Athyra

But it seemed to take a very long time.

Savn looked at his Master, who lay back moaning, his ankles cross-bound with strips of his own clothing and his face covered with sweat. Savn’s own face felt as damp as the Master’s looked. Savn started to take a drink of water, saw how much was left, and offered it to the Master along with more dreamgrass. Master Wag accepted wordlessly.

As Savn helped the Master eat and drink, he noticed that his own hands were shaking. Well, better now than while he’d been working. He hoped he’d done an adequate job. The Master opened his eyes and said, “They were about to start on my fingers. I couldn’t let them—”

“I understand, Master. I think I would have told them right away.”

“I doubt that very much,” said the Master, and closed his eyes. Savn moved back against the wall to relax, and, when he tried to lean against it, found that there was something digging into his back. He felt around behind himself, and discovered a bundle jammed into the back of his pants. It took him a moment to recognize it as the good kitchen knife, all wrapped up in a towel.

He unwrapped it, took it into his hand, and stared at it. He had cleaned it carefully after cutting the norska to make the stew for Vlad, so it gleamed even in the feeble light of the cell. The blade was ten inches long, wide near the handle, narrowing down toward the point, with an edge that was fine enough to slice the tenderest bluefish, but a point that was no better than it had to be to pry kethna muscle from the bone. As he looked, he wondered, and his hands started shaking harder than ever.

He imagined himself holding the knife and fighting his way past all of His Lordship’s guards, then rescuing Vlad at the last minute. He knew this was impossible, but the thought wouldn’t go away. How would he feel, he wondered, if he allowed the Easterner to be killed, and maybe Master Wag as well, when he had a knife with him and he never tried to use it? What would he say to himself when he was an old man, who claimed to be a physicker, yet he had let two people in his care die without making any effort to stop it? Or, if he left home, he would spend his life thinking he was running away from his own cowardice. It wasn’t fair that this decision, which had become so important, should be taken away by something that wasn’t his fault.

He turned the knife this way and that in his hand, knowing how futile it would be to challenge a warrior with a sword when he had nothing but a cooking knife, and had, furthermore, never been in a knife fight in his life. He had seen Vlad fighting some of His Lordship’s soldiers, and couldn’t imagine himself doing that to someone, no matter how much he wanted to.

He shook his head and stared at the knife, as if it could give him answers.

He was still staring at it some half an hour later, when there came a rattling at the door, which he recognized as the opening of the lock and removal of the bar. He stood up and leaned against the wall, the knife down by his side. A guard came into the room and, without a glance at Savn or Master Wag, slopped some water into the mug. He seemed very big, very strong, very graceful, and very dangerous.

Don’t be an idiot, Savn told himself. He is a warrior. He spends all of his life around weapons. The sword at his belt could slice you into pieces before you took two steps. It is insanity. It is the same as killing yourself. He had been telling himself these things already, but, now that it came to it, with the guard before him, the mad ideas in his head would neither listen to reason nor bring themselves forward as a definite intention. He hesitated, and watched the guard, and then, while the man’s back was turned, Savn inched his way closer to the door, the knife still held down by his side.

It’s crazy, he told himself. If your knife had a good point, you could strike for his kidneys, but it doesn’t. And you aren’t tall enough to slit his throat.

The guard finished and straightened up.

The knife is heavy, and there is some point on it. And I’m strong.

Still not deigning to look at Savn or Master Wag, the guard walked to the door.

If I strike so that I can use all of my strength, and I find just the right place, then maybe ...

Savn was never aware of making a conscious decision, but, for just a moment, he saw an image of His Lordship standing next to the Jhereg as they broke the Master’s bones. He took a deep breath and held it.

As the soldier reached the door, Savn stepped up behind him, picked his spot, and struck as hard as he could for a point midway down the guard’s back, next to his backbone, driving the knife in, turning it, and pulling toward the spinal cord, all with one motion. The jar of the knife against the warrior’s back was hard—shock traveled all the way up Savn’s arm, and he would have been unable to complete the stroke if he had attempted anything more complicated. But it was one motion, just as Master Wag had done once in removing a Bur-worm from Lakee’s thigh. One motion, curving in and around and out. Removing a Bur-worm, or cutting the spine, what was the difference?

He knew where he was aiming, and exactly what it would do. The guard fell as if his legs were made of water, making only a quiet gasp as he slithered to the floor jerking the knife, which was stuck against the inside of his backbone, out of Savn’s hand. The man fell onto his left side, pinning his sword beneath him, yet, with the reflexes of a trained warrior, he reached for it anyway.

