The Phoenix Guards Read online

  “If he defeats you—”

  “Well?”

  “I shall kill him.”

  “That,” said Khaavren, “is as it may be. But remember that I do not intend to allow him to kill me.”

  “And you are right not to,” said Pel. “The gods, there are enough of them already, we have no reason to make it easy for them.”

  “Well, if we are agreed, then that is all.”

  The others signified that this plan was acceptable to them, and Khaavren turned back to Crionofenarr with a bow.

  “Be on your guard, then,” said the Easterner.

  Khaavren, whose sword was out, and who, moreover, hated to be paid this sort of compliment twice, drew his poniard with his left hand and took his favorite guard position. The Easterner drew what was, for his size, a very large sword and stood squarely facing Khaavren, holding the blade in both hands.

  The moment Crionofenarr drew, however, Khaavren felt a sensation very much like that which some experience when standing on cliffs, or else on the top of very tall buildings; a certain lassitude, combined with disorientation, as well as a fear that seemed to pass directly to his knees, making them tremble as if from fatigue. He was barely able to hold his hands steady, and, looking into his enemy’s eyes, as was his custom, he saw there a look of hatred and triumph.

  Evidently, Khaavren’s friends felt it too, for he heard Aerich mutter “Morganti,” in a tone of great scorn, and in that instant he understood everything. He was facing one of those hateful weapons which are the shame of a world filled with shameful things—a weapon whose merest scratch will kill, not only the body, but the soul of its victim.

  Khaavren drew back in spite of himself, but not quickly enough, for Crionofenarr leapt close and, with a single blow, knocked both weapons from Khaavren’s weak, trembling hands, after which the Easterner held the point of the sword directly at Khaavren’s breast.

  Khaavren stared down into the Easterner’s eyes, and felt himself the scorn and disgust that Aerich had expressed in the single hated word, “Morganti.” He said, “Sir, no gentleman would use such a weapon.”

  “Ah,” said the other, “but, you perceive, I am no gentleman, I am an Easterner, hence, beneath contempt; is that not what you think?”

  “Well, do what you will, then, but I promise you my friends will kill you without pity the instant you strike.”

  And, indeed, Khaavren’s five friends had gathered around and were preparing to do so, even as those in the front rank of Crionofenarr’s army drew their weapons in preparation for falling upon the Dragaerans the instant their chieftain fell.

  “That’s all right,” said the Easterner. “They may do so, for I will have killed you already, and, moreover, your soul.”

  “Do it, then,” said Khaavren, drawing himself up in order to die as bravely as he could, to thus give the barbarians something to remember, as well as the troops of Lord Adron whom he knew to be watching.

  “And yet,” said Aerich, who had taken a position behind Crionofenarr, thus exposing his back to his foe’s army. “You may wish to consider, who will command your brigade when you are dead?”

  “What does it matter?” said the Easterner. “We have won the field, and—”

  “I beg to differ,” said Aerich.

  “You think the six of you—”

  “There are, if I am not mistaken, a thousand of us.”

  “A thousand? Where?”

  “Cast your eyes where mine are; that is, behind Khaavren’s shoulder.”

  “By the Demon-Goddess!” cried Crionofenarr. “Whence came those troops I see upon that field, which was empty an hour ago?”

  “As to that,” said Khaavren, “I promise I have not the least idea in the world.”

  “Well,” said Crionofenarr, “they do not seem to be advancing.”

  “No, they are waiting,” said Khaavren.

  “Well, and what are they waiting for?”

  “Kieron’s Boots!” said Khaavren. “They are waiting to see if they are needed.”

  Crionofenarr smiled. “By the River, but you are stubborn. I could come to like you, friend Khaavren, if I were not forced to kill you, and if, moreover, you had not killed my horse.”

  “Well,” said Khaavren. “If we are all to die, we may as well be about it, although if you will satisfy my curiosity, I will die all the happier for it.”

  “I see nothing against answering a question or two before I kill you.”

