The Book of Jhereg

by Steven Brust

  “Baronet Taltos will do,” I said. “I am at your service, lords.”

  The other one turned his glance to me, snorted, and said, “I’ll bet.”

  The first one asked me, “What do you know about it?”

  “About what, my lord?”

  He shot a glance at the other, who closed the door of my office. I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, knowing what was coming. Well, it happens sometimes. When the door was shut, the one who’d been doing most of the talking pulled a dagger from his belt.

  I swallowed and said, “My lord, I’d like to help—” which was as far as I got before the hilt of the dagger, held in his palm, smashed into the side of my head. I went flying out of the chair and landed in the corner.

  “Loiosh, don’t do anything.”

  There was a pause then, “I know, boss, but—”

  “Nothing!”

  “Okay, boss. Hang in there.”

  The one who’d just hit me was standing over me now. He said, “Two men were murdered just outside of the door of this place, Jhereg.” He made it sound like a curse. “What do you know about it?”

  “Lord,” I said, “I don’t know oomph!” as his foot took me in the stomach. I’d seen it just in time to move forward, so he missed my solar plexus.

  The other one came up then. “Did you hear him, Menthar? He don’t know oomph. How about that?” He spat on me. “I think we should take him to the barracks. What do you think?”

  Menthar muttered something and kept looking at me. “I’ve heard you’re a tough one, Whiskers. Is that true?”

  “No, lord,” I told him.

  He nodded and said to the other one, “This isn’t a Jhereg; this is a Teckla. Look at him squirm. Doesn’t it make you sick?”

  His partner said, “What about those two murders, Teckla? You sure you don’t know anything about them?” He reached down and hauled me up, so that I was against the back wall. “You real sure?”

  I said, “I don’t know what—” and he caught me under the chin with the pommel of his dagger, which had been hidden in his hand. My head cracked against the wall and I felt my jaw break. I must have lost consciousness for an instant, because I don’t remember sliding to the floor.

  Then Menthar said, “You hold him for me.”

  The other guard agreed. “But be careful. Easterners are fragile. Remember the last one.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He looked at me and smiled. “Last chance,” he said. “What do you know about those two dead men outside?”

  I shook my head, which hurt like blazes, but I knew trying to talk would hurt more. He hefted his dagger, hilt up, and swung his arm back for a good windup. . . .

  * * *

  I don’t know how long the whole thing lasted. It was certainly one of the worst I’d been through, but if they’d chosen to take me back to their barracks it would have been worse. Phoenix Guards are never ordered to beat up Jhereg, or Easterners, or anyone else, but some of them don’t like us.

  This beating was peculiar. I’d been bashed around before; it was one of the prices I paid for living according to my own rules instead of the Empire’s. But why this time? The two dead men were Jhereg, and the usual attitude of Imperial Guards to such things is: let ’em kill each other off, for all we care. It could have been just another excuse to beat up an Easterner or a Jhereg, but they’d seemed genuinely angry about something.

  These thoughts came to me through a thick haze of pain as I was lying on my office floor. I was concentrating as hard as I could on figuring out the reason behind the beating so that I could avoid thinking about how every inch of me hurt. I could tell there were people around me, but I couldn’t open my eyes to see who they were, and they were talking in whispers.

  After a time, I heard Melestav say, “Here she is, move back,” followed by the sound of a long garment dragging across the floor. This was followed by a gasp. I decided I must be quite a sight.

  The newcomer said, “Get away from him.” I recognized, with surprise and some relief, Aliera’s voice. I tried to force my eyes to open, but they wouldn’t.

  I heard Kragar say, “How bad is he, Aliera?” but she chose not to answer him. That didn’t necessarily mean that I was in bad shape; Aliera so utterly despised Kragar that she preferred not to speak to him whenever possible.

  “Kragar . . .”

  “Are you all right, Vlad?”

  “No, but never mind that. They seemed mad about something in particular. Any idea what?”

  “Yeah. While they were . . . while they were here, I got Daymar to do a mind-probe.”

  “Kragar, you know I don’t like Daymar to know—never mind. What did he find out?”

  We were interrupted by Aliera saying, “Sleep, Vlad.” I was going to argue, but I discovered that she wasn’t just making a suggestion. I saw a pale green light, and I slept.

  * * *

  Aliera was there when I woke up again, as was the picture of the dzur and the jhereg. This led to the realization that I could see again. I took stock of my various body parts, and found that, while I still hurt, it was mostly dull aches instead of flaming agony. Aliera is a very good healer.

  “I might as well move in here,” I said.

  “I heard what happened, Vlad,” said Aliera. “On behalf of the House of the Dragon, I apologize.”

  I grunted.

  “The one who beat you—his name is Menthar? He is off duty in four months.”

  I felt my eyes trying to widen. I studied her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes were gray. Her hands were in fists, at her sides. “Four months,” she repeated, “and then he’s fair game.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the information.”

