Jhereg

I noticed he was trembling. Good. I no longer was.

“How much did he pay you, dead man?”

(Gulp) “Pay me? Who—?”

“You know,” I said conversationally, “you’ve been a rotten gambler for as long as I’ve known you. That’s what got you into this in the first place. Now, how much did he pay you?”

“B-b-b-but no one—”

I reached forward suddenly and grabbed his throat with my left hand. I felt my lips drawing up into a classic Jhereg sneer. “You are the only one, besides me, authorized to hire anyone in this place. There was a new waiter here today. I didn’t hire him, therefore you did. It happened that he was an assassin. As a waiter, he was even worse than the fools you usually hire to drive customers away. Now, I think his main qualifications as a waiter were the gold Imperials you got for hiring him. I want to know how much.”

He tried to shake his head in denial, but I was holding it too tightly. He started to speak the denial, but I squeezed that option shut. He tried to swallow; I relaxed enough to let him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then opened it and said, “I don’t know what you—”

I discovered, with some surprise, that I had never resheathed the dagger that I’d drawn when first attacked. It was a nice tool; mostly point, and about seven inches long. It fitted well into my right hand, which is moderately rare for a Dragaeran weapon. I used it to poke him in the sternum. A small spot of blood appeared, soaking through the white chef’s garment. He gave a small scream and seemed about to pass out. I was strongly reminded of our first conversation, when I’d let him know that I was his new partner and carefully outlined what would happen if the partnership didn’t work out. His House was Jhegaala, but he was doing a good Teckla imitation.

He nodded, then, and managed to hand me a purse from next to him. I didn’t touch it.

“How much is in it?” I asked.

He gurgled and said, “A th-thousand gold, M-milord.”

I laughed shortly. “That isn’t even enough to buy me out,” I said. “Who approached you? Was it the assassin, the Demon, or a flunky?”

He closed his eyes as if he wanted me to disappear. I’d oblige him momentarily.

“It was the Demon,” he said in a whisper.

“Really!” I said. “Well, I’m flattered that he takes such an interest in me.”

He started whimpering.

“And he guaranteed that I’d be dead, right?”

He nodded miserably.

“And he guaranteed protection?”

He nodded again.

I shook my head sadly.

I called Kragar in to teleport us back to the office. He glanced at the body, his face expressionless.

“Shame about that fellow killing himself, isn’t it?” he said.

I had to agree.

“Any sign of guards?”

“No. They’ll get here eventually, but no one is in any hurry to call them, and this isn’t their favorite neighborhood to patrol.”

“Good. Let’s get back home.”

He started working the teleport. I turned back to the body.

“Never,” I told it, “trust anyone who calls himself a demon.”

The walls vanished around us.

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Over the years, I have developed a ritual that I go through after an attempt has been made to assassinate me. First, I return to my office by the fastest available means. Then I sit at my desk and stare off into space for a little while. After that I get very, very sick. Then I return to my desk and shake for a long time.

Sometime in there, while I’m alone and shaking, Cawti shows up, and she takes me home. If I haven’t eaten, she feeds me. If it is practical, she puts me to bed.

This was the fourth time that I had almost had my tale of years snipped at the buttocks. It wasn’t possible for me to sleep this time, since Aliera was expecting me. When I had recovered sufficiently to actually move, I went into the back room to do the teleport. I am a good enough sorcerer to do it myself when I have to, although generally I don’t bother. This time I didn’t feel like calling in anyone else. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them . . . Well, maybe it was.

I took out my enchanted dagger (a cheap, over-the-counter enchanted dagger, but better than plain steel), and began carefully drawing the diagrams and symbols that aren’t at all necessary for a teleport, but do help settle one’s mind down when one is feeling that one’s magic might not be all it ought to be.

Cawti kissed me before I left and seemed to hang onto me a bit more than she had to. Or maybe not. I was feeling extraordinarily sensitive, just at the moment.

The teleport worked smoothly and left me in the courtyard. I spun quickly as I arrived, almost losing lunch in the process. No, there wasn’t anyone behind me.

I walked toward the great double doors of the castle, looking carefully around. The doors swung open before me, and I had to repress an urge to dive away from them.

“Boss, would you settle down?”

“No.”

“No one is going to attack you at Castle Black.”

“So what?”

“So what’s the point in being so jumpy?”

“It makes me feel better.”

“Well, it bothers hell out of me.”

“Tough.”

“Take it easy, all right? I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not doubting you, it’s just that I feel like being jumpy, all right?”

“Not really.”

“Then lump it.”

He was right, however. I resolved to relax just a bit as I nodded to Lady Teldra. She pretended that there was nothing odd in my having her walk in front of me by five paces. I trusted Lady Teldra, of course, but this could be an impostor, after all. Well, it could, couldn’t it?

I found myself in front of Aliera’s chambers. Lady Teldra bowed to me and left. I clapped, and Aliera called to me to come in. I opened the door, letting it swing fully open, while stepping to the side. Nothing came out at me, so I risked a look inside.

Aliera was sitting by the back of the bed, staring off into space. I noted that, curled up as she was, she could still draw Pathfinder. I scanned the room carefully.

Entering, I moved a chair so my back was against the wall. Aliera’s eyes focused on me, and she looked puzzled.

“Is something wrong, Vlad?”

“No.”

She looked bemused, then quizzical. “You’re quite sure,” she said.

I nodded. If I were going to take someone out from that position, I thought, how would I go about it? Let’s see . . .

Aliera raised her hand suddenly, and I recognized the gesture as the casting of a spell.

Loiosh hissed with indignation as I hit the floor rolling, and Spellbreaker snapped out.

I didn’t feel any of the tingling that normally accompanies Spellbreaker’s intercepting magic aimed at me, however. I lay there, looking at Aliera, who was watching me carefully.

“What’s gotten into you, anyway?” asked Aliera.

“What was that spell?”

“I wanted to check your genetic background,” she said drily. “I thought I’d look for some latent Teckla genes.”

I cracked up. This just broke me up completely. I sat on the floor, my body shaking with laughter, and felt tears stream down my face. Aliera, I’m sure, was trying to figure out whether to join me, or to cure me.

I settled down, finally, feeling much better. I got back into the chair and caught my breath. I wiped the tears from my face, still chuckling. Loiosh flew quickly over to Aliera, licked her right ear, and returned to my shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said, “that helped.”

“What was the problem, anyway?”

I shook my head, then shrugged. “Someone just tried to kill me,” I explained.

She looked more puzzled than ever. “So?”

That almost broke me up again, but I contained it, with great effort.

“It’s my latent Teckla genes,” I said.

“I see.”

Gods! What a nightmare! I was pulling out of it, though. I started to think about business again. I had to make sure that Mellar didn’t go through what I’d just gone through. “Were you able to do whatever it is you do on Mellar?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Did he detect it?”

“No chance,” she said.

“Good. And did you learn anything of interest?”

She looked strange again, just as she had when I first walked in. “Vlad,” she asked me, “what made you ask about his genes? I mean, it is a little specialty of mine, but everyone has his little specialties. Why did you happen to ask about this?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t been able to learn anything about his background, and I thought you might be able to learn something about his parents that would help. It isn’t something that’s easily found out, you know. Normally, I don’t have any trouble finding everything I need to about a person, but this guy isn’t normal.”

“I’ll agree with you there!” she said fervently.

“What does that mean? You found something?”

She nodded significantly in the direction of the wine cabinet. I rose and fetched a bottle of Ailour dessert wine, and presented it to her. She held it for a moment, did a quick spell to chill it down, and returned it to me. I opened it and poured. She sipped hers.

“I found out something, all right.”

“You’re sure he didn’t detect it?”

“He had no protection spells up, and it’s really quite easy to do.”

“Good! So, what is it?”

She shook her head. “Gods, but it’s weird!”

“What is? Will you tell me already? You’re as bad as Loiosh.”

“Remember that crack next time you roll over in bed and find a dead teckla on your pillow.”

I ignored him. Aliera didn’t rise to the bait. She just shook her head in puzzlement. “Vlad,” she said slowly, “he has Dragon genes.”

I digested that. “You’re sure? No possible doubt?”

“None. If I’d wanted to take more time, I could have told you which line of the Dragons. But that isn’t all—he’s a cross-breed.”

“Indeed?” was all I said. Cross-breeds were rare, and almost never accepted by any House except the Jhereg. On the other hand, they had an easier time of it than Easterners, so I wasn’t about to get all teary-eyed for the fellow.

She nodded. “He’s clearly got three Houses in his genes. Dragon and Dzur on one side, and Jhereg on the other.”

“Hmmm. I see. I wasn’t aware that you could identify Jhereg genes as such. I’d thought that they were just a mish-mash of all the other Houses.”

She smiled. “If you get a mish-mash, as you put it, together for enough generations, it becomes identifiable as something in and of itself.”

I shook my head. “This is all beyond me, anyway. I don’t even know how you can pick out a gene, much less recognize it as being associated with a particular House.”

She shrugged. “It’s something like a mind-probe,” she said, “except that you aren’t looking for the mind. And, of course, you have to go much deeper. That’s why it’s so hard to detect, in fact. Anyone can tell when his mind is being examined, unless the examiner is an expert, but having your finger mind-probed is a bit trickier to spot.”

This image came to mind of the Empress, with the Orb circling her head, holding up a severed finger and saying, “Now talk! What till have you been in?” I chuckled, and missed Aliera’s next statement.

“I’m sorry, Aliera, what was that?”

“I said that determining a person’s House isn’t hard at all if you know what you’re looking for. Surely you realize that each animal is different, and—”

“Wait a minute! ‘Each animal is different,’ sure. But we aren’t talking about animals, we’re talking about Dragaerans.” I repressed a nasty remark at that point, since Aliera didn’t seem to be in the right mood for it.

“Oh, come on, Vlad,” she answered. “The names of the Houses aren’t accidents.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, for instance, how do you suppose the House of the Dragon got its name?”

“I guess I’ve always assumed it was because you have characters similar to that of dragons. You’re bad-tempered, reptilian, used to getting your own way—”

“Hmmmph! I guess I asked for that, eater of carrion. But you’re wrong. Since I’m of the House of the Dragon, it means that if you go back a few hundred thousand generations, you’ll find actual dragons in my lineage.”

And you’re proud of this? I thought, but didn’t say. I must have looked as shocked as I felt, though, because she said, “I’d thought you realized this.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, I assure you. Do you mean, for example, that Chreothas are descended from actual chreothas?”

She looked puzzled. “Not ‘descended’ exactly. It’s a bit more complicated than that. All Dragaerans are initially of the same stock. But things changed when—How shall I put this? All right: Certain, uh, beings once ruled on Dragaera. They were a race called Jenoine. They used the Dragaeran race (and, I might add, the Easterners) as stock to practice genetic experimentation. When they left, the Dragaerans divided into tribes based on natural kinship, and the Houses were formed from this after the formation of the Empire by Kieron the Conqueror.”

She didn’t add “my ancestor,” but I felt it anyway.

“The experiments they did on Dragaerans involved using some of the wildlife of the area as a gene pool.”

I interrupted. “But Dragaerans can’t actually crossbreed with these various animals, can they?”

“No.”

“Well, then how—”

“We don’t really know how they went about it. That’s one thing I’ve been researching myself, and I haven’t solved it yet.”

“What did these—Jenine?”

“Jen-o-ine.”

“Jenoine. What did these Jenoine do to Easterners?”

“We aren’t really sure, to tell you the truth. One popular theory is that they bred in psionic ability.”

“Hmmm. Fascinating. Aliera, has it ever occurred to you that Dragaerans and Easterners could be of the same stock originally?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said sharply. “Dragaerans and Easterners can’t interbreed. In fact, there are some theories which claim that Easterners aren’t native to Dragaera at all, but were brought in by the Jenoine from somewhere else to use as controls for their tests.”

“ ‘Controls?’ ”

“Yes. They gave the Easterners psionic abilities equal to, or almost equal to, that of Dragaerans. Then they started messing around with Dragaerans, and sat back to see what the two races would do to each other.”

