Vallista--A Novel of Vlad Taltos

by Steven Brust

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Look, I’m not trying to tell you your business—no, wait, I am. I just want you to know that I had a talk with Harro, and if you go to the House and claim it was all a lie, he’ll admit it.”

  “Sir? He will?”

  “Yeah. If you go to the Iorich Wing of the Palace, there’s an advocate named Perisil who can either help you, or point to someone who will. If he’s willing to deal with an Easterner, he’ll be willing to deal with a Teckla. So you can probably fix all of this without ignoring the House thing. But I still think you should. Anyway, think about it, and do whatever you bloody want to.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That will be all,” I said, because I’ve always wanted to say that to a servant, and I don’t dare say it to Tukko.

  Gormin didn’t appear to find it odd; he just bowed and went about his business. I sat there and considered. What I really wanted to do now was ask Discaru a few questions. Unfortunately, I’d made that impossible.

  “Boss? Is there a plan?”

  “Getting there.”

  “I was afraid of that. It worries me when you have a plan.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  17

  ZHAYIN’S HEIR

  I made my way back to that room with the long table and didn’t run into anyone. I walked in like it was no big deal, sat down, and waited. There was some of the emotional deadening I’d felt before, but not as intense—which is an odd word to use about something that removes intensity, but you know what I mean. I waited, and eventually even that passed, and then I said, “Hey, Tethia. It’s Vlad. Got a minute?”

  I waited, and after a while my glib words didn’t seem so clever. I was in the middle of trying to come up with some other way to perhaps reach her when Loiosh said, “Boss!”

  I turned around and there she was, sitting in a chair on the other side of the table. I looked closely, and from what I could see, the padding on the chair wasn’t compressed the way it would be if she were really there. But I could see her, and presumably we could hear each other, so who cared about the rest? Corporeality is overrated. Taltos. You remember the spelling.

  “Hey there,” I said. “Remember me?”

  “Vlad,” she said.

  “Good. That means time isn’t—never mind. Can we talk?”

  “We are talking now.”

  “Yeah. You say you built this place. This ‘platform.’”

  “No, I designed it. My father built it.”

  “Right. But you figured out how to anchor it in the Halls of Judgment so it could cross worlds.”

  “It isn’t anchored in the Halls, it only passes through them.”

  “Okay. But tell me something: why is it you keep disappearing?”

  “I don’t know. Is it important?”

  “I want to understand how this platform works. And that’s part of it.”

  “You’re a necromancer?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t think I can explain.”

  “Try?”

  She nodded. I thought that would be an appropriate, or at least an ironic, moment for her to vanish, but thank Verra, for once the world withheld its irony. “Let’s try it this way, then. You have a familiar. Do you understand the mechanism for how you communicate with him?”

  “No, but I’m very curious.”

  “Ah. Well. All right, then. Another way: You say I vanish. I don’t vanish, and I don’t even move, really. Not much, at any rate. I turn.”

  “Turn. All right. You have my attention.”

  “That’s why it happens so randomly. Right now, I’m working very hard to hold myself still, because the least shift in position”—she smiled—“I almost moved just now to demonstrate it, will bring me to another state.”

  “I’m still listening.”

  “Time and space seem like distinct things, but they’re not. They’re the same. This matters because, where I was born, places and times come together as—” She looked frustrated, then she vanished, but reappeared just as I was preparing a good curse. I didn’t tell her that at least some of that I’d figured out, because I didn’t want to interrupt the flow. She said, “Do you understand what it means to be a god or a demon?”

  “Yes. It means you can manifest in more than one place at the same time. Oh. Are you a god or a demon?”

  “No. If I were, I would have control of this process, and I wouldn’t shift the way I do.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I know.” She frowned. “All right, I think I can explain it. To acquire powers of a god or a demon means to gain the awareness of the connections between different worlds, and to be able to move among them, and to control that movement. If you do not have these powers, but were born in a place where they meet, you can always see them, sometimes move among them, and only occasionally control the movement. Does that help?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, that helps.”

  She was silent while I compared this with what I knew about Devera. Yeah, it made sense. But—

  “Okay, here’s what I’m not getting. How is it you ended up being born in the Halls of Judgment?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I did.”

  Me too. “Maybe I’ll find out,” I said.

  She smiled a little. “Maybe you will.”

  I wondered what all of this had to do with how I communicated with Loiosh. I wondered how Devera seemed able to move where she wanted to—except here. I wondered how—

  “I have another question,” I said.

  “I’m still here.”

  “This room. The effect it has. How is that possible? It’s not sorcery, because I’m protected from sorcery. It feels like a psychic effect, but I’m protected from that too. Before you said it was the nature of the room itself, but I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

  “There is an art to it,” she said. “It has been studied by the Vallista for thousands of years. The windows, the color, the tilt of the chairs and their height: all work to produce the effect.”

