Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read online

  “Well,” said Tazendra, when she had for the moment run out of anecdotes, “but what of you, Khaavren? Was His Majesty pleased with your report on the night’s work?”

  “Pleased?” said Khaavren. “I nearly think he was. At least, he smiled his most gracious smile, and had nothing but compliments to make us.”

  “Before the court?” said Tazendra.

  “Indeed, before the court. And I should add that I caused your name, Tazendra, to sound in his ears, as well as yours, Aerich.”

  Tazendra beamed at this, while Aerich shrugged as if this were a matter of no concern to him (although, to be sure, Khaavren detected a spark of interest in Fawnd’s eyes; this loyal retainer, it seemed, had more concern for his master’s fame than his master did).

  “Well, this is all very well,” said Srahi suddenly, “only it seems that you, Sir Khaavren, must be awake at an early hour indeed, and you have had, if I am not mistaken, a long, hard night already, so that I should think sleep would not be unwelcome to you.”

  Khaavren’s first inclination was to speak harshly to her, but then, with that perspicacity with which sensitive and intelligent natures are often endowed, he understood that she was, in her own way, displaying for Mica; and so, suppressing a smile, he simply rose and said, “You have the right of it, Srahi. The rest of you may continue your conversation, but, as for me, my bed is calling in a voice too shrill to be ignored, and I must placate it, and myself, wherefore I bid you all a pleasant evening.”

  “Indeed,” said Tazendra; “I cannot deny that I have become weary myself; perhaps I am getting old.”

  Aerich shrugged, but he, too, seemed tired—and none too soon, thought Khaavren, wondering briefly if he were the one getting old.

  Good nights were exchanged, and Khaavren took himself off to bed, where he slept long and deeply.

  He awoke the next morning at his accustomed time, stumbled down to the kitchen, splashed water on his face, consulted with himself, then wrote a quick note, which said,

  Sire, I find Myself in need of Rest after yester-day’s Exertions. Should any Emergency arise, Your Majesty knows how to Reach me at Once. In hopes that my Absence does not Displease Your Majesty, I Remain Your Majesty’s Humble Servant—Khaavren

  He stepped out of the door, still in his nightclothes, and waited until a pair of guardsmen passed by. He called them over and put the note into their hands, enjoining them to carry it to His Majesty with all dispatch, after which he returned to his bed, where he slept several more hours, enjoying his rest as only an old soldier, who is perpetually short of sleep, can enjoy it.

  He awoke the second time suffused with guilt, somehow aware that he should have been at his post. But then he recalled the events of the night before, and acquitted himself of any misdemeanor in allowing himself a day to recover, so he lay back against his pillows in luxuriant sloth until he became aware that the aroma of fresh klava was drifting up from the lower floors of the house, which in turn made him realize that his good friends were, no doubt, still present, and perhaps awake, wherefore he at once took himself from his bed, fairly leapt into his clothes, and dashed down the stairs with an enthusiasm he had not felt in centuries.

  Nor was he disappointed; sitting in the parlor were Aerich, Tazendra, Mica, and Srahi, while Fawnd was emerging from the kitchen with a cup of klava, which he respectfully presented to Khaavren.

  “Ah, ah!” cried Tazendra. “You have sharp ears, Aerich, for that was, indeed, Khaavren’s step you heard. Good morning, my dear Captain—or, rather, good afternoon. We were just discussing the court, and who better to answer our questions than you? But come, you must, no doubt, first have your klava, which I’m certain will not be unwelcome to you.”

  “Far from unwelcome,” said Khaavren, smiling. He sat down once more in his favorite chair, and inhaled of the bittersweet aroma before tasting it. He relaxed further into the chair, sipped again, and said, “But come, Tazendra, how long have you been awake?”

  “Oh, not long, not long,” said Tazendra. “An hour, perhaps, since I rose, and Aerich was only drinking his first cup when I emerged.”

  “Ah, well, then I have not been so lazy as I might have been. Did you sleep well? And you, Aerich?”

