by Steven Brust
The knife quivered, saying, “Start here.” All right, fine. Start there and do what? I looked from knife to rune and back. I reached forward with my right hand, forefinger extended, and traced a line. I repeated the process. And again.
I kept it up, always going from knife to rune. After a while there was a line of flame connecting them.
It felt right. I raised my eyes. The landscape still wavered, as if I were surrounded by unreality, ready to close in on me. That could be pretty frightening, if I let it.
Deathgate Falls has an exact geographical location; therefore, so do the Paths of the Dead, only they don’t. Don’t ask me to explain that because I can’t. I know that somewhere in the Ash Mountains is a very high cleft called Greymist Valley. There is a possibly legendary assassin named Mario Greymist who was named after the place, for the number of people he sent there.
To this valley are brought the corpses of any Dragaeran deemed important (and rich) enough for someone to make the arrangements. The Blood River flows into the valley, and over a waterfall, and that is the end of the matter as far as the living are concerned.
The height of the waterfall has been reported by those undead who have returned from the Paths. The reports say it is a mere fifty feet, that it is a thousand feet, and any number of distances in between. Your guess is as good as mine, and I mean that.
No one has ever come to the foot of the falls by any route except the cliff, though many, especially Hawks and Athyra, have tried. For all intents and purposes, the foot of the falls isn’t in the same world as the lip. Volumes have been written in the debate over whether this was set up by the gods, or whether it is a naturally occurring phenomenon. To show how futile it is, several of the gods have participated in the debate on various sides.
Those few who leave the Paths of the Dead (undead such as Sethra, and the Empress Zerika who got a special dispensation) do not leave by means of the falls. Instead they report finding themselves walking out through a long cave they can never find later, or waking up at the foot of the Ash Mountains, or lost in the Forbidden Forest, or even walking along the seacoast a thousand miles away.
It isn’t supposed to make sense, I suppose.
I stood next to the lip of the waterfall and looked out at an orangish horizon interrupted by the occasional jutting of rocky peaks. Below me grey fogs swirled and rose, obscuring the bottom hundreds of feet below. The din of the falls made talking all but impossible. The Blood River somehow turned white on its thundering way down.
I stepped back from the brink. Morrolan, next to me, did the same at almost the same instant. We walked away from it. The sound dropped off rapidly, and, just as quickly, the river widened and slowed, until only fifty feet from the falls it seemed like you could wade in it, and we could hear ourselves breathe.
This did not seem normal, but I saw no reason to ask about it.
Morrolan was glancing around him, an odd look on his face. I would have said wistful if I could have believed it of him. I noticed him staring at a pedestal set back about twenty feet from the water. I came up next to him, expecting, I guess, to see the name of some dead guy, and to ask Morrolan if it was a relative. Instead, I saw a stylized dzur head.
I looked a question at Morrolan: He pointed back toward the river, where I noticed a flat spot. “It is here where the remains of those of the House of the Dzur are sent onto the river to go over the falls.”
“Splash,” I said. “But at least they’re dead already. I doubt it bothers them.”
He nodded and continued to stare at the pedestal. I said, trying to sound casual, “Know any Dzurlords who’ve come this way?”
“Sethra,” he said.
I blinked. “I thought she was a Dragon.”
Morrolan shrugged and turned away, and we continued walking away from the falls. We came upon another flat spot against the river, which was starting to curve now, and I saw a stylized chreotha, then later a hawk, then a dragon. Morrolan paused there for some moments, and I backed up and gave him room for whatever he was feeling. His hand was white where he gripped the staff that contained some form of the soul of his cousin, in some condition or another.
Loiosh still hid inside my cloak, and I realized that the giant jhereg still circled above us, and we could hear their cries from time to time. Presently, Morrolan joined me in staring at the dark swirling waters. Birds made bird sounds, and the air was clear and very sharp. It was a somber, peaceful place, and it seemed to me that this was a calculated effect, achieved I’m not sure how. Yet, certainly, it worked.
Morrolan said, “Dragons usually use boats.”
I nodded and tried to picture a small fishing boat, then a skip like they use along the Sunset River above the docks, and finally a rowboat, which made the most sense. I could see it floating down the stream until it reached the waterfall, and over, lost.
I said, “Then what happens?”
Morrolan said, “Eventually the body comes to rest along the shore, below the falls. After a few days, the soul awakens and takes whatever it finds on the body that it can use, and begins the journey to the Halls of Judgment. The journey can take hours or weeks. Sometimes it lasts forever. It depends on how well the person has memorized the Paths for his House while he is alive, and on what he meets on the way, and how he handles it.” He paused. “We may meet some of those who have been wandering the Paths forever. I hope not. I imagine it would be depressing.”
I said, “What about us?”
“We will climb down next to the falls.”
“Climb?”
“I have rope.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s all right, then.”
* * * *
I had been in the Organization nearly a year and it was getting to where I was feeling quietly good at what I did. I could threaten people without saying a word, just with a raised eyebrow or a smile, and they’d feel it. Kragar and I functioned well together, too. If the target started getting violent I’d just stand there while Kragar hit him, usually from behind. Then I’d inflict some minor damage on him and give him a lecture on pacifism.