I shuddered. “Do you mean that these Jenoine might still be around, watching us—”

“No,” she said flatly. “They’re gone. Not all of them are destroyed, but they rarely come to Dragaera anymore—and when they do, they can’t dominate us as they did long ago. In fact, Sethra Lavode fought with and destroyed one only a few years ago.”

My mind flashed back to my first meeting with Sethra. She had looked a bit worried, and said, “I can’t leave Dzur Mountain just now.” And later, she had looked exhausted, as if she’d been in a fight. One more old mystery cleared up.

“How were they destroyed? Did the Dragaerans turn on them?”

She shook her head. “They had other interests besides genetics. One of them was the study of Chaos. We’ll probably never know exactly what happened, but, in essence, an experiment got out of control, or else an argument came up between some of them, or something, and boom! We have a Great Sea of Chaos, a few new gods, and no more Jenoine.”

So much, I decided, for my history lesson for today. I couldn’t deny being interested, however. It wasn’t really my history, but it had some kind of fascination for me, nevertheless. “That sounds remarkably like what happened to Adron on a smaller scale, a few years back. You know, the thing that made the Sea of Chaos up north, the Interregnum . . . Aliera?”

She was looking at me strangely and not saying anything.

A light broke through. “Say!” I said, “That’s what pre-Empire sorcery is! The sorcery of the Jenoine.” I stopped long enough to shudder, as I realized the implications. “No wonder the Empire doesn’t like people studying it.”

Aliera nodded. “To be more precise, pre-Empire sorcery is direct manipulation of raw chaos—bending it to one’s will.”

I found myself shuddering again. “It sounds rather dangerous.”

She shrugged, but didn’t say more. Of course, she would see it a little differently. Aliera’s father, I had learned, was none other than Adron himself, who had accidentally blown up the old city of Dragaera and created a sea of chaos on its site.

“I hope,” I said, “that Morrolan isn’t planning on doing another number like your father did.”

“He couldn’t.”

“Why not? If he’s using pre-Empire sorcery . . . ”

She grimaced prettily. “I’ll correct what I said before. Pre-Empire sorcery is not exactly direct manipulation of chaos; it’s one step removed. Direct manipulation is something else again—and that’s what Adron was doing. He had the ability to use, in fact, the ability to create chaos. If you combine that with the skills of pre-Empire sorcery . . . ”

“And Morrolan doesn’t have the skill to create chaos? Poor fellow. How can he live without it?”

Aliera chuckled. “It isn’t a skill one can learn. It goes back to genes again. So far as I know, it is only the e’Kieron line of the House of the Dragon that holds the ability—although it is said that Kieron himself never used it.”

“I wonder,” I said, “how genetic heritage interacts with reincarnation of the soul.”

“Oddly,” said Aliera e’Kieron.

“Oh. So, anyway, that explains where the Dragaeran Houses come from. I’m surprised that the Jenoine wasted their time breeding an animal like the Jhereg into some Dragaerans,” I said.

“That’s another one I owe you, boss.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Oh,” said Aliera, “but they didn’t.”

“Eh?”

“They played around with jheregs and found a way to put human-level intelligence into a brain the size of a rednut, but they never put any jhereg genes into Dragaerans.”

“There, Loiosh. You should feel grateful to the Jenoine, for—”

“Shut up, boss.”

“But I thought you said—”

“The Jhereg is the exception. They didn’t start out as a tribe the way the others did.”

“Then how?”

“Okay, we have to go back to the days when the Empire was first being formed. In fact, we have to go back even further. As far as we know, there were originally about thirty distinct tribes of Dragaerans. We don’t know the exact number, since there were no records being kept back then.”

“Eventually, many of them died off. Finally, there were sixteen tribes left. Well, fifteen, plus a tribe of the Teckla, which really didn’t do much of anything.”

“They invented agriculture,” I cut in. “That’s something.”

She brushed it aside. “The tribes were called together, or parts of each tribe, by Kieron the Conqueror and a union of some of the best Shamans of the time, and they got together to drive the Easterners out of some of the better lands.”

“For farming,” I said.

“Now, in addition to the tribes, there were a lot of outcasts. Many of them came from the tribe of the Dragon—probably because the Dragons had higher standards than the others—” She tossed her head as she said this; I let it go by.

“Anyway,” she continued, “there were a lot of outcasts, mostly living in small groups. While the other tribes were coming together under Kieron, a certain ex-Dragon named Dolivar managed to unite most of these independent groups—primarily by killing any of the leaders who didn’t agree with the idea.

“So they got together, and, I guess more sarcastically than anything else, they began calling themselves ‘the tribe of the Jhereg.’ They lived mostly off the other tribes—stealing, looting, and then running off. They even had a few Shamans.”

“Why didn’t the other tribes get together to wipe them out?” I asked.

She shrugged. “A lot of the tribes wanted to, but Kieron needed scouts and spies for the war against the Easterners, and the Jheregs were obviously the only ones who could manage it properly.”

“Why did the Jheregs agree to help?”

“I guess,” she remarked drily, “Dolivar decided it was preferable to being wiped out. He met with Kieron before the Great March started, and got an agreement that, if his ‘tribe’ helped out, they would be included in the Empire when it was over.”

“I see. So that’s how the Jhereg became part of the Cycle. Interesting.”

“Yes. It also ended up killing Kieron.”

“What did?”

“The bargain; the strain of forcing the tribes to adhere to the bargain after the fighting was over and the other tribes no longer saw that the Jhereg could be of any value to them. He was eventually killed by a group of Lyorn warriors and Shamans who decided that he was responsible for some of the problems the Jheregs brought to the Empire.”

“So,” I said, “we owe it all to Kieron the Conqueror, eh?”

“Kieron,” she agreed, “and this Jhereg chieftain named Dolivar who forced the deal in the first place, and then forced the others in his tribe to agree to it.”

“Why is it, I wonder, that I’ve never heard of this Jhereg chieftain? I don’t know of any House records on him, and you’d think he’d be considered some kind of hero.”

“Oh, you can find him if you dig enough. As you know better than I, the Jhereg isn’t too concerned with heroes. The Lyorns have records of him.”

“Is that how you found out all this?”

She shook her head, “No. I learned a lot of it talking to Sethra. And some I remembered, of course.”

“What!?”

Aliera nodded. “Sethra was there, as Sethra. I’ve heard her age given at ten thousand years. Well, that’s wrong. It’s off by a factor of twenty. She is, quite literally, older than the Empire.”

“Aliera, that’s impossible! Two hundred thousand years? That’s ridiculous!”

“Tell it to Dzur Mountain.”

“But . . . and you! How could you remember?”

“Don’t be a fool, Vlad. Regression, of course. In my case, it’s a memory of past lives. Did you think reincarnation was just a myth, or a religious belief, like you Easterners have?”

Her eyes were glowing strangely, as I fought to digest this new information.

“I’ve seen it through my own eyes—lived it again.

“I was there, Vlad, when Kieron was backed into a corner by an ex-Dragon named Dolivar, who had been Kieron’s brother before he shamed himself and the whole tribe. Dolivar was tortured and expelled.

“I share the guilt there, too, as does Sethra. Sethra was supposed to hamstring the yendi, but she missed—deliberately. I saw, but I didn’t say anything. Perhaps that makes me responsible for my brother’s death, later. I don’t know . . . ”

“Your brother!” This was too much.

“My brother,” she repeated. “We started out as one family. Kieron, Dolivar, and I.”

She turned fully toward me, and I felt a rushing in my ears as I listened to her spin tales that I couldn’t quite dismiss as mad ravings or myths.

“I,” she said, “was a Shaman in that life, and I think I was a good one, too. I was a Shaman, and Kieron was a warrior. He is still there, Vlad, in the Paths of the Dead. I’ve spoken to him. He recognized me.

“Three of us. The Shaman, the warrior—and the traitor. By the time Dolivar betrayed us, we no longer considered him a brother. He was a Jhereg, down to his soul.

“His soul . . . ” she repeated, trailing off.

“Yes,” she continued, “ ‘Odd’ is the right way to describe the way heredity of the body interacts with reincarnation of the soul. Kieron was never reincarnated. I have been born into a body descended from the brother of my soul. And you—” she gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret, but I suddenly knew what was coming. I wanted to scream at her not to say it, but, throughout the millennia, Aliera has always been just a little faster than me. “—You became an Easterner, brother.”

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One damn thing after another.

I returned to my office and looked at nothing in particular for a while. I needed time, probably days, to get adjusted to this information. Instead, I had about ten minutes.

“Vlad?” said Kragar. “Hey, Vlad!”

I looked up. After a moment, I focused in on Kragar, who was sitting opposite me and looking worried.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“That’s what I was wondering.”

“Huh?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. Hell, Kragar, I don’t know.”

“It sounds serious,” he said.

“It is. My whole world has just been flipped around, and I haven’t sorted it out yet.”

I leaned toward him, then, and grabbed his jerkin. “Just one thing, old friend: If you value your sanity, never, but never have a deep, heart-to-heart talk with Aliera.”

“Sounds really serious.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then I said, “Kragar?”

“Yeah, boss?”

I bit my lip. I’d never broached this subject before, but . . .

“How did you feel when you were kicked out of the House of the Dragon?”

“Relieved,” he said, with no hesitation. “Why?”

I sighed. “Never mind.”

I tried to force the mood and the contemplation from me and almost succeeded. “What’s on your mind, Kragar?”

“I was wondering if you found out anything,” he said, in all innocence.

Did I find out anything? I asked myself. The question began to reverberate in my head, and I heard myself laughing. I saw Kragar giving me a funny look; worried. I kept laughing. I tried to stop, but couldn’t. Ha! Did I learn anything?

Kragar leaned across the desk and slapped me once—hard.

“Hey boss,” said Loiosh, “cut it out.”

I sobered up. “Easy for you to say,” I told him. “You haven’t just learned that you once were everything you hate—the very kind of person you despise.”

“So? You haven’t just learned that you were supposed to be a blithering idiot, except that some pseudo-god decided to have a little fun with your ancestors,” Loiosh barked back.

I realized that he had a point. I turned to Kragar. “I’m all right now. Thanks.”

He still looked worried. “Are you sure?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Great. So, if you can avoid having hysterics again, what did you learn?”

I almost did have hysterics again, but controlled myself before Kragar could slap me again. What had I learned? Well, I wasn’t going to tell him that, or that, uh, or that either. What did that leave? Oh, of course.

“I learned that Mellar is the product of three Houses,” I said. I gave him a report on that part of the discussion.

He pondered the information.

“Now that,” he said, “is interesting. A Dzur, eh? And a Dragon. Hmmm. Okay, why don’t you see what you can dig up about the Dzur side, and I’ll work on the Dragons.”

“I think it would make more sense to do it the other way around, since I have some connections in the Dragons.”

He looked at me closely. “Are you quite sure,” he said, “that you want to use those connections just at the moment?”

Oh. I thought about that, and nodded. “Okay, I’ll check the Dzur records. What do you think we should look for?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. Then he cocked his head for a minute and seemed to be thinking about something, or else he was in psionic contact. I waited.

“Vlad,” he said, “do you have any idea what it’s like to be a cross-breed?”

“I know it isn’t as bad as being an Easterner!”

“Isn’t it?”

“What are you getting at? You know damn well what I’ve had to put up with.”

“Oh, sure, Mellar isn’t going to have all the problems you have, or had. But suppose he inherited the true spirit of each House. Do you have any idea how frustrating it would be for a Dzur to be denied his place in the lists of heroes of the House, if he was good enough to earn it? Or a Dragon, denied the right to command all the troops he was competent to lead? The only House that would take him is us, and Hell, Vlad, there are even some Jhereg that would make him eat Dragon-dung. Sure, Vlad; you have it worse in fact, but he can’t help but feel that he’s entitled to better.”

“And I’m not?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I suppose,” I conceded. “I see your point. Where are you going with it?”

