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Authors: Steven Brust

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“And you perceive,” put in Tazendra, “that the assassin
did
strike. Only, in the growing darkness—”

“Yes, yes,” said Khaavren. “No doubt.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Khaavren said, “Whatever the reason, it is good you were there. Moreover, I am delighted to see you both, for it brings back a thousand pleasant remembrances to be walking beside you.”

“If Pel were with us,” said Tazendra, “it would bring back a thousand more.”

“Well, that is true. But here now, if you were in such a hurry, you have no lodgings, have you?”

“That is true,” said Aerich, with a smile, for the clever Lyorn knew in what direction this conversation was pointed.

“In that case, there is no reason why you cannot stay with me; you perceive your old rooms are still ready.”

“We thank you,” said Aerich, “and accept gladly. Indeed, if you will forgive my presumption, I even anticipated your invitation, for I have directed my servant, Fawnd, as well as Tazendra’s servant, who is none other than our old friend Mica, to go directly there when we found they could not keep up with us on the road.”

“Ah, that is splendid!” said Khaavren.

“Do you know,” complained Tazendra, “that I had quite forgotten the size of this city, and how long it took to get anywhere on foot.”

“Well,” said Khaavren, “you need not worry about that, for we are nearly there. Once we have reached the market square that you can see in the faint light provided by the glow-balls, we shall have entered the Underside, and from there it is not far at all to the place where we shall begin our investigations.”

As he spoke, the bell in the Old Tower struck the eleventh hour.

Chapter the Twelfth

Which Treats of Social Unrest,
Both in General and in Specific,
And Discusses Certain Possible Responses,
By Authority, to Such Occurrences.

I
T IS INHERENT IN THE nature of riots that no one can be certain exactly how they began, who instigated them, or how, except in the most general terms, they might have been prevented—this is, perhaps, the most significant difference between a riot and a popular uprising; it is also why the author hesitates to call the events of that evening a riot. Uprising is a more general term; disturbance a word even less specific; and with the lack of a precise word to describe the situation, the historian prefers the general word that, at least, does not mislead the reader.

It should be noted, however, that Khaavren made no distinction so nice, either then or afterwards; his concerns lay in other directions entirely. The uprising, riot, disturbance, agitation, mutiny, or whatever term the reader prefers, which, by all accounts, took place on the night of the 13
^thand the early morning hours of the 14
^thday of the month of the Vallista in the 532
^ndyear of Tortaalik’s reign, began for Khaavren and his friends in the simplest manner: the Captain observed, in the very market that he was entering, three guardsmen running in the opposite direction—that is, into the Underside. Khaavren did not, we hasten to add, see this clearly, for night had quite fallen and there were few glowbulbs in this part of the city, but the three gold cloaks were unmistakable, as was the direction in which the guardsmen ran.

“Captain—” began one of Khaavren’s escorts.

“I saw them. At a trot, now,” and he led the way through the market, followed closely by Aerich, Tazendra, and his escort of guardsmen. He led them at a careful pace, thinking they might have to run for some time, but they had hardly left the market, stepping onto Backhoe Street, when he heard, from just ahead and around a corner, the familiar sound sword-blades make when acquiring notches and dents by being put to the use for which they were created.

“Hullo,” said Tazendra, drawing her sword.

“This way,” said Khaavren, taking his own weapon into his hand and leading them around the corner toward the sounds. Their escort of guards also drew their weapons. Aerich did not, but those who have read our previous history will understand that he had no need of such toys.

At points such as this one, the historian will always encounter the dangers of, to the right, assigning to those he is following a greater role than they actually played, and, to the left, failing to distinguish between what was witnessed by the characters through whose eyes the reader is watching the drama unfold, and the historian’s own awareness, through whatever sources have come to hand, of the events as they actually took place. It is our desire to steer our literary barque carefully between these rocks, which we will do in this way: We will take the greatest possible care to inform our readers of the actual events, as they have come down to us from the memoirs and letters of those whose actions we have been following, while, at the same time, the deeds of our heroes themselves will be reported only insofar as they come from the recognized and reputable sources that have survived the Interregnum. In this way, we admit that certain trivial inaccuracies may, from time to time, enter our narrative; we hope, however, that on the whole, the foundations of our narrative edifice will remain strong, the edges sharp, the textures smooth, and the walls perpendicular.

