Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (39 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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After draining his glass, Khaavren said, “And now, my friends, I must
sleep, for I can scarcely keep my eyes open, and to-morrow promises to be a day of unusual interest.”
“What of to-morrow?” said Pel.
“Indeed,” said Khaavren, who sounded (and was feeling) more than a little drowsy. “What of to-morrow?”
“Will you be able to rise in the morning?”
“I must,” said Khaavren. “There is something I must do. It is very important and, wounded or not, I must go at once to the Palace.”
“What is it?” said Pel and Tazendra together.
“I do not remember,” said Khaavren, “although, no doubt, I will when I wake up. For now, I believe that I can hold my eyes open no longer. Good night to you, my friends, and to you, Countess.”
They all, in turn, expressed their wishes that Khaavren would sleep well and comfortably, except for Daro, whose eyes were closed and who was breathing evenly and deeply, and Srahi, who was audibly wondering who was going to clean up the blood that had soaked into the floor, the sofa, three good sheets, and, it would seem, every towel in the house.
We must, at this point, apologize to the reader, for we are not unaware that this would be a good time, with everyone drifting off to sleep, to end this chapter of our history; yet it is our desire to inform the reader of all of the significant events before allowing the next day to begin with our next chapter, wherefore we must go back in time to when Khaavren was unceremoniously leaving the Palace, which was at just about the same moment that His Majesty was ceremoniously closing up the Palace, by which, be it clearly understood, we mean that he was doing the rounds, after which he retired to his bedchamber, which he did at about the same time that Khaavren and his friends were being placed in chairs and sofas about the house, and settling in for the evening’s conversation which we have already had the honor of summarizing for our reader. His Majesty, too, was settling in for an evening’s conversation, but, there being no one there to converse with, he perforce spoke to himself.
“It is not,” he began, lying on his side, “as bad as it seems. Though there is rebellion, there is also an Imperial Army. Although there are conspiracies about the court, there is Jurabin. Although my Captain is injured, the good Navier believes he will recover fully, and soon at that. Moreover, I have my health, and my hand is strong upon the tiller of the Empire, and I have Noima, my Consort, a consolation in time of trouble—although, in fact, I really ought to see about a replacement for old Wellborn; I am unused to being without a Discreet.
“But leave that—let us dwell on what we have, rather than what we do not have, for that way lies contentment, and the other way lies unhappiness. Yet, to
the left, among the possessions we have been pleased to enumerate we must included an admirable memory, which reminds us that Wellborn was wont to speak of contentment in the most disparaging of terms, pretending that contentment was stagnation, and that it was the lot of Man to struggle ever higher.
“All of which is well enough, but what, then, ought I to be struggling against? The rebel Prince, certainly; but I have done all I can as far as he goes. What else?
“Bah! What an occupation for a grown man, and an Emperor no less! To lie awake attempting to find something to worry about! Next I shall come to mistrust the Warlord and the Captain, than which there are no more loyal souls in the Empire, even as I mistrust Jurabin, who …”
He stopped in the midst of this soliloquy, shifted onto his back, locked his hands behind his head, and repeated this last phrase to himself. “What have I said? I mistrust Jurabin? Now, how did that thought come to take root? I have always trusted him before. Well, but there can be no question but that he has changed, although I cannot fathom precisely in what manner he has changed.”
He folded his hands on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. “No, now that I think, I do know in manner he has changed—he is no longer so devoted to Noima as he was. It is, to be sure, an odd thing for a husband to consider (for I am a husband as well an Emperor), yet, after those devotions which, long years ago, gave me a certain unease (and of which I was once so jealous that I spent an entire day with Wellborn speaking of nothing else), to now be disturbed that those small attentions—which I was never certain existed—are now entirely absent.
“And what of Noima herself? Has she noticed the change? Of course she has—why else would she be so angered at the Lady Aliera? This, then, is the answer to that mystery. But the first question still confronts us, and in as forceful a manner as ever: Can Jurabin still be trusted?