Kragar got a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t know, exactly, but it’s bound to have an effect on his character.”

I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, I’ll get started right away.”

“Fine. Oh, could you try to get that crystal with Mellar’s face in it back from Daymar? I may want to use it.”

“Sure. When do you need it?”

“Tomorrow morning will be fine. I’m taking the evening off. I’ll start on it tomorrow.”

Kragar’s eyes were sympathetic, which was rare. “Sure, boss. I’ll cover for you here. See you tomorrow.”

I ate mechanically and thanked the Lords of Judgment that it was Cawti’s night to cook and clean. I didn’t think I’d be up to it.

After eating, I rose and went into the living room. I sat down and started trying to sort out some things. I didn’t get anywhere. Presently, Cawti came in and sat down next to me. We sat in silence for a while.

I tried to deny what Aliera had told me, or pass it off as a combination of myth, misplaced superstition, and delusion. Unfortunately, it made too much sense for that to work. Why, after all, had Sethra Lavode been so friendly to me, a Jhereg and an Easterner? And Aliera obviously believed all of this, or why had she treated me as almost an equal on occasion?

But, more than that was the undeniable fact that it felt true. That was the really frightening thing—somewhere, deep within me, doubtless in my “soul,” I knew that what Aliera had said was true.

And that meant—what? That the thing that had driven me into the Jhereg—my hatred of Dragaerans—was in fact a fraud. That my contempt for Dragons wasn’t a feeling of superiority for my system of values over theirs, but was in fact a feeling of inadequacy going back, how long? Two hundred thousand years? Two hundred and fifty thousand years? By the multi-jointed fingers of Verra!

I became conscious of Cawti holding my hand. I smiled at her, a bit wanly perhaps.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, quietly.

That was another good question. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it or not. But I did, haltingly, over the course of about two hours. Cawti was quietly sympathetic, but didn’t seem really upset.

“Really, Vlad, what’s the difference?”

I started to answer, but she stopped me with a shake of her head. “I know. You’ve thought that it was being an Easterner that made you what you are, and now you’re wondering. But being human is only one aspect, isn’t it? The fact that you had an earlier life as a Dragaeran—maybe several, in fact—doesn’t change what you’ve gone through in this life.”

“No,” I admitted. “I suppose not. But—”

“I know. Tell you what, Vlad. After this is all over and forgotten, maybe a year from now, we’ll go talk to Sethra. We’ll find out more about what happened and maybe, if you want to, she’ll take you back to that time, and you can experience it again. If you want to. But in the meantime, forget it. You are who you are, and whatever went into making that is all to the good, as far as I’m concerned.”

I squeezed her hand, glad that I’d discussed it with her. I felt a bit more relaxed and started to feel tired. I kissed Cawti’s hand. “Thanks for the meal,” I said.

She raised her eyebrow. “I’ll bet you don’t even know what it was,” she said.

I thought for a minute. Jhegaala eggs? No, she’d made that yesterday.

“Hey!” I said. “It was my night to do the cooking, wasn’t it?”

She grinned broadly. “Sure was, comrade. I’ve tricked you into owing me still another one. Clever, aren’t I?”

“Damn,” I said.

She shook her head in mock sadness. “That makes it, let me see now, about two hundred and forty-seven favors you owe me.”

“But who’s counting, right?”

“Right.”

I stood up then, still holding her hand. She followed me into the bedroom, where I paid back her favor, or she did me another one, or we did one for each other, depending on exactly how one counts these things.

The servants of Lord Keleth admitted me to his castle with obvious distaste. I ignored them.

“The Duke will see you in his study,” said the butler, looking down at me.

He held out his hand for my cloak; I gave him my sword instead. He seemed surprised, but took it. The trick to surviving a fight with a Dzur hero is not to have one. The trick to not having one is to seem as helpless as possible. Dzur heroes are reluctant to fight when the odds aren’t against them.

I’d been proud of the scheme that had led me here. It was nothing unusual, of course, but it was good, solid, low-risk, and had a high probability of gain. Most important, it was very—well—me. I’d been worried that my encounter with Aliera had dulled my edge, somehow changed me, made me less able to conceive and execute an elegant plan. The execution of this one was still unresolved, but I was no longer worried about the conception.

I was escorted to the study. I noted signs of disrepair along the way: chipping grate on the floor, cracks in the ceiling, places along the wall that had probably once held expensive tapestries.

The butler ushered me into the study. The Duke of Keletharan was old and what passes for “squat” in a Dragaeran, meaning that his shoulders were a bit broader than usual, and you could actually see the muscles in his arms. His face was smooth (Dzurlords don’t go in for wrinkles, I guess), and his eyes had that bit of upward slant associated with the House. His eyebrows were remarkably bushy, and he would have had a wispy white beard, if Dragaerans had beards. He was seated in a straight-backed chair with no arms. A broadsword hung at his side, and a wizard’s staff was leaning against the desk. He didn’t invite me to sit down; I did anyway. It is best to get certain things established at the beginning of a conversation. I saw his lips tighten, but that was all. Good. Score one for our side.

“Well, Jhereg, what is it?” he asked.

“My lord, I hope I didn’t disturb you?”

“You did.”

“A small matter has come to my attention which requires that I speak with you.”

Keleth looked up at the butler, who bowed to us and left. The door snicked shut behind him. Then the Duke allowed himself to look disgusted. “The ‘small matter,’ no doubt, being four thousand gold Imperials.”

I tried to look like I was trying to look apologetic. “Yes, my lord. According to our records, it was due over a month ago. Now, we have tried to be patient, but—”

“Patient, hell!” he snapped. “At the interest rates you charge, I’d think you could stand to hold off a little while with a man who’s having a few minor financial troubles.”

That was a laugh. As far as I could tell, his troubles were anything but “minor,” and it was doubtful that they would end any time in the near future. I decided, however, that it wouldn’t be politic to mention this, or to suggest that he wouldn’t be having these problems at all if he could control his fondness for s’yang stones. Instead, I said, “With all respect, my lord, it seems that a month is a reasonable length of time to hold off. And, again with all respect, you knew the interest rates when you came to us for help.”

“I came to you for ‘help,’ as you put it, because—never mind.” He had come to us for “help,” as I’d put it, because we had made it clear to him that if he didn’t, we would make sure that the whole Empire, particularly the House of the Dzur, knew that he couldn’t control his urge to gamble , or pay off his debts when he lost. Perhaps having a reputation as a rotten gambler would have been the worst thing about it, to him.

I shrugged. “As you wish,” I said. “Nevertheless, I must insist—”

“I tell you I just don’t have it,” he exploded. “What else can I say? If I had the gold, I’d give it to you. If you keep this up, I swear by the Imperial Phoenix that I’ll go to the Empire and let them know about a few untaxed gambling games I’m aware of, and certain untaxed moneylenders.”

Here is where it is helpful to know whom you are dealing with. In most such cases, I would have carefully let him know that if he did that, his body would be found within a week, probably behind a lower-class brothel, and looking as if he were killed in a fight with a drunken tavern brawler. I’ve used this technique before on Dzur heroes, and with good effect. It isn’t the idea of being killed which scares them, it is the thought of people thinking that they’d been killed in a tavern brawl by some nameless Teckla.

I knew this would frighten Keleth, but it would also send him into a murderous rage, and the fact that I was “unarmed and helpless” might not stop him. Also, if he didn’t kill me on the spot, it would certainly guarantee that he’d carry out his threat of going to the Empire. Clearly, a different approach was called for.

“Oh, come now, Lord Keleth,” I said. “What would that do to your reputation?”

“No more than it would do to it to have you expose my personal finances anyway, for not paying off your blood money.”

Dzur tend to be careless with terms, but I didn’t correct him. I gave him my patient-man-trying-to-be-helpful-but-almost-exasperated sigh. “How much time do you need?”

“Another month, maybe two.”

I shook my head, sadly. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. I guess you’ll just have to go to the Empire. It means that one or two of our games will have to find new locations, and a certain moneylender will have to take a short vacation, but I assure you that it won’t hurt us nearly as much as it will hurt you.”

I stood up, bowed low, and turned to leave. He didn’t rise to see me out, which I thought was rude, but understandable, under the circumstances. Just before my hand touched the doorknob, I stopped, and turned around. “Unless—”

“Unless what?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Well,” I lied, “it just occurred to me that there may be something you could help me out with.”

He stared at me, long and hard, trying to guess what kind of game I was playing. I kept my face expressionless. If I’d wanted him to know the rules, I’d have written them out.

“And what is that?” he asked.

“I’m looking for a little information that involves the history of your House. I could find out myself, I suppose, but it would take a little work that I don’t feel like doing. It is possible, I’m sure, for you to find out. In fact, you might even know already. If you could help me, I’d appreciate it.”

He was still suspicious, but he was beginning to sound eager, too. “And what form,” he asked, “will this ‘appreciation’ take?”

I pretended to think it over. “I think I could arrange for a two-month extension for you. In fact, I’d even go so far as to freeze the interest—if you can find this information for me quickly enough.”

He chewed on his lower lip for a while, thinking it over, but I knew I had him. This was too good a chance for him to pass up. I’d planned it that way.

“What is it you want to know?” he said at last.

I reached into an inner pocket of my cloak and removed the small crystal I’d gotten back from Daymar. I concentrated on it, and Mellar’s face appeared. I showed it to him.

“This person,” I said. “Do you know him, or could you find out who he is, what connection he has with the House of the Dzur, or who his parents were? Anything you can find out would be helpful. We know that he has some connection with your House. You can see it in his face, if you look closely.”

Keleth’s face went white as soon as he saw Mellar. I was surprised by the reaction. Keleth knew him. His lips became a thin line and he turned away.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“I’m afraid,” said Keleth, “that I can’t help you.”

The question at that point wasn’t “Should I press?” or even, “How much should I press?” It was, rather, “How should I press?” I decided to continue the game I’d started.

I shrugged and put the crystal away. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “As you wish. I’ve no doubt that you have good reasons for not wishing to share your information. Still, it is a shame that your good name must be befouled.” I turned away again.

“Wait, I—”

I turned back to him. I was beginning to get dizzy. He seemed to be struggling with himself. I stopped worrying; I could see which side would win.

His face was a mask of twisted rage, as he said, “Damn you, Jhereg! You can’t do this to me!”

There was, of course, nothing to say to this blatantly incorrect statement of our positions. I waited patiently.

He sank back into his chair, and covered his face with his hands. “His name,” he said at last, “is Leareth. I don’t know where he came from, or who his parents are. He appeared twelve years ago and joined our House.”

“Joined your House? How can one join the House of the Dzur?” That was startling. I’d thought only the Jhereg allowed one to buy a title.

Lord Keleth looked at me as if he were about to snarl. I suddenly recalled Aliera’s contention that the Dzurlords were descended, in part, from actual dzur. I could believe it.

“To join the House of the Dzur,” he explained in the most vicious monotone I’ve ever heard, “you must defeat, in equal combat, seventeen champions chosen by the House.” His eyes suddenly turned bleak. “I was the fourteenth. He is the only man I can remember hearing of who has succeeded since the Interregnum.”

I shrugged. “So, he became a Dzurlord. I don’t see what is so secret about that.”

“We later learned,” said Keleth, “something of his origins. He was a cross-breed. A mongrel.”

“Well, yes,” I said slowly, “I can see where that could be a touch annoying, but—”

“And then,” he interrupted, “after he’d only been a Dzur for two years, he just gave up all his titles and joined House Jhereg. Can’t you see what that means? He made fools of us! A mongrel can defeat the best the House of the Dzur has, and then chooses to throw it all away—” He stopped and shrugged.

I thought it over. This Leareth must be one hell of a swordsman.

“It’s funny,” I said, “that I’ve never heard of this incident. I’ve been investigating this fellow pretty thoroughly.”

“It was kept secret by the House,” said Keleth. “Leareth promised us that he’d have the whole Empire told of the story if he was killed or if any Dzur attempted to harm him. We’d never be able to live it down.”