With this clearly understood, we will say that when Khaavren came around the corner the first thing he saw, in the light of the glowbulb outside the Beescott Inn, was one of his guardsmen, stretched out upon the ground, his sword lying a few inches from his outstretched hand. Just past this fellow were two other guardsmen, who fought back to back (in the manner that Khaavren himself recommended for such circumstances) attempting, with indifferent success, to defend themselves against what appeared to be ten or fifteen opponents, all of whom were armed as soldiers, although no uniforms could be seen in the dim light, and from a distance of thirty or forty yards.

As they watched, one of the guardsmen fell to his knees; although he still maintained his guard, it seemed that he would be struck down at any instant, after which his companion would follow in short order.

“I believe,” said Tazendra, “that you must order a charge if you are to save these fellows’ lives.”

“Well,” said Khaavren, “I think as you do, my dear friend, only there is a matter which must be attended to first.”

“How, first?” said Tazendra. “Before rescuing those guardsmen who, I believe, are your subordinates?”

“Yes,” said Khaavren. “For there is a matter that will not wait.”

He turned to his escort and pointed to one of them. “You will return at
once to the guard-station on Narrows. You must run as fast as you can. You will have them send everyone at the station to this spot at once, and you will inform the sergeant on duty that I will break him if he fails to do so. You will then have a messenger sent to the Palace with orders for Baroness Stonemover to send three hundred horsemen to this spot. Emphasize, at all times, that haste is everything—an hour may well be too late. Lord Rollondar must be informed of what is happening so that he may put the Imperial Army on alert, in case our first efforts fail. Finally, you must reserve a hundred guardsmen to protect Their Majesties; these must be called up and Their Majesties taken to the Lower Square. Do you understand all of that?”

“You will judge, Captain: Return to Narrows, send everyone here; a messenger to the Palace for Thack to send three hundred horsemen; Lord Rollondar to be informed and his army put on alert; Their Majesties to be taken to the Lower Square and guarded by a hundred troops.”

“That is it. Here is my ring in case anyone questions you. Give me your sword, it will slow you down and you have no time to fight in any case. Think only of speed. Now go!”

The guardsman left without another word. Allow us add, lest the reader wonder, that Khaavren had briefly considered alerting Lord Adron, but realized that bringing in the famous hero of the Battle of Briartown could enrage the populace even more than an intervention by the Imperial Army, and that, moreover, the Breath of Fire Battalion was but ill-suited—whatever His Majesty’s opinion—to battles against insurgent Teckla. In any case, having now completed what he felt to be the most important part of his duty, the Captain turned toward the issue at hand—that is, the onslaught against his guardsmen. He raised his sword and cried, “Charge!”

We should remark that Khaavren’s nerve was, in point of fact, at least a little shaken by what he saw; this must be so, for how else can account for the fact that, when Khaavren had covered the distance to the melee, he was holding two swords in his hands without being aware of it? Yet, upon realizing this, he took the opportunity to throw the sword in his left hand at one of his opponents, which startled this opponent long enough for Khaavren to use his other sword to good effect. In the meantime, Tazendra, at his side, was using her sword in her accustomed manner—flailing it about as if she had no control over its direction, yet making each stroke bite with deadly efficiency. Aerich, for his part, had lost none of his old skill, and, like the Lyorn warrior he was, used his hands, vambraces, elbows, feet, and knees as if they were bladed weapons. The two remaining guardsmen, we can be sure, comported themselves as befit their rank.

The result was that, in a matter of a few seconds, all of their foes had either fled or fallen, and they—four guardsmen, Khaavren, Aerich, and Tazendra—held
the field. “That was bravely done,” cried Tazendra, who, even in the dim light, seemed flushed with pleasure.

“You think so?” said Khaavren. “Well, we must form ranks, for the night has just begun, and it promises to be a long one, and full of hot work.”

