The Book of Taltos

by Steven Brust

  “Easy, boss.”

  “I know, Loiosh. I’m trying. Keep Rocza under control, will you?” I didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to check my temper, and to keep the effort off my face. Then I spoke very slowly and carefully, to make sure there was no mistake.

  “So you arranged for my wife to be arrested by the Empire?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is, my wife in particular?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked him up and down once, and said, “You know, I believe I’m going to mess you up.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said, and concentrated very briefly. The door behind me opened, and, as I turned my head, five of them came through. They were all of them holding daggers; no doubt they’d been waiting for this. I turned back and saw that Boralinoi had pushed his chair back and the two who’d been standing there stepped between him and me. The tough one drew a shortsword. There was an awful stillness, as if the time between heartbeats had stretched across an ocean of movement, holding the world exactly as it was for just one instant that took forever.

  “You’re right,” I said at last. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Interestingly enough, if there’d been fewer of them I might not have gotten out of there. But the room wasn’t really big enough for all of them to work together, as long as I got the jump; and I did. Loiosh let me see what was behind me well enough for me to throw a pair of daggers into the stomachs of the two directly behind me, which slowed them down a great deal, and at the same time Rocza flew at the most dangerous of them, the sorcerer.

  I spun away throwing a handful of darts randomly in the general direction of the three between me and the door, then pivoted away from whatever those behind me might be up to. I was through the door before they could recover. Loiosh went flying down the hall to find out what was up ahead while I turned back to the door.

  I had just time to draw my rapier, which is sometimes a handicap against the huge Dragaeran longswords, but worked very nicely indeed against the Jhereg with the dagger who charged out at me. I cut his knife hand and scored his neck in two quick movements of the wrist that would have made my grandfather proud, then backed up a few steps.

  I took a throwing knife into my left hand as Rocza flew out the door and past me to help Loiosh in case he was in trouble. Verra, my goddess, what a team we were that day! The tough one with the shortsword appeared in the door and took my knife directly in his chest. He didn’t go down, which was ideal, since he blocked the door quite effectively. Loiosh gave me the all-clear for the next room, and I was through it and down the stairs.

  I’m not much of a sorcerer, but it doesn’t take much of a sorcerer to fuse a door shut, and the few seconds that gained me made all the difference.

  “Two toughs in here waiting for you, boss. We’re distracting them, but—yikes!”

  “You all right, Loiosh?”

  “Near miss, boss.”

  “Tell me when.”

  “Wait . . . wait . . . .” I took Spellbreaker into my left hand, wishing I’d had a third hand to hold some darts. “Now!” and I charged through the door, point-first.

  Loiosh and Rocza had, indeed, distracted them, and the point of my rapier through a throat distracted one of them more. The other, slashing desperately at Rocza, concentrated on me and gestured, but Spellbreaker, spinning wildly, handily stopped whatever it was. I slashed in his general direction just to give him something to think about, then I was through the door. Loiosh and Rocza beat him out of it, I shut it, did my little fusing thing again, and ran like hell down the stairs.

  The leatherworker seemed to be just a leatherworker, because his only reaction to seeing me appear with a blooded sword was to squawk and cower, and then I was in the street, across the street, behind a building.

  “We’re teleporting, folks.”

  “What if they trace it?”

  “Watch me.” And I put forth my power and appeared in the courtyard of Castle Black, where a guest is always safe, as I’ve good reason to know. I didn’t throw up, but the aftereffect of the teleport had me on my knees and the world spinning. Seeing the ground a mile below didn’t help, either, but knowing I was safe, if only for a moment, more than made up for the discomfort.

  After a time, I got to my feet and headed for the great double doors, my knees vibrating like Aibynn’s drum.

  Lesson 11

  Matters of State II

  LADY TELDRA DIRECTED ME to the third-floor study in the South Wing, where I found Morrolan closeted with Daymar, whom I mentioned earlier. Daymar was thin and angular, with the sharp nose, chin, and jawline of the House of the Hawk, softened by a broad forehead and wide-set eyes. Loiosh flew over to greet Morrolan. Rocza, oddly enough, flew over to Daymar, whom she had never met, and stayed on his shoulder for the entire conversation.

  Morrolan and Daymar were hunched over a table. Between them was something that looked to be a large black jewel. They were poking at it and staring at it as if it were a small animal and they wanted to see if it was alive. I went over to the table myself, and it took them a few moments to notice me. Then Daymar looked up and said, “Oh, hello, Vlad.”

  “Good morning. What is that?”

  “That,” said Morrolan, “is black Phoenix stone.”

  “Never heard of it,” I said.

  “It is similar to gold Phoenix stone,” said Daymar helpfully.

  “Yes,” I said. “Only black instead of gold.”

  “Right,” said Daymar, not noticing my sarcasm.

  “What is gold Phoenix stone?”

  “Well,” said Daymar, “once we discovered the black, we started digging around in Morrolan’s library and found a few references to it.”

  “Morrolan,” I said, “would you care to enlighten me?”

  “Do you recall,” said Morrolan, “the difficulty we had with psionic contact on the island?”

  “Yes. Daymar was cut off, as I recall.”

