The Phoenix Guards (25 page)
Read The Phoenix Guards Online
Authors: Steven Brust
“They have led me a conclusion, Count, respecting yourself.”
“Well?”
“It has to do with history.”
“Oh, I have never studied history.”
“It might profit you to do so, Count.”
“In what way?”
“You might learn of a certain Lyorn advisor, who, discredited, betrayed another Lyorn, such that the latter had become, in turn, discredited, and, moreover, his family was ruined, and he ended by blowing his head off with a flash-stone.”
Shaltre took a moment to recover his composure, but he did so, then made a gesture of indifference. “An interesting story, your ladyship, but I fail to see how it concerns you or me.”
“You pretend, then, that you know nothing of this?”
“I have never heard of such a thing. No doubt the survivors of the discredited Lyorn have avenged him.”
“Not at all, for his family were all destroyed; the Lyorn was very thorough.”
“And yet, if any in the House knew of this—”
“None of his House do. Besides, who could challenge him except a warrior? And you must know better than I, Count, that no Lyorn warrior may issue a challenge to any of his House who has not also had that special training.”
“Well, that is true.”
“Unless it is a case of treason.”
“Which, according to your story, this was not.”
“It very nearly was.”
“How, giving poor advice?”
“There are times when giving poor advice can be very nearly treasonous, Count.”
The Lyorn shrugged: a gesture, in fact, much like one Aerich was fond of. Then he said, “Perhaps it was close, your ladyship, but I doubt it was sufficiently close for one of my House; we are sticklers for such things. Besides, if, as you said, his family is dead, and no one else knows of it, this Lyorn, whoever he may be, is in no danger.”
“And, if his family is not dead?”
“Impossible.”
“I beg your pardon, Count, but it would appear that you do know of the incident after all.”
Shaltre flushed, then adjusted his robes and said, “I was assuming, since you say he was thorough—”
“And it may be that the incident is known.”
“By whom?”
“By His Highness Adron e’Kieron, Dragon Heir to the Throne.”
“Adron? He knows, you say?”
“He knows of the incident, but, as of now, none of the names.”
“How is this possible?”
“He was concerned in the battle that was won, and in the battle that was lost. He mislikes losing battles; therefore, upon losing the one, he investigated.”
“Well, and—?”
“He was not able to penetrate the secret; he was, however, able to come close.”
Shaltre shifted uncomfortably. “I fail to see how any of this concerns me.”
“You think it does not?”
“At least, I don’t see how it does.”
“Very well, then let us turn to another subject.”
“On the contrary, we should continue to discuss this until we have arrived at a conclusion.”
“How, if it doesn’t concern you?”
“I—that is, very well, then. I am at your service. What do you wish to discuss?”
“The successor to the late Marquis of Pepperfield.”
“Well? What about it? The successor has not been selected.”
“That is true. The e’Lanya line is interested.”
“That I know.”
“There is another person, also, who wants the post.”
“That being?”
“Adron e’Kieron.”
“Well, I hope that whoever is given the post is adequate.”
“Are you aware, Count, that the Marquisate of Pepperfield is a special position?”
“Indeed yes; it is appointed specially by the Emperor.”
“It is a position of great trust, Count.”
“Yes, and great responsibility, due to the number of invasions by Easterners which have occurred there.”
“Therefore, the Marquis is, by tradition, granted certain rights that few others nobles are ever given.”
“Such as?”
“The right to directly interrogate the Orb, in matters of history.”
“Ah.”
“It is necessary, for strategic reasons—”
“I understand, your ladyship.”
“I have reasons for wishing the e’Lanya line to be given this command.”
“Well, I will support you in this.”
“Support is one thing; now is the time for action.”
“I am not very active by nature.”
“No, but you have the ear of the Emperor, Count.”
“Well, I have that honor.”
“Unless you are in disgrace.”
“An hour ago I was; now I am not.”
“How is this?”
“It is unimportant.”
“Very well. It is true, then, that if you were to ask His Majesty to have certain persons arrested, he would be likely to do so.”
“Persons like His Highness Adron e’Kieron? It is not likely.”
“It is not of His Highness that I am speaking.”
“Well, then?”
“Certain individuals who are meddling in affairs that do not concern them, and who, if left to their own devices, might well bring about the triumph of the e’Kieron line.”
“Well, I understand,” said the Count.
“That is well.”
“If you will give me their names, I will ask His Majesty to arrest them.”
“You must do more than that, Count.”
“Oh?”
“They are far from here; in fact, they are on their way now to visit Castle Redface, the home of Lord Adron.”
