Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read online

  But to look upon Adron was to look upon the storm—for every muscle in his face was taut, his hands were clenched into fists, and he appeared to be having difficulty in preventing himself from exploding into a fully fledged rage that would make him a danger to everyone present—for there is nothing more terrifying than a Dragonlord wizard who has lost his temper and has no good place to direct his anger.

  The reader will know from his own experience that it is no unusual trait to shout, rage, and shake one’s fists when angry—it is as easy to find a person who acts this way as it is to find acorns in the Traveling Wood. But there is more than one reason behind such behavior. Some throw tantrums to frighten those around them into taking shelter, or negotiating with the lightning. Some, with no such plans, find it the only way to express their frustration at the uncaring climate. And some, like the Duke of Eastmanswatch, know that, when anger threatens to engulf them, to cry out their exasperation is the only way to prevent themselves from losing all control and engaging in undirected violence against anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to be within range of the lightning bolts of their rage. Where such people are concerned, we can only be thankful when they know themselves well enough to direct their tempers into a channel more or less harmless.

  With this firmly in mind, we will observe the rage of his Highness Adron e’Kieron.

  “Who is he, anyway?” cried Adron to anyone who would listen. “Did you know that his mother attempted to enlist in the Imperial Service during the Reign of the Orca, and was thrown out of the Navy because she could not learn to navigate? Did you know that his father, before his marriage, lost all of his wealth investing in a device that was supposed to clear the sky of its overcast—a device that never existed, wouldn’t have worked, and, if it had worked, would have made no money because no one cares anyway? Did you know that his education stopped at the age of one hundred and ten because he was so arrogant his tutors, one at a time, gave up on the notion of teaching him anything? Did you know—”

  “Father,” said Aliera.

  Adron stopped. “What? What is it? This fool, this spurious Emperor, this false commander, dares, dares to have searched the private chambers of my daughter, and then expects to be served by gentlemen? He expects to command the loyalty of—”

  “Father!” said Aliera.

  “What? The very idea that he could—”

  “Father, you must stop. You must know that all of your troops can hear you.”

  “Let them hear me!” cried Adron, still rapidly pacing back and forth. “Do you think it matters to me if they know what sort of man—I say man not Emperor because, may the Gods hear me and weep, we cannot deny him his species, but he has never proven himself to be an Emperor—what sort of man we find ourselves in the service of?”

  Aerich said calmly, “It is unseemly for a gentleman to belittle one whom the Gods have made his master in the presence of those of whom the Gods have made him master.”

  This stopped Adron, if for no other reason than because he had to think for a moment to work out what the Lyorn was saying. From anyone else, such a remark would almost certainly have been the “drop that broke the dike” as the saying is, but delivered by the Lyorn, it caused His Highness to pause and consider, and, in this consideration, he began to cool down.

  “Perhaps,” he said at last. “And yet the idea of this pipsqueak Phoenix having his ruffians enter—”

  “Father,” said Aliera. “I’ve spoken to His Majesty, and I assure you I said everything that was necessary. I think we should now put this matter behind us, and—”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Sethra. “But the last thing we should do is put it behind us—at least until we have stared at it from the front a little longer.”

  Aliera turned a puzzled glance her way. “You think so?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  Aliera frowned and addressed Aerich, saying, “And what is your opinion, my dear Lyorn?”

  “I am entirely in agreement with Sethra Lavode,” said Aerich.

  “Explain, then.”

  “I will do so,” said Sethra.

  “Come, let us listen. You too, father.”

  “Very well,” said Adron gruffly, and sat down on the cleverly constructed collapsible chair that he always brought with him on campaigns so he could sit without undue strain on his back.

  “This is it, then,” said Sethra. “Before we move on, and put this unfortunate affair from our minds, it is well for us to consider several questions which spring from it.”

  “What questions?” said Aliera.

  “In the first place, we must ask ourselves how His Majesty knew to search your room for this object.”

  “That is a good question,” admitted Aliera. “And next?”

  “Next, we must ask ourselves why you, Aliera, have not yet been arrested.”

  “Arrested? Bah. We came here directly. Who would dare to attempt to arrest me here, in the midst of my father’s encampment?”

  “Would you resist?” said Aerich. “If so, it would be open revolt against the Empire, as I hope you perceive. Moreover—”

  “Yes? Moreover?”

  “The answer to your question is our friend Khaavren. For I assure you that, if he had been given the order to arrest you, he would be here by now, though every warrior of the House of the Dragon stood before you.”

  Adron chuckled at this, and said, “I nearly think you are right.”

  “That was,” said Sethra, “exactly the impression I had of him from the time we spent together.”

  “Well then,” said Aliera. “Why has the order not been given? Have you any theories?”

  Tazendra, who had been silent during this entire discussion, said, “Yes. Are there any theories?”

  This produced an embarrassed moment of silence, during which Adron and Aliera looked at her quizzically, Aerich grimaced, and Sethra favored her with an amused glance. Tazendra blushed and looked away.

  Sethra said, “It is clear that someone intervened on your behalf.”

