Vallista--A Novel of Vlad Taltos

by Steven Brust

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, that was a conversation killer.”

  He gave a head shrug. “Sorry. Tell me about this ghost you saw.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How did you know it was a ghost?”

  “She said she’d died.”

  “I guess that’s a good hint,” he said, chuckling. “Did she say how, or where, or when?”

  “She didn’t seem to remember.”

  He turned his palms up. “All right. What did she say?”

  “If we’re back to this,” I said, “then it’s time for you to answer one.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t suppose you can point me in the right direction?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A clue, a hint, a way to investigate that platform, to figure it out, so I know how to move around, and how to leave. Just, point me in the right direction.”

  He smiled a little. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, you’ve been helpful so far. I mean, you brought me here.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And you’ve been answering questions.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “So, I got the crazy idea you were willing to help me solve this.”

  “I admit, a reasonable conclusion.”

  “But not true?”

  “No,” he said. “Not true.”

  I studied him, but he wasn’t wearing any special expression on his face. “Well. Have I walked into a trap?”

  He considered. “I suppose, in a way.”

  “That was stupid of me, then.”

  He shrugged. I tapped the hilt of Lady Teldra, and he pretended that he didn’t notice and it didn’t bother him.

  “Maybe,” I said, “we should just go back.”

  “I’m fine here,” he said.

  I looked back at the way we’d entered. The rocks were no longer to be seen. “I take it that the way back is now closed?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Maybe you should open it again.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That is quite impossible.” And he began to transform.

  7

  THE TURN OF DISCARU

  I’d never seen someone turn into something else before, and in other circumstances I’d have enjoyed watching. No, I wouldn’t. Well, the point is, I’d have been a lot more fascinated if I hadn’t been too busy being scared out of my senses. The face sort of shifted and blurred, and he grew a snout. His shoulders got bigger, he got taller, his arms and legs got thicker, and his skin became sort of a blotchy pink with streaks of blue. His clothes looked like they melted into his skin.

  The whole thing took about two seconds and was pretty disturbing.

  There was that single thump of my heart, then I settled in, relaxed, ready, evaluating distance, trying to guess body language in a body unlike anything I’d seen before. I found that I’d taken a step backward, but I stopped there. It wasn’t that I was opposed to running from danger, but the thing looked like it could probably move really fast, which meant presenting my back wasn’t my first choice. But he wasn’t immediately attacking me, so I risked a quick look around. No one else in the area was reacting—they were walking, or sitting, or staring at the fountain just as before—which meant either there was illusion at work, or this wasn’t an unusual occurrence here. I wasn’t all that familiar with day-to-day life in the Halls of Judgment, so I tried to avoid coming to any conclusions, but it sure didn’t seem like an illusion.

  “Boss? Sniff.”

  I did, and, yeah, there was an acridity in the air. Well, if it was an illusion, it was a bloody good one.

  “So,” I said. “Uh, what’s new?”

  He emitted a hissing sound and his head went up and down. Until I could come up with a better idea, I’d assume that was a laugh.

  I tried again. “Do you plan to keep me here?”

  This time he made an inarticulate rumble full of k’s and guttural r’s. I was pretty sure there were words in there, and almost certainly a sentence. I shrugged.

  My right hand wasn’t exactly hovering near Lady Teldra’s hilt, but the hand knew where the hilt was, if you know what I mean. We stood there. Maybe I could ask him yes-or-no questions, and he’d shake his head or something?

  “Am I stuck here?”

  He made the hissing laugh again and took a step toward me. I took another step back. No. No more, Vlad. That’s as far back as we go. I took Lady Teldra’s hilt in my hand, and he said something else I couldn’t understand, but if I could judge from the tone, I would say I was being taunted.

  I love the feeling that comes when my brain is, like, sprinting, working fast, analyzing in a fraction of a second things that normally would take a long time to sit and figure out. It’s a wonderful feeling. Now, if only I could figure out a way to get it when I wasn’t about to die some sort of unknown but horrible death.

  Laughing? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he—it—laughed when I threatened to draw Lady Teldra.

  So, was something horrible going to happen if I drew her? Or was it some sort of bluff? It’d be stupid to die because I fell for a simple trick. It’d be stupid to die doing something I’d received a good hint would be disastrous. It’d be stupid to die.

  Well, I had all sorts of other weapons, right?

  It took another step toward me and I looked at it. It was looming over me, and if it struck out with its arms I’d have to lean back in a hurry. I considered my weapons. I don’t know, maybe a stiletto perfectly placed in some vital spot might have done it, but I didn’t know what its vital spots were, except for maybe the eyes. The thing was, like, nine feet high. I didn’t like my chances of hitting its eye. Besides, they were yellow. I hate yellow. Which way? The gold or the dragon? The knife or the poison? The rocks or the water? I had to decide, and had no time and not enough information. If I’d had just a little more time I’d have spun a coin.

  Well, bugger it, then. It was really to act or to refrain, and when looked at that way, there was never any choice. I gripped her hilt and pulled.

  And pulled.

