by Steven Brust
“She said that her opinion was that of the lady Lytra, the Warlord of the Empire, and that it was not my place to dispute her.”
“And then you said … ?”
“I replied that the lady Lytra had not said anything of the kind in my presence, and I doubted that she had said so in a public place, nor would she approve of saying so.”
“And your partner?” asked the Captain, whose breath was now coming in gasps.
“She asked if I pretended to teach her manners.”
“And you?”
“I assured her frankly and sincerely that I was only acting as any gentleman ought to act.”
“By the Orb, sir! She drew her blade, then?”
“Excuse me, Captain, but her blade had been out since I questioned her first statement.”
“Ah! Had you drawn, as well?”
“Not at all,” said Aerich.
“Well, did you then draw it?”
“My partner became adamant on the subject; I felt it rude to refuse.”
“Then she attacked you?”
“Oh, she attacked me, yes.”
“Well?”
“She was very fast, my lord. I was forced to pierce her heart. I called for a healer at once, but, you perceive, it was already too late. I paid a pair of Teckla to keep watch upon her body so it may be brought to Deathgate Falls, should her House deem her worthy of it.”
“But then, among the three of you—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” said Pel, mildly. “The four of us.”
“What is that?”
“I believe I hear the attendant announcing the lady Tazendra.”
G’aereth shook his head. “Send her in, then. I hope she, at least, has a different tale for us.”
Aerich shrugged. Tazendra entered, then, her eyes flashing with the cold anger of a Dzurlord. “My Captain,” she said.
“Yes?”
“It gives me great pain, but I must make a complaint.”
“What? A complaint?”
“Yes. Against the individual with whom I was partnered.”
“The Cavalier Fanuial?”
“Yes, that is his name.”
“Well? And your complaint?”
Tazendra drew herself up and flung her long hair over her shoulders, and thrust forward her fine jaw as she said, “He is no gentleman, my lord.”
“How is this?” asked the Captain, astonished.
“My lord, I will tell you the entire history.”
“I ask nothing better.”
“Well, it fell out in this manner. We began our patrol in the hills of the Brambletown district. We arrived, and had hardly set foot upon the Street of Ringing Bells when I saw a young gentleman walking toward us, who seemed to be looking at me quite fixedly.”
“In what way?” asked the Captain.
“Oh, as to that, I am too modest to say.”
The Captain’s eyes traveled from Tazendra’s thick black hair to her finely shaped legs, stopping at all points of interest in between. “Yes, I understand, madam. Go on.”
“I stopped to speak with this young gentleman, who appeared to be a count—” she glanced quickly at the others, cleared her throat and amended, “or perhaps a duke. Yes, undoubtedly a duke, of the House of the Hawk.”
“Well?”
“Well, my partner made remarks about this young noble of—of a particularly rude and personal nature.”
“I see. And what was your response to this?”
“Well, I was tempted to fight, Captain.”
“But you didn’t, I hope?”
“I could not, Captain. You understand, do you not? I am a Dzurlord, he only a Dragon. It would have been dishonorable to attack him.”
“I quite agree,” murmured the Captain. “What did you do, then?”
“Do? Why, naturally I suggested that he find four or five friends, and that, if they would do me the honor to all attack me at once, I would engage to defend this young Hawklord of whom he had spoken so disrespectfully.”
The Captain buried his face in his hands. Out of respect for him, no one spoke. After a moment, the Captain lifted up his head and said, in a tone noticeably lacking in hope, “He attacked you then?”
“Attacked me? I almost think he did. He drew his sword, which was of tolerably good length, my lord, and rushed at me as if it were the Battle of Twelve Pines.”
“And you?”
“Well, not having time to draw my own sword, you understand—”
“Yes, yes, I understand that.”
“Well, I was forced to use a flash-stone.”
“And?”
“I think the charge tore his throat out.”
“Oh,” groaned the Captain.
“And part of his chest.”
“Oh.”
