The Phoenix Guards Page 41

  Khaavren’s idea, in this instance, was to play his hand closer to his body, that is, to pretend to cooperate, and, as he did so, to ask a few more questions, for he was certain that if he but gave Illista the chance, she would at once put his suspicions to rest. Therefore, he answered her last question by saying, “I do not ask. Arrange for my freedom, and the freedom of my friends, and His Highness will die.”

  “Oh, your friends?”

  “Well, that is only a small thing, and I am better with them, and in addition, I am certain that you wish to free your friend, Kathana e’Marish’Chala.”

  “Oh, yes, of a certainty, but that can be attended to later.”

  Khaavren frowned once more. “Very well, at all events, once I am free I will solicit an audience with His Majesty and inform him of the treaty, and he cannot fail, then, to release—”

  “Oh, no,” said Illista. “You must not mention the treaty.”

  “How, not mention it?”

  “No, you must forget it entirely.”

  “But it will surely be known.”

  “How?”

  “Why, Lord Adron—”

  “You will kill him.”

  “Oh, that is true, I had forgotten. And yet, he will have the treaty upon his person.”

  “Well, after killing him, you will search him, and you will find this famous treaty, and you will bring it to me, or else destroy it.”

  “But, for what reason?”

  “Have you forgotten again that you had promised to ask no questions?”

  “Well, but what you ask is extraordinary.”

  “Extraordinary?”

  “Think, Illista—peace with the Easterners for the first time, and diamonds for His Majesty without useless bloodshed—”

  “That is unimportant.”

  “How, unimportant?”

  “Yes, we are what matters, you and I. If we are to be together—”

  “Yes?”

  “You must do what I ask.”

  “And yet, in order to insure my friends’ release from this prison—”

  “Well, what does that matter, if you are free, and we are together?”

  Now, ordinarily the thought that Illista had as much as promised herself to him if he completed his mission would have filled Khaavren’s heart to bursting, but his ideas had been thrown into such confusion by her last statements that he scarcely noticed this remark. It seemed to him that, if he did not possess this woman, he would die, and yet, if he did, he must consent to leaving his friends in prison. The seed had sprouted into that most wonderful and horrible of fruits: doubt, which, like the strawberry, has a succulent taste, but has also a tendency to spread and spread, until it dominates whatever garden it has taken root in.

  Illista’s words served rather to fertilize these doubts than to inhibit them, and Khaavren bit his lips, while wondering how he ought to proceed.

  The changes that flitted across his countenance were not entirely lost on Illista, who said, “Listen, my friend, if we are to be lovers, for that is what you want, is it not? Well, I assure you that you are the sole keeper of my passion, and if we are to fulfill this mutual longing, well, certain sacrifices must be made. You understand, do you not?”

  She put forth all of her charms of voice and face, and they were considerable, and we would not be truthful if we did not admit that Khaavren was moved; yet he could not forget how Uttrik had given up his vengeance out of love for Kathana, and the most unselfish sort of love at that; and how Kathana, for the same reason, had determined to surrender herself to the Emperor, at the risk, perhaps of her life. He thought of deserting his friends, and, with these examples before him, it seemed repugnant to do so.

  In fact, the Tiassa was thinking furiously, recalling this latest conversation from an entirely different view. It was as if Pel were softly urging him to question everything, while Tazendra touched his shoulder, reminding him of the duties of friendship, and Aerich looked at him somberly, as if asking if he ought, at the bidding of this woman, to murder a man who had shown him kindness. And yet—

  And yet, there is no question that she was lovely beyond his dreams, and she had the sort of coquettish smile in her eyes that drives men mad. The thought that she was within his reach burned, so that he still hesitated for a moment, filled with that strange emotion that lies midway between true love and the desire to possess, yet balancing this with the memories of all that he had shared with his friends.

  At last he sighed. “I cannot,” he said.

  “How, you cannot?”