Savn started to jump over him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The guard seemed unable to use his legs, but he pushed himself over to the other side and again reached for his sword. Savn backed into the cell, as far away from the guard as he could get, and watched in horrified fascination as the warrior managed to draw his sword and began to pull himself toward Savn with his free hand. He had eyes only for Savn as he came, and his face was drawn into a grimace that could have been hate or pain or both. Savn tried to squeeze himself as far into the corner as he could.

The distance between them closed terribly slowly, and Savn suddenly had the thought that he would live and grow old in a tiny corner of the cell while the guard crept toward him—an entire lifetime of anticipation, waiting for the inevitable sword thrust—all compacted into seven feet, an inch at a time.

In fact, the warrior was a good four feet away when he gasped and lay still, breathing but unable to pull himself any further, but it seemed much closer. Savn, for his part, didn’t move either, but stared at the man whose blood was soaking through his shirt and beginning to stain the floor around him, drip by fascinating drip.

After what was probably only a few minutes, however long it felt, he stopped breathing, but even then Savn was unable to move until his sense of cleanliness around a patient overcame his shock and led his feet across the cell to the chamber pot before his stomach emptied itself.

When there was nothing more for him to throw up, he continued to heave for some time, until at last he stopped, shaking and exhausted. He rinsed his mouth with water the guard had brought, making sure to leave enough for Master Wag when he awoke. He didn’t know how the Master was going to drink it, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He moved it next to him, in any case, and checked the Master’s breathing and felt his forehead.

Then he stood and gingerly made his way around the corpse. It was funny how a man’s body could be so like and yet unlike that of a dead animal. He had butchered hogs and kethna, poultry and even a goat, but he’d never killed a man. He had no idea how many dead animals he had seen, but this was only the second time he’d looked closely at a dead man.

Yes, an animal that was dead often lay in much the same way it would as if resting, with none of its legs at odd angles, and even its head looking just like it should. And that was fine. But there ought to be something different about a dead man—there ought to be something about it that would announce to anyone looking that life, the soul, had departed from this shell. There should be, but there wasn’t.

He tried not to look at it, but Paener’s best kitchen knife—a knife Savn had handled a thousand times to cut fish and vegetables—caught his eye. He had a sudden image of Paener saying, “You left it in a man’s body, Savn? And what am I going to trade for another knife? Do you know how much a knife like that costs in money? How could you be so careless?” Savn almost started giggling, but he knew that once he started he would never stop, so he took a deep breath and jumped past the corpse, then sagged against the wall.

Because it felt like the right thing to do, he shut the door, wondering what Master Wag would think upon waking up with a dead soldier instead of a living apprentice. He swallowed, and started down the corridor, but, before he knew it, he began to trot, and soon to run down the hallway he’d been dragged along only a few scant hours before. Was the man he’d killed the same one who’d helped to push him into the cell? He wasn’t sure.

When he reached a place where a stairway went up while the hall sloped down, he stopped, licked his lips, and caught his breath. Think, Savn. What now? Which way?

Upwards meant escape, but upwards was also where His Lordship was, as well as the Jhereg. The hallway could lead to almost anywhere—anywhere except back out. There was no point in going on, and he couldn’t go up. Neither could he return to his cell, because the corpse was still there, and he thought he’d go mad if he had to see it again.

I’m trying to reason it out, he thought. What’s the point?

It isn’t a reasonable situation, and I might as well admit that I don’t have the courage to go back up and risk meeting His Lordship. And they’re going to find the body. And they’ll kill me, probably in some horrible way. He thought about taking his own life, but the kitchen knife was still in the dead man’s body.

Then he remembered the caves.

Yes. The caves that Vlad had said must lead into the manor. If so, where in the manor would they be? Down. They could only be down.

There was no way to go but down the sloping hall, then—perhaps, if he didn’t find a way to the caves, he’d find a place to hide, at least for a while, at least until he could think.

Savn realized that he had been standing in darkness for some few minutes. He tried to reconstruct his path, and vaguely remembered going down a long stairway to a door at the bottom, finding it open, walking through it, and, as the door closed behind him, finding there was no light.

He had never before been in darkness so complete, and he wondered why he wasn’t panicking—it was more fascinating than frightening, and, oddly enough, peaceful. He wanted to sit right where he was and just rest.

But he couldn’t. He had to be doing something, although he had no idea what. They would be searching for Vlad, and if they found him, he would have no choice but to risk teleporting, and he had said himself he might not—He remembered fragments of conversation.

Unlikely, I’ve put a block up.

Around three square miles of caves?

Yes.

And—

As long as they don’t put a teleport block up over the entire area ...

