by Steven Brust
She frowned. “I’m not sure. Shall I try?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“All right.”
I cleared my throat. “We were discussing Lady Teldra.”
“We were?”
“I was. Or, rather, Great Weapons in general. It’s slowly dawning on me that I have one.”
“Yes, you do indeed.”
“Ummm … what can they do?”
She frowned. “They are different, of course.”
“Yes, but they have certain things in common.”
She nodded. “They can all kill Jenoine. Also, gods.”
“Right. Well, killing gods and Jenoine is not a big priority in my life. What else?”
“They will act to preserve your soul, and possibly your life.”
“Possibly?”
“Possibly. But, in your position, with what the Jhereg wants to do to you, a weapon that will preserve your soul should be of some comfort.”
“True enough. You said ‘act to preserve.’ There’s an implication there it will try.”
“Yes.”
“How reliable is that? I mean, can I count on it?”
“Well, if you know it’s coming, and the weapon has time to prepare, it’s more likely. You remember the incident with Aliera in Castle Black.”
“It would be hard to forget.”
“But don’t bet your life on it. I know of at least three times when the wielder of a Great Weapon had his soul taken by a Morganti weapon.”
“All right.”
“Also … I’m not certain exactly how to say this.” She chewed on her lower lip. I keep forgetting how sharp her teeth are. “Also, by possessing a Great Weapon, you have a connection, if you will, to something that goes beyond this world. Does that make any sense?”
“I’m not sure. You mean, another world in the sense that the Necromancer means it?”
“Do you understand how the Necromancer means it?”
“Well, no.”
“I mean something that you might term ‘fate.’”
“I hate that word,” I said.
“I’ll try to find another, if you like. It refers—”
“I hate the whole concept behind it, so another word won’t help. It implies that I’m not free to do as I wish.”
“It isn’t that simple,” said Sethra.
“Nothing ever is.” I sighed. “I really just want to know what I can expect from Lady Teldra. What she might do, what I can try with her that I couldn’t before, what chances it might be reasonable to take with her that I wouldn’t have taken before.”
“Oh? Are there chances you wouldn’t have taken before?”
“Funny, Sethra.”
She shrugged. “As for your weapon, well, there are stories and legends, but I don’t actually know anything.”
“Leaving me pretty much where I was before.”
“I’m afraid so. Although—”
“Yes?”
“I’ve never heard anything that would account for the strange behavior you referred to.”
“Wonderful. Well, would you care to let me in on the stories and legends?”
“Are you sure you want to know? The things I’ve heard all have to do with destiny.”
“Wonderful. Yeah, I guess I’d like to know anyway.”
“Very well. The weapon is supposed to destroy Verra.”
I nodded. What with one thing and another, that didn’t surprise me.
“Hmmm. Sethra, could the Jenoine know about that?”
“Certainly, Vlad.”
“Okay, that would explain a couple of things. Anyway, what else?”
“There is also something I heard years ago, all wrapped in metaphor, that implies Godslayer is designed to, uh, cut out the diseased flesh in the world.”
“Okay, well, that’s clear enough. Any idea what it means?”
“Not really.”
I sighed. “Okay, mind if I change the subject?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know anything about the Left Hand of the Jhereg?”
“I thought you wanted to change the subject.”
“Eh?”
“Never mind; it was a joke.” She considered. “I’ve had a few encounters with the Left Hand over the years.”
“What can you tell me?”
“They’re very secretive, as you probably know.”
“Yes.”
“They do have magic no one else has. I know that the Athyra in particular are always attempting to insinuate someone into their organization, just to discover how some of their spells operate.”
“Attempting?”
“They haven’t had much success, so far.”
“So far is a long time, Sethra.”
“Well, yes. From what I’ve picked up, those in the Jhereg—that is, the Left Hand—rarely even tell each other how to perform some of the more obscure and difficult magics.”
“I think I might have seen one of those.”
“Oh?”
“You know how much I know of sorcery, so I could be wrong, but the one who attacked me, when she appeared, well, it didn’t look like any teleport I’ve seen before.”
“Interesting. What was different about it?”
I described what I’d seen, and what I hadn’t seen, as best I could. Sethra looked thoughtful.
“I don’t know what that could be. I wish I did.”
“If you ask nicely, maybe she’ll teach you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Would you like to sleep here tonight?”
“Please, and thank you. And, yeah, I’m pretty tired. It’s been quite a day.”
She nodded. “Tukko will show you to your room.”
Tukko appeared and led me to a room where once I had awoken after death; he left a candle burning and shut the door. I laid myself down in a very soft bed—the kind that wraps you up like a blanket. Not my favorite sort of bed, but I appreciated the feeling just then.
