Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (26 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

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We have endeavored to remain true to history regarding both the appearance, character, and intentions of this fascinating if distasteful figure. We are not unaware that there may appear to be a certain mystery about him—in fact, we should go so far as to say that if there is no mystery about him, we have failed in our duty as historian. Yet it has come to our attention that some readers may wonder if the historian is, as it were, playing games—and that Greycat may, in fact, be the alias for an entirely different person—Jurabin, for example, or even Pel.

This is a point on which we must insist: we are endeavoring to relate historical fact, and, in the course of doing so, to entertain and enlighten the reader, but only insofar as we can entertain and enlighten without compromising our integrity as an historian. We now give the reader our word that, in general, if we are withholding information, it is only because that information
was not then available to any of these through whose eyes we are witnessing the unfolding of this history; and in specific, Greycat has not and will not appear anywhere in these pages under another guise.

With this firmly established, let us now move on. It is hardly coincidental that our next stop is identical to Grita’s—that is, the encampment of the Duke of Eastmanswatch and his Breath of Fire Battalion, located outside of the city. Here we will catch up with several of our friends at once; for not only is the Duke Adron himself present, but so is his daughter, Aliera; as well as Sethra Lavode, the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain; and, lo and behold, our missing friends, Aerich and Tazendra. Mica, we should add, was outside of the tent, near the entrance, sitting on his faithful bar-stool and awaiting the end of the discussion within. Fawnd, who had still not entirely recovered from the journey on horseback, had been given permission to retire for the evening, and was sound asleep not far from the tent.

These five were gathered, as beneath a dark, threatening sky, within the large tent that was Adron’s home while he was with his battalion. In the back of the tent—which was big enough to hold a meeting of fifty captains—was the board covered with the peculiar mosaic of purple stones that we observed earlier, only it was, at this moment, entirely covered by a cloth, so that nothing of its nature could be divined. There was a small table off to one side, covered with the papers Adron had been perusing when the visitors arrived, and there were cushions thrown about the tent, on which cushions were seated four of our friends—that is, all of them except Adron himself, who walked back and forth, back and forth, between the table and the covered board.

Of the others, Tazendra appeared determined to remain plussed in spite of any vicissitudes in her environment, though her eye strayed constantly between those two giants of history, Adron and Sethra. Aerich, though he watched Adron closely, maintained his natural and habitual calm. Sethra was seated facing Adron, and the expression on her countenance was troubled, as if she heard the thunder and understood the lightning. Aliera seemed grim, as if she were determined to remain standing in spite of the ferocity of the wind. Thus we see that, to judge by at least four of those present, there was something disturbing at issue.

But to look upon Adron was to look upon the storm—for every muscle in his face was taut, his hands were clenched into fists, and he appeared to be having difficulty in preventing himself from exploding into a fully fledged rage that would make him a danger to everyone present—for there is nothing more terrifying than a Dragonlord wizard who has lost his temper and has no good place to direct his anger.

The reader will know from his own experience that it is no unusual trait to
shout, rage, and shake one’s fists when angry—it is as easy to find a person who acts this way as it is to find acorns in the Traveling Wood. But there is more than one reason behind such behavior. Some throw tantrums to frighten those around them into taking shelter, or negotiating with the lightning. Some, with no such plans, find it the only way to express their frustration at the uncaring climate. And some, like the Duke of Eastmanswatch, know that, when anger threatens to engulf them, to cry out their exasperation is the only way to prevent themselves from losing all control and engaging in undirected violence against anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to be within range of the lightning bolts of their rage. Where such people are concerned, we can only be thankful when they know themselves well enough to direct their tempers into a channel more or less harmless.

With this firmly in mind, we will observe the rage of his Highness Adron e’Kieron.

“Who is he, anyway?” cried Adron to anyone who would listen. “Did you know that his mother attempted to enlist in the Imperial Service during the Reign of the Orca, and was thrown out of the Navy because she could not learn to navigate? Did you know that his father, before his marriage, lost all of his wealth investing in a device that was supposed to clear the sky of its overcast—a device that never existed, wouldn’t have worked, and, if it had worked, would have made no money because no one cares anyway? Did you know that his education stopped at the age of one hundred and ten because he was so arrogant his tutors, one at a time, gave up on the notion of teaching him anything? Did you know—”

“Father,” said Aliera.

Adron stopped. “What? What is it? This fool, this spurious Emperor, this false commander, dares,
dares
to have searched the private chambers of my daughter, and then expects to be served by gentlemen? He expects to command the loyalty of—”

“Father!” said Aliera.

“What? The very idea that he could—”

“Father, you must stop. You must know that all of your troops can hear you.”

“Let them hear me!” cried Adron, still rapidly pacing back and forth. “Do you think it matters to me if they know what sort of man—I say
man
not Emperor because, may the Gods hear me and weep, we cannot deny him his species, but he has never proven himself to be an Emperor—what sort of man we find ourselves in the service of?”

Aerich said calmly, “It is unseemly for a gentleman to belittle one whom the Gods have made his master in the presence of those of whom the Gods have made him master.”

This stopped Adron, if for no other reason than because he had to think for a moment to work out what the Lyorn was saying. From anyone else, such a remark would almost certainly have been the “drop that broke the dike” as the saying is, but delivered by the Lyorn, it caused His Highness to pause and consider, and, in this consideration, he began to cool down.