I felt a sudden desire to laugh out loud, but I controlled it for health reasons. I was starting to like this guy Mellar, or Leareth, or whatever. I mean, for the past twelve years, he’d had the entire House of Heroes by the balls. The two most important things to the House of the Dzur, as to an individual Dzurlord, are honor and reputation. And this Mellar had managed to play one off against the other.

“What happens if someone else kills him?” I asked.

“We have to hope it looks like an accident,” he said.

I shook my head, and stood up. “Okay, thanks. You’ve given me what I needed. You can forget about paying the loan for two months, and the interest. I’ll handle the details. And if you ever need my help for something, just let me know. I’m in your debt.”

He nodded, still downcast.

I left him and picked up my blade from the servant.

I walked out of the castle, thinking. Mellar was not going to be easy. He had outfought the best warriors in the House of the Dzur, outmaneuvered the best brains in House Jhereg, and caught the House of the Dragon out on a point of honor.

I shook my head sadly. No, this wasn’t going to be easy. And then something else hit me. If I did succeed in this, I was going to make a lot of Dzurlords mighty unhappy. If they ever found out who had killed him, they wouldn’t wait for evidence, as the Empire would. This didn’t exactly make my day, either.

Loiosh gave me an Imperial chewing out for not having brought him along, most of which I ignored. Kragar filled me in on what he’d learned: nothing.

“I found a few servants who used to work in the Dragon records,” he said. “They didn’t know anything.”

“What about some that still do?” I asked.

“They wouldn’t talk.”

“Hmmmm. Too bad.”

“Yeah. I put my Dragon outfit on and found a Lady of the House who was willing to do some looking for me, though.”

“But you didn’t get anything there, either?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“Oh? Oh.”

“How about you?”

I took great relish in delivering the information I’d gotten, since it was rare that I was able to one-up him on a point like this.

He dutifully noted everything, then said, “You know, Vlad, no one wakes up one morning and discovers that he is good enough to fight his way into the Dzur. He must have worked on that for quite a while.”

“That makes sense,” I said.

“Okay, that will give me something to work with. I’ll start checking it through from that angle.”

“Do you think it’ll help?”

“Who can say? If he was good enough to get into the Dzur, he’s got to have been trained somewhere. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Okay,” I said. “And there’s something else that bothers me, by the way.”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

Kragar was silent for a moment, then he said, “There are two possibilities I can think of. First, he could have wanted to become part of the House because he felt it his right, and then discovered that it didn’t help—that he was treated the same after as before, or that he didn’t like it.”

“That makes sense. And the other?”

“The other possibility is that there was something he wanted, and he had to be a Dzur to get it. And there was no need to stay in the House after he had it.”

That made sense, too, I decided. “What kind of thing could it be?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if that’s what it is, then I think we’d damn well better find out.”

Kragar leaned back in his chair for a moment, watching me closely. Probably still worried about yesterday. I didn’t say anything; best to let him discover in his own way that I was all right. I was all right, wasn’t I? I watched myself for a moment. I seemed all right. It was strange.

I shook the mood off. “Okay,” I said, “start checking it. Let me know as soon as you have something.”

He nodded, then said, “I heard something interesting today.”

“Oh, what did you hear?”

“One of my button-men was talking, and I overheard him say that his girlfriend thinks something is wrong with the council.”

I felt suddenly sick. “Wrong how?”

“She didn’t know, but she thought it was something pretty big. And she mentioned Mellar’s name.”

I knew what that meant, of course. We didn’t have much time left. Maybe a day, perhaps two. Three at the most. Then it would be too late. The Demon was certainly hearing rumors by now, too. What would he do? Try to get to Mellar, of course. Me? Would he make another try for me? What about Kragar? Or, for that matter, Cawti? Normally, no one would be interested in them, since it was I who was at the top. But would the Demon be trying for them now, in order to get to me?

“Shit,” I said.

He agreed with my sentiments.

“Kragar, do you know who this fellow’s girlfriend is?”

He nodded. “A sorceress. Left Hand. Competent.”

“Good,” I said. “Kill her.”

He nodded again.

I stood up and took off my cloak. Laying it across my desk, I began removing things from it, and from various places around my person. “Would you mind heading down to the arsenal and picking up the standard assortment for me? I may as well do something useful while we’re talking.”

He nodded and departed. I found an empty box in the corner and began putting discarded weapons in it.

“Still ready to protect me, Loiosh?”

“Somebody has to, boss.”

He flew over from his windowsill and landed on my right shoulder. I scratched him under the chin with my right hand, which brought my wrist up to eye level. Spellbreaker, wrapped tightly around my forearm, gleamed golden in the light. I had hopes of that chain being able to defend me against any magic I might encounter; and the rest of my weapons, if used properly, gave me a chance of taking out anyone using a normal blade. But it all depended on getting sufficient warning.

And, as an assassin, one thing kept revolving around in my head: Given time and skill, anyone can be assassinated. Anyone. My great hope, and my great fear, all rolled into one.

I took a dagger out of the box in front of me and checked its edge—Box? I looked up and saw that Kragar had returned.

“Would you mind telling me how you keep doing that?” I asked.

He smiled and shook his head in mock sadness. I looked at him, but learned nothing new. Kragar was about as average a Dragaeran as it is possible to get. He stood just about seven feet tall. His hair was light brown over a thin, angular face over a thin, angular body. His ears were just a bit pointed. No facial hair (which was why I grew a mustache), but other than that it was hard to tell a Dragaeran from a human by looking only at his face.

“How?” I repeated.

He raised his eyebrows. “You really want to know?” he asked.

“Are you really willing to tell me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. It isn’t anything I do deliberately. It’s just that people don’t notice me. That’s why I never made it as a Dragonlord. I’d give an order in the middle of a battle and no one would pay any attention. They gave me so much trouble over it that I finally told ’em all to jump off Deathgate Falls.”

I nodded and let it pass. The last part, I knew, was a lie. He hadn’t left the House of the Dragon on his own; he’d been expelled. I knew it, and he knew I knew it. But that was the story he wanted to give, so I accepted it.

Hell, I had my own scars that I didn’t let Kragar scratch at; I could hardly begrudge him the right to keep me away from his.

I looked at the dagger that was still in my hand, made sure of the edge and balance, and slipped it into the upside-down spring-sheath under my left arm.

“I’m thinking,” said Kragar, changing the subject, “that you don’t want Mellar to know you’re involved in this any sooner than you have to.”

“Do you think he’ll come after me?”

“Probably. He’s going to have something of an organization left, even now. Most of it will have scattered, or be in the middle of scattering, but he’s bound to have a few personal friends willing to do things for him.”

I nodded. “I hadn’t planned to advertise it.”

“I suppose not. Do you have any thoughts yet on how to approach the problem of getting him to leave Castle Black?”

I added another dagger to the pile of weapons in the “used” box. I picked out a replacement, tested it, and slipped it into the cloak’s lining sheath outside of where my left arm would be. I checked the draw and added a little more oil to the blade. I worked it back and forth in the sheath and continued.

“No,” I told him, “I don’t have the hint of an idea yet, to tell you the truth. I’m still working on it. I don’t suppose you have anything?”

“No. That’s your job.”

“Thanks heaps.”

I tested the balance on each of the throwing darts, and filled the quills with my own combination of blood, muscle, and nerve poison. I set them aside to dry, discarded the used ones, and looked at the shuriken.

“My original idea,” I said, “was to convince him that we’d stopped looking for him and then maybe set up something attractive-looking in terms of escape. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that in three days. Damn, but I hate working under a time limit.”

“I’m sure Mellar would be awfully sorry to hear that.”

I thought that over for a minute. “Maybe he would, come to think of it. I think I’ll ask him.”

“What?”

“I’d like to see him myself, talk to him, get a feel for what he’s like. I still don’t really know enough about him.”

“You’re nuts! We just agreed that you don’t want to go anywhere near him. You’ll let him know that you’re after him and put him on the alert!”

“Will he figure that out? Think about it. He must know that I’m working for Morrolan. By now, he is aware that Morrolan is onto him, so he’s probably expecting a visit from Morrolan’s security people. And if he does suspect that I’m after him, so what? Sure, we lose an edge, but he isn’t going to leave Castle Black until he’s ready to, or until Morrolan kicks him out. So what is he going to do about it? He can’t kill me at Castle Black for the same reason that I can’t kill him there. If he guesses that I’m the one who’s going to take him, he’ll guess that I’m revealing it to him so that he’ll bolt, and he’ll just hole up tighter than ever.”

“Which,” pointed out Kragar, “is exactly what we don’t want.”

I shrugged. “If we’re going to get him to leave, we’ll have to come up with something weird and tricky enough to force him out no matter how badly he wants to stay. This isn’t going to matter one way or the other.”

Kragar pondered this for a while, then nodded. “Okay, it sounds workable. Want me to come along?”

“No thanks. Keep things running here, and keep working on Mellar’s background. Loiosh will protect me. He promised.”

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previous | Table of Contents | next

They say that the banquet hall of Castle Black has never been empty since it was built, over three hundred years ago. They also say that more duels have been fought there than in Kieron Square outside the Imperial Palace.

You teleport in at approximately the center of the courtyard of the Castle Black. The great double doors of the keep open as you approach, and your first sight of the interior of the castle shows you a dimly lit hallway in which Lady Teldra is framed, like the Guardian, that figure that stands motionless atop Deathgate Falls, overlooking the Paths of the Dead, where the real becomes the fanciful—but only by degrees.

Lady Teldra bows to you. She bows exactly the right amount for your House and rank, and greets you by name whether she knows you or not. She says such words as will make you to feel welcome, whether your mission be of friendship or hostility. Then, if it be your desire, you are escorted up to the banquet hall. You ascend a long, black-marble stairway. The stairs are comfortable if you are human, a bit shallow (hence, elegant) if you are Dragaeran. They are long, winding, sweeping things, these stairs. There are lamps along the wall that highlight paintings from the long, violent, sometimes strangely moving history of the Dragaeran Empire.

Here is one done by the Necromancer (you didn’t know she was an artist, did you?), which shows a wounded dragon, reptilian head and neck curled around its young, as its eyes stare through you and pierce your soul. Here is one by a nameless Lyorn showing Kieron the Conqueror debating with the Shamans—with his broadsword. Cute, eh?

At the top, you may look to the right and see the doors of the actual dining hall. But if you turn to the left, you soon come to a large set of double doors, standing open. There is always a guard here, sometimes two. As you look through, the room makes itself felt only a little at a time. First, you notice the picture that fills the entire ceiling; it is a depiction of the Third Seige of Dzur Mountain, done by none other than Katana e’M’archala. Looking at it, and tracing the details from wall to wall, gives you an idea of just how massive the room really is. The walls are done in black marble, thinly veined with silver. The room is dark, but somehow there is never any problem seeing.

Only then do you become aware of people. The place is always packed. The tables around the edges, where food and drink are served, are focal points for an endless migration of humanity, if I may use the word. At the far end there are double doors again, these letting out onto a terrace. At other sides are smaller doors which lead to private rooms where you can bring some innocent fool to tell your life story to, if you so choose, or ask a Dragon general if he really had that last counterattack planned all along.

Aliera uses these rooms often. Morrolan, seldom. Myself, never.

“You know, boss—this place is a friggin’ menagerie.”

“Very true, my fine jhereg.”

“Oh, we’re a wit, today; yes, indeed.”

I shouldered my way through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and sneering at enemies as I went. Sethra Lavode spotted me, and we chatted for a few minutes about nothing. I didn’t really know how to deal with her any more, so I cut the conversation short. She gave me a warm-despite-the-cold kiss on the cheek; she either knew or suspected, but wasn’t talking.

I exchanged pleasant smiles with the Necromancer, who then turned her attention back to the Orca noble she was baiting.

“By the Orb, boss; I swear there are more undead than living in this damn place.”

I gave a cold stare to the Sorceress in Green, which she returned. I nodded noncommitally at Sethra the Younger, and took a good look around.

