Lytra struck her chair with her fist. “No!” she cried. “No assassination! Do you understand me, Seodra? There are depths to which I will not plunge. I will break you, and let all of my plans fall into pieces before I will countenance the use of assassins.”
“Very well, Excellency. Then what?”
“There are other ways. A duel, for example.”
“With whom? You? Would you expose yourself that way? And on what grounds is this duel to be fought?”
“A pretext can be found easily enough. And as for whom—well, I will consider that.”
“Ah!”
“Excuse me, Seodra, but you said, ‘ah.’”
“And so I did, Excellency.”
“You have, then, an idea?”
“Indeed I have.”
“Well, tell it me.”
“I shall do so.”
“Begin, then.”
“Well, this is it: my arts have revealed that a certain individual has just discovered the whereabouts of she whom we wish to keep hidden.”
“So you have just informed me, Seodra. What then? We have said that we shall warn him away.”
“And so we shall. But we will also arrange to put the headstrong Uttrik in his path. And, should Uttrik somehow kill the young Tiassa—”
“The discoverer is a Tiassa?”
“Exactly. A member of the Red Boot Battalion of the Imperial Guard, in fact.”
“I see. Go on, then, Seodra. You interest me exceedingly.”
“Well, should Uttrik kill him, then we will have eliminated one problem, and should the Tiassa win, we will have eliminated another. We will then meet again to discuss the remaining problem.”
“An excellent idea, Seodra.” She laughed. “Perhaps, if the gods smile on our plans, they will do each other in, and this will solve things neatly.”
“Exactly, Excellency. That was my own thought precisely. It is easy to see that, though you are of the e’Kieron line of the House of the Dragon, you nevertheless have some of the e’Lanya blood flowing through your veins, for your grasp of tactics is without fail.”
“A truce on flattery, Seodra. Tell me instead how we are to arrange for this duel to occur?”
“In the simplest possible manner: we will let Uttrik know that the Tiassa is looking for Kaluma.”
“How will that help us?”
“Because we will also allow him to think that he is seeking her in order to aid her, rather than the reverse. He will be most anxious to stop him, and they will fight, and one of them will kill the other.”
“Very well. An excellent plan. But stop, is this Tiassa called Khaavren?”
“Why, that is the very name, Excellency. Is there some problem?”
The Warlord laughed. “Problem? Not the least in the world. All the better, in fact. See to it.”
“I will do so, Excellency.”
“Then let us pass on to other matters. What of His Imperial Majesty?”
“What of him?”
“As of our last conversation, he was making warlike noises.”
“Well? The right war, or the wrong war?”
“The wrong war.”
“He must be brought around then, Excellency.”
“And how can we accomplish this, Seodra?”
“Well, am I not his eyes? And are you not his hands?”
“But then, has he not ears as well? And even other hands?”
“If you would be so kind as to speak plainly, Excellency.”
“I was merely continuing your simile, Seodra. But very well. Have you forgotten the Lavodes? The Guards? The Palace gossips and courtiers who have his ear?”
“The Lavodes are on our side, Excellency. Do you forget who their Captain is? Their true Captain? We need not worry about them. And the gossips are merely so much wind; they will only fill His Majesty’s ear if there is nothing of more substance to take their place.”
“Well?” said Lytra. “And the Guard?”
“They take orders from you, Excellency. Have you somehow contrived to forget this?”
“Not the least in the world. But tell me, Seodra, for I wish to know, what order am I to give them? Do you pretend that I can call Lanmarea and G’aereth into my chambers and say, ‘You will take no action against this and such person, or this and such occurrence’? In two minutes, Seodra, I would no longer be Warlord, and you would find all of your creeping vines had buried themselves in their own roots.”
“Lanmarea we can ignore for reasons you know as well as I do, your ladyship.”
“Well, yes. And G’aereth?”
“G’aereth, I confess, is a problem. He must be given other things to think about.”
“Have you something in mind, Seodra?”
“Hmmm. Well, you could send him out to look for something such as, say, candlebud.”
Lytra stared at the hooded figure for a moment, then a slow smile spread across her face, which grew gradually broader until it erupted into laughter, which filled the small tower chamber above the Imperial residences.
Chapter the Fourteenth
In Which it is Shown that Eleemosynary Behavior is Sometimes Rewarded In This Lifetime
AS THIS CONVERSATION WAS TAKING place, another conversation, equally private if less sinister, was occurring within G’aereth’s apartments in the Dragon Wing.
“Come in, Cavalier,” said G’aereth to open the discussion. “Pray, be comfortable. I have been given to understand that you wished to have two words with me.”
“That is true, Captain,” said the visitor, who was none other than Pel. “I wish to share with you a thought that has just recently crossed my mind.”
“Well, and what thought is it? For you know that I expect my Guardsmen to use their heads, and I think yours is a tolerably long one.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“But, as I have asked, tell me this thought.”
“Well, I will. It is this: I worry about dispatches.”
“How, worry?”
