Tiassa (12 page)

“When are we doing this?” asked Kragar.

“Now,” I said, and stood up.

On the way over, Kragar said, “When you fire H’noc, who are you going to get to run the place?”

“You want it?”

“No.”

“Think Melestav will want it?”

“I doubt it.”

“Maybe Tessie.”

“He’d be good. Experienced.”

“Yeah.”

We reached the Couches and I walked in like I owned the place, partly on account of I did. The muscle at the door was someone I didn’t recognize, but he evidently recognized me. He bowed and said, “My lord, how may I—”

“H’noc,” I said. “Here. Now.” There were a couple of nums hanging around, drinking and waiting to pick out their tags. They looked at me. I didn’t much care.

He went off to get H’noc. I told the two nums that the business was closed for now, but they were welcome back tomorrow. I suggested that they leave right away. The Dragonlord looked like he might want to make an issue of it, but then he just shrugged and left. When they were gone, I moved to the back of the room and leaned against the wall, looking tough. H’noc arrived at once, flanked by the tough guy who’d been at the door, and another, taller and broader and equally dangerous-looking. I said, “You two: Go.”

They looked at H’noc for instructions. I said, “Don’t look at him, look at me. I’m saying to go away. Do it now.”

They hesitated. Then first one and then the other turned and walked away. H’noc said, “My lord, if I have somehow—”

“Let’s take a walk,” I said.

Cawti and Kragar were behind us as I led him around to an alley behind the Couches; then they pulled back out of sight. H’noc didn’t look altogether happy.

I drew and placed the point of my weapon under his chin. “You,” I said, “are fired. Depending on how you answer my question, you might also be dead. Do you want to be dead? I think you don’t want to be dead. If I’m wrong, tell me. Do you want to be dead?”

Ask someone a question with an obvious answer, and then insist he answer you. It’s kind of humiliating, because it drums home to the guy just what position he’s in. I know a few tricks like that, and I keep learning more.

H’noc said, “Ask your question.”

“How did he talk you into it?”

He looked even less happy than he had, but he glared instead of cowering. Good decision: if neither is going to do any good, you might as well take your best shot at not being laughed at.

I pressed a little with my rapier. His head went back and a bead of blood appeared and ran down his neck. I said, “I know you wouldn’t do it for money, not from a civilian. So what was it?”

“If I tell you, I get to live?”

“Yes.”

“All right. He said if I didn’t he’d shut me down.”

“Now, just how was he going to do that?”

“His mother is the Countess of Whitecrest.”

“He used his family influence? That’s cheating. Why didn’t you think to come to me with this problem?”

“My place, my problem.”

“My place,” I said. “Though right now I agree it’s your problem, too.”

He made a point of glancing down the length of my blade, then back up to meet my eyes. “Seems like,” he said.

“All right,” I said. “That’s all I need to know.”

“He said you wouldn’t find out. Ooops, I guess.”

“I guess.”

I’d told him that if he answered my question, he’d get to live. But, like I said, I lie sometimes.

WHITECREST

C
HAPTER
O
NE

KHAAVREN

The Captain of the Phoenix Guard received a summons at the ninth hour of the morning on Midweek. The Empress, it seemed, wanted a private audience with him in her breakfast room. Such a meeting at such a time was not unprecedented, but neither was it usual, so when Khaavren found the message waiting, he knew something was up.

He took the long walk to Her Majesty’s apartments without speculating, or even wondering. He nodded to the guards on duty, and exchanged good-mornings with various acquaintances on the way, until he finally presented himself, and was admitted.

The Empress Zerika was dressed simply in her gold morning gown, which anyone but Khaavren would have at least admitted to himself was fetching, and she sat at her table nibbling at fruit and drinking tea. She nodded to Khaavren and gestured him to one of two chairs that had been set across from her. Khaavren knew that the Empress customarily breakfasted alone.

“Good morning, Captain. Tea?”

“Klava, if you have it.”

The Empress nodded to a servant, and the klava was presently brought. Khaavren drank it as poured, with a napkin wrapped about it to protect his fingers, and waited for Zerika to speak.

She ate another bite of fruit, sipped her tea, and carefully set the cup down. It was, Khaavren noticed, a tiny little cup, thin and fragile-looking, decorated with red and blue wavy lines. She said, “Forgive me, Captain, but we’re waiting for someone. I’d prefer not to have to repeat this.”

“Of course, Majesty.” He smiled. “I have klava.”

“Have some fruit as well, if you wish. And there’s some cheese and rolls.”

“I’m fine, Majesty.”

She nodded, and there was no further conversation for some minutes, until a servant announced the arrival of Kosadr. Khaavren kept his surprise to himself, nodded a greeting to the Court Wizard, and waited patiently while Kosadr accepted tea, cheese, and bread. The wizard ate slowly, carefully; Khaavren wanted very much to kick him. Studying Her Majesty, he had a suspicion that the Empress felt the same way.

Kosadr was lanky, dark, and not as young as he looked. He eventually seemed to realize he was holding things up, and said, “Please, Your Majesty, proceed.”

Zerika smiled briefly. “Good wizard, you’re the one who needs to speak. Please explain to me and to Khaavren what you began to tell me earlier.”

Kosadr wiped his lips with a napkin and said, “Oh. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Two days ago, we began to observe fluctuations in the yellow spectrum of the Esswora monitor rods. We immediately began localizing the surge and measuring the distension. As far as we can tell—”

“Excuse me,” said Khaavren. “If I am supposed to understand any of that, I don’t.”

“Oh. Right. We are looking at a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough? Who breaking through what to where?”

“Into our world. The Jenoine.”