“For that matter, though it pains me to even ask the question, can Noima be trusted? Not her heart, of which I have never had cause to doubt, but her judgment? If not, and I fear that to ask the question is to answer it, I must be less hasty in agreeing to her wishes—my own words to her, in which I counterposed the needs of Empire to the desires of the husband, were prophetic. No, I must do what is best for the Empire, and Jurabin certainly will agree; indeed, it was he who argued against the arrest of Aliera, which would have solved the domestic problem, at the cost of—”
His Majesty broke off abruptly, sat up in his bed, and cried, “The Gods! Of course Jurabin argued against Aliera’s arrest! He is in love with her, and this is coloring all of his decisions, as, indeed, his reaction is coloring all of Noima’s! What, then—is the court nothing more than a playground of
romance, and the policies of Empire nothing more than tools of intrigue? This cannot be allowed. I will not allow it. If I have to dismiss every councilor in the Chambers and live like a celibate, I will not allow it. I will not. Whatever pain I condemn myself or even my loved ones to, I will not.”
And repeating this phrase over and over to himself, he lay down once more, turned over onto his side, and at last, and at much the same time as those in Khaavren’s house, drifted off to sleep.
Which Treats of the Philosophy of Conquest
,
The Conquest of Philosophy
,
And Several Instances of Pride
.
 
 
 
B
Y THIS TIME, WE DO not doubt, the reader is beginning to wonder about Aliera and Sethra, who were last seen in the Imperial Palace, where they learned that Khaavren had been ordered to arrest Adron. The reader might presume that, in fact, they reached Adron, warned him, and that Adron had therefore broken camp at once, leaving a patrol of three warriors to either stop Khaavren should he appear alone, or give warning should he appear in force. The reader who does make these presumptions is, we should say at once, correct on all counts. And, as it is well known that the Breath of Fire Battalion was famous, above all, for its speed, it should come as no surprise that, as red dawn broke over Dragaera, the battalion should be found encamped a good forty leagues from the city, having covered this distance in a single night and still had time, after making camp according to Adron’s particular code, to get a good night’s sleep (except for those who had guard duty, which was, under the circumstances, a fair number).
Aerich was awakened at dawn, and Fawnd, a good servant, woke even before his master and hastened to help him dress, while making certain that klava was available and determining if any messages had arrived during the night. On this occasion, in fact, one had, and Fawnd hastened to present it to the good Lyorn, who read it at once, frowned, and said to himself, “I am to breakfast with His Highness this morning, as well as certain others to whom he refers as guests—I assume these will include his daughter Aliera and, no doubt, Sethra Lavode; therefore I ought to present myself in a fashion that will show the esteem in which I hold them.”
To Fawnd, then, he said, “Ribbons for the belt, silver medallion, vambraces.”
“Yes, Venerance,” said the servant, and immediately set out the named items.
Aerich was not easily deceived, nor was he on this occasion—he arrived in Adron’s tent to find Adron and Aliera already awaiting him; Sethra appeared even as Aerich was greeting the first two.
We must, in all conscience, pause for a moment to utter yet another brief apology to our reader: during what follows, which, we give our word, is entirely necessary to our history, we shall be spending time with four persons, three of whom, we admit to our sorrow, have names which begin with the same sound and are, moreover, of roughly similar length, and even contain similar sounds within. We are not insensitive to the difficulty it may cause some readers to keep track of when a passing symbol refers to Adron, when to Aliera, and when to Aerich. We shall, of course, do our best to help the reader by making reference, from time to time, to some characteristic by which the individual may be told from the others: “His Highness,” for example, or “the Lyorn,” or “Adron’s daughter.” Yet, it cannot be denied that a certain amount of confusion is inevitable under these circumstances, and we therefore tender our apologies, offering as our only justification that, in the event, these people were there, and to change their names for them would be to take liberties which no historian could justify, and for which those involved, some of whom live even as we write these words, would hardly thank us.
This said, let us pass on to consider the breakfast to which His Highness had determined to treat his daughter, the Lyorn, and the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain.
