“That is he.”
“Very good. Who else?”
“Who else, Fayaavik? Why, the Tiassa whom I had the honor to describe to you but yester-day.”
“Well, and what of the Dragonlord?”
“What, you pretend there was a Dragonlord?”
“Indeed yes. He had no flash-stone, but his sword, I am informed, was tolerably long.”
“I know of no Dragonlord traveling with them.”
“Well, but stop, Excellency. I seem to recall, I was told by what name they called him. It was … yes, it was Yt-something. The last sound was hard, perhaps a ‘g’ or a ‘k’.”
“Uttrik?” cried Lytra.
“That is exactly the name.”
“But that is impossible.”
“Very well.”
“What do you mean, very well?”
“I mean, if it is impossible, then, no doubt, I was misinformed.”
“But Uttrik was to have killed the Tiassa!”
“Perhaps he didn’t.”
“Then the Tiassa was to have killed him.”
“Well, perhaps that also failed.”
“Impossible.”
“Very well.”
“Ah, you say it again.”
“Blood of the Horse, I am consistent, I think.”
“Go, Fayaavik. Leave at once. By the back stairs, if you please.”
“Naturally. But first, here, take this.”
“What is that?”
“It is a purse, Excellency.”
“I see that it is a purse, but what does it contain?”
“Barlen! It contains good Imperials, I think.”
“For what purpose do you give me money, Fayaavik?”
“Well, didn’t you give me money? And a good amount of it, too? Well, I have failed in my commission, hence I return the money.”
“Bah! You were paid for the attempt. Keep it.”
“I beg to differ with your ladyship, but only employees are paid to make attempts.”
“And are you not an employee, insofar as I hired you?”
“Perhaps I was, but now I am not, for I return the money.”
“Yet, I insist—”
“No, Excellency, I insist. I do not wear your livery; nor shall I. Should you wish for another attempt, you may so state, and I will then happily take your money again. Until that time, I will not have it, for unearned gold is a chain that I will not wear.”
“If you will have it so, Fayaavik.”
“I will. Good day, Excellency.”
“Good day, Fayaavik.”
The Jhereg left, as he had promised, by the back staircase. As the sound of his footsteps faded, someone else appeared in the room—the Athyra whom we have met and whom we called Seodra, which we will continue to call her because that is how Lytra referred to her, and, moreover, because that was her name.
“The Jhereg failed, then, Excellency.”
“So it would seem, good Seodra.”
“Amusing.”
“Not so. We have been checked. We cannot allow them to arrest Kaluma; we must keep her safe so that we can destroy her at the exact moment our plan requires that we do so.”
“Then we must find another way to stop them.”
“That is clear, Seodra.”
“We know, at least, whither they are bound.”
“We know this?”
“I have been informed.”
“That is good.”
“You must call your Jhereg friend back to you.”
“How so?”
“We have another task for him.”
“That being?”
Seodra dropped her voice, as if afraid that the walls might hide spies, or, at any rate, historians; and this maneuver must have been successful, for we are unable to report what was exchanged between them for the next several moments. We can report that Lytra listened, and, after listening, nodded, and after nodding said, in a somewhat louder tone, “Yes, Seodra, you are right.”
“Well, then?”
“I will have Fayaavik return to-morrow, and I will give him the instructions you have suggested.”
“That would be best. I will consider what further steps must be taken.”
“Very well. Good night. And please leave by the back stairs.”
“Don’t I always, Excellency?” she said, and, bowing ironically, she departed in the footsteps of the Jhereg before her.
Chapter the Twenty-first
In Which it is Shown That Nothing,
Even Those Words That His Imperial Majesty Deigns
to Let Fall Upon the Ears Of His Discreet,
Are Safe From the Attentions Of the Historian
IT IS NOW NECESSARY, WITH our readers’ kind indulgence, to direct our attention toward someone who, though we have perhaps neglected him, in no wise deserves neglect, because of his role in history in general and our history in particular: that is, the Emperor Tortaalik I.
Now, at this time, that is, the beginning of the Eighteenth Cycle, Tortaalik was still a young man, with the fine fair hair of his House above eyes of which the sharpest critic could have asked that they be only a little rounder, and perhaps a shade less pale. His nose was small and straight, the nostrils having a tendency to flare when he was angry. His skin, of which he took great care, was of an agreeable bronze color and as smooth as a maiden’s. His character in the early part of his reign was marked by the wild impetuosities of youth, tempered by the careful training he had received by his chief tutor, Master Yon, by whom he had been inculcated with a strict sense of responsibility. It was, in fact, the constant battle between these two tendencies—the excited young man who wanted nothing more than to be an Emperor who would be remembered by history, and the responsible gentleman who feared the excesses demanded by his own character—it was the battle between these factors, we say, that was the particular mark of his administration.