  She nodded. Dragonlords were Dragonlords, and usually hated Jhereg and Easterners both—but they didn’t approve of attacking people who couldn’t defend themselves, and Aliera knew enough about how the Jhereg operated to know that if a representative of the Empire wanted to knock around a Jhereg, the Jhereg would just have to take it. But, I suppose, there’s something about being in the guard, and watching us get away with everything we get away with, that frustrates them. For my part, I didn’t feel any moral outrage at what had happened to me. I just wanted to tear that guy’s arms off. . . . Four months.

  “Thank you,” I said again. “I think I want to sleep now.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  She left and I got in touch with Kragar. “You were saying?”

  “Vlad! How are you?”

  “About how you’d expect. Now, what did Daymar find out?”

  “The guards were pulled out the other day because they were needed somewhere else. There was a riot in the Easterners’ Quarter. That may explain why those two took it out on you. I suppose they aren’t happy with any Easterners now. There have been other beatings of Easterners in the last few days. A few have been beaten to death.”

  “I see. It can’t have been very big or we’d have heard about it.”

  “No. It was small, short, and pretty bloody, from what Daymar could tell. I’m checking into it, just on general principles.”

  “Okay, so that mystery is solved. Now: who set off the riot? Laris, I suppose. We need to find out how he has influence around there. That’s quite a bit farther south than anything else he has.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if we can find out. Don’t expect much, though.”

  “I won’t. Anything yet on that other business?”

  “A bit, but not enough to help, I don’t think. Her name is Norathar, and she’s of the e’Lanya line. I’ve found references to her being expelled from the House, but no details—yet.”

  “Good. Keep working on it. Next point: how can Laris afford to keep assassins sitting outside the office?”

  “Well, didn’t you say the Sword and the Dagger had returned their payment?”

  “Yeah. But that begs the question. How could he afford to hire them? Plus pay whatever i
t must have cost to start trouble in the Easterners’ Quarter?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know. I guess he has more cash than we thought.”

  “Right. But how did he get it?”

  “Maybe the same way you did?”

  “That’s just what I was thinking. Maybe he’s being supported by someone who’s rich.”

  “It could be, Vlad.”

  “So, let’s look into it.”

  “Sure. How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know. Think about it.”

  “Check. And, Vlad . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time you come back here, warn us first, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  After breaking that contact, I got hold of Fentor at Castle Black, gave him the information about the riot, and asked him to find out what he could about it. Then I really did sleep.

  * * *

  “Wake up, boss!”

  It was like the drumbeat that sends a squadron into alert status. I was sitting up, holding a dagger under the blanket, looking at—

  “Good afternoon, Vladimir. Is that a knife in your hand, or are you happy to see me?”

  “Both,” I said, sheathing the blade. She tapped my side and I moved over to let her sit down. We exchanged a light kiss. She drew back and studied me.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  I told her what had happened. She shook her head and, when I was finished, held me.

  Wow.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I said, “Do you and your partner ever give friends a bargain?”

  “Do you?”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  She held me a little tighter.

  “Would you two rather I left, boss?”

  “Maybe in a bit.”

  “Hmmph. I was being snide, if you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed. Shut up.”

  “By the way, Vladimir, Sethra is giving a banquet.”

  “Really? In honor of what?”

  “In honor of all of us being alive.”

  “Hmmmm. They’ll probably be trying to pump you and Norathar for information.”

  “I expect they—how did you find out her name?”

  I did a smug chuckle.

  “I guess,” she said, “I’ll just have to torture the information out of you.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “Okay, Loiosh, you can leave now.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Yeah.”

  10

  “I dislike killing my guests.”

  IT IS POSSIBLE TO break meals down into types. There is the formal dinner, with elegant settings, carefully selected wines, and orchestrated conversation. Then there are Jhereg business meetings, where you ignore the food half the time, because to miss a remark, or even a glance, can be deadly. There is the quiet, informal get-together with a Certain Person, where neither food nor conversation is as important as being there. We also have the grab-something-and-run, where the idea is to get food inside of you, without taking time for either conversation or enjoyment. Next, we have the “good dinner,” where the food is the whole reason for being there, and conversation is merely to help wash it down.

  And there is one other type of dinner: sitting around a fine, elegant table, deep under Dzur Mountain, with an undead hostess, a pair of Dragonlords, and a team of Jhereg assassins, one of whom was once a Dragon herself, the other of whom is an Easterner.

  The conversation at a dinner of this type is unpredictable.

  For most of the meal, Morrolan entertained us with a few notes on sorcery that aren’t usually included in tomes, and probably shouldn’t be. I enjoyed this—mostly because I was sitting next to Cawti (by chance? With Aliera around? Ha!) and we generally concentrated on rubbing our legs together under the table. Loiosh made a few remarks about this that I won’t dignify by repeating.

  Then, while I was distracted, the conversation changed. Suddenly, Aliera was engaging the lady known as the Sword of the Jhereg in a bantering exchange comparing Dragon customs to Jhereg customs, and I was instantly alert. Aliera didn’t do anything by accident.

  “You see,” Aliera was saying, “we only kill people who deserve it. You kill anyone you’re paid to kill.”

  Norathar pretended surprise. “But you’re paid too, aren’t you? It’s merely a different coin. A Jhereg assassin would be paid in gold, or so I assume—I’ve never actually met one. A Dragon, on the other hand, is paid by satisfying his bloodlust.”

