Yendi

by Steven Brust

  “Not yet,” he said. “Aliera is speaking to the Dragon Council about setting up an inquiry. It may take a few more days.”

  I looked back at Norathar and Cawti, who were talking a few paces away from us. Morrolan was silent. It is a very rare skill in a man, and far more rare in an aristocrat, to know when to be still, but Morrolan had it. I shook my head as I watched Cawti. First, I’d become angry with her, then I had poured out my problems at her feet; when all the time her partner of—how long?—at least five years, was on the verge of becoming a Dragonlord.

  By the Demon Goddess! What Cawti must have gone through as a child would have been very much like what I went through, or worse. Her friendship with Norathar must have been like my relationship with Loiosh, and she was watching it end. Gods, but I can be an insensitive ass when I try!

  I looked at Cawti then, from behind and to the side. I’d never really looked at her before. As any man with the least amount of experience can tell you, looks mean absolutely nothing as far as bedding is concerned. But Cawti would have been attractive by the standards of any human. Her ears were round, not the least bit pointed, and she had no trace of facial hair. (Contrary to some Dragaerans’ belief, only male Easterners have whiskers—I don’t know why.) She was smaller than I, but she had long legs that made her seem taller than she was. A thin face, almost hawklike, and piercing brown eyes. Hair was black, perfectly straight, falling below her shoulders. She obviously paid a fair amount of attention to it, because it glistened in the light and was cut off exactly even.

  Her breasts were small, but firm. Her waist, slender. Her buttocks were also small, and her legs slim but well muscled. Most of this, you understand, I was remembering rather than seeing, but as I looked, I decided that, even on this level, I’d done rather well for myself. A crude way of putting it, I suppose, but—

  She turned away from Norathar and caught me looking at her. For some reason, this pleased me. I held out my left arm as she came up; she pressed it. I reached for contact with her and it came more easily than last time.

  “Cawti . . . ”

  “It’s all right, Vladimir.”

  Norathar came up to us then, and said, “I’d like a word with you, Lord Taltos.”

  “Call me ‘Vlad.’ ”

  “As you wish. Excuse us,” she said to the others, and we walked a bit away.

  Before she could say anything I started in. “If you’re going to give me any of the don’t-you-dare-hurt-her dung, you can forget it.”

  She gave me a thin smile. “You seem to know me,” she said. “But why should I forget it? I mean it, you know. If you hurt her needlessly, I’ll kill you. I just feel I should tell you that.”

  “The wise falcon hides his claws,” I said, “and it’s the poor assassin who warns his target.”

  “Are you trying to make me angry with you, Vlad? I care about Cawti. I care enough to destroy anyone who causes her pain. I feel I should let you know, so you can avoid doing it.”

  “How kind of you. What about you? Haven’t you hurt her more than I ever could?”

  To my surprise, she didn’t even start to get angry. She said, “It may look that way, and I know I’ve hurt her, but not as badly as you could. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see that it matters,” I said. “The way things are looking, I’m liable to be dead in a week or two anyway.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was, let us say, not overwhelmed with sympathy.

  “If you really don’t want her hurt, you might try helping me to stay alive.”

  She chuckled a bit. “Nice try, Vlad. But you know I have standards.”

  I shrugged, and mentioned something that had been bothering me for a while. “If I’d heard he was looking for you, I would have put everything on the line and hired you myself, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “The one who employed us didn’t need to look for us; he knew where to find us, so there was no chance of your hearing.”

  “Oh. I wish I’d been so privileged.”

  “I have no idea how he found out—it isn’t common knowledge. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve said what I wanted to, and I think you under—”

  She broke off, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just from habit.

  “What is it, Loiosh?”

  “The bitch you met last time. The Sorceress in Chartreuse, or whatever.”

  “Great.”

  “May I interrupt?” came the voice from behind me.

