by Steven Brust
Something told me to dodge, so I did, to my right, as something sharp scraped along the right side of my back. I spun, both daggers flashing, and—
Loiosh screamed psionically as there was a ripping in my left side, from behind. I realized that the assassin with the greatsword had gotten past Loiosh. I felt a coldness, and I became aware that there was a piece of steel actually inside of me, among my bones and muscles and organs, and I felt sick. I ignored my desire to turn that way, and found the one who had attacked from behind. She was very short and held a pair of large fighting knives. She was staring straight at me, dispassionately. The sword was taken from my side with a sudden wrenching, and I found myself on my knees. The assassin in front of me struck full forward, one knife cutting across for my throat, the other thrusting for my chest. I tried to force my arms up to parry—
And there was blood flowing from her mouth, and she was falling at my feet. The knife she was slashing with scored a gash across my chest. As she hit the ground, the other blade found a home in my stomach. I heard flapping wings behind me and was pleased that Loiosh was alive, as I waited for the sword-stroke from behind that would finish me.
Instead, I heard a voice that sounded remarkably like Aliera’s, crying, “You—you’re a Dragon!” And the ringing sound of clashing steel. Somehow, I twisted around as I fell, and saw that it was, indeed, Aliera, wielding a greatsword that was taller than she was, and dueling with the assassin. Watching them was Morrolan himself, fury on his face, Blackwand in his hand. Aliera’s blade swung high as the assassin’s cut low and Loiosh said, “Twist!”
I did, but not in time to prevent the other one, who was still alive, from planting her dagger, to the hilt, in my kidney. There was pain such as I had never felt before, and I screamed. A muscle spasm jerked me to my knees and around and down, flat on my stomach, on the blade that was already there, and I only wanted to die quickly and have it over.
For an instant before I got my wish, my face was a few inches from the other assassin’s, blood still streaming from her mouth, her eyes set in a look of grim determination. I suddenly realized that she was an Easterner. That almost hurt more than the rest of it, but then the pain went away, and me with it.
7
“I guess there’s just a time for doing dumb things.”
LINGERING TRACE OF A fading green light, but no eyes to see it with. Memory like a well, awareness like a bucket—but who pulls the rope? It occurred to me that “me” had occurred. Existence without sensation, and the bucket hadn’t yet reached the water.
I knew what “sight” was when it came, and I found myself staring into a pair of bright round things that I eventually realized were “eyes.” They floated in gray fog and seemed to see me. That must be significant. “Brown” occurred to me, looking at the eyes, at about the same moment that I saw a face fitting around them. Looking at the face, other terms came to mind. “Little girl” was one. “Cute” was another. And “somber.”
I wondered if she were human or Dragaeran, and realized that more of me had returned.
She studied me. I wondered what she was seeing. Her mouth opened and sound issued forth. I realized that I’d been hearing the sounds for quite some “time” and had not been aware of it. The sounds were utterly dead, as if in a room that was completely without echo.
“Uncle Vlad?” she said again, but it registered this time.
Two words. “Uncle” and “Vlad.” Both had meaning. “Vlad” meant me, and I was delighted with the discovery. “Uncle” had something to do with family, but I wasn’t sure exactly what. I thought about the words more, deeming them important. As I did so, a wave of green light seemed to come from all around me, bathing me for a moment, then stopping.
I realized that this, too, had been going on for some time.
Sensations multiplied, and I felt that I had a body again. I blinked, and found it delightful. I licked my lips, and that was nice, too. I turned my attention back to the little girl, who was still watching me closely. She seemed relieved now.
“Uncle Vlad?” she said, like a litany.
Oh, that’s right. “Vlad.” Me. I was dead. The Easterner, the pain, Loiosh. But he’d been alive, so maybe . . .
“Uncle Vlad?”
I shook my head, and tried speaking. “I don’t know you,” I said, and heard that my voice was strong. She nodded enthusiastically.
