particular ancestor, but the Lord Mayor of Dragaera is positively depending on your appearance, and—”

  “Stuff,” repeated Lord Adron.

  Molric opened his mouth, but Adron silenced him with a gesture.

  “Young man,” said the Prince, “I will submit to battle, war, uprising, insult, and even humiliation if my duty calls me to it. But I will not submit to sitting for six hours listening to the drivel that comes out of the mouth of Calvor of Drem, whom I have heard before, and whose tiresome utterings, I assure you, give me more bad dreams than the missed signals at the Battle of the Arches. No. I have sent my apologies to the Governor, informed the Guard of the change in my schedule, and even, though it may weigh against me in the Halls of Judgment, rendered a thoroughly dishonest apology to the pretended poet himself. It is done; there is no more to be said.”

  Molric appeared to consult with himself for a moment before deciding that this battle was lost and his forces, such as they were, ought to be preserved against some future engagement, which conclusion he communicated to his liege by making a respectful bow.

  “Is there anything else?” said Adron.

  “Yes, General,” said Molric, announcing by this form of address that it was a strictly military matter to which he referred.

  “Well?”

  “A message from Turvin.”

  “And what does she say?”

  “That she has treated for the three thousand horse Your Highness wished for, and that the equipment is ready, and she desires to know if the horses and equipment should be placed in the manner Your Highness has described to her.”

  Adron considered for a moment. “Not yet,” he decided. “Tell her to stable and hold them, and I will inform her when they should be emplaced.”

  “Very well, General. There are also chits to be signed for the expenses of transporting another month’s worth of fodder to all posts.”

  “Leave them here, I will sign them later. Is there anything else?”

  “No, Your Highness,” said the chainman, with something like regret.

  “Dismissed,” said Adron.

  Molric turned and left the tent in a manner thoroughly military. Adron return to the activity which had been interrupted by his chainman, an activity which involved staring, first, at a small purple stone, like a gem, which he held between his thumb and forefinger, and, next, at a large, flat piece of smooth, brown wood into which several similar stones were embedded, forming a peculiar pattern. After some moments of contemplation, he picked up a sort of awl and used it to carve out another hole in the wood, into which he pressed the stone he held. Then he stepped back and considered the pattern thus expanded for some minutes, after which he gave it a grudging nod and turned to the papers Molric had left for him to look over and sign.

  It was while he was engaged in these uninteresting but vital activities that he was interrupted by a clap from outside of the tent. Without turning around, he said, “Who is there?”

  “General, I am Durtri, third sentry at the North Post.”

  “Well?”

  “Lord Khaavren, Captain of the Phoenix Guards, has arrived, and requests an audience.”

  “Indeed?” said Adron, turning around and coming to the mouth of the tent. “I am only surprised he has taken so long. How many guardsmen has he brought with him?”

  “None, General. He is alone.”

  “What, alone?” To himself he added, “He has some trust, then. That is, at any rate, a consolation.” Then, aloud, he said, “Very well, I will see him at once.”

  Khaavren entered an instant later, and, removing his hat, bowed to the very ground. “I hope,” he said, “That I find Your Highness well?”

  “Tolerably well, sir,” said Adron. “And I hope the same may be said for you?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Khaavren. “And Your Highness does me too much honor by asking.”

  “Well,” said Adron with a shrug, “if the message is not, I think, one I shall like, at least I may say the messenger does not displease me.”

  “Your Highness is kind,” said Khaavren, “though I will admit to being confused by Your Highness’s remarks about a message and a messenger.”

  “Confused, Sir Khaavren? Yet surely you must know that your errand will be, if not unexpected, at least in some part disagreeable to me.”

  “And yet I must confess,” said Khaavren with another bow, “that I do not understand what Your Highness does me the honor to tell me.”

  “You pretend you do not understand?” said Adron, with a smile that was not unkind.

  “I assure Your Highness that I am entirely bewildered.”

  “Well, then, what is the cause of your visit?”

  “Why, the desire to see Your Highness, nothing more.”

  Adron laughed without mirth. “Bah, my good sir. Be frank. Do you retain any affection for me, from our experiences so long ago?”

  “The Gods!” said Khaavren. “I think I do.”

  “Well, then, from that affection, do me the hon
or to answer my questions as honestly as I ask them.”