  “You are generous.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then I will ask.”

  “I await you.”

  “Well, I recall in my conversation with you a moment ago, you said that your reasons for wanting this land were greater than our reasons.”

  “Well, and if I did?” said Crionofenarr.

  “Then,” said Khaavren, “I should be most anxious to learn what the reasons are.”

  “Well, they are easily told,” said Crionofenarr. “In the first place, because we no longer wish this passage through the mountains to be in the hands of those who use it to steal our horses.”

  “Well, that is a good reason,” said Khaavren.

  “I am pleased that you think so.”

  “Next?”

  “The other reason is because this is the only place where we may grow the particular variety of peppers with which we flavor many of our foods, and which give our dishes their special character, and which, besides, many of us believe impart wisdom, long life, fertility, virility, and strength, and moreover, cure fever, falltooth, and pox.”

  “For peppers?” cried Uttrik, in voice of amazement, echoing the thoughts of the others. “That is why, for thousands of years, you have been invading the Empire?”

  “I am forced to admit, my dear Uttrik,” said Khaavren, “that it is a better reason for war than many I have heard of.”

  “And I,” said Kathana, “am entirely of Khaavren’s opinion.”

  “Well, then,” said Khaavren, “I am satisfied.”

  “That is well. Have you anything else to say before I destroy you?”

  “Only this, my dear Easterner—it is all unnecessary.”

  “How, unnecessary?”

  “Well, there is about to be a great slaughter here. First me, then you, then my friends, and finally, well, there are two armies, after all.”

  “But,” said Crionofenarr, “you perceive that they are too far away to interfere with our intentions of establishing ourselves along the Dike of Orveny and on Torthalom and throughout the woods. And you must say that they are too few to drive us off once we have occupied these positions.”

  “Oh, as to that, you may be right, but do you think they will fail to attack for all of that?”

  “Well, if they do?”

  “I would beg to point out that your leader, that is, you, will be dead.”

  “That is certain,” said Aerich, who coolly stood behind him, while the others watched Aerich’s back to see that none of Crionofenarr’s warriors took any precipitous action.

  “Well, I will be dead.”

  “And many of your men besides.”

  “Well, and?”

  “And, instead, you could have what you want without battle.”

  “How is that?”

  “In faith, my dear Easterner. I can assure you that, if you withdrew once more beyond the mountains, you will be subject to no more raids.”

  “You have the authority to tell me this, upon your word of honor?”

  “Not in the least,” said Khaavren. “But there is a gentleman over there who does, and, if we were to send for him, I will undertake to arrange matters.”

  “Impossible,” said the Easterner.

  “Not at all,” said the Tiassa.

  “What are you thinking?” said Tazendra.

  “Hold your tongue,” said Pel.

  “Do as you think best,” said Kathana and Uttrik.

  Aerich shrugged.

  “What will we be required to give up?”

>   “Oh, as to that, we can see. But, by the cracks in the Orb, there is no harm in discussing it, is there?”

  Crionofenarr smiled. “Is it your fear speaking?” he said. At this Tazendra made a motion, but Pel held her back with a gesture.

  Khaavren said, “Oh, it is well for you, who hold a Morganti sword at my breast, to speak of courage. Cha! Look at me, then, in the face, you who have lived among us, and tell me if I speak from fear for my life, or from the desire to avoid spilling more blood on this unhappy soil that has seen so much already.”

  Crionofenarr looked, and, Easterner though he was, he read so much loyalty and frankness in Khaavren’s face, that he was instantly convinced. “Very well,” he said, “I believe that you mean what you say, but I still doubt that it can be done.”

  “Well, are you willing to try?”

  “What will you do?”

  “I will send someone to bring back Lord Adron, and the three of us will speak together.”

  “And there will be no deceit or trickery?”

  “None, on the word of a gentleman.”

  The Easterner lowered his sword. “Very well, bring this Lord Adron, and we will see what we see.”

