“Oh, you are so good to me.”
“No, it is you who are good to me, for you have allowed me the privilege of helping you. And furthermore—”
“Yes? Furthermore?”
“You are about to allow me to kiss your hand.”
“Oh.” Illista looked away and blushed.
“Well?”
She said nothing but extended her hand to Khaavren, who reverently placed his lips upon. “Ah!” he cried, “And now, I must leave at once to go about this errand, lest I grow so overcome with emotion that I am unable to move from this spot.”
“Yes,” she said. “Go. And I—”
“Well, and you?”
“I will await your word.”
“You will not need to wait long,” he said, and sprang through the door, only to stop just past the threshold and return.
“Your pardon,” he said.
“Well?” she said.
“If I am to get word to you, how shall I find you?”
“Oh. In the easiest possible way. You shall ask after the Marchioness of the Twicetied Hills, in the House of the Phoenix.”
“I will not fail to do so,” he said, bowed low to her, and sprinted through the door, through the inn, and out into the evening air.
Chapter the Fifteenth
In Which Khaavren Receives a Warning
And Aerich tells a story
KHAAVREN’S FEET SEEMED TO HIM, insofar as he concerned himself with their activities, to have developed their own brain, complete with memory and will, as they transported him through the narrow, curving streets, and up the gentle slopes toward his home. Khaavren himself, as we have already had the honor to imply, was mostly unaware of their activity, as he had things of more moment with which to concern himself; to wit, the brush of soft fingers against his, the touch of his lips against a hand, and the contact, fleeting, but no less powerful for that, of his eyes with those associated with the fingers and hand to which we have just referred.
It remains true, however, that an inconveniently placed railing or sharp corner will not remove itself from the path of a drunkard, even if that drunkard is unaware of the obstacles on the path he has set for himself; in other words, no matter to what degree we are oblivious to the world, it makes its own choices as to how oblivious it will be to us. Khaavren discovered this fundamental truth of human existence when, as he carried himself rapidly through the streets of the Palace District of Dragaera City, or, more specifically, as he went breezing by a certain narrow gap between a tinsmith’s shop and a belt-maker’s, his flight was suddenly arrested by a pair of rough but very strong hands which landed upon his collar and abruptly yanked him into the narrow gap we have already had the honor to mention. Furthermore, before he could recover himself, he found that there was a heavy and rather sharp blade of some sort pressing against the back of his neck in a manner indicating that his spine could be severed with the greatest of ease.
Khaavren gasped—the combination of his reckless run and its sudden stop having left him temporarily out of breath—and saw a figure before him in a dark grey hood. The figure was slightly shorter than he was, and moreover had its head bowed a little so that Khaavren could not discover its face beneath the hood. Whoever was behind him seemed to be large and was unquestionably strong.
The figure Khaavren could see, the one in the hood, spoke in a whisper that Khaavren could barely hear over his own gasping. It said, “Sir Khaavren, you perceive that, although we have you at our mercy, we do not kill you. We have not been sent to kill you, but rather to speak with you. Yet rest assured that if the results of our conversation prove unsatisfactory, as evidenced by your future action, we will be forced to take your life at that time. Do you understand?”
The pause after the question was Khaavren’s first chance to regain his equilibrium, and it took a moment for the events of the last few seconds to assemble themselves in his mind. By the time they had done so, and he was beginning to consider what sort of reply he ought to make, the individual in front of him had begun speaking again. “You have chosen to look for a certain person—you know who I mean, do you not?”
“That is,” began Khaavren. “I assure you—”
“Do not trifle with me, young man. You know of whom I an speaking.”
“Well, and if I do?”
“You must stop. There are deep matters here, and you are likely to drown in them. I am, you perceive, doing you a service when I tell you that you must stay away from these intrigues; you ought to thank me. It is for the best if you listen. Is it clear to you what I am talking about?”
“It is clear,” said Khaavren. “It is also clear that you are no gentlemen.”
“Well, that is true,” said the other, “but I think you will be as dead if killed by me as if you were killed by a gentleman.”
Khaavren saw the extreme justice of this observation. It came to his mind to tell them that he did not place such value on his life that he would allow strangers to dictate his actions, but it seemed likely that if he expressed this thought they would kill him, which would allow him no chance to pursue any course of actions at all and would, moreover, give him no chance to punish these men who had laid such rough hands upon him, so he merely said, “I admit the truth of what you say.”
“That is good,” whispered the figure in front of him, and made a sign to whoever stood behind Khaavren, of whom the Tiassa had had not a glimpse. For a moment the knife at his neck loosened, and Khaavren was considering how to twist away from the grip when something dealt him such a blow on the back of the head that he at once fell senseless to the street.
He awoke, some time later, to several sensations, including that strange disorientation which comes upon waking up in a place other than one’s bed, and the discomfort of sleeping in an unusual position, and the chill of the evening breeze, now that dusk was beginning to draw its curtain over the city. Yet what he noticed most of all was the throbbing pain in his head, and it was in attempting to determine its cause that the events of his last few conscious moments began to come back to him.
