Yendi

by Steven Brust

  She had seen me, of course, and greeted me with a gesture of her staff. I felt a tingling in my arm. I screamed, and fell over backward.

  “Vladimir!”

  “Stay there!”

  I opened my eyes and saw that the sorceress had turned away. I smoothly got to my feet, drew the Morganti dagger Morrolan had lent me, came up behind her, and brought Spellbreaker crashing down on the back of her head.

  The effect on her was minimal, since she’d had some sort of shield around her; she jerked a bit and turned around. But, while the shield had prevented the chain from hitting her, the chain had brought the shield down. Before she could do anything there was the point of a Morganti dagger against her throat.

  Morrolan and Aliera were dealing with the last of her defenders, but Morrolan seemed unsteady on his feet and Aliera’s lips were clamped tight with the concentration of holding herself together. Cawti was helping Norathar to her feet. I didn’t have much time, so I spoke quickly.

  “This fight isn’t any of my business, and I’ll get out of the way if you give me what I want. But if you don’t tell me where Laris is, I’ll cut your throat—with this. And if you warn him, I’ll be after you as long as I live.”

  She didn’t even hesitate.

  “He’s on the top floor of a warehouse on Pier Street

  . Two buildings east of the corner of Pier and One-Claw, on the south side of the street.”

  Shows you how much loyalty you can expect from the House of the Yendi. “Thank you,” I said, and backed away, still holding the dagger and Spellbreaker.

  She turned away from me, apparently taking me at my word. She did something that was probably putting her defenses back up. At that moment, however, Kieron’s greatsword, in the hands of Aliera e’Kieron, swept the head from the last of the defenders.

  Morrolan stepped forward, and a black streak came from the point of Blackwand and struck the sorceress. This, I was told later, took her defenses down again. And before she could do anything else, there was a sweep from Norathar’s blade and the sorceress’s staff went flying—and her right hand with it.

  She cried out and dropped to her knees, and it was in that position that Norathar impaled her, directly through the chest.

  There was dead silence in the room. The Sorceress in Green stared up at Norathar with a look of complete disbelief on her face. Then blood came from her mouth and she fell in a heap at the feet of the Sword of the Jhereg.

  Cawti came up next to me. I nodded toward the three of them, standing around the body.

  “Honor,” I muttered, “in the House of the Dragon.”

  Aliera collapsed. Cawti squeezed my arm.

  * * * *

  We returned to Castle Black, leaving the body of the Sorceress in Green where it was. I helped myself to a large glass of brandy, which I despise, but it’s stronger than wine and I didn’t want to suggest Piarran Mist; somehow this didn’t feel like a time to celebrate.

  “She was quite an accomplished sorceress,” said Aliera weakly, from the couch where the Necromancer was working on her. There were nods from around the room.

  “Vlad,” said Morrolan, whose arm was in a sling, “what was it that you did to her, and why?”

  “She had some information I wanted,” I explained. “I got it.”

  “And then you let her go?”

  I shrugged. “You said you didn’t need my help.”

  “I see.” I noticed Cawti holding a grin behind her hand. I slipped her a wink. Morrolan asked, “What was the information?”

  “Do you remember that I’m in the middle of a war? Laris was backed by her, but he still has the resources to hurt me. He’s going to find out that she’s dead very soon. When he does, he’ll start coming after me for real—I have to make sure the war is over before he does. I figured that she knew where Laris is hiding. I hope she wasn’t lying.”

  “I see.”

  Cawti turned to me. “Shall we finish it up, then?”

  I snorted. “Do you think it’ll be that easy?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about it. “You’re right. It will be.” I closed my eyes for a moment, just to make sure there wasn’t anything I’d forgotten.

  “Kragar.”

  “Hello, Vlad.”

  “How’s business?”

  “A little better.”

  “Good. Get hold of the Bitch Patrol. In exactly two and a half hours, I want a teleport block to prevent anyone from leaving a certain warehouse.” I told him where it was.

  “Got it, boss.”

