The Book of Jhereg

by Steven Brust

  . . . Jhereg? Wild jhereg? I felt a sudden breeze, cool against the back of my neck, reminiscent of the feel of a knife’s edge, and of other things.

  A memory came back to haunt me, from years ago. This same jungle it was. . . . Could I . . .?

  I was just distracted enough by the thought that I almost missed a parry. I jumped backward, and his deflected sword ripped into my side. I felt the blood start to flow, and it began to hurt. Verra be thanked, my stomach was settling down.

  Witchcraft is similar to sorcery in many ways, but uses one’s own psionic powers rather than an external energy source. The rituals and incantations were used to force the mind down the right path, and to direct the power. How much were they really necessary?

  My mind reached back . . . back . . . back to the time I had summoned the jhereg who was Loiosh’s mother from these very jungles. His mother was, quite likely, long dead, but I didn’t need her. Could I do it again?

  Probably not.

  “Come to me, blood of my House. Join me, hunt with me, find me.”

  I almost stumbled, and was almost killed, but didn’t and was not. What the Hell was it? Come on, brain, think!

  As my grandfather had taught me long ago, I let my arm, and my wrist, and even my fingers do all the work of keeping me alive. My mind had other things to do, the sword-arm would just have to take care of itself.

  Something . . . something about . . . wings? No, winds, that was it, winds. . . .

  “Let the winds of Jungle’s night. . .”

  Something, perhaps the look on Mellar’s face, warned me of the tree behind me. Somehow I stepped around it without being spitted.

  “Stay the hunter in her flight.”

  I felt myself weakening. Blood loss, of course. I didn’t have time for that.

  “Evening’s breath to witch’s mind . . .”

  I wondered whether Loiosh would ever speak to me again. I wondered whether anyone would be able to speak to me again.

  “Let our fates be intertwined.”

  Mellar changed tactics, suddenly, and his sword thrust at my chest, instead of chopping at my head. I was forced into a clumsy parry, and he caught me with the tip. Was that a rib cracking, or just a good imitation? I brought up my blade before the dagger could sweep down, and made a leap backward. He followed immediately.

  “Jhereg! Do not pass me by!”

  As he closed, perhaps just a touch too cockily, I tried a full-extension stopthrust—Dragaeran swordplay has nothing like it—dropping to one knee and cutting up under his sword-arm. He was as surprised as I that my first offensive move got through, and it gave me time to get back before he countered. He bled a little from high on his right side. It was too much to hope for that this would affect his sword-arm, but it gave me more time.

  “Show me where thy soul doth lie!”

  My side screamed with pain as I stepped back still further. Each parry caused red flashes before my eyes, and I felt that I was near to blacking out. I felt drained, too. I mean, drained. I don’t think I had ever put that much into a spell.

  I moved back out of the way of another blow that almost slit open my belly. He followed with a cut with the dagger that was almost faster than I could see, but I was moving back, so it missed. I stepped back again, before he could set himself. . . .

  What? Was there . . .? Come on, brain! Mind, relax . . . be receptive . . . listen . . .

  “Who?” came the thought to my forebrain.

  “One who needs you,” I managed, as I almost stumbled. I hung on to my consciousness with everything I had.

  “What have you to offer?”

  Oh, Demon Goddess! I don’t have time for this! I wanted to start crying, to tell them all to just go away.

  He caught my blade with the dagger, and the sword swept down; I squirmed to the side, made it.

  “Long life, O Jhereg. And fresh, red meat, with no struggle or search. And, sometimes, the chance to kill Dragaerans.”

  All in all, one Hell of a time to be bargaining.

  Mellar did a fillip with his wrist that should have been impossible with that heavy a sword. He connected lightly with the side of my head—as heavily as he could, given what he was doing, and as lightly as it was possible for him to, considering the size of the weapon he had.