  And pulled.

  Nothing.

  She was Verra-be-damned stuck in her Verra-be-damned sheath and I really was on the edge of pure panic. In case we never met before, I’m Vlad Taltos and I don’t panic easy, okay?

  What could do that? What could have power over a Great Weapon? Okay, later. Think later. Fight down the panic and come up with another idea, really, really fast. Yeah. Next idea: run like all the demons of the Halls were—

  Wait a minute.

  The thing had stopped, and its head tilted like a dog’s.

  It had expected me to draw, and, now that I hadn’t, it didn’t know what to do.

  A part of it fell into place: Lady Teldra had held herself in her sheath, which must mean she knew something I didn’t, something that made it a bad idea for me to draw.

  Thanks, Lady, but please don’t ever scare me like that again.

  But what was it? Later, later. One thing at a time.

  “Sorry,” I told the big ugly guy. “I didn’t believe you, but I guess she did. Hard luck.”

  Its eyes narrowed, which I was guessing meant the same thing as when a human does it. It said something unfriendly, uncomplimentary, or both. I’m good at picking this stuff up.

  “I get that you’re not happy right now. I’m not all that pleased either, to be honest. And my voice is shaking a little because you’ve got me all pumped up and ready to fight, and I hate it when my voice shakes and I don’t think I’m going to forgive you for that. But if you intended to rip me open, I think you’d have done it already. So the rules forbid it, or it would interfere with some plan, or you can’t. How about if you just turn back into something I can understand? Maybe we can negotiate. How does that sound?”

  It spoke again, and I was pretty sure it was not only declining my offer, but wishing something bad would happen to me.


  “Well, this is boring. If you aren’t going to attack me, and you aren’t going to help me, and you won’t even tell me what’s going on, I guess I’ll just wander off.”

  My threat didn’t appear to terrify it.

  “Well, can you at least tell me why I couldn’t draw my weapon? I’ll bet you know. I mean, if you realize she’s sentient, and maybe sort of partly aware, a little. I think. Anyway—”

  “Your weapon,” said someone, “is called Godslayer. You are in the Halls of Judgment. Where the gods live. I’ll bet if you think about it real hard you can come up with a theory.”

  I looked around, and right next to me was a dog, medium sized, golden, looking a lot like an exceptionally furry Lyorn that had had its horn removed. I was about to ask it something stupid when someone cleared his throat. I turned further, and there was a guy there.

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought the dog—”

  “Right,” he said.

  “You’re human,” I said. “I mean, an Easterner.”

  “Right again,” he said.

  “And you’re alive,” I said.

  “How could you tell?”

  I let that pass.

  He was about my height, and had a mustache like mine, only longer and droopier, and his hair was like mine except longer and curlier. He was wearing tights of dark blue tucked into riding boots, a white blouse with big puffy sleeves I could never have pulled off, blue leather doublet with peplum and raised shoulders, black cloak pinned with a Phoenix emblem, and black leather gauntlets. If he’d had a feathered beret, he’d have looked like a courtier, except for the being human part. He had a sword hanging from a wide belt with a silver buckle, and was holding a cat.

  I turned back to keep an eye on the big ugly thing, which was now rocking a little from side to side, looking at him.

  The guy with the cat muttered under his breath, and the thing howled and jumped, then turned and ran. It ran off toward the fountain, splashed through it, and continued on.

  “That was witchcraft,” I said.

  He bowed. I let the dog sniff my hand, after which it curled up at the guy’s feet.

  “I’m Laszló,” he said.

  “Vlad.”

  “Actually, you’re Taltos, Count of Szurke.”

  “You’re well informed. And it’s Teldra.”

  “What?”

  “Not Godslayer. Lady Teldra.”

  “All right.”

  “Who are your friends?”

  “Awtlá, and Sireng,” he said, indicating the dog and the cat.

  “Laszló,” I repeated. “Wait, I’ve heard of you. You’re—” I stopped, because I didn’t think “the Easterner who’s buffing skin with the Empress” would be politic. “Around the court,” I managed.

  He bowed again. “Official unofficial Imperial warlock,” he said.

  “Okay, then, here’s the big one. What are you doing in the Halls of Judgment?”

  “Rescuing you,” he said.

  “Oh, good then. That answers everything.”

  He chuckled. “Do you think it’s our human blood that makes us answer everything ironically?”

  “Fenarian,” I said. “Ever tried to exchange banter with a Muskovan?”

  He nodded. “Good point.”

  “How many generations?”

  “How—oh. I see. I was born there.”

  “Really? You’ve managed the Northwestern speech pretty good.”

  “I’ve been here a long time. I’m older than I look.”

  I looked around again. There was no sign of Discaru, or the-thing-that-was-Discaru.

  “What was that thing, anyway?”

  “A demon,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know it was a demon. What kind of demon?”

  “Oh. No idea. Does it matter?”

  “Well, it’s part of figuring out what it was doing there, what it was doing here, what I was doing there, what I am doing here, and all like that. I don’t suppose you know anything that might help?”

