Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read online

  Lest we leave the reader with false expectations, we must, with all the authority of the historian (who is, after all, relating this history, and thus has control of all the knowledge the reader has available, at least during the process of reading), assert that, in fact, there was no deep plan within the mind or heart of the Enchantress; she believed that the Emperor deserved a chance to step down on his own, before he was forcibly removed, which she suspected would happen soon.

  But, if she so believed, why did she then give him her loyalty, rather than giving it to Adron? Because it was only a belief—she was in no wise certain that the Cycle had turned. Let those who, even today, pretend expertise on that great wheel of destiny recall that Sethra Lavode, most powerful of wizards, deepest of seers, and wisest of sages, in that great moment of crisis that occurred in the five hundred and thirty-second year of the Eighteenth Reign of the Phoenix, did not know if the Cycle had turned; and, in her doubt (which, in the event, proved well-founded, for, as the historian writes these words, the Eighteenth Reign of the Phoenix has only just come to a close with the peaceful and well-ordered beginning of the Eighteenth Dragon Reign) chose preservation of the Empire over her personal loyalties and the vicissitudes of fortune.

  Sethra had made a difficult choice, but she had made it with her eyes open—she would, insofar as she could, work to preserve the Empire and the Cycle, but she would first give His Majesty the chance to step down, knowing that, if he did, it would be proof that the Cycle had turned, and that, if he did not, it would mean either that the Cycle had not turned, or that Adron was right on all counts—His Majesty had overstayed the welcome of the fates, and catastrophe beckoned if he maintained his grip on the Orb. She did not know how she would determine which of these possibilities was true, but she knew that she would know best if she remained near him, which is why, after making her proposal, she then offered the Lavodes to defend his reign.

  It had never occurred to her (or, in fact, to anyone else, with the exception of certain mystics to whom no one listened) that, of the two possibilities—the Cycle still pointing to the Phoenix, and Tortaalik guiding the Empire toward disaster—both could be true.

  Certainly, this possibility, or, in fact, any of the possibilities, were of no concern to Greycat, who sat in the common room of the cabaret in the Underside where we are accustomed to see him—he was filled only with his own plans and schemes, tending and nurturing them as a deranged gardener might tend and nurse a noxious weed, with no thought of those around him, or of the broader consequences of his actions.

  The cabaret was nearly empty, save for a sleeping drunk and the host, both of whom were at the far end; with the house so empty, Greycat saw no reason to use the private room. Dunaan entered, found him at once, and sat beside him.

  “Well?” said Greycat. “Does fortune smile upon us?”

  “She smiles,” said Dunaan. “And she frowns.”

  “How, at the same time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fortune has a very flexible countenance.”

  “That is well known.”

  “Well, let us hear from fortune, then.”

  “Do you wish first to know how she smiles, or how she frowns?”

  “Tell me first what causes her to smile, which will make her frown the more bearable.”

  “Very well, this is it:”

  “I am listening.”

  “The assassin is recruited, is ready, and awaits but your word to strike.”

  “Excellent. You answer for him?”

  “He is skilled, brave, and too trusting—he will do all you wish.”

  “Excellent. Well, then, it but remains to let me know in what way fortune frowns on our endeavors.”

  “It is quickly done; two words will inform you.”

  “Let us have them.”

  “Laral has failed in her mission.”

  “How, Laral has failed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Was she caught?”

  “She was killed.”

  “By the Captain?”

  “No, as far as I can learn, by nearly everyone in the city except the Captain.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Greycat said, “What of her body? For he was able to learn far, far, too much from Chalar, and could learn, perhaps, even more from Laral.”

  “He will learn nothing from Laral. Her body was left on the street, and is now gone.”

  “That is something, then.”

  “I hope so.”

  “But, Dunaan, what happened? How did she fail?”

  “She trusted her spells against a sorcerer and her blade against a swordsman, while trusting her sense of timing against that of a very punctual lackey.”

  “You observed all of this?”

  “I observed the scene after it was over, and I questioned those who lived nearby and heard the sounds, and I spoke with those in the Palace who knew what had become of Khaavren and who, for various reasons, will speak with me.”

  “Well, but Dunaan, you should know that Khaavren, if not dead, is, at least, wounded.”

  “So I learned from my friends in the Palace. Who wounded him? It could not have been Laral.”

  “No, another performed that service for us.”

  “Ah, another. Who?”

  “Soldiers of His Highness, Adron.” Greycat smiled, as if he thought this a great jest.

  Dunaan, who rarely jested, gave a slow nod and said, “What then?”

  “When can your assassin act?”

  “At once, if you so decide.”

  “At once, meaning—”

  “He will be in place within an hour, and will strike—if we may call it that—on this very evening.”

  Greycat nodded, considering. “Everything seems to be working in our favor,” he said, as if to himself. “The Emperor could not be doing a better job if he were part of our plan, and the same is true of Adron—indeed, I believe this is working better than if we had succeeded in killing him. And the decision to leave Jurabin in place has also proven a good one—Aliera’s arrival at court has rendered him entirely useless. The only problem is—”

  “Yes. The Tiassa, Lord Khaavren. You ought to have let me solve that problem myself.”