Understanding seeped into Savn’s brain. The one chance Vlad had of escaping was gone, and he was in no condition to fight. Oh, certainly his jhereg would fight for him, but what could they do against all of His Lordship’s men?

And, if Vlad had told the truth about the assassin, which now seemed likely, then that assassin was carrying a Morganti weapon.

If only he could reach Vlad. But even if he could, what could he tell him?

The way out, of course.

Suddenly, it was just as it had been when he’d been healing the Easterner. There was a solution; there had to be a way. If only—

Witchcraft? Speaking to Vlad mind to mind?

But, no, Vlad had that amulet he wore, which prevented such things.

On the other hand, there was the chance that ...

It was a very ugly thought, and Savn didn’t know if he was more afraid of failure or success, but it was the only chance Vlad was going to have.

Savn sat down where he was, lost in the darkness, and took a deep breath. At first he did nothing else, just sat there thinking about breathing, and letting the tension flow out of his body. His mind didn’t want to cooperate—it kept showing him what would happen if he failed, or if he was too late. But he looked at each scene of death or torment, viewed it carefully, and set it aside, and as he did so, he told himself to relax, just as Vlad had taught him, starting at the top of his head, and working down.

It took longer than it should have, but he knew when he was there—floating apart from the world, able to move at will, everywhere and nowhere.

He imagined the cave, imagined the Easterner lying there, his eyes closed, the two jhereg around him, unaware of what was happening. Or maybe Vlad was awake, but unable to do anything about it.

He got a picture of the larger of the two jhereg, and concentrated on it, trying to talk. Did it understand? How could he communicate to such a beast; how would he know if he was succeeding?

He tried to imagine what its mind might feel like, but couldn’t conceive of it. He imagined it, and imagined himself, calling to it, and imagined it answering him, but as far as he could tell, nothing happened. In desperation, he shouted his message to it, but it was as if he shouted to the air.

After some time—he didn’t know how much—he came to himself, feeling shaky and exhausted. He opened his eyes, but was still in darkness, and now the darkness began to terrify him. He forced himself to stand slowly, and reached out with his hands. But wait, which way had he come in? He had sat down without turning, so he should turn now. He did so, reached out again, and again felt nothing.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. It can’t be far.

He tried taking a step, didn’t run into anything, and reached out once more. Still nothing. He risked one more step, and this time he felt the cool, damp stone of a wall. He wanted to kiss it.

He slid forward until he was practically hugging the wall, and reached out in both directions, and so found the door. Now the darkness was becoming even more threatening, so it was with great relief he found that the door opened easily on its leather hinges. Very little light came through it, and as he stuck his head out, he saw that what there was came from a single lantern placed at the top of the stairs. He wondered how often these lanterns were checked, and who filled them, and how long it would be before someone missed it, and, for that matter, how much more kerosene it contained.

But there was no time for that. He went back up the stairs, fetched the lantern down, and went through the door once more. The room turned out to be big, and, except for several wooden tables, empty. He looked at the floor, and was unsurprised to find the remains of faint markings on it—this had been one of the places His Lordship had been accustomed to practice his wizardous work. But, while he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, he knew that wasn’t it.

One wall, the one furthest from the door, looked odd. He crossed over to it, being careful to walk around the markings on the floor, and held up the lamp. There were several—four, in fact—odd, door-like depressions in the wall, each one about ten feet high and perhaps five feet wide at the bottom, curving at the top. And carved into the floor in front of each was a small, straight gutter that ran the length of the room and ended, as he followed them, in what looked to be a dry, shallow well.

He returned to the far wall and looked at the doors again. They looked almost like—

Almost like tunnels.

Or waterways.

Yes, there they were, just where they ought to be. He stared at them until the lamp flickered, which broke his reverie and reminded him that if he was going to do something, now would be a good time. He looked around the room, hoping to see some tool with which to open the gates, but the room was empty. He remembered Vlad saying something about traps and alarms, but there was no point in worrying about setting those off if he couldn’t figure out a way to get the waterways open in the first place.

He approached one, and struck it with the side of his fist, and it did, indeed, sound hollow. He studied the wall around it, the floor below it, the ceiling above it.

And there it was, a chain, hanging down from the ceiling, as if there were a sign on it saying, “Pull me.” And, in case it wasn’t obvious enough, there were three more, one in front of each door. Well, on reflection, why should His Lordship have made it difficult for himself in his own work area?

So, Savn asked himself, what now? If he pulled the chain, the waterway would open, and all sorts of alarms would go off, and, no doubt, His Lordship would appear as fast as he could teleport. Then what? Could Savn escape, maybe swimming underwater for all he knew, before His Lordship caught him?

