The Phoenix Guards Read online

  “Well, then, my lords and ladies,” he said. “I know some of you. You are the Baroness Kaluma, who stand accused of the murder of the Marquis of Pepperfield. And you are the Marquis’s son, are you not? I believe you are called Uttrik, and, until recently, dwelt in the North Pinewood Hold, on the estates of the Pepperfields, and are Baronet of Kurakai.”

  These two bowed to acknowledge His Majesty’s perspicacity, but said nothing.

  “As to the rest of you, I perceive that you are Guardsmen, and, from certain insignia, that you are of the Red Boot Battalion, commanded by our own Captain G’aereth. But I do not know your names, and I wish to, for I am greatly interested in what you have to tell me.”

  Aerich spoke first, giving his name and protesting his devotion to His Majesty.

  “How, Aerich? That is not the name of a Lyorn.”

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon. It is the name under which I have taken service in the Guards. Otherwise, if it please Your Majesty, I am Temma, Duke Arylle, Count of Bra-moor, and before Your Majesty I also lay claim, at this moment, to the county of Shaltre, which is mine according to the customs of my House.”

  At this his Majesty started, and narrowed his eyes. The Orb darkened for a moment, becoming faintly red, then returned to its neutral yellow. Tortaalik said, “We will see about that by and by. And you?”

  “I am Tazendra,” said the Dzurlord. This time, it was Lytra e’Tenith who started, and then an expression of anger crossed her features, as this name was not only known to her, but had unpleasant associations.

  Tortaalik frowned. “What, another assumed name?”

  “I have renounced my titles, Sire.”

  “Renounced them? Well, but tell me the titles you have renounced.”

  Tazendra looked unhappy and said, “Does Your Majesty truly command this?”

  “And if I do?”

  “Then, I will tell you, although I am not proud of my name, Sire, wherefore I have renounced it for all time.”

  His Majesty shrugged and said, “We will call you Tazendra, then. And next?”

  “I am Pel,” said the Yendi, bowing gracefully.

  “Ah,” said the Emperor, with a small smile. “Well, I will not question your name further, for that is the name that has come to my ears, and it has sounded in connection with actions that were, if perhaps not entirely noble, at least not lacking finesse.”

  Pel bowed.

  Tortaalik said, “And you, my good Tiassa?”

  “I am Khaavren of Castlerock.”

  “What is this?” said His Majesty, laughing. “A Guardsman who gives his true name?”

  “It is the only one I have, Sire,” said Khaavren.

  “Well, well, and no titles to go with it?”

  “Our lands were sold ten hundreds of years ago, Sire,” said Khaavren.

  “Ah, well, there is no shame in that,” said His Majesty. “But now, it seems to me you have stories to tell?”

  “If it please Your Majesty,” said Pel, “we hope to make them good ones.”

  “I ask nothing better. Who is to begin?”

  Kathana stepped forward and said, “I am willing, for I came to the city with the intention of surrendering myself to Your Majesty, and, for me, to be arrested is no more than I expected.”

  “Very well, what have you to say? For you are, you know, charged with nothing short of murder.”

  “I can only say, Sire, that I am guilty, that I repent of my action, and am entirely willing to submit to whatever justice Your Majesty may require.”

  “That is clear enough. What does the son of the murdered man say to this?”

  “Sire,” said Uttrik. “For my part, since she repents, I absolve her.”

  “You absolve her?” said Tortaalik.

  “If it please Your Majesty, I even forgive her, for she is honestly repentant, and, moreover, we have fought side by side, so that I know something of her character, and I believe, though I do not say it without pain, that she was provoked.”

  “Well, well,” said His Majesty. “We will consider this later. Let us pass on to the rest of you. Who will speak next in answer to the charges?”

  Khaavren bowed and said, “Sire, we cannot speak, for we are entirely ignorant of what these charges consist.”

  “How, you don’t know of what crimes you stand accused?”

  “Not the least in the world,” said Khaavren.