  But I still didn’t black out. I took a chance, then, because I had to, and lunged, cutting down at his forehead. He stepped back and parried with his dagger. I backed up another step before the sword came sweeping down at me again. It occurred to me that, even if the jhereg should choose to respond, it might be too far away to do me any good.

  “And what do you ask?”

  Mellar was smiling again. He could see that I was going, and all he had to do was wait. He continued pressing the attack.

  “For the future, aid in my endeavors, and your friendship, and your wisdom. For the present, save my life!”

  Once again, Mellar struck at the side of my head and got through. There was a ringing in my ears, and I felt myself start to fall. I saw him move in, raising the dagger and grinning broadly . . .

  . . . and then he was turning, startled, as a winged shape struck at his face. He moved back and took a swipe with his sword; missed.

  I dropped my sword and caught myself with my right hand. I heaved myself up from there until I was standing; barely. Mellar took another swing at the jhereg. I transferred the dagger to my right hand, and fell forward, walking being somewhat beyond my powers at that point. My left hand grasped his left arm, his dagger-arm, and swung him around.

  He turned, and I saw panic in his eyes, and his dagger began to arc toward my neck. I tried to hold back his right arm, which was swinging forward with the sword, but it slipped from my grasp.

  I thrust straight in, then, with everything that was left in me.

  The stiletto took him in the left eye, burying itself to the hilt in his brain. He screamed then—a long wail of despair, and he lost interest in removing my head. I saw the light of life go out in his right eye, and I might even have rejoiced if I’d been capable of it.

  I was screaming then, as well, as we twisted, toppled, fell. We landed on each other, with me face up, and the only thing still in the air was his lifeless arm, holding a living dagger in a fist that wouldn’t let go. I watched it, unable to do anything, as it fell . . . fell . . . fell . . . and hit the ground next to my left ear.

  I could feel its frustration, and had a crazy moment of sympathy for any hunter that loses its prey by such a small margin.

  A thought, then, came into my mind and set up housekeeping. “I accept,” it said.

  Just what I need, I remember thinking, another wiseass jhereg.

  * * *

  I didn’t quite lose consciousness, although I don’t think I was completely conscious, either. I remember lying there, feeling damned helpless, and watching the jhereg take bits out of Mellar’s corpse. At some time in there, various animals came up and sniffed me. I think one of them was an Athyra; I’m not sure about the others. Each time, the jhereg looked up from its meal and hissed a warning. They backed off.

  Eventually, perhaps half an hour later, I heard a sudden disturbance. The jhereg looked over, hissed, and I looked too. Aliera was there, holding Pathfinder. With her were Cawti and Kragar and Loiosh.

  The other jhereg was female. She hissed at Loiosh. With the jhereg, the female is dominant. (With the Jhereg, the matter is still up in the air.)

  Cawti rushed up to me with a cry and sat down. She carefully placed my head on her lap and began stroking my forehead. Aliera began inspecting and treating my various wounds. I’d be hard pressed to say which helped more, but it was nice getting all the attention.

  Kragar assisted Aliera, after verifying that the two corpses were, indeed, corpses.

  Loiosh had found the other jhereg. They were looking at each other.

  Aliera said something then, I think it was about Daymar’s mind-probe having worked, but I wasn’t really listening, so I’m not sure.r />
  Loiosh spread his wings and hissed. The female spread her wings further and hissed louder. They were silent for a while, then exchanged hisses again.

  I tried to communicate with Loiosh, but found nothing. At first I thought that it was because my mind was still too exhausted from the spell I’d done, but then I realized that it was because Loiosh was blocking me out. He’d never done that before. I got a sinking feeling.

  Suddenly, the two of them rose into the air. I lacked the strength to look up and follow their flight, but I knew what must be happening. Tears blinded me, and desperation gave me a small loan against my future energy holdings. I tried to force my way into his mind, and I sent out my desperate call, trying to pierce the barriers he had erected against me.

  “No! Come back!” I think I called.