Not a chance.

He thought about trying once more to reach one of the jhereg, but at that moment he was startled almost out of his wits by a soft tap tap that came from somewhere he couldn’t place.

He looked around, wildly, and it came again.

Could he have reached the jhereg after all?

Tap tap ... tap tap.

He followed the sound, and discovered that, without doubt, it came from behind one of the waterways.

He hesitated no more. He stood in front of it, straddling the small gutter, then reached up and took the chain. It felt grimy with old rust, but he was able to get a good grip. He pulled.

At first it didn’t move, as if rusted from long disuse, but he put his whole weight on it, and all of a sudden it gave.

In the dim light of the lantern, it looked for a moment as if the wall was moving backward, but then the reality of it became clear. The door in front of him creaked open noisily and admitted a small stream of water; a pair of jhereg; Polyi, dripping wet and looking frightened; and one very wet, very pale, very shaken-looking Easterner who stumbled forward and collapsed onto the floor at Savn’s feet.

At that moment, as if Vlad’s weight were enough to shake the entire manor, the floor began to vibrate. Savn looked around, but, for a moment, nothing happened. And then there was the sudden pop of displaced air, and Savn was looking at His Lordship and the Jhereg assassin, standing not ten feet away from him. His Lordship seemed very tall, with his hands out in front of him as if to touch the air, while the Jhereg crouched on the balls of his feet, holding a long, gleaming knife before him.

And there was a feeling Savn had never had, but could not possibly mistake for anything else: the knife in the Jhereg’s hand was certainly Morganti.

Chapter Seventeen

I’m gonna marry me a bandit,

I’m gonna marry me a bandit,

Rich and free is how I’ve planned it.

Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

Step on out ...

Savn grabbed Polyi with his free hand and pulled her back against the wall. Vlad remained where he was, on his hands and knees, looking up at His Lordship and the Jhereg assassin, who stood about ten feet away, motionless. The pair of jhereg took positions on either side of Vlad, and everyone waited.

Then Vlad slowly rose to his feet. He seemed to have some trouble standing, but managed. The jhereg flew up to land on either shoulder. Savn noticed that Vlad held a flask in his right hand.

“Careful,” said His Lordship. “He’s probably not hurt as badly as—”

“Shut up,” said the Jhereg.

“Tsk,” said Vlad. “No squabbling, now. It’s unseemly. I have something for you, Loraan.” He started forward, and there was a flash. Polyi screamed, but the knife didn’t strike Vlad; it struck the flask in his hand.

Vlad chuckled and dropped it. “Well, it was a good idea. Nice throw, Ishtvan.”

“Thanks, Taltos,” said the assassin. “I try to keep my hand in.”

“I know,” said Vlad. “That’s why I hired you.”

His Lordship said, “Keep your mouth shut, East—”

“You’re right,” said the Jhereg. “Pardon us.” Then he turned to His Lordship and said, “Immobilize him, and let’s get this over with.”

There was a tinkling sound from around Vlad’s knees, and Savn noticed that Vlad now held in his left hand something that looked like a length of gold chain. His Lordship evidently saw it too, because he cried, ‘That’s mine!”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “Come and take it.” But his strength wasn’t the equal of his words; even as he spoke, his knees seemed to buckle and he stumbled forward. His Lordship took a step toward him and lifted his hands.

Without thinking about it, Savn ripped the top off the lantern and splashed the burning kerosene against the wall behind him. The room became very bright for a moment, then was plunged into total darkness.

Polyi screeched. Savn pulled her away, thinking that no matter what happened, they ought to be somewhere other than where they’d been standing when he put out the light. He took a few steps, found that he was standing in running water, and decided that was just as well with kerosene splashed everywhere. “Are you all right?” he asked in a whisper that sounded much too loud.

“You burned me,” she whispered back.

“Sorry.”

Why didn’t someone make a light? Whole seconds had passed since he’d plunged the room into darkness; you’d think someone would want to see what was going on. And no one was moving, either.

Well, that might not be true; Vlad might still be able to move silently, and the Jhereg almost certainly could. And His Lordship was a sorcerer; for all Savn knew, there was a spell that would allow him to move silently. So maybe they were all moving all over the place, with Savn and Polyi the only ones fooled.

He thought about screaming, but was afraid it would upset his sister.

He heard a very faint whsk whsk that had to be the sound of jhereg wings. Shortly thereafter there was a very, very bright flash, but it showed him nothing; it only hurt his eyes and left blue spots in them. Polyi clung to him tightly; she was trembling, or he was, or maybe they both were—he couldn’t tell.

