Tiassa

CHAPTER THE FIRST

It is well known among those who live to the north of the city of Adrilankha that as the great river makes its penultimate southward turn it creates pools, bars, eddies, and shoals. Moreover, as it makes this turn, it will often choose these pools, bars, eddies, and shoals as places to deposit any stray floating items it may have collected during its long journey from the far north. This flotsam may include an oar dropped by a boatman, a cake of soap dropped by a bather, a toy soldier dropped by a child, some spinnerweed flowers dropped by nature, or even, perhaps, a body.

The reader will, we trust, forgive the perhaps overly histrionic revelation of the particular object with which our attention is concerned. We hope, at any rate, that a life has not become such an unimportant thing as to render a small measure of drama inappropriate to the revelation of its end.

The body, we should say, was floating face upward, and turning in a slow circle in a channel separated from the rest of the river by a short, barren sandbar. It was seen first by a Teckla who was driving an oxcart toward Favintoe Market. This Teckla worked land that abutted the river a quarter of a mile from the sandbar; thus the Teckla, whose name proved to be Dyfon, passed by it every day. In the past, he had found an intricately carved doll, the tin cap of an ornate oil lamp, three feet of chreotha-web rope that he had thought at first was a pale yellow snake, a walking stick, and more than forty particularly interesting samples of driftwood, some of which he was able to sell. This, however, was his first body, and so he wasn’t entirely certain what he should do. After some few moments of contemplation he decided to pull it to shore—his work with hogs and poultry having left him without any special distaste for handling the dead.

Dyfon waded a few steps into the shallow water, grabbed the nearest boot, and pulled. Then he frowned and remarked, “Well now, it seems this fellow is alive.” The ox, we should add, had no immediate reaction to this statistic.

Having come to the conclusion that the fellow at his feet was a living rather than a dead man, Dyfon went on to make further inspections, followed by their attendant observations. “An Easterner, or I’ll be planted,” he said. “Complete with hair ’neath his nose. And looks to be bleeding as well.”

Dyfon finished pulling the Easterner to the shore, then considered, not wishing to make a hasty decision which he might have cause to regret. The reader will of course understand that Dyfon had never before had the experience of pulling a body from the river, still less a living body, and an Easterner, and one that was bleeding; so for these reasons, it is our opinion that he may be forgiven a few moments of consideration.

At the end of this time, which was not, to be sure, as long as one might think, he came to a certain decision, and being a practical man as Teckla so often are, he at once put this decision into action. He sat down and removed his boots, and then his stockings—they being, as it happened, his second pair—and put these (that is to say, the stockings) over the two biggest wounds, the one being a slash low on the Easterner’s side, the other a stab wound in the shoulder a scant few inches above the heart. He pushed the stockings, which, though not without holes, were of thick wool, as hard against the wounds as he could. Having done this in a workmanlike manner, he replaced his boots and set off with his ox to see if he could find help.

About two miles farther along, the road split, one side going directly to the market, the other leading toward the town of Junglebrook. This latter road, some distance before reaching the village we have just had the honor to mention, passed before a small travelers’ rest where, more often than not, could be found whichever pair of Phoenix Guards was, on this day, responsible for this region. Insofar as Dyfon hoped to find just such a pair, he was not disappointed; they sat in the far corner of the tavern, the man nursing a stout, the woman sipping a porter, both of them obvious by the gold half-cloaks draped over the backs of their chairs.

After a brief moment spent gathering his nerve as if it were grains of sand to be pulled into a pile, he approached them and bowed so deeply that his forehead positively touched the floor. The man glanced at the woman, rather than Dyfon, and said, “Good Nill, I nearly think our dull patrol has become interesting.”

“Well, Farind, and so do I. For not only would a Teckla never speak to us save under unusual circumstances—”

“Which conclusion I had also come to.”

“—But, moreover, there is blood upon both of his sleeves.”

“Blood which, you perceive, is not his own.”

“Therefore, we are about to learn of a dead or injured person.”

“Who is not a Teckla.”

“Not a Teckla? More than not a Teckla; who is not human!”

“Ah, there you have me. How have you deduced this?”

“You wish me to tell you?”

“If you would, for I am always eager to gain experience in the art of deductive reasoning, so vital if I am to rise to higher rank in the Phoenix Guards.”

“Well then, good Farind, it is this: As you have already concluded, were it animal blood, there would be nothing to tell. Were it a conflict among Teckla, they’d not have told us.”

“Exactly.”

“But if it were of any other House, he should be paralyzed with fear lest we accuse him of harming the noble, or failing to report it quickly enough, or lying, or any of the other thousand things Teckla fear us for.” At this point, she turned to the Teckla, addressing him for the first time. “Is the Easterner still living?”

Dyfon was unable to speak, but did manage to nod, at which time the two Dragonlords rose. “Then guide us to him,” said Farind. “For I find my partner’s logic completely convincing.”

Dyfon, in response to this, tried again to speak, but then merely bowed and turned away, looking over his shoulder to see that the two Phoenix Guards were following him. This they were doing, donning their uniform cloaks as they did so. Once outside, they retrieved their horses from the stable, had them saddled, and mounted with practiced ease. As they did this, Dyfon went to his cart.

“No,” said the guardsman called Nill. “Leave that. It will slow us down.”

“On the contrary,” said Farind. “Bring it. It will make it easier to bring the body.”

Dyfon opened his mouth, closed it, then did the same with his hands. Farind observed this and said, “You may give this to your master in lieu of the supplies you were unable to get; he should be sufficiently understanding.” With this he tossed a silver coin to the Teckla, who dropped it and then recovered it.

“Thank you, my lord,” he managed. Farind carefully noted the expenditure in a note-book he carried for the purpose, after which he nodded to Dyfon to indicate that it was time to go.

Dyfon began to lead the way, driving the ox at his usual steady pace. He wondered if the Easterner might have died while he was gone, or, to the left, have recovered and walked off. He hoped fervently, should either be the case, that he would not be held responsible by the two Dragonlords. From this we can conclude that a Teckla is no less capable of hope than anyone else; indeed, if there is any trait that is universal, it must be hope, or, rather, the capacity for hope. It may well be that even Easterners are possessed of this capability.

Dyfon guided them well, and, as it chanced, the Easterner was not only there, but still breathing. The two Dragonlords dismounted and gave him a cursory inspection. Nill glanced up and chuckled. “I’m sorry, my friends, but you will miss this meal.” Dyfon, following her gaze, saw a pair of jhereg circling overhead and shuddered.

“Interesting,” said Farind. “You perceive he carries a scabbard for a sword, and a dagger in his sleeve?”

“And charms about his neck.”

“Shall we bring him to a physicker?”

“Let us see what else he carries. I suspect he may be of the House of the Jhereg, for else how would he dare carry a weapon openly?”

“And yet,” said Farind, “he does not wear the colors.”

“So I had observed.”

“And then?”

“What is this?”

“An Imperial signet! An Easterner with an Imperial title!”

“Well,” said Nill, “this is an enigma wrapped in, ah…”

“Another enigma?”

“Precisely.”

“I suggest we bring him to headquarters. There they can decide if he should be given to the care of a physicker.”

“And yet, should he die on the journey, and prove to be important in some way, then headquarters would be required to consider the expense of a revivification.”

“Well, and if they are?”

“Should they then decide we were culpable, we might be charged for it.”

“Ah, I should mislike that.”

“As should I.”

“And then?”

“Let us examine his wounds, and attempt to determine how quickly this decision ought to be made.”

“Very well, I agree with this plan.”

They made a quick examination and deduced that, thanks to the Teckla’s stockings, the Easterner would most likely survive being moved. This decision made, they loaded him onto the oxcart, where he suffered through a bumpy ride with significantly less discomfort than he would have experienced had he been awake.

While it is the case that the headquarters of the Phoenix Guards was located in the Dragon Wing of the Palace, the reader should be aware that, when Farind and Nill spoke of headquarters, this was not the place to which they referred. Instead, on Old Quarry Road, not far from the market that had been Dyfon’s original destination, was the North Central Guard Station, a two-story building of baked brick painted a particularly hideous shade of orange. It was to this station that our Dragonlords referred when they spoke of headquarters, and it was, therefore, to this station that the Easterner was accordingly brought.

Upon their arrival, a messenger was at once dispatched for a physicker. Nill and Farind asked Dyfon for his name and lord, which information Dyfon gave for the simple reason that he was too frightened not to; and they also took down what little information he had, after which they went in to see their ensign. Dyfon, for his part, returned to his task and his life. To our regret, we must now bid him farewell, as he no longer forms any part of the history we have taken upon ourselves to relate.

Upon presenting themselves to the ensign, whose name was Shirip, they saluted and, in the brief and business-like manner she required, they explained what had brought them back early from their patrol. The ensign listened until they explained about finding the signet in his purse, at which time her eyebrows rose and she made a noise which Farind and Nill interpreted as surprise.

“I believe,” said the ensign after some consideration, “that you did the right thing. For an Imperial noble to be permitted to die would reflect poorly on our ability to protect our citizens. And yet—”

“Well?” said Nill.

“An Easterner with an Imperial title. It is exceptional. More than exceptional, in fact, it is unusual.”

“And then?” said Farind. “Shall we question him when the physicker has finished?”

“No,” said the ensign. “While I have no fear of battle, nor of crossing swords with anyone you might name, still do I confess that there are things I fear. Rather than risking giving offense to an Imperial lord by questioning him, or annoying my superior officers by letting him go, I will inform the Wing of what has happened, and await instructions.”

Nill said, “If I may speak, Commander.”

“Yes?”

“This seems wise to me, only—”

“Well?”

“What if he should wake up before we have heard from the Wing?”

“Oh, in that case—”

“Well?”

“As the Vallista say, we will burn that house when we enter it.”

Farind frowned, as he was not, in fact, certain that the Vallista said this; but he and Nill comprehended her meaning, and at once nodded and said, “We understand, Ensign. Shall we then return to our duty?”

“Yes, do you do that. I will see that word of this matter reaches the proper ears.”

Nill and Farind bowed and took their leave. The ensign, true to her word, at once wrote out a message to what the guardsmen called the Wing, but was, in fact, the actual headquarters of the Phoenix Guards. She made the decision that the message was not of sufficient urgency to require psychic transmission, and so, upon completing the message, dispatched a messenger, who, thanks to possessing, first, a good pair of legs, and, second, the willingness to use them, less than half an hour later reached the Offices of the Captain of the Phoenix Guard in the Dragon Wing of the Palace.

Once there, he wasted no time in pleasantries, but put the message at once into the hand of Lord Raanev, the personal secretary to the captain (not to be confused with the captain’s confidential servant, whom we shall meet presently). This worthy received the message with the greatest aplomb, glanced at it, and at once replied with a single word: “Interesting.”

The messenger, who had heard this flavor of comment before from the worthy Dragonlord, bowed and said, “Yes, m’lord. Is there an answer?”

“Remain nigh,” said Raanev. “I will pass the message along, and, well, we will learn if there is a reply.”

“I shall not stray from this room,” promised the messenger.

“And you will be right not to,” agreed the secretary.

With this reassurance, the messenger took a seat and began to wait. Waiting, we should add, was something he was especially skilled at, having had some thirty or thirty-five years’ practice since the time he had first received this employment. What his thoughts were, or what methods he might have had to combat ennui, we cannot tell; but for the purposes of this history, we should add, such information would not be useful, and we therefore have no need to take up the reader’s valuable time with it.

Even as the messenger—whom we have chosen to leave nameless as an indication of his unimportance both to history in general and to our history in particular—was taking a seat, Raanev opened a door located in the back corner of his office, and, passing through the doorway, stood before his superior, who was none other than Khaavren of Castle Rock, with whom the reader may, perhaps, be familiar from our earlier histories. For the benefit of the reader who is, for lack of opportunity or for some other reason, unacquainted with these histories, we will say two words about Khaavren, who at this time was Captain of Her Majesty’s Guard.

He was, then, well into his middle years, being somewhat more than eleven hundred years of age, and if he had lost some of his youthful flexibility, both in body and in spirit, he had gained in strength. His eyes were as sharp as ever and still glinted with the same quick intelligence; and if his mouth only rarely curved into the spontaneous smiles as before, his chin nevertheless showed the same determination. Beyond this, his wrist was as firm and supple as it ever was, and his ears, which had once been honored by winning the attention of an Emperor, had lost none of their cleverness.

Raanev placed himself before this worthy and bowed. “My captain,” he said, “we have received word of an Easterner, found wounded near the river.”

“Well?” said Khaavren, as if uncertain about how this intelligence could have anything to do with him.

“Moreover,” said Raanev.

“Yes, moreover?”

“According to a signet upon his person, he holds an Imperial title.”

“An Easterner with an Imperial title.”

“A wounded Easterner with an Imperial title.”

“Tell me, Raanev. Which seems to you more likely: an Easterner with an Imperial title, or an Easterner who has, for reasons of his own, stolen a signet?”

“Oh, it is obvious which is more likely, only—”

“Yes?”

“I have heard no report of such a signet being stolen.”

Khaavren frowned, struck by the extreme justice of this observation. “Nor have I heard such a report,” admitted the captain, “and you are right to point this out.”

“I am pleased that my captain thinks so.”

“Oh, I do. And not only that—”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I believe we should reflect on this situation.”

“I have no argument to make with such reflection.”

“But in order to reflect, more information is required.”

“I agree with the captain that, when reflecting, having information upon which to reflect is often useful.”

“Is the messenger still waiting?”

“He is, Captain.”

“Then have him return to Ensign Shirip. Instruct her to investigate this Easterner, then report to me here.”

From this, the reader may deduce that Khaavren, who had been wont to run out to learn what he could, now had others to do this work, and had such information as they acquired brought to him; whether this was a result of his increased responsibility, or increased age, we must leave to the reader to decide. Raanev, for his part, had no occasion to speculate, but merely carried out the orders of his superior officer.

The messenger, who had been waiting for just such an occurrence, also carried out his orders; and did so with such effectiveness that in a short time Ensign Shirip had received the message with as much accuracy and precision as if she’d heard it from Khaavren’s own lips. For her part, she understood that, when given an order by the captain, there was no question of joking, and so she at once carried out an inspection of the Easterner, and spoke at some length with the physicker attending him.

This done, she called for a coach and driver and, leaving a subordinate in charge, made her way to the Imperial Palace. Once there, she found the suite of the captain, where a servant named Borteliff, of whom we will learn more later, admitted her to Khaavren’s private office.

Now this office was, first of all, spacious, as befit the Captain of the Phoenix Guards, who was, among other things, responsible for the safety of Her Majesty. In addition to the door by which first Raanev and now Shirip had entered, there were four others. One of these, in the far back, led via a short tunnel to the outside, and it was used by the captain for his own comings and goings. The one to the left (that is, Shirip’s left as she entered) communicated with a large hallway that was the quickest way to reach the Iorich Wing (although the reader must understand that the quickest way was not, in point of fact, quick). A third door, next to the one in back, led to a wide, heavily guarded area where teleports were permitted both in and out, and, beyond that, to certain council chambers where the captain could meet privately with anyone with whom he wished to consult. The final door, on the right, led by as direct a route as possible to the throne room in the Imperial Wing.

In addition to the doors there was a small alcove where the captain might hang his hat and cloak and also his sword. The rest of the room was dominated by a large walnut desk—a desk that the captain kept clean by the simple expedient of making others do his paperwork whenever possible. In addition to the desk, there were five chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of it. Each of these chairs was, we should add, quite comfortable, featuring arm-rests and cushions; because with his present elevated rank, he was now visited by those who deserved better treatment than was generally afforded even an officer of the guard. Khaavren’s own chair was not unlike him: it was simple and without padding or ornament, firm, and gave the appearance of being entirely functional.

It was in this office, and, more precisely, in this chair that Khaavren sat and, with a nod, greeted Ensign Shirip.

“Captain,” she said, saluting. “I have inspected the Easterner, as you ordered.”

“And you were right to do so. Is he conscious?”

“Not yet, but the physicker is hopeful.”

“How was he injured? By he, you understand,” added Khaavren, who was always careful to avoid confusion, “I refer to the Easterner, not the physicker.”

