The Phoenix Guards Read online

  “It could happen, good Mica.”

  “My lord, I know you are brave and strong, and my mistress fights like a dzur, and I perceive that Lord Aerich is very cool under fire, while the Cavalier Pel is both clever and fierce, and both Lord Uttrik and Lady Kathana are Dragons, and I, though a Teckla, can keep my head well enough when matters become hot and I have a bar-stool in my hand—”

  “I know it well, good Mica, for I have seen it.”

  “Thanks, my lord. And yet, well, an army, my lord?”

  “What, then, you are afraid of dying?”

  “Afraid? Oh, no, my lord, I beg you to believe that I wouldn’t dare to be afraid. But I am sad, because serving my lady has seemed to be such a fine thing for me, that I hate to see my life end at the very moment it has become sweet.”

  Khaavren reached out his hand and patted Mica on the shoulder. “Take heart, good Mica,” he said. “All is not lost, and, who knows, but something may, as Aerich has suggested, occur that will save both of us—you from death, and me from something worse. Besides, you have only made a projection; perhaps they have given up and will make no more attempts.”

  “Oh, do you believe it, my lord?”

  “Cha! It is possible. And, in any case, I have no idea where they could find an army even if they desired to raise one.”

  “I hope you’re right, my lord,” said Mica, but he shook his head as if to say, “I put no faith in it, however.”

  Chapter the Twenty-eighth

  In Which Both Stage And Players

  are Put Into Position for The Conclusion

  of Something Like a Tragedy

  AND, IN FACT, MICA WAS not far wrong, for at that moment, some few leagues behind them a certain nobleman was causing his name to be announced to Lord Adron, and in his hand was piece of paper, a mere scrap, which, by the time it had finished its business, would have irrevocably altered the destinies of everyone with whom our history concerns itself.

  The nobleman was admitted at once upon giving his name, and was led into the same room that we have already visited, where Lord Adron rose, bowed and studied him. “Good day to you, Count Shaltre,” he said.

  “And to you, Your Highness,” said the Lyorn, bowing low out of deference to the Dragonlord’s rank, but not so low as he might have, since he came as a messenger from his Majesty.

  Adron, who was able to interpret this bow, said, “You have something to convey to me?”

  “I have that honor, Your Highness,” said Shaltre.

  “Well, I await you.”

  “Here it is, then: I require a thousand troops, with you to lead them, in order to capture certain fugitives.”

  “Fugitives? That is to say, criminals?”

  “I don’t say they are criminals, Your Highness, yet they must be taken or killed.”

  “Well, and how many of these fugitives are there?”

  “There are, at present, six.”

  “How, six? You require a thousand men to capture six fugitives?”

  “There are many miles of mountain to search, Your Highness.”

  “Ah, you require a search, then. But I assure you, my lord, that a search can be far more effectively carried out by a few trackers than by a thousand soldiers.”

  “It may require many soldiers to bring them home once the trackers have found them, Your Highness.”

  “Then they are dangerous, my lord?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “And their names?”

  “I do not know all of their names, Your Highness. There is one called Khaavren, and another called Uttrik.”

  “Those gentlemen?”

  “None other.”

  “They are fugitives?”

  “Indeed they are, and even very much so.”

  “Well, I know them. They have been my guests, and departed my home two days ago. I am afraid that by now they are far from here—too far for soldiers to catch them.”

  “Not at all, Your Highness. We have reason to believe that they have taken the road to the Floating Bridge.”

  “Well, but then?”

  “They have, for reasons best known to themselves, taken a lengthy route; perhaps so they could keep their horses. If we leave within the hour, and you direct us through the high passes, we could in nine hours be where they are now.”

  “You know the terrain very well, Count.”

  “Your Highness is kind.”

  “I’m sorry, then, but I must refuse.”

  “How, refuse?”

  “They have been my guests, and, moreover, they have with them one—”

  “Whose name need not be mentioned, Your Highness. Not all of them need be taken or killed; that is why you must lead the troops yourself, to be certain no mistakes are made on this score.”