  “Good. In exactly one-half hour, I want the following people in the office: Shoen, Sticks, Glowbug, Narvane, N’aal, Smiley, and Chimov.”

  “Uh . . . that’s all?”

  “Don’t be funny.”

  “Have we got something, Vlad?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got something. And I don’t want any mistakes. This ought to be quick, painless, and easy. So get everyone there, and make sure the sorceress you find is competent.”

  “Gotcha, boss.”

  The contact was broken.

  Cawti and I stood up. “Well, thank you for the entertainment,” I said, “but I’m afraid we have to be on our way.”

  Norathar bit her lip. “If there’s anything I can do . . . ”

  I looked at her for a moment, then I bowed low. “Thank you, Norathar, and I mean that sincerely. But no. I think, for the first time in months, everything is under control.”

  We left them and went down to the entry way, where one of Morrolan’s people teleported us back to my office. This time I made sure to warn them we were coming.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You what?”

  Now, I suppose, you expect me to tell you how I caught up with Laris after a long chase through the streets of Adrilankha, cornered him at last, how he fought like a dzur and I barely managed to kill him before he did me in. Right? Crap.

  There were only two things that could have gone wrong. One, the Sorceress in Green might have lied about where Laris was, and two, she might have had time to warn him. But, in both cases, why? To the sorceress, he was merely a tool. And, since we’d discovered what they were up to, he was no longer a useful tool.

  I didn’t really think the Sorceress in Green had had time to warn Laris before Norathar finished her. And, if she had lied about where he was, there was no harm done. So I explained my plan to everyone in my office, which took about half an hour. I did make one point worth mentioning: “If anyone here has the idea that he can do well for himself by telling Laris about this, he can forget it. Laris had a backer; the backer is dead. Right now, we’re holding nothing but flat stones, and he has nothing but round ones. So don’t try to be clever.”

  I rummaged around my bottom-left drawer until I found a suitable weapon—a stiletto with a thin handle and a seven-inch blade. I put it into my belt on the right side. We sat around waiting for another half-hour, then Shoen and Chimov got up and slipped out the door. The rest of us waited ten minutes more, then stood.

  “Luck, boss,” said Kragar.

  “Thanks.”

  Loiosh flew high above us as we set out toward Malak Circle

  . Cawti was leading. Sticks and Glowbug were to my right and left, and the others were walking in front and back.

  We reached the circle and jogged over to Pier. We had almost reached Silversmith when I received a message from Shoen.

  “He has four outside, boss. Two at the door, two making rounds.”

  “Okay. I’ll send help.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Narvane and Smiley, run up ahead. Shoen is in charge of the operation. You have five minutes to get set up.”

  They ran off while the rest of us slowed to a casual stroll, hardly moving at all.

  “Still clear, boss.”

  “Okay.”

  Cawti looked back at me and nodded. Six minutes later, Shoen reported in. “All set, boss. It’ll take between five and ninety seconds, depending on where the patrol
lers are.”

  “Okay. Hold for now.”

  We reached the place on Pier where it curves, just before you get to One-Claw.

  “How are they placed, Shoen?”

  “If you give the word now, about thirty seconds.”

  “Do it.”

  “Check.”

  I held up my hand, and we stopped. I mentally counted off ten seconds, then we started walking again, quickly. We came around the curve and the building was in sight. The only people we could see were Shoen and Chimov. Presently, Narvane appeared next to them, then Smiley. We reached them a few seconds later.

  I checked the Imperial Clock.

  “The teleport block should be up now. Check it, Narvane.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.

  I said, “The door.”

  N’aal said, “Maybe we should clap first.”

  Shoen and Glowbug stood by the door. They looked at each other, nodded, and Glowbug brought his mace down on the door mechanism just as Shoen set his shoulder into the middle. The door fell in.

  N’aal said, “Won’t you feel stupid if it was unlocked?”

  I said, “Shut up.”