  I chuckled a little. Score one for our team. Aliera also smiled and raised her glass. I looked at her closely. Yes, I decided, she wasn’t doing any idle Jhereg-baiting. She was searching for something.

  “So tell me,” Aliera asked, “which do you consider the better coin to be paid in?”

  “Well, I’ve never bought anything with bloodlust, but—”

  “It can be done.”

  “Indeed? What can you buy, pray tell?”

  “Empires,” said Aliera e’Kieron. “Empires.”

  Norathar e’Lanya raised her eyebrow. “Empires, my lady? What would I do with one?”

  Aliera shrugged. “I’m sure you could think of something.”

  I glanced around the room. Sethra, at the head of the table and to my right, was watching Aliera intently. Morrolan, to her right, was doing the same. Norathar was next to him, and she was also studying Aliera, who was at the other end of the table. Cawti, next to her and to my left, was looking at Norathar. I wondered what was going on behind her mask. I always wonder what’s going on behind people’s masks. I sometimes wonder what’s going on behind my mask.

  “What would you do with one?” asked Norathar.

  “Ask me when the Cycle changes.”

  “Eh?”

  “I,” she said, “am currently the Dragon Heir to the Throne. Morrolan used to be, before I arrived.”

  I remembered being told about Aliera’s “arrival”—hurled out of Adron’s Disaster, the explosion that brought down the Empire over four hundred years ago, through time, to land in the middle of some Teckla’s wheat field. I was later told that Sethra had had a hand in the thing, which made it more believable than it would be otherwise.

  Norathar seemed faintly curious. Her eyes went to the Dragonhead pendant around Aliera’s neck. All Dragonlords wear a Dragonhead somewhere visible. The one Aliera wore had a blue gem for one eye, a green gem for the other. “E’Kieron, I see,” said Norathar.

  Aliera nodded, as if something had been explained.

  I asked, “What am I missing?”

  “The lady,” said Aliera, “was no doubt curious about my lineage, and why I am now the heir. I would guess that she has remembered that Adron had a daughter.”

  I said, “Oh.”

  It had never occurred to me to wonder how Aliera came to be the heir so quickly, although I’d known she was since I was introduced to her. But sitting at the same table with the daughter of the man who had turned an entire city into a seething pool of raw chaos was a bit disconcerting. I decided it was going to take me a while to get used to.

  Aliera continued her explanations to Norathar. “The Dragon Council informed me of the decision when they checked my bloodlines. That is how I became interested in genetics. I am hoping that I can prove there is a flaw in me, somewhere, so I won’t have to be Empress when the Cycle changes.”

  “You mean you don’t want to be Empress?” I asked.

  “Dear Barlen, no! I can’t imagine anything more dull. I’ve been looking for a way out of it since I’ve been back.”

  “Oh.”

  “Your conversation is really gifted today, boss.”

  “Shut up, Loiosh.”

  I worked all of this over in my mind. “Aliera,” I said at last, “I have a question.”

  “Hm?”

  “If you’re the Dragon Heir, does that mean your father was the heir before you? And if he was the heir, wh
y did he try the coup in the first place?”

  “Two reasons,” she said. “First, because it was the reign of a decadent Phoenix, and the Emperor refused to step down when the Cycle changed. Second, Daddy wasn’t really the heir.”

  “Oh. The heir died during the Interregnum?”

  “Around then, yes. There was a war, and he was killed. There was talk of his child not being a Dragon. But that was actually before the Disaster and the Interregnum.”

  “He was killed,” I echoed. “I see. And the child? No, don’t tell me. She was expelled from the House, right?”

  Aliera nodded.

  “And the line? E’Lanya, right?”

  “Very good, Vlad. How did you know?”

  I looked at Norathar, who was staring at Aliera with eyes like mushrooms.

  “And,” I continued, “you have been able to scan her genes, and you’ve found out that, lo and behold, she really is a Dragonlord.”

  “Yes,” said Aliera.

  “And if her father was really the Heir to the Throne, then . . .”

  “That’s right, Vlad,” said Aliera. “The correct Heir to the Throne is Norathar e’Lanya—the Sword of the Jhereg.”

  * * *

  The funniest thing about time is when it doesn’t. I’ll leave that hanging there for the moment, and let you age while the shadows don’t lengthen, if you see what I mean.

  I looked first at Cawti, who was looking at Norathar, who was looking at Aliera. Sethra and Morrolan were also looking at Aliera, who wasn’t focusing on anything we could see. Her eyes, bright green now, glittered with reflected candlelight, and looked upon something we weren’t entitled to see.

  Now, while the Cycle doesn’t turn, and the year doesn’t fail, and the day gets neither brighter nor darker, and even the candles don’t flicker, we begin to see things with a new perspective. I looked first at my lover, who had recently killed me, who was looking at her partner, who should be the Dragon Heir to the Orb—next in the Cycle. This Dragonlord-assassin-princess-whatever matched stares with Aliera e’Kieron, wielder of Kieron’s Sword, traveler from the past, daughter of Adron, and current Heir to the Orb. And so on.