  Adron frowned, trying to puzzle out the complex interrelations of policy and intrigue which had led to this particular Imperial request. At last, unable to guess, he said, “Nevertheless, as I have had the honor of telling you, I must refuse His Majesty in this case. If for no other reason, than because I was informed, while in the city, of a build-up of Easterners near the Pepperfields, and I must bring my troops there lest we be faced with an invasion.”

  “Allow me to remind your Highness that you are not Marquis of Pepperfield.”

  “Well, nor is anyone else. Yet I assure you that the Easterners will not delay any invasion they may have planned because His Majesty has delayed designating a Marquis for that estate.”

  “It is, nevertheless, an Imperial matter at this time, and some may wonder at your determination to place your own forces there.”

  “The Easterners, I assure you, will not wonder.”

  “So you are determined to bring your forces to the Pepperfields, rather than to submit to His Majesty’s request?”

  “Blood! I think so; I have killed two horses in order to return here for that purpose.”

  “Yet, I declare the thing is impossible, Your Highness,” said Shaltre.

  “How, impossible?”

  “When His Majesty makes a request—”

  “It is still a request; therefore, I may act upon it or not. While I am not anxious to offend His Majesty, nevertheless—”

  “But if it were not a request, rather, if it were an order?”

  “Well, that is another matter. Then, in my capacity as Duke of Eastmanswatch, a position which bears Imperial signets, I must obey.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, it is an order.”

  “And yet, you explained that it was a request.”

  “It was a request, Your Highness, until the moment you refused; it then became an order.”

  Adron studied the Lyorn carefully. Then he said, “You have, I suppose, some proof of His Majesty’s will?”

  “If your Highness would deign to read this paper?”

  Adron’s frown deepened, but he took the paper that Shaltre presented him, and he read, “Lord Adron: By our will, you are to follow Shaltre’s instructions exactly in all matters regarding the capture of Khaavren of Castlerock and his companions.—Tortaalik.” Adron checked the seal and the signature, and fought to keep his face expressionless. Finally he bowed, because he did not trust himself to speak.

  “Is it sufficiently clear, Your Highness?” said Shaltre.

  After a moment to regain his composure, he said, “We will be ready to leave within the hour, my lord.”

  “I will await Your Highness without.”

  We will now return to our friends, who knew nothing of this interchange of ideas. By the time the daylight began to fail, they had reached a place within two leagues of the Pepperfields. Uttrik was for pressing on and finishing his affair with Kaluma that very night, but at last Khaavren convinced him to wait for full light, so that they settled in for one last rest before the morning, at which time they expected to resolve the issues before them.

  It was, we should note, quite cold, as they had reached an elevated position, but there was st
ill no lack of firewood, so after seeing to the horses, they built the fire up very high and had a meal of bread and cheese, during which even Tazendra seemed silent and brooding. They sat thus, well wrapped in cloaks and blankets, huddled about the fire, yet saying nothing to each other, all of them aware that the next day would see an end, among some of them, of certain friendships they had grown accustomed to and comfortable with. From time to time, Kathana would look at Uttrik speculatively, as if wondering what sort of friends they might have been had circumstances been different. Uttrik, for his part, avoided looking at Kathana, as if, though bound by his word and his duty, he no longer relished the thought of mortal combat with her.

  Khaavren sighed, and said, “My friends, I will tell you that I am not happy about what we are doing. In Dragaera, it seemed a fine idea to go off on a campaign, win favor, and become heroes, but now that we are here, nothing seems as simple as it did.”

  “Well,” said Tazendra, “you are right, and I, for one, freely admit that I do not understand why.”

  “It is,” said Aerich, “because we have embroiled ourselves in the affairs of the Empire, and we have done so for our own reasons, rather than to serve the Empire. This was an error, and I confess myself to be guilty of it.”

  “Oh, bah,” said Pel. “Yes, it is because we are involved in Imperial matters, but there is no fault in that if the Emperor is strong; it is exactly thus that a gentleman discovers his own strength. But when the Emperor is weak, gentlemen who serve him discover only their weaknesses.”

  Khaavren frowned. “The Emperor is weak, you say? I fail to see how.”