“I know,” she said. “But Mommy’s awful worried about you. Won’t you please come back?”
“Come back?” I said. “I don’t understand.”
“Mommy’s been trying to find you.”
“She sent you to look for me?”
She shook her head. “She doesn’t know I’m here. But she’s really worried, Uncle Vlad. And so’s Uncle ’Rollan. Won’t you please come back?”
Who could refuse a request like that? “Where am I, then?”
She cocked her head to the side, looking puzzled. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Then she shook her head again. “I don’t know, but just come back, okay?”
“Sure, honey, but how?”
“Follow me,” she said.
“Okay.” She moved away a few feet, stopped, and looked back. I found myself moving toward her, but I didn’t seem to be walking. I had no sense of how fast we were traveling, or from where to where, but the grayness gradually darkened.
“Who are you?” I asked her as we moved.
“Devera,” she said.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Devera.”
She turned back to me and giggled, lighting up her face. “We’ve met before, Uncle Vlad.” That triggered some more memories that I couldn’t quite place, but—
“Oh, Uncle Vlad?”
“Yes, Devera?”
“When we get back, don’t mention to Mommy that you saw me, okay?”
“Okay. Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be here?”
“Well, not exactly. You see, I haven’t really been born yet. . . .”
Wherever we were became completely black, and I felt suddenly isolated. Then, once more, I was bathed in green light, and I remember no more.
* * *
. . . the dzur had scored a long scratch in the jhereg’s wing. The jhereg’s jaws were going for the dzur’s neck, but the dzur nearly had its mouth around the long, snakelike neck of the jhereg. The jhereg was of the normal breed, not one of the nonpoisonous giant ones that dwelt above Deathsgate Falls, yet it was one of the largest I had ever seen, and should be able to give a good fight to. . . . I blinked. The scene hadn’t changed. The orange-red sky was right, but I realized that I was inside, on a bed, in fact. I was looking at a painting that filled the ceiling above me. Someone’s idea of a joke, no doubt, to have me wake up to that sight. Could I view the painting so that it appeared the jhereg was winning? I could and did. It was a nice painting. I took a deep breath and—I was alive!
I turned my head and looked around the room. It was spacious, as far as I was concerned—twenty-two and a half feet in the direction of the bed, maybe fourteen the other way. No windows, but a nice circulation of air. There was a fireplace centered in the wall my feet pointed to, with a cozy little fire crackling away in it and sending occasional sparks into the room. I twisted and saw that a door was centered in the other wall. Black candles were scattered throughout, providing most of the light. Yet there were enough of them to give the room a bright appearance despite the black walls.
Black, black, black. The color of sorcery. Lord Morrolan, Castle Black. Yet, he wouldn’t have used black candles unless he were doing witchcraft, and I felt no traces of a spell. Nor would he have a painting like that. So—Dzur Mountain, of course.
I leaned back against the pillow (goose feathers, a luxury!) and slowly set about moving my limbs. I made each one move, and each finger and toe. They responded normally, but it took some effort. I saw my cloak and clothing neatly folded on a stand three feet from my head. I noticed with amusement that whoever had undressed me had left Spellbreaker wrap
ped around my wrist, which was why I hadn’t immediately felt undressed.
I heaved myself to a sitting position. I became aware of a general sense of weakness and pains throughout my body. I welcomed them, as more signs of life, and swung my feet over the edge of the bed.
“Going to say hello, boss?”
I spun, and spotted Loiosh high on top of a tall dresser in the far corner of the room. “Good morning, or whatever it is. I’m glad you’re all right.”
He flew down and landed on my shoulder; licked my ear. “That goes double for me, boss.”
There was a chamber pot in one corner of the room, which I made a much-needed use of. I dressed slowly, finding several of my more obvious weapons neatly laid out beneath the cloak. Most of the contents of the cloak itself hadn’t been disturbed. Dressing was painful. Enough said.