  “But,” said Pel, bowing, “we are anxious to find out.”

  “Well, it is easily stated. You are accused of the murders of Count Shaltre and Lord Garland.”

  “How, murder?” said Tazendra. “Impossible.”

  “I think, my lady,” said the Emperor, the Orb turning a cold blue, “that you are disputing with me.”

  “We humbly beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” said Pel coolly. “It was amazement at these charges that caused my companion’s outburst. We assure you that no disrespect was intended.”

  While he spoke, Lytra was whispering in the Emperor’s ears, and the Orb’s color turned into a blue that was like ice. His Majesty said, “Well, and what, also, of the murder of the Cavalier Kurich, the younger brother of the Warlord, which took place in the seclusion of the archery range attached to the sub-wing of the Imperial Guard shortly before these gentlemen left the city?”

  “How, murder?” said Tazendra.

  Aerich said, “Sire, the word is hard.”

  “Well, what then of the deed?”

  “Oh,” said Tazendra carelessly. “The deed was easy enough.”

  Lytra turned pale, and shot a glance full of anger, first, at Tazendra, then at G’aereth, who withstood the shot with the cool silence he had maintained since the interview began.

  Khaavren said, “If Your Majesty will permit me?”

  Tortaalik scowled, but nodded.

  “It seems to me that there are, at issue, four murders, which are: Pepperfield, Kurich, Shaltre, and Garland.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Emperor impatiently. “What then?”

  “May I have permission to speak of them individually?”

  “Very well.”

  “As to the first, then, the Baroness has, as you have heard, confessed her guilt, but I hope to show Your Majesty that she has more than made up for her error.”

  “We will see. Go on.”

  “As to Kurich, well, Sire, I saw the entire affair, and if it had not all the trimmings of a duel, well, Kurich asked for the meeting, and agreed to the terms, and he fought tolerably well, and died bravely. I do not think he would have wished to see a prosecution against the Lady Tazendra. Moreover, if Your Majesty will condescend to question his seconds, the Cavaliers Uilliv and Rekov, we believe so firmly that they are honorable gentlemen, that we will stand by whatever they might say on the matter.”

  Lytra bit her lip and looked at his Majesty, who said, “We will come back to this, too. What of Shaltre?”

  “I beg you to believe that this was in no sense a murder, Sire. Aerich challenged him before witnesses, those being ourselves, as well as Lord Garland and Lord Adron e’Kieron, all of whom can testify that, in response to this challenge, Shaltre initiated a cowardly attack on Aerich, who merely defended himself.”

  “As for Adron,” said his Majesty grimly, “we will have our own dealings with him. Garland cannot so testify, for he has also been murdered. What have you to say to that?”

  “That we are entirely unaware of it. He was alive when we saw him last, and running on foot through the mountains. It may be that some mischance happened to him, but I assure you we are unaware of it, and had no part in it.”

  Tortaalik frowned and said, “In fact, it may be that he still lives, we have no certain knowledge beyond the fact that he has neither returned, nor has there been any message from him. But it could be that he will appear.”

  “We ask nothing better, Sire,” said Khaavren.

  “Well, and, concerning the accusations with respect to Kurich, Garland, and Shaltre, will all of you be willing to
testify under the Orb?”

  Aerich looked at the Orb coldly, then bowed to His Majesty. “If the word of a gentleman is not deemed sufficient, Sire, well, I will submit.”

  “As will we all,” said the others.

  Lytra leaned over and whispered to the Emperor, who nodded. “Only one will be necessary, I think,” said His Majesty. Lytra whispered once more, after which His Majesty said, “It is our pleasure that this gentleman, Khaavren, answer our questions.”

  “Well,” said Khaavren, “I will be happy to stand below the Orb and answer any questions Your Majesty may wish to put to me.”

  “I will not ask the questions, I will allow Her Excellency the Warlord that honor.”

