The Phoenix Guards (37 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: The Phoenix Guards
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“What?” said Tazendra, when she saw him. “You are back?”
“I am, my lady,” he said, gasping for breath.
“Well, how have you returned without completing your mission?”
“Oh, there is no question of completing my mission,” he said.
“How, no question?”
“Well, I have done so, my lady.”
“What, you have informed Lord Adron of the invasion?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“But, then, he is several leagues away.”
“Oh, not at all; scarcely a league.”
“What?” cried all of the friends, and they looked around, and, indeed, they were able to make out in the distance the banner of Lord Adron flapping in the vigorous mountain winds.
“We are saved,” cried Tazendra.
“You are lost, my lady,” said Mica.
“How, lost? What does this mean?”
“They will not come to your aid.”
“Impossible,” said Aerich.
“Not in the least,” said Mica.
“Well,” demanded Khaavren, “tell us what has happened; and speak quickly, for you perceive that the Easterners are nearly upon us.”
“This is it, then,” said Mica, and he told all that he had heard. When he mentioned the name, “Count Shaltre,” Aerich’s brows came together, which for him was what a string of curses would be for another.
At length, when Mica had finished, Khaavren said, “So, they mean to let us die.”
“So it seems,” said Pel.
“It must grieve Lord Adron,” said Kathana.
“The Horse,” said Uttrik. “It nearly grieves me.”
“Bah,” said Tazendra, using Aerich’s favorite expression. “It is just as it was a few minutes ago.”
“True enough,” said Khaavren. “Only now, we have a thousand witnesses.”
“For which reason,” said Tazendra, “we should fight all the better.”
“Those are exactly my thoughts,” said Khaavren.
“Eyes front, my friends,” said Kathana. “They are almost upon us. Khaavren, is the flash-stone ready?”
“It is.”
“And you know what to do with it?”
“Nearly.”
“Well?”
“I am to kill their leader.”
“And will you recognize him?”
“I think I already do.”
“How?”
“Do you see a white horse, and upon it a rider who sits straight in the saddle like a human, and seems, moreover, to be in advance of the regiment?”
“Well, you’re right, there is such a man.”
“I take him for the leader.”
“Well, can you hit him from this distance.”
“Cha! Without speaking first? Is this battle, Kathana, or assassination?”
“Sometimes the difference is not entirely clear,” she said ironically.
“Nevertheless, I do not like to strike from a distance, without warning.”
“Yet, with the disparity of numbers—”
“Khaavren is right,” said Aerich in a tone that indicated no further argument was possible.
“Besides,” added Pel, “they seem to be slowing down.”
“Perhaps they fear us,” said Tazendra.
Uttrik laughed. “Well, they wouldn’t be far wrong in doing so.”
“Shall we speak to them, do you think?” said Pel, addressing Aerich.
“Certainly, if they wish it,” said the Lyorn.
“Well, and who shall speak for us? For, as they have one leader, we ought to have one speaker.”
“Oh,” said Khaavren. “Allow me. For, now that I no longer face that dismal duel, my tongue is quite loose in my head, and I feel my wits to be well about me.”
“Very well,” said Kathana. “For my part, you may speak for us.”
“And I agree,” said Uttrik. “I know, in all events, that it would not be proper for me to do so, since we once held these lands, but do no longer.”
“Come,” said Tazendra, “it is decided then.”
“And none too soon,” said Pel. “For I perceive they are, indeed, stopping before us.”
In fact, the Easterner whom Khaavren had noticed had stopped the advance of his army some twenty paces from where the six humans awaited them. He studied them with a bemused expression, or at least what would have been a bemused expression had he been human. Khaavren, in turn, studied him, and likewise the brigade which rode in some twenty-five files, each file being a hundred or more deep. There seemed to be a great variety in the makeup of this army; some were very tall compared to the others (though quite short compared to humans), while others were extremely short, almost the size of Serioli. A few had light-colored hair, and some had no hair at all, while most had hair that was dark brown or black, and, in fact, many had this hair of whatever color spread over their faces, sometimes covering the lower half of the face, other times only here and there, as if cut into certain ritual patterns.
Their horses looked like many that Khaavran knew (which was no surprise, for he knew that these horses were common in the East, and, in fact,
had heard that the Marquis of Pepperfield often organized expeditions into the East to procure breeding stock), except for the one their leader rode, which, in addition to being all white, and a stallion (which, if truth be told, impressed Khaavren very much), was larger and prouder than any horse he had seen before.
The Easterner himself was wide in the shoulders, and had dark hair and dark eyes, so that he looked not unlike Pel, allowing for the difference in species. His height was impossible to determine as he sat on his horse, yet Khaavren suspected he was rather short even for an Easterner. For weapons, he bore two swords, oddly slung on the same side of his belt, as if he fought with only one at a time, but desired to choose which to use on any occasion.
The unknown Easterner spoke then, to Khaavren’s amazement, in passable Dragaeran, although with unnaturally trilled r’s, g’s that sounded like k’s, w’s that sounded like v’s, and an oddly musical cadence to his sentences. He said, in the manner we have described, which we will not attempt to render here, “I am called Crionofenarr; whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am called Khaavren of Castle Rock, and these are my friends, Aerich, Pel, Tazendra, Uttrik e’Lanya, and Kathana e’Marish’Chala. And allow me to say, sir, that you speak our language very well.”
“Thanks, my lord. I lived among you for some time, in these very mountains, as vassal to a certain Viscount of the House of the Iorich.”
