Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read online

  There is no need to try the reader’s patience by relating for a second time what he has already learned, and in far more detail, in the preceding chapter; we will instead say that, as the day darkened, so, then, did the spirits of our friends as they drew closer and closer together in horror and fear.

  At one point, Aerich, as he watched Srahi and Mica, who were shamelessly holding one another’s hands, turned to Khaavren and said, “Do you fear for the Countess?”

  Khaavren swallowed and, with great difficulty, in a voice scarcely to be heard, said, “I should know if anything had happened to her. There can be no doubt, I should know.” It need not be added that Khaavren’s tone belied his words.

  And yet, it is not our intention to torment our reader (as, indeed, our brave Tiassa was tormented) by wondering about Daro. We will, then, at once dispel any fear the reader may have by asserting that she arrived at Bra-Moor even as the last light of the day was receding in the direction of broken and vanished Dragaera; she was shown in to the room where were gathered Khaavren, Aerich, Tazendra, Pel, Mica, Srahi, and Fawnd, and, with no word needing to be spoken, she came to Khaavren’s bed and took both of his hands in her own, and reverently kissed them.

  “I feared—” she began. Then she said, “And yet I knew—”

  “And I,” he whispered, and it seemed to those around him that life returned to his eyes even as he spoke. “I knew, yet I feared.”

  “Well,” she said, attempting to laugh. “We are together, and nothing else matters.”

  “Nothing else matters,” agreed Khaavren.

  As the end of one tale is always the beginning of the next, and as the line between one and the other is more often as vague as the edge of the Sea of Amorphia than sharp as the edge of Khaavren’s sword, the reader ought to understand that this was the beginning of the Interregnum, and that, even as Khaavren and Daro partook of the joy of their mutual survival, the first seeds of the Great Plagues were beginning in Adrilankha, Candletown, Northport, Branch, and Tirinsar. The Easterners were strong, and some of them had made no treaty with the Empire. The Dukes were strong, and would soon realize that there was no Empire to limit their desires. In a word, then, the most horrible, deathly, and fearful era since the downfall of the Jenoine was only beginning. And, in fact, we are fully aware that, if we have lost sight of Grita, the reader has not forgotten her, as perhaps he forgot Garland once before.

  And yet, we insist upon our right to leave the reader here, because as adulthood is the end of youth, so, then, can marriage be seen as the end of life as a single man. Certainly, Khaavren, the soldier, the Captain, the bachelor, was no more. If there is a tale to be related of Khaavren and Daro, or perhaps of some of the others of our confraternity, well, that does not change our opinion that, if an end must occur somewhere, this is where it must fall.

  As we humbly ask for our recompense, whether in gold or in esteem, we do not do so with the arrogant conviction that there is no more to tell, for, as Master Hunter has pointed out, the end, where it is possible to determine it, can never be expressed—yet, if more is to be told, then the historian, we believe, has the right as well as the duty to demand both that his work be appreciated, and that he be permitted, insofar as his judgment and his conscience allow him, to place both the beginning and the end where he will.

  We cannot but be grateful that the audience—that is, the reader—has trusted us to invade his mind with our gentle weapons of word and image, and, moreover, we do not fail to understand the obligation under which this places us. Therefore, in the interest of the satisfaction of our reader as well, we must insist, of honesty, and although we have not forgotten enemies, plagues, invasions, wars, and famine, we nevertheless direct our reader’s gaze to calm Aerich, happy Tazendra, and smiling Pel, who, in turn, are looking upon Khaavren and Daro, who stare deeply into each other’s eyes with the happy, tender, and even joyful expression of fulfilled love, and it is here that we choose to take our leave of the reader.