  I looked at Norathar and raised my eyebrows. She nodded. I turned then, and said, “Lady Norathar e’Lanya, of the House of the Dragon, this is—”

  “I am the Sorceress in Green,” said the Sorceress in Green. “And I am quite capable of introducing myself, Easterner.”

  I sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not wanted here? Never mind.” I bowed to Norathar and Loiosh hissed at the Sorceress.

  As I walked away, the Sorceress was saying, “Easterners! I’ll be just as pleased when Sethra the Younger goes after them. Won’t you?”

  I heard Norathar say, “Hardly,” in a cold tone of voice, and then I was thankfully out of earshot. Then it hit me: I was looking for an Athyra who had been involved in the plot against Norathar. The Sorceress in Green was an Athyra. Just maybe, I decided. I’d have to think about how to verify or disprove this.

  I returned to Cawti and said, “Is there anything keeping you here?”

  She looked startled, but shook her head.

  “Should we leave?” I asked.

  “Weren’t you going to be checking on that list?”

  “This party runs twenty-four hours a day, five days a week. It’ll wait.”

  She nodded. I gave Morrolan a bow, then we went out the door and down to the entryway without taking our leaves of anyone else. One of Morrolan’s sorcerers was standing near the door. I had him teleport us back to my apartment. The sick feeling in my stomach when we arrived was not, I think, due only to the teleport.

  * * * *

  My flat, at that time, was above a wheelwright’s shop on Garshos Street

  near the corner of Copper Lane

  . It was roomy for the money because it was an attic, and the sloping ceiling would have annoyed a Dragaeran. My income, just before the business with Laris had started, had me thinking about getting a larger place, but it was just as well I hadn’t.

  We sat down on the couch. I put my arm around her shoulder, and said, “Tell me about yourself.” She did, but it isn’t any of your business. I’ll just say that I was right in my earlier guesses about her experiences.

  We got to talking about other things, and at one point I showed her my target in the back room, set so I could throw through the hall and give myself a thirty-foot range. The target, by the way, was in the shape of a Dragon’s head. She thought that was a nice touch.

  I took out a brace of six knives and put four of them into the left eye of the target.

  She said, “Good throwing, Vladimir. May I try?”

  “Sure.”

  She put five into the right eye, and the sixth less than half an inch off.

  “I see,” I said, “that I’m going to have to practice.”

  She grinned. I hugged her.

  “Vlad,” said someone.

  “What the bleeding deviltries of Deathsgate Falls do you—Oh, Morrolan.”

  “Bad time, Vlad?”

  “Could be worse. What is it?”

  “I’ve just spoken to Aliera. She has found the names of the Lyorn and the Athyra who were involved in the test on the Lady Norathar. Also, you may wish to inform your friend Cawti that the Dragon Council has authorized an official scan for tomorrow, at the sixth hour past noon.”

  “All right. I’ll tell her. What are the names?”

  “The Lyorn was Countess Neorenti, the Athyra was Baroness Tierella.”

  “Baroness Tierella, eh? Morrolan, could Baroness Tierella be the real name of the Sorceres
s in Green?”

  “What? Don’t be absurd, Vlad. She—”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. Why?”

  “Never mind; I just lost a theory I liked. Okay, thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. A good evening to you, and I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at my party longer.”

  “Another time, Morrolan.”

  I gave Cawti the news about Norathar, which broke the mood, but what was I supposed to do? I went into the kitchen and got us some wine, then got in touch with Fentor.

  “Yes, milord?”

  “House of the Lyorn, Countess Neorenti. House of the Athyra, Baroness Tierella. Are they alive? If so, find out where they live. If not, find out how they died. Get right on it.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Cawti sighed.

  “I’m done,” I said quickly. “It was just—”

  “No, it isn’t that,” she said. “I only wish there were some way I could help you with Laris. But all the information I have came from him, and I couldn’t tell you that, even if it was useful.”

  “I understand,” I said. “You have to live with yourself.”

