Five Hundred Years After

by Steven Brust

  On this occasion, there were three conspirators present, these being Greycat, Laral, and Dunaan. They sat in the same back room, and spoke quietly.

  Laral said, "I have learned something of interest."

  "Well?" said Greycat.

  "You recall that His Highness, the Duke of Eastmanswatch, did not appear for his two appointments—that is, his appointment with the public, and his appointment with me—at the Pavilion of Kieron."

  "I remember very well," said Greycat. "Do you now know the reason?"

  "I do indeed," said Laral. "And, if you wish, I will tell you."

  "That is exactly what I wish," said Greycat. "Why did he not appear?"

  "Because he was warned," she said.

  Dunaan seemed surprised, and looked an inquiry at her.

  "Warned?" said Greycat.

  "Exactly."

  "By whom?"

  "I don't know yet."

  Greycat frowned. "If someone has learned that an attempt was to be made on his life, we may all be in danger."

  Laral nodded.

  "We must find out how he came to be warned."

  "I will attempt to do so."

  "Very well."

  Dunaan said, "I am pleased to report, at any rate, that Countess Bellor has taken up residence in the Imperial prisons, and His Majesty is, at present, without a Superintendent of Finance."

  "Excellent," said Greycat.

  "What was your method?" said Laral.

  "I have friends in the Academy of Discretion," said Dunaan.

  Laral nodded.

  "For my part," said Greycat, "the riot went off as planned, although it was ended sooner than I had hoped. Still, it accomplished what it was intended to accomplish."

  "Which was?" said Dunaan.

  Greycat shook his head but didn't answer. He then turned to Laral and said, "Now I must ask you a question."

  "Very well, ask."

  "Knowing that you had not succeeded in removing Eastmanswatch, did you then attempt to remove him in a different way?"

  Laral frowned. "Speak more plainly," she said. "For you perceive that I don't understand your question."

  "An effort was made to discredit His Highness, through his daughter, Aliera. This is not what I wish. It would be better if—"

  "That was no doing of mine," said Laral.

  Greycat sighed. "I was afraid you would tell me that. It means there are other players in the game."

  "Does that startle you?" said Dunaan, smiling a little.

  "Just what is the game?" said Laral.

  Greycat hesitated, then shrugged. "I am attempting to gain a position at court," he said, "as well as a certain measure of revenge, although that is secondary." He smiled slightly. "You two will not, I take it, object to having an influential friend at court?"

  The two Jhereg matched his smile and saw no need to otherwise answer the question.

  "How do you hope to accomplish this objective?" said Dunaan.

  "By creating a crisis which I will be able to solve."

  "A good plan," said Laral. "If it can be done."

  "In spite of certain setbacks," said Greycat, "it is progressing satisfactorily."

  Dunaan shrugged. "What needs to be done now?"

  Greycat considered. "We must not make another attempt on the life of His Highness. If he suspects, then it will be too dangerous."

  Laral started to object, but Greycat held up his hand. "No, we must concentrate on other things. If all goes well, there will be ways to make certain he is put out of the way."

  "Does the same apply to the Tiassa?" said Laral.

  "No," said Greycat. As he spoke, there was a certain narrowing of his eyes and curling of his lip that suggested that, to Greycat, Khaavren was more than an impediment to his schemes.

  "Well?" said Dunaan.

  "No," said Greycat, answering the Jhereg's implied question. "Laral will take care of the problem, since we are going to leave His Highness alone."

  "I will do so," said Laral in a tone of finality that spoke nothing good about Khaavren's future.

  "And I?" said Dunaan. "Toward what task ought I to set myself? For I assume you have something in mind for me."

  "I do," said Greycat. "You are to find me an assassin."

  The Jhereg frowned, then looked significantly, first at Laral, then down at his hands; then he sent Greycat a look of inquiry.

  Greycat smiled and shook his head. "An expendable assassin."

  "Ah."

