Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) Read online

  “Her battle?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What battle would this be, if I may ask?”

  “Most certainly you may ask, my dear Count. Indeed, I have been doing nothing else for an hour but attempting to convince you to ask.”

  “Very well, then, I am asking. What battle?”

  “Against the Pretender. He will be attacking the city within two days.”

  “What do you tell me?” cried Khaavren.

  “It is as I have had the honor to say. The Pretender has an army to the southwest, two days’ march from where we stand.”

  “The Horse! It is impossible.”

  “I would not go so far as to say impossible,” said Sethra. “That is, anything that actually happens ought not to be considered impossible. To use the word ‘impossible’ to discuss something that happens, you perceive, would be to weaken the sense of a perfectly good word.”

  “Well, the Lords of Judgment keep us from weakening the sense of a good word,” said Khaavren. “But then, the Pretender will attack the city, you say?”

  “I have said so, and I even repeat it.”

  “Well,” said Khaavren. And, as if that were not sufficient for such a revelation, he added, “Well, well, well.”

  “Indeed,” said the Enchantress fervently. Then she said, “It is my understanding that you have given Her Majesty your resignation.”

  “I have, madam. I am a free man. Or, at least, as free as it is possible to be in this world of ours.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Madam, I am—”

  “Bide, my lord.”

  “Well?”

  “I simply wish to observe that if the word ‘old’ is about to escape your lips, I will be forced to remind you to whom you are speaking.”

  “An excellent observation, madam. I should, above all, not care to weaken the sense of a perfectly good word.”

  “And then?”

  Khaavren reflected for a moment, for being unable to use the word “old” caused him to re-evaluate what he ought to say. At length he said, “Considering everything, I cannot believe that it would be proper for me to answer your question. That is, without lying; and I do not choose to lie to you, madam.”

  “I am glad of that; for my part, I do not choose to be lied to.”

  “So much the better; we are in agreement then.”

  “Nearly.”

  “Well?”

  “If Her Majesty did something of which you do not approve, then I beg you to reflect.”

  “I have been reflecting, madam. More, I spoke with Aerich, who caused me to reflect even more. And, if that were not enough, I happened to encounter—well, it is of no moment. I learned that the action with which I have been reproaching Her Majesty may have been less of an offense than I had thought, and this, too, has caused me to reflect. So, you perceive, I have been spending more than a little time in reflection. Indeed, I am becoming somewhat weary of the whole business.”

  “Ah, you learned something that may have changed your mind?” asked the Enchantress, extracting the one significant fact from Khaavren’s uncharacteristically effusive speech.

  “Something overheard a year ago at Morrolan’s entertainment at Castle Black.”

  “Just so,” she said, as if she expected that answer and no other. “And so, what is there now to prevent you from serving Her Majesty once more?”

  Khaavren frowned, rubbed his fist over his lips, and said, “Self-love.”

  “Ah. Well, I comprehend.”

  Khaavren bowed, pleased that he was not required to explain that, having resigned, he could not easily beg Her Majesty for his commission to be restored.

  “But then,” continued Sethra, “suppose Her Majesty were to ask you to take up your position again? And suppose that I were to do the same?”

  “Madam, I cannot imagine Her Majesty doing so.”

  “I have a better imagination than you, my dear sir.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  Sethra said, “My lord—”

  “Well?”

  “If you will excuse me for a moment, I will return directly.”

  After some few minutes, Sethra returned, saying, “My dear Khaavren.”

  “Yes, madam?”

  “If you can spare two minutes—”

  “Are these the same two minutes you desired from me before, or are they an additional two minutes?”

  “Oh, these are entirely separate.”

  “Well, if all of these two minutes are combined, I shall soon be required to spare two years. Nevertheless, my dear Sethra, for you, well, I would spare two years were it required.”

  “So much the better.”

  “But then, to what purpose are these two minutes to be dedicated?”

  “Her Majesty would like to see you.”

  Khaavren stiffened—this information, while, we are certain, entirely expected by the reader, was sufficiently astonishing to our brave Tiassa. Without another word, then, he bowed in Sethra’s direction, and took himself to the enclosed terrace—which is, as the reader may recall, the room given over to Her Majesty’s use. Here he encountered the Lord of the Chimes, who, after two words, agreed to bring him to Her Majesty at once.

  Brudik led the way past several others in the waiting room, all of whom—that is to say, all of those who had been waiting patiently for Her Majesty’s time, only to see first the Warlord and now the Tiassa precede them—gave Khaavren looks more or less eloquent.

  Upon entering the terrace, the Lord of the Chimes announced, “The Count of Whitecrest,” and took himself back out of the room, leaving Khaavren alone with Her Majesty.

  “My lord Khaavren.”

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing respectfully.

  “Are you at liberty, Lord Khaavren?”

  “At liberty? I do not understand the question Your Majesty does me the honor to ask.”

  “Have you made commitments to anyone, or are you at liberty?”

  “Ah! I comprehend. I am perfectly at liberty, Your Majesty.”

  “Then, having thought over all of the available candidates as fully and carefully as possible, I have come to the decision that you are the most qualified individual for the position of Captain of the Imperial Guard.”