  “Oh,” said Tazendra, “I slept tolerably soundly, I assure you—I remember nothing after my head touched the pillow until I smelled the klava that Mica was making, and which pulled me from the bed as if horses were dragging me bodily from it.”

  “And I,” added Aerich, “slept all the better for the warm remembrances inspired by this house where we shared so much trouble and happiness.”

  Khaavren continued drinking his klava from a large, black ceramic mug upon which his device and name were engraved on a silver plate affixed to the mug—a mug that had been given to him by his command upon the date of the 500th anniversary of his promotion to ensign. He noticed that, although Srahi and Mica were not, in fact, sitting together, nevertheless their eyes often strayed toward each other, and that when their eyes met, Srahi would smile and Mica would blush and look at the floor. Khaavren, though tempted by memories of Srahi’s sharp tongue to embarrass her, virtuously resolved to say nothing on the matter. Instead he treated it as a matter of course and addressed Tazendra once more, saying, “I’m afraid, however, that I must disappoint you in regard to your desires.”

  “How, disappoint me? In what way?”

  “There is little, in fact, that I know of the doings of the court.”

  “What?” cried Tazendra. “You? Who live all of your life in the pockets of Their Majesties?”

  “That is just it,” said Khaavren. “In truth, there is little enough that can be seen from inside a pocket.”

  “Bah! So you do not, at this moment, know what gossip and scandal there is?”

  “As I told Pel a week ago—splinters! Only a week!—if you wished to find anyone in the Empire who knew less of the gossip of the court, well, you would have a difficult search. When the courtiers gossip, I am on duty and cannot listen. When His Majesty does me the honor to address me, it is a matter of orders, not the reason for the orders. The guardsmen—who, as you recall, are always among the best informed—do not discuss such matters with me because I am an officer, whereas the other officers, such as the Warlord, do not discuss such matters with me because I have His Majesty’s ear.”

  “Well,” said Tazendra, who seemed to follow this speech only with difficulty, “that is a shame, for I had hoped to learn much that I could not learn in the duchies. You say you know nothing?”

  “Not enough to satisfy you, my dear friend; although, to be sure, I know that these are trying times for many who make their homes at court.”

  “Trying times?” said Aerich, raising his eyebrows and putting into his expression an eloquent request for more details.

  “Trying times of a certainty,” said Khaavren. “Attend: Do you not know that, when the economy is troubled, intendants are dismissed? And, in addition, when war goes badly, generals are executed?”

  “Well, yes,” said Aerich. “That is the usual way of the world.”

  “Well, they have been executing intendants.”

  “Ah!” said Aerich.

  Tazendra said, “But not, I hope, dismissing generals?”

  “As to that, I cannot say.”

  “Well,” said Tazendra, “so the economy is troubled?”

  “Shards!” said Khaavren. “I nearly think so. His Majesty has no more money until the new Imperial Allowance is decided, the Great Houses bicker about how to avoid paying their share, the Teckla prepare to rise against the taxes, the revenue farmers prepare to revolt against the Empire if the Emperor decides to recall their tax-rolls, the mines are shutting down for want of food, ships lie idle in the harbors of Adrilankha and Northport, the armies and the wizards wait for negotiations with financiers before taking action to end the uprisings and droughts—in truth, the problems are better suited to the reign of the Orca than that of the Phoenix.” Khaavren punctuat
ed this speech with an elaborate shrug, as if to say, “What matters any of this to me?”

  Aerich gave Khaavren an indulgent smile, as if the Lyorn did not for a moment believe the Tiassa’s protests of unconcern. Tazendra seemed about to speak, but at that moment there came the sound of wood knocking on wood that indicated someone had pulled the door clapper.

  Khaavren sighed. “I am needed at the Palace,” said he, “for some trivial matter.”

  “How, needed?” said Tazendra.

  “How, trivial?” said Aerich.

  “Why, yes. Who else could be calling on me but someone from the Palace? And if it were urgent, His Majesty has faster ways of reaching me than sending a messenger.”

  “Well, are you going to answer it?”