In one corner of the room, the crowd had cleared for a Dzur and a Dragon, who were shouting insults at each other in preparation for carving each other up. One of Morrolan’s wizard-guards stood by, casting the spells that would prevent any serious damage to the head, and laying down the Law of the Castle with regard to duels.

I continued searching until I spotted one of Morrolan’s security people. I caught his eye, nodded to him, and he nodded back. He slowly drifted toward me. I noted that he did a fair-to-good job of moving through the crowd without disturbing anyone or giving the impression that he was heading anywhere in particular. Good. I made a mental note about him.

“Have you seen Lord Mellar?” I asked him when he reached me.

He nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He should be over in the corner near the wine-tasting.”

We continued to smile and nod as we talked—just a chance meeting of casual acquaintances.

“Good. Thanks.”

“Should I be ready for trouble?” he asked.

“Always. But not in particular at the moment. Just stay alert.”

“Always,” he agreed.

“Is Morrolan here at the moment? I haven’t seen him.”

“Neither have I. I think he’s in the library.”

“Okay.”

I began walking toward the wine-tasting.

I scanned in one direction, Loiosh in the other. He rode on my right shoulder, as if daring anyone to make a remark about his presence. He spotted Mellar first.

“There he is, boss.”

“Eh? Where?”

“Against the wall—see?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks.”

I approached slowly, sizing him up. He had been hard to spot because there was nothing particularly distinctive about him. He stood just under seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown and somewhat wavy, falling to just above his shoulders. I suppose a Dragaeran would have considered him handsome, but not remarkably so. He had an air about him, like a jhereg. Watchful, quiet, and controlled; very dangerous. I could read “Do Not Mess With Me” signs on him.

He was speaking to a noble of the House of the Hawk that I didn’t know, and who was almost certainly unaware that, as he spoke, Mellar was constantly scanning the crowd, perhaps even unconsciously, alert, looking . . . He spotted me.

We looked at each other for a moment as I approached, and I felt myself come under expert scrutiny. I wondered how many of my weapons and devices he was spotting. A good number, of course. And, naturally, not all of them. I walked up to him.

“Count Mellar,” I said. “Hew do you do? I am Vladimir Taltos.”

He nodded to me. I bowed from the neck. The Hawklord turned at the sound of my voice, noted that I was an Easterner, and scowled. He addressed Mellar. “It seems that Morrolan will let anyone in these days.”

Mellar shrugged, and smiled a little.

The Hawklord bowed to him then, and turned away. “Perhaps later, my lord.”

“Yes. A pleasure meeting you, my lord.”

Mellar turned back to me. “Baronet, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all.”

This was going to be different than my dealing with the Dzurlord, Keleth. Unlike him, Mellar knew all the rules. He’d used my title to let me know that he knew who I was—implying that it might be safe to tell him more. I knew how the game was played as well.

This was a strange conversation in other ways, however. For one thing, it simply isn’t my custom to speak to people that I’m going to nail. Before I’m ready, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I have no desire to give the target any idea who I am or what I’m like, even if he doesn’t realize that I’m going to become his executioner.

But this was different. I was going to have to get him to set himself up. That meant that I needed to know the bastard better than I’d ever known any other target in my career. And, just to put the honey in the klava, I knew less about him that I did about anyone else I’d ever set out after.

So, I had to find out a few things about him, and he, no doubt, would like to find out a few things about me; or at least what I was doing here. I thought up and rejected a dozen or so opening gambits before I settled on one.

“I understand from Lord Morrolan that you acquired a book he was interested in.”

“Yes. Did he tell you what it was?”

“Not in detail. I hope he was satisfied with it.”

“He seemed to be.”

“Good. It’s always nice to help people.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“How did you happen to get hold of the volume? I understand that it’s quite rare and hard to come by.”

He smiled a little. “I’m surprised Morrolan asked,” he said, which told me something. Not much perhaps, but it confirmed that he knew that I worked for Morrolan. File that away.

“He didn’t,” I said. “I was just curious myself.”

He nodded, and the smile came on again briefly.

We made small talk for a while longer, each letting the other be the first to commit himself to revealing how much he knew in a gambit to learn what the other knew. I decided, after a while, that he was not going to be first. He was the one with only a little to gain, so—

“I understand Aliera introduced herself to you.”

He seemed startled by the turn of the conversation. “Why, yes, she did.”

“Quite remarkable, isn’t she?”

“Is she? In what way?”

I shrugged. “She’s got a good brain, for a Dragonlord.”

“I hadn’t noticed. She seemed rather vague, to me.”

Good! Unless he was a lot sharper than he had any right to be, and a damn good liar (which was possible), he hadn’t realized that she’d been casting a spell as she was speaking to him. That gave me a clue as to his level of sorcery—not up to hers.

“Indeed?” I said. “What did you talk about?”

“Oh, nothing, really. Pleasantries.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it? How many Dragons do you know who will exchange pleasantries with a Jhereg?”

“Perhaps. On the other hand, of course, she may have been trying to find something out about me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I didn’t say I thought so, just that she may have been. I’ve wondered myself as to her reasons for seeking me out.”

“I can imagine. I haven’t noticed that Dragons tend toward subtlety, however. Did she seem irritated with you?”

I could see his mind working. How much, he was thinking, should I tell this guy, hoping to pull information out of him? He couldn’t risk a lie that I would recognize, or I wouldn’t be of any further use to him, and he couldn’t really know how much I knew. We were both playing the same game, and either one of us could put the limit on it. How much did he want to know? How badly did he want to know it? How worried was he?

“Not on the surface,” he said at last, “but I did get the impression that she might not have liked me. It ruined my whole day, I’m telling you.”

I chuckled a little. “Any idea why?”

This time I’d gone too far. I could see him clam up.

“None at all,” he said.

Okay, so I’d gotten a little, and he’d gotten a little. Which one of us had gotten more would be determined by which one of us was alive after this was over.

“Well, Loiosh, did you find out anything?”

“More than you did, boss.”

“Oh? What in specific?”

Mental images of two faces appeared to my mind’s eye.

“These two. They were watching you the entire time from a few feet away.”

“Oh, really? So he has bodyguards, eh?”

“At least two of them. Are you surprised?”

“Not really. I’m just surprised that I didn’t pick up on them.”

“I guess they’re pretty good.”

“Yeah. Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem. It’s a good thing that one of us stays awake.”

I made my way out of the banquet hall and considered my next move. Let’s see. I really should check in with Morrolan. First, however, I wanted to talk to one of the security people and arrange for some surveillance on those two bodyguards. I wanted to learn a bit about them before I found myself confronting them on any important issue.

Morrolan’s security officer on duty had an office just a few doors down from the Library. I walked in without knocking—the nature of my job putting me a step above this fellow.

The person who looked up at me as I stepped in was called Uliron, and he should have been working the next shift, not this one. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Where is Fentor?”

He shrugged. “He wanted me to take his shift this time, and he’d take mine. I guess he had some kind of business.”

I was bothered by this. “Do you do this often?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, looking puzzled, “both you and Morrolan said it was all right for us to switch from time to time, and we logged it last shift.”

“But do you do it often?”

“No, not really very often. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Shut up for a minute; I want to think.”

Fentor was a Tsalmoth, and he’d been with Morrolan’s security forces for over fifty years. It was hard to imagine him suddenly being on the take, but it is possible to bring pressures down on anyone. Why? What did they want?

The other thing I couldn’t figure out was why I had such a strong reaction to the switch. Sure, it was coming at a bad time, but they’d done it before. I almost dismissed it, but I’ve learned something about my own hunches: the only time they turn out to be meaningful is when I ignore them.

I sat on the edge of the desk and tried to sort it out. There was something significant about this; there had to be. I drew a dagger and started flipping it.

“What do you make of this, Loiosh?”

“I don’t make anything of it, boss. Why do you think there’s something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just that there’s a break in routine, right now, when we know that the Demon wants to get at Mellar, and he isn’t going to let the fact that Mellar is in Castle Black stop him.”

“You think this could be a shot at Mellar?”

“Or the setup for it. I don’t know. I’m worried.”

“But didn’t the Demon say that there wouldn’t be any need to start a war? He said it could be ‘worked around.’ ”

“Yes, he did. I hadn’t forgotten that. I just don’t see how he can do it—”

I stopped. At that moment, I saw very clearly how he could do it. That, of course, was why the Demon had tried to get my cooperation and then tried to kill me when I wouldn’t give it. Oh, shit.

I didn’t want to take the time to run down the hall. I reached out for contact with Morrolan. There was a good chance that I was already too late, of course, but perhaps not. If I could reach him, I would have to try to convince him not to leave Castle Black, under any circumstances. I’d have to . . . I became aware that I wasn’t reaching him.

I felt myself slipping into automatic—where my brain takes off on its own, and lets me know what I’m supposed to do next. I concentrated on Aliera, and got contact.

“Yes, Vlad? What is it?”

“Morrolan. I can’t reach him, and it’s urgent. Can you find him with Pathfinder?”

“What’s wrong, Vlad?”

“If we hurry, we might be able to get him before they make him unrevivifiable.”

The echo of the thoughts hadn’t died out in my head before she was standing next to me, Pathfinder naked in her hand. I heard a gasp from behind me, and remembered Uliron.

“Hold the keep for us,” I told him. “And pray.”

I sheathed my dagger; I wanted to have both hands free. If I don’t know what I’m going to run into, I consider hands to be more versatile than any given weapon. I longed to unwrap Spellbreaker and be holding it ready, but I didn’t. I was better off this way.

Aliera was deep in concentration, and I saw Pathfinder begin to emit a soft green glow. This was something I despised—having to sit there, ready to do something, but waiting for someone else to finish before I could. I studied Pathfinder. It shimmered green along its hard, black length. Pathfinder was a short weapon, compared to most swords that Dragaerans use. It was both shorter and heavier than the rapiers I liked to use, but in Aliera’s hands it was light and capable. And, of course, it was a Great Weapon.

What is a Great Weapon? That’s a good question. I wondered the same thing myself as I watched Aliera concentrating, her eyes narrowed to slits, and her hand steadily holding the pulsating blade.

As far as my knowledge goes, however, there is this: a Morganti weapon, made by one of the small, strange race called Serioli that dwell in the jungles and mountains of Dragaera, is capable of destroying the soul of the person it kills. They are, all of them, strange and frightening things, endowed with a kind of sentience. They come in differing degrees of power, and some are enchanted in other ways.

But there are a few—legend says seventeen—that go beyond “a kind of sentience.” These are the Great Weapons. They are, all of them, powerful. They all have enough sentience to actually decide whether or not to destroy the soul of the victim. Each has its own abilities, skills, and powers. And each one, it is said, is linked to the soul of the one who bears it. It can, and will, do anything necessary to preserve its bearer, if he is the One chosen for it. And the things those weapons can do . . .

Aliera tugged at my sleeve and nodded when I looked up. There was a twist down in my bowels, the walls vanished, and I felt sick, as usual. We were standing in what appeared to be an unused warehouse. Aliera gave a gasp, and I followed her glance.

Morrolan’s body was lying on the floor a few feet from us. There was a dark red spot on his chest. I approached him, feeling sicker than ever. I dropped to my knee next to him and saw that he wasn’t breathing.

Aliera sheathed Pathfinder and dropped down beside me. She ran her hands over Morrolan’s body once, her face closed with concentration. Then she sat back and shook her head.

“Unrevivifiable?” I asked.

She nodded. Her eyes were cold and gray. Mourning, if there was to be any, would come later.

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“Is there anything we can do, Aliera?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Bide.” She carefully ran her hands once more over Morrolan’s body, while I made a cursory survey of the warehouse. I didn’t find anything, but there were several areas that I couldn’t see.

“I can’t break it,” she said at last.

“Break what?”

“The spell preventing revivification.”

“Oh.”

“However, the sorcerer who put it on could, if it’s done soon enough. We’ll have to find him quickly.”

