The Book of Taltos

by Steven Brust

  “It might upset things.”

  “Oh. So she”—I indicated the Demon Goddess—“is your grandmother?”

  Devera smiled and crawled up into her lap.

  “Boss, is it just me, or is this really weird?”

  “It’s both of us.”

  Verra said, “I’m sorry all of this had to happen.”

  “You bloody well should be.”

  “I did help save your life.”

  “Yeah. People have been doing that a lot. Thanks, I suppose.”

  “Is there something you want to say to me?”

  “Yes, Goddess, there is. You’ve gone a good way toward messing up my life, and, what’s more, manipulated events such that, through my actions, hundreds of people have died. I don’t care what your motivations were; I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. Okay?”

  Devera looked unhappy, but didn’t say anything. Verra said, “I understand, Vlad. But I won’t hold you to that. You don’t even know who you are yet. You’re beginning another life now. Wait until you know what sort of life it is before you make decisions like that.”

  I started to say something more, but Devera climbed down from her lap, came up to me, took my hand, squeezed. “Don’t be mad, Uncle Vlad, she meant well.”

  “I—” I stopped and looked down at her. I shook my head.

  “Come,” said Verra, “they await you at the Imperial Palace.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll see. And I think we’ll meet again, Vlad Taltos, however you feel about it at the moment.” The room swirled and went away before I could speak again.

  LIFE, THY NAME IS irony, or something like that.

  “And by his own actions, at risk of his life . . .” The voice of the seneschal rolled like thunder through the court. My eyes were down, and my thoughts were filled with two conflicting desires: First, I wanted to turn around and see how Count Soffta was taking the whole thing. Second, I very badly wanted to throw my head back and laugh aloud.

  “. . . which would certainly have cost the lives of thousands of Imperial citizens . . .”

  Loiosh, of course, wasn’t helping any. He sat on my shoulder, looking around, nuzzling Rocza, and generally carrying on as if he were personally being honored, and saying things like, “Do they really take this stuff seriously, boss?”

  “. . . all the lands around Lake Szurke, within the Duchy of Eastman-swatch, for a distance . . .”

  They had even given me a pillow for my knee; a pillow with a stylized Jhereg in grey against a black background. In keeping my eyes to the ground I kept seeing pieces of embroidered wing and head, and this made it harder than ever to keep a straight face.

  “. . . all rights and privileges pertaining to this rank, to be granted to all descendants and heirs of his body, for as long as the Empire . . .”

  I wondered how Cawti would react, were she here. Probably not very well, knowing how she felt about the Empire. Perhaps what I missed most about the new Cawti was that she seemed to have lost her sense of humor. And for what? The words of the Demon Goddess came back to me, and for a moment, bitterness overwhelmed irony.

  “. . . crest with the Imperial Phoenix above of the symbol of House Jhereg . . .” His voice almost faltered there, but didn’t. Had an Imperial title ever before been granted a Jhereg? Certainly, none had ever been granted an Easterner. My sense of humor returned.

  “. . . crest shall be entered into the Imperial Registry for all time, and may not be removed save by unanimous vote of the Council of Heirs and the Emperor . . .”

  Just what I needed. I bit my lip. I was becoming anxious for this to end, because when it was over, I’d meet my wife once more. Would I have to say something at the end of the ceremony? No, a deep bow would do.

  “. . . shall be known as Count Szurke, and shall have the right of high and low justice upon his lands, and bear responsibility for . . .”

  I wondered if this would make the Jhereg any slower to go after my head. Considering that I just implicated a Council member before the Empire, and then played a part in his murder, it wasn’t very likely. How soon would they move? Soon. Very soon. If I was going to save my life, which I really should do after all the work Aliera and others had gone through to preserve it, I couldn’t waste any time.

  “. . . stand now, before the Empress and the Heirs of the court, and receive . . .”

  I had that rarest of positions, an Imperial title, which was worth exactly nothing. I wondered if the Empress saw the humor in it. The ceremony came to an end at last. As soon as was decent, I got out of there, intending to go back to the Iorich Wing. But as I was leaving the Imperial Wing, I found Aibynn, his drum at his feet, watching passersby and tapping out rhythms with coins on the marble railing against the wide stairway that led down into the antechamber.

  “Here in the Empire,” I said, “we call that a banister.”

  “Where are you going?” he said.

  “Now? To meet my wife. After that, well, I’d like a favor from you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Phoenix Stone you carry; I want it.”

  He frowned, then said, “All right. It’s still at that castle. You can just take it.”

  “Are you sure you won’t need it?”

  He shrugged.

  “Your mind is made up, isn’t it, boss?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, Aibynn.”

  “You’re welcome. What’s that you’re wearing?”

  “This? I wear it so I don’t get sick when—”

  “No, that.”

  “Oh. It represents an imperial title. It doesn’t really mean anything. Want it? In exchange for the one you’re giving me?”