The result of this conflict was, just at this time, to find the court in turmoil. That is, the several counselors of the Emperor (those to whom he looked for guidance) were always embroiled with his several favorites (those to whom he looked for amusement). The reign, which had begun so auspiciously with the successful defeat of the Carriage House Uprising, to which we have previously had the honor to refer, began to slide into the mire of court politics, where those who had to make decisions were always afraid that the favorites would, for their own reasons, influence His Majesty against their policy, and the favorites were afraid that the intendants and ministers would, through judicious hard work, replace them in the heart of the Emperor.
One result, we have already seen: Lanmarea was given the task of arresting Kathana e’Marish’Chala for a murder that scandalized Imperial society, when in fact Lanmarea was, by virtue of being Kathana’s friend, less suited to the task than another might have been. A more important decision, that is, which line of the House of the Dragon would assume command of the Pepperfield garrison, had been delayed again and again by Tortaalik, who was swayed this way and that by the words of his Consort, his favorites, and his advisors, some of whom had the interests of the Empire at heart, others of whom wished to aid friends or accomplices.
Now, any such situation is unstable; something must either break or hold that will result in a new order, a new balance, a new stability. In this case, the crises occurred while our friends were about midway on their journey to Redface.
As we look upon the Emperor, he takes his ease in the Seven Room (so named for its peculiar form in that it had seven walls), which was snug, comfortable, and perfectly suited to intimate conversations. Here we may also observe another individual of whom history does not tell us as much as, in fact, he deserves: that being His Discretion the Duke of Wellborn, Discreet of the Imperial family. Wellborn was of the House of the Athyra, but had no desire to determine the nature of our world, or, still less, to change it. His interest had always been the secrets and desires that lie within the hearts of men, which interest had led him, as a youth, to th
e difficult and tedious apprenticeship of the Mysteries of Confidence. While undertaking these studies, he had discovered the works of A’jo, he who had held the Confidence of Zerik II who plotted the ruin of A’jo’s family, and Confided this in A’jo, who gave him solace but never betrayed him to the Dragonlords, who wanted nothing more than a pretext to take the Orb, and who also Confided in A’jo.
To the young man, this seemed such a fine and noble act that he became thoroughly enamored of the art, and began to study it for its own sake, with the single-mindedness of which only an Athyra is capable, until by his six hundredth year he had earned the post of Imperial Discreet, which he still held a hundred and fifty years later, when Tortaalik took the throne and maintained this embodiment of trustworthiness in his old position.
Physically, we know he was sturdier than is usual for an Athyra, and that his blue-grey eyes were sharp and stood out against his dark complexion. His size, we are told, somehow inspired trust as much as his manner; as if because of his strength he would be able to bear the burden of the heaviest conscience.
And who, we must ask, will ever have a heavier conscience than the Emperor, who must make decisions every day that, while they please many, also cast many down into ruin, despair, and death? And there is, moreover, the Orb, which never lets him forget what he has done, and why. The answer is: no one, unless, perhaps, the Discreet, who willingly takes onto himself these poniards of self-loathing which would otherwise be so great that the Emperor would soon be unable to act at all, or, if he could, like Vengli the Vicious, he would make such an Emperor that he would be remembered only for the horror of his reign.
When Tortaalik entered the room, the Orb circling his head emitting a worried tan color, the Duke was already there, though he had been waiting only a moment; for Tortaalik is renowned as one of the more punctual Emperors ever produced by the House of the Phoenix. His Majesty closed the door behind him, as the Duke rose and bowed deeply. Then, while His Majesty took a seat, his Discretion took up from next to him his wand of office, and swept it with slow precision about the room, including every corner, the floor, and the ceilings. This being done, he placed it in its holder in the center of the room, with the glass tip pointing to the heavens, and the copper bottom resting gently on the floor.
When all of these complex operations were completed, he sat facing the Emperor and said, “There are none listening to us, Your Majesty.”
“Very well,” said the Emperor, who took a breath, closed his eyes, and intoned, “My conscience stabs me, Your Discretion.”
“I will bind the wounds, Sire.”
These statements duly made, Tortaalik settled back in his chair and steepled his long, perfectly manicured fingers (which, at this point in history, he had never yet painted, save for a clear gloss). He said, “My friend, I am truly troubled.”
“I am glad, Sire; for that proves that you do have a conscience, and, moreover, it allows me to be of service to you.”
“Yes, Wellborn, I stand in need of comforting.”
“If Your Majesty will tell me why, I will do what I can.”
“I have spoken harshly with my wife.”
“With the Consort? Upon what occasion, Sire?”
“Upon an occasion that I do not think, in fact, she was at fault.”
“Go on, Sire; I am listening intently.”
“This morning, as I came in to break my fast with her, she was in deep conversation with that Lyorn, Shaltre.”
“And was that wrong of her?”
“He started when I entered, as if he had not wished to be seen there.”
“Well, and she?”
“She smiled and wished me a pleasant morning.”
“And what did you say?”
“I smiled at them, and wished them both a pleasant morning in turn, and inquired as to the subject of the conversation, that I might join it if it should prove to be one in which I had an interest.”
