Steven Brust - Phoenix

"Mmmm. What did she say?"

Morrolan paused, looking up at the ceiling as he remembered. "Very little, actually. She seemed to be concerned, but I don't know why."

"Perhaps I should speak with her, then."

"Perhaps. She will be coming here later this evening to discuss the war."

I felt a frown settle around my lips. "What war?"

"Well, there isn't one yet. But surely you've heard the news."

"No," I said hesitantly. "What news?"

"An Imperial cargo vessel, the Song of Clouds, was rammed and sunk yesterday by raiders from Greenaere." "Greenaere," I said, swallowing bile. "Oh."

Lesson Seven

MATTERS OF STATE I

Morrolan, Aliera, and I lunched in the small den, with an opening onto a balcony that looked down at the ground a mile below. I did not partake of the view. Morrolan's cooks prepared a cold soup of duck with cinnamon, an assortment of chilled fruit, kethna with thyme and honey, various green vegetables with ginger and garlic, and wafers dipped in a strawberry glaze. As was his custom, he laid out several wines with the meal, rather than selecting one for each course. I had a dry white from the Tan Coast, and stayed with it for the whole meal, except for dessert, when I switched to what my grandfather would have called plum brandy, but the Dragaerans called plum wine.

The subject was war. Aliera's green eyes were bright as she speculated about landings on Greenaere, while Morrolan thoughtfully considered naval commissions. I kept trying to find out why it was happening. After shrugging off the question several times, Aliera said, "How can we know why they did it?"

"Well, hasn't there been any communication between the Empire and the island?"

"Perhaps," said Morrolan. "But we know nothing of it."

"You could ask Norathar—"

"There is no need," said Aliera. "She'll tell us as much as she can, when she can."

I glowered into my duck and tossed down more wine. I don't usually toss wine down; I tend to drink it in installments of two or three gulps at a time. Aliera, who holds her glass like she's holding a bird, bottom two fingers properly under the stem, takes tiny lady-like sips at dinner, but when she's out in the field, as I happen to know, she'll slug it down like anyone else. Morrolan always holds the glass by the bowl, as if it were a stemless tumbler, and takes long, slow sips, his eyes looking across at his dinner partner, or the person with whom he is speaking. Now he was looking at me. He replaced his glass, which contained something thick and purple, and said, "Why are you so interested?"

Aliera snorted before I had time to speak. "What do you think, cousin? He was just there, and everyone was after him. He wants to know if whatever he did caused this. I don't know why he should care, but that's what he's after."

I shrugged. Morrolan nodded slowly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing I can talk about."

"He probably killed someone," said Aliera.

Morrolan said, "Did you kill someone of sufficient importance to prompt anger at the Empire?"

"Let's change the subject," I said.

"As you wish," said Morrolan.

Ginger and cinnamon were the main scents of this meal. Loiosh sat on my left shoulder and received occasional scraps. He thought there was too much ginger in the vegetable dish. I told him that, in the first place, there was no such thing as too much ginger and, in the second, jhereg don't eat vegetables. He was saying something jhereg in the wild versus civilized jhereg when one of Morrolan's servants, an elderly woman who moved like a Serioli water clock and had streaks of black in her grey hair, entered and announced, "Sethra Lavode."

We all stood. Sethra entered, bowed slightly, and seated herself between Aliera and me. She always preferred to be announced without titles; part of her mystique, I guess, though I couldn't say if it was sincere or contrived. You haven't met her yet, so picture if you will a tall Dragaeran wearing a black blouse with big, puffy sleeves drawn tight around her wrists, black trousers tucked into calf-high black boots, a silver chain from which hung a pendant depicting a dragon's head with two yellow gems for eyes, and long silver dangling-things on her ears that glittered when she moved. She had the high, sharp cheekbones of a Dragonlord and the pointed Dzur hairline. Her eyes, which slanted upward as a Dzurlord's, were dark and set deep in her head, and looking into them one always felt the danger of being lost in the thousands of years of un-dead memory she held. Iceflame, blue hilt against the black, created echoes inside my mind. She was a vampire, a sorcerer, a warrior, and a statesman. Her powers were legendary. Sometimes I thought she was my friend.

"You are discussing the war, I presume?" she said.

"We have been," said Morrolan. "Have you news?"

"Yes. Greenaere has formed an alliance with Elde Island."

Aliera and Morrolan exchanged looks that I couldn't interpret, then Morrolan said, "That's rather surprising, considering their histories."

Sethra shook her head. "They haven't actually fought since before the Interregnum."

"Last time we fought Elde," said Aliera, "Greenaere was on our side."

"Yes," said Sethra. "And they lost half their fleet for their trouble."

"Fleet?" said Morrolan. "Then they have a navy?"

"They have many fishing boats, and most of them are capable of long voyages. The fishermen become their navy when they need one."

"Do they have a standing army?" asked Aliera.

"Not to speak of," I said.

They both looked at me. When I didn't elaborate, Morrolan cleared his throat and said, "Elde does."

"It seems strange," I said, "that they think they can win against the Empire."

"Perhaps," said Aliera, "they're hoping it won't come to war."

"In that case, they're stupid," said Morrolan.

"Not necessarily," said Aliera. "They haven't done so badly in the past. There have been nine wars with Elde, and-"

"Eleven," said Sethra. "Twelve if you include the first invasion of Dragaerans, but I suppose we oughtn't to include that one."

"However many," said Aliera. "The Empire has never won decisively. If we had, they'd be part of us."

Morrolan made a dismissing gesture. "They've always been hurt worse than we have."

"Not always," said Aliera. "They attacked during the Ash Mountain uprising, and we had to negotiate a peace. A common ancestor of ours was beheaded for that fiasco, Morrolan."

"Ah, yes," he said. "I remember. But other than that—"

"And during the fifteenth Issola reign, they attacked again and we had to sue for peace."

"There was a war with the East at the time." "All right, so as long as we're not distracted—" "So," interrupted Sethra. "Just what is going on in

South Adrilankha, Vlad?" First Morrolan, then Aliera stopped and looked at me

as the significance of what she'd said hit.

"Good question," I said. "I've been wondering about that myself."

Among my enforcers and bodyguards was a guy called Sticks, named for his favorite weapon. I called him into my office and had him sit down. He did, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his demeanor relaxed. He always seemed relaxed. Even when he was in action, which I've seen close up during a recent incident I don't care to dwell on, he never seemed to be hurried or upset. I said to him, "You told me once that you used to work connecting musicians with inns that wanted music." He nodded.

"Do you still have much connection with it?" "Not really."

"Do you know the others in the business?" "Oh, yeah. There are eight or ten who keep it pretty well locked up."

"Name some names."

"Sure. There's a woman named Aisse. I wouldn't work with her, though." "Why not?"

He shrugged. "She never seems to know quite what she's doing. And when she does, she never lets the musicians know. Word is she lies a lot, especially when she screws up."