  Cawti’s face above me began to waver, as my body and mind gave up their fight at last, admitted defeat, and the darkness that had been hovering over and around me finally found entry.

  Nevertheless, the contact was as sharp and distinct as it had ever been, sneaking under the gate even as it closed.

  “Look, boss. I’ve worked for you nonstop for more than five years now. You’d think I could have a few days off for my honeymoon!”

  Epilogue

  “Failure leads to maturity; maturity leads to success.”

  ON MY TERMS, THIS time.

  The Blue Flame was quiet at this hour, with three waiters, a busboy, a dish-washer, and three customers.

  All of them were enforcers who worked for me. All of them, at one time or another, had done “work.”

  This time I faced the door, and my back was against the wall. I had a dagger out, lying openly on the table next to my right hand.

  I wished Loiosh was back, but he wasn’t necessary this time. I was making the rules, and we were playing with my stones. Somewhere, Cawti and Kragar were watching.

  Let him try . . . anything. Anything at all. Sorcery? Ha! No spell would go in this place that didn’t have Aliera’s approval. Try to bring in an assassin? Maybe, if he wanted to pay for Mario, he could come up with something I’d worry about. Other than that, however, I wasn’t about to get upset.

  A face appeared in the doorway, followed by another.

  The Demon had brought two bodyguards with him. They stopped in the doorway and looked around. Being competent, they saw how things were and spoke to the Demon quietly for a while. I saw him shake his head. Good. He was smart, and he was gutsy. He was going to do it my way because he knew, at this point, that it was the only way it would get done—he was too good a businessman not to realize that it had to get done.

  I saw him signal his men to wait by the door, and he came forward alone.

  I rose as he reached me, and we sat down at the same moment.

  “Lord Taltos,” he said.

  “Demon,” I said.

  He looked at the dagger, seemed about to speak, and changed his mind. At this point, he could hardly blame me, after all.

  Since I had requested the meeting, I ordered the wine. I chose a rare dessert wine, made by the Serioli. He spoke first while we waited for the wine to arrive.

  “I note that your familiar is missing,” he said. “I hope he isn’t ill.”

  “He isn’t ill,” I said. “But thank you for asking.”

  The wine came. I allowed the Demon to approve it. It’s the little touches that make the fine host. I sipped mine and let it flow down my throat. Cool, and sweet, but neither icy nor cloying. That was why I’d chosen it. It had seemed appropriate.

  “I was afraid,” the Demon continued, “that he’d eaten something that had disagreed with him.”

  I chuckled. I decided that I’d come to like this guy, if we didn’t kill each other first.

  “I take it the body has been found,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s been found. A bit jhereg-eaten, but there isn’t any harm in that, certainly.”

  I agreed with his sentiments.

  “And,” he went on, “I received your message.”

  I nodded. “So I see. I have what I claimed to.”

  “All of it?”

  “All of it.”

  He waited for me to go on. I was enjoying it enough so that I didn’t even mind the pain I felt from the events of the day before. One reason that I’d arranged to have the place full of my people was that I didn’t want it to get out how much trouble I had walking in. Standing for the Demon had cost me; hiding that fact had cost me even more. Aliera is good, but it still takes time.

  “How did you get it?” he asked.

  “From his mind.”

  The Demon arched his eyebrows. “I’m rather surprised,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have expected him to be subject to mind-probes.”

  “I have some good people working for me,” I told him. “And, of course, we caught him at a good time.”

  He nodded and sipped his wine. “I should tell you,” he said, “that, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all over.”

  I waited for him to continue. This was what I’d arranged the meeting for, after all.

  He took another sip of his wine. “To the best of my knowledge and belief,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “no one in the organization has anything against you, means you any harm, or will profit from any harm that comes to you.”

  That last wasn’t true in a literal sense, but we both knew what he meant—and he had his reputation to hold on to. I didn’t think he would lie to me about it. I was satisfied.