“I understand all the better, Captain, because the physicker is a she.”

“Ah, then there can be no ambiguity.”

“Exactly.”

“So then you will tell me of his injuries?”

“I will do so this very instant.”

“Excellent. I am listening.”

“Four cuts and two stab wounds, Captain. All but one cut and one stab are shallow and insignificant. He is cut on the right shoulder and elbow, and the right leg above the knee, as well as a significant gash on the left side, just above the hip. There is a shallow puncture wound in the left shoulder, as well as a serious one low on his right chest, only just missing the lung.”

“How many weapons caused the wounds?”

“Three.”

“So, unless one of them fought with two weapons, there were at least four attackers.”

“Four, Captain? And yet—”

Khaavren brushed it aside. “A tolerably skillful player. Other than his wounds, what did you observe?”

“He seems somewhat slight for one of his race. He has grown hair above his lip, but none on his chin. His cheekbones are high, like those of a Dzurlord. His ears are round, and close to his head. He has thick eyebrows and long lashes, and his chin has a crease, as if it were cut, but there is no scar. He does have a faint scar to the left of his nose and another beneath his right ear, and he is missing the fifth finger of his left hand.”

Khaavren nodded. “Is his hair dark? That is to say, black?”

“It is, my lord,” said Shirip.

“His brows are thick, his chin strong with no trace of point?”

“You have described him, Captain,” said Shirip, with a raised brow.

The captain answered the question implied by the look: “I believe I know him.”

“And then?” said the ensign.

“I must see him.”

“But, does he in fact hold an Imperial title?”

Khaavren replied with a brusque nod, informing Shirip that, not only was her question answered in the affirmative, but, moreover, that the captain no longer wished to continue the conversation. Shirip understood both of the messages her superior officer did her the honor to convey, and so asked no more questions.

For his part, Khaavren at once made arrangements for a carriage to bring him to where the wounded Easterner was. We should note in passing that the Khaavren of two hundred years before would have ridden a horse rather than a carriage; but we should also note that the Khaavren of two hundred years before was younger; and younger, we should add, by the amount of two hundred years.

Thanks to the efficiency demanded by the good Tiassa of all of those whom he commanded, it was only moments before he was informed that carriage and driver were ready. With another of his expressive nods, he invited Shirip to accompany him in the conveyance.

They climbed into the coach, reaching it, as the reader will no doubt deduce, by the door which we have earlier had the honor to describe, and settled in for the brief ride. Khaavren, having no wish for conversation, initiated none. Shirip took this as a cue, and also remained silent for the duration.

After some little time, they arrived at the North Central Guard Station, where the coachman—a private soldier detailed for this duty because of his skill with horses—alighted and held the door for the captain and the ensign. Khaavren led the way into the station with the ease and command that came naturally to him. He at once went to the infirmary, politely clapping outside of the door. The reader should understand that even the Captain of the Phoenix Guards ought not to enter an infirmary before being assured that no one was in the midst of a delicate procedure; while interrupting a physicker in the midst of an operation is less hazardous than interrupting a sorcerer in the midst of a complex spell, it is not less discourteous.

On this occasion, rather than a call to enter, the door opened and the physicker emerged. She was an Athyra, of medium height and middle years, with what appeared to be a permanent crease in her brow, and a proud nose of the type usually associated with Hawklords. She closed the door softly behind her before bowing to Khaavren and saying, “I have been expecting you, my lord.”

“Well, and here I am.”

“No doubt, you wish to know of my patient’s condition?”

“You have guessed the precise nature of my errand.”

“Then I will tell you what you wish to know.”

“And you will be right to do so.”

“In the first place, you must know he has been badly wounded.”

“That much I had already deduced.”

“Moreover, I am unable to cast the usual spells to prevent mortification.”

“How, unable?”

“Exactly.”

“But, what prevents you?”

“I am uncertain. Yet my efforts have failed.”

“Well, and then?”

The physicker frowned, the creases in her forehead deepening. “I have used older, more primitive methods of cleaning the wounds, and if these are successful, I would expect him to live.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not as yet.”

“Can you tell when he will regain consciousness?”

“No more than I can prevent mortification; that spell, too, fails.”

Khaavren frowned. “Then I will wait here until—”

He was interrupted by a sound not unlike that the wind makes when passing through a hollow cavern—a sound which seemed to emanate from the other side of the door near which they stood. Without another word, the physicker opened the door and entered, Khaavren at her heels.

CHAPTER THE SECOND

Inside was a high, thin bed, upon which lay the Easterner, covered by a sheet and a blanket. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but opened as Khaavren and the physicker approached. He looked at the black silken scarf about her neck and whispered, “If you have something for the pain, I would be not ungrateful.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My spells will not work on you.”

He closed his eyes again. “Opium?” he said.

The physicker frowned. “I am not familiar with this term.”

The Easterner appeared to sigh. “Of course you are not,” he said, putting something of a sarcastic twang to his voice. His eyes then turned to the captain and he said, “To what do I owe the honor, my good lord, of a visit from—” He stopped here, coughed, winced, and then continued. “—such a high official of Her Majesty’s elite personal guard?” We should add that, to judge from the tone, this question was also not devoid of a sarcastic, or at least an ironic, element.

Khaavren, for his part, ignored the tone, and merely responded to the words, saying, “It is of some concern to Her Majesty when an Imperial nobleman is found to be injured, and questions naturally arise.”

“How,” said the other, “then I am not under arrest?”

“Not at all, I assure you,” said Khaavren coolly.

The Easterner squeezed his eyes shut again, then opened them once more. “I know you,” he said. “You are Lord Khaavren, are you not? Brigadier of the Phoenix Guards?”

“Captain,” said Khaavren, both by way of affirmation and correction, thus conveying the maximum amount of information in the fewest possible words; a custom of his, and one that this historian has, in fact, adopted for himself, holding efficiency of language to be a high virtue in all written works without exception.

“Captain of the Phoenix Guards,” agreed the Easterner. “Brigadier of—”

“We’ll not speak of that,” said Khaavren.

“Very well.”

“But if I might know your name, my lord?”

“Vladimir, Count of Szurke. If you wish for conversation with me—”

“I do, if you are able to talk.”

“I will make the effort.”

“Very well, then. We have met before, have we not?”

“Your memory is excellent, Captain. Although at that time, I was called by another name.”

“Vladimir of Taltos, was it not?”

“If you will permit a small correction, there is no ‘of.’ It is a patronymic; a custom of my people.” The Easterner, we perceive, did not follow the captain’s maxim of efficiency in use of language, a fact we will endeavor not to hold against him.

“I understand,” said Khaavren.

“What is it you wish to know?”

“What do I wish to know? Why, I wish to know what happened to you! You perceive, an attack on an Imperial nobleman is not a matter about which there can be any question of joking. I wish to know who attacked you, and what led to it.”

“I understand.”

“So then, if you would, tell me precisely what happened to you.”

“I would be glad to do so, only—”

“Yes?”

“I have not the least idea in the world, I assure you.”

“How, you don’t know what happened to you?”

“I do not.”

“What is it you remember?”

“I was walking north along the riverbank, and then I was here.”

“And so, you do not know how you became injured?”

“I suspect I was set upon.”

“Yes, that is my suspicion as well. And, if that is so—as seems almost certain—it is my duty to find the miscreants and see them brought before the justicers.”

“Captain, I note you say, ‘them.’”

“Well, and is it not a perfectly good word?”

“Oh, I have nothing whatever against the word, depending upon its use.”

“Well then?”

“But to me, it seems to imply that there are more than one of these, as you call them, miscreants.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Khaavren, struck by the extreme justice of this observation.

The Easterner continued, “Do you, then, believe there were two or more?”

“I put the number at four or five,” said Khaavren.

“So many? I am astonished that I survived such an attack.”

“Well,” said Khaavren laconically.

“If, as you say, you know nothing of this incident—”

“I do say that, and, what is more, I even repeat it.”

“—then how is it you know the number of attackers?”

“From the number and the nature of your wounds, as well as certain rents in your clothing, which I took the liberty of inspecting.”

“Ah. Well, in your place, I should have done the same.”

“No doubt that is true.”

“Speaking of my weapon—”

“The weapon that fits the scabbard was not found.”

“But other weapons?”

“Your belongings are in the trunk under the bed.”

“Very good.”

“But, to return to the subject—”

“Yes, let us do so, by all means.”

“You say that you have no memory of what befell you.”

“None whatsoever. In fact, it would be good of you to tell me what you know.”

“You wish to know that?”

“It concerns me greatly, I assure you.”

“I can see that it would. Well, this is what happened, to the best of my belief: You were attacked, you defended yourself, and, as you were nearly overwhelmed, you threw yourself into the river to escape. You did manage to escape, but lost consciousness shortly thereafter, no doubt from the loss of blood, and the exertion, and perhaps the shock of the cold water.”

“I see. What you tell me is most interesting, and I appreciate it very much. Only it seems odd that—”

“Yes, that?”

“That I survived immersion in the river, which is exceptionally wide and deep, as well as cold and fast.”

“That is true, as far as it goes.”

“Well?”

“But there are often places where portions of the river, as it were, meander off on their own, for one reason or another. These places are shallower, and slower, and narrower; perhaps even warmer, I could not say. It was in such a place that you were found.”

“I comprehend. You have explained perfectly. Except—”

“Yes?”

“Why would I have been attacked?”

“Oh, as to that—”

“Well?”

“Perhaps they attempted to rob you.”

“Ah, that is possible. The roads are not safe.”

“We do what we can.”

“I had not meant to imply criticism.”

Khaavren bowed to indicate he was not offended, and continued. “As we both wish the same thing—that is, to determine exactly what happened to you, and who did it—there are, perhaps, ways of learning this.”

“Oh, are there indeed? Tell me more, Captain, for you interest me extremely.”

“There are sorceries that are sometimes able to enter the mind and recover lost memories.”

“Ah, you say sorceries.”

“Yes.”

“Well—” The Easterner broke off, appearing to be in some confusion. After a moment, he said, “Yes, well, I am afraid sorcery will not, that is to say, it is impossible.”

“Impossible?”

“It is, I assure you.”

“And would still be impossible if you were to remove that amulet that is hanging about your neck?”

The Easterner’s eyes widened somewhat, then he said, “You are observant, and have some skill at deduction.”

“Well?”

“In any event, I will not remove the amulet; I require it for my safety.”

“If I may ask, safety from what?”

“Ah, you wish to know that?”

“I do.”

“Well, from any who would do me harm; and I nearly think there are those who would wish to do me harm.”

“Oh, I do not deny that—indeed, we have very nearly proven it.”

“That is my opinion as well.”

“And yet, you have no opinion on who might have wished to harm you?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That is remarkable.”

“Well.”

“It couldn’t be the Jhereg?”

The Easterner returned Khaavren’s bland look and said, “How the Jhereg? What have I to do with them?”

“In one sense, nothing anymore. In another, a great deal. For example, they would like you dead.”

“You think so?”

“I am reliably informed of this.”

“Well, I do not deny it.”

“It is best you do not, I assure you.”

“Yet I promise that whoever attacked me, my good Captain, it was not the Jhereg.”

“You confuse me.”

“That is not my intention.”

“You pretend to know the attack was not carried out by the Jhereg.”

“And if I do?”

“And yet you claim to have no memory of the attack. How is this possible?”

“How is it you know how many attacked me, when you weren’t there?”

“A simple deduction from facts.”

“Precisely. As is my conclusion that I was not attacked by the Jhereg.”

“Ah, is that it? Then, what is this famous deduction?”

“Tell me yours, first.”

Khaavren shrugged. “There were marks of three distinct weapons on you.”

“And if there were?”

“You were not surprised, or you’d have been killed.”

“Well, that makes sense.”

“A man able to survive an attack by three individuals is certain to have dispatched at least one of them before that one was able to harm him.”

“Your logic is admirable.”

“My logic thanks you. Now, as to your deduction?”

“The Jhereg rarely employs gangs in such matters; one is sufficient, or two at the most. Moreover—”

“Yes?”

The Easterner smiled coldly. “It is not simply death they wish for me.”

Khaavren, after a moment’s thought, understood what he had been told, and was unable to repress a shudder. “Well,” he said at last, “I am convinced.”

“It is good that you are.”

“But if you will permit another question.”

“Yes?”

“If you are attempting to avoid the Jhereg—”

“So you have said.”

“—why have you returned to Adrilankha?”

“In fact, I have not returned, but rather was on my way out after returning for a visit.”

“A visit?”

“I have family here.”

“Ah, I comprehend. I, too, have family, and it grieves me when I must be apart from them for any length of time.”

“Yes. And so I return when I can.”

“I would do the same.”

“I am gratified that you understand.”

Khaavren coughed. “Then let us move on to details.”

“Yes, let us. I am always in favor of details.”

“That is good. Then tell me this, if you would: Where were you, when you last remember?”

“Near the river, some nine or ten miles north of Profimyn.”

Khaavren nodded. “And your reason for being there?”

“My lord?”

“I asked your reason—”

“I heard you, good Captain. But I do not understand why you do me the honor to ask this question.”

“It is my duty,” replied Khaavren laconically.

“Ah, your duty.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I have nothing to say against duty.”

“I am glad you do not.”

“But I do not understand how your duty requires you to inquire into my personal affairs.”

“How can you know if your personal affairs are not, in some way, related to the attack you suffered? These things can happen; I have seen it.”

“I do not doubt you.”

“And then?”

“My affairs are, nevertheless, personal.”

“If you question my discretion—”

“Oh, not in the slightest!”

“And then?”

“Nevertheless, am I obligated to speak of matters important only to myself? It is unusual for the Empire to require this.”

“Oh, it is not unusual at all, under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances? What are these circumstances?”

“Why, the circumstances that you have been the victim of a crime. Surely you would like to see the perpetrators brought to justice, would you not?”

“Why, I care very little about it, I assure you.”

“You astonish me.”

“Do I?”

“Very much.”

The Easterner shrugged his shoulders. “No doubt they had reasons having to do with social maladjustment and childhood neglect. And, after all, are not all crimes addressed in the Halls of Judgment? And if they are never brought there, well, that is a judgment itself, is it not?”

Khaavren studied the Easterner after this remarkable speech, as if unable to find the words with which to reply. At last he said, “You are very complacent, my lord.”

“It is my nature,” said the Easterner.

“I comprehend,” said Khaavren, who was especially skilled at comprehension. “Nevertheless, you perceive how useful this intelligence would be to me in the performance of my duty.”

“Ah, that word again!”

“Consider how Her Majesty would feel were she to know that, not only had Imperial counts been attacked on the highways, but her own personal guard had not even begun an investigation. Surely you perceive what sort of position you put me in.”

“Now you appeal to my kindness.”

“Well, have you any?”

“A little. But I try to be careful how I spend it.”

“And do you not think this a worthy cause?”

“Oh, no doubt it is.”

“Well then?”

The Easterner sighed. “If you truly wish to know—”

“I do, I assure you.”

“I was taking a stroll up the river. I am very partial to the river, and often walk along the banks.”

“A stroll?”

“Exactly.”

“I understand. Now, you say you remember being ten miles north of Profimyn.”

“That is correct.”

“That puts you nearly twenty miles from where you were found.”

“Does it? That is a long way.”

“It seems unlikely that the river carried you twenty miles, wounded, and delivered you up alive.”

“It seems unlikely to me as well, good Captain.”

“And yet, you have no answer to this conundrum?”

“It grieves me to tell you that I have none at all.”

“Then I shall have to discover one.”

“Of course, I wish you all success.”

“May I depend on your cooperation?”

“Entirely.”

“I am gratified to hear it.”

“And I trust you will keep me informed as to what you discover?”

“I will not fail to do so, my lord.”

“How will you begin the investigation?”

“Ah, I must consider that. And as for you, my lord—”

“Yes?”

“Rest now, and trust your physicker.”

Lord Szurke, as he was called, nodded briefly and closed his eyes again. Khaavren, for his part, made his way out of the room accompanied by the physicker.