  “Cha! Let Mica answer it. Lackeys are in fashion now; let the messenger think I have one, and that he wears the livery of the House of the Dzur; it will cause gossip and speculation, which will bring me a certain satisfaction in the contemplation, as I do not hear these things.”

  Mica rose and went to see who was at the door. From the living room, they could hear the door open, then a murmur of voices, and then silence. Khaavren frowned, suddenly remembering his last unexpected visitor and hoping that he had not put Mica into harm’s way. He was on the point of rising to see when Mica returned, his eyes wide and his face pale.

  “Well?” said Khaavren and Tazendra together.

  The Teckla opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, opened it again, and said, “There are visitors, my lord.”

  “How, visitors?” said Khaavren. “Well, haven’t they names?”

  “Indeed, they have names,” said Mica. “And even, if I may permit myself the honor of expressing an opinion, very good names.”

  “Well?” said Tazendra. “What are these names? For you perceive we are waiting for you to tell us.”

  “I am about to tell you,” said Mica.

  “Do so, ninny!” said Tazendra.

  “They are,” said Mica carefully, “Aliera e’Kieron and Sethra Lavode.”

  “The Horse!” cried Tazendra. “Adron’s daughter, and Sethra Lavode? Here? Now?”

  “Shards and splinters,” said Khaavren. “It seems I was entirely wrong.”

  “Well,” said Aerich, smiling. “Are they less welcome for your error?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Then, are you going to invite them in?”

  “Cha! I nearly think so. Come, Mica, bid them enter.”

  Mica bowed and, not without some signs of trepidation, went to show in their guests. Everyone stood as Aliera and Sethra entered the room.

  “Welcome,” said Khaavren, bowing like a courtier. “Allow me to name the Tazendra and Aerich. Sethra Lavode and Aliera e‘Kieron.”

  Courtesies were exchanged on all parts, after which Khaavren asked if their new guests would care for klava. This offer was accepted, and Fawnd stiffly brought in two more steaming cups, after which, still showing signs of pain, he vanished back into the kitchen to make more, along with Srahi to pulverize the beans and Mica went to accompany Srahi, leaving Sethra, Aliera, Aerich, Tazendra, and Khaavren alone in the room.

  “Well,” said Khaavren, “your visit is as unexpected as it is welcome. Do you know that I have been searching for the two of you?”

  “How, searching for us?” said Sethra. “Impossible.”

  “It is a week since I have done anything else,” said Khaavren.

  “But then,” said Aliera, “you must have a reason.”

  “I nearly think I do,” said Khaavren. “You must know that I am anxious to learn the results of your investigations.”

  “Investigations?” said Sethra. “You mean, into the murders?”

  “Well, and what else?”

  “But,” said Aliera. “We have learned nothing definite; you must know that we should have told you at once if there was an accusation to be made.”

  “Ah,” said Khaavren, attempting to conceal his disappointment. “Well, but then, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? For you should believe that, delighted as I am by two such lovely and renowned ladies gracing my home, I cannot believe you have come to enjoy my society—especially when I recall that, had I not been overcome by my labors of yester-day, I should be at the Palace now and not be home at all.”

  “But we knew you were not at the Palace,” said Aliera.

  “How, you knew?”

  “Of a certainty, and by the simplest possible method—we asked after you there.”

  “And,” continued Khaavren, “finding that I was not there, you searched for me here?”

  “We more than searched for you,” said Sethra. “In fact, we found you.”

  “Shards! I nearly think you did. Well then, having found me, I hope you will do me the honor of explaining the reason for your search, for you must know that I am curious.”

  “Then,” said Sethra, “we shall satisfy your curiosity.”

  “I shall be happy if you do.”

  “As will I,” added Tazendra, who wished to call attention to herself before such illustrious visitors.

  Aerich merely shrugged.

  “We have,” said Aliera, “something to report in our investigation into the magic involved in the death of Gyorg Lavode, and of the others.”

  “Something to report? But you have just told me that you had come to no conclusions.”

  “There are conclusions,” said Aliera, “and conclusions.”