“That must be where you acquired a name which does not offend my ears as, if you will pardon me, most names of Easterners seem to do.”
“You are right, my lord; my own name should be very difficult for you to pronounce, but I have chosen Crionofenarr because, whenever I hear it, I recall my life of servitude, and this inspires me in my task.”
“Ah. You say it inspires you.”
“Exactly.”
“And in your task?”
“Precisely.”
“But, if I may inquire, what task is this?”
“The re-taking of these lands which have been taken from us, and so nearly join my own, and for which, I assure you, we have more use than you.”
“Not at all,” said Khaavren.
“Well, and what use have you for these lands?”
“Why, to prevent you from invading us,” said Khaavren with a bow.
“And yet,” said Crionofenarr, “we have never invaded you; we have merely taken back, from time to time, a few of those fields you have stolen, for which you have no use, and yet we have great use.”
“Ah, but there it is; to one it is an invasion, to another it is merely an effort to reclaim what has been stolen. It’s all the same.”
“It is, indeed, my lord. But, now that I have told you of my affairs, tell me of yours.”
“That is only just,” said Khaavren. “What do you wish to know?”
“I wish to know, my lord, what the six of you are doing here.”
“Doing here, my good Crionofenarr? Why, we have given ourselves the honor of being here to welcome you.”
“Welcome us?” said the Easterner.
“Welcome them?” murmured Tazendra.
“Hush,” said Aerich.
“Naturally, welcome you; you are on Dragaeran soil, hence you must have come to pay homage to the Empire and to become vassals of whichever lord is in need of such service. It is a wise decision, and, not only do I welcome you, but, moreover, I salute you.” And, true to his word, Khaavren saluted the Easterner, though not without a certain amount of irony in the gesture.
“Nevertheless—” said Tazendra.
“You are insupportable,” said Pel.
“Hush,” repeated Aerich.
“I must assume,” said Crionofenarr, “that you are jesting.”
“You may observe by my countenance whether I am jesting,” said Khaavren.
“Then I must affirm that you are under a misapprehension.”
“How? You cannot be here to invade, therefore—”
“But, my lord, why can we not?”
“Well, because, as you have done us the honor to observe, there are six of us.”
“Well, and?”
“Therefore, you perceive, you are outnumbered.”
“Oh, well spoken,” murmured Aerich.
A grimace, which was probably anger, passed across Crionofenarr’s face, and he said, “We shall see who is outnumbered, and that in a few minutes.”
“Then you intend to attack us?”
“I nearly think so,” said the Easterner.
“Well, you will understand, I hope, if I do my utmost to kill you.”
“Oh, I would expect nothing less.”
“In that case, when you please.”
“Now will do very well, my arrogant friend,” cried Crionofenarr, and with this he charged at Khaavren, as if to run him down with his horse.
Khaavren, however, had been waiting for exactly this, and coolly raised his flash-stone and discharged it at Crionofenarr’s head. It may be that the Easterner’s horse had more experience than its master had, or it may have been the merest chance, but the horse reared up, and so the discharge, intended for the rider, struck the horse instead, which rolled its eyes wildly and collapsed to the ground. Crionofenarr was, for an instant, pinned beneath it, but after a moment its throes caused it to roll over, and the Easterner
stood. At that moment, the horse ceased its moving, and Crionofenarr knelt down next to it in an attitude of great sorrow.
There was silence, then, for a moment, and at last the Easterner stood, and, looking at Khaavren with an expression impossible to describe, said, “You killed my horse.”
“I assure you,” said Khaavren, “that I had no intention of doing so, and, moreover, that I am in despair at having killed such a fine beast. I beg you to believe that I was aiming for you.” He shrugged and dropped the now-useless stone at his feet.
The Easterner stared at the flash-stone the way a city-dweller would look at a stuffed yendi; as if, though dead, it might still have the means of biting once more. “I do believe you,” he said at last. “Nevertheless, you have killed my horse, whom I loved more than anything or anyone else, therefore, I will kill you.”
“That is only right,” said Khaavren, with a bow.
“Place yourself on your guard, my lord.”
“I will do so, directly, sir, but first, if you please, allow me to say two words to my friends.”
“You will be laconic, I trust.”
“You will be satisfied with my brevity, believe me.”
“Very well.”
Khaavren turned then, and said, “My friends, I must say that this Easterner pleases me.”
“Well,” said Uttrik. “And then?”
“You will be doing me a great favor if you will allow us to fight without coming to my aid.”
“Providing,” said Pel, “that he receives no help from his army, well, I agree.”
Khaavren glanced quickly at the proud Easterner and said, “I think he will not.”
“Very well,” said Tazendra. “Only—”
“Yes?”
“If he defeats you—”
“Well?”
“I shall kill him.”
“That,” said Khaavren, “is as it may be. But remember that I do not intend to allow him to kill me.”
“And you are right not to,” said Pel. “The gods, there are enough of them already, we have no reason to make it easy for them.”
“Well, if we are agreed, then that is all.”
The others signified that this plan was acceptable to them, and Khaavren turned back to Crionofenarr with a bow.
“Be on your guard, then,” said the Easterner.
Khaavren, whose sword was out, and who, moreover, hated to be paid this sort of compliment twice, drew his poniard with his left hand and took
his favorite guard position. The Easterner drew what was, for his size, a very large sword and stood squarely facing Khaavren, holding the blade in both hands.

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