There was a soft clap at the door about the time I finished. “Come in.”
Aliera entered. “Good morning, Vlad. How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, all things considered.” Morrolan was standing in the doorway behind her. We exchanged nods.
“We would have been here sooner,” he said, “but we had to visit another of our patients.”
“Oh? Who?”
“The ‘lady’ who attacked you,” said Aliera.
“She’s alive?” I swallowed involuntarily. Being killed attempting to do a job is one of the very few things that terminates the agreement between assassin and employer; I’d been hoping that they’d both taken the trip.
“Both of them are,” she said. “We revivified them.”
“I see.” That was different. They had the option of resuming the agreement now, or not. I hoped they chose not to.
“Which reminds me,” said Morrolan. “Vlad, I apologize to you. The Easterner should not have been able to attack you. I caused ruptures in several of her internal organs, which should have sent her into shock at once. It did not occur to me to continue watching her.”
I nodded. “She’s probably a witch,” I said. “Witchcraft is good for that.” He knew that, of course; I was just needling him. “But it ended up all right. How did things go with the other one?”
“She is a very good fighter,” said Aliera. “Remarkably good. We fought for more than a minute, and she wounded me twice.”
It was nicely ironic that Aliera, who specialized in sorcery, had dueled blade to blade with the one, while Morrolan, one of the finest blades in the Empire, had used sorcery. But both were far, far above the norm at either, so it really didn’t matter.
I nodded. “When was it?”
Aliera said, “We performed the revivification as soon as we had you back. You’ve slept for two days.”
“I don’t know how to thank you—or was it Sethra?—for revivifying me.”
“It was I,” said Aliera, “and no thanks are necessary.”
“How hard was it?”
She shook her head. “The most difficult I’ve ever tried. I thought we’d lost you. It was quite a task to repair your body, even before the revivification. Then I made four tries before it worked. I slept for half a day afterwards.”
It was only then that I remembered the dream I’d had. I started to mention it, but Aliera was continuing.
“I think you should be resting now. Try to stay on your back for at least a day. Also, don’t—”
This reminded me of something else, so I interrupted. “Excuse me, Aliera, but—how did you and Morrolan happen to be there?”
“. . . Morrolan dragged me along. Ask him.”
I turned and let my eyebrows do so.
“Kragar,” he said. “He explained that you required immediate assistance, but he didn’t know the form. I happened to be with Aliera at the time. It seems we were nearly too late. And, to repeat, I apologize for my sloppiness with the Easterner.”
I brushed it aside. “All right. I’ll take your advice now, Aliera. I think I’d like to sleep.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
I checked the relevant part of me, then nodded. “A bit. Perhaps when I wake up.”
“All right. I’ll speak to Sethra about it. Do you feel any nausea, or would you be up to a full meal?”
“I feel fine,” I told her. “Just tired.”
“Good.”
I bowed to each of them and sat back on the bed as they left.
“You’re no more tired than I am, boss.”
“True. But I am sore. Quiet for a minute.”
I reached out for contact with Kragar. It took a while, but eventually he responded.
“Vlad! Welcome back!”
“Thanks. It’s nice to be alive again.”
“I imagine. Aliera told me you’d taken the trip, but they’d brought you back. I was beginning to worry, though. It’s been three days.”
“I know. How are Varg and Glowbug?”
“Glowbug is okay; the dagger caught his kidney, but we got to him in time.” He paused. “Varg didn’t make it. The revivification failed.”
I cursed, then asked, “How’s our income?”
“A trickle.”
“Hmph. How about standing funds?”
“Around nine thousand left.”
“Okay. Thirty-five hundred each for anyone who brings me Wyrn and Miraf’n.”
“Boss, they’re going to be protected, you’ll never—”
“Fine. Then I won’t have to pay anything. But put the word out.”
Mental shrug. “Okay,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Tighten up. I mean, everybody. No action until I’m back, but I don’t want anybody out alone, ever. Got that?”
