The Phoenix Guards Read online

  “It has happened to me,” admitted Pel.

  “I never wonder,” said Aerich.

  “But then,” resumed Khaavren, “you say your reflections gave over to wonderings on some subject about which you had questions.”

  “Yes,” said Tazendra, “you have hit it exactly.”

  “And what did you wonder?”

  “Just this: we are leaving the city—”

  “You had already reached the point while you were merely reflecting.”

  “Yes,” said Tazendra determinedly. “And I began to wonder what we were leaving the city to do.”

  “But surely you heard that it was with the intention of finding Kathana e’Marish’Chala?”

  “Well, yes, I did hear that.”

  “And then?”

  “But I wonder why we are finding her.”

  “Oh, as to that … .”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, we are either going to arrest her or to save her from being arrested.”

  “But, my dear Khaavren, there is a difference, is there not?”

  “What? A difference between causing her to be arrested and causing her to escape arrest? Barlen! I think so!”

  “Well, but then, which is it to be?”

  “I haven’t the least idea in the world,” said Khaavren. “We have determined, have we not, that it would be a great blow to Lanmarea if she were to be arrested?”

  “That is true.”

  “Therefore, you perceive, we ought to arrest her.”

  “But then—”

  “Ah, but I have been asked to save her, and that by someone who, well—” Khaavren colored slightly but continued, “—someone I think it good to listen to.”

  “But then, when we find her, what shall we do?”

  “Do? We shall do what you have been doing since we left the city.”

  “We shall reflect?”

  “Exactly. And, if that is not sufficient, then we shall proceed to wonder.”

  “To wonder,” put in Pel, “is not bad, as it makes the time go quickly. But to reflect, now, reflecting is more difficult. Taro the Wise once said, ‘A minute spent gathering wheat is worth a day spent sifting flour.”

  “Yes,” said Tazendra. “Only, what does he mean?”

  “Ah, you would know that?”

  “Well, I would.”

  “Then I bid you reflect.”

  “Oh,” said Aerich, in a singular tone.

  Khaavren turned to him and said, “Excuse me, but do you see something?”

  “I do,” said Aerich. “Directly ahead of us on the road there seem to be three persons who are neither wondering nor reflecting, but rather, waiting.”

  “So it would seem, good Aerich. Could they be waiting for us?”

  “It is possible,” said Aerich laconically.

  “At any rate,” said Khaavren, “they are watching us closely.”

  “Well,” said Tazendra, touching the hilt of the greatsword slung over her back. “It is all the same to me if they are waiting for us or for another, if they refuse to clear the road so we may pass. You perceive, the grass is wet, and I should dislike to have my poor horse get his feet wet, for it will make him unsteady. Therefore, if they do not get out of the road, well, I shall charge them.”

  “But then,” said Pel, “shall we not stop and speak with them first? It would be polite.”

  “I think we should charge them,” said Tazendra, who, we must add, had not had a fight in some time.

  “Bah!” said Aerich. “Charge them? Without speaking first?” Then he addressed the two gentlemen and the lady before them, saying, “I give you good day. You seem to be blocking our path.”

  One of them, a slight young Dragonlord with large eyes who was dressed in sufficient ruffles and lace to have made a dance-party for the court, said, “I beg your pardon. Grant me two words, and we will step aside and allow you to pass.”

  “Well, that’s fair enough,” said Aerich. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

  “I am Uttrik e’Lanya, of the North Pinewood Hold.”

  “Well, I am called Aerich.”

  “I perceive that one among you is a Tiassa.”

  “Well?”

  “Is he called Khaavren of Castlerock?”

  “I am,” said Khaavren, speaking in his turn. “You seem to know my name, and yet, I confess, your name has never sounded in my ears.”

  “That is impossible.”

  “Do you give me the lie, my lord?” said Khaavren. “I assure you that I have never heard your name pronounced before this moment.”

  “You may persist in saying that if you wish.”

  “I more than say it; I assert it.”

  “Nevertheless, I wish to exchange thoughts with you.”

  “Upon what subject?”

  “First, allow me present my friend, Sir Wyth.” Here he indicated a wide shouldered Dzurlord mounted upon a piebald gelding. “And this,” he indicated the lady upon his other side, who was seated upon grey charger, “Is Cohra of Lastchance, of the House of the Hawk, who is here as an Imperial representative. You have a friend, my dear Khaavren, and I am willing to accept your other friends as witnesses.”

  Khaavren frowned. “You wish to play, then?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And for what reason?”

  “Reason? How, you pretend you don’t know?”

  “I assure you, my lord, I am entirely ignorant of how I may have offended you.”