Shaltre started. “But then, we are lost.”
“Not in the least, for they are traveling slowly, and you may be able to get there before them, or even a little after, which would be all right, I think.”
“And then?”
“Lord Garland will be on his way at first light; he will help you.”
“Help me?”
“You must do what is necessary.”
“I am not a fighter.”
“You need not be; Lord Adron has many troops.”
“How, Lord Adron? What would cause him to help me in this?”
“A few words from His Majesty commanding his cooperation.”
“His Majesty has retired for the night; I will not be able to see him until to-morrow.”
“That’s as it must be. Speed, as you know, is everything. You must prevail upon His Majesty to cause Lord Adron to cooperate with you, and then—”
“I must have these persons arrested.”
“That may not be sufficient; those who are arrested can be pardoned; and, even condemned, they may still speak.”
“Well, I understand. I will do what is necessary.”
“Very well, then, Count. I am pleased we understand each other.”
“As am I, your ladyship.”
While Count Shaltre prepares to visit His Majesty in the morning, with the intention of setting out immediately thereafter, we will return to those four intrepid Guardsmen to whose actions this narrative is devoted, in the hopes that our absence from them has been sufficiently brief that our readers will not have lost patience, and will furthermore trust that this digression, as it may have seemed, was in fact necessary if we are, by and by, to bring our history to a satisfying and elegant conclusion.
In Which it is Shown That Not Only
Historians Have Prying Ears
Historians Have Prying Ears
F
ROM THE GATE OF THE Flags our friends had traveled down the mountain to the small town of Everdim where they took their rest, and proceeded early the next morning, at a good yet not frantic pace, through the Flowering Valley, crossing the Yendi River at Flat-spot about noon of the following day, after which they began the trek through the
pushta
—that uncultivated, dry grassland around the edges of the desert of Suntra. We should say that this journey was made at the worst time of the year, that is, in the full heat of summer, but as the Guardsmen were not in an especial hurry, they stopped often during the worst of the heat and took their ease in the hostels of many of the villages on the
pushta.
At last they took the barge across the Adrilankha River at Guilrock Crossing and began to make their way slowly uphill again, as, even here, they were in the lap, as it were, of the Eastern Mountains where lay both their ostensible and their true destination. They continued in this manner—that is, making an easy pace and enjoying the journey—until they reached the mountain called Bli’aard and city of Bengloarafurd, which was less than a day’s ride from the mountain hold of the Redface, the castle and fortress of Adron e’Kieron.
ROM THE GATE OF THE Flags our friends had traveled down the mountain to the small town of Everdim where they took their rest, and proceeded early the next morning, at a good yet not frantic pace, through the Flowering Valley, crossing the Yendi River at Flat-spot about noon of the following day, after which they began the trek through the
pushta
—that uncultivated, dry grassland around the edges of the desert of Suntra. We should say that this journey was made at the worst time of the year, that is, in the full heat of summer, but as the Guardsmen were not in an especial hurry, they stopped often during the worst of the heat and took their ease in the hostels of many of the villages on the
pushta.
At last they took the barge across the Adrilankha River at Guilrock Crossing and began to make their way slowly uphill again, as, even here, they were in the lap, as it were, of the Eastern Mountains where lay both their ostensible and their true destination. They continued in this manner—that is, making an easy pace and enjoying the journey—until they reached the mountain called Bli’aard and city of Bengloarafurd, which was less than a day’s ride from the mountain hold of the Redface, the castle and fortress of Adron e’Kieron.
Tazendra, who had begun the journey in a reflective mood, had apparently adopted Khaavren’s advice and by this time seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly, ordering her lackey, Mica, about in fine style: which lackey, we should add, appeared to enjoy receiving the orders as much as Tazendra enjoyed giving them. He would bring wine, sharpen blades, tend the horses, serve meals, prepare bedding, and perform a thousand other tasks that the companions had been accustomed to perform by themselves and were delighted to be relieved of. Between these orders, Tazendra would banter loudly with Uttrik, disputing the aesthetics of the scenery or the nature of the roads.
Pel made the journey with his sharp eyes flashing here and there, as if he were committing everything he saw to memory; from time to time he would pause, staring, apparently, at some person or village or tree that seemed to have for him some meaning none of the others could fathom.
Uttrik, as we have said, was developing a companionable fondness for Tazendra, and seemed to be playing the game of seeing how far he could
bait her without actually making her angry. He would dispute her opinions about anything she brought up, and, if she appeared about to become angry, he would immediately begin to laugh, which seemed to have the effect of removing whatever warmth had begun to build in her.
bait her without actually making her angry. He would dispute her opinions about anything she brought up, and, if she appeared about to become angry, he would immediately begin to laugh, which seemed to have the effect of removing whatever warmth had begun to build in her.