“And you were told?”
“Why, I was told that they were only bidding each other good morning, and that the Count, that is, Shaltre, had come to breakfast to see me, that he might beg an audience to-day on some matters of importance—probably a means of gaining the territory of Sandyhome.”
“Well? And you said?”
“I said I was indisposed to-day; that he could apply again to-morrow.”
“But, is there something wrong in all of this?”
“I fear there is, Your Discretion. I was not indisposed, rather, I was in a bad temper at seeing them together, and therefore did not wish to grant Shaltre anything.”
“You made, then, a decision on a caprice, is that your worry?”
“That is it exactly.”
“Well, Sire, I think that, if your anger could not be placated in any other way, then merely postponing an audience by a day was not so bad. Did the Count pretend this interview was in some way urgent?”
“No, he did not.”
“Then I feel you have not done wrongly.”
“I am glad you think so.”
“You are, nevertheless, Sire, worried about the attention Shaltre pays to your consort?”
“I am not worried; I am annoyed.”
“Well, but then, it would seem she had done nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No, but he had.”
“Yet, Sire, why should your anger be directed at her?”
“Well, listen to this.”
“I am listening, Sire.”
“In the afternoon, after conferring with Lytra and Windhome on the state of the uprising in the western duchies—”
“Your pardon, Sire, but I thought the uprising had been put down.”
“Well, it has, but there are still garrisons there, and there has been a certain amount of damage done, and it is necessary to make the ore begin to flow once more; hence, we conferred.”
“I understand now, Sire.”
“Then I continue. After this conference, the thought came to me that it would be pleasant to take an hour in the Lower Baths. You are familiar with these, are you not, Duke?”
“I am, Sire; they are natural alkaline baths, where hot water flows from the mouths of marble statues built in the likenesses of a Phoenix, a Dragon, a Dzur, and a Lyorn.”
“Yes, that is it exactly. Then you know as well the Bath of Renewal?”
“I do, Sire, and here is the proof: it is in an alcove that is set off from the rest of the baths, and it is surrounded by ferns, where the water is even hotter, the alkali stronger, and the springs flow from directly beneath the bath.”
“Well, that is where I went. I will now tell you what I discovered.”
“I am anxious for Your Majesty to do so.”
“I discovered Noima, that is, the Consort, in the bath, alone with—”
“With Shaltre?”
“No, Wellborn, with a certain Phoenix, whose name is Allistar, the Duke of Threewalls, and who is, moreover, my cousin.”
“Ah. And what was his reaction when you appeared, Your Majesty?”
“Duke, he seemed positively guilty, or I am no judge of men.”
“Well, and she?”
“She was innocence itself, and pretended pleasure in seeing me.”
“Well, Sire, and what did you do?”
“I sent him away, Duke, with the instructions that he ought not to return to the Palace until to-morrow.”
“You banished him, then?”
“I did.”
“But only for a day?”
“Exactly.”
“But then, Sire, once more—”
“I am not yet done, Duke.”
“Very well.”
“This evening, just as I was repairing to my chambers to put on my evening dress, I thought to visit Her Majesty to ask if she wished to dine with me.”
“And then, Sire?”
“There, in her very room, was the Dragon Heir, Adron e’Kieron, who seemed deep in discussion with her. The Heir, mark you, who I did not know had come to th
e city, and yet he involved himself with Her Majesty without so much as informing me of his presence.”
“Were they alone?”
“Except for her maids of honor, entirely.”
“Well, did he also appear guilty?”
“If not guilty, then startled.”
“And she, Your Majesty?”
“A little surprised, that is all.”
“Well, and what did you do?”
“I had become vexed, Duke, and my temper took control.”
“You know, Sire, that is never good.”
“It is less so than ever in this case.”
“Well, what did you do?”
“I asked the Prince what his business might be in the city.”
“And what answer did he make, Sire?”
“He said his visit was occasioned by the length of time that had passed since he had seen the city, and that he missed it, and wished to spend some little time here, and, moreover, he wished to report to me a worrisome build-up of Easterners near the Pepperfields.”
“Well, that does not seem to be much of an answer, Your Majesty.”
“I’m glad you think so, Wellborn, because I, well, I had the same thought.”
“And what did you do then?”
“I informed His Highness that it was wrong of him to neglect his estates at this time; that he was very close to Pepperfield, which stood in danger of invasion, and that I counted on him to keep his own lands secure.”
“What? You sent him away?”
“I confess it, Your Discretion. Did I do wrong?”
“Yes and no, Your Majesty.”
“How, yes and no?”
“It may be that sending someone away was the right thing to do, but perhaps you have ill-chosen the culprit.”
“What? Surely you do not propose that I send away Her Majesty the Consort?”
“No, I do not.”
“Well then, who?”
“Will Your Majesty permit me to put to him a question?”
“Your Discretion may ask me nine.”
“Very well. Tell me, Sire, if this is a new problem; that is, one which has only to-day begun to prey upon your thoughts.”