  Khaavren bowed to Lytra, and as Khaavren studied the expression on her face, he realized that she would be directing all of her resources to attempting to trap him, or to prevent him from telling what he knew. He glanced at G’aereth, who stood mutely, but, by his expression, warned Khaavren to be careful.

  “Well, and is this acceptable to the rest of you?”

  “It is, Sire,” they said.

  “That’s well, then. Apropos, you may await without, and you will be informed when I have made a decision.” There was nothing to say to this, so Khaavren’s friends left. On the way out, Pel whispered, “Have a care; this Dragon is tricky.”

  “Well, I will be careful.”

  “That is right,” said Pel.

  Khaavren bowed to signify that he was ready, noting with pleasure that G’aereth had been retained as witness. The Orb moved away from the Emperor and began circling Khaavren’s head. He did not even glance at it, but rather looked at Lytra with a patient and frank expression.

  “I await Your Excellency,” he said.

  “Well then, I will begin.”

  “I am anxious for you to do so.”

  “This, then, is my first question, when you last saw Lord Garland, what was his condition?”

  “His condition, Excellency?” said Khaavren. “Well, he was healthy. I do not think health would excuse his failure to deliver—”

  “You will confine yourself to answering the questions, young Sir,” said Lytra.

  “And yet—” began Khaavren.

  “Stop,” said Tortaalik sternly. “The Warlord is conducting this investigation. You must only answer the questions Her Excellency does you the honor to ask.”

  “Yes, Sire,” said Khaavren, who began to tremble with frustration.

  Lytra, who either did not notice or did not care about Khaavren’s condition, said, “You say he was healthy?”

  Khaavren took a deep breath in an effort to recover his composure. “It seemed likely,” he said.

  “How could you tell?”

  “Well, he was not wounded, and he was running.”

  “How, running? Where was he running to?”

  “The mountains, Excellency.”

  “Well, and what was he running from?”

  Khaavren winced; the bolt had struck its mark. “From us, Excellency.”

  “Running from you?”

  “It is as I have the honor to tell Your Excellency.”

  “But then, he was frightened?”

  “It seemed likely, Excellency.”

  “As if his life was in danger?”

  “That was exactly it, Excellency; he ran as if he feared for his life.”

  “From you?”

  “And my friends, yes, Excellency.”

  “Well, then, let us pass on.”

  “How, pass on? But it seems to me—”

  “You must merely answer the questions you are asked,” said the Warlord.

  Khaavren looked at His Majesty, who was frowning as he considered the matter, and at G’aereth, who was biting his lips so hard the blood ran, and he saw the sort of game this Dragonlord was playing. “Ah, you fool,” he said to himself. “You should never have let them trap you into answering this way. This is Pel’s sort of match, he would have talked this asker-of-pointed-questions into circles. Aerich would have astounded them with his dignity, and made her ask the necessary questions, and Tazendra would have burst out with the truth before they could stop her.”

  “As to Count Shaltre,” said the Warlord, smiling as if she had her prey trapped. “You say he attacked the Duke of Arylle.”

  “Oh, yes, Excellency; he drew his blade and swung at Aerich’s head as if he would send it over the cliff, some two leagues distant.”

  “But then,” said Lytra, “did he seem frightened?”

  “Well, in fact, Excellency, he did appear to me to be terrified.”

  “And what reason could you give for his terror?”

  “Well, Aerich had challenged him, and—”

  “In what terms was the challenge issued?”

  “Well, Aerich said he would kill him.”

  “But then, Arylle is a Lyorn warrior, and did Shaltre not insist that, by the customs of his House, his Lordship could not attack Shaltre.”

  “Yes, but Aerich explained—”

  The Emperor said, “Only answer the question, young man.”

  “Yes, Sire,” said Khaavren, trembling.

  “Well,” said Lytra, “and was Arylle, that is, your accomplice Aerich, prepared to attack him anyway?”

  “That is, he—”

  “Yes or no, Sir Khaavren.”

  “Well, yes.” G’aereth had turned completely white, and was trembling from head to foot.

