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Authors: Steven Brust

Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (51 page)

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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“What is, it, Dreen?”
“My sympathies, such as they are, are with Lord Adron; this Emperor is a fool, as I think we all know, and he is only reaping what he has sown, as the Teckla say. Why do we not support him entirely?”
“For my part, Sethra,” said an older man named Tuvo, “I agree with Dreen. I have no respect for His Majesty; why should we defend him?”
There were nods around the room, and some looks of doubt. Sethra said, “Good questions, to be sure. The reason is that Lord Adron has been studying elder sorcery—studying it deeply, and, more than studying it, has been working with it. To my knowledge, he is prepared to invoke powers that threaten the Empire, even the Cycle itself. This causes me some unease, but it would cause me more to consider him as Emperor. He would make a gifted Warlord, but I cannot countenance him as Emperor—not a man who would use such means either to gain the throne or to gain revenge—or, indeed, for any other reason.”
“And yet,” said a short, attractive woman with curly dark hair, “you will not directly oppose him?”
“I cannot, Roila Lavode,” said Sethra. “He is too close a friend.”
“Well,” said Tuvo, “then do you, Sethra, remain here and defend His Majesty; the rest of us, under some captain upon whom we will agree, will go find His Highness and attack him on the spot. Come, what do you think of my plan?”
“For my part,” said Roila, “I am entirely in accord with Tuvo; if there is a chance His Highness may employ elder sorcery against the Orb—”
“He may indeed,” said Sethra.
“Then who better to face him than us?”
“There is a great deal of truth in what you say, Roila, and your plan is good, Tuvo, but I will not stay behind. If the will of the Lavodes is to attack Adron, well, my place will be to lead the attack.”
“Not in the least,” said a woman called Nett. “Why should you be asked to do battle against a friend? We all know what that means—and, in truth, it is to have the choice to refuse such battles that many of us, who desired military service, have accepted the black garments of our corps. Moreover, Sethra, there is no need for you to be there. Consider that His Majesty does, indeed, require protection, and who better to supply it than you? And consider that, though it may be that your presence on the field could be decisive, it is just as likely that your presence in the Palace could save His Majesty’s life—unlike Dreen and Tuvo, I should like to see His Majesty preserved if possible, for the continuity of the Orb; I do not feel the Cycle has turned. No, Sethra Lavode, follow your heart, and we will follow ours; you to the Palace and His Majesty’s side, we to the gate and His Highness’s flank.”
There were murmurs of “well spoken” about the room, and Sethra nodded. “If that is will of the Lavodes,” she said, “so be it. I recommend Roila to lead you into battle; does anyone object?”
There were no objections.
“Very well,” said Sethra standing. “If you are to reach the gate before the battle commences, there is no time to lose. Go with the Favor, and I hope to see you all again this side of the Falls.”
The Lavodes stood as one, presented their compliments to their Captain, filed out of the room and, stopping only to secure their weapons and tools, out of the Palace and so out along the Street of the Dragon toward the gate.
They arrived as the first, tentative, very faint light began to drape the city in morning. They worked their way to the gate itself (annoying no few of Lady Glass’s cavalry) in time to hear, “A rider!”
The rider, who was in fact a lookout placed by Rollondar to watch Adron’s movements, came to the gate in good time, and a path was opened to the Warlord. Roila Lavode, while too far away to hear the report, was able to determine that Lord Adron had been spotted and would soon be over the hill. She worked her way close to Rollondar, and said, “Warlord, the Lavodes are ready to help you.”
Rollondar looked at her, forcing aside the soldier’s instinctive distrust of such an undisciplined corps, and said, “Good.”
“Have you instructions?”
“Will you follow them?”
“If they suit us.”
Rollondar scowled but said nothing. He had the authority to order them away from the battle; anything else he must convince them to do. As he was considering this, he learned that the Breath of Fire Battalion, though moving uncharacteristically slowly, was now in sight, and a great battle-wagon had been sighted behind the waves of horsemen.
“What do you think, Warlord?” said Nyleth.
“I think that, as things stand, we can crush the Breath of Fire Battalion like closing our hand.”
“Well?”
“Well, Lord Adron is not one to put himself in such a position.”
“Therefore?” said Nyleth.
“I think the spell is real.”
“You do not think they will turn and attack the other gates?”
“It will be no small task for them to break the gates that are closed—they cannot do it before we reach them; I have troops keeping the paths clear, and our road is shorter.”
“Well, Excellency?”
Rollondar stared grimly out of the open gate. “As we said before, you must discover what the spell is and if, as I am now convinced, it is a threat, destroy it.”
“Very well.”
Rollondar turned to Roila. “Have you been listening?”
“Yes.”
“Can you beat a path through the battalion to reach the battle-wagon? Which is, I am certain, actually a spell-wagon.”
“Yes.”
“Then that will be your task.”
“Very well,” said Roila, and she returned to where the Lavodes waited, and said, “We have our task.”
Even as she spoke, a scant two hundred meters away Lord Adron e’Kieron, the rebel Prince, drew his forces up before the Dragon Gate and watched the approaching dawn. He stood before his spell-wagon—a wagon so large that it could, and, in fact, did, contain his tent; so large that sixteen horses were required to pull it. His officers were assembled before him, and he addressed them in these terms: “We cannot, in fact, achieve a direct victory here, but, fortunately, we do not need to. Now that we have stopped, and are within the correct distance, I will begin working my spell, which will take control of the
Orb—in effect, making me Emperor, though we ought not to depend on our enemies laying down their arms upon this occasion.”