  “I cannot leave my friends. We must all leave here together. Surely you can arrange that—”

  “But, they will speak, and no word of this agreement with the Easterners must be allowed to escape, or—”

  “Well, or?”

  “Or all my plans will be undone.”

  “What plans are these?”

  “Ah, you persist with the questions.”

  “Well, and if I do?”

  “Yet, you said—”

  “Bah. You had said nothing about asking me to leave my friends to rot in prison.”

  “Well, you will not do that for me?”

  “Not in a thousand years.”

  “Then you will allow my enemies to triumph over me? You, who claim you love me, who claim you will do anything for me, who—”

  “Friends who have saved my life a hundred times over? With whom I have fought, have killed, have bled, have eaten and drank? And you, who wish for my love, desire to consign them to prison? Impossible!”

  She drew herself up and stared at him coldly. “Prison? No, the Executioner’s Star.”

  Khaavren felt himself trembling as this awful name was pronounced. “What do you say?”

  “They will not languish long before they are brought to Justicer’s Square, and you with them. I might have saved you from that, but now it is too late.”

  “All of this for an insult?”

  She looked at him with such an expression of mingled hate and contempt that any lesser man might have crumbled merely from the blow to self-love, coming, as the look did, from one to whom he had poured out all the sincere devotion of his heart. And, moreover, to accompany this look, she said, “You are a fool. There was no insult; it is policy. This treaty must never be consummated; therefore, all who know of it must die. Do you think you have saved that fool, Adron? No, only now I must call in Seodra, who knows Jhereg who will perform for money the task you would not perform for love. And with him will die the last, for your heads will already be sealed beneath the marble slabs of the Square.”

  By now, Khaavren was filled with so many emotions, and those all locked in battle with each other, that the fear of the ignominious death with which he was threatened meant nothing to him. His love for Illista was as strong as ever, yet now was combined with hatred and contempt in that oddest of appositions to which we are sometimes subjected. He adored her, yet he despised her, as if, looking upon her visage, she was at once a goddess whom he ought to worship, and a reptile he ought to strike down.

  He said, “Cha, you venomous yendi, I will denounce you.”

  “You? Denounce me? Ha. You will remain here, unable to communicate with anyone, until you are brought to the Square, and that will not be long, I assure you; two words to Seodra, a message to the Warlord, his Majesty’s seal on a scrap of paper, and all is done.”

  “Perhaps,” said Khaavren. “But I will denounce you from the Star as I am strapped down.”

  “No,” she said, smiling the way the chreotha might smile at the norska which had blundered into its net. “For you will be gagged; it can be managed, and it will be. You could have had several days of pleasure with me before I cast you aside; instead you will have nothing except the axe. I hope you are happy with your choice.” As she finished, she pulled a cord that was hanging near her hand, at the same time crying out, “Guinn! Come, escort me out of here, for I have nothing more to say to this wretch.” She rose, turned her back on Khaavren, and w
alked to the door. When it was opened, she turned back and gave one last glance of withering contempt, and left the room in flurry of skirts and hair.

  Khaavren, unable to speak, was escorted back to his cell. Aerich, who could see that something was amiss with his friend, was unable to find out what it was, for Khaavren was too stunned to speak, and, moreover, could find no reason for sharing the hopelessness of the situation with his friend. In fact, more than a few tears fell from Khaavren’s eyes as he lay on the straw pallet in his cell, nursing a grief rendered ten times worse by his unwillingness to share it. And we should add that Aerich, puzzled by Khaavren’s misery, nevertheless partook of it to such a degree that his recent joy at having avenged himself on Shaltre was all but wiped away.

  It would not be unfair, then, to say that our friends were unanimous in being miserable, if to different degrees and in different ways. Happily, it was not long after Khaavren’s interview with Illista that they were called by Guinn to make themselves as presentable as circumstances permitted, for they were to appear before an august personage.

  When Khaavren and Aerich were so informed, Khaavren’s eyes flashed, and he said, “The executioner is an august personage?”