  Cawti slipped between them before we could move and stepped inside. There was a flurry of movement, and I heard the sound of falling bodies as Glowbug, N’aal, and Shoen went in. Loiosh landed on my shoulder as Chimov and Smiley stepped past the threshold. I followed, with Sticks and Narvane bringing up the rear.

  It was a big, empty warehouse, with two bodies in it. Both had knives sticking out of them. We saw the stairs right away and took them. We didn’t meet anyone on the way up. I left N’aal and Smiley to hold the bottom of the stairs to the third floor while the rest of us went up.

  We emerged into a large, empty room. About five feet ahead of us were three smaller rooms; to the right, ahead, and to the left. Offices, I supposed.

  Just as we got there, three Jhereg appeared from a room to the right. They stood there with their mouths hanging open. Sticks leapt at them, with Glowbug a little behind. Glowbug still had his mace, and he was grinning like an idiot. Sticks had his sticks. It took them about three seconds.

  Then I sent Glowbug and Shoen to the right. I was about to send Chimov and Narvane to open the door ahead of us when I heard, “What’s the ruckus about, gentlemen?” from the room to the left. I recognized Laris’s voice.

  I caught Narvane’s eye. He stood in front of the door; the rest of us positioned ourselves behind it. Narvane raised his hand and the door flew in.

  It was a small room, with about eight or nine padded chairs and two desks. One of the desks was empty; Laris was behind the other one. There were four other Jhereg in the room.

  For an instant, no one moved. Then Laris turned to one and said, “Teleport.”

  We just waited.

  The Jhereg he’d spoken to said, “There’s a block up.”

  Cawti entered the office. Still none of them did anything. Sticks came in with his two clubs, then Glowbug with his mace. Then the rest of us.

  Laris and I looked at each other, but neither of us spoke. What was there to say? I looked at his enforcers, most of them with half-drawn weapons. I told my people to stand aside. We cleared a path to the door. Sticks hefted his weapons, looked at Laris’s enforcers, and cleared his throat.

  He said, “No future in it, gentlemen.”

  They looked at the horde of us. Then, one by one, they stood up. They held their hands out, clear of their bodies. One by one, without a glance at Laris, they filed out.

  I said, “All of you except Cawti, escort them out of the building.” I drew the blade I’d selected.

  When we were alone with Laris, I shut the door with my foot. Cawti said, “He’s yours, Vladimir.”

  I made it quick. Laris never said a word.

  * * * *

  An hour later I was staring at Aliera, my mouth hanging open. “You what?”

  “I revivified her,” she said, looking at me quizzically, as if to say, “Why should you find this unusual?” I was sitting in the library of Castle Black, with Morrolan, Cawti, Norathar, and Sethra. Aliera was on her back, looking pale but healthy.

  I sputtered like a klava-boiler, then managed, “Why?”

  “Why not?” she said. “We’d killed her, hadn’t we? That was enough humiliation. Besides, the Empress is a friend of hers.”

  “Oh, great,” I said. “So now, she—”

  “She won’t do anything, Vlad. There isn’t anything she can do. When we revivified her we did a mind-probe and wrote down the details of every plot of any kind she’s ever been involved in, and we gave her a copy so that she knows we know.” She smiled. “Some of them were rather interesting, too.”

  I sighed. “Well, have it your way, but if I wake up dead one morning, I’ll come to you and complain about it.”

  “That’s telling her, boss.”

  “Shut up, Loiosh.”

  Norathar, to my amazement, said, “I think you did the right thing, Aliera.”

  “So do I,” said Sethra.

  I turned to the latter. “Indeed? Tell us what you did to Sethra the Younger.”

  “The House of the Dragon,” she said, “has decided that Sethra the Younger can never be Emperor or Warlord, nor can any of her heirs.”

  “Huh,” I said. “But what did you do to her?”

  She gave me a dreamy kind of half-smile. “I believe I found a suitable punishment for her. I made her explain the entire affair to me, then—”

  “Oh? What did she say?”