  “There’s more to it than that, I think.”

  “Oh, yes. But you see, that’s the heart of it. Those feelings become part of the designer of the room, and part of every craftsman who works on it. You draw it into yourself, like inhaling, and then you exhale it in your craft.”

  “Um. Sounds like witchcraft.”

  “The Eastern art. I’ve heard of it, but know nothing about it.”

  “I’m not saying that’s what it is, it’s just, it sounds like it. Or I guess feels like it would be more accurate.”

  “It is as much art as it is sorcery, but the result is that the feelings become inseparable from the room. As I said before, the effect on you was more pronounced than it would have been on a human.” She was polite enough not to add, “because your brain is weaker,” or something.

  “I think I kind of get it,” I said, though I didn’t really and I still don’t. But with any luck, I wouldn’t need to. I’d gotten the answer to the question I’d come for, and that by itself made this an occasion for celebrating if I’d had anything to celebrate with. I needed more of Verra’s wine.

  “What do you know of your state?” I asked her.

  “I don’t entirely understand it. I feel like I died. But I’m here.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Running.”

  “To something, or from something?”

  “From something, I think.”

  “From what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “All right. You don’t seem exactly like a ghost.”

  “How much experience with ghosts do you have?”

  “A little. Tell me something. What do you want?”

  She was silent for a long time, then she said, “If I am dead, then I’d like to be free so I can move on, or rest, or reincarnate, however fate should decide.”

  “But what could hold you here?”

  “I don’t know. It w
ould have to be necromancy.”

  “Discaru,” I said.

  “Who?”

  There’s a particular kind of annoyance that comes when you realize you’ve killed some bastard before you know all the stuff he’d done that would have given you even more satisfaction in killing him. I’d never had that happen before. Oh, well. “Never mind,” I said. “A demon. It’s gone now. The question is, why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think I do,” I said. “And I think I know why I’m here.”

  “That’s something many of us never learn.”

  I snorted. “I meant it in a slightly more practical sense. I think you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “I think as you were dying, you reached out to the Halls, and got some help.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Yeah, you don’t remember dying. But I think you were asking for help from a god, and managed to reach Devera instead.”

  “Who is Devera?”

  “Not a god.”

  “Oh. So it didn’t work.”

  “I think it sort of did. And I think I’m on track for fixing the rest of it now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Good. We’re even. Tell me something else?”

  “Anything I can.”

  “What does the guide look like for your House?”

  “Guide?”

  “I don’t know what to call it. The Dragons memorize a book so they know how to navigate the Paths of the Dead. The Hawks have a signet ring that acts as a guide. The Jhereg wear a pendant that works like the ring, and the Tiassa get a tattoo that works like the book. What do the Vallista use?”

  “Oh. Our key. It’s a piece of linen, usually dyed yellow, with purple threads that indicate the proper paths, usually made into a dress, or a toga, or a sarong.”

  “Does it appear with you when you die, like the ring, or do you have to memorize it, like the book?”

  “You’re dressed in it when you go over the Falls. You remove the thread as you progress, and it gradually falls apart, so that you arrive in the Halls naked.”

  “That’s how you established the connection with the Halls, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that the only one your family had?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I believe I do, however.”

  She nodded.

  “All right, I think I have what I need. Thank you for your help.”

  “Good luck,” she told me.

  This time, because I was looking for it, I caught the slight turn in her chair she made just before she vanished. I drummed my fingers on the table. I wanted to find Lord Zhayin and have it out with him, shake him until I’d squeezed the answers out, but no, there was something else I needed to do first.

  I stood up and headed out.

  * * *

  I emerged from the cave, went up the path, through the bedroom, and out, then to the nursery. She was sitting in a rocking chair, her eyes closed. I watched her for a while, trying to interpret the expression on her face as she dreamed, then it started to feel creepy so I cleared my throat.

  She opened her eyes, took me in, and stood up. “My lord?”

  “Hello, Odelpho.”

  “Hello, my lord.”

  “May I trouble you with another question?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “My lord … I…”

  “About the kitchen, and the cooks there. That’s nonsense. You knew that didn’t happen. It seems an odd thing to lie about. Why?”

  “My lord, I—”

  “Stop it. Answer my question.”

  She was scared, but I figured that was because, well, I’m scary. The question was, was she also scared of someone else? If so, who and why and how much? “If you’re worried about Discaru,” I said, “he’s not going to be around anymore.”

  She tilted her head. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. I was pretty sure. And turned out I was right, so no harm.

  “I … may I sit down?”

  “Of course,” I said. Where were my manners? What would Lady Teldra say?

  She folded her hands in her lap and said, “What happened to him?”

  “He had an accident,” I said.

  She studied my face as if expecting me to wink or smile or something. I didn’t, so she just nodded.

