by Steven Brust
The two of them exchanged looks.
Morrolan said, “We’d very much like to convince you. It means a great deal to us, and there is no one else who can do it.”
“This conversation sounds really familiar.” I said. “You two had this in mind from the beginning, didn’t you?”
“We considered it a possibility,” said the Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain.
“And now you’re saying that you’ll kill me if I don’t do it.”
“No,” said Morrolan. “Only that we’ll be very grateful if you do.”
They were learning how to deal with me. This could be good or bad, I suppose. I said, “Your gratitude would be nice, but if I’m already dead—”
“I think you can survive,” said Sethra.
“How?”
“I’ve been there. I can tell you which paths to take and which to avoid, and warn you of dangers you are likely to encounter and how to protect yourself. That will leave you with only one danger, and I think the fact that you are an Easterner, who doesn’t belong there, will be enough to—”
“What danger is that?”
“From those who run the place. The Lords of Judgment.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. There was a sharp intake of breath from Chaz, who’d been standing in his usual position during the whole interchange. I said, “The Lords of Judgment?”
“You know,” said Sethra. “The gods.”
8
I noticed that the stiletto I’d stuck in the ground was vibrating, and I wondered what that meant. After a moment, I detected a low-pitched hum. I concentrated on it until I could pick out the beats.
Beats . . .
Now, there was an idea.
I concentrated on the rhythm and held out my left hand, palm up. I concentrated on the humming and held out my right hand, palm up. I brought my hands together, turning them over so the palms met. Behind me, I felt Loiosh spreading his wings and collapsing them. My eyes closed as if of their own accord. I realized I was starting to feel fatigued, which frightened me, and I still had a great deal to do.
I don’t know which changed, but now the humming worked with the rhythm I’d established.
I wondered how I’d write this up in a spell book, if I ever chose to do so.
“FINE,” I SAID. “No problem. You mean I have nothing at all to worry about except a few gods? Well, in that case I don’t see how it could go wrong. Sure, sign me up.”
I was being sarcastic, in case it escaped you. I found myself glancing over at Chaz to see if he appreciated it, but I couldn’t tell.
Sethra said, “I don’t think it’s quite as gruesome as that.”
“Oh.”
Morrolan said, “Show him the staff.”
“I can see it from here,” I said, looking at it next to Sethra’s hand. Sethra ignored my comment and picked it up, held it out to me.
I said, “This person’s soul is in there?”
“Yes,” said Sethra. “Take it.”
“Why?”
“To see if you feel anything.”
“What am I supposed to feel?”
“Perhaps nothing. You won’t know unless you hold it.”
I sighed and took the thing. Since she’d spoken about feeling something, I was very much aware of the smooth finish, and that the thing was slightly cold. I’d held it before, but I’d been rather busy at the time. It was a light-colored wood, probably diamond willow.
“Feel anything, Loiosh?”
“I’m not sure, boss. Maybe. I think so.”
Then I became aware of it, too. Yes, there was some sort of presence, seemingly dwelling at my fingertips. Strange. I was even getting a vague sense of personality; fiery, quick-tempered. A Dragon, certainly.
Also, to my surprise, I felt an instant sympathy; I’m still not sure why. I handed the staff back to Sethra and said, “Yeah, I felt something.”
She said, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Will you do it?”
“Are you crazy? You’ve said no one except Zerika has—”
“I’ve also explained why I think you’ll live through it.”
I snorted. “Sure. All right, I’ll do it—if you’ll go along to protect me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” snapped Sethra. “If I could go, there would be no need for you in the first place.”
“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll take Morrolan.” I smirked, which I’m beginning to think is always an error when dealing with Dragonlords. I think I caught Chaz smirking, but I can’t be sure.
Sethra and Morrolan exchanged glances. Then, “Very well,” said Morrolan. “I agree.”
I said, “Wait a minute—”
Sethra said, “Morrolan, the Lords of Judgment won’t let you leave.”
“Then so be it.”
Sethra said, “But—”
I said, “But—”
“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Morrolan told me. “We’d best get you back at once to prepare for the journey.”
KIERA THE THIEF’S LONGISH face was mostly concealed by a cowl as she towered over me, and her voice was low, not quite a whisper. “Hello, Vlad.”
“Thank you.”
She said, “So you know.”
“I know it must have been you who spoke to Nielar about me. Thanks.”
“I hope I’m doing you a favor,” she said.
“Me, too. Why do you think you might not be?”
“Working for the Jhereg can be dangerous.”
“I beat up Dragaerans anyway, every chance I get. Why not get paid for it?”
She studied my face. “Do you hate us so much?”
“Them, not you.”
“I am Dragaeran.”
“You still aren’t one of them.”
“Perhaps not.”
“In any case, I need to make money if I’m going to stay out of the Easterners’ ghetto.”
“I know.” I saw the flash of her teeth. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to live there. You are a nobleman, after all.”
I smiled back.
She said, “There are things I can teach you that will help.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “You’re very kind.”
“I like you.”
She’d said that before. I often wondered why. I wondered how old she was, too. But these were questions I didn’t ask.