He heard the flapping again, this time closer—he flinched even though he knew what it was. There was more movement, and another flash. This one wasn’t as bright and lasted longer; he caught a quick glimpse of the Jhereg, crouched over holding the dagger out in front of him, and Vlad, on his feet once more, leaning against a wall, his sword in one hand, the gold chain swinging steadily in the other.

The flapping came again, even closer, and it seemed the jhereg hovered for a moment next to Savn’s ear. He held his breath, half expecting what would come next, and it did—there was a touch on his shoulder, and then a gentle weight settled there. Savn, who had been standing motionless, froze—a difference hard to define but impossible to miss. Water soaked through his boots, but he was afraid to move.

“Savn? What happened?”

“Hush, Polyi.”

Why had it landed on his shoulder? There must be a reason. Did it want him to do something? What? What could he do? He could panic—in fact, it was hard not to. What else could he do? He could get himself and Polyi out of there, if he had a light. Was the jhereg trying to tell him something?

He felt its head against his neck; then suddenly it jumped down to his right hand, which still held the empty lantern. He almost dropped it, but held on, and the jhereg hopped back up to his shoulder.

How had Vlad known to escape the searchers by entering the manor house through the cave? Was it desperation and lack of any other way, or had he, Savn, actually managed to get through to Vlad? If he had, then ...

He tried to recapture the feeling he’d had before, of emptiness, of reaching out. He discovered that standing frozen in place with unknown but murderous actions going on all around was not conducive to the frame of mind he associated with witchcraft.

He had just reached this conclusion when Vlad began speaking. “I have to thank you for the loan of your device, Loraan. It’s proven useful over the years. Have you missed it?”

“Don’t speak,” said the Jhereg. “He’s trying to distract you. Ignore him.”

“He’s right,” said Vlad. “Ignore me. But, just for something to think about, consider that your partner has a Morganti weapon, one of the few things that can destroy you, and consider that he’s an assassin, and that assassins are very uncomfortable leaving witnesses alive. Any witnesses. Think about it. How have you two been getting along, by the way? Just curious—you don’t have to answer.”

Savn heard a chuckle from the vicinity of the Jhereg. “Give it up, Taltos. We have a deal.”

“I’m certain he knows what a deal with you is worth.”

“What’s your game, Taltos?”

“Use your imagination, assassin.”

Polyi whispered, “Savn, when he said witnesses, could that mean us?”

Savn swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that.

If he had light, he’d be able to sneak out through the manor house, or maybe even the caves. Putting out the light, it seemed, hadn’t helped anyone.

The jhereg bumped Savn’s neck with its head again, and, once more, landed on the hand that held the lantern. It stayed there for a moment, flapping its wings for balance, then returned to Savn’s shoulder.

It was, without doubt, trying to tell him something—something about the lantern, maybe. That he should light it? If so, it was too late, the oil was gone, although perhaps that was too complex an idea for a jhereg.

He started to say, “Are you trying to tell me something?” but stopped himself, realizing that it could be very dangerous to speak aloud. The jhereg bumped his neck again, as if in answer to his unspoken question.

He formed the sentence, “Was that an answer?” but didn’t speak it.

Bump. At the same time, he imagined he heard a very tiny voice, located somewhere inside the very base of his head, voicelessly saying, “Yes, idiot.”

“Who are you?” he thought back.

“Vlad, idiot,” it told him.

“How can we be talking like this?”

“I’ve removed the amulet, and that’s really what’s important right now, isn’t it?”

“Sorry. What should I do?”

“Take your sister and get out of here. Loiosh will guide you.”

“Damn it!”

“What?”

“Loiosh says he won’t guide you. I’ll—”

“It doesn’t matter, Vlad. I want to help you.”

“You’ve already helped me. From here on out—” There was another bright flash of light. This time, Savn got a glimpse of His Lordship, both hands stretched out in front of him, just a few feet from the Jhereg.

“Almost got me, that time,” said Vlad. “Look, I can’t hold them off much longer, and I’m finished anyway. Take your sister and—”

“What’s going on?”

“About as much sorcery as I’ve seen in one place at one time. They’ve got some sort of spell that keeps the jhereg from getting to them, and Loraan keeps shooting things at me. The assassin is trying to maneuver into a position—the idiot thinks I’m faking or he’d just move and be done with it—and Loraan’s personal cut-throat is going to be here any minute. So, would you age

B He tr re scuffling, then Vlad said, “That was

Then he spoke aloud, “Careful, Loraan. You’re getting too near our assassin friend. He’s quick.”

“Shut up,” growled His Lordship.