It was not large, as such breakfasts go—it was Adron’s opinion that he, and, by extension, his troops, would fight better if not weighed down by a large meal, although some sustenance was certainly required. Hence, each guest was given warmed bread and butter, a ration of potatoes, a piece of dried whitefruit, and a slice of roasted kethna. There was also blood-tea in good quantity (Adron, being superstitious about the name, had forced himself to enjoy the acrid tang) and klava.
“So does Your Highness believe,” said Aerich toward the end of the repast, “that His Majesty will attack today?”
“It is not unlikely,” said Adron. “It is what I would do. The longer he delays, the more horses we will be able to move into position, and the faster and more efficiently we will be able to strike. Rollondar cannot be unaware of this. In all honesty, I am surprised that the attack did not come during the night, although we would certainly have had the advantage in any battle in darkness.”
Sethra looked at him sharply. “Your Highness cannot, even with all of your skills and all of your forces, expect to defeat the Imperial Army in open battle.”
“I do not fight in order to lose battles,” said Adron quietly.
“Your Highness must perceive,” said the Lyorn, “that, once battle is joined, I cannot support it—however much I revere Your Highness, I cannot countenance rebellion.”
“It is not rebellion if the cycle has turned, my dear Lyorn.”
“On the contrary,” said Aerich. “Rebellion is exactly rebellion, until it succeeds, which is how one knows the cycle has turned.”
“A pretty dilemma,” agreed the Prince.
His daughter shrugged. “It is all well and good to discuss such matters of theory, but soon enough the battle will be joined and such arguments will no longer matter, being replaced by arguments of a more convincing sort.”
“And you,” remarked Sethra dryly, “are so impatient for the slaughter to begin that you can barely contain yourself.”
“Well,” said Aliera sharply. “And do you condemn me for this?”
“I have seen too much blood, too many battles, to take any joy in them.”
“I,” said Aliera, “have not.”
“With the Favor, you never will.”
“If you can find an honorable way to prevent this battle, my dear Sethra; you are welcome to do so—moreover, I will even help you.”
“Will you? Well, I have been considering exactly this question.”
“Have you then?”
“Indeed I have.”
“And?”
“It may be that I know a way.”
Aerich studied her, but said nothing. Adron leaned forward in his chair. Aliera said, “Well, let us hear it, for I am convinced it must be a good one. And, moreover, a quick one, for I do not doubt that the Warlord is, even now, advancing with all of his forces.”
“It is unlikely,” Sethra pronounced.
“Unlikely?” said father and daughter with one voice.
“You are, neither of you, as aware as I am of the state of the Imperial forces. Rollondar will not be able to attack before to-morrow’s dawn at the soonest, unless he chooses to launch an attack in which he will be outnumbered in both men and horses, and I promise you he will not do so.”
“The Imperial Army is not gathered?” said Adron.
“Not in the least.”
“And yet, Jurabin and His Majesty must both have realized—”
“Jurabin,” said Sethra with a smile and a covert glance at Aliera, “has been distracted these past few days, and is not thinking clearly.”And as for His Majesty, well, the reins of government are too new in his hands for him to yet feel the subtleties.”
“Yet the Warlord—”
“Will not have called for a general arming and preparation without explicit orders. It is never a wise move, and after several hundred years of a Phoenix Reign, with the Dragon over the horizon, no Warlord would risk giving such advice unless asked in the most explicit of terms.”
“That is true,” said Adron.
“Well then,” said Aliera. “Let us hear this famous plan. And if I think it a good one, well, I will subscribe to it as I promised.”
“Then listen,” said Sethra.
“We are listening,” said the others.
Sethra quickly described her plan, while the others listened attentively. When she had finished, Adron blinked and said, “That is it?”
Aliera said, “That is your plan?”
Aerich said nothing.
“That is my plan,” said Sethra.
“You will be arrested,” said Adron.
“You will be killed,” said Aliera.
Aerich said nothing.