  “Well,” said Greycat. “If you wish—”

  “Of course,” said Dunaan.

  “Yet, he is now alerted.”

  “That is of no consequence.”

  “Very well. And your pay will be what I paid Laral. There is, fortunately, no lack of funds.”

  “That will be satisfactory.”

  “And, as for your assassin, you may tell him to be about his task, for nothing else is needed.”

  Dunaan nodded, but, instead of rising at once to his feet, he remained where he was, contemplating the nail of his right thumb as it rested on the table. After allowing the Jhereg a few moments for this contemplation, Greycat came to the conclusion that there was, in fact, nothing inherently interesting about the nail, but, rather, Dunaan had something on his mind which prevented his directly being about his business, wherefore he, by which we mean Greycat, said, “Come, is there something about which you have some questions? If so, you need but ask, and I will do all I can to answer you.”

  “You have,” said Dunaan, “spoken of all the factors aligning themselves in our favor.”

  “Well, that is true, I have said that. What of it?”

  “Those factors you have outlined speak of an Empire in turmoil and a court in confusion.”

  “That is very well expressed,” said Greycat. “‘An Empire in turmoil and a court in confusion.’ Yes, they speak of these things—they even shout of them, so that one must be deaf not to hear.”

  “I am not deaf,” said Dunaan, “and I hear.”

  “And then?”

  “Your plan is to present to His Majesty solutions to these problems, with the aim of being placed into a powerful position at court.”

  “That is exactly it. Do you see a weakness in the plan?”

/>   “I see one way in which it might fail, and yet another way in which, even if it does not, there may be some cause to worry.”

  “Let me then hear these ideas, and I will answer them if I can, and if I cannot, then we will consider what is to be done.”

  “I ask for nothing else.”

  “Then I am listening.”

  “In the first place, will your ideas on how to solve the problems facing the Empire convince His Majesty?”

  “That is one question, and it is a good one. What is the next?”

  “If they serve to convince His Majesty, and they are then put into practice, will they, in fact, solve the problems? And if they do not, will you not be dismissed as easily as you were accepted, and, moreover, must you not suffer, as everyone else, from the disruptions in the Empire and the court?”

  “That is another good question.”

  “I am pleased you think so. Can you answer them?”

  “To answer them requires that I reveal my plan for solving the problems of the Empire.”

  “And are you willing to do so?”

  “To you, Dunaan, I am, for your cooperation is important, and you must be convinced that I know what I am about, both now, and after the plan has succeeded.”

  “Very well, then, if you will tell me, I am listening.”

  “In the first place, we need not worry about His Highness.”

  “How, we need not?”

  “No, for the Imperial Army will remove him handily. He has made himself a rebel, for which he deserves our thanks. Nothing more need be said.”

  “Very well,” said Dunaan after some consideration. “I agree about His Highness. But what of the disorder in the streets?”

  “His Majesty will not see this as a problem, because His Majesty thinks of the populace as mindless rabble, and cannot believe there is any threat from them.”

  “Well, you may be right about His Majesty. But you and I, my friend, know this is not the case. How, then, do you propose to solve it?”

  “I have, in the first place, certain connections among the people, which can do no harm. In the second, I have a force at my command which will, when added to the Imperial Guard, know how to deal with ‘rabble.’ In the third, where there is an uprising, there are leaders. Where there are leaders, there are weaknesses—with your help, and that of your friends, my dear Jhereg, we will subvert whom we can and kill whom we cannot subvert.”

  Dunaan nodded slowly. “Yes, that will work—if you have, indeed, these forces of which you speak.”

  “I have sent for them, and they are even now making their way to the city.”

  “Very well. But what of the disruptions at court?”

  “If I have His Majesty’s ear, half of these disruptions can be solved with dismissals.”

  “Well, and the other half?”

  “For the other half, the Emperor’s ear will not serve—but the Consort’s bed will.”

  Dunaan stared. “How, you think—”

  “There are pressures, my dear Jhereg, of which you have no idea. But I know things about the Consort which will have her doing what I wish her to do—in all matters. You need have no fear of a disturbed court, my dear Dunaan.”

  Dunaan swallowed carefully, as if this idea shocked him—hardened killer that he was. But he said, “But what, then, of the Meeting of Principalities and the Imperial Allotment, which I assure you has His Majesty more worried than anything except, perhaps, the rebellious Prince?”

  “I shall have an answer to make him on that score at once, my dear Jhereg—indeed, I count upon this answer, more than anything else, to secure for me the post I seek.”

  “Tell of what this answer shall consist, for you perceive I am most anxious to learn.”

  “This is it: I will tell him I have arranged an agreement between the House of the Jhereg, the House of the Dragon, and the House of the Dzur, whereby they agree to pay the bulk of the assessment; with this done, the others Houses can hardly fail to agree, don’t you think?”

  Dunaan shook his head. “It is a pretty story, but what makes you think His Majesty will believe it? I, for one, assure you that it sounds entirely unconvincing to me.”