  “He’s the one who wanted you to lie about the kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did he tell you to do that?”

  “Just before we spoke, my lord. Perhaps an hour?”

  “So, it was me in particular he didn’t want to know about it.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say, my lord.”

  Yeah, he didn’t have to. He’d have known when he saw me that I shouldn’t be there. He couldn’t have known about Devera, but he must have realized that Tethia had done something that resulted in me being there, which meant that I had to be prevented from learning about the manor until I could be disposed of, because—

  Tethia. It all came back to her, and to what she knew and what she could tell, and what had happened to her, and why. I studied Odelpho and considered.

  She looked uncomfortable with me staring at her. She shifted and said, “Will that be all, my lord?”

  “Not quite. I’m curious about something. It isn’t terribly important, but do you go outside at all?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And pick apples?”

  She nodded, then frowned. “Is there something—”

  “No, no. You just set me a little mystery, is all.”

  “I like apples.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You had one?”

  “I had two. They were good.”

  “I’ll be tending the trees myself from now on.”

  “There’s no gardener?”

  “At the old castle, not here.”

  “Of course. There were lots of things Discaru didn’t want known, weren’t there?”

  She nodded.

  “Such as Lady Zhayin’s visit to the Halls of Judgment.”

  She looked down.

  “Were you with her?”

  She nodded.

  “You took care of Tethia, there, in the Halls.”

  She nodded again.

  “Odelpho, how did Tethia die?”

  “Her mother died during the Interregnum.”

  “Odelpho!”

  She jumped a little, then looked down again.

  “Tell me what happened. It can’t hurt you now.”

  She remained still, eyes fixed on the floor. I was getting tired of people staring at the floor or over my shoulder.

  “Odelpho, tell me how Tethia died.”

  “It was the monster,” she said.

  “The monster? That, ah, I mean, Lord Zhayin’s son?”

  She nodded. “It chased her. I don’t know why. She couldn’t get out, so she tried to escape to the roof. In the end, she threw herself off it into the ocean-sea. She had only returned that day. I hadn’t seen her since she was a child, when she went off to, well, I don’t know. But I hadn’t seen her in so long, and an hour after she was back, she was dead.”

  She looked like was about to cry. I said, “How?”

  “My lord?”

  “How could she get off the roof?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you ever been up there?”

  “Only that one time. I saw her jump. Lord Discaru came up behind me, and he was able to control the beast. He said I must never speak of it. Is he really gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good,” she said, like she meant it.

  “How did it get loose?”

  “My lord?”

  “You said it was chasing Tethia. How did it get out of its cell?”

  “I don’t k
now. It was just after the completion of the construction, when we first appeared here, so perhaps something went wrong.”

  “Or something went right.”

  “My lord?”

  I shook my head.

  “Thanks for your help, Odelpho. What did you say your name means?”

  “Delpho means ‘home of the bear’ in the ancient language of the Lyorn, my lord.”

  “Nice name,” I said. “Take good care of it.”

  I bowed to her because I felt like it, and went on my way.

  Time to end things.

  * * *

  Zhayin put his book down as I came in. “Well, what do you—”

  “Shut up or I’ll kill you. Is that clear enough? I hate killing people for free, but I’m already inclined to make an exception for you, so don’t give me any more reasons.”

  “I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Discaru is gone. That monster of yours is dead. Who—”

  “Dead?”

  “—is going to protect you? The dry-nurse or the butler?”

  He glared at me. The news that his son was dead seemed to affect him not at all. Maybe I shouldn’t let that bother me, especially with what else he’d done, and the fact that his son had become an inhuman monster hundreds of years before. As I said, maybe I shouldn’t have, but I thought about my own son, and I liked him even less.

  He reached for a pull-rope next to him. I said, “You don’t want to do that. Your guards are in the past, and in the old castle, and they have to go through the mirror room and down stairs to get here. By the time they’ve done that, I will have sliced open your belly to see how many times I can wrap your entrails around your neck.” Hey, look: if you’re going to threaten someone, making it graphic is always better. I wouldn’t really have done that, but it was effective, all right? Don’t judge me.

  “And you don’t even want to, do you? You want as few people from the past here as possible, because the more who know about it, the more chance someone will figure out what you did, and find a way to get the message out, even from two hundred years ago. But I still want to see how much your entrails will stretch. Or maybe I won’t even bother. Maybe I’ll just stick you. With this.” I drew Lady Teldra. She appeared as I’d first seen her, a very long, thin knife, slight teardrop shaping along the blade. She was beautiful.

  I once had someone explain to me that we don’t have real interactions with people, we have interactions with the image of those people we carry in our heads. I don’t know. Maybe. But I figure if I stick a Great Weapon into a guy’s eye, it’s close enough to a real interaction for most purposes.