  She stopped here, and waited. Khaavren, taking the hint, bowed and said, “Your Majesty is too kind.”

  “Not at all,” said she. “Dare I hope you will accept? I have already written out your commission, and but await your word before signing it.”

  “I accept happily, Your Majesty.”

  Zerika nodded and, with a stroke of the pen (a particularly fine instrument, as we suspect the reader may remember), Khaavren was once more Captain of the Imperial Guard. His first words upon receiving his commission were “I am at Your Majesty’s service.”

  “You know of Sethra Lavode’s plan?”

  “Our conversation did not extend to include her plans.”

  “Then go and speak with her; the Warlord is, naturally enough, in charge.”

  “Very good, Majesty,” said Khaavren. “I look forward to a rewarding association in the service of the Empire.” Then, saluting her most respectfully, he left the room.

  When he passed the waiting room, Sergeant, on duty outside of it, could not prevent a certain smile from touching his lips, as he pronounced the word, “Captain.”

  Khaavren gave him an answering smile, though an even more minuscule one, and returned to where Sethra awaited him.

  “Well, Captain?” said the Enchantress.

  “Yes, Warlord?”

  “I took the liberty,” continued Sethra, “of having your maid bring this for you.” With this, she held out the gold-colored half-cloak, with captain’s badge, that he had put away when he had resigned.

  “Well,” said Khaavren, donning the cloak once more. “This is rather much of ceremony for a year’s absence.”

  “What ceremony?” asked Sethra.

  Khaavren smiled and bowed. />
  “And now, Captain,” continued the Enchantress. “You understand that there is to be a battle?”

  “So I am informed, and I give you my word, I have no inclination to disagree with you and Her Majesty.”

  “So much the better. And how have you considered your own rôle in this?”

  “That is a simple enough question to answer.”

  “Well?”

  “You know that the last time an Emperor was threatened, I was away from my post, making an arrest, and His Majesty died. This time, that will not happen.”

  “So then, you wish to remain with Her Majesty?”

  “I not only wish to, but I must insist upon it.”

  Sethra nodded. “Very well, I understand. And now, if you will excuse me, Captain, I must prepare the defenses of the city. Apropos, have you any comments on the harbor?”

  “What of it?”

  “Its defense.”

  “Ah, that is simple enough. It falls into two categories: that which does not require defense, and that which is indefensible.”

  “How, indefensible?”

  Khaavren shrugged. “I overstate the case. That district which we refer to as ‘the harbor’ may sometimes refer to the harbor itself—that is, the body of water upon which ships are anchored for loading and unloading—but more often refers to the area bordered on the south by the water, on the east by the mouth of the Adrilankha River, and on the north and west by the cliffs.”

  “Very well, what of it?”

  “There is no need to defend this area, for the simple reason that twenty soldiers, stationed at the top of each of the staircases that climb the cliffs, can hold it against any numbers you should care to bring against it.”

  “Very well, I understand that. Next?”

  “There is also the district of the city that we call the East Harbor, that is, east of the mouth of the Adrilankha River. Here, instead of cliffs, there are only hills, and these become easier the further east you go. Here it would be possible for an enemy to make landings, and even to approach the city through South Adrilankha.”

  “And, you say, it is indefensible?”

  “In fact, perhaps not. It depends on the number of troops available, and the numbers attempting the landing. I should wish for at least ten troops for each boat landing.”

  “Regardless of how many are in each boat?”

  “Yes, exactly. But—”

  “Well?”

  “If they once effect a landing, then it is a different matter entirely.”

  “And then?”

  “I would suggest that, should an enemy establish a landing—”

  “Yes, in that case?”

  “That you let him have the East Harbor, and South Adrilankha, and guard the bridges over the river and the canal. This can be done with a few thousand well-placed troops.”

  “And will you be willing to consult with us as to their placement?”

  “Gladly.”

  “Very good. I will look at some maps and consider your advice. Although, in point of fact, we do not believe they have sufficient troops at their disposal that they would allocate a sizable number for such an attack. But then, to the left, it best to have considered even unlikely possibilities.”

  “So I have always believed, Warlord.”

  “That is it, then.”

  Khaavren bowed. “Would you care to join us for dinner, madam?”

  “Alas, I must begin my preparations for the defense of the city. Apropos, there will a meeting of the staff at Dzur Mountain. I will arrange a teleport for you.”

  “I will be there.”

  “I will expect you.”

  “In that case, if you are leaving at once, it only leaves me to thank you, Warlord.”

  “Thank me? But for what, Captain?”

  Khaavren smiled in answer and bid the Enchantress a farewell. Then, before taking his dinner, he took himself around the Manor, both inside and out, in order to carry on an inspection of the guard posts, which was a task he did not care to leave to another, now that it was his responsibility once more.

  In fact, this inspection, seemingly so trivial, turned out to be another small but critical element in the unraveling of a complex tapestry whose first thread had come loose when, nearly a year before, Her Majesty had thrown her pen at the wall.

  Exactly how this inspection served to tug at these threads is not something about which the reader must wonder for long; on the contrary, we propose to discover it to the reader directly.

