by Steven Brust
Next to him was one who looked like a Dragaeran, dressed in a gown of shifting colors, with a haughty face and hair like fine mist. I looked at her hands, and, yes, each finger had an extra joint. Here was the Demon Goddess of my ancestors, Verra. I looked to her right, half expecting to see the sisters legends claimed she had. I think I saw them, too—one was small and always in shadow, and next to her was one whose skin and hair flowed like water. I avoided looking at either of them. I controlled my shaking and forced myself to follow Morrolan.
There were others, but I hardly remember them, save one who seemed to be dressed in fire, and another who seemed always to be fading into and out of existence. How many? I can’t say. I remember the few I’ve mentioned, and I know there were others. I retain the impression that there were thousands of them, perhaps millions, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust my senses fully.
Morrolan seemed to be steering us to a point between Verra and Barlan. As we neared them, it seemed that their gigantic size was illusory. We stopped when we were perhaps fifteen feet from them, and they appeared large, but hardly inhuman. At least in size. Barlan was covered with green scales and had those frightening huge pale green eyes. And Verra’s hair still shimmered, and her clothing refused to stop changing color, form, and material. Nevertheless, they seemed more like beings I might be able to talk to than some of the others in the area.
They acknowledged us at the same moment.
Morrolan bowed, but not as low as he had to Baritt. I didn’t try to figure it out; I just bowed myself, very low indeed. Verra looked back and forth between the two of us, then over at Barlan. She seemed to be smiling. I couldn’t tell about him.
Then she looked back at us. Her voice, when she spoke, was deep and resonating, and very odd. It was as if her words would echo in my mind, only there was no gap in time between hearing them in my mind and in my ears. The result was an unnatural sort of piercing clarity to everything she said. It was such a strange phenomenon that I had to stop and remember her words, which were: “This is a surprise.”
Barlan said nothing. Verra turned to him, then back to us. “What are your names?”
Morrolan said, “I am Morrolan e’Drien, Duke of the House of the Dragon.”
I swallowed and said, “Vladimir Taltos, Baronet of the House of the Jhereg.”
“Well, well, well,” said Verra. Her smile was strange and twisted and full of irony. She said, “It would seem that you are both alive.”
I said, “How could you tell?”
Her smile grew a bit wider. She said, “When you’ve been in the business as long as I have—”
Barlan spoke, saying, “State your errand.”
“We have come to beg for a life.”
Verra’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? For whom?”
“My cousin,” said Morrolan, indicating the staff.
Barlan held his hand out, and Morrolan stepped forward and gave him the staff. Morrolan stepped back.
“You must care for her a great deal,” said Verra, “since by coming here you have forfeited your right to return.”
I swallowed again. I think Verra noticed this, because she looked at me and said, “Your case is less clear, as Easterners do not belong here at all.”
I licked my lips and refrained from comment.
Verra turned back to Morrolan and said, “Well?”
“Yes?”
“Is she worth your life?”
Morrolan said, “It is necessary. Her name is Aliera e’Kieron, and she is the Dragon heir to the throne.”
Verra’s head snapped back, and she stared straight into Morrolan’s face. There is something terrifying about seeing a god shocked.
After a little while, Verra said, “So, she has been found.”
Morrolan nodded.
Verra gestured toward me. “Is that where the Easterner comes in?”
“He was involved in recovering her.”
“I see.”
“Now that she has been found, we ask that she be allowed to resume her life at the point where—”
“Spare me the details,” said Verra. Morrolan shut up.
Barlan said, “What you ask is impossible.”
Verra said, “Is it?”
“It is also forbidden,” said Barlan.
“Tough cookies,” said Verra.
Barlan said, “By our positions here we have certain responsibilities. One of them is to uphold—”
“Spare me the lecture,” said Verra. “You know who Aliera is.”
“If she is sufficiently important, we may ask to convene—”
“By which time the Easterner will have been here too long to return. And his little jhereg, too.” I hardly reacted to this at the time, because I was too amazed by the spectacle of the gods arguing. But I did notice it, and I noted that Verra was aware of Loiosh even though my familiar was inside my cloak.
Barlan said, “That is not our concern.”
Verra said, “A convocation will also be boring.”
“You would break our trust to avoid boredom?”
“You damn betcha, feather-breath.”
Barlan stood. Verra stood. They glared at each other for a moment, then vanished in a shower of golden sparks.
IT IS NOT ONLY the case that Dragaerans have never learned to cook; it is also true, and far more surprising, that most of them will admit it. That is why Eastern restaurants are so popular, and the best of them is Valabar’s.
Valabar and Sons has existed for an impossibly long time. It was here in Adrilankha before the Interregnum made this city the Imperial Capital. That’s hundreds of years, run by the same family. The same family of humans. It was, according to all reports, the first actual restaurant within the Empire; the first place that existed as a business just to serve meals, rather than a tavern that had food, or a hotel that supplied board for a fee.
There must be some sort of unwritten law about the place that those in power know, something that says, “Whatever we’re going to do to Easterners, leave Valabar’s alone.” It’s that good.
