by Steven Brust
There was terror, of course, like I said.
And anger right next to it—at the Jhereg for killing me, and at myself for getting caught, and, stupidly, at Morrolan for having had the means whereby I was set up.
And, most peculiarly, a sense of calm that was so strong it washed over everything else, and seemed as if it came from a place inside of me that I’d never been aware of before. I had time to feel a certain relaxation steal over me before—
The stupid little blade—a longsword in form, but tiny in essence—is rushing at me, its greed and hunger a wave of red, but the change to the pale green of fear is so abrupt I’m tempted to laugh, though of course I do not. I brush it away and for a long, long quarter of a second I fasten myself around its metaphorical throat, just to show it what I can do. There is a shapeless, pulsing mass of life behind it, and I admit to myself that it tempts me—I am still weak from my recent exertions—but HE was upset the last time, so I let the hunger pass over and through me and I move just a little, and a coolness washes over me; I feel good about what I have done, and what I have refrained from doing.
And time holds still; time doesn’t breathe. There is no motion, no sound—everything is holding, there is a waiting time as if waiting were the only existence, as if the universe itself were nothing but the space between events, and would last forever that way. And in this waiting time there is an adjustment that is not physical, or emotional, or spiritual; it is an adjustment in mood and in the way sensations might be experienced. The timeless time re-forms itself, and I am here and there, and HE is there and here, and we are forever separate, unique, apart—and one being at a level too profound to express. It is our very inseparability that makes us forever distinct; the uniqueness of our beings that keeps us together. And with that realization, motion starts up again, slowly, grinding, unsure of where to go.
At that moment, a thought forms, as if in words; directionless, though the mind behind the voice is an old friend: Sethra sends her regards, it says, and pleasure washes through me that I have not been forgotten.
I swung Lady Teldra to point to the sorceress who stood, frozen, behind and over the body that still clutched the Morganti longsword in its lifeless hands.
“What foul sorcery is this?” she said.
“Pretty standard foul sorcery; nothing special.”
“Okay,” she said. “Just checking.”
“There’s blood on my boots,” I said. “Do you know how much I hate blood on my boots? It really, really pisses me off. Scrub, scrub, scrub, that’s what I’ll be doing. Or I’ll just have to get new boots. Days waiting for them. You just had to get blood on my boots, didn’t you? Oh, and did I mention that I hate getting blood on my boots?”
“You picked the wrong line of work then,” she said. “Are you going to use that thing, or just keep it in my face for the next week?”
“I’m still deciding,” I said.
Okay, I admit it: I was impressed. Acting brave when someone might be about to kill you takes something. The same act when someone is holding a Morganti blade takes a lot more. And to pull it off when staring down the pointy end of a Great Weapon is, well, I couldn’t do it.
Okay, maybe I kind of did it once, but I was really mad that time. In any case, I was impressed.
“What’s your name?”
“Disaka.”
“Was this what it seemed? You were hired by the meat? A straight-up business deal?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Apparently they took a shot at you a few days ago that didn’t work. After that.”
“How did you do it?”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, glanced at Lady Teldra, then shrugged. “He told me about Morrolan’s windows, so I set up a necromantic illusion, and redirected the energy for the transfer spell to myself.”
“Must have been a hell of an illusion.”
“It’s why I had to be here to maintain it.”
“You were just waiting for the windows to activate?”
“Yes. For the last two days.”
“What did he pay you?”
“A lot.”
“Where are we? I mean, physically.”
Her brows furrowed for a moment; the “windows” vanished, replaced by dark wooden walls, full of knots. The room narrowed, and there was a table pushed against the far wall, chairs stacked beside it. “It seems familiar,” I said.
“Back room of the Blue Flame.”
“Ah, right.”
She stared down the length of Lady Teldra. My arm was getting tired, at which point I realized that she had shaped herself as a significantly heavier weapon than I usually use. I lowered her. “All right, go,” I said.
She nodded, and managed to keep the relief off her face, and even to turn her back to me as she left the room. If she was anything like me, she’d go off somewhere private and have a good, long breakdown. She was certainly entitled.
I sheathed Lady Teldra.
“Boss.”
“Yeah?”
“That was scary.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“What did it look like to you?”
“Like you moved faster than it is possible for anyone to move. Like the sword was drawing your arm. How did it seem to you, Boss?”
“Like—I don’t know. Like I was someone else. Like I went somewhere else.”
“You did, Boss. For a minute there, I couldn’t find you. I didn’t much care for it. Can you not do that anymore?”
“I can’t promise that, Loiosh. I was me and talking to me, and I was her.”
“Her? Who her?”
“Lady Teldra. The one who used to be a person. The one who was killed.”
I opened the door. Rocza flew out, then back to me. I walked through the Blue Flame, ignoring the stares from patrons and staff. At the door, Loiosh and Rocza both flew out, and, on their word, I stepped out and walked back toward Kragar’s office.
“So, do we try again, Boss?”
