The Phoenix Guards (11 page)
Read The Phoenix Guards Online
Authors: Steven Brust
In Which the Plot, Behaving in Much the Manner
Of a Soup to which Corn Starch Has been Added, Begins, at Last, to Thicken
W
ITHOUT AWAITING AN ANSWER, KHAAVREN ran from the inn. Once outside, however, he paused long enough to ask himself what he would say to her, to whom his thoughts had returned on more than one occasion since they had parted company. Therefore, it was with hesitation that he approached, stopping only when he was close enough to hear the words being spoken, with the intention of stepping in at the exact point in the conversation when he should deem it most propitious. This did not, however, prevent him from taking the opportunity to listen to the discourse, in which, at this moment, the lady was speaking.
ITHOUT AWAITING AN ANSWER, KHAAVREN ran from the inn. Once outside, however, he paused long enough to ask himself what he would say to her, to whom his thoughts had returned on more than one occasion since they had parted company. Therefore, it was with hesitation that he approached, stopping only when he was close enough to hear the words being spoken, with the intention of stepping in at the exact point in the conversation when he should deem it most propitious. This did not, however, prevent him from taking the opportunity to listen to the discourse, in which, at this moment, the lady was speaking.
“But then, dear brother, you say she scarcely noticed you?”
“Hardly, my sister. That is to say, she caught my eye once or twice, but, beyond the barest flicker of her brows, which could (I must say it) have been only an imagining on my part, she hardly acknowledged me or my gift.”
“A woman of frost!”
“Well, I haven’t given up.”
“Well then, brother, what next?”
“We must either surrender the battle, or find a new means of attack.”
“Surrender, my brother, is impossible. You know what is at stake: for you, for me, for our friends, for the Empire. I repeat: surrender is impossible.”
“Then a new direction must be found.”
“Well, have you one in mind?”
“I, sister? But it is always you who have the ideas.”
“And, in truth, you have seen how far my last one took us. Come, you must find one of your own.”
“And, if I do?”
“Then I will endeavor to support you with all the means at my disposal.”
“Well then, here is my idea: we must find a way to give her that which she most wants.”
“That is not badly taken, brother. But what is it that she wants more than anything else? Had she only her husband’s love of jewels, the answer would be simple.”
“No, it is not jewels she wants. It is something else.”
“But do you know what it is?”
“Well, my sister, I think I do.”
“What? You know?”
“Yes. And not only that, but so do you.”
“You mean—?”
“Exactly.”
“Ah! But how?”
“I don’t know. I will consider. Do you, on your part, consider also.”
“Well, I will. We will speak together to-morrow, at the place you know, and discover if our thoughts have brought us anything.”
“Excellent, then. Until to-morrow.”
“Until to-morrow.”
Upon saying this, the cavalier turned, mounted his horse, and rode off down streets which had not been designed for a horse to travel on, forcing him to pick his way carefully among pedestrians, hand-carts, and doorsteps. Khaavren was able to observe, as he went by, that this brother was the gentleman who had been her pretended husband on the coach-ride. We must add, then, that, upon discovering this, the first idea that crossed Khaavren’s active mind was that if he was her brother, perhaps she had no lover; for it is clear that it is easier to fill a position for which a vacancy has been posted than to replace someone who has been carrying out his duties in a satisfactory manner.
As passers-by scurried into doorways to avoid the horseman, the lady turned away from him and was thus face to face with Khaavren, whom, to judge from the expression which crossed her features, she recognized at once. “Sir, Guardsman,” she said, “Did we not meet some weeks ago?”
Khaavren bowed low. “Your memory is as perfect as—” he caught himself, and blushed. “That is,” he amended, “you are correct.”
The Phoenix, either inobservant or tactful, gave no appearance of noticing Khaavren’s discomfort. “Your name is Khaav’n, like the wine, is it not?” she asked.
“In fact, my lady, you remember nearly exactly, for though I style myself Khaavren, still the wine that calls my name to your thoughts is produced from grapes that grow in the very district from which I take my name. That is, the names are identical, but their pronunciation differs slightly. And now that my identity has been established, I am most anxious to learn yours, for I can hardly call you by the name you gave while pretending to be an Issola, and yet I must know your name so I can happily offer to perform for you any service you might require.”
A slight flush came to her cheeks when he called to mind the deception she had practiced, yet she did not deny it. She merely said, “My name is Illista. And did you mean what you just said?”
It took Khaavren a moment to realize to what she could be referring, and when he did, his heart gave such a leap that he was barely able to nod in answer.
“Come,” she said, “walk with me to my carriage, for I have things to say to you.”
Without a glance, then, at the companions he was deserting, Khaavren fell into step next to Illista. “Do you know,” he said, “that you have a lovely name? It recalls to me the waterfalls from the Trior River, a tributary of the Shallow River which flows near my home.”
“Oh,” she said. “Do you think so?”
“I do think so. Illista. It flows from my tongue.”
“You will make me blush,” she said.
“Oh, never,” he said. “But, you perceive that we have arrived at your carriage. What did you wish to say?”
“Pray get inside, and I will tell all.”
“You see, I am entering just as you wish, for I trust you completely.”
“Oh, you are too good.”
“Not the least in the world. But do not keep me waiting. What is it you have to say to me?”
“Only this:—oh, I cannot.”
“You cannot? That is what you wish to say to me?”
“No, I cannot say what I wish to say to you.”
“How, cannot?”
“Oh, but I must.”
“Must what?”
“Tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I cannot say.”