“Oh, you’re safe until he’s gotten me, I’m sure. But you’d better think about what happens after that. Or have you? Maybe I’ve got it backwards. Maybe you’re already planning to do him. I’m sorry I won’t be around to watch it.”

“It’s not working, Easterner,” said His Lordship. “Ishtvan, he’s getting desperate. Maybe he really is hurt. Why don’t you just finish him? I’ve got all the protections up; I don’t think he can do anything about it.”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “Why don’t you, Ishtvan? Finish me, then he’ll finish you. Why don’t you ask him to finish me? Afraid you will lose the wages, my lord? Of course not, because you’ve already been paid, and you know very well you’re going to have to kill him any—”

There was still another flash, and Savn saw His Lordship, hands now raised high above his head. At the same time, Vlad gasped.

“Vlad, are you all right?”

“Barely.”

“Isn’t there something you can do?”

“I don’t carry poison darts anymore, and I don’t have the strength to throw a knife. You have any ideas?”

Another flash of light illuminated the scene. The assassin had moved around to Vlad’s right, but was still keeping his distance. Vlad had moved a foot or so to his left, and was still swinging the gold chain. Loiosh gripped Savn’s shoulder, and occasionally squeezed with his talons. Savn wished he knew what Loiosh was trying to tell him. It would almost be funny if some brilliant idea for escaping were locked up in that reptilian brain but the poor thing couldn’t communicate it. But of course that couldn’t be the case, or Loiosh would have told Vlad. Unless, perhaps, it was something Vlad wouldn’t approve of. But what wouldn’t Vlad approve of if it would get him out of this?

Well, Vlad apparently wouldn’t approve of Savn doing anything risky, whereas Loiosh probably wouldn’t care. But what could he, Savn, do, anyway? He could hardly attack an assassin, barehanded, in the dark. And to do anything to His Lordship was both impossible and unthinkable.

You’re so convinced that your Baron Smallcliff is invincible and perfect that you d stand there and let him kill you rather than raising a finger to defend yourself.

Vlad had been right about that, just as he’d been right about the assassin, and the Morganti weapon, and even about His Lordship being ...

He could imagine the jhereg saying, “You’ve finally figured it out, fool.” Because he had figured it out, only now he didn’t know if he had the courage to do anything about it.

You’re so convinced that your Baron Smallcliff is invincible and perfect that you’d stand there and let him kill you rather than raising a finger to defend yourself.

It had rankled because it was true, and now, when he thought he knew what he could do about it, it rankled even more.

“Savn, don’t,” said Vlad. “Just get out of here.” Savn ignored him. He knelt down into the slowly flowing water and filled up the lamp. “Savn!”

His sister whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Wait,” he whispered back. “Don’t move.” He stood up, and as best he could, walked quickly and firmly toward where he had last seen His Lordship, holding before him the lamp filled with Dark Water, stagnant and contained. When stagnant and contained, it can be used to weaken and repel the undead....

His Lordship’s voice came from directly in front of him. “What are—Ishtvan! Kill this Teckla brat for me.” Savn felt his hand shaking, but he continued walking forward.

The Jhereg answered, “I can’t see anymore.”

“Then make a light. Hurry! I can’t do anything while—”

“The Easterner—”

His Lordship made an obscene suggestion concerning the Easterner, which Savn noticed indifferently as he continued to walk forward. He hardly blinked when a soft light filled the room, and, oddly enough, it hardly mattered that he could now see His Lordship, about five feet away, walking slowly backward, and glaring.

Savn wondered, in a familiar, detached way, how he could survive an attack by a Jhereg assassin. But the attack didn’t come, because at that instant, Loiosh left Savn’s shoulder.

Savn couldn’t help it—he turned and watched as Loiosh and his mate simultaneously attacked. Evidently, His Lordship’s spells that had kept them away were now gone. Ishtvan snarled and cut at the jhereg with the Morganti dagger. He turned, and apparently realized, at the same time as Savn did, that he was offering his back to Vlad, and that he was within range of the Easterner’s sword.

He tried to spin back, but it was already too late. It made Savn wince to see Vlad, in his condition, execute a maneuver so demanding, but the Easterner managed it—the point of his sword penetrated deeply into the assassin’s back right over his heart. At the same time, Polyi was shrieking—“Savn!” and Vlad continued forward, falling limply onto his face as the assassin screamed and the Morganti dagger went flying into the air—

—and the lamp was struck from Savn’s hand to land and shatter on the floor. He turned in time to see His Lordship recovering from delivering a kick that must have been very difficult for him, judging by the look of concentration and effort on his face, and Savn felt an impossible combination of pride and shame in having caused His Lordship such distress. He wondered what His Lordship would do now, but—

—he didn’t know, because the assassin’s light-spell faded, and the room was suddenly pitched into darkness. It seemed that proximity to the Dark Water had taken His Lordship’s magical powers, but hadn’t actually hurt him—he could still kick. Which meant he might also be able to simply grab Savn and throttle him. Savn started to back away, but he was struck a blow that knocked him onto his back and caused him to crack his head sharply on the floor.