“Yeah, I think we should—”
I stopped, right there, and leaned against a wall. I didn’t lose my last meal, but I felt like I was about to. Then I started shaking. Then I cursed, silently but with great sincerity, about standing there out on the street unable to move.
I felt Loiosh, on full alert.
I knew from experience that the more I tried to rush through the shaking horrors, the longer they’d last. I stood there on the street and waited it out, trusting to luck and Loiosh. People—that is, Dragaerans—walked around me, carefully not looking at me.
After what felt like longer than it probably was, I was able to walk again. I got back to Kragar’s office, keeping my pace steady and my face expressionless as I made it back into the space set aside for me, then collapsed against a wall, sat on the floor, and did some more shaking.
You know. Like you do.
It went on for a while. Then I walked out, found Deragar, and asked after Kragar. He was mending. As we were talking, someone I didn’t know came up and said, “Lord Taltos, there’s a Dragonlord requesting to speak with you.”
“A … did he give a name?”
“Morrolan.”
“All right. Invite him up.”
“I did. He declined.”
I nodded. “Of course he did. He’d never walk into a Jhereg office. Unless he felt like it. All right. I’ll go down.”
“Boss, are you sure it’s really Morrolan?”
“Yes. Lady Teldra recognizes Blackwand.”
“Lady … all right.”
I headed down before Loiosh could think of questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.
“I waited for you, Vlad,” were the first words out of his mouth. I suddenly wanted to laugh, but I fought it down, because once I started I’d probably become hysterical.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry. Something came up.”
He looked like he was about to ask what, but instead his eyes flicked over me; I�
��m not sure what he was seeing, or concluding from what he saw, but he said, “The Jhereg took a shot at you, Vlad?”
“Yeah. They tapped into your tower enough to direct me somewhere else when I tried to use it. They were waiting for me.”
“They used my tower?”
“Yeah. Rude of them, don’t you think?”
“Who?”
“He’s kind of dead now.”
“The sorcerer?”
“No, I let her go.”
“Who is she?”
“No idea.”
“Vlad—”
“She said her name was Disaka, but under the circumstances, I doubt she was telling the truth.”
He glared at me. Then, “I can trace it. Or have the Necromancer trace it. How did you escape?”
“The Necromancer,” I repeated.
“What?”
“The Necromancer. The Warlock. The Sorceress in Green. The Blue Fox. All of these people with a name that starts with ‘the.’ It isn’t fair. Why don’t I get a name that starts with ‘the’?”
He suggested one.
“Now, is that nice?”
“Vlad, how did you escape?”
I touched Lady Teldra. “She woke up,” I said.
His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I said. “On account of, you know, when dealing with weapons that are more powerful than the gods, and that involve a destiny tracing back longer than the Empire, and when you learn things with vague impressions of half-memories in the middle of almost having a Morganti sword shoved into your vitals, it’s easy to be sure of things. Why do you ask?”
“Vlad—”
“I think so,” I said. “I gave her a message from Sethra and it felt like she heard it, all right?”
“All right.”
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling; my guess is he didn’t know himself. I said, “Maybe we should go somewhere else?”
Morrolan looked around, his lips curling with distaste. “Yes,” he said. “You wanted to go to Dzur Mountain, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll accompany you.”
“All right.”
Once more the shimmer of sparks, and we stepped through, and then there was a window in front of me, and I walked through that, and we were in Dzur Mountain. We had arrived just inside a door I recognized as opening out onto the western slopes. From there, I could, if I wanted, get a distant view of Adrilankha on those nights when the Enclouding was high and there were a lot of lights in the city. I’d done that before, just looked.
Morrolan led us in the other direction, and I followed.
I think I’ll have to live about as long as Sethra to learn the insides of Dzur Mountain. The odd thing is that, as you negotiate the short, narrow corridors and the unexpected stairways and the back doors to rooms that look like they should only have one door, it always seems as if it’s such a small place—as if you should be able to learn it all the first time you’re there. It isn’t until your third or fourth visit that it starts hitting you how big the mountain is, and the fact you’re crawling around inside of it.
I guess Morrolan has a better head for that sort of thing than I do; he took us to a small sitting room where Sethra’s servant, Tukko, was stretched out on a sofa. Tukko opened an eye as we came in, saw me, saw Morrolan, and pulled himself grudgingly to a standing position. Then he bowed a little to Morrolan and said, “I’ll let her know.”
Morrolan nodded and found a chair; I found another.
We sat there, saying nothing, for about five minutes. Then I heard Sethra’s voice: “Well, Vlad. What have you done this time?”
I rose, bowed, and said, “It’s more what I’m going to do.”
She sat down and so did I. Tukko set a glass of wine next to Morrolan, then gave me one. He looked at Sethra, who barely shook her head; then he twitched and shuffled out.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s hear it.”
I told her pretty much what I’d told Kiera about my plan for the new business deal for the Jhereg, and eavesdropping on psychic communication. She listened intently; Morrolan shifted back and forth a few times as I spoke, and made various sounds that could be interpreted as disgust, disbelief, or disdain. When I’d finished, he said, “Not a bad idea.”