  “So that,” continued Lytra, “in fact, Shaltre only made his attack from desperation, as he thought he was about to die, struck down by one who he knew was handily able to kill him, is that not the case?”

  “It is,” said Khaavren, grimacing.

  Lytra turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty can plainly see that Shaltre, though he struck the first blow, was murdered in effect, and Garland driven off in fear for his life, no doubt to die in the mountains.”

  Khaavren started to speak, but the Emperor cut him off with a gesture and addressed the Captain. “Lord G’aereth, have you anything to say before I pronounce the sentence?”

  The Captain’s face had become very pale. It was clear that he knew what Lytra was doing, but as he did not know what had actually occurred, he was unable to formulate a question that would allow Khaavren to make the necessary explanations. The others in the room, at that moment, also looked at the Captain, with curiosity or triumph, according to their interest and nature.

  The Emperor opened his mouth, and the Tiassa, for a moment, could almost read the future: His Majesty would call for the Guards to take him away, and he and his friends would be imprisoned for a short time, and then they would be executed, their story untold, the treaty unfulfilled, and their enemies laughing as the headman’s axe fell.

  It is undeniable that, in this imperfect world, examples of injustice abound, and, in this regard, perhaps Khaavren ought not to have been astonished at what was taking place, yet he had never, himself, been in the presence of such monstrous undertakings; much less had he been the victim. And, in the agony of his mind, not knowing what he was doing, he fastened his last, imploring look on the Captain, his last remaining hope, and silently mouthed the name, “Kurich.”

  The Captain had, in fact, been looking at him, but, to Khaavren’s dismay, G’aereth did not seem to have noticed; even if he had, it is no simple matter to read a name from silent lips, and the sending of thoughts from mind to mind requires both training and a closer connection between people than they had had time to build up, in spite of Khaavren’s hope that desperation would serve to make up for the lack of these requirements.

  The Captain grunted, as if he were surrendering to fate, and Khaavren’s last hope died as G’aereth said, “Well, Sire, I must confess I think them guilty one and all.”

  “I agree,” said Tortaalik, “and I am happy to see that you don’t defend murderers merely because they wear your uniform.”

  “Well, so far am I from wishing to defend them, that I will go further than your Majesty has,
and say they must be guilty as well of killing poor Kurich.”

  Khaavren’s heart began beating once more, as the feint breath of hope came once more to his veins.

  “Oh,” said Lytra, hastily, looking at G’aereth suspiciously. “For my part, I believe them on that score.”

  “How?” said G’aereth, with an incredulous expression on his face. “You would let them escape justice for that crime?”

  “If they are to be hanged at the Corner of Tears or beheaded in Justicers Square,” said Lytra, shrugging, “then it matters little how many crimes we hang or behead them for.”

  Khaavren held his breath, trembling, hardly daring to listen as his fate hung in the balance, not knowing if this final card he had played was high enough to win the stake.

  “Well, I don’t agree,” said G’aereth. “And, when they are brought to the gallows, or the Star, I wish to hear the charges read in their entirety.”

  “Oh, I have no quarrel with that,” said Lytra. “Let us include, then, the matter of Kurich.”

  “You can not mean that,” said G’aereth.

  “How, not?”

  “We cannot charge them thus without proving the crime as we have so effectually proved the others.”

  “But then—”

  “No, my lady, I insist, with His Majesty’s permission, that you interrogate him on the subject of Kurich’s death.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Tortaalik, who had not at all understood the significance of this interplay. “Let us be complete by all means.”

  Lytra said, “Well, then, I will do so.”

  “It will be for the best,” said G’aereth.

  “Sir Khaavren,” said Lytra.

  “I am ready, Excellency,” said Khaavren, who had understood the Captain’s gambit, and was wracking his brains to find a way to make use of it.

  “Was Kurich killed in a fair and just fight?”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Khaavren.

  “Well,” said Lytra, breathing a sigh of relief, “there it is done, and it seems we were wrong.”

  “Bah,” said the Captain. “Impossible.”