It was working well, and life was going smoothly, until we heard about a guy named Tiev being found in an alley behind a tavern. Now, it is sometimes possible, although expensive, to return a corpse to life. But in this case Tiev had been cut in the back of the neck, severing his spine, which is something sorcerers can’t deal with. He was carrying about twenty imperials when he was killed, and the money was still on his body.
Tiev, I heard, was working for a guy named Rolaan, and rumors had it that Tiev had been known to do assassinations. Rolaan was a powerful kind of guy, and Kragar mentioned hearing a rumor that another powerful kind of guy, named Welok the Blade, had ordered Tiev’s killing. This was important to me because my boss worked for Welok—or, at least, he supposedly paid Welok a percentage of everything he earned.
A week later a guy named Lefforo was killed in a manner similar to Tiev. Lefforo worked directly for Welok and was, furthermore, someone I’d actually met, so that was hitting pretty close to home. People I’d see at my boss’s place started looking nervous, and my boss implied to me that it would be a good idea not to wander around alone. I couldn’t imagine what anyone had to gain from killing me, but I started staying home a lot. That was okay. I wasn’t making so much money that I was anxious to go and spend it, and Loiosh was by now almost full grown, so it was fun to spend time training him. That is, I’d say, “Loiosh, find the red ball in the bedroom,” and he’d go off and come back with it in his claws. He’d stopped calling me “Mama” by then, but had picked up the habit of calling me “boss,” I guess from the way I addressed my superior.
Anyway, a couple of weeks later, my boss asked to see me. I went over to his office, and he said, “Shut the door.” I did. We were alone, and I started getting nervous. He said, “Sit down, Vlad.”
I sat down and said, “Yeah, boss?”
He licked his lips. “Any interest in doing some work for
me?” There was just a bit of emphasis on the word “work.”
My mouth went dry. After close to a year, I’d picked up enough of the slang to know what he meant. I was surprised, startled, and all that. It had never occurred to me that anyone would ask me to do that. On the other hand, saying no never crossed my mind. I said, “Sure.”
He seemed to relax a little. “Okay. Here’s the target.” He handed me a drawing of a Dragaeran. “Know him?”
I shook my head.
He said, “Okay. His name is Kynn. He’s an enforcer for, well, it doesn’t matter. He’s tough, so don’t take any chances. He lives on Potter’s Market Street
, near Undauntra. He hangs out in a place called Gruff s. Know it?”
“Yeah.”
“He bounces for a brothel three doors up from there most Endweeks, and he does collecting and bodyguard work pretty often, but he doesn’t keep to a schedule. Is that enough?”
I said, “I guess so.”
“He isn’t traveling alone much these days, so you may have to wait for a chance. That’s okay. Take as much time as you need to get it right, and don’t let yourself be seen. Be careful. And I don’t want him revivifiable, either. Can you handle that?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Is he going to have alarms in his flat?”
“Huh? Oh. Stay away from his flat.”
“Why?”
“You don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Look, he’s a Jhereg, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re a Jhereg, right?”
“Right.”
“You don’t do that.”
“Okay.”
“You also don’t go near him while he’s in or around a temple, an altar, or anywhere like that.”
“All right.”
“He’s married, too. You don’t touch him while his wife’s around.”
“All right. Do I get to use both hands?”
“Don’t be funny.”
“I don’t get to do that, either, huh?”
Loiosh, who’d taken to wandering around on my shoulder, stared at the drawing and hissed. I guessed he was picking up on more than I thought. My boss started at this, but didn’t comment. He handed me a purse. I took it and it seemed very heavy.
I said, “What’s this?”
“Your payment. Twenty-five hundred imperials.”
When I could speak again, I said, “Oh.”
* * * *
We built a fire considerably back from the river and cooked the last of the meat from the kethna. We ate it slowly, in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Loiosh sneaked out of my cloak long enough to grab a morsel and dived back in.
We rested and cleaned up after eating, then Morrolan suggested we rest some more.
“Some have said it is bad luck to sleep while in the Paths. Others have said it is impossible. Still others have said nothing on the subject.” He shrugged. “I see no reason to take chances; I should like to be as well rested as possible before we begin.”
Later I watched Morrolan as he fashioned a harness to hold the staff to his back, so he could have both hands free for climbing. I unwrapped my chain from around my left wrist and looked at it. I swung it around a few times. It was behaving just like any other chain, which was either because of where we were or because it hadn’t anything else to do. I put it away again, considered testing what Morrolan had said by attempting sorcery, changed my mind.
I caught Morrolan staring at me. He said, “Have you named it?”
“The chain? No. What’s a good name?”
“What does it do?”
“When I used it before, it worked like a shield against whatever that wizard was throwing at me. How about Spellbreaker?”
Morrolan shrugged and didn’t answer.
“I like it, boss. “
“Okay. I’ll stick with it. I have trouble being all that serious about giving a name to a piece of chain.”
Morrolan said, “Let’s be about it, then.”