  “Good,” I said. “And allow me to say I hold no ill will over anything that happened—or almost happened—before. I believe that I understand what was going on, and there is no cause there for complaint on my part.”

  He nodded.

  “As for the other,” I went on, “if you send an escort over to my office, say at the fourth hour past noon, I’ll be able to supply them with your goods to return to you.”

  He nodded his satisfaction at the arrangements. “There are a few other things,” he said.

  “Such as . . .?”

  He stared off into space for a moment, then turned back to me. “Certain of my friends are exceptionally pleased with the work you did yesterday.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled. “I mean, the work your ‘friend’ did yesterday.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  He shrugged. “Certain of them felt that perhaps a bonus is in order.”

  “I see. Well, that I’ll gladly accept, on my friend’s behalf, of course. But, before we go into that, perhaps you will allow me to buy you dinner?”

  He smiled. “Why yes, that would be very kind of you.”

  I called a waiter over. He was, actually, a lousy waiter, but that was all right; I think the Demon understood.

  * * *

  More than our apartment, more than my office, the library at Castle Black has seemed like home base to me.

  How many times in the past had Morrolan and I, or Morrolan, myself, and Aliera, or a host of others, sat in this room and said some form of “Thank Verra, it’s over”?

  “Thank Verra, it’s over,” said Aliera.

  I lay on my back on the lounge chair. As I said, Aliera was good, but it takes time to heal completely. My sides still ached, and my head gave me no end of trouble. Still, in the three days since Mellar had passed from among the living, and the two days since I’d met with the Demon to arrange for nine million gold to be returned (and to insure that no more attempts were going to be made on my life), I had pretty well made the transition back to humanity.

  Cawti sat next to me, gently brushing my forehead from time to time. Loiosh had returned and sat perched on my chest, as near to the shoulder as my position allowed. His mate took the other side. I felt quite contented with life, all in all.

  Morrolan sat opposite me, staring into his wineglass. His long legs were stretched out in front of him. He looked up. “What are you calling her?” he asked.

  “Her name is Rocza,” I said
. On hearing her name, she leaned down and licked my ear. Cawti scratched her head. Loiosh hissed a jealous warning, whereupon Rocza looked up, hissed back, licked Loiosh under his snakelike chin. He sat back, mollified.

  “My, aren’t we domestic?” said Morrolan.

  I shrugged.

  He continued to look at the female jhereg curiously. “Vlad, I know as much about witchcraft as any Easterner, you must admit—”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “—and I don’t see how you can have a second familiar. I had always understood that the relationship between witch and familiar is such that it is impossible for it to occur with more than one animal.

  “For that matter,” he continued, “I’ve never heard of making a familiar from any adult animal. Don’t you have to acquire the thing as an egg, in order to achieve the proper link?”

  Loiosh hissed at Morrolan, who smiled a little and cocked his head.

  “I’m calling you a ‘thing,’ that’s who,” Morrolan said.

  Loiosh hissed again and went back to licking Rocza’s chin.

  “Well, Morrolan,” I said, “why don’t you find out for yourself? You’re a witch, why don’t you get a familiar?”

  “I already have one,” he answered, dryly. He gently stroked the hilt of Blackwand, and I shuddered involuntarily.

  “Rocza isn’t really my familiar, in any case,” I explained. “She’s Loiosh’s mate.”

  “But still, she came to you. . . .”

  “I called for help and she heard. We were able to strike a bargain similar to the one a witch makes with the mother of his familiar for the egg, but it wasn’t exactly the same. I did use the same spell, or a close variant, to achieve initial contact,” I admitted. “But that’s where the similarity ends. After I got contact, we more or less just spoke. I guess she liked me.”

  Rocza looked up at me and hissed. I got the feeling that it was intended to be laughter, but I’m not sure. Loiosh broke in at that point. “Look, boss, no one likes to be spoken of as if he isn’t there, okay?”