“And penetrated his lungs.”
“Will you have done?”
Tazendra looked mildly startled. “That is all, my lord.”
“I should hope so, for the love of the Emperor.”
Tazendra bowed.
The Captain stood up, and looked at the four of them. “If this is a conspiracy, on the part of Lanmarea or anyone else, I promise you that all of your heads will adorn my wall.”
At the word “conspiracy,” Aerich’s brows contracted. Khaavren managed with some difficulty not to look at the wall to see if there were heads adorning it already. But the Captain said, “I fear, however, that after interrogating what witnesses I can, I will discover that you have all told the truth. And then, my friends, then what am I to do?”
They didn’t answer. He looked from one to the other. “If that is the case,” he said at last, “it seems plain that, whatever you do, you are so valuable that I must either have you with me or have you dead.”
He chewed his thumb. “It is also plain,” he said, “that I cannot have you on duty with my other Guardsmen—we can’t afford it. In the future you must patrol and team only with each other.”
Pel bowed low at this and looked in the Captain’s eyes. He said in his mild voice, “Captain my lord G’aereth …”
“Well?”
“We ask nothing better.”
Chapter the Seventh
In Which We Discover How Lodging Was Arranged and Something is Learned of the Structure of the Imperial Guards
AND NOW AT LAST WE return to a discussion of the lodging which our friends found for themselves. It was located on the Street of the Glass Cutters, barely a mile from the Dragon Gate, off the Street of the Dragon itself. Just across the road was the hotel of a private army which hired out to the Empire for certain kinds of duties, and from which the coming and going of Dragonlords, often in a state of heavy intoxication, could be seen at all hours. Further down the Street of the Glass Cutters was a small private hospital about which, when it was pointed out to Aerich, he had said, “That’s lucky.” Behind the house, facing onto the Street of the Dragon, was a small but prosperous temple dedicated to the Goddess Verra, and which was nearly as much of a gathering place as the inn, identified by the sign of a mallet, which was directly across the street from it.
This, then, was the neighborhood in which our friends found lodging. The house itself had first been built by a wealthy Jhegaala merchant for his retirement, which occurred during the last Teckla Republic, and it had been either occupied or rented out by his heirs since his death some three hundred years later. It was of the Early Volanthe style, displaying the fondness for towers, rounded walls, and painted stonework so typical of that period of Imperial architecture.
It was open and airy in front, with a circular porch, while in back it was enclosed entirely by large twostem bushes and was shaded by three giant oak trees, spaced in an equilateral triangle, and one sugar maple, set in the middle, all of which had been planted hundreds of years before, at the beginning of the Athyra reign. The result was that our friends could sit in front of the house and watch the antics of the soldiers across the street, or, looking a different way, watch the comings and goings
toward the Dragon Wing of the Palace; or they could sit in the peaceful garden in back, drinking and engaging in the pleasant conversation that is the means by which friendship, created by the haphazard twistings of life, nourished by shared experience, becomes deep and lasting.
They had decided, in order to save expenses, to rent a single house. Pel took for himself the isolated chamber in the back, which let out by its own door into the garden. He explained that he found the breeze from the back window cleared his mind for the philosophical studies he pursued from time to time. Khaavren and Aerich exchanged looks but said nothing.
Khaavren chose for himself a room on the second story that had its own balcony, allowing him to stand or sit and gaze at those passing in the street, and create fanciful stories of their histories to amuse himself.
Aerich took the long, narrow room next to Khaavren’s, and arranged it neatly and precisely, with a few tasteful ornamental vases, some landscape psiprints of the northwestern Great Woodlands, a shelf for his books, and some very comfortable chairs, which made it the room in which, as often as not, the four friends would meet to talk, even though there was a perfectly good living room below.