  “How,” said Guinn. “The executioner?”

  “Well, is that not the individual to whom you have just done us the honor to refer?”

  “I assure you I know nothing about it.”

  “Then you have no reason to think I’m wrong.”

  “Well, but I hope you are.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  “It is more likely,” said Aerich, “to be the Emperor himself.”

  Khaavren shook his head, but would not explain the reasons for his conviction that Aerich was deceived. He made up his mind, however, to face the Star bravely, beginning with that very moment, so no one would be able to say he had shown fear. Accordingly, after they had made the best toilette possible in a cell without soaps or perfumes, Khaavren drew himself up and made a sign to Guinn and the other guards that they could proceed.

  They were first brought into the light of day on what were called the Dark Stairs, which was an extremely wide, straight stairway that was one of three entrances into the Wing; the others being the Justicer’s Door and the Winged Stairs. The Dark Stairs lead down into the dungeons of the Wing, or, more precisely in this case, up from the dungeons to the Pavilion of the lorich. It was always watched by six pair of guards, each consisting of one Phoenix Guard in the gold cloak, and the other an lorich Guard wearing a black hood and carrying a halberd. We should say that Khaavren, Aerich, Pel, and Tazendra had each, at one time or another, had this duty, and it was one of the least favored, as the Iorich Guards were silent and grim, off duty as well as on. But, tedious as it was, it had never occurred to them that would soon be passing by on their way to captivity, nor returning past them in the hope of freedom or expectation of immediate death, according to the thoughts of the individual.

  Fortunately, this week was the turn of Lanmarea’s battalion to stand this duty, so neither in arriving nor departing had they seen anyone they recognized, which would have embarrassed all concerned.

  From the Dark Stairs they were invited into two carriages with the Iorich arms. Pel, Uttrik, Aerich, and Khaavren were bidden to enter the first, while the second was for Tazendra and Kathana. Mica was required to walk the distance, with two silent Iorich Guardsmen flanking him, though it is only fair to say that seeing the daylight again more than made up for the walk, which was not of a greater distance than he had been accustomed to in any case.

  Once in the coaches, they were informed that all speech was forbidden them, which Khaavren took as the final slab of marble over his head, though he said nothing of the matter to his friends. There were six Iorich Guards, four in the coach and two on top, to see that this rule was obeyed, and that, furthermore, no attempt was made by the prisoners at communication with the outside or at escape. They contented themselves, therefore, with such greetings and communications as could be given by smiles and grimaces. It should also be said that the windows of the carriages were not only barred, but also enclosed in slatted iron coverings, so that they were not only stuffy, but almost completely dark, and, moreover, our friends could not see where they were going, from which Khaavren assumed the worst.

  At the end of the ride they were commanded to quit the carriage and, still flanked by Guards, they discovered that they were outside the Imperial Wing.

  “What is this?” cried Khaavren, almost afraid to hope.

  “Why,” said Uttrik, “it is the Imperial Wing. Where had you thought—”

  “Silence,” commanded the guard.

  Aerich shrugged. They were brought into the Wing, where, after a wait of some few minutes, during which time Mica was reunited with them, and also during which time Khaavren began to feel hope returning to him in all its effusion, they were brought into the presence of His Majesty, the Emperor.

  Chapter the Thirty-fourth

  In Which His Majesty Attempts to Pick a Strand

  Of Justice from a Nest Of Accusation,

  And is Fortunate to Receive Help

  OUR FRIENDS, WITH THE EXCEPTION of Mica, were admitted to His Imperial Majesty’s presence in the Balcony Room, which was a narrow sitting room which overlooked the Embassy Hall. The Embassy Hall was one of the principal residences of the courtiers, being a place where His Majesty was accustomed to greet official visitors on matters of State. Any time His Majesty deigned to appear there, the affair was a serious, or at least, a formal one; therefore to be seen near His Majesty in that room bequeathed a certain status. Hence, a good number of those anxious to achieve this status, that is, to be considered someone upon whom it was worthwhile to bestow favors, would often spend their time wearying themselves against the hope that the Emperor would appear.