“My lady Illista, it nearly seems as if you are in some distress.”
“Well, and if I am?”
“Then I only ask to be told the nature and cause of this distress, that I might remove it.”
“Oh, if only you could.”
“I can. I will. I swear to it. If it is a man, I will destroy him. If it is a thing, I will obtain it. If it is a cause, I will champion it. If it is a god—”
“Well?”
“Well, if it is a god, I will take him from his seat and escort you there, though all the phantoms of the Paths should guard the way.”
“So you say. But what will you do?”
“Ah, you wound me.”
“I?”
“Try me, that is all I ask.”
“You swear you can be trusted?”
“I will hold your secrets dearer than the whispers of my heart.”
“Well then, I will tell you. But not now.”
“Well, name for me the time and place.”
“Do you know an inn where, some few weeks ago, you killed a man called Frai?”
“Indeed, I could hardly forget it. But how do you know of it?”
“Oh, as to that,” she said, “I know a great deal of what happens in the city. But since we are agreed as to the place, be there to-morrow when night falls, and I will whisper in your ear.”
“I will be there without fail.”
“I count on you, then.”
“Not in vain.”
“That is well. Go now.”
“I go, as I arrive, at your bidding.” With these words, he leapt from the carriage and dashed back to the inn where his friends awaited him. Tazendra immediately began to question him, but he indicated with a sign that he would discuss the matter later.
“Very well, then,” said Pel. “We were discussing, I believe, horses.”
“But rather than that,” remarked Aerich, “we ought to discuss the aftermath of the little affair at the archery range.”
As he pronounced the words, “archery range,” the two Guardsmen with whom Tazendra was playing smiled, as, in fact, did Tazendra. Pel and Khaavren, however, frowned, as they had sufficient perspicacity to catch something in Aerich’s voice when he pronounced the word, “aftermath.”
“What of it, then?” said Pel.
“The Captain did me the honor to speak to me of it today.”
Khaavren shifted uncomfortably and said, “Does he know, then, that we were involved?” He had just recalled that the fight had taken place without the sanctions required by Imperial Law.
“How could he not?” said Pel. “Do you pretend he is deaf and blind?”
“But then, why are we not arrested?” said Khaavren.
“That is,” said Aerich, “G’aereth knows; the Captain is, as yet, ignorant.”
Khaavren nodded. “Then this discussion was without the Orb, as the saying is?”
“Exactly.”
“Well then, what did he have to say?”
“That someone wounded the Cavalier Dekkaan.”
“And you said?” asked Pel.
“I said it was a most unfortunate thing.”
“Well, and did he agree?” said Khaavren.
“He did more than agree, he concurred.”
“Well?”
“He said that the Cavalier Dekkaan is a hot-blooded gentleman, who will not take a blow easily.”
“This doesn’t surprise me,” said Khaavren, who had tested him thoroughly.
“Moreover, there is the matter of Kurich.”
“Stay,” said Tazendra, turning around suddenly. “I think I know that name.”
“You should; you killed him,” said Aerich.
“Ah,” said Tazendra, “that is it, then,” and she returned to her game.
“Well?” said Khaavren, “what of Kurich?”
“He was the younger brother of Her Excellency Lytra e’Tenith, the Warlord.”
The three of them looked at one another soberly. Tazendra continued to lose money after the fashion of someone accustomed to doing so.
“But then,” said Khaavren, “it was a fair fight, and it is only necessary to ask Uilliv and Rekov in order to prove it.”
“I told the Captain as much.”
“You told him?”
“In terms of speculation.”
“Ah. And he said?”
“That this was what had kept the perpetrators—that was his very word—alive to this date, but, that if they were wise, they would guard themselves closely.”
“Well, we will do so, then,” said Pel.
“But there was more.”
“How, more?” asked Khaavren.
“We have also annoyed someone else.”
“That being?”
“Gyorg Lavode.”
“Captain of the Lavodes?” said Pel.
“Exactly.”
“But, how have we done so?” said Khaavren.
“The Captain had no idea in the world.”
“Tell me, Pel,” said Khaavren, “you who seem to know the courtiers as well as my hand knows the grip of my sword, would you know Gyorg Lavode to look at him?”
“Of a certainty.”
“Well, is he a Dzurlord of perhaps half a millennium, rather taller than Aerich with fiery dark eyes, a hooked nose, and thin lips?”
“You have described him exactly.”
“Well then, I have some idea that we might have annoyed him.”
“He can be a bitter enemy,” said Pel. “He is, after all, both wizard and warrior, as are all the Lavodes, and this is not a matter to be taken lightly.”
“So much the worse,” said Khaavren.
“What then should we do?” said Pel.
“I have no plan,” said Aerich.
“Allow me to consider the matter,” said Khaavren. “Perhaps I will find a solution. But I think this discussion would be best concluded at home, where there are fewer ears about.”
“That suits me,” said Pel. “We have only to await our friend the Dzurlord.”
Tazendra shrugged. “I have lost all my money, so there is no reason for me to remain,” she said, turning around and proving that, if she was uninterested in the conversation, she was at least not deaf to it.
They returned, then, to their home, which was nearby, and sat in worried comfort in Aerich’s room, where Srahi served them wine. “Thank you,” said Khaavren, still politely when she had finished. “That will be all.”
Srahi sniffed. “More of your private discussions?” she said. “Well, it is all very well to leave me out of them, but you must not expect me to fight off brigands for you, or to patch you up when you return here as full of holes as the Ballinni Tower.”
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