  Chapter the Eighty-Third

  How the Discreet Was Accused

  Of a Great Indiscretion,

  And the Empress Received a Lesson

  As Khaavren was beginning his inspection, Pel, who had been in a small room of the Manor set aside for his use, heard his name spoken. Looking up, he perceived one of the guardsmen, who, doing duty as messenger, begged a moment of his time.

  “Well, what is it?” said Pel.

  “It is Her Majesty.”

  “She wishes to see me, then?”

  “Exactly. She wishes to see Your Discretion, and that directly. I am bidden to inform you—”

  “Well?”

  “That an instant’s delay would be, in her words, highly inappropriate.”

  Pel shrugged. “The gods save me from being inappropriate.”

  “So then?”

  “So then, I am going to her at once. So much so that, without waiting an instant, you may accompany me, and it will then be seen that you have done your duty in exemplary fashion.”

  “So much the better,” said the guardsman, not without a certain satisfaction, because, now that Khaavren was back, he knew that, while no dereliction would be overlooked, zeal would also be noted, appreciated, and rewarded.

  True to his word, Pel accompanied the guardsman, which brought him, in two steps, to the covered terrace. When he entered Her Majesty’s presence, he bowed, and, before he was again upright, he understood that something was amiss—there was a fire in Zerika’s eye that he had never seen before; indeed, he felt himself under a sort of scrutiny that he hadn’t experienced since his interview with the Institute of Discretion—the memory of which was sufficient, even now, to cause perspiration to come to the brow of the Yendi, whose nerves were normally as cool as ice. Moreover, the Orb was the purest, angriest red that Pel had ever seen. He felt rather as a sailor might feel in the instant between his ship’s broaching to, and its going down before the next swell.

  That memory of his interview with the Masters of Discretion came back even more strongly while he waited for the Empress to speak. His interviewers on that occasion, requiring of him details of his life, history, thoughts, and feelings that he had never before revealed even to himself, had been the most terrifying during the seemingly interminable pauses between questions; and now, aware that, whatever was on the mind of Her Majesty, there was no question of joking, and that he, himself, was the object of her scrutiny, those same feelings returned—feelings that, nevertheless, he succeeded in concealing entirely.

  At length she said, “I had thought I could trust you, Duke.”

  Such words as these are, without question, the worst disaster that can befall anyone who has committed himself to the study of discretion. It took, indeed, all of his reserves to meet Zerika’s eyes and reply with coolness that would have done credit to Aerich, “And so Your Majesty can.”

  She glared at him again, her eyes narrowed, and the red of the Orb became, if it were possible, even brighter.

  “Do not compound your crime with dissimulation, Duke.”

  “Your Majesty is invited to put me under the Orb.”

  She brushed this aside with a wave of her hand. “I know something of the discipline you have studied, Duke. I am prepared to believe you can fool the Orb as easily as you fooled me.”

  “Would Your Majesty condescend to tell me with what I am accused?”

  “I should prefer you to admit to it without that formality; it sickens me to think of it.”<
br />
  “Alas, I have nothing with which to reproach myself, and so I cannot imagine with what I could be charged.”

  “Would it make matters any more clear, Yendi, if I were to tell you that I have just given the honor of an audience to His Highness Prince Ritsak, the Count of Flowerpot Hill and Environs?”

  Pel bowed. “I regret that this tells me nothing.”

  “The Prince, the Lyorn Heir, had the misfortune to be forced to tell me that his House, that is, the House of the Lyorn, the House to which others look for moral guidance and political leadership, could not support my pretensions—that was his word, ‘pretensions,’ at which he had at least the grace to blush while uttering—to the Orb. The Orb, I might add, that circled my head as he spoke.”

  “That is, indeed, a great misfortune, Majesty.”

  “That is my opinion, Duke.”

  “I do myself the honor of telling my Empress, with all sincerity, that I cannot imagine how I could be responsible for this misfortune.”

  “You lie, Duke.”

  Pel’s eyes flashed as did Her Majesty’s, and he said, “Your Majesty may well give me the lie, knowing that I cannot demand satisfaction of my sovereign.”

  “Save your casuistries, Duke.”

  Pel continued to glare, and made no response. At length, Zerika grunted and said, “Very well, your point is well taken. I ought not to calumniate you when you cannot respond. I withdraw the word.”

  Pel bowed stiffly, and Zerika continued, speaking in carefully controlled tones, “I was reproached, by the House of the Lyorn, with what he did me the honor to call ‘inappropriate relations.’ ”

  Pel frowned. “Inappropriate relations, Your Majesty? I cannot imagine what this might mean.”

  “It means, Duke, that the House of the Lyorn reproached me with my lover.”

  Pel felt his eyes widen as understanding came to him. After an instant’s reflection, he said, “I consider that an impertinence, Majesty.”

  “As do I, and I said so.”

  “And may I do myself the honor of asking Your Majesty what reply His Highness made?”

  “He replied that it would be an impertinence if I were the Empress.”

  In spite of all that had happened, Pel could not prevent the ghost of a smile from creasing his lips as he said, “There is Your Majesty’s casuistry.”