  She nodded. “Things were so easy, just a week ago. I mean, I was happy . . . I guess. We were secure. My reasons for wanting to kill Dragaerans are the same as yours, and Norathar, well, she just hated everything. Except me, I suppose.” I put my arm back around her shoulder. “Now, well, I’m happy that she has what she wants, even if she’d managed to convince herself she didn’t want it anymore, but me—” She shrugged.

  “I know,” I said. Now, would you like to hear something crazy? I wanted, badly, to say something like, “I hope I can take her place for you,” or maybe, “I’ll be here,” or even, “I love you, Cawti.” But I couldn’t. Why? Because, as far as I could tell, I was going to be dead in a little while. Laris was still after me, still had more resources than I did, and, most important, he knew where to find me, and I didn’t know where to find him. So, under the circumstances, how could I do anything that would tie her to me? It was crazy. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut.

  I looked up at her and noticed that she was staring over my shoulder and nodding slightly.

  “Loiosh!”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “What are you telling her, damn you?”

  “What you’d tell her yourself, boss, if you weren’t a dzur-brained fool.”

  I made a grab for him, but he fluttered over to the windowsill. I stood up, growling, and felt a touch on my arm.

  “Vladimir,” she said calmly, “let’s go to bed.”

  Well, between wringing the neck of a wiseass, know-it-all jhereg, and making love to the most wonderful woman in the world—I mean, the choice wasn’t hard to make.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Well, what did you think I’d do?

  Kiss him?”

  “Milord?”

  “Yes, Fentor?” I came more fully awake and pulled Cawti closer to me.

  “I’ve located Countess Neorenti.”

  “Good work, Fentor. I’m pleased. What about the Athyra?”

  “Milord, are you certain about her name? Baroness Tierella?”

  “I think so. I could check on it a little more, I suppose. Why? Can’t find her?”

  “I’ve checked the records as thoroughly as I can. Milord. There has never been anyone named ‘Tierella’ in the House of the Athyra, ‘Baroness’ or anything else.”

  I sighed. Why does life have to be so Verra-be-damned complicated?

  “Okay, Fentor. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

  “Thank you, milord.”

  The contact was broken. Cawti was awake, and snuggled closer to me.

  “What is it, Vladimir?”

  “More trouble,” I said. “Let’s forget it for now.”

  “Mmmmmmm,” she said.

  “Loiosh.”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “You are provisionally forgiven.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  * * * *

  A few brief, happy hours later we were up and functional. Cawti offered to buy me breakfast and I accepted. Before we left, she wandered around the rooms, looking into nooks and crannies. She commented on a cheap print of an expensive Katana sketch of Dzur Mountain, sneered good-naturedly at some imitation Eastern cut glass, and would have continued all day if I hadn’t finally said, “Let me know when you’re through with the inspection. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Hm? Oh. Sorry.” She gave the flat another look. “It’s just that I suddenly feel as if this were home.”

  I felt a lump in my throat as she took my arm and guided me to the door.

  “Where shall we eat? Vladimir?”

  “What? Oh. Uh, anywhere’s fine. There’s a place just a couple of doors up that has clean silver and klava that you don’t need a spoon for.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Loiosh settled on my shoulder and we went down to the street. It was about four hours after dawn, and a few things were just beginning to get going, but there was little street traffic. We went into Tsedik’s and Cawti bought me two greasy sausages, a pair of burned chicken eggs, warmed bread, and adequate klava to wash it down with. She had the same.

  I said, “I just realized that I haven’t cooked a meal for you yet.”

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to it.” She smiled.

  “You know I cook? Oh. Yeah.” She continued eating. I said, “I really ought to do a job on your background, just to make us even, you know.”

  “I told you most of it last night, Vladimir.”

  “Doesn’t count,” I sniffed. “Not the same thing.”

  Midway through the meal, I noted the time and decided to do some business. “Excuse me,” I said to Cawti.