“It seems to me, Captain, that, when six men witness an event, there will be six different reports on what has happened.”
“That observation is just, I think.”
“Now many Athyra, and some others, most notably the philosopher Hydragaar, believe that this proves that six different events have occurred, and all have the same truth.”
“Well, and you?”
“I, Captain, believe, along with Daridd of Diar-by-the-Bennaat that these Athyra are overreacting.”
“I perceive that you are well-read in the classics.”
Pel bowed. “I have had the honor to receive some small education. But, Captain, if I may be permitted to ask you a question, I am curious as to your position on this matter.”
“Mine? Well, I believe I must side with you and Daridd on this issue.”
“I am gratified that you do.”
“But explain to me, Cavalier, how these epistemological issues relate to dispatches?”
“In this way, Captain: I have spoken with four men, all of whom have just returned from garrison duty in the east.”
“In the east?”
“That is to say, in the area around …”
“Around?”
“Around Pepperfield, Captain.”
“Ah. Just so.”
“Would you be interested to know what I have learned?”
“Why, yes, if it would please you to tell me.”
“Well, I have learned that there are a thousand thousand Easterners preparing to invade the Empire.”
“Ah!”
“And I have learned that there are no Easterners within a hundred leagues.”
“Go on.”
“I have learned that the garrison is strong, and that it is weak.”
“Well?”
“That it is well-commanded, and that there are no leaders who are prepared for any sort of engagement.”
“I understand what you are saying, Cavalier. But, speak plainly, it seems to me that you are
moving in some particular direction. Tell me what you want?”
“What I want?” said Pel, with an expression of innocent surprise on his features. “How, you pretend I want something?”
“Well, don’t you?”
“My Captain, the very philosopher whom we were just discussing spoke of the importance of charity, and good works, and serving others.”
“Well?”
“I want only to serve His Imperial Majesty, Captain; that is all.”
As we could not possibly add anything of importance to this declaration, we will now return to Khaavren, whom we left traveling at as great a speed as he could manage toward his rendezvous with Illista. He arrived out of breath, yet early enough that he could refresh himself with a glass of dark red wine while he waited. He also, as was his wont, inspected those around him. Now that the festivities were well over, the inn had reverted to its usual clientele, mostly of the House of the Teckla, with an occasional Chreotha or Jhereg. The tavern itself was large and had a rug covering a portion of the floor, presumably, thought Khaavren, to hide the bloodstains left by his encounter with Frai. The innkeeper appeared to recognize Khaavren at once, to judge from the expression of unease that crossed his countenance, but the host made no remark.
Darkness was just falling, and those whose work ended with the light were beginning to trickle in. It seemed to Khaavren that this was an odd place for a lady of the House of the Phoenix to request a meeting, but perhaps, if she wished for privacy, just such a place would be best. It was only then that he was struck with the realization that the day’s activities had temporarily driven from his mind—that is, the thought that soon he would be meeting her, Illista, whose voice had already imprinted itself on his mind, whose bright, narrow eyes and delicately molded features swam before his imagination, and if, in his imagination, she looked at him with an endearing expression that she had, in fact, never bestowed upon him in real life, who can fault him for this? It is our prerogative to imagine in one we love all of those gentle feelings that hope can supply, and to continue to do so until harsh reality intervenes with its war-chariots and spears, with its broken assignations and revealed deceptions, crying, “Here I am! You must face me whether you will or nill!” Is there one among you who has never built such imaginary worlds for yourself, even though, like Khaavren as we observe him with his wine and his dreams, his mocking smile and the slow shake of his head, you may chide yourself for your illusions?
For we know that now and then, here and there, it may happen that the dreams become real, and that our love is returned, and the one we love may bestow that very look that we have imagined. And, rare though it may be, it is still that knowledge that allows us to continue to hope, and to bare our breasts to the spears of reality, crying, “Do your worst! I will risk all in order to cling to the barest, thinnest thread of a chance at ultimate bliss!”
It was in such a mood, then, and with such bittersweet thoughts, just as Khaavren was beginning to wonder if Illista would never appear, and if his hopes were to be dashed even as he was beginning to savor them, that his reveries were happily interrupted by a waiter who came to his table and said, “My lord, if you will do me the honor to accompany me to the back room, a lady wishes to speak with you.”
To his credit, Khaavren gave hardly any reaction to this message save a curt nod, though his heart pounded like the hooves of a maddened horse. He rose, finished the last sip of his wine and said, “Very well.” The servant led him to the rear of the inn, through a curtained doorway, through a narrow, well-lit room, to another room, curtained on both sides and lit only by a single candle high on the wall. A small, hooded figure sat at the far end of the long table that, save for a few chairs, was the only furnishing the room offered.
Khaavren frowned. “Illista?” he said hesitantly.
She brought her finger to her lips to indicate silence, then pulled the hood back so he could see her face. “Don’t speak my name so loudly here,” she said.
