by Steven Brust
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.
Khaavren sighed, wriggled his toes, tossed off half the glass of wine, and leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“A difficult day, my lord?”
Hearing his wife’s voice, he smiled, but didn’t open his eyes. “You know me too well, Countess.”
She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him. “I’ve had dinner held. Do you want to talk about it?” As she spoke, she took one of his feet and began rubbing it.
“We could talk about how adorable you are,” said Khaavren.
“Or about the shoulder-rub I’ll be getting later,” she said, smiling.
“Or about what’s bothering you, if it is something you’re permitted to discuss.”
“No reason why not. Rumors are already circulating, you may as well hear the truth.”
“What is it?”
“Signs the Jenoine are going to attempt a breakthrough.”
“The Gods!”
“Yes. And this time, it isn’t by either sea, it’s right here, just outside the city.”
“They’re going after the Orb?”
“It’s possible.”
The Countess exhaled loudly. “There was an attack only a year ago.”
“Yes, by the Lesser Sea. Sethra Lavode herself dealt with that one, along with Aliera. This looks to be stronger. We don’t know how many there will be.”
“What are you doing?”
“Stationing guards to handle panic in the city and assisting evacuation. There will be a detachment around the Manor.”
“I don’t need more—”
Khaavren opened his eyes. “Countess!”
“My lord, we have twenty good soldiers here at all times. If necessary, I can call up thrice the number again. That is more than sufficient to protect our home against civil disturbance.”
“But—”
“My lord! Just how frail do you imagine I am that you need to weaken the Empire itself just to see to it a glass window isn’t broken? In another minute, I’ll take insult.”
Khaavren sighed. “Very well. It will be as you wish.”
She gently set his foot down, put the other in her lap, and began rubbing it. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’m told I’m very charming when people do what I want.”
“You’re always charming. And that feels wonderful.”
“Hungry?”
“If I say yes, will it make you stop?”
“Fifteen minutes on your feet, then time to clean up. Dinner in an hour. Capons in plum sauce, vinegar beef round with juniper berries and mustard seed.”
“An hour, then. That will do very well.”
The next morning Khaavren rose early, dressed, and called for his horse to be saddled. This was not a day on which he wanted to depend either on Imperial or public transport.
He kissed the Countess, and set off for the palace, his eyes never resting as he watched the faces of the people he passed, and studied how and where they gathered.
Upon arriving, he went first to his office to write out a few supplementary orders, then to the First Antechamber, to have the Empress told that he wished to speak with her at Her Majesty’s convenience.
Her Majesty’s convenience came quickly; he was once more ushered into her breakfast room. This time, she didn’t ask: at a sign from the Empress he was given a glass of klava.
“Good morning, Captain,” said Zerika.
“Good morning, Majesty. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“It is nothing. What have you to report?”
“I’ve made what arrangements I can, and we’ll need them. The city is frightened, Majesty.”
She nodded. “Aliera has agreed to turn the Songbird River Division over to you for the duration.”
Khaavren nodded. “That will help. I think I know the division. The commander is Garsery, e’Terics line.”
“Aliera says they’re stationed just past Oldgate. The lead elements should be here before noon.”
“Good.”
“Now,” said Zerika. “Kosadr was telling me about some new information. Wizard?”
“Your Majesty,” he said. “I have heard rumors of a device, of divine origin, which may have the power to prevent the Jenoine from manifesting.”
“What device?” said Khaavren.
“It is called the silver tiassa, and was supposedly made by Mafenyi.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” said Zerika. There was a pause, and the Orb briefly flickered white and yellow. “Nor has the Orb.”
Khaavren said, “Where did you hear of it? It seems oddly convenient to appear just now.”
“The first thing I did was put out word to anyone who knew anything that might help. I heard of this from a cousin, who said a bard told a story about it. I’m looking for the bard.”
“Have you asked Sethra?” asked the Empress.
“She’ll be arriving later this morning,” said the wizard. “I’ll ask her then. And the Necromancer.”
“Good,” said Zerika.
“Other than that,” said Kosadr, “we are doing well in gathering what weapons we have that may be effective. We have asked the Lord Morrolan to make himself available.”
“Very well, then. Anything else from either of you? Then that is all for now. Stay in touch; do not hesitate to bespeak me directly through the Orb if it seems called for. I’ll do the same.”
Khaavren took a last sip of his klava as he rose; then he saluted the Empress and followed Kosadr out the door.