“The Jenoine!”

“Please, Captain,” said the Empress. “Sit down.”

“Sorry.” Khaavren sat down while a servant hurried to clean up the klava and replace it. “When? How many?”

“It’s hard to say when. Our guess is that we have sixty hours, but not more than eighty. That assumes the inflow remains constant. Call it a bit less than three days. We can’t be sure—precision isn’t possible in something like this. And we don’t know how many, but from the size of the fluctuations, it looks to be a major incursion.”

“The first thing,” said the Empress, “is to station troops nearby, as well as sorcerous defenses.”

“I can’t do anything about those,” said Khaavren.

“I know. Please, Captain. Remain calm.”

Khaavren nodded, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, berating himself. Losing his head would be of no help to anyone. But still, Jenoine!

“Are you back with us, Captain?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I,” said Kosadr, “will ask for assistance from Sethra Lavode.”

The Empress nodded. “Good, but, Kosadr, you must also look for other means. For this purpose, the Orb will be at your disposal for fact-checking and research. I would have preferred to have more warning, but we work with what we have.”

She turned to Khaavren. “From what we know, troops will be of no use. To the extent we want to test this, I’ll speak with the Warlord. You’re here for something else.”

Khaavren nodded. “I’d wondered why you sent for me instead of Aliera.”

“Because we have time to organize troops, and we have time to prepare arcane defenses and attacks. What do we not have time for, Captain?”

“The people.”

“Exactly. Once we begin preparations, we’ll not be able to keep this a secret. We cannot afford a panic. The Phoenix Guards and the troops can do little enough against the Jenoine, but are all we have against unrest.”

“I understand, Majesty.”

“Good, then. You each have your tasks; be about them.”

The wizard and the captain rose, bowed to Her Majesty, and took their leave.

Their paths, as it happened, ran together for a considerable part of the long walk through the Imperial Wing. As they walked, Kosadr said, “Captain, may I make a confession?”

“I’m not a Discreet, but feel free.”

“I have to admit, I’m looking forward to this.”

Khaavren looked at him.

“I know, I know. It’s terrible. But the fact is, I’ve held this post for twenty years, and I’ve spent my time re-wrapping spells before they unwind, and supervising interrogations. This is what I’ve trained for, you know what I mean?”

“I guess I do. But if you don’t mind a word of advice—”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t let it go beyond me. I don’t think Her Majesty would be pleased.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Kosadr went off toward his chambers while Khaavren continued on to the Dragon Wing. Once there, he asked if the Warlord was in, and, upon being told that she was at her residence in Castle Black, asked that a message be sent requesting a meeting with her. He then dispatched another messenger to inform his staff where he was, and he settled in to wait. Being an old campaigner, he waited by, if not sleeping, then let’s say dozing heavily.

He woke up, fully alert, nearly an hour later when he heard the words, “The Warlord will see you now.”

He rose, bowed to the messenger—a young Dragonlord with light brown hair done into a tail that went halfway down his back—and entered the Warlord’s chamber.

“Lady Aliera,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Lord Khaavren. Always a pleasure.”

“We are expecting an attack by Jenoine.”

Aliera stared up at him, then slowly sat behind her desk. “Sit,” she said.

Khaavren did so, noticing that Aliera’s eyes were turning from green to blue, which he had never seen before; he wondered if she did so sorcerously, or if it was natural. She was, he reflected, not only a Dragonlord, but e’Kieron; anything was possible.

“Give me the details,” said Aliera.

“Kosadr will have more, but it seems there are signs of a buildup for a breakthrough. Magical signs. Something about the Esswora rods, or fluctuations. I don’t know. But from what he said, it seems strong, and imminent. He said we probably have a bit over two days or—”

“I’ll speak with the Necromancer,” she said. “It may be possible to block it. I’ll coordinate with Kosadr, of course.”

“Her Majesty wants troops available as well.”

“Why? To die gloriously? What else does she imagine—?”

“I don’t know, Warlord. I’m passing on what Her Majesty said. No doubt if you speak to her—”

“Oh, I’ll speak to her!”

Khaavren nodded. “If you can spare some for helping me control the city, and to help with evacuation, I’ll appreciate it.”

“Evacuation?”

“Probably. Anyone who remembers the Interregnum—”

“Of course.”

Aliera obviously didn’t care for her troops being used that way, but finally she grunted a sort of agreement.

“Thanks,” said Khaavren. “Then that’s all I have.” He stood and bowed. “Thank you for seeing me, Warlord.”

“Most welcome, Captain,” said Aliera. Then she scowled. “Jenoine,” she muttered.

“Indeed,” said Khaavren, and took his leave, returning to his own quarters in the Dragon Wing. Once there, he pulled out his maps of the city, and lists of guard detachments, and began to work. Throughout the day he received reports of the state of the city, and was pleased that, although people were already starting to leave, there was as yet no sign of panic.

It was fully dark in the city when he finally finished. He stood, stretched, and called for his retainers to see that his orders—an impressive stack of paper—went to the right places.

Although entitled by his rank to transport provided by the Empire, Khaavren usually preferred a cab, because the chatter of the cabbie relaxed him. This time, however, it didn’t relax him at all. The cabbie kept hinting that he wanted Khaavren to tell him what was going on in the city; that something was stirring, and people were nervous. Khaavren answered in grunts and monosyllables, and after a long time, the cabbie shut up. Khaavren under-tipped him, then walked into the Manor feeling bad about it.

Upon entering, he handed his cloak to Cyl without a word, after which he at once went to his den, where, in due time, Orile arrived with wine and to help Khaavren off with his boots.