“Perhaps,” he said at last. “And yet the idea of this pipsqueak Phoenix having his ruffians enter—”

“Father,” said Aliera. “I’ve spoken to His Majesty, and I assure you I said everything that was necessary. I think we should now put this matter behind us, and—”

“I beg your pardon,” said Sethra. “But the last thing we should do is put it behind us—at least until we have stared at it from the front a little longer.”

Aliera turned a puzzled glance her way. “You think so?”

“I am certain of it.”

Aliera frowned and addressed Aerich, saying, “And what is your opinion, my dear Lyorn?”

“I am entirely in agreement with Sethra Lavode,” said Aerich.

“Explain, then.”

“I will do so,” said Sethra.

“Come, let us listen. You too, father.”

“Very well,” said Adron gruffly, and sat down on the cleverly constructed collapsible chair that he always brought with him on campaigns so he could sit without undue strain on his back.

“This is it, then,” said Sethra. “Before we move on, and put this unfortunate affair from our minds, it is well for us to consider several questions which spring from it.”

“What questions?” said Aliera.

“In the first place, we must ask ourselves how His Majesty knew to search your room for this object.”

“That is a good question,” admitted Aliera. “And next?”

“Next, we must ask ourselves why you, Aliera, have not yet been arrested.”

“Arrested? Bah. We came here directly. Who would dare to attempt to arrest me here, in the midst of my father’s encampment?”

“Would you resist?” said Aerich. “If so, it would be open revolt against the Empire, as I hope you perceive. Moreover—”

“Yes? Moreover?”

“The answer to your question is our friend Khaavren. For I assure you that, if he had been given the order to arrest you, he would be here by now, though every warrior of the House of the Dragon stood before you.”

Adron chuckled at this, and said, “I nearly think you are right.”

“That was,” said Sethra, “exactly the impression I had of him from the time we spent together.”

“Well then,” said Aliera. “Why has the order not been given? Have you any theories?”

Tazendra, who had been silent during this entire discussion, said, “Yes. Are there any theories?”

This produced an embarrassed moment of silence, during which Adron and Aliera looked at her quizzically, Aerich grimaced, and Sethra favored her with an amused glance. Tazendra blushed and looked away.

Sethra said, “It is clear that someone intervened on your behalf.”

“Ah!” said Aliera. “Yes, that is possible.”

“But who would have done so?” said Adron.

Sethra shrugged. “My own guess would be Jurabin, for he has His Majesty’s ear, and it is obvious to everyone that he is much taken with you, Aliera, especially as you were, according to all the court gossips, eyeing him most indiscreetly during your introduction to His Majesty a few days ago.”

As quick as an indrawn breath, Aliera was on her feet, crying, “I was
what?”

“It does no good to be angry with me, my dear girl,” said Sethra. “I only repeat what I have heard from my sources at court.”

“You heard that I was—how did you put it?
Eyeing
this … this … this
minister?”

“Exactly.”

Aliera seemed to control herself only with difficulty. Then she said, “I am not angry with you, nor do I hold you to blame. If you will give me the name of whoever made this preposterous claim, I will say no more about it.”

“How?” said Sethra. “Give you the names of my informants at court? It is unlikely.”

“I must insist,” said Aliera coldly.

“Insist?” said Sethra, in tones of amazement. “You?”

“You find it amusing?”

“Aliera,” said Lord Adron.

“What? Am I to stand here and allow myself to be accused of such conduct while I have sufficient steel at my side to insist on the respect due my rank and lineage? I will not allow this woman to—”

“Aliera!” said Lord Adron.

“What? You must understand that this woman is implying that I have been playing the coquette—and, moreover, doing so with someone with whom I wouldn’t so much as—”

“Aliera, recall where you are, and what we are talking about. We have no time to—”

“Bah! Time! It will take only moments to dispatch this haughty—”

“I should point out,” said Aerich coolly, “that should the two of you slaughter each other, it will be much more difficult for us to learn what has actually been taking place at court—and, whatever is taking place, it is clear that it has more far-reaching consequences than who has insulted whom. I suggest the two of you delay your quarrel for at least long enough for us to come up with a plan of action. For my part, I think Sethra’s point ought to be considered—it may well be Jurabin who has been involved in this, however much the Lady Aliera may have encouraged or failed to encourage such emotions as he may be experiencing.”

Silence fell in the tent, then Aliera said, “Well, there is some justice in what you say.”

The Lyorn bowed his head.

“Then how ought we to begin?” asked Adron.

“I wish Khaavren were here,” murmured Tazendra.

“Well,” said Aerich, smiling. “I think our clever Dzurlord has hit on it.”

“How, I have?”

“Indeed, my friend. Our first step ought to be to find Khaavren, and let him know all that has occurred. Next, perhaps we should find Pel; the clever Yendi may be able to shed some light on these things—he certainly knew that Your Highness’s life was in danger; who knows what else he has knowledge of?”

Adron shook his head. “No, we cannot involve Khaavren in any of this.”

“Your Highness?” said Aerich, surprised.

“He is the Emperor’s creature.”

“Well? And if he is, he is nevertheless our friend.”

“And therefore, can we ask him to help us in a matter which could bring his duty into conflict with his friendship?”

“Ah,” said Aerich. “I had not considered that.” He frowned and seemed troubled.

“Well?”

“Perhaps you’re right. But Pel—”

“Is he not in the Academy of Discretion?”

“Yes,” said Aerich.

“And is not his Academy supported by the Emperor?”

Aerich shrugged. “All of the nobility is supported by the Emperor.”