The only decoration in the room was a painting, which showed a battle between a jhereg and a dzur, in which they both looked pretty banged up. I’d never seen a jhereg like that in real life; it was smaller than the giant ones that hover near Deathgate Falls, but much larger than any of those that scavenge in the jungles and forests and even sometimes in Adrilankha. Maybe the nameless artist had never seen a real one. I couldn’t say about the dzur, I’d never seen one close up. Nor was I in any special hurry to; they were larger than the tiassa, black, wingless, and, by all reports, very fast. And they had claws and teeth and were reputed to fear nothing.
Things that fear nothing scare me.
When I’d studied the painting before, I had been pulling for the jhereg to win. Now I wasn’t sure. Now maybe I was for the dzur.
I blew out the candle, and let a good night’s sleep clear my mind the way a good shamy will clear the tongue.
4
Mushroom-Barley Soup
There were several different soups that could have appeared at this point, of which I passionately enjoyed all except the beet soup. Today was one of my favorites; I smelled the mushroom-barley before Mihi arrived with it. The bowls were wide, white, and there was wonderful steam coming out of them.
Valabar’s mushroom-barley soup is something I can almost build. At least, I can come closer to achieving the right effect than I can with most of their menu.
First, I quarter a whole chicken. Then I throw the carcass into a pot with onion, garlic, celery, salt, pepper, and a bit of saffron. I clean the stock and dust it with powdered saffron. I cook the barley in the same pot (which took me a bit to figure out), and throw in some chopped garlic and shallots that I’ve sauteed in rendered goose fat until they’re clear, and wood mushrooms, nefetha mushrooms, or long mushrooms, whatever looked good at the market that day. Then I just cook it until it reduces.
That’s almost like Valabar’s. I’ve never quite identified the difference. I mean, I’ve found some of it. I tried sea-salt instead of mined salt, and got clo
ser. Then I used white pepper instead of black pepper, and that helped too. I had to play with the amount of saffron, and I think I finally got it about right. But there’s still something that isn’t quite the same. It might be how they sauté the onions: a subtle difference in time there can change a lot.
It was a bit of an annoyance, but not enough to prevent me from enjoying what was in front of me. That first taste just hits you, you know, and as the aroma fills your nose, the broth—just the tiniest bit oily from the goose fat—rolls around on your tongue.
It’s wonderful.
“This is really good,” said Telnan. “How do they make it?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Glad you like it, though.”
“So, you live around here?”
“I used to. Why?”
“Well, just because it seems like you know this place.”
“Ah. Yes, I’ve eaten here many, many times.”
“Where do you live now?”
“Hmm. An interesting question. I own some land around Lake Szurke, but I don’t live there. I live … uh, nowhere, really.”
“Nowhere?”
“I’ve been doing some traveling.”
“Oh, I see. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Much joy may it bring you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Where is Lake Szurke?”
“East. Near the Forbidden Forest.”
“I’ve heard of that place. Why is it called the Forbidden Forest?”
“I asked Sethra about that once. She said it used to be owned by a duke who was especially snotty about poachers.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“I guess he was particularly determined about finding and prosecuting them.”
He nodded.
“But then,” I added, “Sethra might have been lying.”
The point of the soup, at this stage, is, I guess, like the final setup. You aren’t in desperate need of food, because you’ve had the platter and the bread. And then you’ve prepared yourself for what is to come with the shamy. Now the soup appears, and as you linger over it, it just starts to dawn on you what sort of experience you have entered into. You are simultaneously anticipating more than ever what is to come next, and are able to await it more patiently. The soup is warm, and it’s, if I may, sensual, and it provides a certain amount of comfort. And as it vanishes, spoonful by happy spoonful, you discover that you are in the perfect condition for whatever might come next. All is now ready.
Vili brought us a bottle of wine, showed it to me, opened it, and poured us each a glass. We hadn’t made more than a dent in the last bottle, but I learned long ago that it is a mistake to try to finish all the wine. Sometimes, a certain amount of waste is just a necessary part of maximizing one’s pleasure.
While I slept, I had a confusing dream, in which Valabar’s was all mixed up with the Left Hand, and parts of Six Corners appeared in the courtyard of Castle Black. Other than a general feeling that I was in danger, with no specific cause that I noticed, or at least that I remembered after waking, there wasn’t anything to connect the dream to what I was involved with. And if the dream intended to let me know I was in danger, it was a wasted effort; I’d already figured that part out.
I woke up and blinked away the dream. The painting reminded me that I was at Dzur Mountain, and I gradually recalled what I had agreed to do. I thought about getting up, decided I’d rather lie there and plan the day, realized I couldn’t make plans without some klava in me, and grumbled to myself about the necessity of finding klava in someone else’s house.
I am, you see, a lousy houseguest, mostly because I have a terror of being a lousy houseguest. I worry about whether I’m going to dirty a towel unnecessarily, or move someone’s footstool or empty someone’s boiler, or use the last of the kerosene. I can’t really relax. Once, I found myself traveling with a young Dragaeran, and when I returned him to his family they insisted I stay with them for a few days on the floor of their little cottage, and I hated the experience more than I’ve hated several attempts on my life, including one or two successful ones. This was Sethra whom I called a friend, but I still dreaded the thought of getting up and rummaging through her kitchen for klava.
