Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (58 page)

Read Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Online

Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
4.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
The magnitude of horror accompanying the Disaster is such that it seems almost profane to give more than passing reference to that upon which we have concentrated—that is, to Sethra’s ironic success. The irony to which we have just made reference, and which consists, as much as in the backdrop of horror against which it occurred, in the Enchantress’s conviction of failure, is augmented when we consider that the assassin, Mario, through no one’s planning, even his own, was caught in the spell, and thus he, too, was teleported. No one knows where he went either, but many believe that he, body and soul, arrived in the same place as Aliera’s soul—arrived bewildered, perhaps without his memories, but alive. It is believed by many, especially among the Jhereg, that he still lives, practicing his grim trade and always searching for the one woman he ever loved, Aliera e’Kieron, daughter of the man who brought down the Dragaeran Empire.
What could be more ironic, yet what could be more beautiful? The cruel assassin, who, as much as Adron himself, was responsible for the Disaster, saved himself, by accident, because of his overwhelming love for Aliera—the very love that caused him to commit the act which, conjoined with Adron’s, destroyed a city and an Empire.
If Aliera and Mario ever found each other again after the disaster, no one knows of it, and we will not demean ourselves by indulging in speculation. But, yes, Aliera and Mario, Srahi and Mica, Daro and Khaavren had all, amid catastrophe, found love which endured the fall of the Empire. In the opinion of the historian, this is no small matter.
The greatest evil, the greatest heroism, the greatest disaster, the greatest triumph, the greatest horror, the greatest love—what could better summarize, and bring to a close, the history we have had the honor to humbly lay before the reader?
H
AVING SAID, AND WITH THE best of intentions, that we have finished our history, we find that we cannot in good conscience leave the reader without letting him know something of the fate of those with whom he has traveled so far, it is our opinion, moreover, that dramatic effect must necessarily take its proper place behind justice—whether justice to the accused and accuser at court, or justice to the reader of history; and those to whom we have gone for counsel and advice have convinced us that justice absolutely forbids such an abrupt ending as we had at first contemplated.
Let us, then, wasting none of the reader’s valuable time with further explanation, bring ourselves to Aerich’s home of Brachington’s Moor, where, several hours after the events we have just related, we find Aerich prostrate amid a grove of trees; we find him, in fact, frowning at a certain confusion in his mind, as if the sight before him—a lush green meadow, a pond, and certain familiar formations of vegetation, were at once expected and surprising.
After some few minutes, the reason for his confusion became apparent to him: He had, in his last conscious moment, been thinking of nothing else but this, his home, and wishing fervently to be there; yet he could not imagine how such a thing had come to pass. But we have failed utterly in our depiction of the character of our Lyorn if we have allowed the reader to believe that he was the sort to doubt the evidence of his own senses; that is, Aerich realized that he
was
home, and accepted it at once, resolving to put off until another time consideration of how it had happened.
He sat up slowly, feeling a certain lassitude coupled with disorientation, and looked around. Khaavren lay next to him, his eyes closed; Pel was just beyond, and appeared to be awakening, while Tazendra was already sitting up, although she did not seem entirely aware of her surroundings. Aerich caught her eye, and she said, “I am reminded strongly of the occasion some years ago
when I caused an explosion while working with certain spells. Either I have done it again, and had a monstrous strange dream while doing so, or there has just taken place an event of no small importance and no few repercussions.”
“I do not think you have been dreaming,” said Aerich. “Although it is possible, for we have been unconscious for—” He paused in order to find the time, and realized that the Orb had vanished from his awareness. He said, “The Orb—”
“So I have noticed,” said Tazendra, and only then did Aerich notice that the Dzurlord appeared to be distraught, and was only with difficulty managing to speak in an even tone.
“Well,” said Aerich. “No doubt …” but he fell silent, frowning, and left his thought incomplete.
“We ought to bring our friend inside,” said Pel softly.
“Yes yes,” said Tazendra, springing to her feet as if delighted to be active. She assisted Aerich to rise, then Pel. The three of them then half-carried the ailing Khaavren into the manor. For his part, the worthy Captain said nothing except, “Daro,” which name he called or moaned once or twice as he was brought to bed, assisted by Steward and certain other servants, whom our unwillingness to introduce new characters at such a late stage of our history prevents us from giving the attention they perhaps merit. During this time Steward, who appeared disturbed, and, indeed, alarmed by the sudden disappearance of the Orb, as, in point of fact, was the case with everyone else, contrived to inform Aerich of all that had happened during his absence, none of which, we should add, requires our attention, for we have no reason to believe that the reader has any wish to learn about the “peasant’s duel” between Loch and Handsweight, which resulted in the former’s broken arm; nor the elegant lyorn the artisan Smith engraved into the hinges on the lower door; nor the number of fish caught by certain peasants in Aerich’s pond; nor the number of poachers apprehended by Warder who were now awaiting Aerich’s justice; nor the riot of miners in the Shovelful Market; nor any of the other details with which our Lyorn was forced to contend.
