Read The Phoenix Guards Online
Authors: Steven Brust
The Phoenix Guards (48 page)
“We ask nothing better, Sire,” said Khaavren.
“Well, and, concerning the accusations with respect to Kurich, Garland, and Shaltre, will all of you be willing to testify under the Orb?”
Aerich looked at the Orb coldly, then bowed to His Majesty. “If the word of a gentleman is not deemed sufficient, Sire, well, I will submit.”
“As will we all,” said the others.
Lytra leaned over and whispered to the Emperor, who nodded. “Only one will be necessary, I think,” said His Majesty. Lytra whispered once more, after which His Majesty said, “It is our pleasure that this gentleman, Khaavren, answer our questions.”
“Well,” said Khaavren, “I will be happy to stand below the Orb and answer any questions Your Majesty may wish to put to me.”
“I will not ask the questions, I will allow Her Excellency the Warlord that honor.”
Khaavren bowed to Lytra, and as Khaavren studied the expression on her face, he realized that she would be directing all of her resources to attempting to trap him, or to prevent him from telling what he knew. He glanced at G’aereth, who stood mutely, but, by his expression, warned Khaavren to be careful.
“Well, and is this acceptable to the rest of you?”
“It is, Sire,” they said.
“That’s well, then. Apropos, you may await without, and you will be informed when I have made a decision.” There was nothing to say to this, so Khaavren’s friends left. On the way out, Pel whispered, “Have a care; this Dragon is tricky.”
“Well, I will be careful.”
“That is right,” said Pel.
Khaavren bowed to signify that he was ready, noting with pleasure that G’aereth had been retained as witness. The Orb moved away from the Emperor and began circling Khaavren’s head. He did not even glance at it, but rather looked at Lytra with a patient and frank expression.
“I await Your Excellency,” he said.
“Well then, I will begin.”
“I am anxious for you to do so.”
“This, then, is my first question, when you last saw Lord Garland, what was his condition?”
“His condition, Excellency?” said Khaavren. “Well, he was healthy. I do not think health would excuse his failure to deliver—”
“You will confine yourself to answering the questions, young Sir,” said Lytra.
“And yet—” began Khaavren.
“Stop,” said Tortaalik sternly. “The Warlord is conducting this investigation. You must only answer the questions Her Excellency does you the honor to ask.”
“Yes, Sire,” said Khaavren, who began to tremble with frustration.
Lytra, who either did not notice or did not care about Khaavren’s condition, said, “You say he was healthy?”
Khaavren took a deep breath in an effort to recover his composure. “It seemed likely,” he said.
“How could you tell?”
“Well, he was not wounded, and he was running.”
“How, running? Where was he running to?”
“The mountains, Excellency.”
“Well, and what was he running from?”
Khaavren winced; the bolt had struck its mark. “From us, Excellency.”
“Running from you?”
“It is as I have the honor to tell Your Excellency.”
“But then, he was frightened?”
“It seemed likely, Excellency.”
“As if his life was in danger?”
“That was exactly it, Excellency; he ran as if he feared for his life.”
“From you?”
“And my friends, yes, Excellency.”
“Well, then, let us pass on.”
“How, pass on? But it seems to me—”
“You must merely answer the questions you are asked,” said the Warlord.
Khaavren looked at His Majesty, who was frowning as he considered the matter, and at G’aereth, who was biting his lips so hard the blood ran, and he saw the sort of game this Dragonlord was playing. “Ah, you fool,” he said to himself. “You should never have let them trap you into answering this way. This is Pel’s sort of match, he would have talked this asker-of-pointed-questions into circles. Aerich would have astounded them with his dignity, and made her ask the necessary questions, and Tazendra would have burst out with the truth before they could stop her.”
“As to Count Shaltre,” said the Warlord, smiling as if she had her prey trapped. “You say he attacked the Duke of Arylle.”
“Oh, yes, Excellency; he drew his blade and swung at Aerich’s head as if he would send it over the cliff, some two leagues distant.”
“But then,” said Lytra, “did he seem frightened?”
“Well, in fact, Excellency, he did appear to me to be terrified.”
“And what reason could you give for his terror?”
“Well, Aerich had challenged him, and—”
“In what terms was the challenge issued?”
“Well, Aerich said he would kill him.”
“But then, Arylle is a Lyorn warrior, and did Shaltre not insist that, by the customs of his House, his Lordship could not attack Shaltre.”
“Yes, but Aerich explained—”
The Emperor said, “Only answer the question, young man.”
“Yes, Sire,” said Khaavren, trembling.
“Well,” said Lytra, “and was Arylle, that is, your accomplice Aerich, prepared to attack him anyway?”
“That is, he—”
“Yes or no, Sir Khaavren.”
“Well, yes.” G’aereth had turned completely white, and was trembling from head to foot.
“So that,” continued Lytra, “in fact, Shaltre only made his attack from desperation, as he thought he was about to die, struck down by one who he knew was handily able to kill him, is that not the case?”
“It is,” said Khaavren, grimacing.
Lytra turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty can plainly see that Shaltre, though he struck the first blow, was murdered in effect, and Garland driven off in fear for his life, no doubt to die in the mountains.”
Khaavren started to speak, but the Emperor cut him off with a gesture and addressed the Captain. “Lord G’aereth, have you anything to say before I pronounce the sentence?”