Tazendra’s room was next to Aerich’s, and took up a small portion of the back wall, as well as a circular tower that protruded above the rest of the building and had been at first intended to be servants’ quarters, for which reason it had its own stairway directly to the kitchen. Tazendra made this upper room her own, furnishing it with soft pillows upon which guests could sit; and filling the room’ were candles, a collection of daggers she sent for from her home and set about the room, and all sort of liquor bottles hidden in unlikely places, so she could reach out a hand and emerge with one at the proper moment in a conversation.
The one other sleeping chamber was taken by a Teckla woman called Srahi, to whom they had offered room and board in exchange for keeping some semblance of order to the house and cooking one meal per day, if the Guardsmen could manage to procure the food. It should be noted in passing that this history begins only forty years after the Revolt of the Livery, so personal lackeys were, just at that time, out of fashion. Srahi was small and mouse-like, with wide eyes and a lip that curled in a way quite out of keeping with her status or House, yet very much in keeping with her voice, which was at once sharp, loud, and nasal.
Each day, Khaavren rose between the eleventh and twelfth hours after the midnight bell. On some occasions Pel would be up and wandering around, or reading in back; at other times Pel would be gone. Tazendra would invariably be up, and outdoors, or in back, or in the sitting room, or drawing pictures or modeling in clay. Aerich arose at around the same time as Khaavren, and would usually spend some time alone in his room, sitting in a chair and breathing deeply, as if gathering the strength he would need for the day.
And so it was on this basis that the household was erected, with four personalities at such variance: Pel planned out his life in careful stages of which he didn’t speak, and, if one might suspect that he had more affairs of the heart than any ten normal men, at least no one could prove any of them. Tazendra never planned, but always attacked life as if the world existed purely for the pleasure it afforded her to tramp through it, laughing and gambling and loving; doing all of these far less, be it understood, than she claimed, but nevertheless enjoying the claims as much as another would have enjoyed the deeds. Aerich was of a dark disposition that seemed to thrive on the pleasures of his friends, as if pleasure for its own sake was impossible for him; yet he could take a certain measure vicariously, as it were, so that when his friends were happy, he was happy, and when his friends were sad, he was sad. Khaavren, we know, only rarely planned anything; his preference was neither to sculpt life, nor to attack it, but rather, to take everything, a blow or a kiss, just as it came, and to contrive as best he was able to take as much joy or opportunity, or as little pain or damage, as he could.
Aerich and Khaavren took to walking together around the neighborhood, or stopping in small klava holes. Upon returning, Aerich would sit and work at crochet, while Khaavren and Tazendra would often retire to the back garden to take a few passes with their blades—Khaavren forcing Tazendra to work to her utmost, while Tazendra would show Khaavren certain tricks of defense she had learned from the exclusive Dzur sword-master with whom she had studied. Srahi would rise last of all, usually not until the afternoon, and she would lounge about the living room in a tattered yellow robe until it came time to prepare the afternoon meal, following which the Guardsmen would be off to the Palace until their duties ended. On their return, Srahi would sometimes be gone, and sometimes be sleeping, but the house would, to a degree at least, be clean, leaving them no cause for complaint.
As to their duties at the Palace, we must pause here to explain something of the structure of the Imperial military hierarchy at that time.
At the top was, of course, the Emperor himself, though he played little enough part in day-to-day military affairs unless the almost constant skirmishing that occurred on the seas, in the outlying Duchies, and along the Eastern border had managed to elevate itself to the point where he was willing to consider it a war, which required him to involve himself in it enough to prevent its being effectively carried out, and thus to extend its length and cost enough to justify his involvement. The Warlord, then, was, in reality, in charge of the military might of the Empire, except for the Lavodes, who were at that time still in existence, and were led by their Captain, one Gyorg, Sethra having resigned upon being banned from the court many years before. The Warlord, a Dragon who was called Lytra e’Tenith, had, in theory, two subordinates, one being the captain-general of the Imperial Army, the other being the brigadier-general of the Imperial Guard. It should be noted that, at this time, both of these posts were vacant, so all of the subordinates of each branch reported directly to the lady Lytra.