I said, “Well, wish me luck.”
“Yes. There are a few things I should tell you now, though.”
I was anxious to get going, but I’m not stupid. Kiera the Thief doesn’t waste words. I said, “All right.”
“The important thing is this, Vlad: Don’t let your anger get the best of you. Dead men can’t pay, and you won’t earn if you don’t deliver. And if you can get what you want without hurting someone, your employer will appreciate it. You may not realize it, but every time a Jhereg has to use violence, he’s taking chances. They don’t like that. Okay?”
“Okay.” As she spoke, it struck me that in less than an hour, probably, I was going to be facing down and perhaps attacking someone I’d never met before. It seemed awfully cold-blooded. But, well, tough. I said, “What else?”
“Do you know anything about the Left Hand of the Jhereg?”
“Ummm . . . the what?”
“You don’t, then. Okay. The Organization as you know it makes its money by providing goods and services that are either illegal or highly taxed, right?”
“I guess so. I’d never thought of it that way, but sure.”
“Think of it that way. Now, the one exception is sorcery. There are sorcerous activities that are, as you know, illegal. Sorcerously aiding another illegal act, bending someone’s will, and so forth.” She spread her palms. “As the Demon says, ‘Whenever they make a new law, they create a new business.’”
“Who said that?”
“The Demon.”
“Who’s he?”
“Never mind. In any case, the Left Hand of the Jhereg is mostly made
up of women—I’m not sure why. They deal in illegal magic.”
“I see.”
“Stay away from them. You aren’t up to fighting them, and you don’t know enough to protect yourself from their machinations.”
I said, “Yeah. I’ll remember. Thanks, Kiera.”
Her cowl nodded. She peered at me from within, then said, “Good luck, Vlad.” She merged with the shadow of the building and was gone.
HOW OUGHT ONE TO prepare for a journey to the land of the dead?
I mean, I know how to get ready to go out on the town, and I know how to get ready to kill someone, and I even have some idea of how to prepare for a night spent in the jungle. But if you’re going to visit the shades of the once living, the servitors of the dead, and the gods, what do you want to bring with you? How ought you to dress?
I wore my Jhereg colors, with a stylized jhereg on the back of the grey cloak I wear when I want to carry concealed this and that with me, and black Eastern riding boots that are comfortable, even if I wasn’t going to be doing any riding—which was just as well. I’ve been on horseback before and if I never am again, that’ll be fine. Just don’t tell my grandfather I said that. He thinks Fenarians are supposed to be naturally great horsemen.
I wondered at Morrolan’s agreement to accompany me. From everything I understood, his chances of emerging alive were worse than mine, and mine didn’t seem to be all that good. I mean, Sethra had never actually said I’d be safe from the gods.
The gods. This was silly. I had occasionally joined my grandfather in our private family rituals, asking for the protection of Verra, the Demon Goddess, but I’d never been more than half convinced of her existence. Many Easterners I knew believed in one or more of the gods, and even those who didn’t dropped their voices when naming them. But all Dragaerans seemed to believe in them, and spoke about them in such matter-of-fact tones that I wondered if, to a Dragaeran, the term “god” was all but meaningless. Someday, I decided, I’d have to investigate this.
Or perhaps I was going to find out during this journey. Which thought reminded me that I ought to be preparing. Morrolan had said the journey there should only take a few days, as we would teleport to a point fairly close to Deathgate Falls. Water would be available as we walked, as would food. The weather was unpredictable, but my cloak was fairly warm when pulled around me, fairly cool when thrown back, and waterproof.
“Any thoughts about what I should bring along?”
“An enchanted dagger, boss. Just in case.”
“I always carry one. What else?”
“That chain thing.”
“Hmmm. Yeah. Good idea.”
“Witch supplies?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No, I mean, are you going to bring supplies for spells?”
“Oh. I guess so.”
So I got these things together, threw in some eddiberries in case I needed to sleep, some kelsch leaves in case I needed to stay awake, then reached out for contact with Morrolan. It took quite a while since I didn’t know him terribly well, but at last we were in touch.
“I’ll be ready in an hour,” I told him.
“That will be fine,” he said. “Where should we meet?”
I thought about this, then told him, “There’s this tavern called Ferenk’s in South Adrilankha.”
EVERY TIME I VISIT a shoemaker I’m given to wonder how anyone’s shoes can come out well. That is, I’ve never seen a shoemaker’s place that wasn’t as dark as Verra’s Hell, nor a shoemaker who didn’t squint as if he were half blind.
The remains of the clothing on this particular shoemaker claimed him for the House of the Chreotha, as did his longish face and stubby fingers. The amount of grime under his nails would have been sufficient for a garden. The hair on his head was thin and grey; his eyebrows were thick and dark. The room smelled heavily of leather and various oils and I can’t say what it looked like save that it was dark and gloomy.
The Chreotha gave me a silent grunt (I can’t describe it any better that that) and indicated a spot of gloom that turned out to contain a chair made of pieces of leather stretched across a wooden frame. I sat down in it carefully, but it didn’t seem about to collapse, so I relaxed. It was a bit small for a Dragaeran, which was pleasant since Dragaerans are taller than humans and it’s annoying to sit in a chair designed for someone larger.