  "One who is skilled, and who will follow orders, and who is either stupid or naive."

  "How," said Laral. "A stupid assassin? A naive assassin? It is unlikely."

  "I am forced to agree," said Dunaan.

  "Are you certain? Is there no one you can find who is skilled, yet not wise in the ways of deceit?"

  Dunaan said, "Then you plan—?"

  "Let us not discuss it."

  "I see."

  "Can you find one?"

  He thought for a moment, then abruptly nodded. "I believe so."

  "Good. Then there is no more to say."

  "On the contrary," said Laral. "There is, indeed, more to say."

  Greycat questioned her with a look.

  "The riot."

  "Yes, what of the riot?"

  "Exactly what was that intended to accomplish?"

  "That is my affair," said Greycat.

  "No, it is now all of our affair, for, not only have you revealed much of your plan, but you must perceive that Dunaan and I are now far too involved to escape any repercussions of this plan should it fail."

  Greycat looked at Dunaan, who, notwithstanding his apparent dislike of Laral, said, "I am forced to agree. I, too, wish to know, and you ought to tell us."

  Greycat shrugged. "Very well," he said. "It was intended to make the court fearful of the people, and to heighten to the crisis."

  Laral nodded. "Are you aware that it did more than that?"

  "To what do you refer?"

  "You may have convinced the court that it was a genuine riot, or you may not. But you have certainly convinced the people. There are whispers of revolt in the streets."

  "Let them whisper," said Greycat. "Let them, in fact, shout if they choose. They are rabble, which you know as well as I. What can they do?"

  "They can send the Empire up in flames if you aren't careful," said Laral. "Then where will you be?"

  Greycat smiled in a way that only he could smile—a peculiar, feral expression. He said, "I will then be exactly where I wish to be. For, because I create the unrest, I can quell it the same way."

  Laral watched him for a moment, then said, "For your sake, as well as for ours, I hope so."

  Dunaan nodded, silently echoing her sentiments.

  Greycat shrugged. "Let us review, then."

  "For my part," said Laral, "I am to kill the Tiassa, Khaavren, and also to learn how Prince Adron was warned about the attempt, and, furthermore, how much the Prince knows, and how much is known by whomever warned him."

  "That is it," said Greycat.

  Dunaan said, "I am to arrange for you to meet an assassin who is either foolish or naive, but who is, nevertheless, a skilled assassin."

  "Precisely," said Greycat.

  "Then," said Laral, "there is now no more to be said; I will be about my business."

  "As will I," said Dunaan.

  Greycat nodded, but did not otherwise move as they departed the room and the cabaret.

  When they had gone, Grita, her dzur-like eyes narrowed and her hair sleeked back like a veritable tsalmoth, emerged once more from the shadows. "Well?" she said.

  "Well?" said Greycat.

  "I think the lady from the Jhereg speaks with more wisdom than you. I, too, wonder if you can put out the fire you are so willing to start."

  "You are not privy to all of my plans, nor to all of my secrets," said Greycat.

  "Enough of them," said Grita, catching his eye.

  Greycat turned away.

  "Have you a t
ask to assign me?" she said after a moment.

  Her tone, we should add, contained a certain amount of irony, as if she thought it amusing that he should give her instructions.

  He either didn't notice or chose to ignore the tone, simply saying, "Yes."

  "Well?"

  "Make your way into Adron's encampment, however you can, and—"

  "However I can?"

  "That is correct."

  She laughed humorlessly. "You know, I take it, what you are implying I should do?"

  Though still facing the wall, he blanched, as if he could not bear the look she gave him, even though he could not see the expression on her face. "I imply nothing," he said.

  "Hypocrite."

  He turned back to her suddenly. "You—you of all people will not address me in such terms. You know better than anyone what I am doing and why. And don't forget what you stand to gain from this. As for your scruples—if you have any—they are your concern. You are welcome now, or at any time, to back out of the entire affair. But until you do, and as long as you ask me how you can be useful, I will tell you. The details are hardly my concern."