  “Do you?” said Pel. “But look at our own affair. We four—I must excuse you, Uttrik, and you, Kathana—we four left our homes in Dragaera City on the Imperial service. That is, we serve the Empire, which is personified by his Majesty and the court.”

  “All you say is clear,” said Khaavren. “Go on, then.”

  “Well, this court, like a chreotha web whose ropes have come undone in the wind, waves tendrils of intrigue about in a fashion which is so haphazard one might not err in using the term anarchistic. It has been our misfortune to find ourselves caught in these tendrils as if by accident. These tendrils have no central mind controlling them, else we would have been well snared before we left the city. The central mind that ought to be controlling them is that of the Emperor. If he does not, then we know that he is weak.”

  “But then,” said Khaavren, “what makes the Emperor weak?”

  “Well, in the first place, he is young.”

  “But well intentioned,” said Aerich.

  “Oh, I don’t deny that. But he is young, and, moreover, has the worst failing an Emperor may have.”

  “That being?” said Khaavren.

  “Poor advisors, to whom he listens.”

  “Well, he must listen to someone.”

  “Yes, but he must gain experience in order to determine to whom he ought to listen.”

  “And how is he to know who these people are?” said Khaavren, who was fascinated by this novel look at Imperial politics.

  “In exactly the way Aerich has said: he must find advisors who have, at their heart, the interest of the Empire.”

  “Well, and what has he now?”

  “Now he has advisors who look after their own positions, and seek to advise him only in such a way as to gain his favor, thus they contradict one another needlessly, and leave policy, which ought to be the force which unites all of the Imperial decisions into a single direction, scattered and uncertain. Hence we see the Pepperfields undefended, the Baroness”—here he bowed his head to Kathana—“unarrested, and campaigns that exist only to capture baubles with which to please his love of bright stones.”

  “Well,” said Aerich, with a smile, “if only he had you as an advisor—”

  “Oh,” said Pel, perhaps too quickly, “I have no such ambition as that, I assure you.”

  Aerich and Khaavren caught each other’s eye, and exchanged a fleeting smile.

  “Nevertheless,” said Tazendra, who had missed this interchange, “If you were an advisor, what would you tell His Majesty?”

  But Pel merely shook his head, as if aware that, lulled by the cold night and warm fire, he had said more than he had intended to. Aerich said, “I must confess, that were I an advisor, a post for which I hold no more ambition than does Pel, I should advise him, first of all, to arrest the lady Kathana.”

  The lady referred to started at this, but Aerich’s attitude was so polite that she could not take offense. Uttrik stared at him, but said nothing. Khaavren, who felt suddenly uncomfortable, said, “Well, my lady, what will you? Ashes! We cannot go around killing those who don’t like our paintings.”

  “You do not paint,” said Kathana coldly.

  “Well, that is true, so I will say no more.”

  After an interval, she spoke again, very softly, as if her words were intended for none but herself. “He was too arrogant,” she said. “I had worked on that painting for thirty-nine years, of which eleven were spent in the jungles watching dragons, sometimes sneaking into their lairs. For five years I worked on the background, so that every plant, every stone, every shadow was more real than the models from which I drew them, and yet supported the theme of my work. And for fifteen years I sketched dragons, until I could read the expression on a dragon’s face, and, moreover, show it to one who didn’t know dragons had such expressions. And then I painted and painted, and then I glossed and finished, and then I very humbly brought it to my Lord e’Drien, and, as I stood there, prepared to present it, this person walks by and, in one glance, dismissed it as unworthy of comment.”

  She fell silent again. Tazendra coughed and said, “You are saying, then, that you were angry?”

  Kathana smiled and said, “Well, if truth be known, I regret what I did.”

  “How,” said Uttrik, “you regret it?”

  “Yes. I wish I had not killed him; or, at least, that I had taken more time to insure that he was prepared to defend himself. Yet, I was so angry.”

  “Well,” said Uttrik, “I understand anger.”

  “That’s well,” said Kathana. “I, in my turn, understand vengeance.”