“How, you think they will be back?” said Tazendra.

“I more than think it,” said Khaavren. “I am sure of it.”

“Pah! Such rabble!”

“We will see,” said Khaavren.

He returned to the guardsman they had first seen, a man Khaavren did not recognize. He seemed to have taken a wound in the face and another high in the side, but he still lived, although the Captain, who had some experience with wounds, thought nothing good of his chances to survive the night.

Nevertheless, one of the guardsmen bound his wounds as best he could, using material from the wounded man’s blouse, while another attended to the other wounded guardsman in a similar manner.

We should apologize to our readers if too many of these men and women who served so well remain nameless and faceless, being referred to only as this or that guardsman; where their names have come down to us, we do not hesitate to supply them, but we are absolutely unwilling to fabricate names when we do not, in fact, know them.

Of the three who had been the victims of the ambuscade, then, one was severely injured, one slightly less so, and the third was completely unscathed. Khaavren turned to this man and said, “Come now, tell me what happened.”

“Captain, that is easily explained,” he was answered. “We were patrolling the market and surrounding streets, for that was our duty this evening as determined by our commander.”

“Yes, I understand that. Go on.”

“As we walked, I was—”

“Well?”

The guardsman, whose name was Tivor, seemed embarrassed, but finally said, “I was struck in the head, Captain.”

“By what?” said Khaavren.

“By … that is to … by vegetable matter.”

“I see.”

“Well, Captain, we looked around, and spotted some young persons, who appeared to be taunting us.”

“Ah. And you chased them?”

Tivo looked down and nodded.

“Well?” prompted Khaavren, who felt the need to understand what had happened, and determined that questions of discipline could be addressed later.

“Well, Captain, we chased them to this point, when Kyu was struck in the side by a bolt shot from we know not where. We drew the bolt, and were attempting to staunch the bleeding as best we could when we were attacked by the horde you saw, who came from two sides. Kyu, though severely injured, attempted to give battle but fell at once. We retreated to the wall, and, Captain, I will say that things would have gone ill for us if you had not appeared.”

“There is no certainty,” said Khaavren, “that things will not go ill yet, for everything you say confirms what I had thought from the first.”

“Then you think—?” interrupted Tazendra.

Khaavren shook his head, and indicated where those who made up his small force should stand. He said, “Tazendra, have you any flashstones?”

“Why, I have three left, for you perceive that I used one at the pavilion.”

“Well, I have one myself, that is four.”

“I was issued one,” said Kyu, who had regained consciousness and was propped against the wall.

“Five, then,” said Khaavren. “We must use them sparingly.”

“And yet,” said Tazendra, “I do not see—”

“Be patient,” said Aerich, who, like Khaavren, well understood what was about to happen.

And, indeed, it was scarcely a minute later that they became aware of a distant clamor, as of voices shouting, doors being broken down, and other sounds they could not identify save as being part of a general disorder; at the same time, they saw people running in small groups, gathering together and then dispersing, or breaking down doors with heavy instruments.

Tivor said, “Captain—”

“Be patient,” said Khaavren.

And, at that moment, they heard tramping, shouting, and clashing that indicated a large body of armed citizens were making their way toward them.

As Khaavren prepared to face an angry populace (albeit a populace that had, as he had already determined, been aroused in accordance with the plot or scheme of parties unknown, rather than erupting spontaneously) in the streets of the Underside, we must turn our attention elsewhither, for there was a meeting taking place scarcely a league distant. This meeting is, in point of fact, taking place at the same cabaret and even in the same back room at which we overheard the last meeting of certain conspirators, wherefore is should not surprise the reader to learn that some of these same conspirators, most particularly the one called Greycat, are again present. The other is the lady called Laral, and Greycat sat perfectly still as she stood before him and spoke.

“Chaler failed,” said Laral. “He is dead.”

Greycat allowed a hint of emotion to appear briefly on his countenance. “How, dead?”

“The Tiassa had some friends with him.”

“I see.”

“A professional would have noticed them.”

Greycat stared at her. “Has the professional seen to Lord Adron?”

She stared back. “No.”

“Well?”