  Cast of Characters

  Of the Court

  Tortaalik I—His Majesty The Emperor

  Noima—Her Majesty the Consort

  Jurabin—Prime Minister

  Rollondar e’Drien—Warlord

  Countess Bellor—Superintendent of Finance

  Nyleth—Court Wizard

  Khaavren—Ensign of the Imperial Guard

  Brudik—Lord of the Chimes

  Lady Ingera—Lord of the Keys

  Navier—His Majesty’s physicker

  Dimma—His Majesty’s Chief Servant

  Daro—A Maid of Honor to Her Majesty

  Dinb—Master of the First Gate

  Of the Phoenix Guard

  Thack—Khaavren’s corporal

  Tummelis e’Terics—A guardsman

  Naabrin—A guardsman

  Menia—A guardsman

  Sergeant—A guardsman

  Tivor—A guardsman

  Kyu—A guardsman

  Ailib—A guardsman

  Heth—A police-man

  Of the Imperial Palace

  Duke of Galstan (Pel)—An Initiate into Discretion

  Lady Glass—Chief of the Sorett Regiment

  Erna—Master of the Order of Discretion

  Ktorynderata—A servant at the palace

  Of Lord Adron’s Company

  Adron e’Kieron—Dragon Heir

  Aliera e’Kieron—Adron’s daughter

  Molric e’Drien—Adron’s chainman

  Durtri—A sentry

  Geb—A soldier

  Dohert—A soldier

  Eftaan—A soldier

  Of the Lavodes

  Sethra—Captain of the Lavodes

  Dreen—A Lavode

  Tuvo—A Lavode

  Roila—A Lavode

  Nett—A Lavode

  Of the City

  Raf—A pastry vendor

  Leen—A would-be assassin

  Greycat—A ruffian and a conspirator

  Laral—A Jhereg

  Chalar—An Orca

  Dunaan—A Jhereg

  Grita—A Half-breed

  Baroness of Clover—A Dragonlord

  Baroness of Newhouse—A Dragonlord

  Count of Tree-by-the-Sea—A Dzurlord

  Cariss—A Jhereg Sorceress

  Tukko—A Jhereg

  Mario—An assassin

  Of Others

  Aerich—Duke of Arylle

  Fawnd—Aerich’s servant

  Steward—Aerich’s servant

  Tazendra—Baroness of Daavya

  Mica—Tazendra’s lackey

  Sir Vintner—A Lyorn delegate

  Lysek—A Jhegaala

  Seb—A messenger

  Theen—A brigand

  Five Hundred Years After

  Being in the Nature of a Sequel to

  The Phoenix Guards

  Describing Certain Events Which Occurred

  In the Year of the Hawk

  In the Turn of the Orca

  In the Phase of the Dragon

  In the Reign of the Phoenix

  In the Cycle of the Phoenix

  In the Great Cycle of the Dragon

  Or

  The 532nd Year of the Reign of Tortaalik the First

  Submitted to the Imperial Library

  From Springsign Manor

  Via House of the Hawk

  On this 3rd day of the Month of the Lyorn

  Of the Year of the Iorich

  Or

  In the Eleventh Year

  Of the Glorious Reign

  Of the Empress Norathar the Second

  By Sir Paarfi of Roundwood

  House of the Hawk

  (His Arms, Seal, Lineage Block)

  Presented, as Always

  To the Countess of Garnier

  With Gratitude and Hope

  BOOKS BY STEVEN BRUST

  THE DRAGAERAN NOVELS

  Brokedown Palace

  THE KHAAVREN ROMANCES

  The Phoenix Guards

 
; Five Hundred Years After

  The Viscount of Adrilankha,

  which comprises

  The Paths of the Dead,

  The Lord of Castle Black,

  and

  Sethra Lavode

  THE VLAD TALTOS NOVELS

  Jhereg

  Yendi

  Teckla

  Taltos

  Phoenix

  Athyra

  Orca

  Dragon

  Issola

  Dzur

  Jhegaala

  OTHER NOVELS

  To Reign in Hell

  The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars

  Agyar

  Cowboy Feng’s Space Bar and Grille

  The Gypsy (with Megan Lindholm)

  Freedom and Necessity (with Emma Bull)

  About the Author

  Brust: Allow me to say, in the first place, that I’m delighted we’ve actually had the chance to meet.