After saluting the physicker, the captain took himself to the offices of Ensign Shirip, whom he found behind her desk. He motioned for her to remain seated, and himself sat in a chair opposite her. The ensign said nothing, but remained alert and attentive, ready to respond to whatever orders or questions the captain did her the honor to address to her.

Khaavren, for his part, wasted no time before bringing the conversation to the subject of his choosing. “We must see if we can learn what happened to the Easterner. It will be difficult, because he refuses to cooperate.”

The ensign frowned. “That may be a clue itself.”

“It is probable,” agreed Khaavren.

“How shall I proceed in this investigation?”

“Send teams to Profimyn and learn what you can. If the Easterner was, in fact, there, someone will have noticed him. See who else was there.”

“And if we turn up nothing, Captain?”

Khaavren shrugged. “We will see. For now, carry out—” He broke off abruptly, as there was a clap outside the door.

“Who is there?” called the ensign, assuming, correctly, that it being her office, the interruption was her responsibility.

“Erbaad,” came the answer. “With a message.”

“Can it wait until the captain has finished his conversation with me?”

Erbaad, from the other side of the door, said, “I do not know, Ensign, because the message is for the captain.”

Khaavren frowned, and nodded to the ensign, who called to the messenger to enter. When this messenger had entered and saluted, Khaavren said, “You have a message for me?”

“I give you my word on it.”

“Then, you have something to tell me?”

“The captain has understood exactly; I have something to tell you.”

“Very well, I am listening.”

“This is it, then: there is a visitor.”

“A visitor? Then, someone is here to see me?”

“Not you, Captain.”

“Not me?”

“No, Captain. The Easterner.”

“A visitor for the Easterner?”

“Precisely. I took the liberty of informing the visitor that it would require your permission, Captain, to see him.”

“And you were right to do so,” said Khaavren. Then, turning to the ensign, he said, “How long has the Easterner been here?”

“A few hours.”

“And was anyone informed that he was here?”

“No one at all.”

“And yet, he has a visitor.”

“Exactly.”

“This is worthy of remark.” Then once more addressing Erbaad, he said, “Describe the visitor.”

“She is an Issola, Captain, with a strikingly pretty face, marked by delicate brows beneath a high forehead, a sharp but attractive nose, sensuous lips, and a firm chin. Her hair is light, her complexion fair. She is slight of build, but strong; perhaps a little shorter than average at six and a half feet. Her fingers are long and elegant, with calluses that make me suspect she plays a musical instrument. She wears the green and white with leather coverings, as one dressed for travel, and from the scuffs on these leathers she is an accomplished horseman. Her blade is short and heavy, of a simple and functional kind that convinces me she knows its length.”

“I see,” said Khaavren, to whom a picture of the visitor appeared in his mind’s eye as clearly as if he were looking at her. “What name does she give?”

“Lady Saruchka of Reflin.”

“I do not know her. What does she wish?”

“She said nothing except to express her desire to see the Easterner.”

“How did she refer to him?”

“As Lord Taltos.”

“Taltos. Not Szurke. I see. Very well, take me to where she is.”

“This way, Captain.”

Khaavren accordingly followed her toward the entry way, where the lady was waiting, just as described. She rose as Khaavren entered, and bowed with all the grace one would expect of an Issola. Khaavren, returning the bow, said, “Lady Saruchka of Reflin? I am Khaavren of Castle Rock.”

“An honor as well as a pleasure, Lord Khaavren. Naturally, I have heard of you, and all you have done for the Empire.”

“You are kind, my lady.”

“Not at all.”

“I am told you wish to visit the patient.”

“If you please, Captain.”

“May I ask the reason for the visit? I give you my word, I would not ask such an impertinent question did not my duty absolutely require it.”

“Oh, I understand completely, good Captain, and I should have been astonished if you did not ask.”

“You are most complaisant, my lady.”

“I wish to see him because he is a friend, and I have heard he was injured, and thus I wish to assure myself regarding his health and comfort.”

Khaavren hesitated, then said, “I apologize for the interrogation, my lady, but would you be good enough to tell me how it is you learned he had been injured?”

“Through a mutual friend. Captain, I understand that it is your duty to be inquisitive, yet this questioning seems, if you’ll pardon me, extreme.”

“I understand that it might seem so, my lady, but I assure you, there is a reason.”

“Ah, a reason!”

“Exactly.”

“And is this a reason of which, without betraying your duty, you might inform me? For I confess, this has made me as curious as a Hawklord.”

“If you wish to know, I will tell you.”

“I very much wish it.”

“This is it, then: Count Szurke, or Lord Taltos, if you prefer, was not merely injured; he was attacked.”

“Attacked!”

“Exactly. And it would be irresponsible of me to permit anyone to see him before assuring myself that, by doing so, I was not subjecting him to any danger.”

“I understand completely, Captain, and, moreover, I compliment you on your attention to your duty.”

“You are gracious, my lady.”

“For my part, I will give my sword into your keeping, and, moreover, swear to you by my hopes of Deathgate that I mean no harm to Lord Taltos, but, on the contrary, desire nothing more than his swift recovery to full health.”

As she spoke, she unbuckled her sword belt and placed it into Khaavren’s hand. Khaavren, hearing her words, bowed and said, “My lady, that is more than sufficient. Come, I will escort you to his room.”

When they reached the room, Khaavren gave a perfunctory clap, then opened the door and stepped back, bowing slightly to indicate the Issola should proceed him. As she stepped into the room, Khaavren, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, carefully observed the expression that came over the Easterner’s countenance, and the captain had no doubt that this expression was one of intense pleasure. Indeed, Count Szurke, in spite of his weakness, smiled and attempted to sit up.

Lady Saruchka rushed to him as he collapsed back onto the bed, and Khaavren, close on her heels, heard the Easterner say, “Ah, my lady, you ought not to have come here.”

“What nonsense you speak, to be sure.” She then turned to the captain and said, “You now perceive that I am no threat to his welfare; may I request a few moments alone with him?”

Khaavren bowed and said, “I have no objection to this plan.”

“You have my thanks, good Captain.”

With this said, Khaavren bowed and left the room. After some consideration, he decided against listening at the door, and so instead he placed Lady Saruchka’s weapon in Erbaad’s hands with instructions that it was to be returned when the Issola left. This done, he instructed Ensign Shirip to have a horse prepared for him. Shirip neither made a comment nor asked a question, but simply did as ordered, with the result that in five minutes Khaavren was mounted and riding northward.

After an hour of riding, he found the place where the Easterner had washed up, and he spent some time studying the river, noticing the flow of the currents and the effect of the sandbar. He decided, as a result of this study, that it was more likely that the Easterner had entered the river on this, the west bank (which was, in point of fact, south), than that he had survived crossing the entire river. This was fortunate, as it would have been an hour’s ride to the nearest bridge, and there was neither horse nor man ever born who could cross the river this close to its mouth.

Having come to this conclusion, he led his horse (a roan gelding of the Egyeslab breed) northward (actually westward) along the bank, his sharp eyes missing nothing. After a quarter of a mile, he stopped and, nodding to himself, tied up his horse and began a minute inspection of the ground. He was still engaged in this activity when night came on, making its gentle way across the muddy expanse of the river; but instead of stopping, he lit the lantern with which he had supplied himself before setting out, and continued.

Eventually he decided that he had learned all that he could, and so he extinguished the lantern, mounted his long-suffering horse, and rode back to the headquarters building where Shirip was still on duty, having determined that she would remain so until certain that the captain had no further need of her services.

In the event, it was well done, because conversation with her was exactly what Khaavren wished when he returned. He began this conversation himself, by saying, “Is there any change in our patient?”

“The physicker last inspected him three hours ago, shortly after the Issola left, and determined that he would almost certainly live.”

“So much the better. I have made an inspection of the ground where the fight took place.”

“And did you learn anything, Captain?”

“You mean, beyond confirming what we already suspected: that our Easterner lies like a Yendi? Yes, I have. Or, at any rate, I have formed certain conclusions, which I will test by speaking again with Count Szurke in hopes that he will either admit to the truth of what I tell him, or will, by some mannerism, betray himself if he lies in denial.”

“May I do myself the honor of complimenting the captain on this plan?”

“Then, you think it a good one, Ensign? You perceive I ask your opinion.”

“I do, for which compliment I thank you. Yes, it seems to me a good plan if you acquired reliable knowledge, and I am certain that you have.”

“You will judge for yourself. I had suspected there were four or five attackers. In this, I was wrong.”

“How, wrong?”

“In fact, the number was nine.”

“Nine!”

“Yes, there were nine. It was easy to determine, as the ground was soft and, before the altercation began, all nine were lined up facing him, and he, with his back to the river, faced them. They remained this way for some time, no doubt having conversation, because the impression of his boots had time to settle deeply, and he stood as one will when having conversation, rather than assuming any sort of defensive position.”

“And yet, nine!”

“There are reasons why he survived against nine opponents. That is to say, reasons beyond simply his skill, which is not inconsiderable.”

“But, what reasons?”

“For one, he had help of some sort.”

“Of some sort, Captain?”

“Not human.”

“I do not understand.”

“Nor do I, Ensign. Yet there were unmistakable signs that at least two of his attackers were engaged in some sort of combat nowhere near Count Szurke. And yet, there were no footprints near these two except their own. It is possible that he is a skilled illusionist, and so two of his opponents were engaged with phantoms. It is also possible he was able to summon or control birds, and used these against his enemies. There was no blood near either of these places, and yet a considerable number of leaves and twigs had been cut from the trees, as if the attackers were swinging their swords wildly over their heads.”

“And yet, Captain, that still leaves seven.”

“As I read the signs, one of them was removed from combat in the first instant after speech ended, by either a thrown knife or a sorcerous attack of some kind, because there are signs that one of those facing the Easterner fell to her knees and remained in that position for some time, after which she collapsed to the ground, where she remained, bleeding, until after the battle, when she was assisted from the field by two of her comrades.”

“I see. But that still leaves six.”

“One of whom was killed at the first pass. His body fell in such a position that it was in everyone’s way for the rest of the battle, and there was so much blood lost that no one could have survived.”

“So, then, there were five remaining. Still—”

“As I read the signs, he had wounded two of them almost at once. It is almost as if—”

“Yes, Captain?”

“As if he attacked them, rather than receiving the charge. But that is impossible because, ah, yes, I think I know what happened. For now, what is important is that, when it came to combat, it was three against one. Each of them wounded him at least once. They pressed him hard, back toward the river, until he was so severely wounded that he threw himself into it and chanced to luck, being unable to continue the contest.”

Shirip nodded, able to see the fight as clearly as if she herself had been a witness to it. She said as much to Khaavren, who replied, “There is yet one more significant detail.”

“And that is, my lord?”

“Something of a breeze came up after the fight. I cannot say long after, but there are leaves scattered here and there, covering many of the signs, but not stepped on.”

“And this is of interest because?”

“At a spot very close to the river, there is a place where the impression remains in the ground of a thin sword, such as an Easterner might use. There are the prints of someone in small but expensive boots approaching it and leaving it. The boots stepped on some of the leaves that fell after the battle.”

“And so?”

“Someone arrived after the fight, looked around, took the Easterner’s weapon, and left.”

“Ah, yes, I see that, Brigadier.”

“I wonder if the Easterner knows who this might be?”

“Will you ask him?”

“Yes, and about other things, as well.”

“It seems to me, Captain,” she said, “that it will be strange indeed if you are unable to learn something from this Easterner when you confront him with the facts you have accumulated.”

“Good then,” said Khaavren, standing. “I will go and see him.”

Having made this decision, Khaavren wasted no time putting it into action. He at once went to the patient’s room, where, after clapping and receiving no response, he admitted himself. After no more than three minutes, he returned to Ensign Shirip and sat in front of her desk once more. “Well,” he said. “Our patient has escaped.”

Shirip rose to her feet, crying, “How escaped?”

“Perhaps it would be better to say that he left, as he was not a prisoner. And yet, he left by climbing out the window.”

“How was he able to do so?”

“As to that, I cannot say. I saw no indication that he had assistance of any kind.”

“But, Captain, what do we do?”

“Do? Why, nothing.”

“How, nothing?”

Khaavren shrugged. “We have no legal grounds to hold him, and by escaping through the window he proved we have no medical grounds either.”

“And yet, the case—”

“Ah, as to the case.”

“Well?”

“Continue the interviews, learning as much as you can. We will collect the information, and hold it against future need.”

“Then, you think the matter is not ended?”

“I do not know what the matter actually is, Ensign. But, so far as it goes, no, I do not think it is ended. I believe that Count Szurke and I will have more to do with each other before the Empire becomes significantly older.”

CHAPTER THE THIRD

The reader will, we hope, forgive us if, before we continue, we say two words about the writing of history, as this will serve to explain why we make certain of the decisions we have made in describing the events we have taken it upon ourselves to relate.

The renowned musician and composer Lord Levhas has stated that music consists of the notes played and spaces between them, each of them being equally important. In the same way, the narration of history consists of what is told and what is omitted. History is as much of a science as physics, mathematics, or sorcery; the narration of history is as much of an art as music, psiprint, or sculpture. The art, then, consists in the selection of the events to be included and those to be excluded that will most effectively lay bare the scientific laws in operation.

The uneducated but alert reader will, at this point, worry that the historian may, by the careful selection of events, attempt to “prove” a set of pre-conceived notions that do not, in fact, correspond to the truth. We cannot deny that this may happen, as those who are familiar with the “history” written by certain desert-born mystics can testify.

But in fact, this analysis, apparently so convincing, ignores a vital factor: the active brain of the reader. That is to say, should a supposed historian attempt to distort the meaning, significance, and causes of the events he describes, it seems to us this cannot help but reveal itself to the alert reader. The historian’s awareness of this, in turn, cannot but serve to encourage the most scrupulous honesty and rigorous precision in his work.

We have taken the time to explain this because the reader cannot fail to notice that our narrative, initially flowing seamlessly from a Teckla to certain guards to an ensign and to Khaavren, will now abruptly move about in time. It is our opinion that a narrative that behaves in this manner ought to be required to explain itself, which it has now done: the discontinuity in time merely corresponds to the historian’s choice to omit details he deems insignificant or distracting, instead focusing his and the reader’s attention on matters of importance.

With our reader’s permission, and, we hope, understanding, we must now, as promised, move forward in time, an action we take with full awareness of the suddenness of our temporal shift, yet confident that it is the best way to present to the reader the history we have undertaken to relate. It was, then, fully three months after the events described in the previous chapter that Khaavren, who, having been able to learn nothing of the injured Easterner and having thus given it no more thought, had the matter called to his mind. It came about this way:

Khaavren was in his office studying the most recent reports on the disposition and preparedness of those under his command when there came the sound of wood rattling with the particular timbre that indicated someone had pulled the clapper-rope outside of the door leading to the conference room. There were only a very few individuals who might ever enter by this door, and in the case of none of them was there any question of joking; therefore Khaavren at once called for the person to enter.

The door opened, and a figure came through the doorway. The figure, we should add, was hooded and cloaked in dark gray, and walked with a firm, even pace until, arriving before Khaavren’s desk, it seated itself.

“Well,” said Khaavren. “Although I have no doubt that pleasure has nothing to do with your visit to my office, nevertheless, I assure you that it is a pleasure to see you.”

“I give you my word,” said the other in a soft, almost musical voice, “my feelings are entirely the same.”

“I am glad to hear it. While I would enjoy spending some time in conversation, I should imagine that you have come here with a particular purpose, and that of some urgency.”

Khaavren observed the gleam of white teeth within the cowl, and the other said, “You think so?”

“It seems to usually be the case when you visit me, my friend.”

“I do not deny it.”

“And so?”

“Yes, there is a matter I would like to bring to your attention.”

“Well, you have my attention, therefore this is a good time to bring a matter to it.”

“So much the better. Do you recall that, three months ago, you investigated the beating of an Imperial count?”

“You must know, Pel, that I would not forget something like that after only three months.”

“That is true; I merely wished to recall it to your mind.”

“Well, you have done so. What then?”

“A new matter has come before us, and one that, I believe, ought to become a subject for the Special Tasks group.”

“Ah, you think so? And Her Majesty?”

“Has not yet been informed. Whether to do so will be up to you after you have heard what I have to say.”