I studied his face to see if he was just messing with me. He looked like he meant it.
I told Sethra, “You said you could help.”
She nodded. “What do you need?”
“Um,” I said. “I hadn’t exactly thought about it. You said you could help—”
“I can. But what do you need?”
“First of all, a good night’s sleep.”
“I can help with that,” she said, smiling a little. “What else do you need?”
It was, I suddenly realized, another one of Sethra’s maneuvers. She wanted me to think of something, because anything I figured out on my own was going to stick with me better than stuff she just told me. She was right, as usual, and it irritated me, as usual.
I ran down the list: Kiera’s lockpick, the passage from the book on Imperial trade laws, a hawk’s egg, the ring, the euphonium, and the other stuff. I went through the whole plan in my head, piece by piece. It took a while, but they were patient.
“Not seeing it,” I told Sethra eventually. “How about, you know, a hint?”
“Vlad, do you think I’m playing games?”
“Of course you’re playing games, Sethra. You’re always playing games. Everything you’ve done as long as I’ve known you has been a game of one sort or another. You’ve been around so long, the only way to keep yourself from going crazy is to make everything into a game, and then play the game as if it were life and death. I get that. I don’t mind it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t serious. Now, how about a hint?”
For a second I thought she was going to blow up at me, but then she frowned. “You may be right.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen from time to time. Now, as I said, how about a hint?”
She smiled. “All right. A hint, then: What’s the part of your plan that’s still vague and unformed?”
“None of it. Oh, except right. How to get back up if I go over the cliff. How can you help with that?”
“I know an artificer who can show you how to build what you need. Or a stonecutter, if that’s how you want to go.”
I stared at her. “Sethra, how could you know about that? I haven’t told anyone—”
“I wasn’t sure until now. But from knowing how you think, and from the rumors I’ve heard, and then with what Daymar told me, well, it just seemed likely.”
“Wait, with what Daymar told you? When?”
“Today. He was very excited about that bit of work you had him do. So I put that together with—”
I swore. “Any idea who else he’s told?”
“No one. I impressed upon him the need to not talk about it to anyone but me.”
“Oh. Well, good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But even knowing that, you had to guess—”
“Why you wanted that location? Yes. As I say, I wasn’t sure until now.”
“You’re looking smug,” I said.
“And with reason, don’t you think?”
I shook my head. “You continue to astound me.”
“I’ll be sad when I no longer do,” she said.
“Yeah, because it’ll mean I’m dead. Well, thank you.”
“Which way are you going?”
“Stonecutter.”
She nodded, found paper and wrote, then handed me a small note with a name and an address on it. Then she said, “There’s something I need from you.”
I nodded and waited.
“Okay, not true. Something I want from you.”
“A subtle distinction, but important. All right, I’m listening.”
“I want to try something with Lady Teldra.”
I studied her pale, angular face, framed in
dark hair. Sometimes, like now, her eyes appeared to absorb light, rather than reflecting it; it was sort of creepy.
“Try what?”
“Reaching her.”
“Um. May I ask why?”
“Because Iceflame is bound up with the fate of the Empire, and Lady Teldra is bound up with the fate of the gods, and it will be useful for me to have a hint about how those will interact.”
“Do I want to understand that, Sethra?”
“No. But you do want me to try reaching Lady Teldra.”
“Not without me there,” I said.
“Of course. You can continue holding her. In fact, it’d be much better if you did.”
“All right, then. Oh, and I delivered your message.”
“Good.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now?”
“If you would.”
I stood up and drew her; she took her original form—a long knife with too small a crossguard, and a hilt that was too light to balance properly; a knife that felt absolutely right in my hand for no reason that I’d ever been able to figure out. I suppose Great Weapons are like that.
Sethra also stood, and drew Iceflame. Morrolan tensed a little, and I wondered how Blackwand was reacting to all of this.
I’d been in the room before when Iceflame was taken from its sheath. I remember the feeling—like standing unarmed in front of a dzur whose hot breath and huge, sharp teeth were right in your face, and who gave every sign of being extremely displeased with you. Okay, well, no, I’ve never been in exactly that situation with a dzur, but you get the idea.
The point is, this time was different—like being twenty feet from a dzur who was sleeping. You don’t want to move, you wish you didn’t have to breathe, but you feel like maybe, if you’re careful, you won’t die right now.
Lady Teldra, that was the difference.
Sethra approached and extended Iceflame. “Cross the blades,” she said.
“Look,” I said. “I mean, I know you’re you, and I’m only me. But—”
“Yes, Vlad, I know what I’m doing.”
“All right.”
I glanced at Morrolan, hoping to judge something by his expression. If he was looking terrified, I’d feel my own nervousness was more reasonable, I guess. In fact, his expression reminded me uncomfortably of Daymar when confronting something that promised an interesting result. The association didn’t help, so I turned my focus back to Sethra. She was waiting patiently, Iceflame held out in front of her, not quite in a guard position, but close.