  He looked up from scratching Rocza’s chin. “Not cut off,” he said. “I collapsed from the effort of maintaining contact.”

  I stared at him. “You?”

  “I.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Yes.”

  Morrolan said, “The only place Phoenix stone occurs is on the eastern and southern coast of Greenaere. Essentially, no psychic activity can pass through the effect of the stone, and the concentration around the island is sufficient to make it unreachable.”

  “Then why could Loiosh and I communicate?”

  “Exactly,” said Morrolan. “That is, indeed, the question. The only idea I’ve been able to come up with is that the connection between witch and familiar is fundamentally different from psionic communication. But how it is different, I don’t know. I’d been planning to reach you, but since you are here, perhaps you’d be willing to assist us in a few experiments to determine exactly that.”

  “I’m not sure I like this, boss.”

  “You and me both, Loiosh.” To Morrolan I said, “This may not be the best time.”

  His eyebrows focused on me. “Why? Has something happened?”

  “Oh, nothing. Another close brush with death, but what’s one more of those?”

  For a moment he looked puzzled, trying to work out where the irony was, then he said, “Would you like some wine?”

  “Love some. I’ll help myself.” I did so.

  Morrolan said, “Tell me about it, Vlad.”

  “Jhereg troubles.”

  “Again?”

  “Still.”

  “I see.”

  Daymar said, “Can I help?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Say, boss, doesn’t Aibynn have one of those things hanging around his neck?”

  “Come to think of it, yes.”

  “So that’s why I could never spot him.”

  “Or anyone else on Greenaere, probably. Yeah.”

  I turned back to Morrolan. “Where did you find this?”

  Alittle Morrolan s
mile flitted across one side of his face. “Exploring,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “In the Imperial Dungeons.”

  My heart started hammering. I said, “Cawti—”

  “She’s fine. We didn’t actually speak much, but I saw her—”

  “How did you—?”

  “I was visiting the Palace, and I got lost, and about thirty Imperials got lost as well, and there I was.”

  My hands were getting tired where I was gripping the chair. I relaxed them. “Did you speak at all?”

  “I said hello, she looked surprised and nodded to me, by which time my guide was too nervous about the whole thing to keep me there. But I kept noticing these crystals about the place, so I acquired one on my way out.”

  “But she seems well?”

  “Yes. She seemed quite, um, spirited.”

  “Did—damn. Wait a moment.” I grumbled, debated ignoring whoever it was, decided there was too much happening right now, and let my mental barriers down.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me, boss. Where are you? I can hardly maintain contact.”

  “Just a moment, Melestav.” I moved to the far side of the room, well away from the crystal. “Is that better?”

  “Some.”

  “Okay. What is it? Can it wait?”

  “Another messenger, boss.” There was something odd in his tone. I said, “Not from Toronnan this time?”

  “No, boss. From the Empress. She wants to see you. Tomorrow.”

  “The Empress?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Tomorrow is New Year’s day.”

  “I know.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I turned to Morrolan. “Can you think of any reason why the Empress would want to see me on New Year’s day?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Do you sing?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, it must be something important.”

  “Oh, grand,” I said. “I can hardly wait.”

  “In the meantime,” said Morrolan, “I just want to try a couple of things. I assure you there is no risk.”

  “What the hell, boss? The worst that can happen is that it’ll kill us, and then we don’t have to worry about what the Empress is going to do.”

  “A point,” I said, and told Morrolan to go ahead.

  THE NEXT DAY WAS the first day of the Month of the Phoenix, in the Year of the Dzur, during the Phase of the Yendi in the Reign of the Phoenix, Cycle of the Phoenix, Great Cycle of the Dragon, which is why most of us say the year 244 after the Interregnum.

  I was off to the Imperial Palace. Happy New Year.

  If you’re sitting on the edge of your chair waiting to hear what the Imperial Palace was like, you’re in for a disappointment; I don’t remember. It was big and impressive and was built by people who know how to do things big and impressive, and that’s all I remember. I was there just past noon, all dressed up in my Jhereg colors, with my boots brightly polished, my cloak freshly cleaned, and a jerkin that fairly glittered. I had found my pendant of office and put it around my neck; just about the first time I’d worn it since I’d inherited it. I had thought for a long time about leaving Loiosh behind, and he’d politely refrained from the conversation, but in the end I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so he sat proudly on my right shoulder. Rocza, who had been left behind, wasn’t very happy about it, but there are limits to how much of an outrage I wanted to be the first time I officially appeared before the Empress.

  Appear before the Empress.

  I was a Jhereg, the scum of society, and an Easterner, the scum of the world. She sat with the Orb revolving about her head, in the center of the Empire, and at her command was all the power of the Great Sea of Chaos, as well as all the military might of the Seventeen Houses. She had survived Adron’s Disaster, and braved the Paths of the Dead, rebuilding, almost overnight, an Empire that had fallen to ruin. Now she wanted to see me, and you think I was in shape to take notes on architecture?