  Paarfi: Well.

  Brust: The first thing I would like to know, and I’m sure many readers are also curious, is this: Do you write like that on purpose? I mean, is that your natural style, or are you deliberately playing games with auctorial voice?

  Paarfi: I am afraid I do not understand the question you do me the honor to ask.

  Brust: Never mind. I’ve noticed that you have gone through a considerable number of patrons. Would you care to comment on this?

  (Paarfi cares to do nothing except look annoyed.)

  Brust: Well, then let us discuss admission to what you call The Institute. Do you still hope to achieve it?

  Paarfi: Sir, are you deliberately trying to be insulting?

  Brust: Sorry. Well then, uh, are you married?

  Paarfi: I fail to comprehend why the reader ought to concern himself … herself … it … curse this language of yours! How do manage?

  Brust: I use “he” and “him.”

  Paarfi: Preposterous! What if—

  Brust: Let’s not get into that, all right?

  Paarfi: But how did you address the problem in my work?

  Brust: I used “he” and “him.”

  Paarfi: That is absurd. In some cases—

  Brust: I’d really rather not discuss it.

  Paarfi: Very well.

  Brust: Now, what were you saying?

  Paarfi: I was saying that I fail to comprehend why the reader ought to be concerned with such questions as my matrimonial state. Moreover, it is entirely personal in nature, and I am uninterested in such discussions.

  Brust: Some readers like to know—

  Paarfi: Are you married?

  Brust: … I see your point. Well, are there going to be any more books about Khaavren?

  Paarfi: It is not impossible.

  Brust: I take it that means maybe.

  Paarfi: Well.

  Brust: Is it a question of money?

  (Paarfi declines to answer)

  Brust: Have you any opinions about music?

  Paarfi: I do not understand why you wish to know.

  Brust: To find out whether you’ve heard any of my music, such as Reissue by Cats Laughing (tape), Another Way to Travel by Cats Laughing (tape and CD), Queen of Air and Darkness by Morrigan (tape), King of Oak and Holly by Morrigan (tape), A Rose for Iconoclastes by Steven Brust (tape and CD)—all of which may be ordered from SteelDragon Press. For a catalog, one could send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to P.O. Box 7253, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55407. The cost is a mere—

  Paarfi: That is insupportable, and I have no intention of sitting here while you shamelessly—

  Brust: All right, all right.

  Paarfi: Well?

  Brust: What do you want to talk about?

  Paarfi: We could discuss literature. For example, its creation. Or we could even discuss the particular work in which a transcription of this conversation is destined to appear, by which I mean, of course, A Discussion of Some Events Occurring in the Latter Part of the Reign of His Imperial Majesty Tortaalik I.

  Brust: I’ve … uh … I’ve actually given it a different title.

  Paarfi: You’ve what?

  Brust: Trust me.

  Paarfi: The proper title, Sir, is—

  Brust: Look, I know publishers, okay?

  Paarfi: Are you proud of that fact?

  Brust: Well, then, uh, would you mind explaining why you have sometimes used feet, inches, yards, miles, and so on, and other times meters, centimeters, and kilometers, as well as leagues, and even furlongs and like that?

  Paarfi: You ought, in my opinion, to stop asking questions to which you know the answer, and to which, moreover, any intelligent reader could determine the answer.

  Brust: Say it anyway, all right?

  Paarfi (looking pained): Very well. There were, at the time in which this work is set, six completely different systems of measurement in use throughout the Empire. Your translation of these into terms with which the reader is familiar is an attempt to capture some of this complexity. There. Does that please you?

  Brust: Thank you. Would you like to give the reader a hint about where to find Devera in this volume?

  Paarfi: As it happens, she does not appear at all.