  “And what you say is true,” said Sethra. “We have arrived at nothing definite. Nevertheless, we have learned certain things, and we thought you should know, in order to help your own investigations.”

  “Well, you are entirely correct, and I am pleased you have done so. Is it safe to say that you have, at any rate, learned certain things?”

  “Yes,” said Sethra. “Or, that is to say, no.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Khaavren, “you must understand that this answer confuses me.”

  “She means,” said Aliera, “that we have found answers to some of our questions on some matters, but none to which we can subscribe without room for doubt.”

  “Ah. Now I comprehend. Well, then, what are these conclusions, insofar as you can explain them?”

  “I forewarn you,” said Aliera, “that this concerns sorcery.”

  “Well, sorcery doesn’t frighten me.”

  “And,” put in Tazendra, “sorcery intrigues me.”

  “Then we shall explain,” said Aliera.

  “I await you,” said Khaavren.

  Sethra said, “The forms of sorcery that were used—that is, the patterns of tensions and energy about the affected area—are those of an unskilled sorcerer of the House of the Dragon, or a skilled sorcerer of the House of the Jhereg, wishing to disguise his hand.”

  “I had not known,” said Khaavren, “that these patterns were similar.”

  “They are not,” said Aliera coldly.

  “They can easily be mistaken, one with the other,” said Sethra. Aliera responded to this comment with a quick glare at Sethra, but did not speak.

  “Ah,” said Khaavren quickly. “I see your confusion. But, at any rate, it is hardly the work of your father—no one would say he is unskilled.”

  Aliera began to speak, then closed her mouth. Sethra said, “He is so skilled, my dear Captain, that, if he wished, he could make his hand look like that of an unskilled Dragon, or a skilled Jhereg.”

  “Oh,” said Khaavren.

  “We must look further,” said Aliera, “for the proof of my father’s innocence.”

  “We must look further,” said Sethra, with a certain sharpness of tone, “to learn what actually happened and who is really responsible.”

  “The tasks,” said Aliera coldly, “are identical.”

  “That remains to be established,” said Sethra.

  “But do you doubt the outcome?”

  “I doubt everything.”

  “And do you doubt my word?” cried Aliera, risi
ng to her feet.

  “Your word, no;” said Sethra, also rising. “But your judgment.”

  “So you said only yester-day,” said Aliera. “And do you recall my response? I have not changed my mind, and I do not at this moment see a librarian arriving with ancient sorcerous tomes to distract us from the business at hand.”

  “Well, no more do I.”

  “Then, do you persist in your remarks?”

  “This will be interesting,” whispered Tazendra.

  “Hush!” said Khaavren and Aerich together.

  Sethra said, “I have seen you work, lady, and you are skilled in hand and daring in thought, but if you do not temper your opinions in the cool water of fact, the theory you forge may shatter the first time it is crossed with another.”

  “Then let us step into the street, oh lady of the tangled metaphor, that I might unweave it for you, and at the same time, teach you something of the tempered steel you discuss so carelessly.”

  “If you wish,” said Sethra. “Do me the honor to lead, and—what is it?”

  This last remark, so different in tone from those preceding it, was occasioned by a sudden change in Aliera’s countenance: instead of appearing cold and haughty, she now wore an expression of intense concentration, as if something she wished to remember were eluding her, or she were trying, like an actor of the Hantura school, to hold every muscle unmoving for as long as possible.

  Khaavren rose to his feet. “Lady Aliera,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

  “Do not speak to her,” said Sethra, who had understood almost at once what was happening. “She is involved in psychic communication—mind to mind.”

  “Shards!” said Khaavren. “With His Majesty?”

  “With her father, I would think—for I know they communicate in this fashion from time to time.”

  “How, is this possible?”

  “More than possible,” said Tazendra. “Though I have never done it, I have been studying the art, and it is certainly possible between people who know each other well and are master sorcerers.”

  “Indeed,” said Aerich. “It was thus, if you recall, Khaavren, that Garland kept in communication with Seodra; have you forgotten the famous disk he left behind?”