Of these subordinates, one was G’aereth, who commanded the Red Boot Company of the Imperial Guard (though it should be noted that no red boots had been worn for more than four hundred years). After the coronation festivities in the city were over, the battalion was, variously, assigned patrols through the city streets, or escort duties for certain nobles, or guard duty at the Iorich Wing, or to serve as Honor Guards for the court, depending on the day of the week. Those who didn’t have duty would lounge around the sub-wing, drinking, gossiping, gambling, or taunting the Guards of the other Captain, Lanmarea.
G’aereth’s battalion numbered some sixty or seventy Guardsmen in all, while Lanmarea’s company, the White Sash Battalion, numbered nearly two hundred. This gave to G’aereth’s company the impression, which the Captain encouraged, that they were, in some way, an elite force, a feeling which the other Guardsmen quite understandably resented. In addition, we should note that the two captains were in competition for the post of Brigadier, which had been vacant for nearly a thousand years at this time. And finally, we must point out that it was Lanmarea’s company, that is to say, the White Sash Battalion, that had been granted the honor of guarding the person of the Emperor, a most sought-after position.
This state of affairs had come about because Lanmarea, a close friend of Noima, the Imperial Consort, had begged this boon of the Emperor. Tortaalik, himself, as we have had the honor to mention, a close friend of G’aereth, was constantly seeking the opportunity to give this duty to the Red Boot Company, but had, since his coronation (some weeks past, at this time), been unable to find a pretext. As a result, there was considerable rivalry between the companies; rivalry which had led to drawn swords several times, and twice had led to spilt blood. It need only be added that Lanmarea’s Battalion had been victorious on both occasions to allow our readers to see that there was, at this time, considerable anxiety among those Guardsmen who served under G’aereth.
As for our friends, one may suppose that, after the incidents of their first patrol became generally known, they were but ill-received by their fellows, yet nothing could be further from the truth. By the strange psycholog
y peculiar to men of the sword, the foursome were looked upon with, at first, a certain respect, and, eventually, with friendship.
Khaavren’s case was easy enough, for he was an instantly likable young man, and after proving himself by killing Frai (who was not, to be sure, especially liked by the company), his naturally pleasing personality won him as many friends as he could wish. Tazendra was respected as all Dzurlords are respected by soldiers, and, moreover, her beauty made her the subject of much attention and interest. The women of the Imperial Guard, fully a third of the total, at once attached themselves to Pel, who took the greatest possible care of his physical appearance, and whose gentle speech and conduct won him hours of delightful conversation. As for Aerich, he was accorded the honor with which everyone looks upon a Lyorn, and soon his fellow Guardsmen began to come to him with questions of conduct, rank, etiquette, history, and advice on dealing with an errant wife or husband, mistress or lover.
Khaavren slowly learned that the greater part of a Guardsman’s income came from the collections he made from those who wished to keep their activities secret. He learned that accepting gold to help conceal a crime was, if not unheard of, at least frowned upon, but, at the same time, he came to understand that the Guardsmen did not consider efforts to avoid the Imperial Tax Collectors to be a crime, a philosophy to which, after some reflection, he began to subscribe.
Nevertheless, Khaavren was unable to bring himself to accept these gifts, so instead he preferred, at least while on duty, to avoid the establishments which allowed such behind-the-walls enterprise. Pel, on the other hand, haunted such places in particular, but never accepted payment in money. It seemed to Khaavren that Pel had some sort of understanding with these people, and the Tiassa resolved to keep a close eye on the Yendi, to try to determine the nature of this understanding.
Aerich staunchly refused to have anything to do with those who bribed the Phoenix Guards, though he seemed to have no quarrel with the Guardsmen around him who felt differently. Tazendra, alone of the foursome, was delighted with the practice, and regularly accepted these gifts of money, which she happily returned by losing most of it playing shereba, which game, played with cards, was well in fashion just then.