Aerich sat easily on his Cramerie gelding, taking in the sights around him, and listening to the speech of his companions, without either losing his good humor or appearing to even notice what was going on around him; that is, he was lost in his own thoughts.
Khaavren had at first enjoyed the journey a great deal, but as they drew closer to the mountains, worries seemed to hang over him until, by the time they reached the hostel, he was positively frowning, a fact which Aerich, who had become very fond of the young Tiassa, could not help noticing.
Notwithstanding that it was early in the day when they came to Bengloarafurd, they nevertheless found an inn whose sign read, in simple lettering, “The Painted Sign,” and there they found rooms for the day and the night. It is worth mentioning here that Bengloarafurd lay against an unusually shallow portion of the Climbing River, one of the longest, fastest, and deepest of the streams with which the Eastern Mountains in general, and Mount Bli’aard in particular, are so abundantly supplied.
The first to discover the place were, according to legend, advance scouts of the House of the Dragon in the Fourth Cycle, who were in the vanguard of the Imperial Army which was anxious to drive the Easterners back beyond the mountains in hopes of reducing the raids to which the eastern boundaries were then being subjected. They followed the Climbing River down from the North, and found a shallow spot where there lived an independent tribe of Serioli.
What followed was ten years of almost constant war between the Dragonlords of the Empire and the Easterners, during which the Easterners occupied the area and fought from the surrounding mountains. The Serioli, who departed the area to avoid any of the unfortunate incidents that war can produce, left only the name for the place, which was “Ben,” meaning “ford” in their language. The Easterners called the place “Ben Ford,” or, in the Eastern tongue, “Ben gazlo.”
After ten years of fierce battle, the Imperial Army won a great victory on the spot, driving the Easterners well back into the mountains. The Dragonlords who had found the place, then, began calling it “Bengazlo Ford.” The Dragons, wishing to waste as little time on speech as possible, shortened this to Benglo Ford, or, in the tongue of the Dragon, which was still in use at the time, “Benglo ara.” Eventually, over the course of the millennia, the tongue of the Dragon fell out of use, and the North-western language gained preeminence, which rendered the location Bengloara Ford, which was eventually shortened to Bengloarafurd. The river crossing became the Bengloarafurd Ford, which name it held until after the Interregnum when the river was dredged and the Bengloarafurd Bridge was built. Should anyone be interested in finding this delightful city, it still stands, and
the bridge still appears with the name we have cited, but the city was renamed Troe after the engineer who built the bridge, either because the citizens were proud of their new landmark, or because the engineer’s name was short.
the bridge still appears with the name we have cited, but the city was renamed Troe after the engineer who built the bridge, either because the citizens were proud of their new landmark, or because the engineer’s name was short.
But, more remarkable than the name is the fact the city—and we do not err in calling it a city, for even at the time of which we have the honor to write, it boasted a population of eleven thousands, more than twice its elevation measured in meters—more remarkable than the name, we say, is the fact that the city continued to thrive in a region devoid of ore, empty of timber, and barren of land for the raising of either grain or livestock, save for the few goats that could subsist on the scanty mountain grass. At the time of the reign of Kiva VI of the House of the Jhegaala, an Imperial representative asked the Speaker how the people managed to survive there, a question to which the Speaker responded by saying, “My lord, we grow rocks.”
The truth, in fact, if less witty, is no less interesting. The people of these mountains have always fiercely guarded whatever independence they could wrest from the Empire, and have done so to such an extent that it became the custom to leave Imperial troops garrisoned nearby on the pretext that if the Easterners were not, at any given time, either invading or about to invade, then no doubt the local population was either involved in an uprising or preparing one; occasionally these things happened together.
The result was that there grew up a friendship between Easterner and human that has rarely been seen elsewhere; and so the people of Bengloarafurd survived on the produce of that friendship; which is to say, by smuggling in both directions. It is no accident that, to this very day, in order to achieve combat with a resident of the area (dueling is almost unknown there; the preference is for less formal violence) all that is necessary is to refer to an individual as a “tax-man,” and swords will instantly be free of their scabbards.
From the city, then, we will pass on to the inn, which was founded near the beginning of the last Jhegaala Reign by an itinerant Tsalmoth scholar named Black who was fleeing from the fall of the Teckla Republic. He fell in love with the mountains, and with the people who lived there, so he thought to serve them by keeping them drunk, and himself by becoming rich on the trade of the mountain passes. He therefore procured a supply of wine and ale, and arranged for supplies of choice victuals, and opened his inn beneath a sign on which were written letters spelling out “Black’s Public House.”