  “Morrolan . . . ”

  “Yes, Vlad?”

  “The Athyra you gave me isn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “She isn’t an Athyra.”

  “What is she, pray?”

  “As far as I know, she doesn’t exist.”

  There was a pause. “I shall look into this and inform you of the results.”

  “Okay.”

  I sighed, and the rest of the meal passed in silence. We kept it short, because being in a public restaurant without bodyguards can be dangerous. All it would take would be a waiter who knew what was going on to get a message to Laris’s people, and they could send someone in to nail me. Cawti understood this, so she didn’t make any comment when I rushed a bit.

  She understood it so well, in fact, that she stepped out of the place ahead of me, just to make sure there was no one around. Loiosh did the same thing.

  “Boss, stay back!” And, “Vladimir!”

  And, for the first time in my life, I froze in a crisis. Why? Because all of my instincts and training told me to dive and get away from the door, but my reason told me that Cawti was facing an assassin.

  I stood there like an idiot while Cawti rushed out, and then there was someone in front of me, holding a wizard’s staff. He gestured, and then Spellbreaker was in my hand and swinging toward him before I knew what I was doing. I felt a tingling in my arm and knew that I’d intercepted something. I saw the guy in front of me curse, but before he could do anything else there was a dagger sticking out of the side of his neck. Whatever Cawti was doing, she apparently had time to keep an eye on the door. As I scrambled through, drawing a stiletto, I managed a psionic “Help!” to Kragar. Then I saw three more of them. Sheesh!

  One was yelling and trying to fight off Loiosh. Another was dueling, sword to sword, with Cawti. The third spotted me as I emerged and his hand flicked out. I dived toward him, rolling (this is not easy with a sword at your hip), and whatever he threw missed. I lashed out with both feet, but he danced back out of the way. There was a knife in his left hand, set for throwing. I hoped he’d miss any vital spots.

  Then the knife fell from his hand as a dagger blossomed from his
wrist. I took the opportunity to roll up and do unto him what he’d been about to do unto me. I considered his heart an adequate vital spot; I didn’t miss it.

  A quick glance at Cawti showed me that she was doing all right against her man, who apparently wasn’t used to a swordsman who presented only the side. I drew my rapier and took two steps toward the one Loiosh was engaging. He gave Loiosh a last swipe, turned to face me, raised his blade, and took the point of my rapier in his left eye. I turned back to Cawti. She was cleaning her weapon.

  “Let’s move, troops,” I said, as Loiosh returned to my shoulder.

  “Good idea. Can you teleport?”

  “Not when I’m this excited. You?”

  “No.”

  “How about walking, then. Back to my office.”

  Cawti cleaned her blade, while I dropped mine where it was. Then I led us back into Tsedik’s and out the back door, and we began a leisurely stroll back to the office. If we walked fast, we’d attract even more attention than we already had, but I don’t know if there is anything in the world more difficult than trying to stroll while your heart is racing and the adrenaline is pumping through your system. I was trembling like a teckla, and the knowledge that this made me an even easier target didn’t help.

  We had gone less than a block toward the office when four more Jhereg showed up: Glowbug, N’aal, Shoen, and Sticks.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” I managed. They all greeted me. I refrained from telling N’aal that he looked well, because he might have thought I was mocking him. He didn’t seem resentful, though.

  We made it back to the office without incident. I contrived to be alone when I finally lost my breakfast. It hadn’t been that good, anyway.

  * * * *

  I’ve known Dragaerans, and I mean known, not just heard of, who can eat a meal, go out and have an incredibly close brush with death, then come home and eat another meal. You might run into one of these jokers an hour later and ask if anything interesting has been happening, and he’ll shrug and say, “Not really.”

  I don’t know if I admire these types or just feel sorry for them, but I’m sure not like that. I have a variety of reactions to almost dying and none of them involves being plussed. It’s especially bad when it comes as the result of an assassination attempt, because such attempts are, by nature, unexpected.