“And this matter relates in some way to the attack on Count Szurke?”

“I will lay the matter before you, and you will judge.”

“Very well.”

“Do you have the reports on the investigation you ran?”

Khaavren tilted his head. “I think the more significant question is, do you have the reports on the investigation I ran?”

The other chuckled. “You know that I hear things.”

“Yes, but it seems you also read things.”

“Come, is it a problem?”

Khaavren shook his head. “We will not speak of it. Instead, tell me what you found significant in these reports.”

“I noticed the same thing you did, my friend.”

“You refer to an interview conducted in the village of Swells?”

“Precisely.”

“Then, indeed, we noticed the same thing.”

“Let us see. If you would, my friend, please read the appropriate section.”

“Very well, if you wish.” Khaavren rose and opened up a chest next to his desk, and from there removed a box labeled simply with the year and the word, “open.” In this box he found a thick envelope wrapped in white ribbon, and from this, after some looking, he removed a particular folio. He sat down again, and, after some searching, read the following aloud: “Question: Have you seen any Easterners in the last few days or weeks? Answer: Easterners, Your Lordship? No Easterners. Just Chreotha brewers, a few Orca, Dragonlords like yourselves, some Issola, a couple of traveling merchants—Jhegaala—and a Lyorn who was visiting his cousin. No Easterners, Your Lordship.”

“Ah, was that the passage that caught your attention, Khaavren? I am astonished.”

“Are you? But, if there was anything else significant, I confess that I missed it.”

“Well, that is only fair, as I missed any significance in what you read.”

“Well, I will explain what I noticed if you will tell me what I missed.”

“That seems perfectly equitable, and I accept.”

“Then I am listening.”

“If you will turn back to the eleventh page—”

“You seem very well acquainted with this document, Pel.”

“It is possible that I have seen it.”

“Very well. There, I am now looking at the eleventh page.”

“Do you see where your observant and well-trained guards describe purchasing six bottles of wine to loosen the tongues of those they wish to question?”

“Yes, I see it, and I even approve.”

“In the margin, you perceive, they list the expense of these bottles.”

“That is customary, Pel; for if they did not, they could not be reimbursed for this expense, but must pay for it out of their own pockets.”

“Of course, it is a perfectly reasonable custom.”

“Then what—ah. I see. I had not observed before, but that is an unreasonably low price for six bottles of Eprishka wine.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet, I do not perceive—”

“Come, Khaavren my friend. What do you know of the Eprishka wine?”

“I know that it is excessively sweet to my tongue, but is nevertheless a not-unpopular wine, grown and bottled in the Eprish region.”

“That is correct, my friend. And permit me to say in passing that your palate agrees with mine. Do you know anything of how it is distributed?”

“Distributed? Why, I confess I never gave it a thought. Presumably carters load barrels, or cases of bottles—”

“That isn’t precisely what I mean by distribution, my friend.”

“What then?”

“I mean that it is not sold to retailers, but only directly to inns, and in large quantity.”

“So then?”

“In most cases—if you will pardon the unintentional play on words—an inn will only make this purchase if there is some sort of significant event to take place.”

“So, then, if the bottles are being sold cheaply, it means a significant event was planned for, and did not take place.”

“My dear Khaavren, your wits are as sharp as ever.”

“Are they? So much the better. I need my wits to be at their sharpest whenever I speak with you. And yet, it seems, they are not sharp enough to see how this matter is of sufficient importance to gain your interest.”

“In itself, it is little enough. But it caused me to wonder what sort of event might have been scheduled, and why it was canceled.”

“You wondered that?”

“I did.”

“Well, had I noticed the price, I would almost certainly have wondered as well.”

“I do not doubt you.”

“I would have more than wondered, Pel; I would have investigated.”

“I am certain you would have.”

“And, if I had investigated—”

“Yes? If?”

“What would I have discovered?”

“You would have learned that a bard was scheduled to perform on the day after Count Szurke was beaten, and the performance was canceled on that very day.”

“Interesting indeed.”

“Even more interesting is the bard. Not a Teckla, as you would expect. But an Issola. Her name is—”

“Saruchka!”

“Exactly.”

“And so, the beating of this Easterner led this Issola to cancel her performance.”

“So it would seem.”

“And yet, I do not see how this information, significant as it is, might turn the incident into a matter for the Special Tasks group.”

“Patience, Khaavren. First, I must acquaint you with an item that did not pass across your desk. Some years ago—”

“Years!”

“Yes, Khaavren. This is an old matter that has just now taken on new dimensions.”

“Very well, I apologize for interrupting. Some years ago?”

“Yes. Some years ago there was a request for Imperial reimbursement for a lost object from Lord Feorae.”

“Feorae? County and city investigations?”

“The same.”

“A request for reimbursement.”

“Exactly. My staff—that is to say, certain friends of mine keep a sharp eye out for unusual matters, even the most trivial, on the principle that the smallest incident may have larger implications.”

“I agree with that principle, my friend.”

“I am glad you do. And so, this request struck my friend as being out of the ordinary.”

“I agree that it is unusual. If something is lost, well, one cannot generally ask the Empire to reimburse the cost, unless—”

“Yes?”

“Unless it was lost pursuant to Imperial matters. Is that not the law?”

“It is close, Khaavren. In fact, the law reads, lost or failed of recovery pursuant to approved discharge of Imperial duties.”

“Ah, so then, it is the ‘failed of recovery’ that is significant?”

“Exactly.”

“In other words, Pel, Feorae lost a possession, and he did not recover it because of Imperial duties.”

“That is the claim.”

“It is most unusual.”

“That was my thought.”

“Nevertheless, well, what of it?”

“Word has reached my ears—”

“Many words reach your ears, Pel! I sometimes wonder if you have been gifted with more ears than the customary two.”

“If I have, Khaavren, I take my oath that the excess only exist metaphorically.”

“I do not doubt you. But, you were saying?”

“Yes. Word has reached my ears that the object he wishes reimbursement for was stolen.”

“Well, and was it so reported? That is, did he report this theft to himself, and cause himself to investigate it?”

“No, in fact, he did not.”

“That is something else that is unusual.”

“It is. And there is yet another matter of interest.”

“With all of these matters of interest, it no longer startles me that you have become interested. What is this one?”

“The author of the request for reimbursement.”

“The author of the request?”

“The author was what directed my attention to you in the first place.”

“How me? I recall no such request.”

“Not you, Khaavren.”

“Then, who is this famous author?”

“None other than the Countess of Whitecrest.”

“My wife?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, the matter is simplicity itself; I shall ask her about it.”

“And I am certain you will get an answer; the Countess’s loyalty cannot be questioned.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Pel, for it is also my opinion. So now I perceive why you bring the matter to me, and you are right to do so, but I still do not comprehend how it has any connection with the beating of Count Szurke.”

“Nor did I at first. But, you perceive, once my interest in the matter was aroused, I could not help but look further.”

“Well, and did you wonder what was stolen?”

“That was my first question.”

“And did you find an answer?”

“Nearly.”

“Well?”

“It took several years, as the matter did not seem pressing, but, yes, eventually I did learn.”

“Well, and what was stolen?”

“A silver tiassa.”

Khaavren bounded to his feet. “What is it you tell me?”

“It is described as a tiny sculpture of a tiassa, all of silver, with sapphires for eyes.”

“This is … when did he request reimbursement?”

“Half a year after the uproar of a supposed Jenoine invasion that never occurred, during which, as you recall, the Court Wizard was furiously looking for—”

“A silver tiassa!”

“Exactly.”

Khaavren sat down again.

“You may as well remain standing,” said his friend.

“How, there is more?”

“Yes, for once I learned this, I could not resist attempting further investigation.”

“I know you so well in that!”

“I was curious about two things especially. One, who stole it? And, two, how did Feorae acquire it in the first place?”

“And did you learn the answer to the first question?”

“No, but I learned the answer to the second.”

“Ah! How did you discover it?”

“In the simplest possible way. After assuring him that this was a matter of first importance to the Empire, well—”

“Well?”

“I asked him.”

“Ah, that was cleverly done, Pel.”

“Was it not?”

“And so, how did he acquire it?”

“The details are murky, and it involves some quasi-legal activity that I would prefer not to discuss with you, my friend. But in the end, the trail leads to none other than your friend, the Count of Szurke.”

“Indeed!”

“So it would seem.”

“Well. Does he have the silver tiassa now?”

The other shrugged. “I do not know.”

“We should attempt to find it.”

“I agree.”

“And I should have a conversation with Lord Feorae.”

“Ah, as to that—”

“Well?”

“You may do so if you wish, but I have learned all there is to learn from him.”

Khaavren nodded. “Very well, then. This job of tracing the tiassa, how do I convince Her Majesty that it is suitable for the Tasks group?”

“I am certain you can be persuasive, Khaavren.”

Khaavren made a sound of disgust. “And I am certain you have suggestions that would be helpful.”

“Perhaps I do.”

“Well?”

“You might point out to her that this involves an attack on an Imperial nobleman, which is something she cannot be pleased about.”

“That is true.”

“And, moreover, it has to do with the false Jenoine invasion, which I know is a subject upon which she has strong feelings.”

Khaavren nodded. “That will help.”

“I am always pleased to be of assistance.”

Khaavren stood. “I will go now.”

“If you don’t mind, I shall await you here.”

“Certainly,” said Khaavren, smiling. “That will make it easier for you to look through my files.”

“Now my friend, have you ever known me to do anything so obvious?”

“Never.” Khaavren stood and strode to the door. “Which is exactly what makes it subtle.”

An hour later he returned, to find his friend still sitting in the same place. Khaavren sat behind his desk and said, “How much can you tell me?”

There was, for the moment, a gleam of teeth from within the cowl. “How much do you imagine I can tell you, my friend?”

“Oh, you know I have no imagination.”

“You have Her Majesty’s approval of the mission?”

“Yes, I managed to convince her. She is still angry over the false Jenoine invasion, and is perfectly aware that the matter goes deeper than the man who was punished for it.”

The cowl nodded. “As I’d have expected,” came the soft voice.

“The Special Tasks group will investigate to see if there is a connection between this mysterious silver tiassa and the attack on Count Szurke.”

“Precisely.”

“Pel? Why am I only now being informed?”

“I was conducting my own investigation, until today.”

“What happened today to change your mind?”

“I saw the connection between the two investigations.”

Khaavren studied his friend for a moment, wondering, as he always did with the Yendi, what he hadn’t been told. He said, “Well, I will certainly look into the matter.”

“I am confident you will find whatever there is to be found.”

Khaavren sighed. “Very well, then. But of course, with so little to go on, I can promise nothing.”

“I believe we understand each other. I do not expect promises or guarantees.”

Khaavren smiled. “At any rate, you understand me, and that is sufficient.”

When his friend had left, Khaavren settled back to consider his next move. The file concerning the investigation into the attack on Count Szurke was still before him; he therefore took a few minutes to refresh his mind on the details. After this time had passed, he put the file down and rang the bell for his confidential servant—not to be confused with his private secretary.

The individual, then, who responded to this bell was a man whom we have already met briefly—that is, the individual who went by the name of Borteliff. Physically, there was nothing unusual about him: he had the round face and stocky build of the House of the Teckla; his nose was short and snubbed, his mouth rather thin and pinched. Now this worthy had been employed by the Empire—that is to say, by Khaavren—for several years. Khaavren had discovered him while on a mission in the duchy of Tildhome, where the Teckla had been employed as a procurator for a textile manufacturer. Borteliff, a Teckla of middle years, had so impressed the captain with his organizational abilities and discretion, and above all his reticence, that he had at once offered him a new post, a post which the procurator had accepted with all the more alacrity as Khaavren’s mission had resulted in the destruction of his previous employment.

Many of those who worked with or near Borteliff believed he was mute. In fact, he was capable of speech; it is merely that he had discovered many years before that, as a servant, the less he spoke, the more he was valued. He therefore developed the habit of saying little. Having adopted this laudable custom, he then found that the less he spoke, the better he was able to listen, and the better he listened, the more precisely he could carry out the tasks entrusted to him. This, quite naturally, increased his value to his employer still further; and thus, the less he spoke, the more he was valued, and the less he spoke; with the result that, at the time of this history, he’d scarcely uttered a word in a year.

In addition to his laconicity, the worthy Borteliff had many other virtues: he was precise, careful, had a remarkable head for details, and was disposed to obey orders at once and without question. The reader will not be astonished to learn that, with this list of qualifications, Khaavren not only depended on this servant, but considered him invaluable.

Borteliff, then, appeared at once upon hearing the bell, and presented himself before the captain with a slight bow, which he used to indicate that he was prepared to receive any instructions with which he might be honored.

Khaavren, unusual though this may be in a Tiassa, considered each word to be a precious commodity, and he thus hoarded them as the proprietor of a counting-house hoards his coins and notes. On this occasion, he doled out the following: “Attempt to learn the present and recent whereabouts of a bard named Saruchka, House of the Issola. Inform the Countess that I will sup at home. Any information arriving is to be forwarded to me there. Take this file and have copies made, and see that each member of the Tasks group has one. They are to be informed that the group will meet to-morrow at the tenth hour. That is all.”

Borteliff bowed to indicate that he understood, and turned and set about his errands.

With complete confidence in the Teckla, Khaavren gave no more thought to the tasks he had assigned this worthy; instead he simply returned home, where his sword and cloak were taken by Cyl, an elderly servant who had been with the Manor since before the Interregnum, and who, by this time, understood the complex relationships between Imperial service, county service, and family life better than did any of the others who lived there, particularly including the Countess and Lord Khaavren. Accordingly, as he relieved the captain of the aforementioned burdens, he said, “The Countess is on the Terrace.”

“Thank you, Cyl,” said Khaavren, and brought himself to one of the two terraces that had been built to provide a view of the ocean-sea; one of them was frequently used by the Countess to see to Imperial business on fine days; the other was referred to by all as the breakfast terrace, for the reason that it was most often used for outdoor repasts on fine mornings.

Khaavren found her at once, and she looked up from her work and greeted him with that smile that, as the captain had said more than once, would lighten up a dark room. “My lord,” she said, extending a hand, “you are home early. How delightful!”

He kissed her hand and took a chair beside her. “Yes, madam, to make up for what I fear will be a long day to-morrow, and perhaps more long days after.”

“Ah, is there excitement at the Palace?”

“Two old investigations have come together, and thus must be renewed. Apropos, you may know something of one of them.”

“Ah, indeed? You know I am eager to be of help in your work, as you are always helpful in mine. What does it concern that I may know something of?”

“It concerns Lord Feorae, a silver tiassa, and the matter of the false Jenoine invasion of some years ago—which invasion, as you know, was never thoroughly understood by Her Majesty.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Countess. “I may, indeed, have information on that matter.”

“Information that you never gave me before, madam?”

“Ah, my lord, do I hear a hint of reproach in your voice?”

“Merely curiosity, madam. It seems unlike you to withhold information that could be useful in my work.”

“The circumstances were unusual.”

“But you will explain them?”

“Certainly, and this very moment, if you wish.”

“I would be very pleased to hear this explanation.”

“Then I will tell you.”

“I am listening.”

“You know that the supposed invasion was merely a plot by the Jhereg.”

“Yes, madam, I am not unacquainted with this circumstance.”

“Do you know the object of this plot?”

“That was never revealed.”

“Yes, my lord. Because to reveal it would have led to unfortunate circumstances for the Empire.”

“How unfortunate?”

“Her Majesty would have been forced to take official notice, and this, in turn, would have required legal, and possibly violent, attacks on the Jhereg, and the Jhereg would, of course, have responded. Her Majesty thought it best, after having foiled their intentions and executed the perpetrator, to let the matter lie. Lord Feorae cooperated by not reporting the theft of his sculpture, and I filled out the forms to see he was, at least, reimbursed for it.”

“It was Her Majesty’s decision not to press the investigation further?”

“It was.”

“Very well. What was the plot intended to accomplish?”

“The assassination of a certain Lord Taltos.”

“Taltos! Count Szurke?”

“The same.”

“I had not been aware of how badly the Jhereg wants this Easterner.”

“Nor was I, my lord.”

“How was this plot to work?”