  Brust: Huh? But I told you—

  Paarfi: It would have been inappropriate, not to mention dishonest, to have simply “put” her somewhere, when, in fact, I was able to learn nothing of where she may have appeared, or, indeed, whether she appeared at all.

  Brust: (Inaudible)

  Paarfi: I beg your pardon?

  Brust: Nothing.

  Paarfi: Would it be possible for you to find a question that requires some degree of thought to answer?

  Brust: All right, then, for whom do you write?

  Paarfi: I beg your pardon?

  Brust: Do you have an audience in mind when you write? Are you writing to someone, or just to please yourself, or what?

  Paarfi (looking interested for the first time): Ah. I see. I write for those who love to read.

  Brust: Well, of course, but—

  Paarfi: I believe you have failed to comprehend what I have said. I do not mean that I write for those who simply like a good tale well told, or for those who use the novel in order to explore what your critics are pleased to call “the human condition,” or for those who treat a story as a distraction from the cares of the day, but, rather, I write for those who take joy in seeing words well-placed upon the page.

  Brust: Typesetters?

  Paarfi: I believe you are attempting jocularity. I believe you are failing.

  Brust: In fact, I think you know what you mean: Your reader is the one who doesn’t rush on to see what happens next, but relishes the way the sentences are formed. Is that right?

  Paarfi: Substantially.

  Brust: That’s interesting.

  Paarfi: And, you, sir?

  Brust: Me?

  Paarfi: For whom do you write?

  Brust: Uh … I think I’d like to please all of the above.

  Paarfi: I beg your pardon?

  Brust: All of those in the list you mentioned—those who like a good story, those who—

  Paarfi (ironically): A worthy goal, no doubt. And yet, do you not write in what is called a genre, or, more accurately, a marketing category, where it is assumed that one cannot create works of lasting importance?

  Brust: Let’s not get into that.

  Paarfi: Very well. Tell me, then, what do the initials “PJF” after your name indicate?

  Brust (annoyed): I said I don’t want to get into that.

  Paarfi (stiffly): I beg your pardon. But if you are going to go so far as to insist on having obscure initials after your name on the very title page of a novel, I should think the reader would have the right to know what these initials indicate. Is it an elaborate joke? Is it a statement of what you hope to accomplish? Come, sir. Here is your chance to explain to your public.

  (Brust declines to answer.)

  Paarfi: As you wish. Name some of your favorite writers, please.
/>
  Brust: Well, Alexander Dumas—

  Paarfi (ironically): I should never have suspected.

  Brust: Twain, Shakespeare—

  Paarfi (sniffing): You would be doing me an inestimable service if you stopped trying to impress me, and, instead, named writers of the time in which you have the honor to work.

  Brust: You mean contemporary writers?

  Paarfi: If you please.

  Brust: Oh. Well. Zelazny, Yolen, Wolfe, and Shetterly, to start at the back of the alphabet, or maybe Bull, Crowley, Dalkey, Dean, Ford, and Gaiman to start at the front. Or—

  Paarfi: I do not comprehend.

  Brust: Never mind. I’m awful fond of Patrick O’Brian and Robert B. Parker. Diana Wynne Jones is wonderful. I shouldn’t mention Megan Lindholm, because I’ve written a book with her, but—

  Paarfi: You perceive that none of these names are familiar to me.

  Brust (stiffly): You asked.

  Paarfi: And, moreover, I do not believe that one can be “awful fond” of someone.

  Brust: Deal with it.

  Paarfi: Then, if you please, name some of your colleagues of whom you are not “awful fond.”

  Brust: Huh?

  Paarfi: Name for us the bad writers in what is euphemistically called, “the field.”

  Brust: Oh, yeah. Right. And maybe monkeys—

  Paarfi: I take it you decline to answer?

  Brust: That’d be a yes.

  Paarfi: Well. Would you care to speak of any works in progress?

  Brust: I’m thinking of writing another story about Vlad Taltos.

  Paarfi (yawning): Indeed?