  She laughed, but did not otherwise answer him. "And once I have entered His Highness's encampment, what then?"

  "Then you will stay with him, as close as you can, watching everything he does. Do nothing for the moment, but be prepared for anything."

  "And yet, you are aware that my talents are best employed in the city, among those you call rabble?"

  "I know," he said.

  "Without me, how will you control this rabble, and set them off when and how you wish?"

  "I have made arrangements."

  "Ah! So I am no longer needed. Is that what you tell me?"

  "As I said before, you do not know all my secrets, nor are you privy to all my plans."

  Grita made him an elaborate courtesy. "Very well. I will go to join a host of Dragonlords."

  "Good."

  "Until later, then—Greycat." She laughed as she pronounced this name, as if she thought it funny; if so, she was surely the only citizen of the Underside who thought so. When he did not respond to her baiting, she turned without another word and walked out of the room, leaving Greycat alone with his thoughts, where we will also leave him, but only after, with the reader's permission, saying two words about Greycat as he appears on these pages.

  We have endeavored to remain true to history regarding both the appearance, character, and intentions of this fascinating if distasteful figure. We are not unaware that there may appear to be a certain mystery about him—in fact, we should go so far as to say that if there is no mystery about him, we have failed in our duty as historian. Yet it has come to our attention that some readers may wonder if the historian is, as it were, playing games—and that Greycat may, in fact, be the alias for an entirely different person—Jurabin, for example, or even Pel.

  This is a point on which we must insist: We are endeavoring to relate historical fact, and, in the course of doing so, to entertain and enlighten the reader, but only insofar as we can entertain and enlighten without compromising our integrity as an historian. We now give the reader our word that, in general, if we are withholding information, it is only because that information was not then available to any of these through whose eyes we are witnessing the unfolding of this history; and in specific, Greycat has not and will not appear anywhere in these pages under another guise.

  With this firmly established, let us now move on. It is hardly coincidental that our next stop is identical to Grita's—that is, the encampment of the Duke of Eastmanswatch and his Breath of Fire Battalion, located outside of the city. Here we will catch up with several of our friends at once; for not only is the Duke Adron himself present, but so is his daughter, Aliera; as well as Sethra Lavode, the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain; and, lo and behold, our missing friends, Aerich and Tazendra. Mica, we should add, was outside of the tent, near the entrance, sitting on his faithful bar-stool and awaiting the end of the discussion within. Fawnd, who had still not entirely recovered from the journey on horseback, had been given permission to retire for the evening, and was sound asleep not far from the tent.

  These five were gathered, as beneath a dark, threatening sky, within the large tent that was Adron's home while he was with his battalion. In the back of the tent—which was big enough to hold a meeting of fifty captains—was the board covered with the peculiar mosaic of purple stones that we observed earlier, only it was, at this moment, entirely covered by a cloth, so that nothing of its nature could be divined. There was a small table off to one side, covered with the papers Adron had been perusing when the visitors arrived, and there were cushions thrown about the tent, on which cushions were seated four of our friends—that is, all of them except Adron himself, who walked back and forth, back and forth, between the table and the covered board.

  Of the others, Tazendra appeared determined to remain plussed in spite of any vicissitudes in her environment, though her eye strayed constantly between those two giants of history, Adron and Sethra. Aerich, though he watched Adron closely, maintained his natural and habitual calm. Sethra was seated facing Adron, and the expression on her countenance was troubled, as if she heard the thunder and understood the lightning. Aliera seemed grim, as if she were determined to remain standing in spite of the ferocity of the wind. Thus we see that, to judge by at least four of those present, there was something disturbing at issue.

  But to look upon Adron was to look upon the storm—for every muscle in his face was taut, his hands were clenched into fists, and he appeared to be having difficulty in preventing himself from exploding into a fully fledged rage that would make him a danger to everyone present—for there is nothing more terrifying than a Dragonlord wizard who has lost his temper and has no good place to direct his anger.