“The intention was to trick Her Majesty into locating this Easterner, at which time Jhereg assassins would kill him.”

“And how is Feorae involved?”

“By chance, he held the object that the Jhereg were using as a pretext to convince Her Majesty to locate Lord Taltos.”

“The silver tiassa.”

“Exactly.”

“What became of the object?”

“As to that, I do not know. It was stolen from Feorae, and evidence left pointing to Lord Taltos. But it is clear that the Easterner did not, in fact, steal it. And so it is unknown what in fact became of it.”

“I see.”

“It may also prove useful to know that Lord Taltos is married.”

“Ah, is he?”

“That is, he was. His estranged wife lives in South Adrilankha, and still cares sufficiently for him to take great risks in order to save him.”

“That is good to know.”

“My lord, I’m sorry that I didn’t inform you of this before. Her Majesty—”

“I understand completely, madam. I would have done the same, had Her Majesty made the request of me.” He kissed her hand again, and smiled.

“Thank you, my lord. What will you do now?”

“To begin, I will attempt to locate the silver tiassa. It is possible that whoever has it will prove to be the key to this matter.”

“I hope so indeed, my lord.”

“But first—”

“Yes? First?”

“First, madam, I plan to spend a relaxing evening with my adored wife.”

“Permit me to say, my lord, that I am in entire agreement with this plan.”

“If you wish, we can even venture out-of-doors. Might an evening of music be to your taste?”

“My lord knows how I love music.”

“As do I. There is always an entertainer at the Fingers.”

“That would be lovely. But is it not the case that there is a performance tonight at the Adrilankha Concert Hall?”

“That is true, madam; and yet I know that you prefer social to compositional music.”

“I enjoy both, my lord, as do you, though I’m aware of your preference for the latter. Yet—”

“Well?”

“I believe that, today, the notion of dressing in all the finery Noli can find, and even doing my nails and my jewelry, would be a particular treat.”

Khaavren smiled. “And I will dress as the Count of Whitecrest, with a blue silk cloak and a feathered cap, and you will be on my arm, and I will be the envy of all. And when I have had my fill of that pleasure—”

“Yes? What then?”

“Why, then we will pass within and treat our senses to Jengi’s ‘Symphony of the Northern Sea,’ conducted by Jengi himself.”

“I can think of nothing more pleasurable.”

“Nor can I conceive of a better way to relax before diving into a task that, I assure you, will have me as busy as I have been in some little time.”

“Let us not think of that now!”

“With this I agree.”

“But is there time?”

“The concert does not begin until the ninth hour. An hour to dress, an hour for a leisurely drive, a few minutes for a late supper at the Boiled Hen, and we will still have time to mingle.”

“Then it is a plan!”

This plan, unlike those of a military nature, in the event worked out exactly as intended. They arrived at the concert hall and entered, smiling and speaking with casual acquaintances. Khaavren, of course, noticed with great pleasure the glances, open or covert, cast on the Countess, who, according to her custom, wore Lyorn red in the form of a low-cut gown with a long train, bunched sleeves, and no shortage of lace. Her jewelry, diamond ear-rings and a ruby brooch, completed the outfit. These external features, however, paled in comparison to her wit and charm, which were on full display to anyone who joined what quickly became a large group that formed around them awaiting the bell that signaled the concert was to begin.

The bell sounded, and the massive doors were opened by servants in the blue and gold livery affected by the hall. Khaavren, Daro, the Lord Mayor, and her husband all went to the box reserved for them, relaxing into the plush velvet seats while a servant hurried to see to any refreshments they wished. Below them, the orchestra was spread out, awaiting the lowering of the lights and the arrival of the conductor.

“Do you know,” said Khaavren, “I had never before remarked upon the number of nobles who make up the orchestra. To be sure, most of the performers are of the merchants classes—Chreotha and Jhegaala—but I see a Tiassa in the horn section, and another playing the organophone; and I am certain that there are two Issola in the string section, another among the singers, and yet a fourth playing percussion.”

The Lord Mayor’s husband, a Hawklord named Cellith, said, “You are very observant, my lord. And it is true; Issola especially are often called to a musical life. Compositional music only, of course.”

“Why only compositional music?”

“Because social music would be beneath the dignity of an Issola; none of them would consider such a life, and, to be sure, the House would be outraged.”

“Well,” said Khaavren. “That would normally be interesting information. In fact, there is only one circumstance which keeps it from being of interest.”

“And what is that circumstance, my lord?” asked Cellith.

“That I have promised not to think about work until tomorrow,” said Khaavren.

Daro pressed his hand as he made this enigmatic remark, and, just at that moment, the house lights dimmed as the conductor entered, and, as nothing else that happened that evening has any bearing on our history, we will say no more about it.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH

The next day, Khaavren arrived at the ninth hour and rang the bell for Borteliff, who indicated with the merest inclination of his head that the captain’s instructions had been carried out.

“Then, a search has begun for the bard, Saruchka?”

Borteliff nodded.

“Has any trace of her yet been found?”

Borteliff gave a negative indication. Khaavren accepted this, dismissed Borteliff, and made certain that there was nothing that required his immediate attention. This being established, Khaavren checked the time, then went through the door that, yester-day, his friend had entered from. He followed it until at last he reached the special conference room that had been set aside for his use. Taking a position at the head of the long table, he awaited the arrival of the Special Tasks group.

Khaavren had been waiting less than five minutes when the door at the far end opened, and in came a Dragonlord with short hair and light eyebrows. Without a word, she walked to the second chair from the right on the far end, and sat down. As she was sitting, another entered, this one a Dzurlord who wore a silver band about his forehead, setting off the black of his hair; he took a seat next to the Dragonlord. Another Dragonlord arrived at about this time—an older man with a barrel chest and powerful arms; he sat next to Khaavren. Next came a man, hooded, in the colors of the Athyra; he sat on the other side of the first Dragonlord to have arrived. Last to arrive, directly on the heels of the hooded man, was yet another of the House of the Dragon, this the youngest of them, a woman who seemed to have hardly reached her four hundredth year, and who still had the clear eye and bright smile of youth. She sat at the far end of the table, at which time Khaavren said, “That is all of us; the others are away on missions.”

They nodded, and awaited his further words. As it falls out that they are waiting, we cannot see any harm in saying two words about the individuals whom we have mentioned, as some of them will play no insignificant role in the remainder of our history.

The short-haired Dragonlord was called Timmer. She had been born into the impoverished nobility, which similarity with Khaavren gave him a certain sympathy with her. Upon leaving home, she had joined Combrack’s mercenary army, and had there risen to sergeant. She sustained an injury from a poorly aimed spell at Cook’s Bluff, and so was in hospital when the army, as is well known, went missing in the Gevlin Pass. Without employment, she joined the Phoenix Guards for, as she thought, temporary duty. However, she discovered she had a talent for investigations—in particular for learning more from witnesses than the witnesses were aware that they knew. When Khaavren became aware that this talent extended to supervising investigators, the captain—that is to say, the brigadier—enlisted her in the Special Tasks group. She had, therefore, two commanders: both of them Khaavren.

The Dzurlord was called Dinaand. He had studied sorcery under Brestin, who had also trained Kosadr, who was, at present, the court wizard. While Kosadr studied arcana associated with the Orb, with a further specialty in defenses against the Jenoine, Dinaand became fascinated with the sorceries of identity and location. This was unusual for a Dzurlord—they being more the sort of studies favored by Hawklords, while a Dzur will generally prefer to specialize in the offensive and, occasionally, defensive uses of magic. When Khaavren learned that there was a Dzurlord with these skills, he—after his usual close investigation into the individual’s background—at once offered him a position which would permit him to put his training into practice; an offer that was accepted at once.

The man in the cowl who appeared to be an Athyra was, as the reader has no doubt realized, none other than Khaavren’s friend Pel, a Yendi. As prime minister, he was not actually a member of the group, but attended as a representative of Her Majesty, and, of course, to keep himself informed.

The older Dragonlord was called Cialdi, and, though he looked old, he was, in fact, older. He had achieved the post of Superintendent of Investigations for the Adrilankha Police as far back as the Interregnum. After the Interregnum, he had come so near to identifying and gathering sufficient evidence to convict the mysterious Blue Fox, that Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha, had recommended Cialdi to Piro’s father, who was, as the reader is no doubt aware, Khaavren. Cialdi was an expert on Jhereg operations, having taken the lead in bringing down Lord Hiyechin’s palm-steel operation, as well as having discovered the means whereby stolen jewelry was being smuggled out of the city. Cialdi, then, worked for both Khaavren and Piro (as well as reporting to the Lord Mayor of Adrilankha, and the Chief City Constable). It should be added that, as no conclusive evidence had been found, the matter of the Blue Fox was never mentioned by any of them (except, occasionally, the Chief City Constable, who remained utterly oblivious to what the others, and, of course the reader, all knew). Cialdi was perfectly aware of the general contempt in which police were held, and cared not at all unless it was mentioned to him in an offensive manner; he was also renowned as a duelist.

The last individual was also a Dragonlord; she was called Palaniss. She had come to Khaavren’s attention as a concealed operative during the coal-tax rebellion, when she had acquired significant information by disguising herself as a Lyorn and insinuating herself into the confidence of Lady Vilnai. Later, she directed a covert operation against the Duke of Loghram. While, strictly speaking, the operation failed, it succeeded in that it led to the discovery of Loghram’s spy network within the Palace; and, in any case, Khaavren was sufficiently impressed by Palaniss’s thoroughness and professionalism, that he offered her a position in Special Tasks. We should add that Palaniss was not wealthy, and so the stipend was not unwelcome. But even more than this was her passion for all matters relating to military intelligence, and as this position promised her opportunities to practice her art, as she called it, she did not hesitate before agreeing.

These were the five people, then—three Dragonlords, a Dzurlord, and a Yendi—who turned their eyes to their chief, Khaavren, to await his words.

He said, “There is an Easterner named Vladimir Taltos, Count of Szurke. He holds an Imperial title. Before that, he was a Jhereg, and is now being hunted by that House for criminal activity that ran counter to their preferred criminal activity. Last month he was set upon and attacked, but not by Jhereg. He survived the attack, and, for reasons of his own, will not cooperate with the investigation into it.”

Khaavren looked at the five faces assembled there. “Three months ago, I had an ensign send out teams to learn what could be learned in the general area where the attack took place. The results of the investigation were sent to you yesterday. I will now read you an interview in which I noticed something interesting.” He then gave the date and location at which the interview took place and at once proceeded to read them text—not a sound was heard save for Khaavren’s voice as he did so; everyone in the room giving him the complete attention he was due.

When he had finished, he put down the papers and said, as he usually did at this point in an investigation, “Has anyone an observation to make?”

For a moment, no one spoke; then the Dragonlord who had entered last cleared her throat. “Brigadier—”

“Yes, Palaniss?”

“I, for one, do not see what observation one might make.”

“You see nothing unusual there?”

“Nothing, Captain.”

Khaavren picked up the papers again, and reread a certain passage: “Question: Have you seen any Easterners in the last few days or weeks? Answer: Easterners, Your Lordship? No Easterners. Just Chreotha brewers, a few Orca, Dragonlords like yourselves, some Issola, a couple of traveling merchants—Jhegaala—and a Lyorn who was visiting his cousin. No Easterners, Your Lordship.”

Having finished reading, Khaavren said, “Well?”

Palaniss said, “I am afraid, Brigadier, that I fail to see what is of interest there.”

“Do you? We were lucky enough to get a catalog of strangers passing through—you’ll note that this is from a Teckla who works at a public market, and so sees everyone passing through. Apropos, I must make a note to commend the guardsmen for thinking to interview him. So then, let us look at these strangers one by one.”

“Very well, Brigadier, I agree with this.”

“The last thing he mentions is a Lyorn, visiting his cousin.”

“Yes, my lord? But the Baron of that region is a Lyorn, as is mentioned on page thirty-nine, and why should he not have a cousin?”

“You are correct, Palaniss. Let us pass on. What of the Chreotha brewers?”

“There are two public houses there, my lord; it would seem reasonable that brewers should come by from time to time.”

“Once again, I see no flaws in your reasoning.”

“I am gratified that you do not.”

“So then, what of the traveling Jhegaala merchants?”

“The brigadier must be aware that there is no small number of such merchants, each with his wagon or cart, drawn by horse or mule, traveling and trading among the small villages.”

“I am very much aware of this. So then, that is not out of the ordinary?”

“Not the least in the world.”

“I agree. What of the Dragonlords, dressed like guardsmen, as he says?”

“But, my lord, you know that different pairs of guards are assigned to pass through the towns from time to time, and see that all is well, and listen to complaints.”

“I know that very well.”

“So then, there is nothing odd in that.”

“With this, I agree. What, then of the Issola?”

“The Issola?”

“Some Issola. I say again, some Issola. Some unknown number of nobles of the House of the Issola. Are there any Issola holdings in the region?”

“None, Lord Khaavren.”

“Well, and then?” He looked around the room.

No one spoke except Timmer, who said, “Well, I agree. It is unusual.”

“Does anyone disagree?”

There was the shaking of heads all around the table. The older Dragonlord said, “I admit, it is unusual; but is it significant?”

“Ah, as to that.”

“Well?”

“What is your opinion, Cialdi?”

“I am uncertain, Brigadier.”

“Anyone else?”

The young Dragonlord said, “I, too, fail to see anything in the report you have done us the honor to read to us that may have bearing on the attack on the Easterner.”

“Perhaps there is no bearing, Palaniss. But it is something unusual that has happened in the area we are investigating. Therefore, I wish to know more about it. Also, another matter has been brought to my attention.” Khaavren summarized what Pel had observed about the wine, and the discovery the Yendi had made. As the reader already knows of this, nothing can be gained by merely repeating it, and so the historian has therefore chosen to omit it save by reference. When this summary was finished, and his listeners were considering the significance of what they had heard, Khaavren said, “Also, I have been reliably informed that another matter has a direct bearing on this case, and may prove important to unlocking it.”

“And what matter is that?” said the others.

“It concerns,” said Khaavren, “the theft of a small sculpture of a tiassa, all in silver, from the collection of Lord Feorae. The theft was carried out as part of a Jhereg scheme aimed against the same Lord Szurke whose attack we have been discussing. That is the connection between them, and so we will be investigating both matters.”

There were general nods from around the table, and the Dzurlord said, “Brigadier?”

Khaavren nodded to him, saying, “Yes, Dinaand?”

“How is it you wish us to proceed, in order to learn more about it?”

“I have directed some of my forces to finding Lady Saruchka. Our main effort will be an attempt to find the silver tiassa. As to how we will go about that, has anyone any suggestions?”

Dinaand said, “I know of no way to locate it using sorcery unless it were to be in our possession long enough to plant a trace spell on it; and if it were in our possession, well, we would not need to locate it.”

“That is true, Dinaand,” said Khaavren, struck by the extreme justice of this observation. “So, then?”

“Perhaps,” said Timmer, “we could send our own teams back to that area and see if there is more to learn. While this will not net us the artifact, it may provide useful information.”

Khaavren nodded. “That is a good plan. See to it.”

“As for finding the tiassa,” said Palaniss.

“Yes?”

“It seems to me that the Jhereg who was behind the false invasion was executed.”

“Your memory does you credit,” said Khaavren, “for that is exactly what happened. And then?”

“I wonder,” said Palaniss, “if a thorough search was ever made of his residence.”

“Ah, that is an excellent thought,” said Khaavren. “Look into it.”

“I will not fail to do so, Brigadier,” said the Dragonlord.

“Are there other suggestions?” said Khaavren, looking around the room.

There were none.

“Very well,” said Khaavren. “You will all, of course, stay in touch with me. Let us be about Her Majesty’s work.”

With that, Khaavren rose, as did all of the others except Timmer, who said, “Your pardon, Brigadier.”

Khaavren stopped. “Yes, Timmer?”

“May I speak with you privately?”

Khaavren sat down and nodded.

One by one, the others filed out of the door through which they had arrived. Pel hesitated, as if he wanted to stay, but in the end he just shrugged and followed the others.

“Well then,” said Khaavren. “What is it?”