He rushed to her and knelt at her side. “I will not, but I fear my heart may be heard, for it cries your name aloud with each beat.”
“Oh, come,” she said, blushing. She suddenly seemed younger than she had before. “Sit next to me,” she said. “We must speak.”
“I am eagerly awaiting your every word, for the sound of your voice is sweeter to me than the ringing of the bells of Scansni.”
“Please.”
“I cannot refuse you. I will speak no more of your charm, your grace, your beauty, the shiver that passes through me when I hear your voice, the throb in my breast when your eye meets mine; I will say nothing of these things, but instead I will sit and listen patiently to what you have to tell me. You see? I speak no more, but merely listen.”
And, true his word, he sat quietly, watching her every expression, waiting for her words to fall, like water from the Everlasting Fountain of Prince Westmount, into his waiting ears.
“I have a friend,” she began.
“A friend?” said Khaavren.
“Yes.”
“How? Do you mean a lover?”
“Oh, that you should ask! Haven’t you just promised to listen?”
“Your pardon,” said Khaavren, blushing. “The thought forced its way from my heart to my mouth, never stopping in my brain. You perceive, I always speak my heart; it is a defect, I know.”
“It is,” she said, “a charming defect, it is true, but still a dangerous one.”
“Ah, you think so?”
“I am certain of it.”
“Well, then I will bridle and rein these wild feelings, and listen, only.”
“Well, then I continue.”
“I await your words. You have a friend who is not a lover.”
“Yes. She is in trouble.”
“Well?”
“The Empire has taken an interest in her.”
“An unkind interest?”
“As unkind as possible: they wish to arrest her.”
“Ah! But haven’t you friends at court who could protect her?”
“Indeed, I thought so; I have the ear of the Consort herself.”
“I would nearly think that sufficient.”
“But it is not.”
“How, not?”
“Because her enemies have the ear of the Emperor.”
“That is a problem, yes. Of what crime is your friend accused?”
“She is accused of nothing short of murder, my friend.”
“Good heavens!”
“Ah, you exclaim. Are you horrified?”
“Horrified? No, I am delighted.”
“How, delighted?”
“I am delighted that, just now, you called me your friend.”
“Oh, as to that,” said Illista., blushing. “But what of the crime?”
Khaavren lifted his shoulders and brought them down again, like Aerich. “All murders are not the same. Some are cowardly, such as the killing of Lady Yurrota, that had the court in turmoil for days. Others are merely duels without the formalities such as that recently committed by Lord Porishtev in his killing of Gerand of Kor. Still others, such as the matter of the Baroness Kaluma, are—”
“What name did you say?” cried Illista.
“Baroness Kaluma, who is better known as Kathana—”
“Yes, yes, I know. But how did you come to mention her?”
“Why, surely everyone is acquainted with the matter?” said Khaavren, who had not heard of it two days before.
“And what is your own belief on her crime?”
Khaavren frowned. “Well, it was hardly a duel, and yet it seemed to me perfectly justified.”
“Then you believe she should go free?”
“Oh, I don’t say that.”
“You don’t?”
“Well, it was a killing, after all.”
“Then I am undone!”
“How?”
“You were my last hope.”
“I was? But I no longer am? You speak in riddles.”
/>
“And can you not solve the riddle?”
“The Gods! How can I—? But wait, could it be that your friend’s name is Kathana e’Marish’Chala?”
“Ah! You have guessed it.”
“But then, this changes everything.”
“What has it changed? You perceive that I am most eager to hear your answer.”
“A moment ago, I was considering mounting an expedition to capture her.”
“What, you?”
“Indeed yes. But I no longer hold with this plan.”
“And have you another?”
“I have. Instead of capturing her, I will save her.”
“But, why?”
“Because she is your friend, and you—” Here Khaavren broke off, stammering.
“Yes, I?”
“Oh, I cannot say.”
Now it was Illista’s turn to blush, but she said, “How can you save her? I don’t know where she is.”
“Ah, but I do.”
“You do? How can that be?”
“In the simplest possible way: I have discovered it.”
“But then, where is she?”
“She is at Redface, the home of Adron e’Kieron.”
“What? Are you certain?”
“As certain as if I’d seen her there.”
“And you will save her?”
“I answer for it.”
“But what of those who plan to arrest her?”
“I will foil them.”
“And if they attack you?”
“I will defeat them.”
“There are many of them, and they are powerful.”
“I am not without friends.”
“Can you count on them?”
“Assuredly. But tell me, who are these people who are many and powerful and will attack me?”
“Oh, I cannot tell you that!”
“You cannot?”
“I cannot.”
“But why?”
“It’s not my secret.”
“Whose secret is it?”
“But I cannot tell you that and still keep faith.”
“Ah. Yes, I see that. Well, then, I will simply perform.”
“Then you are resolved to help me?”
“Resolved! Yes, that’s the very word.”
“You are kindness itself!”
“Is it not a gentleman’s duty to be charitable to those in need? And I nearly think you are in need.”