  I’d seen her once before, but that was in the Iorich Wing, when I’d been questioned concerning the death of a high noble of the House of the Jhereg. It seems that a minor boss in the Organization, a certain Taishatinin or something, had bought himself a Dukedom in the House and then proceeded to get himself killed. I can’t imagine why he wanted it except perhaps to feed his self-esteem, but there it was; he was a Duke, and when a Duke is murdered, the Empire investigates.

  And somehow my name came up, and, after spending a couple of weeks in the Imperial Dungeons, I was ordered to testify “Under the Orb,” with the Empress there to observe, and all these peers of House Jhereg who had no power at all in the running of the Organization. I was asked things like, “When did you last see him alive?” and I’d say, “Oh, I don’t know; he was always pretty dead,” and they’d rebuke me sternly. They asked my opinion as to who killed him and I said that I believed he had killed himself. The Orb showed that I was telling the truth, and I was; messing with me the way he’d been doing was like asking to die. The only time the Orb caught me lying was when I made some remark about how overwhelmed I was to be speaking before such an august assembly.

  I remember catching a glimpse or two of the Empress, seated behind me to my left, and wondering what she thought of the whole thing. I thought she was pretty for a Dragaeran, but I don’t remember any of the details, except for her eyes, which were gold.

  This time I noticed a little more. After a vague period of feeling as if I were being handed from one polite functionary to another, and in which I gave my name and titles more times than I had in the last year put together, I was allowed into the Imperial throne room, and then I heard my name, stepped forward, and became aware of myself and my surroundings for the first time that day. Globes and candles were lit, and the place was full of aristocrats, all in a festive mood, or pretending to be in a festive mood.

  I was aware of her, too. She wore a gown that was the color of her eyes and hair, and her face was heart-shaped, her brows high and fine. I stood before her in the Hall of the Phoenix. Her throne was carved of onyx and traced with gold in the representations of all Seventeen Houses. I instinctively looked for the Jhereg, and saw part of a wing near her right hand. I also discerned unobtrusive black cushions on the throne and didn’t know whether to be amused or not.

  The seneschal announced me and I stepped forward, giving her the best courtesy I knew how to give. Loiosh had to adjust himself to keep from falling off, but did so, I think, fairly gracefully.

  “We give you welcome, Baronet Taltos,” she said. Her voice was just a voice; I mean, I don’t know what I expected, but I was surprised when she sounded like someone you’d meet at the market pricing coriander.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I ask only to serve you.”

  “Indeed, Baronet?” She seemed amused. “I suspect the Orb would detect a falsehood there. You are usually more careful in your evasions.”

  She remembered.

  “It is a pleasure not to have to dissemble before Your Majesty,” I said. “I prefer to lie directly.”

  She chuckled, which didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was the lack of scandalized murmuring from the faceless courtiers behind me. Perhaps they knew their Empress. She said, “We must speak together. Please wait.”

  “I am at your service, Majesty.”

  As I’d been coached, I stepped backward seventeen steps, and then to the side. I wondered if watching an hour or so of Imperial business would be boring or if it would be interesting. In fact, it was startling, because I had momentarily forgotten the festivities, and the first thing I noticed was Aibynn holding his drum to the side and speaking with the singer I recognized, and someone I didn’t know who was holding an instrument similar to the Eastern Hej’du.

  I went over and said hello. Aibynn seemed faintly surprised to see me, but also distracted. Thoddi was more gregari
ous, and introduced me to the other musician, an Athyra whose name was Dav-Hoel.

  “So, there are three of you now,” I remarked to Thoddi.

  “Actually there should be four of us, but Andler refused to play before the Empress.”

  “Refused?”

  “He’s an Iorich, and he’s upset about, you know, the conscription in South Adrilankha, and the Phoenix Guards, and that kind of thing.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” I said. Thoddi nodded as if he understood, which I doubted. “Anyway,” I said, “good luck.”

  Shortly after that, they were called on. Thoddi began to sing some old tavern song about making candles, full of innuendo and bad rhymes, but I watched Aibynn. He had the same dreamy smile as always, as if he were hearing something you couldn’t hear, or seeing something through his half-shut eyes that you couldn’t see.

  Or knew something you didn’t know.

  Such as, for instance, that he was about to assassinate the Empress.

  “He’s going to do it, Loiosh.”

  “I think you’re right, boss.”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “Can you think of any way to leave?”

  “Well, no.”

  “What do we do?”

  “You come up with a plan. I’m fresh out.”

  I watched with a horrified fascination as Aibynn began to move, the drum cradled against his left side. He spun in place for a while, then began to dance out and back as the singing died and they just played. Was he moving closer to the Empress? I tore my eyes away from him and saw her having a low-voiced discussion with a lady of the House of the Tiassa. The Empress smiled, and though she spoke with the Tiassa, her eyes were on the musicians. She had a good smile. I wondered if it was true, the tavern gossip about a lover who was an Easterner.

  Aibynn was, yes, closer now. If he had concealed a knife, or a dart, or a blowgun, he could hardly miss, and no one was near him. I began to move forward. I glanced back at the Empress, and she was looking at me now. I stopped where I was, unable to move, my heart thundering. She smiled at me, just a little, and almost imperceptibly shook her head. What was she thinking? Did she think that I . . . ?