  “Nothing surprising. She wished to conquer the East, and complained to the Sorceress in Green, who was her friend, that when Lord K’laiyer became Emperor, he wouldn’t authorize an invasion of the East. The sorceress came up with a scheme to make sure Adron became the Dragon Heir because they knew Adron would appoint Baritt to be Warlord, and Baritt was sympathetic to the invasion idea. Baritt agreed, mostly because he thought Adron would be a better Emperor than K’laiyer—sorry, Norathar.”

  Norathar shrugged. Sethra continued.

  “After Adron’s Disaster, they just let things lie. When Zerika took the throne and things got going again, Morrolan proved to be the heir. They arranged for Sethra the Younger to become friendly with Morrolan and found that he wouldn’t object to an invasion, so they relaxed. When Aliera showed up out of nowhere and became the heir, they went back to work again. They came up with the idea of discrediting Aliera and Morrolan, using your friendship with Vlad. They already knew Laris, because he’d done some of the dirty work in arranging the fake genetic scan. When Baritt refused to cooperate, they had Laris kill him. Then they used that as a threat to make Laris attack you. Apparently he was perfectly willing to take over your territory, Vlad, but had to be convinced not to kill you right away. They told him he could have you after their plans were complete. You know the rest, I think.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Now, about Sethra the Younger . . . ”

  “Oh, yes. I had the Necromancer gate her to another Plane. Similar to Dragaera, but time runs at a different rate there.”

  “And she’s stuck?” It seemed rather harsh to me—better to kill her. Besides, I wasn’t nearly as upset with her as I was with the Sorceress in Green.

  But, “No,” said Sethra. “She can come back when her task is finished. It shouldn’t take more than a week of our time.”

  “Task?”

  “Yes.” Once more, Sethra gave us her dreamy little smile. “I put her in the desert, with plenty of food, water, shelter, and a stick. And I set her to writing, ‘I will not interfere with the Dragon Council,’ in the sand, eighty-three thousand, five hundred and twenty-one times.”

  * * * *

  Picture an old man—an Easterner, almost seventy years old, which is a very impressive age for our race. But he’s in good condition for his age. He is poor, but not destitute. He has raised a family in the midst of the Dragaeran Empire and done it well. He has buried (an Eastern term for “outlived”; I’m n
ot sure why) a wife, a sister, a daughter, and two sons. The only surviving descendant is one grandson, who nearly gets himself killed every few weeks or so.

  He is almost completely bald, with only a fringe of white hair. He is a large, portly man, yet his fingers are still nimble enough with the rapier to give a good battle to a younger man, and to shock the sorcery out of any Dragaeran who doesn’t understand Eastern-style fencing.

  He lives in the Eastern ghetto, on the south side of Adrilankha. He ekes out a living as a witch, because he refuses to let his grandson support him. He worries about his grandson, but doesn’t let it show. He’ll help, but he won’t live through his children, and he won’t live their lives for them. When one of his sons tried to make himself into an imitation Dragaeran, he was saddened and felt his son was doomed to disappointment, but he never offered a word of criticism.

  I went to see this old gentleman the day after Laris’s death. Walking through the filth in the streets made me want to retch, but I hid it. Anyway, we all know Easterners are filthy, right? Look at how they live. Never mind that they can’t use sorcery to keep their neighborhoods clean the way Dragaerans do. If they want to use sorcery, they can become citizens of the Empire by moving into the country and becoming Teckla, or buying titles in the Jhereg. Don’t want to be serfs? They’re stubborn, too, aren’t they? Don’t have the money to buy titles? Of course not! Who’d give them a good job, seeing how filthy they are?

  I tried not to let it bother me. Cawti tried too, but I could see the strain around the comers of her eyes and feel it in the purposeful way she walked. I should have felt good about coming back here—successful Easterner boy walks through the old neighborhood. I should have, but I didn’t. I only felt sick.

  There was no sign above my grandfather’s shop, and nothing on display. Everyone in the neighborhood knew who he was and what he did, and he didn’t care about anyone outside it. Dragaerans had stopped using witchcraft when the Interregnum ended and sorcery worked again.