  “Does it?” said Greycat with a smile. “That is odd, my friend, for it is true—or, rather, it will be true before two days have gone by.”

  “Impossible!” cried Dunaan so loudly the host turned to look at the two gentlemen in the corner who had hitherto been so quiet. Dunaan glared at him, and he quickly returned to wiping mugs with a dirty towel. “Impossible,” repeated Dunaan in a softer voice.

  “Not in the least,” said Greycat with utmost calm.

  “How, the Dragon come to an agreement with the Jhereg? The Jhereg with the Dzur? The Dzur with the Dragon? Any two of these seem impossible—how will you manage all three?”

  “I am not inexperienced as a diplomatist, though this may startle you.”

  “Well, so you are experienced. Nevertheless—”

  “Attend me.”

  “I am attending.”

  “We conclude the arrangement with the House of the Dragon in the simplest way—we tell them that, far from needing to pay anything into the Imperial Treasury, they will be sent to attack the Pepperfields, and will, furthermore, use it as a staging point for an invasion of the East, in which they may keep whatever they wish.”

  “Bah! We have an agreement with the Easterners over the Pepperfields.”

  “A score of generations of Easterners have lived and died since that agreement was made—they will not remember it.”

  “But His Majesty will.”

  “His Majesty will not be told until it is too late—he will be presented with the agreement among the Houses, and that will be that.”

  “I would assume,” said Dunaan, who did not yet appear convinced, “that you will require something of the House of the Dragon in exchange for this service you will be rendering them?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” said Greycat. “The House of the Dragon will aid the Imperial Army in putting down the rebel, Adron, and selecting a new Heir; as well, of course, as agreeing to the proposals put forward by the Jhereg and the Dzur, who between them will be paying the bulk of the allotment—the House of the Dragon will agree.”

  Dunaan nodded slowly. “Very well. But what of the House of the Dzur?”

  “They will agree to anything I say.”

  “How is that?”

  “Do you know who Princess Sennya is?”

  “Of course: the Duchess of Blackbirdriver, Dzur Heir to the Throne.”

  “Then you know she has not appeared.”

  “Many delegates have not appeared.”

  “In her case, it is by my orders.”

  “How, your orders?

  “Exactly.”

  “You give orders to the Dzur Heir?”

  Greycat nodded.

  “How can this be?”

  “Does it matter? She’ll do what she is told, and she will be told to support our bargain.”

  “Yet, I cannot believe—”

  “Pah! It is easy to control a Dzurlord—no one is more sensitive to appearances; threaten to publicly shame one and he is yours.”

  Again, Dunaan nodded. “Well, I am convinced about the Dragons, and even the Dzur. But I will not believe you have a hold over the House of the Jhereg, my friend.”

  “The House of the Jhereg, as you know better than I, is a fiction. That group of entrepreneurs of which you are a member controls the House, and runs it like a business.”

  “Well? What of it?”

  “Through you, my friend, I shall make the Jhereg a business proposal.”

  “Well, let us see; but I warn you, it will have to be a good one.”

  “It is.”

  “I am listening.”

  “And remember, there is no need for His Majesty to ever learn the details of our transaction—he need only see the documents which attest to the agreement among the Houses.”

  “Yes, but if you have
any illusions of cheating the Jhereg—”

  “I assure you, I do not. I will make a bargain, and hold to it—the more so because I know what will become of me if I do not.”

  “Very well, then, let us hear this proposal.”

  “We find a pretext—”

  “A pretext is easily found. What sort of pretext?”

  “What does it matter? Some popular and innocent person will die accidentally—”

  “How, accidentally?”

  “Yes. Perhaps a Dragonlord. Aliera might do, if she survives the coming events. Or Tuorli, if she does not become Heir—perhaps even if she does; she is popular.”

  “Well, then, an innocent dies accidentally.”

  “Yes, from a mishap caused by dreamgrass.”

  “These things happen,” said Dunaan.

  “Yes. It clouds the perceptions, and causes accidents. We have all seen it any number of times. Perhaps a fall from a tower, or during a swim—”

  “This can be arranged. Yet I do not—”

  “There will be great sorrow at the loss of this person, who was so popular.”

  “Very well.”

  “I will direct this sorrow through the same means I will be using to help put down the riot, and I will turn this sorrow into outrage.”

  “How, outrage? At whom?”

  “Not whom, my friend—what.”

  “At—?”

  “Dreamgrass.”

  “Outrage at dreamgrass?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I do not see—”

  “With pressure from the masses, and from me, and from the Consort, we will then prevail upon His Majesty to pass edicts forbidding the growth, sale, or use of dreamgrass anywhere in the Empire.”

  Dunaan stared at him, his eyes growing wider. Eventually, when he spoke, it was in a whisper. “The prices …”

  “Indeed. And, not only the prices, but consider that all of the honest merchants who sell it will be forced into other lines of work, so that—”

  “Yes! Only the Jhereg will be selling it!”

  “Exactly. And, of course, we need not stop with dreamgrass. There is freeze-powder—”

  “Leads to public brawling.”