  “No, thanks. Where are you going?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. What about you? You can’t go back home.”

  “Not now, anyway. That’s all right. I like it here. The drumming is much more primitive.”

  Primitive? I chuckled, thinking of some musicians I’d met who’d have hated to be told that. “Whatever,” I said. “Maybe I’ll run into you again.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Aibynn . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I think you were wrong about the gods.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think when a god does something reprehensible, it’s still reprehensible.”

  “Then what is a god?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you can find out.”

  “Yes.” I said. “Maybe I can. Maybe I will. Thanks.”

  He nodded an acknowledgment and went back to playing the banister. I walked around to the Iorich Wing, and found that I’d have to wait an hour or so while they finished the paperwork involved in releasing Cawti. That was all right; I had things to do. I walked away from the Palace, and, still taking delight in the lack of nausea, I teleported.

  “YOU CAN’T DO THIS to me,” said Kragar.

  “I just did,” I told him.

  “I won’t last five minutes.”

  “You’ve already lasted longer than that, and this isn’t the first time.”

  “That was temporary. Vlad, I became a Jhereg because I couldn’t be a Dragon. I was born a Dragon, you know that. And I’d try to give an order in battle, and no one would notice. I can’t—”

  “People change, Kragar. You’ve already changed.”

  “But—”

  “Think of the money.”

  He stopped. “A point,” he admitted.

  “You also have the loyalty of everyone who works here. They know you and they trust you. Besides, what choice do I have? How much is the Organization offering for my head right now?”

  He told me, and I was impressed in spite of myself. “The rumor is,” he added, “that they want it Morganti.”

  “That would make sense,” I said evenly, though I shuddered as I spoke. I looked around the office. It was still filled with all of my things—target on the wall, coat-rac
k where Loiosh and Rocza were perched, dark rings on the desk from where I habitually put my klava cup, the wheeled swivel chair I’d had specially designed, and more. It was more like home than home was.

  “Will it ever be possible for you to come back?”

  “Maybe. But even if it is, I’m not certain I’m ever going to want to. And what if I do? We can work something out, or I can start over somewhere else.”

  He sighed. “It’s going to be hard to work around here without Melestav.”

  “Yeah. And Sticks.”

  We were silent for a few moments, out of respect for the dead. I still couldn’t hate Melestav, and Sticks had meant a lot to me. I hate it when friends die.

  Kragar said, “Will I be able to reach you?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been east, the sea is south. That leaves north and west. Probably one of those directions.”

  He considered carefully. Then he said, “What are you going to do about South Adrilankha?”

  “You don’t have to worry about it,” I said. “I’m making other arrangements for that territory.”

  “Well, that’s something, anyway.”

  I took another look around the office. So much of my life had filled that room. Loiosh flew over to Kragar, nuzzled his ear for a moment, and landed on my right shoulder. Rocza landed on my left. I stood up. “Oh, and Kragar, say good-bye to Kiera the Thief for me. Tell her I still owe her. On the other hand, I expect she can find me when she wants to.”

  “I’ll tell her,” said Kragar.

  “Thanks. Good luck.” I teleported.

  IT WAS LIKE REHEARSING a play; as if the director had said, “Do the bit over where you meet on the steps of the Iorich Wing, only this time make it more intense.” This time she put her arms around me and held me like she meant it. I put my arms around her and wondered why I wasn’t reacting more strongly. Loiosh and Rocza kept careful watch around us.

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  Standing there, alone on the deserted steps as the slow, thorough evening tucked itself into the corners of the Palace, I did. I told her everything, and as I did, I wondered at the calm voice of this speaker, relating the tale of revolution, assassination, and intrigue as if he had no part in it. What is he feeling now? I wondered. I wished they’d found someone for the part more able to convey emotion. Or perhaps that was the effect desired by the director, if not the playwright.

  When I finished, she pulled back and stared at me. “They’ll kill you,” she said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What will stop them?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Tell me.”

  “First you tell me—are you coming back to me?”

  She didn’t look away, as I’d expected. Instead she studied me carefully, as one studies a stranger whose mood and meaning one is trying to read from his face. She didn’t say anything, which I think was an answer. But I put it into words. “Too much has happened. Too much murder, too much change. Whatever we had, we don’t have it. Can we create something else? I don’t know. But you’re going one way and I’m going another. For now, that’s all there is.”

  Her eyes were so big. “You’re going away, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ever coming back?” She asked it with an odd, detached air, as if she wasn’t certain how much she cared, or was afraid she cared too much, or afraid she cared too little.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  She nodded. “When are you leaving?”

  “Right away.”

  “I’m sorry things have worked out this way.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You’ve left the business to Kragar?”

  “Most of it. Except for South Adrilankha.”

  “What are you doing with that?”

  I thought about the courtyard of Castle Black, until the image was strong and clear. I strengthened my connection to the Orb, drew energy, and began the teleport. “All Organization interests in South Adrilankha are yours,” I said. “My people will be seeing you in the morning. Enjoy,” I added, and I was gone.