  Khaavren bowed. “Your Highness need but to ask; assure Your Highness that you will not be unsatisfied with the truthfulness of my response.”

  “Well, then, here is my first question: you come on the part of His Majesty, do you not?”

  “I come on the part of His Majesty? Not the least in the world.”

  “How, you do not?”

  “By my faith as a gentleman,” said Khaavren.

  “Then you are not here to arrest me?”

  “Arrest Your Highness? And for what?”

  “For what? Why, you know that His Majesty was vexed with me at the end of our interview.”

  “On my honor, I know nothing about it.”

  “Impossible! Then you do you not come to arrest me?” said Adron again, as if he could not believe it.

  “Nothing like it,” said Khaavren. “Oh, should that have been my plan, I beg Your Highness to believe I would not have traded upon your kindness this long, but should have at once said, ‘Your Highness, I have the honor to arrest you in the name of His Majesty; please give me your sword and come with me.’ And that would have been all.”

  “Well,” said Adron, over whose countenance a slight shade had passed when Khaavren had pronounced the words he hadn’t intended to speak. “You nearly convince me.”

  “And then?”

  “Then it remains for me to place myself entirely at your service. Would you care for wine?”

  “Wine would not be at all unwelcome, Highness, for there is no small amount of dust in the air between the city and the tent, and hang me if most of it has not taken up residence in my throat.”

  Adron rang a bell, and, in less than a minute, Khaavren was seated facing His Highness while the two of them drank to each others’ fortune. “Apropos,” said Adron when this ceremony had been thirstily brought to its conclusion, “how does your fortune fare, and that of your friends? That noble Lyorn, and the others. Do you still see them?”

  “Alas,” said Khaavren, “not the least in the world. I hear from Temma—that is, Aerich—from time to time, and he tells me that Tazendra is still thriving, and once or twice in a hundred years my path crosses Pel’s, but I’m afraid our society is ruptured by the years, which, as you know, have neither pity nor empathy. And as to my own fortunes, well, you perceive that I am Captain of the Phoenix Guards, which would seem to be the zenith of my ambition—and not bad, Your Highness will allow, for the younger son of an impoverished Tiassa nobleman.”

  “Not at all bad,” said Adron. “And please accept my compliments.”

  “And I hope Your Highness will allow me to offer congratulations for Your Highness’s successes—the Breath of Fire Battalion has made a name for itself that will not soon be forgotten.”

  “Yes,” said Adron, with a small smile. “We have not done too badly. Of course, you must take some of the credit yourself, my dear sir, for it would have been impossible to form the battalion at all if we had still to worry about invasions from the East, and, moreover, had it not been for your skill as a diplomatist we should have been unable to trade for the number of horses—the truly appalling number of horses, to be frank—which made the battalion possible.”

  “It is good of Your Highness to say so,” said Khaavren. “Ah, but I regret those days! At any moment either a sword was in my hand or a beautiful woman was on my arm! Now, my sword remains at my side, and my arm touches nothing but the hilt, which hilt, allow me to tell Your Highness, has made a fine callus near my left elbow, which is not where soldier’s calluses ought to be, and has besides worn out the sleeves of several blouses in the process.”

  “Is that what you remember of those days, my dear Captain?” said Adron, laughing. “Well, I remember other things. I remember a fugitive whom I was obliged to hide, and whose presence caused me to wonder if I should be led to the Executioner’s Star. And I remember fear of—not an invasion of Easterners, but, rather, an invasion of Easterners that would force me to choose between duty and oath—that is, between honor and law. If there is a less comfortable choice, Captain, well, I don’t know what it is.”

  “Ah, it is true what Your Highness says—that is a sad choice to be brought to, and, if Your Highness has no such choice to-day, well, so much the better.”

  “To-day? Bah! To-day my cousin is Warlord, and his younger son is my chainman, so that whenever there is an opportunity for glory, well, there is no question about who will be the first one called upon.”

  “Your Highness does himself an injustice in thinking that these opportunities are anything but the result of a well-earned reputation. Who else but Your Highness could have managed the Briartown affair with such dispatch? Ah, if Your Highness had been at court while that was going on! On one day comes the word of the uprising, on the next Lord Rollondar—your cousin—is preparing to march, and on the next we receive word that you have the matter in hand. I still recall the look on His Majesty’s face! And a month later came the reorganization of the posts. His Majesty said, ’If Eastmanswatch can move two thousand soldiers four hundred miles in a day and a night, we should be able to move one post officer a similar distance in the same length of time.’”