He decided he was glad he hadn’t hit his head harder, when he realized that he had hit his head harder, that he was sick and dizzy and was almost certainly about to die, and, worst of all, he wasn’t certain that he didn’t deserve to.

It came to him that he had once again achieved the state of witchcraft, this time by the accident of bumping his head. He didn’t have anything to do, but it was much more pleasant here, flying over walls, and cavorting in the air like a disembodied jhereg. There were terrible things happening to his body, and he had done terrible things himself, but they didn’t matter anymore. He could—

There, before him, was His Lordship, grinning a terrible grin, his hand looming large, ready to smash him down as Savn would swat an insect.

I am not an insect, cried Savn in a voice no one could hear as, in helpless rage, he flew right into His Lordship’s face, defying him, and waiting for his consciousness to end, for the sleep from which there is no waking.

He felt something break, but it didn’t seem to matter, even though it was himself. He hoped somehow Vlad would survive, but he didn’t see—

—he didn’t see anything, because the room was dark, and his thoughts, all that remained, were becoming scattered, misty, and going away.

What he asked was impossible.

Not physically impossible; the evil thing spun and twirled right in front of her, and plucking it out of the air would be no problem at all, even in the total darkness. She could feel exactly where it was all along its path through the air. But it was still impossible. To touch such a thing was—

But her mate was insistent. Her lover was saying that if she didn’t, the Provider would die. She didn’t understand how this could be, or why it would be too late if she didn’t do it now, as the evil thing reached the top of its arc and began to fall to the ground.

She didn’t understand what it was, but she hated the idea of coming near it more than she had ever hated anything in her life. Did he understand that—

And her mate told her that there was no more time, she must get it now, because the undead soft one was going to kill the Provider, and, even if he didn’t, couldn’t she hear the footsteps of more of the soft ones coming? She should trust him, he said—these were not friends.

And what was she supposed to do when she had it? she wondered, but she nevertheless did as she was asked—she took it from the air, wrapping her feet around the bone part, trying to keep as far from the metal part as she could and—

Is that what she was supposed to do? How?

The other soft one, the one the Provider had been spending so much time with, the one who had saved him, was somewhere near here, but she couldn’t see him.

Her mate could feel him? Well enough to know where his hand was? To direct her to ... Oh, very well, then.

And so he guided her, and she went where he said, and, at the right time, she let the evil thing fall into the hand of the soft one who had saved the Provider—although it seemed odd to her that someone who would do that would have a use for such a thing. What would he do with it?

Although she couldn’t see, she was able to tell what use he had for it—he plunged it into the side of the other soft one, the undead, who was on top of him, strangling the life out of him.

The odd thing was that both of them screamed—first the one who had been stabbed, then the one who did the stabbing, and they both screamed where she could hear it more within her mind than in the room, and both screams went on for a long time.

In fact, the one who was still alive didn’t stop screaming with his mind at all, even after he had stopped screaming with his voice. He kept screaming and screaming, even after the Provider managed to make a small amount of light appear, and to gather them all together, and to take them all far, far away from the place where the evil thing lay with the two bodies in the dark cavern. Epilogue

The minstrel sent the Easterner a look containing equal portions of disgust and contempt. It didn’t seem to bother him; he was used to such things. But he avoided looking at the girl who sat by the fire, holding her brother’s hand. The two jhereg sat complacently on the Easterner’s shoulders, not terribly bothered by anything now that—in their reptilian opinions—the crisis was past. They finished up the scraps of the roasted athyra.

“Well?” said Sara.

“I’m glad you made it here.”

“Your jhereg are good guides,” said Sara. “I had a pretty good idea what they wanted.”

“I thought you might. Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. And repeated, “Well?”

“Well what? If you’re asking after my health, breathing doesn’t hurt as much as it did a couple of days ago.”

“I’m not asking after your health, I’m asking after his.”

Vlad apparently didn’t need to follow her glance to know of whom she was speaking—Savn sat staring into the fire, oblivious of the conversation, and of everything else going on around him.

“His health is fine. But, as you can see—”

“Yes. As I can see.”

“I suppose I’m being hunted as a kidnapper.”