He accompanied this remark with a grim smile—a smile that was echoed by all the officers. He then continued, “Unlike His Majesty, I shall not be afraid to use the power of the Orb in battle, and I shall begin to do so at once. For, even as the Orb comes to me, bursting through walls in the Palace, flying over the city wall, I will be able to turn its power against our enemies—the closer the Orb comes to me, the more of its abilities I will be able to use. By the time it reaches me, the battle will be over.”
He took a breath. “There is some danger, to be sure; that is why the battalion must be ready, for we will be attacked the instant the enemy sorcerers realize what I am doing, and, if I am disturbed while I am working, we will lose everything.”
“How dangerous is it?” asked an officer.
Adron paused, as if considering whether to answer this question, or how much he ought to tell his officers. At last he said, “I have studied a great deal, and I know what I am doing, though, to be sure, there are always unknown elements in a spell of this magnitude. Yet I do not believe the spell itself will be dangerous—the energies of the spell will be directed at the Orb, which is, as you all know, a device designed, more than anything else, to accept and direct immense energies; indeed, the very method by which I hope to take control of it requires directing great energy straight at it, rather than at His Majesty or around the Orb, and so I will get past the defenses built into the Orb; in the same way, then, there will be, I believe, little danger from the spell itself.
“Yet that is not the only danger, for should the battalion fail, and should I be distracted before the spell takes effect, it will mean defeat for us, and capture and execution for me and, perhaps, for you as well, my officers. You perceive that I do not disguise the risks.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, unless something unexpected happens, well, I do not believe there is grave danger.
“But,” he added, “there is always the possibility of the unexpected happening, wherefore we must necessarily keep our guard up at all times. Do you all clearly understand what I am saying?”
They all did.
He took another breath. “Good. Are there, then, any more questions?”
One of the younger officers cleared his throat.
“Well?” said Adron.
“How long must we hold them?” said the officer. “That is, in order for you to have time—”
Adron frowned. “You must hold the enemy as long as possible. How could your task be anything else?”
The officer looked uncomfortable. “And yet—”
“Very well,” said Adron, giving forth a sigh. He calculated briefly, and his glance strayed to the battle-wagon behind him. At last he said, “Before the spell is ready, I shall need, I think, four and a half hours, or perhaps less.”
The officers looked uncomfortable, and many of them allowed themselves significant looks at the Gate where Rollondar’s forces waited. Adron, seeing this, added, “It may be that they will not attack us before that time.”
“Your Highness thinks not?” said one of the older officers.
Adron shrugged. “Rollondar is cagey and wise, but he does not know what I am doing. He may wait and try to discover what I have here, in which case there will be no attack until the spell begins to take effect.”
“Well, and then?” said another officer.
“And then it will already be too late. Perhaps half an hour, perhaps more, until all is over.”
“That is not so long,” said the officer.
Adron shrugged. “Any more questions?”
There were none.
“Then let us form ranks,” he said. “When all is ready, I shall begin the enchantment.”
At about this same time, Tazendra said, “It is demeaning to have to make one’s own klava.”
“How,” said Aerich, frowning. “Demeaning?”
“She means,” said Pel, “that it is humiliating.”
“I do not comprehend,” said Aerich.
“It is humiliating,” said Pel, smiling, “because it has been so long since she was required to do so that she has forgotten how.”
Tazendra grunted. “Well, that may be.”
“However,” added the Yendi. “I have not, and so if you will permit me—”
“Gladly,” said Tazendra.
As it happened, it was Aerich who ground the beans while Pel boiled the water. Some time later, then, Khaavren came down the stairs to the smell of good, fresh klava. For a moment he was confused to find no one there, until he realized from the soft sounds of conversation above that his friends were gathered in what had once been Aerich’s room.
“Hullo, my friends,” he called. “I will join you when I have poured a cup of klava.”
“Bah!” called Tazendra. “We have the pot warm up here, and a cup ready for you.”
There could be no answer to this argument, so Khaavren at once went back up the stairs to Aerich’s room, where he gratefully accepted his cup and
sat in the chair that, by custom, had been his in the old days. He said, “My friends, do you know that it has been five hundred years since we have all been gathered together in the same place?”
Aerich nodded, “Let it not be five hundred years before we are so gathered again.”
Tazendra said, “These pleasantries are all very well, but I am burning to hear Khaavren’s plan.”
“How,” said Khaavren, “you pretend I have a plan?”
“You always have a plan,” said Tazendra sagaciously.
“And moreover,” said Pel, “Aerich indicated that you had one when he returned last night.”
“It is impossible to fool our Aerich,” said Khaavren.
“Well?” said Tazendra.
“Yes, I have a plan.”
“Ah, so much the better,” said Tazendra.
“Then let us hear it,” said Pel. “For I confess that I am as anxious as Tazendra to know what you wish us to do.”
Khaavren nodded, then paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. At last he said, “There will be a battle this morning.”
“Of this,” said Pel, “I am not unaware.”
“Nor am I,” said Aerich.
“Nor I,” added Tazendra.
“Well, that is where I wish to go.”
“That is your plan?” said Tazendra. “To fight in a battle? Well, I am entirely in accord with this idea. Yet, as a
plan
, I hardly think—”
“Hush, Tazendra,” said Pel amiably. “That is not Khaavren’s plan.”
“Oh,” said Tazendra, sounding disappointed.
Aerich maintained his habitual silence.
“What are you smiling about?” said Pel.
BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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