  Adron laughed. “Is that what he said?”

  “I have the honor to assure Your Highness that those were his very words.”

  “And the expense?” said Adron, still smiling. “What did My Lord Jurabin say to the expense?”

  Khaavren matched His Highness’s smile with one of his own. “Neither more nor less than you would think,” he said. “And yet, in truth, it could not be that bad. You are only one man, and you have managed the expense of maintaining the posts for ten thousand, if my memory is not at fault.”

  “Oh, you know I am tolerably wealthy,” said Adron. “The diamonds from Sandyhome must travel through Pepperfield on the way to Dragaera, and the peppers from my own land travel in all directions, and so a part of each comes to me. In outfitting the Breath of Fire Battalion I have, to be sure, used up no small sum, but hardly enough to make me look to a surrender of debts, or to fear the loss of my daughter’s inheritance.”

  “Well, then, can Your Highness doubt that the entire Empire, with all her resources, can be so much further behind, when there are even fewer horses to equip and stable?”

  “There is some justice in what you say,” said Adron.

  “Indeed, I wonder, if Your Highness will forgive my curiosity—”

  “Oh, indeed; you may ask anything you wish.”

  “Well then, I wonder at Your Highness’s desire to bring the entire battalion along to the Meeting of the Principalities, which, as I understand it, is the reason Your Highness graces the city with his presence.”

  “Oh, you wonder at that?”

  “Well, Your Highness perceives that I am but ill-informed about anything happening at the Palace that does not fall within the sphere of my duties.”

  “And yet,” said Adron, with the ghost, as it were, of a smile playing about his lips, “do you not wonder if this battalion which now surrounds you might fall within the province of your duty?”

  “How could it?” said Khaavren, affecting surprise. “My duty only involves the security of His Majesty and the integrity of the Imperial Wing of the Palace, as well as, to a certain extent, seeing to the general safety of the city and supporting Lord Rollondar’s forces should he request such support. Not arduous, as Your Highness perceives, and entirely unconnected with anything Your Highness might do.”

  Adron, who did not seem convinced by this fine speech, still smiled. “And yet you are, you say, curious.”

  “Well—”

  “Then allow me to satisfy your curiosity. I have brought my battalion with me for no other reason than because His Majesty requested that I do so.”

  “How, His Majesty?”

  “Exactly.”

  “The Emperor, Tortaalik?”

  “I know no other. You pretend you were not informed of this circumstan
ce?”

  “Not the least in the world. You perceive that, as I said, I know little that does not concern my duties. And yet I wonder—”

  “Why His Majesty wanted the battalion at hand?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I believe he is worried about disorder within the city.”

  “Ah, he worries about that, does he?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And does Your Highness also worry?”

  “On my word of honor, good Captain, I know nothing about it.”

  “And, yet—”

  Here Khaavren was interrupted, for a sentry had arrived with a message. Khaavren fell silent while Adron accepted it. “Come,” said the Captain to himself. “Either there is no treachery here and my fears are those of an old man, or Lord Adron is playing a closer game than any Dragonlord I have ever met would be capable of. But, what is this? He has gotten some news that puzzles him, for he is frowning. Perhaps he will tell me what it is, for I should be more than glad to know.”

  Adron, still frowning, looked up from the message, staring out at nothing. “This is decidedly odd,” he said in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.

  “Your Highness?”

  “Eh?” he said, looking suddenly at the Tiassa. “Oh, Sir Khaavren, I had forgotten you were here. I have just received the most unusual intelligence. Shall I tell you what it is?”

  “If Your Highness wishes.”

  “It is from a certain Calvor of Drem. Do you know him?”

  “I must confess that I do not, Highness.”

  “No matter. He is a Phoenix, and a poet, and a colossal bore.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, he has sent me a note in which he claims that he does not understand the reason for the excuses I sent him.”

  “How, excuses?”

  “Yes; I sent a messenger to him, begging his forgiveness for canceling my appearance at the opening of the Pavilion.”

  “Ah, yes, I know something of that.”

  “He claims that he had no intention of being there.”

  “Well?”