In the same way, we will not discuss Tazendra’s experiences when she returned to her estates except to say that she had rather less to contend with, and even less interest in contending with it, wherefore her sojourn was of only the briefest character; she came back to Bra-Moor within three hours after leaving.
Khaavren slept, although not well; he woke from time to time, sometimes calling for Daro, at other times speaking as will those who are delirious, the details of which remarks we will withhold out of respect for our brave Tiassa. Pel spent a great deal of time with him, as did Aerich when he was not attending to his estates; Tazendra, after returning from home, returned also to
Khaavren’s bedside. From time to time, we should say, his eyes opened, but they rarely focused, although once he looked directly at Aerich and named him before falling asleep again.
The next morning’s dawn—that is to say, the dawn of the first day of the month of the Jhereg in the first year of the Interregnum—saw no improvement, and we may state with confidence that it was worry over Khaavren, and, indeed, over Mica, Fawnd, and Srahi (and, at least on Khaavren’s behalf, over Daro), that kept our friends from dwelling too much upon what had become of the Empire herself, although, to be sure, this was not a matter that could keep itself from their discourse. And yet, when the subject of the Emperor, or the Empire, or the Orb presented itself, they all of them shied away from it, as if each entertained thoughts he did not wish to express.
On the second day of the Interregnum, Khaavren awoke in truth, although only long enough to take a bit of soup and water brought by Steward and fed him by Aerich himself. After eating what he could, he slept again, and, awakening a second time late that night, said, “Daro?”
“She has not yet arrived, my dear,” said Pel, who now sat alone with Khaavren in the darkened room.
“Ah. Yet, no doubt she will,” said Khaavren in a quivering voice.
“No doubt,” said Pel. “No doubt she will. How are you feeling, my friend?”
But Khaavren was asleep once more. He was still asleep, and appeared pale and drawn, when, late the next morning, the three of them gathered again to discuss his condition, and to determine if, in the absence of a physicker, anything could be done.
“I am not,” remarked Tazendra, “especially skilled in the healing arts, yet, could I but reach the Orb, I do not doubt that I could be of some help to our poor friend.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Pel. “Nevertheless, we must not give up hope; no doubt the confusion will be resolved, and the new Emperor, whomever he may be, will put things in order quickly. Do you not agree, Aerich?”
“I do not know,” said Aerich. “Yester-day I should have agreed with you, and yet, I have never heard of an entire day passing with no sign of the Orb’s existence, much less three; but, if I am not mistaken, it is very nearly ninety hours since we were abruptly transported, or, if I may,
teleported
here.”
“That is true,” said Tazendra. “Nevertheless—but what is that?”
“Someone has arrived,” said Aerich, glancing at the door with an expression in which he could not conceal a certain degree of disquiet.
An instant later Steward, upon clapping, was admitted, and said, “Fawnd has returned.”
Aerich shrugged, meaning, “And was he alone?”
“There are two Teckla with him, one of whom is being carried on a sort of makeshift stretcher, for he appears to have left part of his leg behind him on his journey.”
Aerich shrugged once more, this time to indicate that they had made good time. Tazendra leapt to her feet and rushed down to greet her loyal servant, while Aerich and Pel remained by Khaavren’s bedside.
“I am pleased they survived,” said Pel.
Aerich nodded. “I have grown accustomed to Fawnd, and should have missed him; and Mica has become—dare I say it?—nearly a member of the family.”
“Do you know,” said Pel. “It is true—we are nearly a family. Is it not strange how our friendship has survived all of these years and trials?”
“Strange?” said Aerich. “Call it so, if you will.”
“And you? What would you call it?”
“Tell me, do you believe everything Tazendra says of herself?”
Pel laughed. “Not the least in the world, I assure you.”
“Well then, you must not believe everything you think of yourself, either.”
Pel frowned, and there was a glint of something like anger behind his eyes. “I do not understand the answer you have done me the honor to make.”
“Do you not?” said Aerich. “Well then, let us only say that we have this friendship that so sustains our spirits because, very simply, we have earned it.”