So I remained in bed for a bit, giving myself a few minutes to remember yesterday’s meal, which put me in a better mood. Then I rose, dressed, and shuffled off through the corridors of Dzur Mountain, in search of the elusive Tukko, which was known to dwell near klava nests.
“You’re really weird when you wake up, Boss.”
“It’s taken you how many years to figure that out?”
I eventually treed the Tukko near the kitchen, and mumbled the secret password that would produce klava. As I stumbled back to the sitting room, I realized I had been hearing the sputter of the klava-boiler before I asked. The sitting room became brighter as I entered, though I could not identify where the light was coming from. That’s another one of those tricks I really like, although it was a bit brighter than I’d have chosen.
Ten very long minutes later a cup was in my hand, the steam coming up as wonderful in its own way as Valabar’s soup. Ten minutes after that, I realized that I was beginning to wake up.
“We going back to South Adrilankha today, Boss?”
“I don’t see any way around it.”
Rocza launched herself from my shoulder (I hadn’t even been consciously aware she was there, but that’s just because I’m used to her) and flew around the room a couple of times, before perching on the back of a chair.
“Loiosh?”
“She’s just restless.”
“Okay.”
I took a moment to recall what weapons I had secreted about my person. It wasn’t like years before, when I had dozens and knew exactly what and where each was without thinking about it, nor the more recent period when I carried only a couple of knives. This was an uncomfortable in-between time.
I drank klava and considered my next move, which led inevitably to a consideration of everything I didn’t know. My hand caressed the hilt of Lady Teldra; like before, a certain sense of her calm, warm presence made its way up my fingertips. Of all the things I didn’t know, she was, perhaps, the most important. One part of me believed that, so long as she was with me, I could walk anywhere in safety, that the Jhereg couldn’t hurt me. But there were Sethra’s words from yesterday, and, more than that, my memory kept returning to the sight of Morrolan, lying dead on the floor of an Adrilankha public house. He carried Blackwand. He’d been assassinated.
By a sorceress from the Left Hand.
And Aliera had been killed by a simple, old-fashioned dagger to the heart, while Pathfinder was with her.
And Sethra herself had returned, undead, from beyond Deathgate, so something must have killed her at some point.
These statistics were not entirely encouraging.
To the left, there were those remarks Telnan had made, which kept going through my mind. He seemed much too simple to have been dissembling. Yes, I know, it could all be very clever deception. But I didn’t think so.
“Tell me, Teldra. Just what can you do?”
She didn’t answer. I’m not sure what I’d have done if she had.
Okay, best to assume, in spite of yesterday’s experience, that I was on my own as far as getting out of trouble was concerned. That way, any surprises would be pleasant ones, which I’ve always felt are the preferred sort.
I finished the klava and looked around for Tukko so I could ask for more. He wasn’t around. I made my own way to the kitchen, found what I needed, and engaged in the klava-preparation ritual, then returned to the sitting room, sat, and pondered the immediate future.
I moved away from grand strategy, as it were, and considered practical details for a while.
“Good morning, Vlad. I’ll get Tukko to clean that up and bring you some more. Did you burn yourself?”
I put my dagger away. “Good morning, Sethra. Not
noticeably, and thank you.”
“You were quite lost in thought there. Or just jumpy?”
“Both,” I said. I sat down. Loiosh returned to my shoulder. Rocza gave me an offended look and remained perched on a chair. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out how I’m going to leave here. I don’t really want to remove the amulet while they’re looking for me, and that means I can’t teleport.”
She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Morrolan’s window can get you back to Adrilankha easily enough.”
“How far is Castle Black from here?”
“A day’s ride.”
“Ride?”
“I keep a few horses stabled here. You’re welcome to borrow one.”
“Ah. Yes. Horses.”
“Shall I have your trousers cleaned?”
“No, thanks. It’s just klava.”
“And klava stains don’t count?”
“You know, Sethra, sometimes I forget that you’re a woman.”
“There is no way I can possibly respond to that.”
“Um. Yeah, forget I said it.”
Tukko showed up with another cup, set it down next to me, gave me a look, and began cleaning up the broken crockery.
“Whatever you do, it might be easier if you made Castle Black your base of operations, though you’re certainly welcome here any t—”
“I won’t do that to Morrolan.”
“Do what?”
“A Jhereg, on the run from the Jhereg, taking refuge at Castle Black. Does that sound familiar, somehow? If not, ask Kiera. She’d understand.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Yes, I see the problem.”
I nodded.
“She’s right, Boss.”
“About what?”
“You have started chewing on your thumb.”
I stopped chewing on my thumb.
“Sethra, can you do, I don’t know, something to keep them from spotting me for a bit while the amulet is off?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Getting back there without spending weeks at it, and without being killed the instant I appear.”
“You mean, teleport you somewhere, and leave them confused about your location long enough for you to wear it again?”