“Her,” I corrected automatically.

She was up in an instant, staring at me. “You know who did it?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But I think we’re safe in limiting it to the Left Hand of the Jhereg, and most of them are female.”

She looked puzzled. “Why would the Jhereg want to kill Morrolan?”

I shook my head. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we have to find that sorceress.”

“Any suggestions as to how we do this?”

“Pathfinder?”

“Has nothing to work with. I need a psionic image, or at least a face or a name. I’ve checked around the room, but I’m not able to pick up anything.”

“You generally don’t with Jhereg. If she’s competent, she wouldn’t have had to feel any strong emotions in order to do what she did.”

She nodded. I began looking around the room, hoping to find some kind of clue. Loiosh was faster, however. He flew around the perimeter and quickly spotted something.

“Over here, boss.’”

Aliera and I rushed over there, and almost tripped over another body, lying face down on the floor. I turned it over and saw Fentor’s face staring up at me. His throat had been cut by a wide-bladed knife, used skillfully and with precision. The jugular had been neatly slit.

I turned to Aliera, to ask if he was revivifiable, but she was already checking. I stepped back to give her room.

She nodded, once, then laid her left hand on his throat. She held it there for a moment and removed it. The wound was closed, and from where I stood I could only barely make out a faint scar.

She continued checking over his body and turned it over to make sure that there was nothing on his back. She turned it over again and laid both of her hands on his chest. She closed her eyes, and I could see the lines of tension on her face.

Fentor started breathing.

I let the air out of my lungs, realizing that I’d been holding it in.

His eyes fluttered open. Fear, recognition, relief, puzzlement, understanding.

I wondered what my own face had looked like, that time Aliera had brought me back to life.

He reached up with his right hand and touched his throat; he shivered. He saw me, but had no reaction that indicated guilt. Good; he hadn’t been bought off, at least. I’d have liked to have given him time to recover, but we couldn’t afford it. Every second we waited made it that much less likely that we could find the sorceress who had finished off Morrolan. And we had to find her and make her—

I reached out for contact with Kragar. After a long time, or so it seemed, I reached him.

“What is it, boss?”

“Can you get a fix on me?”

“It’ll take a while. Problems?”

“You guessed it. I need a Morganti blade. Don’t bother making it untraceable this time, just make it strong.”

“Check. Sword, or dagger?”

“Dagger, if possible, but a sword will do.”

“Okay. And you want it sent to where you are?”

“Right. And hurry.”

“All right. Leave our link open, so I can trace down it.”

“Right.”

I turned back to Fentor. “What happened? Briefly.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“I was sitting at the security office, when—”

“No,” I interrupted. “We don’t have time for the whole thing right now. Just what happened after you got here.”

He nodded. “Okay. I showed up, was slugged. When I woke up I was blindfolded. I heard some talking, but I couldn’t make out anything anyone said. I tried to reach you, and then Morrolan, but they had some kind of block up. I sat there for about fifteen minutes and tried to get out. Someone touched me on the throat with a knife to let me know I was being watched, so I stopped. I felt someone teleport in, around then, and then someone cut my throat.” He winced and turned away. When he turned back, his face was composed again. “That’s all I know.”

“So we still don’t have anything,” I said.

“Not necessarily,” said Aliera. She turned to Fentor. “You say you heard voices?”

He nodded.

“Were any of them female?”

He squinted for a moment, trying to remember, then nodded.

“Yes. There was definitely a woman there.”

She reached forward again and placed her hand on his forehead.

“Now,” she instructed, “think about that voice. Concentrate on it. Try to hear it in your mind.”

He realized what was going on and looked over at me, his eyes wide. No one, no matter how innocent, enjoys being mind-probed.

“Do it,” I said. “Cooperate.”

He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

After about a minute, Aliera opened her eyes and looked up. “I think I’ve got it,” she said. She drew Pathfinder, and Fentor gasped and tried to draw away.

At about that moment, there was a small popping sound, and I heard Kragar’s pseudo-voice say, “Okay, here it is.”

I saw a sheathed dagger at my feet.

“Good work,” I told him, and cut the link before he could get around to asking any questions.

I drew the dagger and studied it. The instant it was out of the sheath, I recognized it as Morganti. I felt the blade’s sentience ringing within my mind, and I shuddered.

It was a large knife, with a point and an edge. Two edges, in fact, as it was sharpened a few inches along the back. The blade was about sixteen inches long, and had a wicked curve along the back where it was sharpened. A knife-fighter’s weapon. The hilt was large, and quite plain. The handle was a trifle uncomfortable in my hand; it had been made for Dragaerans, of course.

I sheathed it, and hung it on my belt, on the left side. It was next to the sword, in front of it, and set up for a cross-body draw. I tested it a few times, to make sure that its placement didn’t interfere with getting to my sword. I looked over at Aliera and nodded that I was ready. “Fentor,” I said, “when you’re feeling strong enough, contact Uliron; he’ll arrange to get you back. Consider yourself temporarily suspended from duties.”

He managed a nod, as I felt the gut-wrenching twist of a teleport take effect.

Some general pointers on assassination and similar activities: Do not have yourself teleported so that when you arrive at the scene, you are feeling sick to your stomach. Particularly avoid it when you have no idea whatsoever as to where you’re going to end up. Failing these, at least make sure that it isn’t a crowded tavern at the height of the rush hour, when you don’t know exactly where your victim is. If you do, the people around you will have time to react to you before you can begin to move. And, of course, don’t do it in a place where your victim is sitting at a table surrounded by sorceresses.

If, for some reason, you have to violate all of the above rules, try to have next to you an enraged Dragonlord with a Great Weapon. Fortunately, I wasn’t here to do an assassination. Well, not exactly.

Aliera faced one direction; I faced the other. I spotted them first, but not before I heard a shout and saw several people go into various types of frenzied actions. If this was a typical Jhereg-owned establishment, there could be up to a half-dozen people here who regularly brought bodyguards with them. At least some of the bodyguards would recognize me, and hence be aware that an assassin was now among them.

“Duck, boss!”

I dropped to one knee, as I spotted the table, and so avoided a knife that came whistling at my head. I saw someone, female, point her finger at me. Spellbreaker fell into my hand, and I swung it out. It must have intercepted whatever it was that she was trying to do to me; I wasn’t blasted, or paralyzed, or . . . whatever.

A problem occurred to me just then: I had recognized the table because there were a lot of people at it that I knew to be with the Left Hand, and because they had reacted to my suddenly showing up. One of them, therefore, must have understood what I was doing there (which was confirmed by Aliera’s presence), and acted accordingly. I could safely kill all but her. But which one was it? I couldn’t tell by looking at them. By this time, they were all standing up and ready to destroy us. I was paralyzed as surely as if a spell had hit me.

Aliera wasn’t, however. She must have asked Pathfinder which one it was as soon as she had seen the table—just a fraction of a second after I did. As it happened, she didn’t feel like stopping long enough to let me in on the secret. She jumped past me, Pathfinder arcing wildly. I saw what must have been another spell aimed at me, and I swung Spellbreaker again—caught it.

Aliera had her left hand in front of her. I could see multicolored light striking it. Pathfinder connected with the head of a sorceress with light brown, curly hair, who would have been quite pretty if it weren’t for the look on her face and the dent in her forehead.

I shouted over the screams as I rolled along the floor, hoping to present a difficult target. “Dammit, Aliera, which one?”

She cut again, and another fell, her head departing her shoulders and coming to rest next to me. But Aliera had heard me. Her left hand stopped blocking spells and she pointed directly at one of the sorceresses for a moment. It was someone I didn’t know. Something seemed to strike Aliera at that moment, but Pathfinder emitted a bright green flash for an instant and she continued with the mayhem.

My left hand found three shuriken, and I flipped them at one of the sorceresses who was trying to do something or other to Aliera.

You know, that’s what I hate most about fighting against magic: you never know what they’re trying to do to you until it hits. The sorceress knew what hit her, however. Two of the shuriken got past whatever defenses she had. One caught her just below the throat, the other in the middle of her chest. It wouldn’t kill her, but she wouldn’t be fighting anyone for a while.

I noticed Loiosh, about then, flying into people’s faces and forcing them to fend him off, or else heal the poison. I began to work my way toward our target. Grab her, then have Aliera teleport us out and put up trace blocks.

The sorceress beat us to it.

I was on my feet and moving toward her. I was perhaps five steps away when she vanished. At the same moment something hit me. I discovered that I couldn’t move. I’d been running and I wasn’t especially in balance, so I hit the floor rather hard. I ended up on my back, in a position where I could see Aliera, torn between helping me and trying to trace and follow the vanished sorceress.

“I’m fine!” I lied to her psionically. “Just get that bitch and stuff her somewhere!”

Aliera promptly vanished, leaving me all alone. Paralyzed. What the hell had I done that for? I asked myself.

At the edge of my line of sight (the paralysis was complete enough that I couldn’t even move my eyeballs, which is remarkably frustrating) I saw one of the sorceresses pointing her finger at me. I would, I suppose, have prepared to die if I had known how.

She didn’t get a chance to complete the spell, however.

At that moment, a winged shape hit her face from the side, and I heard her scream and she fell out of my line of sight.

“Loiosh, back off and get out of here!”

“Go to Deathsgate, boss.”

So where did he think I was going?

The sorceress was back in my line of sight, now, and I saw a look of rage on her face. She held out her hand again, but it wasn’t pointed at me this time. She tried to follow Loiosh with her hand, but was having problems. I couldn’t see the jhereg, but I knew what he must be doing.

I couldn’t move to activate Spellbreaker, much less do something meaningful. I could have tried to summon Kragar, but it would all be over before I could even contact him. Witchcraft also just took too damn long.

I would have screamed if I could have. It wasn’t so much that they were going to kill me; but, lying there, utterly helpless, while Loiosh was going to be burned to a crisp, I almost exploded with frustration. My mind hammered at the invisible bonds that held me, as I recklessly drew on my link to the Orb for power, but there was not a chance that I could break the bindings. I just wasn’t a sorcerer of the same class as they were. If only Aliera were here.

That was a laugh! They wouldn’t have been able to bind her like this. If they had the nerve to try, she’d dissolve them all in chaos . . .

Dissolve them in chaos.

The phrase rang through my mind, and echoed through the warehouse of my memory. “I wonder how genetic heritage interacts with reincarnation of the soul.”

“Oddly.”

I was Aliera’s brother.

The thoughts took no time whatsoever. I knew what I had to do then, although I had no idea how to do it. But at that point I didn’t care. Let the whole world blow up. Let the entire planet be dissolved in chaos. The sorceress, who was still within my range of vision, became my whole world for a moment.

I envisioned her dissolving, dissipating, vanishing. All of the sorcerous energy I had summoned and been unable to use, I threw, then, and my rage and frustration guided it.

I have heard, since, that those who were looking on saw a stream of something like formless, colorless fire shoot from me toward the tall sorceress with the finger pointing off into the air, who never saw it coming.

As for me, I suddenly felt myself drained of energy, of hate, of everything. I saw her fall in upon herself and dissolve into a swirling mass of all the colors I could conceive of, and several that I couldn’t.

Screams reached my ears. They meant nothing. I found that I could move again when my head suddenly hit the floor, and I realized that it had been up at an angle. I tried to look around, but couldn’t raise my head. I think someone yelled, “It’s spreading!” which struck me as odd.

“Boss, get up!”

“Who—? Oh. Later, Loiosh.”

“Boss, now! Hurry! It’s moving toward you!”

“What is?”

“Whatever it was that you threw at her. Hurry, boss! It’s almost reached you!”

That was odd enough that I forced my head up a little bit. He was right. There seemed to be almost a pool of—something—that more or less centered where the sorceress had been standing. Now that was strange, I thought.

Several things occurred to me at once. First, that this must be what happened when something dissolved into chaos—it spread. Second, that I really should control it. Third, that I had no idea at all of how one went about controlling chaos—it seemed rather a contradiction in terms, if you see my point. Fourth, I became aware that the outermost tendrils were damn close to me. Finally, I realized that I just plain didn’t have the strength to move.