“I will be neither killed nor arrested,” said Sethra.
“His Majesty—”
“Knows that I am Captain of the Lavodes. He will not like it, but he will take no action against me. And if he does—”
“Yes,” said Adron. “If he does?”
“He will discover that he is unable to move against me.”
“Well,” said Aliera, “that may be true, but your plan cannot succeed.”
“I will not dispute with you,” said Sethra. “Yet, nevertheless, I will make the attempt, for it is the only way to avert civil war—and that on a scale that I am not ashamed to say frightens me, who have seen such wars come and go for more years than you, Aliera e’Kieron, can imagine.”
Aliera seemed about to object, but evidently thought better of it. Adron, for his part, nodded slowly. “It would, indeed, solve the problem, although I cannot believe it will work. Still, if it did, think of all the bloodshed we would avoid.”
“So will you support me in this attempt?”
“With all my heart,” said Adron, “though I think you are doomed to fail.”
“And you will agree to your role in the plan?”
“Entirely, my friend, and without a second thought.”
Sethra nodded, then turned to Aerich, saying, “And you, my good Lyorn?”
“I believe with His Highness that it cannot succeed, yet it is worth the attempt—none of us knows all the subtleties of the Orb, or of His Majesty’s character.”
“And you, Aliera?”
“If you try, well, I will accompany you as I agreed.”
“You? Never in life. The risks which I do not run, you most certainly will.”
“And what of that? Do you think I care a thimble for what His Majesty might think to do to me?”
“And yet, I cannot protect you.”
Aliera rose to her feet, her hand upon the hilt of her sword. “How, did I somehow convey the impression that I desired your protection?”
“Aliera!” said her father. “Not at breakfast!”
Aliera bowed and sat once more.
Sethra shrugged her shoulders. “You may accompany me, if you will permit. I do not think it wise.”
“Nor do I,” said Adron.
“I consider the entire affair unwise. Yet, if Sethra will have it so, I shall accompany her.”
“When will you set out?” said His Highness.
“At once,” said Sethra. “The sooner begun—”
“Indeed. Then allow me to call for two horses.”
“Very well.”
Adron sent for two of his best horses, which, upon being delivered, were given over to Sethra and Aliera. Sethra mounted at once. Adron stood before Aliera, took both of her hands and looked her in the eyes.
“Daughter—” he said.
“I know, father,” said Aliera. “I will be careful. And you—”
“Yes?”
“Do nothing that you needn’t.”
“Of course.”
“Then fare well.”
“Fare well.”
Adron and Aerich watched until the two riders were out of sight, then they returned to Adron’s tent. Adron walked over to his mosaic of purple stones, studied it, and sighed. Aerich stood next to him.
“I do not know what Your Highness is constructing,” he said, “yet it frightens me.”
“And well it should,” said Adron. “It is now complete, and, should I draw power through it, it would embody the most powerful spell this world has seen since the lost ages of the Jenoine.”
Aerich looked at him. “So much?” he said in a whisper.
“So much,” said the Dragonlord.
“But what use can you have for a spell so powerful?”
“I face a powerful foe,” said Adron. “The most powerful of my life, or, indeed, the life of any sorcerer.”
“Would Your Highness care to tell his servant of what foe he is speaking?”
“Who else, my friend? The Orb.”
“Your Highness would set elder sorcery against the Orb itself?”
“I would.”
“For pride?”
Adron turned to the Lyorn sharply. “So it may seem,” he said. “Yet it is not so.”
The Lyorn raised his eyebrows and waited. For a while, he thought the Dragonlord had nothing more to say, but then Adron seemed to sigh. “My dear friend, you must consider, first of all, the state of the Empire. Then there is the state of the court. Then there are those signs and portents by which one can, sometimes, receive hints about what the Gods and fate have in store for us. All of these must be taken into account, yet of none of them can we be certain. Therefore, we must allow ourselves every possible option, until the moment of crisis, when our choices are necessarily narrowed, and the only possible action becomes clear.”

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