  “What is ‘there?’”

  “A place west of Adrilankha called Precipice Manor.”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “All right.”

  I walked over to a bench and sat down, facing away from the water. Laszló came along, sat down next to me. The dog came too, put his paws over the edge and drank noisily, then curled up on the ground at our feet.

  “So,” I said. “Rescue.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fill me in a bit?”

  “You have friends who keep track of you.”

  “Do I have to guess which friends?”

  “No.”

  I waited, then, “Are you going to tell me?”

  “No.”

  I glanced at the Phoenix emblem. “Her Majesty. Of course.”

  He smiled. “I never said so.”

  “I wouldn’t have called her a friend.”

  “No,” he said. “That would be impertinent.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And I’m all about being pertinent.”

  “I don’t think that’s what that means.”

  “If it were the Empress,” I said, “how would she have known I needed rescuing?”

  “There are certain things the Orb is sensitive to. A Great Weapon passing through a necromantic gate to the Halls of Judgment is one of them. Hypothetically.”

  “I see.”

  Loiosh, having considered the matter long and thoughtfully, made up his mind and hissed at the cat. The cat looked up, yawned, then closed its eyes again.

  “What was that?”

  “‘Hello.’”

  “Okay,” I said aloud. “Uh, no one should be able to keep track of me.”

  “Because?”

  “This,” I said, tapping the amulet.

  He leaned over and studied it. “Oh, yes, I see. Black and gold. Well, maybe it doesn’t work in the Halls of Judgment? I’m not an expert.”

  “On Phoenix Stone, or the Halls?”

  “Either, really.”

  “But you know something about Great Weapons.”

  He nodded and didn’t elaborate.

  “So, what now?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Well, I’m sort of in the Paths of the Dead, in the Halls of Judgment no less. Last time I was here—”

  “Last time?”

  “Long story. Last time, I was told not to come back. So, if this is a rescue, how do you plan to get me out of here?”

  “Oh, right. That.”

  “That.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, how do you get out?”

  “Connections. I have a standing invitation, and that includes the right to leave.”

  “Can you bring a guest?”

  “Sorry.”

  I stretched out my legs. “Well, isn’t this a joy.”

  “If I might make a suggestion?”

  “Sure.”

  “The demon should be able to return you.”

  “The demon you chased away? That one?”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “Perfect.”

  He reached down and petted the dog between the ears. It wagged its tail. The cat jumped down from his lap. Lazsló put a hand under the dog’s chin, looked into its eyes, and muttered something too quiet for me to hear, though from the rhythm I guessed it to be Fenarian. The dog stood up, sniffed the ground, and padded off. The cat ran off after it.

  “Good nose on that dog?”

  He nodded.

  “What will he do when he finds it?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  He sounded like me. I considered hating him.

  He reached into his cloak and came out with a small cloth bag. He opened it and extended it. “Sweetmeat?”

  I took one and ate it. “Not bad.”

  “Apricot.”

  I nodded.

  “So now you don’t hate him?”

  “It isn’t like I’d already made a final decision or anything.”
/>
  “If you give me some of the next one, I won’t hate the cat.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “So, Awtlá, and, what was the cat’s name?”

  “Sireng.”

  “Yeah. They’re familiars?”

  He nodded.

  “Two familiars,” I said.

  He nodded again.

  “Didn’t know that was possible.”

  “Boss—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Loiosh.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  Rocza flapped her wings on my other shoulder.

  Laszló didn’t reply except by some sort of motion that could have meant anything.

  Purple Robes and other “souls,” I’d guess you’d say, wandered by. I kept wanting to look at the fountain, but then I remembered, and didn’t. We waited, and I came up with more questions he wouldn’t answer, like “Is it true about you and Her Majesty,” so I didn’t bother asking them.

  “There,” he said suddenly.

  I looked up, and Discaru, or the demon, or whatever, came hissing and growling toward us. At his heels were a wolf and a dzur. There was no sign of the dog, no sign of the cat, but there was a wolf and there was a dzur.

  I turned and stared at the warlock. “Are those—”

  “Not now,” he said.

  They herded the thing, nipping and scratching at it until it had reached us, then circled it, making sure it couldn’t move. The wolf growled, the dzur hissed, the demon bellowed, Loiosh and Rocza flapped their wings. The warlock stood up and brushed off his cloak, which was the first time I realized that it was silk, and very expensive. He took his time positioning himself in front of the demon. I got up and stood next to him because if there was going to be a party I didn’t want to be left out.

  The warlock spoke to the demon, and I have no clue what language it was, but there were a lot of whistles and clicks and rising and falling inflections like singing, and sounds I wasn’t aware the human mouth was capable of.

  The demon answered, not sounding happy. They had brief conversation, and the demon turned like it wanted to run, but the wolf and dzur growled and hissed and snapped. Then Laszló raised his hand, palm out, then turned it palm up and slowly formed a fist, muttering under his breath. The demon howled, convulsed, twisted, shrank, and blurred, and then—

  “Ah, Discaru,” I said. “How have you been?”