And then there was another cry, from off to my side, and I became aware that someone had teleported in. That almost set me off laughing. No, no, I wanted to say. You don’t teleport in to a situation like this, you teleport out.

There was a bright green glow off to my right, and I saw Aliera, striding directly up to the edge of the formless mass that filled that part of the room. Loiosh landed next to me, and began licking my ear.

“C’mon boss. Get up now!”

That was out of the question, of course. Much too much work. But I did succeed in holding my head up enough to watch Aliera. That was very interesting, in a hazy, unimportant sort of way. She stopped at the edge of the formless mass and held out Pathfinder with her right hand. Her left hand was raised up, palm out, in a gesture of warding.

And, so help me Verra, it stopped spreading! I thought I was imagining things at first, but no, it had certainly stopped spreading. Then, slowly, it assumed a single, uniform color: green. It was very interesting, watching it change. It started at the edges and then worked in until the entire mass was a sort of emerald shade.

She began gesturing with her left hand, then, and the green mass began to shimmer, and slowly it turned blue. I thought it was very pretty. I looked closely. Was it my imagination, or did the blue mass seem a bit smaller than it had been? I looked around the edges of where it had been and confirmed it. There was nothing there, now. The wooden floor of the restaurant was gone, and it pulled back to reveal the edge of what appeared to be a pit. I looked up, and discovered that part of the ceiling was missing as well.

Gradually, I began to see the blue mass shrinking. It took on the form, slowly, of a circle, or rather a sphere, about ten feet in diameter. Aliera was moving forward, levitating over the hole in the floor. The ten feet became five feet, then a foot, then Aliera’s body obscured it completely.

I felt strength returning to me. Loiosh was still next to me, licking my ear. I heaved myself up to a sitting position as Aliera turned and came toward me, appearing to walk over the nothingness below her. When she reached me, she grasped my shoulder and forced me to stand up. I couldn’t read the expression on her face. She held out her hand to me when I was stable on my feet again. In her hand was a small, blue crystal. I took it, and felt a warmth from it, pulsating gently. I shuddered.

She spoke for the first time. “A bauble for your wife,” she said. “Tell her how you got it if you wish; she’ll never believe you, anyway.”

I looked around. The room was empty. Hardly surprising. No one with any brains feels like rubbing shoulders with an uncontrolled mass of raw chaos.

“How—How did you do it?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Spend fifty or a hundred years studying it,” she said. “Then walk into the Great Sea of Chaos and make friends with it—after assuring yourself that you have the e’Kieron genes. After you do all that, maybe, if you absolutely have to, you can risk doing something like what you did.”

She stopped for a minute, and said, “That was really incredibly stupid, you know.”

I shrugged, not feeling a whole lot like answering just then. I was, however, beginning to feel a bit more like myself. I stretched, and said, “We’d better get going, before the Imperial Guards show up.”

Aliera shrugged, made a brushing-off motion, and started to say something when Loiosh suddenly said, “Guards, boss!” and I heard the sound of feet tromping. Right on cue.

There were three of them, pulling their grim, official faces, and holding greatswords. Their eyes focused on me, not seeming to notice Aliera at all. I could hardly blame them, of course. They hear about a big mess in a Jhereg-owned bar, come in, and see an Easterner in the colors of House Jhereg. What are they supposed to think?

I had three weapons pointing at me, then. I didn’t move. Looking at them, I gave myself even odds of fighting my way out, given that Loiosh was there and these fools generally don’t know much about dealing with poison or thrown weapons of any kind. I didn’t do anything about it, of course. Even if I’d felt in top shape and there was only one of them, I wouldn’t have touched him. You do not kill Imperial Guards. Ever. You can bribe them, plead with them, reason with them; you don’t fight them. If you do, there are only two possible outcomes: either you lose, in which case you are dead; or you win, in which case you are dead.

But this time, it turned out, I had no reason to worry. I heard Aliera’s voice, over my shoulder. “Leave us,” she said.

The guard turned his attention to her, seemingly for the first time. He raised his eyebrows, recognizing her for a Dragonlord, and not quite knowing how to take all this. I felt tremendous amounts of sympathy for the fellow.

“Who are you?” he asked, approaching her, but keeping his blade politely out of line.

Aliera flung back her cloak, and placed her hand on the hilt of Pathfinder. They must have sensed what it was immediately, for I saw them all recoil somewhat. And they knew, as I knew, that there was all the difference in the world between an Imperial Guard killed by a Jhereg and a fight between Dragons.

“I,” she announced, “am Aliera e’Kieron. This Jhereg is mine. You may go.”

He looked nervous for a moment, licked his lips, and turned back to the others. As far as I could tell, they didn’t express an opinion one way or the other. He turned back to Aliera and looked at her for a moment. Then he bowed and, without a word, turned and left, his fellows falling in behind. I would be very interested in hearing what they put in their reports, I decided.

Aliera turned back to me. “What hit you?” she asked.

“A complete external binding, as far as I can tell. They didn’t get my ears, or for that matter, my heart or lungs, but they got just about everything else.”

She nodded. I suddenly remembered what we’d been doing there.

“The sorceress! Did you get her?”

She smiled, nodded, and patted the hilt of Pathfinder.

I shuddered again. “You had to destroy her?”

She shook her head. “You forget, Vlad—this is a Great Weapon. Her body is back in Castle Black, and her soul is here, where we can get at it whenever we want it.” She chuckled.

I shuddered still another time. I’m sorry, but some things bother me. “And Morrolan’s body?”

“He’s at Castle Black, too. The Necromancer is looking after him, seeing if she can find a way to break the spell. It doesn’t look hopeful unless we can convince our friend to help.”

I nodded. “Okay, then let’s get going.”

At this point I suddenly remembered that, when those Imperial Guards were here, I’d been carrying a high potency Morganti weapon on my person. If I’d remembered that at the time, I don’t know what I would have done, but I’d have been a lot more worried. This was the first time I’d come close to actually getting caught with one, and I was suddenly very happy that Aliera was along.

By the time we returned to Castle Black, my stomach was more than just a little irritated with me. If I’d eaten recently, I would probably have lost the meal. I resolved to be extra kind to my innards the rest of the day.

Morrolan has a tower, high up in his castle. It is the center of much of his power, I’m told. Besides himself, very few people are allowed up there. I’m one, Aliera is another. Still another is the Necromancer. The tower is the center of Morrolan’s worship of Verra, the Demon Goddess he serves. And I do mean “serves.” He has been known to sacrifice entire villages to her.

The tower is always dark, lit only by a few black candles. There is a single window in it, which does not look down on the courtyard below. If you’re lucky, it doesn’t look upon anything at all. If you aren’t, it will look upon things which may destroy your sanity.

We laid Morrolan’s body on the floor beneath the window. On the altar in the center of the room was the sorceress. Her head was propped up, so that she could see the window. This was at my suggestion. I had no intention of actually using the window for anything, but having her see it would help with what we were trying to do.

The Necromancer aided Aliera, who revivified the sorceress. It could, conceivably, have been the other way around, too. There are few who know more about the transfer of souls, and the mysteries of death, than the Necromancer. But it was Aliera’s Great Weapon, so she did the necessary spells.

The sorceress’s eyes fluttered open, and her face went through the same patterns that Fentor’s had, earlier, except that it ended with fear.

This part was my job. I had no desire to give her time to take in her surroundings more than casually, or to orient herself. The fact that she had been picked by whoever had killed Morrolan guaranteed that she was good, which guaranteed that she was tough. I didn’t figure to have an easy time of this, by any means.

And so the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the window. It was politely empty at the moment, but nonetheless effective. And before she had time to adjust to that, she saw my face. I was standing over her and doing my best to look unfriendly.

“Well,” I said, “did you enjoy the experience?”

She didn’t answer. I wondered what it was like, having your soul eaten, so I asked her. She still didn’t answer.

By this time, she would be cognizant of several things—including the chains that held her tied to the altar and the spells in the room which kept her from using sorcery.

I waited for a moment, to make sure it all sank in properly. “You know,” I said conversationally, “Aliera enjoyed killing you that way. She wanted to do it again.”

Fear. Controlled.

“I wouldn’t let her,” I said. “I wanted to do it.”

No reaction.

“You okay, boss?”

“Damn! Is it showing that much?”

“Only to me.”

“Good. No, I’m not okay, but there isn’t anything I can do about it, either.”

“Perhaps,” I went on to her, “it is a flaw in my character, but I truly enjoy using Morganti weapons on you bitches.”

Still nothing.

“That’s why we brought you back, you know.” As I said it, I drew the dagger Kragar had supplied me with and held it before her eyes. They widened with recognition. She shook her head in denial.

I’d never had to do anything like this before, and I wasn’t liking it now. It wasn’t as if she’d done something wrong—she’d just accepted a standard contract, much as I would have done. Unfortunately, she’d gotten involved with the wrong people. And, unfortunately, we needed her cooperation because she’d done a good job. I couldn’t stop myself from identifying closely with her.

I touched her throat with the back of the blade, above the edge. I felt it fighting me—trying to turn around, to get at the skin, to cut, to drink.

She felt it too.

I held onto control. “However, being an honorable sort, I have to inform you that if you cooperate with us, I won’t be allowed to use this on you. A pity, if that were to happen.”

Her face showed the gleam of hope she felt, and she hated herself for it. Well, after all, I didn’t feel real good about myself just then either, but that’s the game.

I grabbed her hair, and lifted her head a bit more. Her eyes landed on Morrolan’s figure, lying directly under the window, which still showed only black. “You know what we want,” I said. “I, personally, don’t give a teckla’s squawk if you do it or not. But some others here do. We arrived at a compromise. I have to ask you, just once, to remove the spell you put on. If you don’t agree, I can have you. If you do, Morrolan gets to decide what to do with you.”

She was openly trembling, now.

To a Jhereg professional, a contract is an almost sacred bond. Most of us would rather lose our souls than break a contract—in the abstract. However, when it comes right down to the moment, well . . . we’d soon see. I’d never been in the kind of situation she was in, and I prayed to Verra that I never would be, feeling very much the hypocrite. I think I would have broken about there, myself. Well, maybe not. It’s so hard to say.

“Well, what is it?” I asked, harshly. I saw her face torn with indecision. Sometimes I truly loathe the things I do. Maybe I should have been a thief after all.

I grabbed hold of her dress and raised it up, exposing her legs. I pulled at one knee. Loiosh hissed, right on cue, and I said, aloud, “No! Not until I’m done with her!”

I licked the forefinger of my left hand and wetted down a spot on the inside of her thigh. She was close to tears, now, which meant she was also close to breaking. Well, now or never.

“Too late,” I said with relish, and lowered the Morganti blade, slowly and deliberately, toward her thigh. The point touched.

“No! My god, stop! I’ll do it!”

I dropped the knife onto the floor and grabbed her head again and supported her shoulders. She was facing Morrolan’s body; her own was shaking with sobs. I nodded to Aliera, who dropped the protection spells which had cut off her sorcery. If she’d been faking, she was now in a position to put up a fight. But she knew damn well that she wouldn’t be able to win against both Aliera and me, not to mention the Necromancer.

“Then do it now!” I snapped. “Before I change my mind.”

She nodded, weakly, still sobbing quietly. I saw her concentrate for a moment.

The Necromancer spoke for the first time. “It is done,” she said.

I let the sorceress fall back. I felt sick again.

The Necromancer stepped up to Morrolan’s body and began working on it. I didn’t watch. The only sounds were the sobbing of the sorceress and, very faintly, our breathing.

After a few minutes, the Necromancer stood up. Her dull, undead eyes looked almost happy for a moment. I looked over at Morrolan, who was breathing now, evenly and deeply. His eyes opened.

Unlike the others, his first reaction was anger. I saw a scowl form on his lips, then confusion. He looked around.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You were set up,” I said.