His first thought, even as this occurred, was to wonder if he’d been robbed while lying there helpless, but, perhaps because this part of the city was better patrolled than many, perhaps for fear that he might awaken suddenly and use the longsword that lay on his hip, perhaps because he was somewhat hidden, or perhaps because of a combination of reasons, his possessions and his meager purse were safe.
As his memory began to clear, and he remembered the events which had led him to that place and time, he looked around to see if his attackers were still there. “Well,” he said to himself, “I perceive they are gone. They are cowards, but at least they are not murderous ones. But stay, how could they have come to learn that I am in pursuit of Kaluma? Could someone be spying on me? Or is there some dark sorcery at work here? Surely, this will take more consideration than I can give here and now; I must return home, traveling with more care than I did when last I was headed that way. Will my legs bear my weight? Why should they not? It was my head, not my legs that suffered the attack. Well, let us see. Ah! They obey my commands. Excellent! Homeward, then, legs, but not so fast that my eyes and ears cannot exercise all the caution that circumstances warrant.”
He arrived home without further incident, although whether we may attribute this to his caution we cannot know. Upon arriving, he found that Pel and Aerich were anxiously awaiting him. Tazendra, who was snoring softly in the corner, woke as he shut the door, blinked blearily and tossed her head. “Ah. I was correct,” she said. “Here is our missing friend, none the worse for having missed our company this evening. Am I not correct, good Khaavren?”
“Well,” said Khaavren, as he sat in his favorite chair and took a deep breath, “I seem to be healthy in all my parts, excepting only the headache, yet if, as I perceive, some of you were worried about me, then I can say that it was not without reason.”
At this cool announcement, Aerich’s brows came together, Pel leaned f
orward, and Tazendra stared. “Well?” said the Yendi after a moment.
“Since I left this morning,” said Khaavren, “I have learned where the Baroness Kaluma is hiding, been asked to help her, warned to stay away from her, and attacked in an alley. That, I must beg you to understand, includes only part of the day’s activities; the rest being of a nature that I do not care to share with you at this time.” At this last statement, Tazendra smiled knowingly, while Aerich looked sad.
Pel said, “A busy day, indeed. I hardly know where to begin asking questions.”
“You might ask what our intentions are toward the Baroness Kaluma,” said Khaavren.
“Well then,” said Pel with a smile, “I ask.”
“And I answer thus: I no longer know.”
“How? You don’t know?” cried Tazendra.
“It has become confused,” said Khaavren.
“I am not good with confusion,” explained Tazendra.
It was at this point that Srahi entered the room, dressed in her faded and tattered housecoat but looking quite wide awake. “So,” she said to the room at large. “He has returned. But little damaged, I trust, master? You were, no doubt, at an inn? Or having some secret tryst with a lover? Or being chased all around the city by brigands? Well, you’re home now, not caring about the hour, and no doubt will want tea with sweet wine. Very well, very well, I’m on my way to the kitchen. But mark my words: you will not be young forever, and someday you will come to regret having wasted your youth—”
“Srahi,” said Khaavren, “if you will be so kind as to bring me a damp cloth to put on my head, well, I will appreciate you the more for it. And, if you will do so silently, well, I will consider myself deeply in your debt.”
She left the room still muttering to herself. “The gods,” said Aerich under his breath. “I nearly think she guessed the entire tale.”
“Perhaps,” said Tazendra, “we should ask her how to proceed.”
“Then again,” reflected Pel, “perhaps not.”
Srahi returned with the cloth, which Khaavren placed about his head, and to her credit, she said nothing more.
“Tell us, good Khaavren,” said Aerich when the servant had left, “why you are concerning yourself about our intentions toward the Baroness.”
“Well, in the first place, I have been asked to protect her.”
“By whom?” said Pel.
“A certain lady of the House of the Phoenix whom some of us have met.”
“Ah,” said Aerich.
“My dear Khaavren,” said Tazendra, frowning. “Are you well? Your face has become quite red.”
“Hush,” said Pel.
“That is—” began Tazendra.
“I agree this is a view from another side,” said Aerich.
“And there is more,” said Khaavren.
“Well?” said Aerich.
“Well, as I was returning home, I was attacked.”
“Blood of the Phoenix!” said Tazendra. “By whom?”
“That I cannot say. It was a treacherous attack, from an alley, and there were two of them. They held a knife at my neck and warned me not to become involved in the matter of Baroness Kaluma.”
“Indeed,” said Aerich.
“But, which side were they on?” said Pel.
Khaavren shook his head, then winced from the effect this had on the injured area. “They said nothing which would tell me. Furthermore, the one I could see was cowled the entire time, so I couldn’t see his face.”
“That’s too bad,” said Tazendra. “For it seems clear that we ought to oppose them, and that is difficult to do if we don’t know who they are or what they want.”
“No doubt they were merely ruffians hired for the purpose,” said Pel. “Orca, no doubt, or perhaps even Jhereg.”
“I am not entirely certain that we should oppose them,” said Aerich slowly.
“How?” said Tazendra, amazed, and Pel frowned at the same time, and even Khaavren felt some surprise that the Lyorn seemed to be willing to let them be frightened off.