  “Ah!” said Aliera. “Yes, that is possible.”

  “But who would have done so?” said Adron.

  Sethra shrugged. “My own guess would be Jurabin, for he has His Majesty’s ear, and it is obvious to everyone that he is much taken with you, Aliera, especially as you were, according to all the court gossips, eyeing him most indiscreetly during your introduction to His Majesty a few days ago.”

  As quick as an indrawn breath, Aliera was on her feet, crying, “I was what?”

  “It does no good to be angry with me, my dear girl,” said Sethra. “I only repeat what I have heard from my sources at court.”

  “You heard that I was—how did you put it? Eyeing this … this … this minister?”

  “Exactly.”

  Aliera seemed to control herself only with difficulty. Then she said, “I am not angry with you, nor do I hold you to blame. If you will give me the name of whoever made this preposterous claim, I will say no more about it.”

  “How?” said Sethra. “Give you the names of my informants at court? It is unlikely.”

  “I must insist,” said Aliera coldly.

  “Insist?” said Sethra, in tones of amazement. “You?”

  “You find it amusing?”

  “Aliera,” said Lord Adron.

  “What? Am I to stand here and allow myself to be accused of such conduct while I have sufficient steel at my side to insist on the respect due my rank and lineage? I will not allow this woman to—”

  “Aliera!” said Lord Adron.

  “What? You must understand that this woman is implying that I have been playing the coquette—and, moreover, doing so with someone with whom I wouldn’t so much as—”

  “Aliera, recall where you are, and what we are talking about. We have no time to—”

  “Bah! Time! It will take only moments to dispatch this haughty—”

  “I should point out,” said Aerich coolly, “that should the two of you slaug
hter each other, it will be much more difficult for us to learn what has actually been taking place at court—and, whatever is taking place, it is clear that it has more far-reaching consequences than who has insulted whom. I suggest the two of you delay your quarrel for at least long enough for us to come up with a plan of action. For my part, I think Sethra’s point ought to be considered—it may well be Jurabin who has been involved in this, however much the Lady Aliera may have encouraged or failed to encourage such emotions as he may be experiencing.”

  Silence fell in the tent, then Aliera said, “Well, there is some justice in what you say.”

  The Lyorn bowed his head.

  “Then how ought we to begin?” asked Adron.

  “I wish Khaavren were here,” murmured Tazendra.

  “Well,” said Aerich, smiling. “I think our clever Dzurlord has hit on it.”

  “How, I have?”

  “Indeed, my friend. Our first step ought to be to find Khaavren, and let him know all that has occurred. Next, perhaps we should find Pel; the clever Yendi may be able to shed some light on these things—he certainly knew that Your Highness’s life was in danger; who knows what else he has knowledge of?”

  Adron shook his head. “No, we cannot involve Khaavren in any of this.”

  “Your Highness?” said Aerich, surprised.

  “He is the Emperor’s creature.”

  “Well? And if he is, he is nevertheless our friend.”

  “And therefore, can we ask him to help us in a matter which could bring his duty into conflict with his friendship?”

  “Ah,” said Aerich. “I had not considered that.” He frowned and seemed troubled.

  “Well?”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But Pel—”

  “Is he not in the Academy of Discretion?”

  “Yes,” said Aerich.

  “And is not his Academy supported by the Emperor?”

  Aerich shrugged. “All of the nobility is supported by the Emperor.”

  “In fact,” said Adron grimly, “it is the other way around.”

  “No, Your Highness. We support His Majesty with our gold; the Emperor supports us with his majesty.”

  “So it should be,” said Adron. “It is rarely so.”

  Aerich shrugged.

  “Khaavren is a good friend,” put in Tazendra. “And so is Pel. If they were having difficulty in which we could help, they would not hesitate to tell us.”

  Adron bit his lip. “Nevertheless,” he said, “for now, we should keep this to ourselves.”

  “Father,” said Aliera.

  “Yes?”

  “What are you planning?”

  Adron smiled at his daughter—a smile in which there was a certain degree of paternal fondness, odd as that may be to think of when discussing Adron and Aliera e’Kieron. Yet it was true, as all the accounts of the time agree, that these two giants of history, father and daughter, cared for one another even as fathers and daughters among commoners might. Adron said, “You are not easy to deceive.”

  “Well?”

  His eyes strayed to the covered board in the back of the room, then he said, “I am planning nothing that I wish to discuss, Aliera.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  Aerich’s eyes narrowed; Sethra’s lips pressed together; and Tazendra’s eyebrows rose.

  “Then our plans?” said Aliera.

  “Someone must speak with Jurabin,” said Adron.

  “I will do so,” said Aliera.

  Adron nodded. “You must attempt to learn what he knows of the search of your room, and do not stop until you are certain you have emptied him of this knowledge.

  “And I will try to learn as well,” said Aliera, “what His Majesty’s intentions are toward you.”

  “If you wish,” said Adron, shrugging his shoulders.

  “And I,” said Sethra, “shall accompany the Lady Aliera, lest anything untoward happen to her while she is at the Palace.”