  ALIERA AND I SAT alone in the library of Castle Black, waiting for Sethra and Morrolan to join us. This place, like my office, held more than a few memories. I’d sat here with my friends—yes, they were certainly that—and held war-councils, consoled each other, and celebrated. Much wine had flowed in this room along with tears and laughter, as well as promises of aid and threats of dismemberment; many of these things within minutes of each other.

  I noticed that Aliera was looking at me. “I met your daughter,” I said.

  “What daughter?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ask your mother. Time does funny things around her, I guess.”

  She didn’t answer directly. “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “I might be back; who knows?”

  “The Jhereg carries a grudge.”

  “Don’t I know it. But still—”

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. I want to be alone for a while.”

  “I can’t imagine that.”

  “Me wanting to be alone? I suppose you’re right. I’ll have Loiosh and Rocza, anyway.”

  “Still—”

  “Yeah. I’ll probably find some place with people around. Probably Dragaerans, so I can go back to hating them in general and loving them in particular. But right now, I don’t want to see anyone.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “I owe you a lot.”

  “I owe you my life,” she said.

  “And I owe you mine, several times. I sometimes wish I could remember that previous life, back in the beginning.”

  “Sethra could arrange that,” said Aliera.

  “Not now.”

  “It might help you come to terms with who you are.”

  “I’ll find my own way.”

  “Yes. You always do.”

  Morrolan and Sethra joined us before I could ask how she meant that. I said, “This is good-bye, for a while.”

  “So I had gathered,” said Morrolan. “I wish you well on your travels. I shall watch over your grandfather for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sethra said, “I expect we will meet again, in this life or the next.”

  “The next,” I said. “One way or another, it will be a different life.”

  “Yes,” said Sethra. “You’re right.”

  I took my leave without another word.

  LAST OF ALL I spoke with my grandfather. “You look well,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  For the first time in my adult life, I was looking like an Easterner, not a Jhereg. I still had the same cloak, but it was now dyed green. I wore loose darrskin boots, green pants, and a light blue tunic.

  “It’s necessary, under the circumstances,” I said.

  “What circumstances are these, Vladimir?”

  I explained what had happened, what I was doing about it, and what I thought he should do. He shook his head. “To be a ruler, Vladimir, even of a small place, it is a skill that I have not.”

  “Noish-pa, you don’t have to rule. You don’t have to do anything. There are about a hundred families of Teckla there, and a few Easterners, and they’ve been getting on quite well without anyone ruling them. You need not change anything. A stipend from the Empire goes with the title, and it is sufficient for you to live on. All you have to do is go to Lake Szurke and live in the manor, or castle, or whatever it is. If the peasants come to you with problems, I have no doubt you can suggest solutions, but they probably won’t. You can continue your work there with no one to bother you. Where else will you go? And it is just west of Pepperfields, which is in the mountains west of Fenario, so you will be close to our homeland. What could be better?”

  He frowned, and at last he nodded. “But
what about you?” he said.

  “I don’t know. I am running for my life now. If things change, and I feel it safe to return, I will.”

  “And your wife?”

  “That’s over,” I said.

  “Is it?”

  I tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t. “For now, it is. Maybe later, maybe after time has passed, but not now.”

  “I threw the sands last night, Vladimir. For the first time in twenty years, I threw the sands and asked what would become of me. I felt the power, and I read the symbols, and they said I would live to hold a great-grandchild in my arms. Do you think the sands were wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I hope they were not. But if you are to see a grandchild, I must be alive to conceive one.”

  He nodded. “Very well, Vladimir. Do what you must. I will go to this place, and I will live there, so you will know where to find me when you can.”

  “When I can,” I said. “When I can.”

  Epilogue

  THERE WAS A PLACE I remembered well, that meant nothing to anyone else, but a great deal to me. It was engraved forever in my memory, from the isolated patches of bright blue safe-weed among the tall grasses to the bent oak that loomed over the clearing as if to keep it safe from predators above; from the thorns of the wild winesage to the even slope of the wallbush, pointing away from the nearest water. Though barely more than a child when I’d been there before, I knew it; it had etched itself into my memory with a fine detail that I usually saved for the locations of hidden weapons on enemies or the daily habits of targets. Nature, in all its varied beauties and horrors, had hitherto been lost on me, save for this place. Perhaps now that would change.

  Somewhere to my left came the sniggering laugh of a chreotha, spitting out its weaving to trap a norska or a squirrel. A bring-me-home, growing from the oak, whipped back and forth in the chilly breeze like a lazy whip: woosh-snap, woosh-snap. A daythief, somewhere above me, sobbed in counterpoint to the chreotha. The breeze made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I shivered pleasantly. It was just time for lilacs to bloom; they were plentiful here and the scent mixed well with the blossoming of a stone-fruit tree that hid itself behind the wallbush, outside the clearing.