  Khaavren breathed once more, now that the Morganti blade was no longer poised at his breast. “Who shall we send?” he asked.

  “Heh,” said Kathana. “I will go; for I am the only one we know they will not cut down at once.”

  “Very well,” said Khaavren. “Go and try to bring back Lord Adron.”

  “No,” said Pel, “we must send Mica once more.”

  “How,” said Kathana. “And why is that?”

  “Because, not being a gentleman, he may be permitted to lie.”

  “Well, and what lie must he tell?”

  “I will explain,” said Pel.

  Since Khaavren was no longer threatened, Aerich removed himself from behind Crionofenarr and the friends spoke together at some length, by the end of which they had agreed to Pel’s plan, and made certain that Mica understood.

  “My lords,” said the Teckla, “I assure you that I would rather die than fail in this commission.”

  “Very well,” said Tazendra. “Here are ten orbs for you, and, if you return with Lord Adron, there are another ten like it.”

  “Well, I depart at once,” said Mica, and true to his words, he was running back along the Slipknot before the echo of his words had faded from their ears.

  While they waited, Khaavren observed, “I am truly sorry to have killed your horse, and, in faith, if there is anything I can do—”

  “His name was Wisdom,” said the Easterner, “and he was my only companion for many years of wandering. But, if we truly can achieve an end to the fighting over these fields, well, it will not be too great a price to pay.”

  “Then I hope we do,” said Khaavren.

  Mica reached Lord Adron, and bowed to him, while he recovered his breath. Garland and Shaltre looked at him, but before they could speak, Adron said, “Why is it they have not killed them?”

  “That is what I have been sent to inform your Highness, if Your Highness will do me the honor to listen to the message with which I have been entrusted.”

  “Message?” said Adron. “Well, what is this message?”

  “This is it: the Easterners have negotiated a peace, wherewith they will not harm Lord Khaavren or his friends.”

  “What, that is the message?”

  “That is it, your Highness.”

  “Then, they are safe?”

  “As if they were beneath the Orb, my lord.”

  “But, what peace have they negotiated?”

  “Oh, as to that, I was not allowed to listen, my lord.”

  Shaltre frowned. “Then we must take them ourselves, as we’d planned.”

  “But this truce,” said Adron. “I must know what they have agreed to, and in whose name.”

  “Your Highness may find out by returning with me.”

  “Very well. With my army?”

  “That is as you wish; only your safety has been pledged.”

  “Then, it would be dishonorable to bring them. Sudi,” he said, addressing his officer, “have them wait here.”

  “Very well, Your Highness,” said the officer.

  “Garland and I will accompany you,” said Shaltre.

  “Very well,” said Adron with a shrug, and they set off once more across the fields.

  When they arrived, they found Khaavren and Crionofenarr complaisantly engaging in conversation, which, to be sure, they broke off long enough for Khaavren to perform introductions. Aerich, upon seeing Shaltre, stared directly through him as though he weren’t there.

  “Well, then,” said Adron. “You have, you say, concluded a peace?”

  Before Crionofenarr could speak, Khaavren said, “How, concluded? Without your Highness? Impossible.” He turned to Mica with pretended harshness and said, “Is that what you said, idiot?”

  “My lord, I had thought—”

  “Quiet, fool.” While Khaavren turned back to Lord Adron, Tazendra quietly slipped ten orbs into the Teckla’s pocket, and patted him on the back.

  “Well, then?” said Adron.

  “Your Highness, we were only awaiting you to begin negotiations.”

  Shaltre seemed ready to speak, but at that moment, Uttrik, Kathana, Tazendra, and Pel slipped behind him and Garland and whispered in their ears words to this effect: “You have claimed we are fugitives, well then, if you do or say anything that interferes with these negotiations, we will cut your throats without a second thought.” Needless to say, Shaltre and Garland, though neither appeared to be coward, had no wish to put these words to the test, and they held their silence as meekly as norska.