“I know this Easterner, my lord. Count Szurke, as he is called.”

“How, you know him?”

She nodded. “Does the brigadier recall the Fyres matter?”

“When Loftis was killed. I cannot forget it. He was involved?”

“He was.”

“How deeply involved?”

“Very deeply.”

Khaavren’s face hardened. “Loftis’s killer was never found.”

“No, my lord. He was not the killer. In fact, he avenged Loftis.”

“His name appears in none of the reports, Ensign.”

She met his eyes. “I am aware of that, my lord.”

Khaavren grunted. He knew very well that, with the sort of inquiries the Special Tasks group was assigned, a certain amount of discretion was necessary. “Was he helpful?”

“Extremely, though it must be added, for his own reasons.”

Khaavren nodded. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He is, or at least was, an assassin.”

Khaavren’s nostrils flared, but he gave no other sign of emotion. “What else?”

“He had the charge of a boy, human, Teckla, under a hundred.”

“Charge?”

“He took responsibility for him. From what I learned, heard, and deduced, Szurke felt responsible for something that happened to the boy.”

“I see. What else?”

“He keeps his bargains.”

“You claim he is honorable?”

“For an Easterner, yes.”

Khaavren nodded. “Very well. What else?”

“He is a known associate of Kiera the Thief.”

“Ah, is he! That brings to mind the stolen silver tiassa.”

Timmer shook her head. “That wasn’t her work.”

“How, you are certain?”

Timmer nodded. “I looked into it. It was sloppy, and signs were left.”

“False signs, were they not?”

“Nevertheless, Kiera would have left none. She especially would not have left signs pointing to Szurke, as they are friends.”

Khaavren nodded, accepting her judgment, and said, “What else?”

“I saw from your report that you speculate he might have had arcane or mundane assistance in the fight.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“I can tell you the nature of that assistance.”

“Ah, can you? I hope, then, that you will do so.”

“He practices the Eastern magical arts, by which means he has two jhereg—that is, if the brigadier will forgive me, two of the animals—who watch over him, and assist him in various ways.”

“What ways?”

“When I saw him, they were often perched on his shoulders, or else flying about watching, and, I have no doubt, magically reporting to him what they saw.”

“This is most remarkable, Ensign. Are you certain?”

“I am.”

Khaavren nodded. “This Easterner is formidable, for one of his race.”

“With this, I agree, my lord Brigadier.”

“Is there more?”

“That is all, my lord.”

“If you think of anything else pertaining to this Easterner, or this mission, tell me at once.”

“I will not fail to do so.”

Timmer rose, bowed, and took her leave; Khaavren returned to his office. He sat behind his desk. Borteliff, who was engaged in placing folders in a file cabinet, looked at him. “Well,” said Khaavren. “We seem to have landed ourselves a thorny problem.”

Borteliff, who would not even permit himself a grunt of agreement, bobbed his head slightly. Khaavren nodded back and returned to other matters.

A few hours later he was still at his desk, the remains of a bowl of soup and a few crusts of bread in front of him when he was informed that Palaniss wished to see him. He directed the Dragonlord be admitted at once.

“Brigadier,” he said.

“Palaniss, you have something to tell me.”

“I have indeed.”

“Well, if you have found the silver tiassa, do not delay, for I wish to know at once.”

“Alas, we did not find the artifact.”

“So much the worse!”

“However—”

“Ah! Ah! You found something, then?”

“It would be strange if I did not, for it was a small place, and I made certain to miss nothing.”

“Was it, then, unoccupied?”

“Oh, no; a Chreotha family had moved in. I had them wait in the street until I was finished.”

“Ah, very good. So then, what did you find?”

“In the floor of the master bedroom was a concealed hole, as one might use to hide valuables.”

“I see. And what was in it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, except—”

“Well?”

“Except a piece of velvet, as if to provide a resting place for something delicate.”

“That is very significant. And did you inspect the velvet?”

“With the greatest care.”

“And what did you learn?”

“That something had, indeed, been laid on it, and it looked very much as if it could be a small, sculpted tiassa.”

“So then, it was there!”

“That is my conclusion, Brigadier.”

“That was well done, Palaniss.”

“You are kind to say so, Brigadier.”

“Now the question is, what became of it?”

“He could have removed it.”

“Unlikely. He was arrested, you recall, before the operation was completed.”

“That is true.”

“Could the Chreotha family have taken it?”

“No, Brigadier. They had installed a safe, and their valuables were in there. If they knew of the concealed hole, they would have used it, as it was better protection than the safe.”

“You looked in the safe?”

“Of course.”

Khaavren nodded. “So, then, it was taken after the Jhereg, Dathaani, was arrested.”

“By whom?”

“That is the question.”

“And can you answer it?”

“Perhaps I can, by asking another question.”

“If you have a question, well, I am listening.”

“This is it, then: Who else, besides Dathaani, knew Dathaani had the silver tiassa?”

“The thief he hired to steal it for him?”

“Yes, that is true. Who else?”

“No one.”

“No one?”

“Oh, yes—was there some talk of the Countess being aided by a pair of Jhereg, was there not?”

“There was.”

“We must find out who these Jhereg are.”

“That is useless, for I already know.”

“How, you know?”

“Yes, I was given this information.”

“And does the brigadier wish to share this information?”

“One of them, I will not say. There are certain matters of high politics involved.”

“Very well, I accept that. And the other?”

“A certain Easterner who, it happens, is or was married to the Count of Szurke.”

“Ah, ah.”

“You perceive, Palaniss, that it all fits together.”

“Indeed it does, Brigadier. So either this Easterner woman—”

“Cawti.”

“—has it, or she has disposed of it, very likely to her husband.”

“Who is, from your report, on the run from the Jhereg.”

“Exactly.”

Palaniss frowned. “I do not yet see how the Jhereg fits in.”

“Nor do I. We will discover this.”

“Yes, Brigadier. What are my orders?”

“Are you able to gain the confidence of an Easterner?”

The Dragonlord hesitated. “I do not know. It is not something I have ever attempted.”

“Attempt it now. See if you can confirm that she took the artifact, and learn what she did with it. Remember that she is an Easterner. Flatter her by treating her with courtesy as if she were human—they cannot resist that.”

“As you say, Brigadier.”

With this, Khaavren dismissed her and silently considered what he had learned. After a brief period of thought—Khaavren, as we know, wasted thoughts no more than he wasted words—he concluded that he could come to no conclusions until he received more information than he at present possessed, and he accordingly put the matter out of his mind.

Some time later, he received a report from Timmer, but it was only that they had begun their investigation. This news, while welcome, did nothing to give Khaavren additional material with which to construct theories or test conjectures.

He worked well into the night, supervising the investigators (which he could do, thanks to the remarkable powers of the Orb, without actually being present), and when he was finally overcome by sleep, lay down on a cot in his office.

Borteliff woke him early the next morning with klava, a warm, moist towel, and the summary, prepared by his staff during the night, of any incidents of which the captain ought to be aware. He sipped the one, used the other, than quickly perused the third. As there was nothing in this latter that required immediate attention (some hints of trouble among longshoreman, the particularly gruesome murder of a wealthy Orca), he turned his attention once more to the strange matter of Count Szurke and the silver tiassa.

Within the hour, messengers began to deliver reports of investigations; these Khaavren read them as they appeared, making notations in the margins whenever anything caught his interest, such as symbols indicating more inquiry required, or pay particular attention, or see if this alibi can be sustained. He searched for patterns, and for unusual activity of any sort; particularly following the efforts to learn who the mysterious Issola nobles were.

In the middle of the afternoon, Palaniss returned, begging permission to report. Khaavren had her admitted at once, being anxious to hear what she had learned.

“Well, well, Palaniss,” he said. “To judge by the expression on your countenance, you have not met with complete success.”

“I’m sorry to say, Brigadier, that you are entirely correct.”

“Ah, so much the worse.”

“If you wish, I will tell you about it.”

“That is exactly what I wish. Come, sit down. That is better. Were you able to find the Easterner?”

“Oh, yes; I found her. There was no difficulty in that.”

“And was she willing to speak with you?”

“Yes, she was willing, although—”

“Yes?”

“She seemed cold, even unfriendly.”

“That is odd.”

“Yes, it seems strange, and even, upon reflection, ungrateful.”

“Very true, Palaniss. Did you endeavor to follow my advice?”

“I did, Brigadier, and, I’m sorry to say, she was intransigent.”

“Intransigent?”

“Exactly.”

“Yet, you flattered her?”

“I treated her with all deference.”

“It is unusual. More than unusual, it is strange.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Brigadier.”

“So, then, she refused to tell you anything?”

“She pretended she had never heard of the artifact.”

“Impossible!”

“I agree.”

“Did you get any hint of deception?”

“Ah, as to that, it is possible.”

“Possible?”

“She held her face immobile and kept her eyes on mine, as humans will often do when they do not wish to give away their feelings; it often means deception. I do not know what this means among Easterners.”

“Nor do I. It is dangerous to make assumptions—”

“That is true, Brigadier. You have often said that when you assume, you are thinking like a fish.[1]”

“It is true that I have said that, and I am glad you remember. Nevertheless, we may, in this case, use as a working hypothesis that she knows more than she is saying on the matter.”

“I am entirely in agreement,” said Palaniss. “So, then, what is the next step?”

“Let us reflect.”

“Oh, I am entirely in favor of reflecting.”

“Good, then.”

“But—”

“Yes?”

“Upon what should we reflect?”

“Ah, you ask that?”

“I do, and, if necessary, I even ask it again.”

“Well, I wish to reflect upon this: If our assumption is correct, and this Easterner did take the artifact from the home of Dathaani—”

“Yes, if she did?”

“Then what might she have done with it?”

“Ah, yes. I must say, Brigadier, that that is a good subject upon which to reflect.”

“I am gratified that you think so, Palaniss.”

“So, then, I am now reflecting.”

“As am I.”

After some few moments of silent reflection, Khaavren said, “It is possible that she has it concealed in her home.”

“Yes, that is possible.”

“Or she may have given it to someone else.”

“What of selling it?”

Khaavren frowned. “If it is made of solid silver, it is not without value, and yet—”

“Well?”

“Something tells me that, whatever her reasons for acquiring it, it was not for its monetary value.”

“I know you too well, Brigadier, to mistrust your instincts.”

“So, then, who might she have given it to?”

“She has a son, Brigadier.”

“Ah, has she? Well, that is certainly a possibility.”

“And then, of course, we must not forget her estranged husband, Count Szurke.”

“In fact, Palaniss, it was toward him that my thoughts were tending.”

“You think she gave it to him?”

“It is not impossible.”

The Dragonlord nodded. “It certainly seems to be a possibility, perhaps even a likelihood.”

“But then, if it is true, you perceive our situation?”

“I am not certain I understand what the brigadier does me the honor to tell me.”

“Why, we are searching for the silver tiassa, are we not?”

“That is true.”

“Well, if it is in the possession of Count Szurke, that gains us nothing, as we have no way of finding him.”

“Ah, that is true. So, in fact, this intelligence does us little good.”

“That is my judgment, Palaniss. Nevertheless, I may be beginning to see the start of a pattern here.”

“A pattern? Can you describe it?”

“Not yet,” said Khaavren, frowning. “I must reflect.”

“I will point out, in case you have forgotten, that the Jhereg are after Count Szurke.”

Khaavren shook his head. “This is not the Jhereg. There is no direction, no goal. These are events that are occurring without a mind guiding them. There are many elements, many goals, many tracks. That is to say, we are seeing the result of a clash of intentions, not the working out of a plan.”

“I see. But then, what must we do?”

Khaavren’s eyes widened slightly. “Why, that was very well said, Palaniss.”

“How, was it?”

“I assure you, it was.”

“I am glad of that, Brigadier, only—”

“Yes?”

“I am uncertain what I said.”

“Why, you asked what we must do.”

“That is true.”

“Yes, it is the answer.”

“I confess myself puzzled, Brigadier.”

“How, are you?”

“I give you my word, I am.”

“That is all right, I have been puzzled at times.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“Shall I explain?”

“I would be pleased if you did.”

“This is it, then: There are, as we have said, too many tracks and elements and directions to see how they fit together.”

“And so?”

“And so we will not see how they fit together, rather we will bring them together. I believe that the best way to learn about the relationships among these people, is simply to put them in the same place, and see what they do. That is to say, we are done with reflecting. It is time to act.”

CHAPTER THE FIFTH

The first thing Khaavren did after dismissing Palaniss was to send for Dinaand, the Dzurlord, who arrived within five minutes, proving that he was always ready to respond to the brigadier’s wishes, and that he was one of those with a keystone that permitted teleportation within the Imperial Palace. He entered, bowed, and, in response to Khaavren’s gesture, sat.

“You summoned me, Brigadier? I presume, then, that there is sorcery to be contemplated?”

“In fact,” said Khaavren, “it is not your skill in sorcery that I require on this occasion, but rather your knowledge in other areas.”

“Other areas? To which other areas does the brigadier refer?”

“Music, good Dinaand.”

The Dzurlord’s eyes widened a little, then he smiled. “I sometimes forget, Brigadier, how thoroughly you have studied those of us with whom you work.”

“And so?”

“It is true that I spent some years as a musician, and any knowledge I happen to have acquired is at your disposal.”

Khaavren knew, in fact, that the Dzurlord had been successful as an itinerant singer of medium quality and an outstanding player of the fretted vi’cello for a good score of years, and might be doing so yet had a drunk patron not been loudly disrespectful at one of his performances, the results of which had put an end to the patron’s life and Dinaand’s career. The brigadier, naturally, made no mention of this circumstance. Instead he said, “What made you decide to play a certain place, and not another?”

Dinaan laughed. “Why, money, of course.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, not all, but certainly it was important. You perceive, I had no access to any of my family funds, and so if I wasn’t paid, I didn’t eat, whereas if I was paid well, I ate well.”

“Yes, that is perfectly clear. But what were some of the other factors?”

The Dzurlord frowned. “It mattered if the room sounded good, and was clean. And, of course, the chance to play with particular musicians I admired was worth a great deal.”

“How, was it?”

“Oh, of course! You must understand, for a musician to play with other musicians who excite and challenge him, why that is a special sort of joy. I had the honor to play with the harpist Liscreta once; a memory I shall always treasure. And on another occasion—”

“I understand, Dinaand. What is it that makes another musician desirable to play with?”

The Dzurlord frowned. “Well, he must be at least as skilled as one’s self, preferably a little more skilled, so one feels challenged. And one must share similar tastes—Brigadier?”

“Yes, my friend?”

“Perhaps if you were to tell me what you are attempting to discover, I could be of more help?”

“Well, that is true.”

“And so?”

“I will tell you.”

“I am listening.”

“This is it, then: I am setting a trap for a musician.”

“Ah! A trap!”

“Yes.”

“For?”

“Lady Saruchka.”

“Ah, of course. I performed with her once. She is well known. Her House nearly exiled her, and her family all but disowned her.”

“For playing music?”

“For playing social music.”

“Ah, yes. Compositional music would be acceptable.”

“Some in my House feel the same way,” said the Dzurlord.

“And you played social music despite that?”

“Not in the least, Brigadier. Because of it.”

“Ah, of course.”

“So then, you wish to bring Lady Saruchka to you.”

“You have understood me exactly.”

Dinaand fell silent for a moment; then he said, “Yes, it shouldn’t be too difficult. I know Lord Ramon represents her. We can find a good hall—say the Owl’s Feet. Then we offer her Adham on lant and Dav-Hoel on fiddle, or, if they are not available, others of similar skill. From what I know of Lady Saruchka, she won’t be able to resist.” He frowned. “If it were me, I certainly wouldn’t be able to.”

“Good,” said Khaavren. “How long is needed?”

“It can be set up in days, if Ramon can reach her and everyone else agrees. A good month for publicity.”

“Do we need the month?”

“If it is to seem real, yes.”

Khaavren sighed. “Very well.”

“Shall I start working on it? That is to say, shall I visit Lord Ramon and have him put it together?”

“You are on good terms with him?”

“As good terms as it is possible to be with a musician’s representative. He will be receptive to the plan, because he will see money in it. Of course, it will require us to lay down the capital for renting the hall, and to guarantee payment for the musicians.”