  “We understand each other then,” said Uttrik.

  “Entirely,” said Kathana.

  “But, the matter of the paint-brushes—”

  ”Paint-brushes?”

  “In his eyes.”

  “Bah. That never happened.”

  “What, are you certain?”

  “My dear Uttrik, I think I would know if I had stuck paint-brushes into someone’s eyes. Besides, I was presenting the painting, I had no paint-brushes with me.”

  “But the story—”

  “You know how stories grow with everyone who repeats it.”

  “Well, that is true.”

  “I am pleased you understand.”

  “I understand entirely. And, should I kill you to-morrow, I assure you I will hold no more animosity toward you.”

  “And if I kill you, the same.”

  “Your hand?”

  “Here it is.”

  “Well, until to-morrow, then.”

  “Until to-morrow.”

  With this resolve, they closed their eyes and, one after the other, drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter the Twenty-ninth

  In Which Our Friends Realize

  with Great Pleasure That the Situation

  has Become Hopeless

  THE DOMAIN OF PEPPERFIELD, A large, fertile plateau nestled between Mount Kieron and the Ironwall, was named for scores of varieties of natural peppers which grow there unattended, and for the dozens more, which, owing to the suitability of the land, due to soil and climate, are so readily cultivated. On the northern side there is a sheer wall some five hundred feet high, upon which is built the Looming Fortress, where the Marquis of Pepperfield dwelt, and behind it the North Pinewood Hold which had, until recently, been Uttrik’s home. There is a steep, winding path fr
om the Fortress down to the plateau, which is one of the four ways of reaching Pepperfield from the outside world; that is, if one is able to reach the Looming Fortress, which is unlikely, as it is inaccessible except through the Pepperfields themselves.

  Another entrance is from the east, where a long, gentle slope rises from a gap in the Ironwall some four leagues to the north. Still another approach is from the south-east, a steep climb, and one unsuitable for horses, yet only a bow-shot away, as it were, from Redface. The final approach, that of the south-west, is the one our friends took, which was to follow a narrow but well-trodden path up from the valley of the Eastern River, only a few leagues below its source at the Thundering Falls in the Ironwall.

  This last approach more closely resembles a road than the others, in that there are high stone ridges on either side, which end abruptly in a small grove of trees, after which one is standing on the seemingly endless plain upon which so much blood, human and Eastern, has been spilled since its discovery by the Dzurlord Brionn, who named the mountain after her hero, Kieron the Conqueror.

  Early in the morning, then, the companions found themselves looking out at these gentle fields. Uttrik said, “My friends, we are now in the domain of Pepperfield; that is, we have left the holdings of Lord Adron.”

  “Well,” said Kathana laconically.

  Uttrik now took the lead, bringing them through the place where a few poplars had sprung up as if to celebrate the few score of years that had passed since the Easterners had been there—for it has always been the Easterners who cultivated those fields, humans being content with those peppers nature chose to provide on her own.

  “Here,” said Uttrik, “in this small depression, is where my ancestor, Ziver the Tall, made his last stand in the Tsalmoth reign in the eleventh Cycle. Over that hill we observe on our right is where Cli’dha’s cavalry lay concealed, their horses made to lie upon the ground, before the charge of the Sundered Trees, that won the Pepperfields back in the Dzur reign in the sixteenth Cycle.

  “To the left, up ahead, upon that small hill,” Uttrik continued, “is where the Defense of the Running Circle was first developed, which came about accidentally in the fourteenth Issola reign as a desperate measure to save Taalini the Three-Fisted, who had been wounded up ahead there, behind the rock shaped like a mushroom, and was pulled back to the hilllock by his esquire, whose name escapes me just at the moment. And here,” he added, stopping his horse by the least movement of his knees, “is where my father made me swear the Oath of Protection, and, moreover, where he first belted my sword upon me. You perceive,” he added, “that the ground is flat and smooth, with only a few pepper plants just beginning to emerge to greet the summer, bearing only the potentialities of their fruit, which I believe to be of the curving white variety, pungent, sweet, with few seeds and an agreeable tang upon the tongue.”