  Adron, who had no notion of what was happening behind him, said, “Well, you pretend we can settle matters without fighting, then?”

  “I nearly think we can,” said Khaavren.

  “I hope so,” said Crionofenarr.

  “And how will we do this?”

  “Because,” said Khaavren, “the Empire will agree not to make any more raids into the land of the Easterners.”

  “Heh,” said Adron. “For whom do you pretend to speak?”

  “Heh,” said Crionofenarr. “Will you no longer need horses?”

  “If we need horses,” said Khaavren, “we will buy them. Better, we will trade for them. And I speak for your Highness, who will, unless my powers of prophecy have failed me, be made Marquis of Pepperfield within a few weeks.”

  “Well,” said Adron, “I don’t say you’re wrong, but nevertheless—”

  “What do you pretend you could trade?” interrupted the Easterner.

  “You understand, sir, that we need very few, only to improve our breeding stock.”

  “Well?”

  “We could trade horses of our own, some of which are certain to please you. And, moreover, we could trade—”

  “Well?”

  “The right to grow peppers,” said Khaavren coolly.

  Silence stretched over the field, and so great was the Easterner’s amazement at this answer, that for a moment he found nothing to say.

  “But that is the same as if you were giving up these lands.”

  “Nearly,” said Khaavren.

  “Impossible,” said Adron.

  “Not at all,” said Khaavren.

  “But we must have these lands.”

  “Oh, that, of a certainty we will.”

  “And yet,” said Crionofenarr, “you have just said—”

  “Cha,” said Khaavren. “A detail only. His Highness will not mind if you remove a portion of your people hither to work these fields.”

  “How,” said Adron. “I will not?”

  “Assuredly not, lord, because your own troops, stationed in places overlooking these fields, will see that there are no weapons among them, and because they will swear an oath that they will never make war nor raids upon us, nor allow anyone to use this place to do so.”

 
“We will do this?” said Crionofenarr. “It is a great deal, it seems to me.”

  “Well, but you will then receive this land,” said Khaavren, “that is, the right to work it as you would, and to carry off from it what you will, and you will receive a promise that the Empire will make no more sorties into your lands.”

  “That is too much,” said Adron. “Why should we give up these lands, which we now hold?”

  “I do not think you hold them,” said Crionofenarr, glancing back at his army.

  “Well,” said Adron, “I think, at any rate, that you do not.”

  “That can be mended,” said the Easterner.

  “Bah,” said Khaavren. “Why fight, Your Highness, when this worthy Easterner is giving us so much?”

  “How, so much?”

  “Indeed. He will surrender to the Empire certain lands some forty or fifty leagues to the north, which are held by Easterners, but are of no possible value to him, save for their location.”

  “I will do all of this?” said Crionofenarr doubtfully.

  “Well, it is that or war, I think.”

  “To what lands do you refer?” asked the Easterner.

  “I wish also to know that,” said Adron.

  “Oh, a mere nothing,” said Khaavren. “A place of shifting sand, where nothing grows except plants too stringy to eat, and nothing lives save the poisonous yendi. In our tongue, we call it Sandyhome.”

  Adron’s eyes widened as he realized what the Tiassa had just proposed, and he said, “Well, if these terms are agreeable to Crionofenarr, and if I am to become the Marquis of Pepperfield, then I accept the terms, with one additional condition.”

  “And what is that?” said the Easterner.

  “Your sword.”

  “How, you expect me to surrender my sword? And yet I beg to remind your lordship that you have not beaten me.”

  “That is true. But, nevertheless, it is not right for an Easterner to bear a Morganti weapon.”

  “How,” said Crionofenarr with a smile. “It frightens you?”

  “It disgusts me,” said Adron.

  The Easterner’s eyes narrowed, and Khaavren feared that all would be lost just as everything was nearly agreed to. He stepped forward then, and handed Crionofenarr his sword. “This is a very good weapon, my dear sir,” he said. “And, as you have, in fact, beaten me, why, I surrender it to you.”