Khaavren nodded. “You will have the authorization for the funds.”

“And so?”

“Yes. The sooner begun, the sooner finished.”

“Very well, Brigadier.”

Dinaand took his leave, and Khaavren sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and considered matters. He realized that he had done everything he could for the present toward solving the problem. It must be said that the brave Tiassa, though capable of exercising great patience, felt frustration when a plan was in motion but there was nothing to do but wait. Yet he had the strength to put this aside and resume his duties; after five minutes, he opened his eyes, sat up, and did so.

Over the next week, Khaavren, for the most part, busied himself with the day-to-day tasks of being Captain of the Phoenix Guards, a post with no shortage of duties. While he never let the matter of the silver tiassa get far from his thoughts, he was able to distract himself with his routine.

Every few days he would receive a report from Dinaand, describing his progress. Khaavren gave these reports the same exacting attention he gave to all reports. In the first week he learned, therefore, that matters were progressing: the hall had been secured, the other musicians had agreed, and a date had been set pending the approval of Lady Saruchka. It was at this time that he received word that Her Majesty wished to see him; as he had certain matters to discuss with the Empress, he agreed to see her in the Blue Room at once.

Being the captain, he did not require an escort—or rather, he escorted himself into the Imperial presence. He noted with the experience of an old courtier that the Orb was a pleasant light shade of green. Her Majesty (whom Khaavren noticed after the automatic observation of the Orb) was seated, wearing an informal gown of Phoenix gold.

Khaavren bowed and silently awaited his sovereign’s orders.

“Well, thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

“Your Majesty knows I am entirely devoted to her service.”

“That is true, for you have proved it often enough.”

“Your Majesty is kind to notice.”

“I more than notice, I wished to especially commend your loyalty, Captain.”

Khaavren bowed. “I repeat my observations on Your Majesty’s kindness; but I am certain that is not all you wished to say to me.”

“On the contrary, that is all I wished to say to you, Captain.”

“How, that is all?”

“Entirely, Captain.”

“And yet—”

“However.”

“Ah, there is a however.”

“Indeed there is. While I have no more to say to my captain, there are certain matters to discuss with my brigadier of the Special Tasks group.”

“Well, I understand. Your Majesty must understand that between the two posts, I am sometimes confused about whose service is requested.”

“I understand completely.”

“I am glad Your Majesty does. So, then, how can I—that is, the brigadier of the Special Tasks group—be of service?”

“It concerns this investigation into the attack on Count Szurke.”

“Your Majesty knows I am conducting an investigation.”

“Yes, but it has come to my attention that this investigation has spilled over into other areas.”

“Other areas, Majesty?”

“I refer to the false Jenoine invasion, which I have no doubt you recall.”

“Oh, there is no question that I remember it.”

“And then, Brigadier? Are these investigations running together?”

“So it would seem, Majesty.”

“Well. Then I should imagine you would have questions to ask me.”

“In fact, Your Majesty is perspicacious.”

“Very well. That is why I wished to see you, so you could ask these questions.”

“That falls out better than I had expected, Majesty, as I had hoped to bring this subject up after Your Majesty’s business was complete.”

“Well, you see, there is no need to wait.”

“So much the better.”

“Ask, then, Brigadier.”

“Very well, Majesty. My first question is simple.”

“It is?”

“Who was behind the false invasion?”

“Brigadier, you know who arranged it.”

“Yes, Majesty. But who hired him to do it?”

“Ah, that. We never found out.”

“Your pardon, Majesty, but—was an effort made to do so?”

The Empress shook her head. “No. If I had wished this to be discovered, you are the one I’d have asked—in one of your posts or the other.”

Khaavren nodded as if that very thought had occurred to him. He hesitated, then said, “Your Majesty, why?”

Zerika sighed. “The Prime Minister and the Dragon Heir appealed to me. They pointed out what it would do to the Empire if a full attack on the Jhereg were to be launched; and nothing short of such an attack would have discovered anything.”

“I see,” said Khaavren.

“You see,” repeated Her Majesty. “But do you comprehend?”

Khaavren tilted his head. “If Your Majesty is asking if I approve, I would not do myself the honor to judge Your Majesty’s decisions.”

The Empress laughed—a genuine laugh, we should add, as opposed to the laugh of one intending to make a point. “I believe that you are being disingenuous, either with me or with yourself.”

Khaavren started to speak, stopped, then permitted himself a smile. “Your Majesty may be right.”

“So, then?”

“In this case, Majesty, I do not presume to pass judgment. I am not unaware that sometimes justice must be sacrificed to expediency.”

“But you don’t like it, do you, Captain?”

Khaavren stiffened. “I had thought Your Majesty was speaking to the brigadier.”

Zerika laughed. “Well taken. What other questions do you have?”

“The artifact—the mysterious silver tiassa. Has Your Majesty learned any more concerning it?”

“Nothing but the rumors we heard at the time—rumors I am personally convinced were fabricated.”

Khaavren nodded. “I do myself the honor to share this opinion with Your Majesty.”

“That is good. What is your next question?”

Khaavren cleared his throat. “Is Your Majesty prepared for the risk that, by discovering what happened to Szurke, and tracing the silver tiassa, information will come to light that could have consequences, and require action?”

“I answered that when I gave you leave to have Special Tasks pursue the matter, Brigadier. What I wish to avoid is indiscriminate violence among the Houses. Should we learn of an individual—or several individuals—who are responsible for a crime, well, that is a different matter, is it not?”

“I do myself the honor to be in complete accord with Your Majesty.”

“So much the better. What is your next question?”

“That is all, Majesty.”

“How, all?”

“I can think of no others.”

“You startle me.”

“Do I? That is not my intention.”

“Nevertheless, I expected more questions.”

“Would Your Majesty condescend to tell me what questions you expected?”

“I had expected, Brigadier, that you would ask why you were never told of these things.”

“Your Majesty expected that?”

“I did.”

“Such a question might hint of reproach.”

“It might.”

Khaavren shrugged. “Majesty, it may be that the captain can be offended when it appears his sovereign does not trust him; but the brigadier knows very well that some matters must be kept between Empress and Orb—an expression I use literally in this case.”

“I am answered. But do you not also wish to know if I expressed a wish to Madam the Countess that she not speak of this matter, even to you?”

Khaavren made no effort to conceal how startled he was by this question. “Your Majesty, I have no need to ask that; the Countess already told me of it.”

“Ah. Well, I understand. So, there is no more you wish to ask?”

“Nothing else, Majesty. And permit me to say that I am grateful for your kindness in permitting me to put these questions.”

“My Lord Khaavren.”

“Majesty?”

“I cannot go into detail, but Count Szurke—that is to say, Lord Taltos—performed a great service for the Empire at the time of the latest difficulties with Elde Island. In doing so, he made a bitter enemy of the Jhereg. There is nothing I can do about that. But recently he was beaten, and it is obviously not the Jhereg. There is something behind this, and it is big. I want it to be found, and the Empire protected.”

“And Szurke?”

“If you can protect him as well, I would be gratified.”

“I understand, Majesty. Only—”

“Yes?”

“Suppose it is not big?”

“What do you say?”

“Majesty, I am beginning to suspect that this entire matter is small, trivial, unimportant.”

“If true, so much the better!”

“And?”

“Then it would be good if Szurke were protected anyway.”

“Your Majesty, everything is now perfectly clear to me.”

“Very good, Brigadier. That will be all, then.”

Khaavren bowed deeply and took his leave of the Empress. He returned to his offices, where he caused bread and cheese and wine to be brought to him. He ate slowly as he considered what he had learned.

“Well,” he said at last, speaking to the empty room, “it doesn’t matter. It is Her Majesty’s wish; it is therefore, to me, a command. If it weren’t, I’d be holding the wrong position. Or, rather, the wrong two positions.”

This settled, he put what, for another, would have been a moral dilemma out of his mind and continued with his duties.

The next day, Dinaand reported that Lady Saruchka had accepted the engagement. Khaavren replied, confirming (for the third time) the time, date, and location when the bard had promised to appear.

“That is good,” observed Khaavren to himself. “Now we know where it will happen, and when it will happen. All we do not know is what will happen.”

That night, he spent an evening quietly at home with the Countess, playing quoins-of-four, and later reading together; the Countess preferring re-tellings of folktales, while Khaavren spent time with his favorite poets of antiquity; occasionally they would read each other a passage or stanza.

At one point, the Countess said, “My lord, I know this mood you are in—a little smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth, and sometimes your eye narrows as if choosing to do so for its own reasons.”

Khaavren looked up from his book and said, smiling, “Well, and what do you conclude from these statistics?”

“That you have solved a mystery, or finished the preparations for an operation, or both.”

“The preparations are complete; the mystery is still to be solved.”

“I have no doubt you will solve it.”

“Your confidence inspires me, madam.”

“So much the better.”

“It will take another week to see the end of the matter, but to-morrow everything will be arranged.”

“And you will achieve results.”

“And be glad to have them, for this matter causes me some confusion.”

“I look forward to hearing the answers, my lord.”

“And I, madam,” said Khaavren, “look forward to explaining them.”

With that, by mutual consent, they returned to their books.

By two minutes after the ninth hour of the next morning, Pel arrived at Khaavren’s office, and was admitted at once. Khaavren motioned him to sit, which he did. Pel said, “Would you be kind enough to tell me your plan for next Marketday?”

“If you wish to know, I will gladly tell you.”

“Good, I am listening.”

“This is it, then: I will arrive three hours before the time the musicians are expected to start, and take up a position at a wheelwright’s across the street from the Owl’s Feet. There I will be able to watch whoever arrives.”

“And then?”

“And then, once everyone is gathered, I will go in.”

“Once you are inside, what will you do?”

“I will confront those from whom I wish to get answers.”

“Just you?”

“Who else is needed?”

“But, you say, confront them?”

“Yes. And, with everyone there, it will be strange if I cannot learn who is doing what, and why.”

“And once you have learned?”

“I will take whatever action seems appropriate.”

Pel shook his head. “This is not what I had expected, my friend.”

Khaavren shrugged. “When we last spoke, it is not what I had expected either.”

“And so?”

“What do you want, Pel?”

“Whatever is best for the Empire, of course.”

Khaavren laughed. “I forget sometimes that you are without ambition, my lord the Prime Minister.”

“I have had ambition, Khaavren, as you well know. But I have found that, having gratified it, my goal now must be to prove myself worthy of the position to which my ambition led me.”

“My friend, you have never had to justify yourself to me, and we have strayed from the topic of our conversation.”

“Not in the least, Khaavren.”

“How, we have not?”

Pel sighed. “No, for this matter concerns the good of the Empire.”

“My dear Pel, if there was something you had wished me to do, you ought to have told me what it was, then I could have done it.”

“Not to do, my friend. To discover.”

“It seems to me that we ought to discover what is going on, once all of those concerned are brought together.”

“You think so?”

“The Horse! I hope so!”

“And yet—”

“Pel, what did you want to learn that you didn’t tell me about before?”

The Yendi sighed. “There are times that I regret—but I suppose there is no point in complaining, is there?”

“None that I can see.”

“My old friend, are you laughing at me?”

“Without malice, good Pel.”

“I accept that, then.”

“May I do myself the honor to repeat my question? What did you want to learn that you didn’t tell me about?”

“Khaavren, I know that you remember the false Jenoine invasion.”

“Of course.”

“And, no doubt, you remember the real one of a few years before, by the Lesser Sea.”

“I was not there.”

“No, but someone else was.”

“Sethra Lavode.”

“Well, yes. But that is not who I meant.”

“The Warlord?”

“She was also there, and yet—”

“Pel, do not make me guess.”

“Count Szurke.”

“What do you tell me?”

“I tell you that this Szurke—Lord Taltos the Jhereg—was first present at the Lesser Sea when the Jenoine attempted to break through, and then was the object of a false invasion a few years ago. And now he appears once more. I want to know what this Easterner is doing, and why he is doing it. I want to know his plans and intentions. He cannot be arrested, because he has made a friend of Her Majesty. But he is a mystery, and this disturbs me.”

“And so you wished me to find out—?”

“Everything about him.”

“And you didn’t ask me because—?”

“Her Majesty would not have approved of the investigation, your duty would have required you to inform her, and you, my friend, have the unfortunate habit of carrying out your duty.”

“It is true, I have acquired that habit.”

“And so?”

“Well, I understand.”

“I am gratified that you do.”

“Moreover—”

“Yes?”

“I give you my word that if I learn anything of interest to you, I will not hesitate to inform you, and that I will even make what effort I can to discover as much as possible about this Easterner and his intentions.”

“Thank you, Khaavren. The Empire thanks you.”

“Oh, the Empire is not in the habit of thanking anyone, save now and again through one who represents it; but I will accept your gratitude with pleasure.”

“You have it as a gift.”

“And one I will treasure, I assure you.”

Pel rose, bowed, and took his leave. Khaavren remained where he was for a moment, lost in old recollections. Then, with a shake of his head and a smile, he returned to his duties.

CHAPTER THE SIXTH

Khaavren, who had planned to arrive three hours early on that Marketday, was, in fact, at his post five hours before the appointed time. The post, in this case, was full of wood, wood-working equipment, and the distinctive smells of wood and the various oils and potions used to treat it—a smell which brought back pleasant associations for Khaavren from when, as a child, he had spent time with his father’s carpenter, a pleasant, older Chreotha who was full of stories and was marvelously skilled with his hands.

Khaavren exchanged a few words with the wheelwright, a young Jhegaala full of new ideas that were, perhaps, not as interesting to Khaavren as they would have been to another wheelwright. Fortunately, the brigadier was not in a hurry on this occasion; he was perfectly willing to make sounds associated with interest until, at length, he was able to work the conversation around to those matters of more interest to himself—to wit, how, for a few coins, the proprietor would be willing to let Khaavren remain quietly in his shop. The proprietor, though disappointed at losing what he had hoped would be a customer, found solace in the coins. Khaavren carefully noted the expense in his note-book, and set about his task.

It was a warm day, with the enclouding so thin that shadows could be seen spreading out from buildings and walking in lockstep with passers-by. Khaavren leaned against the doorway, folded his arms, and settled in to wait. From this position, he watched the coming and going of the patrons of the Owl’s Feet. He made the guess that there were more than twenty patrons there. This was not surprising, as the Owl’s Feet dated back to before the Interregnum, and was known far and wide as a place with good food, better wine, and still better music. It was a two-story stone structure, marked by a sign showing the head of an owl above the feet of this bird; why it came to be called the Owl’s Feet rather than the Owl’s Head was something no one knew.

As Khaavren continued to watch, a group of eight arrived together, all of them in the green and white of the House of the Issola.

“Ah,” said Khaavren, and permitted himself a small smile. “Her Majesty will be disappointed, and, most likely, so will Pel.” This observation made, he checked to make certain his sword was loose in his scabbard, folded his arms, and resumed his vigil.

He recognized Lady Saruchka with no trouble when she arrived, some three-quarters of an hour before she was scheduled to play, which Khaavren had expected, Dinaand having told him that musicians customarily arrived early in order to prepare themselves and their instruments. At nearly the same time, two others arrived whom Khaavren guessed to be musicians, as they both carried cases that might contain instruments. Khaavren looked at them closely, because he was not unaware that these could be Jhereg, and the cases could conceal weapons. As he watched them, however, he decided that they were no more than they appeared to be.

In point of fact, an unexpected appearance by the Jhereg was his greatest worry. But Khaavren had been a Phoenix Guard too long to be easily deceived by a disguised Jhereg, and so he watched and studied. Khaavren’s other worry was that he would miss the arrival of Count Szurke, should the Easterner choose to disguise himself, or to arrive by some unexpected route. In the event, he need not have worried—Khaavren recognized him at once, in the same nondescript leather garments he had affected earlier, with a light brown cloak that revealed the hilt of a sword. Szurke walked up to the door as if he had no reason in the world not to, paused, turned, nodded to Khaavren, then opened the door and entered.

How did he know I was here? was Khaavren’s first thought. Why did he want me to know he knew? was his second. He remembered, then, what Timmer had told him about the Easterner using a pair of jhereg to spy for him, which, he concluded, might answer the first question.