It is a very simple place on the inside, with white linen tablecloths and simple furnishings, but none of the decoration that most places have. The waiters are pleasant and charming and very efficient, and almost as difficult to notice as Kragar when they are slipping up on you to refill your wine glass.
They have no menus; instead your waiter stands there and recites the list of what the chef, always called “Mr. Valabar” no matter how many Valabars are working there at the moment, is willing to prepare today.
My date for the evening, Mara, was the most gorgeous blonde I’d ever met, with a rather nasty wit that I enjoyed when it wasn’t turned on me. Kragar’s date was a Dragaeran lady whose name I can’t remember, but whose House was Jhereg. She was one of the tags in a local brothel, and she had a nice laugh.
The appetizer of the day was anise-jelled winneoceros cubes, the soup was a very spicy potato soup with Eastern red pepper, the sorbet was lemon, the pâté—made of goose liver, chicken liver, kethna liver, herbs, and unsalted butter—was served on hard-crusted bread with cucumber slices that had been just barely pickled. The salad was served with an impossibly delicate vinegar dressing that was almost sweet but not quite.
Kragar had fresh scallops in lemon and garlic sauce, Kragar’s date had the biggest stuffed cabbage in the world, Mara had duck in plum brandy sauce, and I had kethna in Eastern red pepper sauce. We followed it with dessert pancakes, mine with finely ground walnuts and cream chocolate brandy sauce topped with oranges. We also had a bottle of Piarran Mist, the Fenarian dessert wine. I paid for the whole thing, because I’d just killed someone.
We were all feeling giggly as we walked the meal off; then Mara and I went up to my flat and I discovered that a meal at Valabar’s is one of the world’s great aphrodisiacs. I wondered what my grandfather would make of that information.
Mara got tired of me and dumped me a week or so later, but what the hell.
I SAI
D, “FEATHER-BREATH?”
Loiosh said, “Sheesh.”
“I think,” said Morrolan judiciously, “that we’ve managed to get someone in trouble.”
“Yeah.”
Morrolan looked around, as did I. None of the other beings present seemed to be paying us any attention. We were still standing there a few minutes later when Verra reappeared in another shower of sparks. She had a gleam in her eye. Barlan appeared then, and, as before, his expression was unreadable. I noticed then that Verra was holding the staff.
Verra said, “Come with me.”
She stepped down from her throne and led us around behind it, off into the darkness. She didn’t speak and Morrolan didn’t speak. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. Loiosh was under my cloak again.
We came to a place where there was a very high wall. We walked along it for a moment, passing another purple robe or two, until we came to a high arch. We passed beneath it, and there were two corridors branching away.
Verra took the one to the right and we followed. In a short time, it opened to a place where a wide, shallow brick well stood, making water noises.
Verra dipped her hand into the well and took a drink; then, with no warning, she smashed the staff into the side of the well.
There was the requisite cracking sound, then I was blinded by a flash of pure white light, and I think the ground trembled. When I was able to open my eyes again, there was still some sort of visual distortion, as if the entire area we were in had been bent at some impossible angle, and only Verra could be seen clearly.
Things settled down then, and I saw what appeared to be the body of a female Dragaeran in the black and silver of the House of the Dragon stretched out next to the well. I noticed at once that her hair was blonde—even more rare in a Dragonlord than in a human. Her brows were thin, and the slant of her closed eyes was rather attractive. I think a Dragaeran would have found her very attractive. Verra dipped her hand in again and allowed some of the water to flow into the mouth of her whom I took to be Aliera.
Then Verra smiled at us and walked away.
Aliera began to breathe.
14
My grandfather, in teaching me fencing, used to make me stand for minutes at a time, watching for the movement of his blade that would give me an opening. I suspect that he knew full well that he was teaching me more than fencing.
When the moment came, I was ready.
HER EYES FLUTTERED OPEN, but she didn’t focus on anything. I decided that she was better looking alive than she’d been dead. Morrolan and I stood there for a moment, then he said softly, “Aliera?”
Her eyes snapped to him. There was a pause before her face responded; when it did she seemed puzzled. She started to speak, stopped, cleared her throat, and croaked, “Who are you?”
He said, “I’m your cousin. My name is Morrolan e’Drien. I am the eldest son of your father’s youngest sister.”
“Morrolan,” she repeated. “Yes. That would be the right sort of name.” She nodded as if he’d passed a test. I took in Morrolan’s face, but he seemed to be keeping any expression off it. Aliera tried to sit up, failed, and her eyes fell on me; narrowed. She turned to Morrolan and said, “Help me.”
He helped her to sit up. She looked around. “Where am I?”
“The Halls of Judgment,” said Morrolan.
Surprise. “I’m dead?”
“Not anymore.”
“But—”
“I’ll explain,” said Morrolan.
“Do so,” said Aliera.
“Those two must be related,” I told Loiosh. He sniggered.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
She shrugged, a kind of one-shoulder-and-tilt-of-the-head thing that was almost identical to Morrolan’s. “It’s hard to say.” She closed her eyes. We didn’t say anything. A moment later she said. “There was a strange whining sound, almost above my audible range. Then the floor shook, and the ceiling and walls started to buckle. And it was becoming very hot. I was going to teleport out, and I remember thinking that I couldn’t do it fast enough, and then I saw Sethra’s face.” She paused, looking at Morrolan. “Sethra Lavode. Do you know her?”