  “I will remain with His Highness,” said Aerich, not saying anything more—to put into words that he feared for Adron’s safety would, of course, have been an insult.

  “And I,” said Tazendra. “I will …” she frowned. “I’m not certain. What ought I to do?”

  Aerich thought for a moment, then said, “You and Mica return to the house, and tell our friends that we have been in conference with Lord Adron. Of course, you must mention nothing of our plans, or of our concerns about Jurabin.”

  Tazendra nodded brusquely. “Very well,” she said.

  Sethra’s eyes appeared to twinkle for a moment as she looked at Aerich, but if he noticed this he gave no sign of it. Tazendra rose and said, “If we are to go, we ought to take our leaves of Your Highness.”

  “Yes,” said Adron, who seemed distracted, but came back to himself long enough to say, “Though I am not undisturbed by the news you have brought, still, I am delighted to see you, my friends, and I could not ask for better companionship for my daughter.”

  Tazendra and Aerich bowed deeply to Adron, after which father and daughter embraced. Then Sethra and Tazendra called to Mica, who appeared in the doorway, his faithful bar-stool slung over his shoulder.

  “We are ready to leave,” said Tazendra.

  “Yes, my lady. I shall bring the horses.”

  “Aerich will be remaining here with His Highness.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  As Mica went to fetch the horses, Aerich suddenly turned to Aliera and said, “My lady, there is one question that I wish to ask you, for there is a matter upon which I am curious.”

  “How, you are curious about something?” said Aliera. “Well, you may ask.”

  “Then tell me this,” said the Lyorn. “What exactly was this object that His Majesty discovered in your chambers, and that justified the search?”

  Aliera shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just a small purple stone.”

  Chapter the Seventeenth

  Which Treats of Small Purple Stones,

  And of Irregularities in Dress.

  THIS IS NOT THE FIRST time the astute reader will have noticed these purple stones appearing in our narrative. Those with a knowledge of magical and natural history will, of course, have recognized them long hence, and be aware of their significance, and the threat posed by their very presence. It remains, then, our duty to assist those who have not had the privilege of making these studies, so that all of our readers will be, as it were, at the same place from this point forward, when those events which shape the conclusion of our narrative begin to coalesce into the patterns from which the final form of our history will emerge—or, to put it more simply, we must now ensure that all of our readers have the knowledge necessary to understand why those matters we are addressing fell out in the exact manner in which they did.

  It has been theorized, and by such learned scholars as Richor of Mountcalm, that these stones were first created by the Jenoine—those mysterious, powerful, half-historical, half-mythical earliest dwellers on the world, who at last faded into the primal mist from which they emerged, or blew themselves up forming the Great Sea of Amorphia, or vanished to another plane of existence, or whatever theory the reader holds dear. It has also been theorized that the first of these stones occurred naturally near the edge or the “shore” of the Great Sea, although this seems unlikely.

  Whatever their cause, the secret of creating them was discovered by wizards of the House of the Athyra late in the Ninth Cycle, and they were put to devastating use by sorcerers of the House of the Dragon early in the Tenth, for which reason the Lyorn Emperor Cuorfor II passed edicts forbidding their use or creation—edicts which have at times been rigorously enforced, at other times all but ignored. We should note that elder sorcery had been outlawed from the beginning of the Empire, and many believed—and still believe—that use of these stones was nothing more than a particular form of the sorcery that predates the Orb and the Empire; on this subject the historian will take no position.

  It would, with
out doubt, require the services of an Athyra or a Dragon to reveal the details of their working—and it should be pointed out that such knowledge is available to those willing to look. Yet this history does not require such explicit detail—it is enough to say that to carry one of these stones about one’s person will, over time, give one some understanding of the uses of that queer and dangerous branch of science called elder sorcery, and that these stones can also serve as a means of calling, storing, and dispersing the energies, taken from the very ether in which we live, that this sorcery calls upon and manipulates in its workings.

  Where the sorcerer achieves his effects through the careful and subtle control of the powers we are granted, by the grace of Her Majesty, from the Orb, which controls and channels the energies from the Great Sea, elder sorcery, by its nature, eschews subtlety, instead relying on the sheer power of the amorphia. Is it any wonder that its use has been outlawed? Is it any wonder that no one save the crazed or the desperate will touch it? The difference between using these techniques—epitomized by the purple stones which we have now seen several times—and using the raw, naked power of the amorphia itself, is one of degree, not of kind.

  And yet we must, for the sake of honesty, add that the Orb itself was fashioned (by Zerika the First, according to legend; by the Jenoine, according to myth) by this same pre-Empire sorcery. If so, then what power could be unleashed, what dreams of man could be fulfilled, if it were possible to achieve nice control of these powers, such control as the creators of the Orb must have had?

  There is no answer to this question, so let us instead ask another: what sort of man might set himself the task of finding out? Who might take upon himself all of the dreadful risks of unleashing such energy, wild and uncontrolled, in order to harness this power for mankind, or in order to further his own aims?