The shoemaker shuffled out of the room, presumably to let Nielar know I was there. Nielar was the guy who had hired me, after an unpleasant introduction involving a game of shereba that ran in the back of his building. Kiera had, I had gathered, intervened on my behalf, so I was showing up to work for him. I was also supposed to be meeting a partner.
“You must be Vlad Taltos,” he said.
I jumped and almost drew the dagger from my sleeve.
“Mama?”
“It’s all right, Loiosh.”
He was sitting right across from me, and I’d somehow missed him in the dim light. He had a bit of a smirk on his face, probably from seeing me jump, but I resolved not to hate him right away. “Yes,” I said. “I believe your name is Kragar?”
“I believe so, also. Since we both believe it, we might as well assume it’s true.”
“Ummm . . . right.”
He watched me, still with the same sardonic expression. I wondered if he was trying to make me mad enough to attack him, to see if I could control myself. If so, I resented being tested. If not, he was just a jerk.
He said, “There’s a guy who owes Nielar some money. Not all that much; forty imperials. But he’s being stubborn. If we can get it, we split four imperials.” I kept my face blank, while being amazed that my co-worker didn’t think forty imperials was much money. This, I decided, might bode well for my future.
He continued, “Shall we go?” As he said this, he handed me what turned out to be a smooth, round stick, maybe an inch and a half in diameter and two feet long. I wrapped my hand around it. It was heavy enough to hurt someone. He continued, “Nielar said you already know how to use this.”
“I guess so,” I said, hefting the thing. “It is rather like a chair leg.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I smirked back at him, feeling a bit cocky all of a sudden.
“Let’s go.”
“Right.”
As we headed out the door I said, “You’ll do the talking, right?”
“No,” he said. “You will.”
“HOW LONG WILL YOU be gone, Vlad?”
“I don’t know, Kragar. You’re just going to have to take care of things as best you can. If I’m lucky, I’ll be back in three or four days. If I’m not, I won’t be back at all.”
He chewed on his lip, a gesture I think he picked up from me. “I hope you’re getting something for this.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Loiosh and I made our way to Ferenk’s. The host recognized me at once and managed to keep a scowl off his face. When Morrolan came in, however, I could see that he drew his lips back and almost hissed. I smiled and said, “Two, please. We want dead bodies and seaweed. I’m sure you still know how to pour them.”
He did, and I was pleased that Morrolan liked Fenarian peach brandy, but a little disappointed that he already knew about it, and even called it by its Fenarian name. However, he hadn’t known that Ferenk’s existed. I think he enjoyed being the only Dragaeran in the place, too. I remembered meeting Kiera there (by chance? Ha!) and wondered how the regulars would take to having Dragaerans drop by, and what sort of reputation I’d acquire at the place. At any rate, Morrolan enjoyed the experience more than Ferenk did.
Tough.
We walked out the door after a couple of glasses each. Then Morrolan stopped. I stood next to him. He closed his eyes and held himself still, then nodded to me. I braced myself, and South Adrilankha vanished. I expected to feel nauseous, and I was.
&n
bsp; I hate that.
THE TARGET LIVED ABOUT half a mile away. To kill time as we walked, I asked Kragar to tell me about him.
“I don’t know much, Vlad. He’s an Orca, and he’s owed Nielar the money for quite a while.”
“An Orca? That’s nice to hear.”
“Why?”
“Nothing,” I said. He glanced at me quickly but didn’t comment. “Is he big?”
Kragar shrugged. “What’s the difference? Hit him hard enough and he’ll go down.”
“Is that what we want to do?” I asked, remembering Kiera’s advice. “Start swinging?” I discovered I was feeling nervous. When I’d taken to beating up the Dragaerans who’d been beating me up, it always happened suddenly. I’d never actually set out to get one. It makes a difference.
Kragar said, “Up to you.”
I stopped. “What is this? You’ve done this before; I haven’t. Why am I making all the decisions?”
“That was my deal when I agreed to work for Nielar—that I never have to give an order.”
“Huh? Why?”
“None of your business.”
I stared at him. Then I noticed that the House of the Dragon was so clearly marked on his face I couldn’t understand how I’d missed it before. There was almost certainly a story there.
As we resumed our walk, I pondered Kragar. He was almost exactly seven feet tall, had medium straight brown hair, brown eyes, and, well, really nothing else to distinguish him. Questions buzzed around my head, without attending answers. Where had he come from? How had he found himself in the Jhereg?
He touched my shoulder and pointed to a building. It bore the insignia of a wolf howling and seemed to be a pretty nice place from the outside. The inside was also in good repair. We walked through the main room, earning some scowls from patrons who didn’t like Easterners, Jhereg, or both. We went up the stairs. As we climbed the three flights and turned to the left, I was still wondering about Kragar, and I continued to wonder until we had clapped outside the door and it had opened.
The Orca looked at me and blinked. He said, “Yeah, whiskers?”