“Rather,” said Morrolan.
Aliera nodded. “I saw her face, then I was running through a tunnel—I think that was a dream. It lasted a long time, though. Eventually I stopped running and lay on what seemed to be a white tile floor, and I couldn’t move and didn’t want to. I don’t know how long I was there. Then someone shouted my name—I thought at the time it was my mother. Then I was waking up, and I heard a strange voice calling my name. I think that was you, Morrolan, because then I opened my eyes and saw you.”
Morrolan nodded. “You have been asleep—dead, actually—for, well, several hundred years.”
Aliera nodded, and I saw a tear in her eye. She said very quietly, “It is the reign of a reborn Phoenix, isn’t it?”
Morrolan nodded, seeming to understand.
“I told him it would be,” she said. “A Great Cycle—seventeen Cycles; it had to be a reborn Phoenix. He wouldn’t listen to me. He thought it was the end of the Cycle, that a new one could be formed. He—”
“He created a sea of chaos, Aliera.”
“What?”
I decided that “he” referred to Adron. I doubted that he was to be found in these regions.
“Not as big as the original, perhaps, but it is there—where Dragaera City used to be.”
“Used to be,” she echoed.
“The capital of the Empire is now Adrilankha.”
“Adrilankha. A seacoast town, right? Isn’t that where Kieron’s Tower is?”
“Kieron’s Watch. It used to be there. It fell into the sea during the Interregnum.”
“Inter—Oh. Of course. How did it end?”
“Zerika, of the House of the Phoenix, retrieved the Orb, which somehow landed here, in the Paths of the Dead. She was allowed to return with it. I helped her,” he added.
“I see,” she said. Morrolan sat down next to her. I sat down next to Morrolan. Aliera said, “I don’t know Zerika.”
“She was not yet born. She’s the only daughter of Vernoi and, um, whoever it was she married.”
“Loudin.”
“Right. They both died in the Disaster.”
She nodded, then stopped. “Wait. If they both died in the explosion, and Zerika wasn’t born when it happened, how could . . . ?”
Morrolan shrugged. “Sethra had something to do with it. I’ve asked her to explain it, but she just looks smug.” He blinked. “I get the impression that, whatever it was she did, she was too busy doing it to rescue you as thoroughly as she’d have liked. I guess you were the second priority after making sure there could be an Emperor. Zerika is the last Phoenix.”
“The last Phoenix? There can’t be another? Then the Cycle is broken. If not now, for the future.”
“Maybe,” said Morrolan.
“Can there be another Phoenix?”
“How should I know? We have the whole Cycle to worry about it. Ask me again in a few hundred thousand years when it starts to matter.”
I could see from Aliera’s expression that she didn’t like this answer, but she didn’t respond to it. There was a silence, then she said, “What happened to me?”
“I don’t understand entirely,” said Morrolan. “Sethra managed to preserve your soul in some form, though it became lost. Eventually—I imagine shortly after Zerika took the Orb—an Athyra wizard found you. He was studying necromancy. I don’t think he realized what he had. You were tracked down, and—”
“Who tracked me down?”
“Sethra and I,” he said, watching her face. He glanced at me quickly, then said, “And there were others who helped, some time ago.”
Aliera closed her eyes and nodded. I hate it when they talk over my head. “Did you have any trouble getting me back?”
Morrolan and I looked at each other. “None to speak of,” I said.
/> Aliera looked at me, then looked again, her eyes narrow. She stared hard, as if she were looking inside of me. She said, “Who are you?”
“Vladimir Taltos, Baronet, House Jhereg.”
She stared a little longer, then shook her head and looked back at Morrolan.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Never mind.” She stood up suddenly, or, rather, tried, then sat down. She scowled. “I want to get out of here.”
“I believe they will let Vlad leave. If so, he will help you.”
She looked at me, then back at Morrolan. “What’s wrong with you?”
“As a living man, I am not allowed to return from the Paths of the Dead. I shall remain here.”
Aliera stared at him. “Like hell you will. I’ll see you dead first.”
IT’S HARD FOR ME to pin down the point at which I stopped considering myself to be someone’s enforcer who sometimes did “work” and started considering myself a free-lance assassin. Part of it was that I worked for several different people during a short period of time during and after the war, including Welok himself, so this made things confusing.
Certainly those around me began to think of me that way before it occurred to me, but I don’t think my own thinking changed until I had developed professional habits and a good approach to the job.
Once again, it’s unclear just when this occurred, but I was certainly functioning like a professional by the time I finished my seventh job—assassinating a little turd named Raiet.
WHILE I WAS THINKING over this announcement and wondering whether to laugh, I realized that Verra had left us; in other words, we had no way of knowing where to go from here.
I cleared my throat. Morrolan broke off from his staring contest with Aliera and said, “Yes, Vlad?”
“Do you know how we can find our way back to where all the gods were?”