Whether Pel would have made any rejoinder to this observation we cannot say, because at that moment Tazendra entered the room, a wild look in her eyes, saying, “The Gods! The entire city is gone!”
Pel stood at once. “What is this you tell me?”
“I have it from Mica that not one stone is left standing upon another in Dragaera.”
“Impossible,” said Pel.
“They were, he tells me, overtaken by any number of people fleeing the downfall, and they all speak of catastrophe beyond imagination. Fawnd and Srahi,” she added, “agree with all he says.”
Pel and Aerich looked at one another, then said, “Let us go and interrogate them ourselves.”
“Pray,” said Khaavren weakly, “rather bring them here, so that I may listen, too.”
“My friend!” cried Aerich. “You are awake!”
“Well,” said Khaavren.
“How are you feeling?”
“If you please, let us hear this story.”
The three friends interrogated one another with looks, punctuated by one of Aerich’s most eloquent shrugs, after which, with no words needing to be
spoken, they brought Mica’s bed up into Khaavren’s room along with Srahi and Fawnd, and they spoke for several hours, questioning each of the servants carefully. The scope of the disaster gradually unfolded before them in the second- and third-hand accounts taken from those with whom the Teckla had spoken. Mica spoke quietly, eschewing the bombastic style of oration he usually affected in imitation of his master; Srahi, when she added a detail or two, was more quiet than anyone had ever seen her, and Fawnd, though he spoke as always, appeared from his countenance to have been deeply shocked by what he had witnessed.
And, if this were not enough, from time to time, as they spoke, refugees would arrive to be given a meal and a place to sleep in one of the outbuildings, and Steward would convey their tales of woe as they arrived. Aerich made occasional sounds of sympathy, Tazendra would, from time to time, gasp in horror, and Pel would ask questions in his quiet voice—questions that, most often, had no answer. Khaavren spoke no word during this time, but seemed to sink deeper into his pillow.
There is no need to try the reader’s patience by relating for a second time what he has already learned, and in far more detail, in the preceding chapter; we will instead say that, as the day darkened, so, then, did the spirits of our friends as they drew closer and closer together in horror and fear.
At one point, Aerich, as he watched Srahi and Mica, who were shamelessly holding one another’s hands, turned to Khaavren and said, “Do you fear for the Countess?”
Khaavren swallowed and, with great difficulty, in a voice scarcely to be heard, said, “I should know if anything had happened to her. There can be no doubt, I should know.” It need not be added that Khaavren’s tone belied his words.
And yet, it is not our intention to torment our reader (as, indeed, our brave Tiassa was tormented) by wondering about Daro. We will, then, at once dispel any fear the reader may have by asserting that she arrived at Bra-Moor even as the last light of the day was receding in the direction of broken and vanished Dragaera; she was shown in to the room where were gathered Khaavren, Aerich, Tazendra, Pel, Mica, Srahi, and Fawnd, and, with no word needing to be spoken, she came to Khaavren’s bed and took both of his hands in her own, and reverently kissed them.
“I feared—” she began. Then she said, “And yet I knew—”
“And I,” he whispered, and it seemed to those around him that life returned to his eyes even as he spoke. “I knew, yet I feared.”
“Well,” she said, attempting to laugh. “We are together, and nothing else matters
.
”
“Nothing else matters,” agreed Khaavren.
As the end of one tale is always the beginning of the next, and as the line between one and the other is more often as vague as the edge of the Sea of Amorphia than sharp as the edge of Khaavren’s sword, the reader ought to understand that this was the beginning of the Interregnum, and that, even as Khaavren and Daro partook of the joy of their mutual survival, the first seeds of the Great Plagues were beginning in Adrilankha, Candletown, Northport, Branch, and Tirinsar. The Easterners were strong, and some of them had made no treaty with the Empire. The Dukes were strong, and would soon realize that there was no Empire to limit their desires. In a word, then, the most horrible, deathly, and fearful era since the downfall of the Jenoine was only beginning. And, in fact, we are fully aware that, if we have lost sight of Grita, the reader has not forgotten her, as perhaps he forgot Garland once before.

Other books

The Erotic Dark by Nina Lane
Fox Run by Robin Roseau
Off Keck Road by Mona Simpson
The Amazing Absorbing Boy by Rabindranath Maharaj
Gator A-Go-Go by Tim Dorsey
Collateral Damage by H. Terrell Griffin
The Heart of War by Lisa Beth Darling
Black Rose by Nora Roberts