There was no point in waiting further, both because everyone had arrived, and because the musicians were scheduled to begin performing in only a very few minutes, and Khaavren knew that, however unlikely, it was possible the musicians could begin near to the time when they said they would. Khaavren waited patiently while a mule-drawn cart filled with firewood passed by, then quickly crossed the street and entered the Owl’s Feet.

Khaavren waited by the door while his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the inn after the brightness of the street. The bar ran along the far end of the room; across from it, to Khaavren’s left, was a small stage area raised about half a foot higher than the floor; no doubt where the performers would place themselves so they could be seen over a press of bodies and heard over a rumble of conversation. There were doors at each end of the bar, one, Khaavren knew, leading to a storage area, the other to a hallway with private rooms, and thence to another door to the outside.

When his eyes had adjusted, he glanced over the rest of the room. The Issola were all seated close to the stage, four each at two tables. They were seated in front of and beside the tables; none behind them—that is to say, they were all in good position to rise and draw in the shortest possible time. At that point, he realized that Count Szurke was, to all appearances, nowhere in the room.

Khaavren mentally shrugged. He had no doubt the Easterner would appear soon enough. It was now past the time when the musicians had been scheduled to begin, and the audience was becoming restless; it was simply a matter of waiting. He leaned against the wall near the door and waited.

Adham and Dav-Hoel were the first up; Adham stepping onto the stage with a twirl of his lant over his head; Dav-Hoel merely stepping up, moving to the back of the stage, and fixing his gaze on the far end of the room.

Then, holding a reed-pipe, Lady Saruchka emerged, dressed in narrow pants of green and a tight-fitting white blouse. She smiled warmly at the audience as she stepped onto the stage.

And it was at this moment that the eight Issola all stood, as one, reaching for their weapons.

Khaavren wasn’t certain where he came from, but, somehow, the Easterner, Count Szurke, was standing in front of the stage. A light-weight sword was in his hand, and two jhereg were on his shoulders.

It seemed to Khaavren that it might be a reenactment, as it were, of the fight by the river.

The Issola charged.

The pair of jhereg leapt from Szurke’s shoulders, flying into the face of two of them.

There was a flash as something left the Easterner’s left hand, and one of the Issola stopped, staring down at a knife that had somehow appeared in his chest.

After that, however, it no longer resembled the battle by the river; Khaavren placed himself to the Easterner’s left, his sword out and ready.

It is possible Szurke would have made some observation about this remarkable event, but, in fact, he had no time; Issola, though not, perhaps, as inclined to violence as certain others, are known to not waste time when the moment for action arises. These eight certainly did not.

That the reader may have a clear understanding of events as they unfolded, it is absolutely necessary, at this time, to say two words about the positions of the significant individuals. (We use the qualifier “significant” to make it clear to the reader that we will not, at this time, be describing the position or action of the host or of those accidental patrons who do not figure in the calisthenics about to take place.)

So, then, as we look, the instant after the Easterner has thrown his knife, we see two of the Issola being chased about the room by jhereg, in a scene reminiscent of some of the lower-class bawdies available for four coppers on Verendu Lane. With one of the Issola concerned—quite reasonably in the opinion of this historian—with the knife that had penetrated a full three inches into his chest, this left five Issola who were charging Count Szurke.

Or so they thought. In fact, they were facing not only Szurke, but also Khaavren, who, drawing his sword, placed himself in a guard position beside the Easterner.

Khaavren, as was his custom on such occasions, feinted toward one long enough to interfere with her attack, so that he could concentrate on the other. This opponent was an exceptionally tall woman who wielded an especially long sword to add to this advantage. Khaavren, therefore, took a step forward as he parried her attack, after which he disengaged with lightning speed and, still moving in, passed his sword through her body, leaving her stretched out full length upon the floor.

Meanwhile, the Easterner had taken a peculiar stance in which only his side appeared as a target. He emerged with another small throwing knife, though exactly where on his person it had been concealed was impossible to say, and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it underhanded in the direction of one of his enemies. Although the weapon had been thrown too weakly to do any damage, and even failed to arrive at its target point-first, it nevertheless caused him to duck, which permitted Szurke to address himself to his other opponents. He took a step backward, then, much as Khaavren had, feinted toward one while in fact concentrating on the other. This man was in the process of making a lunge at the Easterner’s body—a lunge that would have had murderous effect if Szurke had remained where he was; however, not wishing to feel several inches of steel enter his vitals, he stepped lightly and quickly to the side, after which he delivered three very fast cuts with his thin blade to his opponent’s sword arm, with the result that the Issola’s weapon fell from his nerveless hand.

The three remaining Issola recovered their guard positions, as, in fact, did Khaavren. The two jhereg, as if by command, returned to the Easterner’s shoulders; the Issola they had been chasing took positions next to their comrades, also in guard positions. Szurke, for his part, not only did not assume a guard position, but, on the contrary, ignored his opponents entirely. Instead, he coolly turned toward the stage, bowed, and said, “My apologies for the delay in the beginning of your performance. I give you my word, I look forward to hearing your music once this little matter is disposed of.”

No one spoke. In fact, there was no sound at all, save soft, constant cursing from the Issola whose arm and hand the Easterner had cut and the moans from the one Khaavren had wounded.

Khaavren, never removing his eyes from his opponents, said, “My dear Count, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Well,” said the Easterner.

“You left so quickly before, that I feared the hospitality displeased you.”

“In fact,” said the other, “the klava left something to be desired.”

“Indeed? I am concerned to hear it.”

“It tasted as if it had been made with hot coffee, when, of course, the coffee must be made cold, then heated, then run through the filter.”

“I had not been aware of this circumstance,” said Khaavren. “And I thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“You are welcome,” said Szurke laconically. “My lord Captain—or should I say brigadier?”

“Captain,” said Khaavren.

“Very good, then. My lord Captain, what should we do with these, ah, miscreants?”

“Miscreants?” said Khaavren.

“Brawlers in public places.”

Khaavren chuckled. “I admit, the notion of arresting them on this charge appeals to my humor. It is less humorous, but more reasonable, to arrest them on a charge of attacking an officer of the Phoenix Guard; a charge, by the way, for which the punishment is death. However—” He paused here and looked at the four Issola who remained in guard position, weapons out. To judge by the expression on their countenances, the statistic recited by Khaavren had no effect on them whatsoever. “However,” he continued, “for now, I should prefer to understand something of what this is all about.” He paused, turned his head toward the stage, and said, “Lady Saruchka, might I trouble you to step forward?”

Now, the reader must understand that Lady Saruchka was not only an Issola, but, moreover, a performer; hence it should come as no surprise to the reader that her reply, when it came, was delivered in a calm, even voice with no hint of agitation. “I will do so, my lord, but I should prefer to have a sword in my hand. Alas, I left mine in the pacing room.”

“But, my lady, if you had the sword, upon whom would you turn it?”

“Why, upon them, my lord. That is to say, my mother’s brother, his son, his daughter, and her husband.”

“As I had suspected,” murmured Khaavren.

The Easterner, who was close enough to Khaavren to hear, said, “As I had suspected you suspected.”

“Well,” said Khaavren. “Would you care to explain matters to me?”

“It is not my place to do so. Perhaps Lady Saruchka would, if you asked.”

The bard, hearing this, said, “Do you think I should, Vlad?”

“If you wish, Sara. It is entirely your decision.”

“Perhaps I will, then.”

As she finished speaking, she had placed herself next to Khaavren, and, holding her reed-pipe as if it were a weapon, she stared at the five Issola. “Or,” she added, “you could ask them. Hearing their opinion cannot fail to be amusing.”

Khaavren shrugged and, addressing the Issola whose arm had been wounded, said, “Would you care to offer an explanation?”

The Issola, who was ignoring the blood that continued to fall from his arm, said coolly, “My lord, what is it you wish to know?”

“In the first place, your name.”

“I am Dury.”

“Thank you, Lord Dury. Now, if you would be so kind as to explain, why did you attack this Easterner?”

“Why, what else could we do when he has dishonored our House and our family? You perceive, my lord, one cannot challenge an Easterner to a duel.”

“Oh, I understand that well enough.”

As this exchange took place, Khaavren observed a glance exchanged between the Easterner and the bard.

Khaavren cleared his throat. “Please forgive the brusqueness of an old soldier,” he said. “But I will to be clear about this. The Easterner and the bard are lovers, are they not?”

“Yes,” said Dury, at the same time the Easterner and the bard said, “No.”

“But,” added Szurke, “I would very much like to be.”

“And I,” added Saruchka, “am very nearly ready to consider it, out of annoyance if for no other reason.”

“How, you are not?” said Dury.

“I answered the captain, my lord uncle,” said Saruchka. “Had you asked, I would have declined to answer. With this in mind, I am certain you can understand my reluctance to give reassurances.”

“And yet,” said Dury, on whose face a certain degree of consternation was now visible, “it has seemed to me that the two of you have been seen together, and have met secretly, and—”

“Good my lord uncle,” said Saruchka, “if our meetings were secret, well, then we did not want them known. If we did not want them known, what would make you think I will now explain them?”

“For my part,” said Szurke, “I would be curious to hear the explanation from our brave captain.”

“From me?” said Khaavren.

“Why not?”

“You believe I arrived already understanding the circumstances that led us all here?”

“You pretend you do not?” asked the Easterner with a smile.

“Well, perhaps I have certain guesses.”

“I would admire to hear them.”

“Shall I tell you, then?”

“If you would. You perceive, we are all listening.”

“Then, if you insist—”

“To be sure, I do.”

“—I will explain.”

“Well?”

“This is it, then: The Lady Saruchka, who had already earned the ire of her family by playing social music, gave the appearance of having—how may I say this? ‘Taken up’ is I believe the expression, with an Easterner. That, in the event, they were wrong did not stop them from attempting to deliver a beating to the upstart Easterner. The Easterner, unaware of the reason behind the attack, or, indeed, the nature of it, assumed his life was in danger and reacted accordingly. This led to the death of—who, exactly?”

“My brother, Amlun,” said Dury.

“Amlun is dead?” said the bard.

“Yes,” said Dury.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Saruchka. “Vlad, that wasn’t nice.”

“Sorry,” said the Easterner.

“What remains to be answered,” said Khaavren, “is, if you two were not romantically involved, just what were you doing together?”

“That is a good question,” agreed Szurke.

“I’m glad you think so,” said Khaavren.

“Another good question is, whatever became of the mysterious artifact called the silver tiassa?”

“What is that?” asked Dury.

“I had expected that you wouldn’t know,” said Khaavren.

“Well, I am pleased to meet your expectations, but what is it?”

“No, no,” said Khaavren. “It is not for you to ask questions. It is for you to answer them, at least until I have decided what to do with you.”

“It is up to you, of course, but may I suggest that finding us a physicker might not be unreasonable?”

“Cha,” said Khaavren. “None of you are hurt badly.”

“As you say,” said Dury.

Khaavren, then, turned to Lady Saruchka and said, “What is your opinion, my lady? Should I arrest them?”

She laughed. “Aside from the amusement value, no. I imagine they are sufficiently chastised by having been defeated, twice, by an Easterner.”

Dury kept his eyes facing straight ahead, and made no response; but it is undeniable that his face reddened somewhat.

“Very well, my lady. I will do as you say. Naturally, the Empire has no interest in matters within your family, or between you and your House.”

“I am pleased to hear it, my lord Captain.”

Khaavren then turned to Dury, bowed, and said, “You may go.”

For an instant, the Issola looked as if he might say something; then it looked as if he wished to do something; but in the end he simply made a deep courtesy and, enlisting the help of the others, assisted the wounded out the door.

When they had left, Khaavren turned toward Saruchka and said, “Now, then. Will you tell me of the silver tiassa?”

“I confess myself astonished, Captain, that you know so much of what has transpired, and yet have no guess about this artifact for which you have been looking for so long.”

“But, how do you know we’ve been looking for it?”

“Vlad told me.”

Khaavren turned his eyes to the Easterner, who said, “I could not imagine the Empire being so concerned about the health of one poor Easterner—Imperial title or none—as to devote this much effort to the search.”

“And you reached this conclusion when, my lord?”

“When the concert was announced. It was obvious that it was only scheduled in order to bring us all together.”

“And yet, you came anyway?”

“You perceive, Captain, that I am hardly going to pass up an opportunity to see Sara.”

“Indeed? Then, the Lord Dury was not entirely wrong.”

“Oh, he was perfectly right, if my wishes were the only consideration. But perfectly wrong when Lady Saruchka’s wishes are taken into account.”

“That is not necessarily true, Lord Taltos,” said Sara with a smirk.

The Easterner coughed, and appeared to be uncertain about where he was looking. One of the jhereg on his shoulders began to bob its head up and down furiously, almost as if it were laughing. Khaavren, other than a certain disgust at what was being implied, had little interest in the matter. He said, “In any case, it was not dalliance that brought the two of you together two months ago, nor that caused the lady to retrieve your sword—which sword, I perceive, she has returned to you.”

“She was kind enough to do so,” said the Easterner, who appeared to have recovered somewhat, although his face was now as red as Dury’s had been.

“So then,” said Khaavren. “The questions remain—what is the nature of the association between you, and where is the silver tiassa?”

“As to the last,” said Saruchka, “I can tell you that it is where it is needed.”

“The answer,” said Khaavren, “is not satisfactory.”

“I am concerned to hear it,” said Saruchka.

“As am I,” said Szurke.

“You must understand,” said Khaavren, in whom a certain heat was beginning to rise, “that the Empire has invested no small amount of time and effort in this matter.”

“Why?” said the Easterner.

“What do you ask me?”

“Why? What is the importance or significance of this object to the Empire?”

“As to that—”

“Well?”

“It is not my place to say.”

“That is right,” said Szurke. “Only—”

“Yes?”

“Then it is not my place to answer your questions.”

“I understand, my lord. But if you do not—”

“Yes, if I do not?”

“I shall be forced to continue my inquiries.”

“Well.”

“And it is not impossible that these inquiries will involve finding you in order to ask you more questions.”

“Well.”

“And if I must hunt you, I can make no guarantee that others who might be looking for you will not also discover where you are.”

“Ah. I see.” A smile tugged at the corners of the Easterner’s mouth. “You make a strong argument, Captain.”

“And then?”

“You seem determined to discover what was behind all of this.”

“And if I am?”

“It seems odd.”

“And why would it seem odd?”

“Because you already know.”

“You think so?”

“I am convinced of it.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you are brigadier of the Special Tasks group.”

“And if I am?”

“You could not have become involved in this without investigating me. I make no doubt that you know nearly as much about me as the Jhereg.”

“I do not deny what you say.”

“Ensign Timmer works for you.”

“And if she does?”

“She would have told you what she knows as well. With all of this information, and with a mind like yours, you cannot have failed to discover the answer.”

“That is possible,” said Khaavren. “Nevertheless, I would prefer to hear it from you.”

“If you wish,” said Szurke. “The boy has it.”

Khaavren nodded. “As I had thought.”

“So then, what will you tell Her Majesty?”

“Yes. I am considering that very question. Tell me, do you know what it does?”

“I do not actually know, my lord. I have suspicions.”

“And those are?”

“My lord, to be inspired, well, that is to find the moment when the conscious mind comes together with parts that are unconscious. Is that not true?”

“You speak in generalities.”

“And if I do?”

“I prefer specifics.”

The Easterner shook his head. “I’ve already said enough. Too much.”

“You’re afraid I’ll attempt to take it?”

“If Her Majesty orders you—”

“I doubt she would do that.”

“In any case, I have said all I intend to say on the subject.”

Khaavren bowed slightly to signify that he understood. “Then I have no more business here,” he said.

“Then I will bid you farewell, Captain, for I do have business here.”

“Ah, have you?”

“Indeed. I am going to listen to music.”

With that, Szurke sat down in the nearest chair. Lady Saruchka, smiling at him, turned and stepped back onto the stage, where the other musicians had been waiting patiently as unimportant matters such as life and death were settled.

Khaavren turned his back on the Easterner and the bard and took himself back onto the streets of Adrilankha, where his duty lay.