I nodded, put Spellbreaker back around my wrist, and stood up. We walked back to the falls, our voices once again drowned by proximity to the falls. I noticed there was a pedestal quite close to the edge, and saw an athyra carved on it. Morrolan tied one end of his rope around this pedestal which some might think in poor taste, I don’t know.
The rope seemed thin and was very long. He threw the other end down the cliff. My mouth was dry. I said, “Is the rope going to be strong enough?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll go first,” said Morrolan.
“Yeah. You go down and hold ’em off while I set up the ballista.”
He turned his back to the falls, wrapped his hands around the rope, and began to lower himself. I had this momentary urge to cut the rope and run, but instead I gripped the rope tightly and got ready to go over. I turned and yelled down over the roar of the falls, “Any last-minute advice on this, Morrolan?”
His voice was barely audible, but I think he said, “Be careful, it’s wet here.”
* * * *
I left my payment for the work in my flat and wandered toward Gruff s. On the way over, I wondered what I’d do there. My first thought had been to find him there, wait for him to leave, and kill him. In retrospect, this wouldn’t have been that bad a plan, as the sight of death tends to make witnesses confused about those who cause it. But I was worried that, as an Easterner, I was likely to stand out in the crowd, which meant he’d notice me, which I knew wasn’t good. By the time I got there, I still hadn’t figured out what to do, so I stood in the shadow of a building across the street from it, thinking.
I hadn’t come up with anything two hours or so later, when I saw him leave in the company of another Dragaeran in Jhereg colors. Just because it seemed like the thing to do, I concentrated on my link to the Imperial Orb and noted the time. I waited for them to get a block ahead of me, then set out after them. I followed them to a building which I assumed was the home of my target’s friend.
My target.
The words had peculiar echo in my head.
I shook off the thought and noted that Kynn and his friend seemed to be saying good-bye. Then the friend went upstairs, leaving Kynn alone on the street. This could be good luck for me, because now Kynn had to walk back to his own place alone, which gave me several blocks to come up behind him and kill him.
I fingered the dagger next to my rapier. Kynn seemed to waver for a moment, then he became transparent and vanished.
He teleported, of course. Now that was just plain rude.
Teleports can be traced, but I’m not a good enough sorcerer to do so. Hire someone to do it? Who? The Left Hand of the Jhereg had sorcerers good enough, but they charged high, and Kiera’s warning about them still echoed in my ears. And it would involve standing out there waiting for him on another occasion, as no sorcerer can work from a trail that cold.
I settled on cursing as the appropriate action, and did so silently for a moment. I’d wanted to get it done today, which on reflection was stupid, but I had the feeling that the money wasn’t really mine until I’d done the work, and I could use that money. I could move to a nicer flat, I could pay for fencing lessons from an Eastern master, and sorcery lessons from a Dragaeran, which never came cheap, and—
No, not now. Now I had to think about how to earn it, not how to spend it. I returned to my flat and considered the matter.
* * * *
The next time I climb down from somewhere on a rope, I think I’m going to try to arrange for it to be somewhere dry. I also want to be able to see the bottom.
Come to think of it, I’d rather not do it at all.
I don’t care to guess how long the way down was. I suspect it was different for Morrolan than for me, and I don’t want to know that. I’ll admit I’m curious about what would have happened if we’d marked the rope, but we didn’t.
>
The climb down was no fun at all. I tended to slip on the wet rope, and I was afraid I’d land on Morrolan, sending us both crashing down. First my hands stung from gripping the thing, then they ached, then I couldn’t feel them, which scared me. Then I noticed that my arms were getting sore. We won’t even mention the bruises and contusions my legs and body were sustaining from hitting the rocks on the side. I managed not to bang my head too hard or too often, which I think was quite an accomplishment.
Crap. Let’s just say I survived.
The thing is, it was impossible to really determine where the bottom was, because not only was the first place my feet landed slippery, it seemed to be the point of a massive slab of rock tilted sideways, so I kept going.
It was a bit easier after that, though, and eventually I found myself in water, and Morrolan was next to me. The water was very cold. My teeth started chattering, and I saw that Morrolan’s were, too, but I was too cold to be pleased about it. Loiosh angrily climbed onto my shoulder. The noise was still deafening, every inch of me was soaked, and my hands hurt like blazes from gripping the rope.
I put my mouth next to Morrolan’s ear and yelled, “What now?”
He gestured a direction with his head and we struck out for it. After having developed a symbiotic relationship with that rope, it was hard to let go of it, but I did and started splashing after him. Loiosh took wing and flew just over my head. The mist kicked up by the waterfall made it impossible to see more than a couple of feet ahead of me. The current was strong, though, and tended somehow to keep Morrolan and me together, so I never lost sight of him.
I was too busy fighting the current and keeping track of Morrolan to be as scared as I ought to have been, but it wasn’t actually all that long before my feet felt the bottom of the river, and then we were crawling up onto the bank, and then we collapsed, side by side.
Chapter 11
My left hand froze, and some part of me was aware that it hovered over the rune. My right hand continued to drift without direction; then it, too, stopped. It was directly over the vibrating knife.