  “Hunh,” said Uttrik. And, apparently having done with speaking, he turned toward the gentleman called Wyth, who bowed to Khaavren and said, “Is this Lyorn gentleman your friend?”

  Khaavren looked at Aerich, who shrugged. “He is,” said Khaavren.

  “Well then,” said the Dzurlord, “we wish to propose a contest to be held here and now, with no healer present, with the game to continue until one of the players is dead.”

  “Dead!” murmured Khaavren. “The Horse! I seem to have offended this Dragonling.”

  Aerich turned to Khaavren and said, “Do you accept?”

  “Well, yes,” said Khaavren.

  “Very well,” said Aerich to Wyth, who bowed and spoke to the lady, who said to Tazendra and Pel, “Will you witness?”

  “We will,” they said, at which time everyone concerned dismounted. The Hawklord bowed to them all and indicated a space on the side of the road. When both seconds had agreed, she drew the circle with, Khaavren noted, the point of her dagger.

  “Have a care, Khaavren,” said Pel. “The grass is wet.”

  “Well, and is it not equally wet for him and for me?”

  “Nevertheless, have a care.”

  “I have more than a care,” said Khaavren. “I have a fine piece of skin which is wrapped around all of those charming organs that allow my breath to flow, my blood to pump, and my mind to think. I will, therefore, do my utmost to see that my epidermis finishes this conflict in the same condition in which it began it.”

  “That is right,” said Pel.

  As Khaavren watched, Aerich, who stood next to him on the other side, said, “This is absurd. Do you know him?”

  “Not the least in the world.”

  “And you have no guess what his quarrel with you is?”

  “None.”

  “And yet he asked for you by name.”

  “But he did not recognize me. You perceive, then, that he has been set upon me.”

  “Well, but he isn’t an assassin.”

  “That’s clear enough.”

  Tazendra, who had been watching the one called Uttrik as he removed his doublet, drew his sword, and began taking practice thrusts with it, said, “Good Khaavren.”

  “Well?”

  “I do not think this gentleman will give you much sport.”

  “You think not?”

  “Well, you perceive how, in practicing, he strikes only at the air.”

  “That is not unusual, when preparing for a contest.”

  �
��No, and yet he seems to miss with every third stroke.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “And, furthermore, you will note how stiff his back leg is, and, still, how far apart his legs are when he advances.”

  “Perhaps,” said Aerich, “he seeks to mislead you.”

  “Bah! If he needs to resort to such tricks as that, you’ll have little enough trouble with him.”

  Khaavren, for his part, agreed with the flaws Tazendra had seen, but also noticed that the Dragonlord’s sword arm was very fast, and that he could change the directions of his cut with, seemingly, very little effort. He was, therefore, inclined to be prudent, as he was in all things in which his life was concerned.

  “Come, then,” said the Hawklord to Aerich. “Are you ready?”

  Aerich looked at Khaavren, who nodded. “We are ready,” said the Lyorn coolly, and escorted Khaavren to his end of the circle, and assisted him in removing his cloak and belt. Khaavren then drew his sword, saluted the judge and his opponent, and placed himself on his guard.

  They were still close enough to Dragaera that the road was in heavy use, so the incident had gathered a certain crowd, who began to place bets on the probable outcome. As the two pieces of steel touched, however, the betting ceased, as did the mutterings of the crowd—that particular type of conversation peculiar to horse-races, norska fights, and duels.

  The Tiassa, still fatigued from the blow to his head the night before, began the contest in his usual cautious manner, attempting to determine what sort of man he was up against. In this case, all the flaws that Tazendra had noticed seemed true, but the Dragonlord was, in fact, very fast on his feet, and moreover had a strength of arm, and a heavier sword, which forced Khaavren to work harder than he liked to parry the many ferocious attacks that Uttrik directed at his body and head. He therefore maintained a defensive posture and guarded himself closely, using the “nine-point system of aggressive protection,” a product of the baroque school of the fence, which rendered his head and torso all but invulnerable while still crowding the other and forcing him to respond to a complex pattern of nine sequential feints and attacks, a pattern which Khaavren hoped to break as soon as it was established.

  While doing so, he also, as was his custom, studied the countenance of his opponent. He saw, then, a gentleman with a good set of features excepting only his eyes, which were too large. His eyebrows were well separated from each other over the bridge of the nose, a sure sign of an orderly mind; his forehead was well-creased, indicating a contemplative personality, and, moreover, Khaavren detected in his eyes that the twin forces of anger and frustration vied for control of his mood. Anger, Khaavren deduced, at himself for whatever real or imaginary offense had prompted the contest, and frustration over his inability to bypass the furious defense the Tiassa offered.

  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.”