The Captain’s face had become very pale. It was clear that he knew what Lytra was doing, but as he did not know what had actually occurred, he was unable to formulate a question that would allow Khaavren to make the necessary explanations. The others in the room, at that moment, also looked at the Captain, with curiosity or triumph, according to their interest and nature.
The Emperor opened his mouth, and the Tiassa, for a moment, could almost read the future: His Majesty would call for the Guards to take him away, and he and his friends would be imprisoned for a short time, and then they would be executed, their story untold, the treaty unfulfilled, and their enemies laughing as the headman’s axe fell.
It is undeniable that, in this imperfect world, examples of injustice abound, and, in this regard, perhaps Khaavren ought not to have been astonished at what was taking place, yet he had never, himself, been in the presence of such monstrous undertakings; much less had he been the victim. And, in the agony of his mind, not knowing what he was doing, he fastened his last, imploring look on the Captain, his last remaining hope, and silently mouthed the name, “Kurich.”
The Captain had, in fact, been looking at him, but, to Khaavren’s dismay, G’aereth did not seem to have noticed; even if he had, it is no simple matter to read a name from silent lips, and the sending of thoughts from mind to mind requires both training and a closer connection between people than they had had time to build up, in spite of Khaavren’s hope that desperation would serve to make up for the lack of these requirements.
The Captain grunted, as if he were surrendering to fate, and Khaavren’s last hope died as G’aereth said, “Well, Sire, I must confess I think them guilty one and all.”
“I agree,” said Tortaalik, “and I am happy to see that you don’t defend murderers merely because they wear your uniform.”
“Well, so far am I from wishing to defend them, that I will go further than your Majesty has, and say they must be guilty as well of killing poor Kurich.”
Khaavren’s heart began beating once more, as the feint breath of hope came once more to his veins.
“Oh,” said Lytra, hastily, looking at G’aereth suspiciously. “For my part, I believe them on that score.”
“How?” said G’aereth, with an incredulous expression on his face. “You would let them escape justice for that crime?”
“If they are to be hanged at the Corner of Tears or beheaded in Justicers Square,” said Lytra, shrugging, “then it matters little how many crimes we hang or behead them for.”
Khaavren held his breath, trembling, hardly daring to listen as his fate hung in the balance, not knowing if this final card he had played was high enough to win the stake.
“Well, I don’t agree,” said G’aereth. “And, when they are brought to the gallows, or the Star, I wish to hear the charges read in their entirety.”
“Oh, I have no quarrel with that,” said Lytra. “Let us include, then, the matter of Kurich.”
“You can not mean that,” said G’aereth.
“How, not?”
“We cannot charge them thus without proving the crime as we have so effectually proved the others.”
“But then—”
“No, my lady, I insist, with His Majesty’s permission, that you interrogate him on the subject of Kurich’s death.”
“Yes, yes,” said Tortaalik, who had not at all understood the significance of this interplay. “Let us be complete by all means.”
Lytra said, “Well, then, I will do so.”
“It will be for the best,” said G’aereth.
“Sir Khaavren,” said Lytra.
“I am ready, Excellency,” said Khaavren, who had understood the Captain’s gambit, and was wracking his brains to find a way to make use of it.
“Was Kurich killed in a fair and just fight?”
“Yes, my lady,” said Khaavren.
“Well,” said Lytra, breathing a sigh of relief, “there it is done, and it seems we were wrong.”
“Bah,” said the Captain. “Impossible.”
“But you have heard what he said, and the Orb showed no falsehood.”
“Well, but perhaps your Excellency didn’t question him as thoroughly as she could have. Perhaps they sought a quarrel with Kurich for just the purpose of finding an excuse to kill him.”
“Nevertheless, it is true that, if it was a fair fight, my poor brother would have not wished the lady to be held accountable as if it were murder.”
“Bah,” said G’aereth once more. “Come, Excellency, ask about the cause of the quarrel, then we will know everything, and there will be no more doubts on any subject.”
Lytra bit her lip, but at last she said, “Well, then, Cavalier Khaavren, what did Tazendra and Kurich quarrel about?”
“Excellency, Tazendra happened to disturb Kurich while he was on duty guarding a private conversation between yourself and—”
“That will do.”
“How,” said G’aereth, “you do not wish him to complete his thought?”
“We have our answer.”
“And yet, I am curious.”
“Oh, but it has no bearing—”
“Well,” said Tortaalik, “if it comes to it, I am curious, too. Finish what you were saying, young man.”
Khaavren bowed, took a deep breath, and said, “a private conversation between the lady Lytra and Garland’s master.”
The Emperor frowned. “Garland’s master? That is to say, me?”
“No, Sire.”
“How, Garland had another master than me?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Who?”
“The lady Seodra.”
“How, Seodra? My chief advisor?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What do you tell me?”
“That Garland obeyed the orders of Seodra.”
“What orders?”
Lytra said, “Sire—”
“Hold your tongue, Lytra,” said the Emperor. “Sir Khaavren, I say again, what orders?”
“Why, the same orders she gave Count Shaltre.”
“She gave orders to Count Shaltre?”
“Orders, or requests for help in her intrigues, Sire; I am not always aware of the differences.”
Tortaalik stared at the Orb, but it was emitting a pure red glow of truth.
“What sort of orders, then?”
“Such as the order to allow my friends and myself to be killed by the Easterners, Sire.”
“What Easterners?”
“The ones who invaded Pepperfield.”
“How, Easterners invaded Pepperfield?”
“Yes, Sire, it is as I have had the honor to tell your Majesty.”
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