“Got it.”
“And blow another thousand on bumping up the protection on every place we have. I don’t want anymore surprises.”
“Check. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What tipped you off?”
“I got a message from one of those people we’ve been trying to cultivate as friends. It seems that the thing was arranged in an upstairs room of his tavern, and he decided to help us out.”
“Well I’ll be. . . . Give him two hundred.”
“I gave him one-fifty already.”
“Good. Kragar . . . all the Phoenix Guards disappeared, went away, just about the time I left the office. I can’t believe that’s a coincidence, and I can’t believe they have the Empress helping them out—or the commander of the Phoenix Guards, for that matter. Do you know anything about it?”
“Our contact said he heard it would be ‘taken care of.’”
“Hmmmm. I see. Check up on it, all right?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. And do you know who those two were? The ones who got me? They were damn good. They did half the job anyway, even after Morrolan and Aliera showed up.”
There was a pause. “Boss? You don’t know?”
“What are you talking about? How could I know?”
“Think about it, boss. Two assassins. Female. One Dragaeran, one Easterner. One with a greatsword, one with daggers. How many teams like that are there?”
“Oh . . . I—uh, I’ll be talking to you later, Kragar.”
“Sure, Vlad.”
And the contact was broken.
* * *
When you talk about assassins, good ones, the name Mario Greymist has a place by itself. He is the best there is, ever has been, or, as far as I’m concerned, ever could be. But after Mario, there are several names that come to mind, among those few who know such things: the ones who are good, dependable, command high rates, and are feared by anyone thinking of making a powerful enemy within the organization.
Most assassins work alone. I mean, murder is a very private thing. But there are a few teams. One of these teams is on the list I mentioned above. I’d heard of them, and their names have been linked to a score of jobs in the last five years. None of these tales is certain, and most are probably wrong, but still. . . . Thi
s team involved a Dragaeran, using a greatsword with all the skill of a Dragonlord, and an Easterner using a dagger. Both were women—and the Right Hand of the Jhereg has very few women. (There’s Kiera the Thief, and maybe a few others, but they are a rarity.) This pair of assassins called themselves “The Sword of the Jhereg” and “The Dagger of the Jhereg,” and no one knew anything about where they’d come from. It was very hard to get hold of them—usually, if you wanted them, you just put the word out on the streets and hoped they’d hear and be interested.
It should be pointed out that the most I’ve ever been offered for an assassination is six thousand gold, and these two won’t even talk to you for less than eight or nine. It had never occurred to me to send them after Laris, because they’d have wanted at least twenty thousand, and there was no way I could raise that kind of cash without committing everything to the one shot—a stupid thing to do since anyone can fail. (I haven’t yet, but I’ve been lucky.)
I wondered how much I was worth, and where Laris had found the funds. I discovered that I was shaking, which was stupid, since the threat was over. Unless they decided to complete the job. I continued shaking.
“You okay, boss?”
“Not really. Let’s take a walk.”
I stepped out of the room into the cold, black stone halls of Dzur Mountain. I knew where I was at once. To my right would be the sitting room, where I’d first met Sethra. To my left would be more bedrooms. On impulse, I turned to the left. There were doors on either side of the hall. The hall continued past them. I stopped. Could the assassins be in one of these? Or one in each? I decided to keep walking; there was nothing to be gained by seeing them. I mean, as an assassin, I never had anything to say to my targets; as a target, what was I going to say to my assassins? Plead for my life? Sure. No, there was no point in . . . I discovered that I hadn’t moved. I sighed.
“I guess there’s just a time for doing dumb things, Loiosh.”
I opened the door as quietly as I could and looked inside.
She was awake and looking at me. Her face was calm, her eyes expressionless. No question about it, she was as human as I was. Her eyes moved down to my right hand, which I discovered was gripping a dagger at my belt. She didn’t seem to be frightened.