The day passed in something of a fury; he checked the arrangement of his forces, dispatched some to take up positions, received messages about the state of the city, met with General Garsery and her staff, met with Aliera twice, and seemed never to have a moment to breathe.
In the middle of the afternoon, Khaavren was once more called to meet with Her Majesty, Kosadr, and Aliera, this time in the alcove, as it was called—an intimate area adjoining the throne room. Also present on this occasion was Sethra Lavode—the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain—who openly carried Iceflame at her hip. She gave Khaavren a nod as to an acquaintance, which he gravely returned. He couldn’t help feeling a certain thrill at being acknowledged by Sethra Lavode; but he could at least keep the reaction from showing.
Zerika began with Aliera, who gave a concise report about the divisions now moving toward Adrilankha, when they would arrive, and how useless she expected they would be.
When she had finished, the Empress turned to Khaavren for his report. He explained what he had done, what he had prepared, and what he proposed. When no one had questions or suggestions, Her Majesty expressed her approval.
Kosadr spoke next, describing at length the measures he had taken, the spells prepared, the sorcerers who remained on alert.
“What of the Necromancer?” said Zerika.
“She will be ready to assist,” said Sethra.
“Good. And what of this device, the silver tiassa?”
“I have spoken of it with Sethra Lavode,” said Kosadr. “She has heard of the artifact, but had no knowledge that it had such properties. The Necromancer has never heard of it, but said that such a thing is possible.”
“But,” asked the Empress, “can it be found?”
“Perhaps. There’s a rumor.”
“What sort of rumor?”
“That it is in the possession of a certain Easterner, an Imperial Count named—”
“Szurke,” said the Empress.
“Yes, that’s the name.”
“Vlad Taltos.”
“Yes, Majesty. A Jhereg. We’re attempting to locate him now. It is difficult; he appears not to want to be found.”
“We don’t have a lot of time,” said the Empress. “The question is: Is this the best use of yours?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “If we find it, and it works, it makes everything else unnecessary.”
“What of the gods?”
“I’ve attempted invocations of Barlen, Trout, Verra, and Ordwynac. Nothing.”
“That’s odd; the Orb tells me that they are eager to speak with us when the Jenoine threaten.”
“Yes, Majesty. It is not impossible that the Jenoine have, somehow, interfered with our ability to reach them.”
“All right. See what you can learn. That’s all for now.”
Khaavren threw himself into his work again, forgetting everything else. Eventually, he realized that it was well into the evening, and so he closed up his office, dismissed his staff, and had his horse saddled and brought to the door.
The city was unusually quiet, which puzzled Khaavren
until he recalled that he, himself, had earlier declared a curfew, and put the city under the control of the military. He made the rest of the journey quickly, reflecting that he didn’t much like the city this way: quiet and empty. It seemed somehow eerie, almost threatening. I suppose that’s appropriate, he decided.
He had his horse stabled, and, as usual, handed his cloak to Cyl, this time giving the Teckla a friendly nod. “Where is the Countess?”
“In her sitting room, my lord.”
Khaavren nodded and took himself there, politely clapping outside the door, then entered at her word. She was seated, reading. She looked up and gifted him with a smile. “My lord,” she said. “Another late day, as I had expected. I had Cook prepare a summer stew.”
“You’re adorable, Countess. I’ll eat in a bit; right now I just want to sit down and brush your hair.”
Daro smiled. “Because it relaxes you?”
“Exactly.”
“Then I suppose I’ll permit it.”
He found the rosewood brush she always kept in her sitting room, pulled a chair up behind her, and began to brush.
“A difficult day, my lord?” she said.
“A busy and unpleasant one.”
“I know you’ve closed down the city.”
“Yes. I didn’t care for that.”
“Was there another choice?”
“No.”
“Well then?”
“I know. It’s just—we’ve survived one catastrophe. I fear a second. It is one thing to be on a campaign, to face battle. It is another when our home is threatened.”
“Yes it is, isn’t it? I’d be lying if I said it didn’t frighten me, too.”
Khaavren continued brushing her hair. “Maybe it won’t happen,” he said.
“We can always hope.”
“No, I mean specifically. There’s talk about a device that can prevent them coming through.”
“Really? That would be perfect!”
“Aliera doesn’t think so; she wants to fight them. But I’m with you.”
“What sort of device is it?”
“From the gods. A silver tiassa, of all things. Fills me with House pride, and all.” He chuckled.
“A silver tiassa?”
“So I’m told. They’re looking for it now. It is supposed to be in the possession of an Easterner.”