  The Balcony Room was a long, narrow place painted in light colors, dimly lit, and sparsely furnished. It looked down upon the scene we have described, and, though little used by many Emperors, had become a favorite place for Tortaalik to have face-to-face meetings, because the fire was small, the furniture comfortable, and the general atmosphere more confined than spacious, which allowed him to feel a certain intimacy from which he pretended he could better judge the true thoughts and feelings of those whom he questioned.

  Khaavren, along with his friends, was brought into this room and directed to stand before His Majesty. Also present, we should add, were Lytra e’Tenith and Captain G’aereth, at the left and right hand of the Emperor. The Captain’s face was without expression, whereas the Warlord stared at Kathana with a look of cool calculation.

  Now, although Khaavren didn’t know the thoughts of the Warlord, it is worth while to say two words about her state of mind. We have witnessed the quiet conversation between Lytra and Allistar, during which he had informed her, that, whatever happened, it was vital that nothing of the truth come out; that is, although neither of them knew what had happened in the east, Allistar had become convinced that Khaavren and his friends knew enough to compromise their plans, and had informed the Warlord of this circumstance. Lytra had, by this time, gone too far with G’aereth to permit her to back out of her agreement to press for an audience with His Majesty, and, to her credit, had sufficient interest in justice to wish to see this interview take place, but now that it came to the point, as it were, her agile mind was filled with thoughts on how to prevent these troublesome individuals from ruining everything.

  The prisoners filed in, and, as one person, bowed to His Majesty. Khaavren, with great difficulty, managed to conceal perhaps half of the agitation he felt at being for the first time in the presence of the Emperor. Uttrik, if he felt any dis-ease at all, was able to conceal the whole of it. Tazendra was too concerned with the sort of impression she was making to allow room for anything as pedestrian as intimidation. Pel was deep in thought, and all of the wheels, if we may be permitted such an expression, were turning rapidly as he made the various calculations his quick min
d suggested to him. Kathana had been in the presence of the Emperor several times before his ascension to the throne, on the occasion of His Majesty doing her the honor to view certain of her works, as he fancied himself a connoisseur of painting. Aerich, knowing exactly the position his rank entitled him to with respect to his Majesty, had that confidence which comes from secure knowledge of one’s place and the duties attendant upon it. Mica, as we have said, was not present.

  The reader ought to understand that, at the time of which we have the honor to write, matters were often handled in a manner that today we would consider “high-handed,” that is, the question of what degree of formality was appropriate to certain cases was left to the Emperor’s own sense of propriety. He could, if he chose, convene a full court of justicers and peers to hear the confession or testimony of a prisoner, or he could, protected as he was by the Orb, simply listen and decide himself. The magnanimous and equal justice such as flows from our own Empress, whom the gods preserve, was then, if not entirely unknown, at least not expected as a matter of course.

  In this case, the Warlord and the Captain had come before His Majesty and made claims of injustice, and begged him humbly to hear the matter himself. Now, as Tortaalik was well acquainted with history, and as “injustice” has been the most common pretext which the House of the Dragon has used to make war upon the throne, His Majesty felt inclined to give the Warlord complete satisfaction. Yet not so much, as we may have implied, from fear of the consequences—it was as yet far too early in the Phoenix reign for any such considerations to be appropriate—as from the certain knowledge that he would find himself explaining his conduct to His Discretion the Duke of Wellborn, and he knew very well how unpleasant such discussions could be if he had not acted in a manner that he, himself, would consider correct and honorable.

  His Majesty, therefore, after bringing together those who had brought the complaint with those to whom the complaint referred, was disposed to listen with as much impartiality as he could bring to bear. The Orb, slowly circling his head, reflected this impartiality by emitting a pale yellow color.