After nearly starving for fifty years, it occurred to this worthy gentleman to ask one of the servants who was starving with him why he never received any travelers. “Because, master, no one who passes by knows this is an inn.”
“But,” said Black, in some confusion, “doesn’t my sign say ‘Public House’?”
“I don’t know,” said the servant; “I can’t read.”
“How, can’t read?”
“No, my lord.”
“But then, this is intolerable. What must I do?”
“I am willing to learn, master.”
“No, no, idiot. How am I to gain patrons for this house?”
“Master, it is the custom to declare an inn by putting out a sign painted with some device, by which the house will be known.”
The scholar left, shaking his head and muttering, and the next day returned with a sign on which could be seen letters spelling out, “The Painted Sign.” This failed to bring about the needed improvement in his business, however, and the enterprise no doubt would have failed had he not had the good fortune to be captured by mountain brigands while he was returning for supplies. Black had never had any experience with brigands, nor had the brigands any experience with scholars, hence when they took the supplies of food destined for his inn, he, in all innocence, made out a bill and humbly presented it to the leader of the bandits.
At the first the bandit-chief laughed, then he saw that the bill, which was for a good supply of wine and smoked kethna, was, in fact, rather small. He said, “Come, you don’t seem to require much for your food.”
“How not? It is the same I am asking at my inn.”
“What, you have an inn?”
“Indeed yes. Less than two leagues along this very road, where the road splits to pass by a rock shaped like a hawk’s beak, and there to the right, you will pass it upon your right side.”
“Well, I’ve seen the place. You say it is a public house?”
“It is, sir, and I assure you you would be most welcome there.”
“And these are your prices?”
“Nearly. They are a trifle more, you perceive, if I must go to the expense of putting them on plates and paying a servant to bring them to table.”
“But, well, here’s your money, my friend, and I will no doubt see you again.”
“It will my pleasure to serve you as it has been my pleasure to-day.”
In this way, word of the inn quickly spread, and when Black died, leaving the inn to his oldest son, whose name was Brown, the family had amassed a reasonable fortune and the inn was a landmark of the region.
It was here, then, that our friends came and found food, wine, stables for their horses, and rooms in which to rest themselves while they prepared for the final stage of the journey. Along with a few other travelers, they enjoyed the noon repast, which consisted of sausages roasted on a spit, and a broth made of fresh mountain mushrooms, bacon of kethna, and certain herbs which were grown in the yard of the hostel. At the end of the meal, the host caused to be delivered a large cake made of mulberries and rednuts, topped with boiled fruit and a cream made from goat’s milk.
It happened that Khaavren had eaten more of the sausages than he should have, being unused to spicy mountain cooking (which was, moreover, influenced by proximity to the Easterners), whereas Aerich never ate sweets of any kind because he pretended they would ruin his teeth, in which he took more pride than in any other aspect of his personal appearance. Therefore, while the other guests of the inn settled down to attack this cake, which, be it understood, rested upon a platter that filled an entire table, Aerich took the opportunity to make a sign to Khaavren that he wished to speak with him privately.
They adjourned, then, from the common room and strolled arm in arm about the yard of the hostel, which was laid out with a stone garden on one side, a vegetable and herb garden on another, and a high stone wall in back (enclosing a second yard), with gates in the wall whereby one could reach the outbuildings, which consisted of a pair of commodes, the stables, and the gardener’s house.
As they walked, Khaavren said, “You had something to communicate to me, my friend?”
“I have observed your countenance,” said Aerich.
“Well, and?”
“You seem troubled.”
“I? Not the least in the world.”
“Well, you say I am deceived.”
“Undoubtedly, good Aerich.”
“So you have not been biting your lip, so that even now I perceive it is raw?”
Khaavren licked his lips, as if to hide with his tongue the work of his teeth. “Well—”
“And you have not been digging your fingernails into the palms of your hands, so that the gouges are clearly visible?”
Khaavren flushed and quickly turned his palms inward. “That is to say—”
“And you have not been emitting sighs, increasing in number over the last four days of our journey, so that Pel and I have begun to catch each other’s glances just before you are about to give another one, so predictable have they become?”
Khaavren blushed deeply this time and said, “Is it true, have I been doing all that?”
“My word, I think so.”
“Well, it is true that I am troubled in my mind.”
“Then, if you wish, I will listen to your troubles, and counsel you as best I can.”
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