  The reader will know from his own experience that it is no unusual trait to shout, rage, and shake one's fists when angry—it is as easy to find a person who acts this way as it is to find acorns in the Traveling Wood. But there is more than one reason behind such behavior. Some throw tantrums to frighten those around them into taking shelter, or negotiating with the lightning. Some, with no such plans, find it the only way to express their frustration at the uncaring climate. And some, like the Duke of Eastmanswatch, know that, when anger threatens to engulf them, to cry out their exasperation is the only way to prevent themselves from losing all control and engaging in undirected violence against anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to be within range of the lightning bolts of their rage. Where such people are concerned, we can only be thankful when they know themselves well enough to direct their tempers into a channel more or less harmless.

  With this firmly in mind, we will observe the rage of his Highness Adron e'Kieron.

  "Who is he, anyway?" cried Adron to anyone who would listen. "Did you know that his mother attempted to enlist in the Imperial Service during the Reign of the Orca, and was thrown out of the Navy because she could not learn to navigate? Did you know that his father, before his marriage, lost all of his wealth investing in a device that was supposed to clear the sky of its overcast—a device that never existed, wouldn't have worked, and, if it had worked, would have made no money because no one cares anyway? Did you know that his education stopped at the age of one hundred and ten because he was so arrogant his tutors, one at a time, gave up on the notion of teaching him anything? Did you know—"

  "Father," said Aliera.

  Adron stopped. "What? What is it? This fool, this spurious Emperor, this false commander, dares, dares to have searched the private chambers of my daughter, and then expects to be served by gentlemen? He expects to command the loyalty of—"

  "Father!" said Aliera.

  "What? The very idea that he could—"

  "Father, you must stop. You must know that all of your troops can hear you."

  "Let them hear me!" cried Adron, still rapidly pacing back and forth. "Do you think it matters to me if they know what sort of ma
n—I say man not Emperor because, may the Gods hear me and weep, we cannot deny him his species, but he has never proven himself to be an Emperor—what sort of man we find ourselves in the service of?"

  Aerich said calmly, "It is unseemly for a gentleman to belittle one whom the Gods have made his master in the presence of those of whom the Gods have made him master."

  This stopped Adron, if for no other reason than because he had to think for a moment to work out what the Lyorn was saying. From anyone else, such a remark would almost certainly have been the "drop that broke the dike" as the saying is, but delivered by the Lyorn, it caused His Highness to pause and consider, and, in this consideration, he began to cool down.

  "Perhaps," he said at last. "And yet the idea of this pipsqueak Phoenix having his ruffians enter—"

  "Father," said Aliera. "I've spoken to His Majesty, and I assure you I said everything that was necessary. I think we should now put this matter behind us, and—"

  "I beg your pardon," said Sethra. "But the last thing we should do is put it behind us—at least until we have stared at it from the front a little longer."

  Aliera turned a puzzled glance her way. "You think so?"

  "I am certain of it."

  Aliera frowned and addressed Aerich, saying, "And what is your opinion, my dear Lyorn?"

  "I am entirely in agreement with Sethra Lavode," said Aerich.

  "Explain, then."

  "I will do so," said Sethra.

  "Come, let us listen. You too, father."

  "Very well," said Adron gruffly, and sat down on the cleverly constructed collapsible chair that he always brought with him on campaigns so he could sit without undue strain on his back.

  "This is it, then," said Sethra. "Before we move on, and put this unfortunate affair from our minds, it is well for us to consider several questions which spring from it."

  "What questions?" said Aliera.

  "In the first place, we must ask ourselves how His Majesty knew to search your room for this object."

  "That is a good question," admitted Aliera. "And next?"

  "Next, we must ask ourselves why you, Aliera, have not yet been arrested."

  "Arrested? Bah. We came here directly. Who would dare to attempt to arrest me here, in the midst of my father's encampment?"