“It is all very well to say, ‘Come, let us not be afraid of anyone low enough to employ Orca or Jhereg to do their fighting for them.’ But consider: they could have killed Khaavren had they chosen. Can we stay on our guard all the time? Do we have the littlest idea of the forces which are arranging themselves against us?”
The others started to speak, but at that moment Srahi returned with a pot of strong tea which had been fortified with wine. After serving them, she started to sit down with them, then, looking at their faces, gave a snort and left the room instead. At this point, before anyone could speak, Aerich gestured for silence.
“Let me tell you a story,” he said.
“Ah,” said Tazendra. “I should like to hear a story.”
“Well then, here it is. Once there was a young man of the House of the Lyorn. He was raised in a proud family, and brought up in all the ways he ought to have been. That is, he was taught history, poetics, philosophy, sorcery, swordsmanship, penmanship, and the thousand other things necessary for one who is to rule over the lands and vassals he will someday inherit—for he was the eldest child, in fact, the only child of this family.”
He paused to sip his tea. Khaavren thought he detected an odd tremor in the Lyorn’s hand. He said, “Pray continue, good Aerich. You perceive we are all listening most adamantly.”
“Well, it so happened that at just about the time this gentleman reached the age of eighty—that is, well before, by the custom of his House, he was considered to have reached maturity—his father became involved in court politics. To be precise, he was called in by His Majesty, Cherova, for advice on settling matters with the King of Elde Island, whose name, I regret to say, escapes me.”
“I think it is not important,” said Khaavren. “Please continue.”
“Yes. Well, a certain individual, also of the House of the Lyorn, had, until that time, been advising His Late Majesty on the subject, but m—, that is to say, the young man’s father proved more able to conduct negotiations.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, “it would seem that this would be all to the good.”
“So it would seem, good Khaavren. Yet there times when it is dangerous to succeed where another fails.”
“Ah. There was jealousy?”
“You have it exactly,” said Aerich. “And not only jealousy, but the power to act on it. The discredited advisor was not above using subterfuge and hiring known thieves. It began to appear as if the successful advisor were unscrupulous. The evidence mounted until, driven to distraction, the gentleman began to fight back in ways he would never have thought himself capable of using. Of course, this was discovered, and, in less time than one would have thought possible, the successful advisor became the discredited one, and, furthermore, all of his lands were taken and he died a broken, penniless man, leaving his son trained to rule a fief that was no longer in the family.”
Khaavren studied his friend for some moments, then said, “And the unscrupulous advisor, could his name, perhaps, have been Shaltre?”
Aerich stared at him coldly. “I have no idea to what you could be referring. I was telling a story, to illustrate a point.”
“And the point, good Aerich?”
“The point is that it is sometimes dangerous to meddle with those who have fewer scruples than you do; you may lose more than your life. You may lose a stake you didn’t know you had set onto the board.”
“And yet, good Aerich, was the Lyorn wrong to have done what he could for the Empire?”
“Ah, as to that, I do not say. I merely bring up a matter for you to consider before you dive headlong into danger of an unknown sort, from an unknown quarter. We have no worry for our lives, after all; they have belonged to the Empire from the moment we took our oaths. But what are we prepared to risk, my friends? Surely this deserves some consideration.”
As he spoke, Khaavren felt a sudden chill, as if, in the winter, a window had been left open and cold air, un
mistakable in feeling yet indefinite in source, had touched the back of his neck and sent its tendrils down his spine. He sent a glance at Pel, who was frowning and staring at the floor.
Tazendra, however, said, “But consider that, if we do nothing, we are giving in to fear of the worst sort—the fear of unknown dangers. We may scorn a man who runs from a battle he cannot win; how much more should we scorn a man who runs from a place where he thinks there might be a battle that perhaps he cannot win?”
Khaavren stirred. “I think our friend the Dzur has the right on this, good Aerich.”
The Lyorn sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid I agree. And you, good Pel?”
The Yendi made a dismissing gesture with a wave of his hand. “We are young, we are brave, and we are four together. If we let fear direct us now, what will we do when we have lived a millennium or two, and know the full measure of terror? We will be afraid to throw a stick in a river, lest we be splashed by water that has somehow been poisoned. I agree with Tazendra.”
Aerich sighed. “Yes, my wise friend, I don’t dispute you. Well then, if we must, let us be about it. How shall we begin?”
“Ashes!” said Tazendra. “We must first decide if, when we find this artist, or killer, we are to arrest her or prevent her arrest.”
“Not at all,” said Pel.
“Well?” said Tazendra.
“It seems we must find her first. Then we can decide what to do with her. You say, Khaavren, that you know where she is?”
“It is likely,” said Khaavren.
“Then we must go there.”
“And yet, it is not easy to get a leave of absence from our duties.”
“Is it not?” said Pel, with a smile. “Did I not say that I would attend to it?”
“Indeed you did,” said Khaavren. “Have you, then, done so?”
“After a fashion.”
“After what fashion?”
“Why, I have procured for us a mission which will require us to be gone for an unspecified length of time.”