“Among other things, yes. The village Speaker has appealed to the Empire, and he’s been ranting about gathering the entire region to hunt for you tree by tree and stone by stone. And their parents are in agony, wondering where they are, imagining you’ve killed them or used them for some Eastern ritual or something. I don’t know why I don’t summon—”

“Summon who? The Jhereg? That’s been tried.”

“Yes, I suppose it has. They found the body next to His Lordship’s. And they found the village physicker there, too.”

“Wag? Really? Was he dead?”

“No, barely alive. Did you do that to him?”

“Do what?”

She searched his eyes, trying to see if he was lying. Then she shrugged. “He’d been tortured.”

“Oh. No, I imagine that Loraan and the assassin did that. It makes sense, at any rate; that’s probably how they found me.”

“Well, he’s going to live. He says Savn physicked him. The child will be a good physicker, if he ever comes out of it.”

“Yes. If.”

Polyi glared at him. Sara guessed that there hadn’t been much small talk between Vlad and the girl in the two days since the death of Baron Smallcliff.

Sara said, “So Loraan and the Jhereg found you. How did you beat them?”

“I didn’t. He did.”

Sara’s eyes turned to the Teckla boy, and widened. “He did?”

“Yes. He nullified Loraan’s magic, helped distract the assassin, and, in the end, killed Loraan.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Sara chewed her lip. “Exactly what happened to him, anyway?”

“I don’t know for certain. My guess is that the shock of even holding, much less using, a Morganti dagger was pretty severe, and I think he hit his head and was dazed before that happened, and then he killed his own lord. He woke up after I teleported us out of there, stared at his hand, bit it, screamed, and hasn’t said a word since.”

“Oh,” said the minstrel.

“He’ll do what he’s told, and he’ll eat, and he keeps himself clean.”

“And that’s all.”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep moving. It would be a shame to let the townsfolk kill me after escaping Loraan and the Jhereg.”

“And you want me to see to it the boy and his sister are returned home?”

“No, only the sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. The boy was seen with me, his friends tried to beat him up, and everyone’s going to figure out that he at least helped kill His Lordship, who was a pretty well-liked bastard, for an undead. What sort of life is the kid going to have around here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that he saved my life, several times, and his only reward was being given such a shock that he has gone mad.”

“What can you do about it?”

“I can try to cure him, and keep him safe in the meantime.”

“You’re going to wander around, running from the Jhereg, and keep a child with you?”

“Yes. At least until he’s cured. After that, I don’t think he’ll be a child anymore, and he can make up his own mind.”

“What makes you think he won’t hate you?”

“He probably will.”

“What makes you think you can cure him?”

Vlad shrugged. “I have some ideas. I’ll try them. And I know people, if I get desperate.”

“So you’re going to take him away from his family—”

“That’s right. Until he’s cured. Then it’s up to him.”

Sara stared at him for a long moment, then burst out, “You’re crazy!”

“No, just in debt. And intending to discharge the debt.”

“You can take the girl back to her family, and explain what I’m doing.”

“They’ll never let you do this. They’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“How? I’ve avoided the Jhereg for more than two years, I can certainly avoid a few peasants long enough to see the boy cured.”

Sara turned and looked at Savn, who continued to stare into the fire, and Polyi, who looked at her brother with red eyes. Sara said, “Polyi, what do you think of all this?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “But he did this to Savn, so he ought to cure him, and then bring him back.”

“That’s my opinion,” said Vlad.

“Don’t you realize,” said Sara slowly, “that traveling with the boy is going to make you ten times—a hundred times as easy a target for the Jhereg?”

“Yes.”

“Work fast,” said Sara.

“I intend to,” said Vlad.

“Do you even have supplies for the journey?”

“I have gold, and I can teleport, and I can steal.”

Sara shook her head.

Vlad stood up and reached a hand out. “Savn, come on.”

The boy obediently stood, and Sara glanced at his eyes; they seemed empty.

“Can you really heal his mind?” she asked.

“One way or another,” said Vlad. “I will.”

Polyi stood and hugged her brother, who seemed not to notice. She stepped back, gave Vlad a look impossible to describe, went over to Sara, and nodded.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Easterner,” said Sara.

“You could wish me luck.”

“Yes. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He took the boy’s arm, and led him off into the woods, walking slowly as if his wounds still bothered him. Sara put her arm around the girl, who didn’t resist, and they watched the Easterner, the human, and the two jhereg until they disappeared.

“Good luck,” Sara repeated softly to their backs.

Then she turned to the girl and took her hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you home. Your Harvest Festival is beginning, and the gods alone know what sort of animals live out here.”

The girl said nothing, but held onto Sara’s hand, tightly.