He looked puzzled and shook his head. He held a hand up, and assisted him to his feet. He looked at all of us, his eyes coming to rest on the sorceress, who was still sobbing quietly.

He looked back and forth at Aliera and me for a moment, then asked, “Who is this one?”

“Left Hand,” I explained. “She was retained, I expect, by whoever did the job on you. She was to make sure you couldn’t be revivified. She did it, too. But of course, whoever put the spell on can take it off again, and we convinced her to remove it.”

He looked thoughtfully at her. “She’s pretty good then, eh?”

“Good enough,” said Aliera.

“Then,” said Morrolan, “I suspect she did more than that. Someone hit me as soon as I arrived at that—place.”

“Warehouse,” I said.

“That warehouse. Someone succeeded in stripping away all of my defensive spells. Could that have been you, my lady?”

She looked over at him bleakly, but didn’t respond.

“It must have been,” I said. “Why hire two sorceresses when you only need one?”

He nodded.

I retrieved the dagger from the floor, sheathed it, and handed it to Morrolan. He collects Morganti weapons, and I didn’t ever want to see this one again. He looked at it and nodded. The knife disappeared into his cloak.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

We headed for the exit. Aliera caught my eye, and she couldn’t quite keep the disgust from her face. I looked away.

“What about her?” I asked Morrolan. “We guaranteed her her soul if she’d help us, but made no promises other than that.”

He nodded, looked back at her, and drew a plain-steel dagger from his belt.

The rest of us went out the door, none of us really desirous of seeing the end of the affair.

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Morrolan had caught up to us by the time we reached the library, and his dagger was sheathed. I tried to put the whole incident out of mind. I failed, of course.

In fact—and here’s a funny thing, if you’re in the mood for a laugh—I had done forty-one assassinations at this point, and I had never been bothered by one. I mean, not a bit. But this time, when I actually hadn’t even hurt the bitch, it bothered me so much that for years afterward I’d wake up seeing her face. It could be that she laid some kind of curse on me, but I doubt it. It’s just that, oh, Hell. I don’t want to talk about it.

Fentor was in the library when we arrived. When he saw Morrolan, he almost broke down. He rushed up and fell to his knees, casting his head down. I thought I was going to get sick all over again, but Morrolan was more understanding.

“Get up,” he said gruffly. “Then sit down and tell us about it.”

Fentor nodded and stood. Morrolan guided him to a seat and poured him a glass of wine. He drank it thirstily, failing to appreciate the vintage, while we found seats and poured wine for ourselves. Presently, he was able to speak. “It was this morning, my lord, that I received a message.”

“How?” Morrolan interrupted.

“Psionic.”

“All right, proceed.”

“He identified himself as a Jhereg and he said he had some information to sell me.”

“Indeed? What kind of ‘information?’ ”

“A name, my lord. He said that there was going to be an attempt made on Mellar, who was one of our guests, and that the assassin didn’t care that he was here.” Fentor gave an apologetic shrug, as if to apologize for his contact’s lack of judgment. “He said the assassin was good enough to beat our security system.”

Morrolan looked at me and raised his eyebrow. I was in charge of security, he was saying, in his eloquent way. Could it be beaten?

“Anyone can be assassinated,” I told Morrolan, drily.

He allowed his lips to smile a bit, nodded, and returned his attention to Fentor.

“Did you really think,” Morrolan asked him, “that they were prepared to start another Dragon-Jhereg war?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Let him finish his tale.

“I was afraid he might,” said Fentor. “In any case, I thought it would be a good idea to get the name, just to be safe.”

“He was willing to give you the name of the assassin?” I found myself asking.

He nodded. “He said that he was desperate for money, and had come across it, and knew Morrolan would be interested.”

“I don’t suppose,” said Morrolan, “that it occurred to you to bring this information to me before you tried to do anything yourself?”

Fentor was silent for a moment, then he asked, “Would you have done it, my lord?”

“Most assuredly not,” said Morrolan. “I would hardly submit to anyone’s extortion.” He lifted his chin slightly.

(Be still, my beating stomach.)

Fentor nodded. “I assumed that you would have that reaction, my lord. On the other hand, it’s my job to make sure nothing happens to your guests, and I thought I’d need any advantage I could get, if there really was an assassin who was going to try for Mellar.”

“How much did he want?” I asked.

“Three thousand gold Imperials.”

“Cheap,” I remarked, “given what he was risking.”

“Where did the gold come from?” Morrolan asked.

Fentor shrugged. “I’m not really poor,” he said. “And since I was doing it on my own—”

“I suspected as much,” said Morrolan. “You will be reimbursed.”

Fentor shook his head. “Oh, I still have the gold,” he said. “They never took it.”

I could have told him that. After all, we were dealing with professionals.

Fentor continued. “I arrived at the teleport coordinates they gave me and was hit as soon as I got there. I was blindfolded and then killed. I had no idea what had happened, or why, until I got up, after Aliera revivified me, and saw—” he choked for a minute, and looked away “—and saw your body, my lord. That was when I arranged to have us teleported back.”

I felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for him. We probably should have let him know about Morrolan’s corpse a few feet away, but then, I hadn’t exactly been in the mood for polite chit-chat, nor had the time for it.

Morrolan nodded sagely as he finished.

“I’ve temporarily relieved him from duty,” I put in.

Morrolan stood up, and went over to him. He looked down on Fentor for a moment, then he said, “All right. I approve of the motivations behind your actions. I understand and sympathize with your reasoning. But there is not to be a repetition of this action in the future. Is this understood?”

“Yes, my lord. And thank you.”

Morrolan clapped him on the shoulder. “Very well,” he said. “You are restored to full duty. Get back to work.”

Fentor bowed and left. Morrolan shut the door behind him after seeing him out, sat down, and sipped his wine.

“No doubt,” he said, “you are all hoping to hear what happened to me.”

“You guessed it,” I said.

He shrugged. “I received a message, from the same individual who contacted Fentor, most likely. Fentor, he claimed, was being held. I was instructed,” he said the word as if it tasted bad, “to withdraw my protection of the Lord Mellar and remove him from my home. They told me that if I didn’t, they would kill Fentor. They threatened to use a Morganti blade on him if I made any attempt to rescue him.”

“So naturally,” I said, “you went charging right in there.”

“Naturally,” he agreed, ignoring my sarcasm. “I kept him talking long enough to trace where he was, put up my standard protection spells, and teleported in.”

“Was Fentor alive then?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. While I was trying the trace, I made them put me in contact with him, to verify that he was alive. He was unconscious, but living.”

“In any case,” he continued, “I arrived. That, uh, lady we just left threw some kind of spell. I assume it was preset. I didn’t realize that it was her until just now, of course, but whatever it was removed my protections against physical attack.” He shook his head. “I’m forced to admire their timing. You would have appreciated it, Vlad. Before I was really aware of what had happened, something hit me in the back of the head and I saw a knife coming toward me. Most unpleasant. I had no time to counterattack in any way. As they intended, of course.”

I nodded. “They knew what they were doing. I should have figured it out sooner.”

“How did you catch on at all?” asked Aliera.

“Certain parties had mentioned that they had found a way to kill Mellar without bringing the whole House of the Dragon down on their heads. It took me way too long, but it finally occurred to me that the one way to do that, without getting Mellar to leave Castle Black, would be if Morrolan were to turn up conveniently dead. Then, of course, there wouldn’t be a problem, since he’d no longer be Morrolan’s guest, as it were.”

Morrolan shook his head, sadly.

I continued. “As soon as I found out that Fentor and Uliron had changed shifts, I knew something was up. I figured out what it had to be, contacted Aliera, and, well, you know the rest.”

He didn’t, of course, but I wasn’t really in the mood to tell him how I almost managed to dissolve myself—and half of Adrilankha—in raw chaos.

Morrolan looked at me hard. “And who,” he asked, “is this person, who came up with this marvelous scheme?”

I matched his stare, and shook my head. “No,” I said. “That information I can’t give even you.”

He looked at me a moment longer, then shrugged. “Well, my thanks, in any case.”

“You know what the real irony is?” I said.

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to come up with some way to prevent another Dragon-Jhereg war myself, and when one drops right into my lap, I chuck it out.”

Morrolan allowed himself a small smile. “I don’t really think they’d go that far, do you?” he asked.

I started to nod, stopped. Damn right they’d go that far! And, knowing the Demon, he wouldn’t waste a lot of time being about it.

“What’s wrong, Vlad?” asked Aliera.

I shook my head and contacted Fentor.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Are you back on duty?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Run a full check on all our secure areas. Now. Make sure nothing’s been breached. I want it done an hour ago. Move!”

I held the contact while he gave the necessary orders. If I were going to take out Mellar, how would I get past Morrolan’s security system? I ran it through my mind. I’d set the damn thing up myself, however, so of course I couldn’t see any flaws in it. Ask Kiera? Later, if there was time. If it wasn’t already too late.

“Everything checks, my lord.”

“Okay. Bide a moment.”

Morrolan and Aliera were looking at me, puzzled. I ignored them. Now . . . forget the windows—no one gets in that way. Tunnel? Ha! From a mile in the air? When Morrolan can detect any sorcery done around the castle? No way. A hole in the wall? If they weren’t going to use sorcery, which they shouldn’t be able to, it would take too long. Doors? The main door had witchcraft, sorcery, and Lady Teldra. Forget that. Rear doors? Servants’ entrances? No, we had guards.

Guards. Could the guards have been bribed? It would take, how many? Damn! Only two. How long did he have to set this up? Not more than two days. No, he couldn’t find two guards who would take in only two days, without finding one who would talk first. Kill all the ones who said no?

“Fentor, any deaths of guards within the last two days?”

“No, my lord.”

Okay, good. No one was bribed. What else? Replace a guard? Oh, shit, that’s what I’d do.

“Fentor, do we have any new guards working today? People who have been on the pay roll less than three days? If not, check for servants. But check for guards first.”

That’s what I’d do, of course. Take a job as a guard, or a servant, and wait for the perfect moment. All I’d have to do is arrange for the right guard to be busy, or ill, or to need sudden days off, maybe bribe one person, maybe not even have to, if I could get access to the records and slip my name in.

“As a matter of fact, yes. We have someone new outside the banquet hall. The guard who normally has that duty—”

I broke the link. I was already running and half out the door before I heard Morrolan and Aliera shouting after me. The Necromancer, who hadn’t said a word the entire time, remained behind. After all, what was another death, more or less, to her?

I charged down to the banquet hall at full tilt. Loiosh, however, was faster. He was flapping his way about ten paces ahead of me when I saw the two guards outside the door. I saw that they recognized me. They bowed slightly and came to alert as I started to get close. I noticed, from fifty feet away, that one of them had a dagger concealed under his uniform, which is very un-Dragonlike. Thank Barlen, we were in time.

Morrolan was close to my heels as I approached. The guard with the concealed dagger locked eyes with me for a moment; then he turned and bolted into the room, Loiosh close behind him. Morrolan and I raced after him. I took out a throwing knife; Morrolan drew Blackwand. I cringed involuntarily from the things that that unsheathed blade did to my mind, but I didn’t let it slow me down.

There were shouts from inside the hall, doubtless in response to Morrolan’s psionic orders. I ran past the door. For a moment, I couldn’t see him, obscured as he was by the crowd. Then I saw Loiosh strike. There was a scream, and I saw a sword flash.

We stopped. Mellar was now in plain view, looking not at all concerned. He favored Morrolan with a look of inquiry. At his very feet was the “guard.” The latter’s head was a few feet off to the side. A real guard stood over the body, his longsword bare and dripping. He looked up at Morrolan, who nodded to him.

Morrolan and I walked up to the body and removed a dagger from the outstretched hand. He took it and studied it for a moment. He said “good job,” to the guard.

The guard shook his head. “Thank the jhereg,” he said, looking at Loiosh with an expression of wonder on his face. “If he hadn’t slowed him down, I’d never have made it in time.”

“Finally, someone who appreciates me.”

“Finally, you do a day’s work.”

“Two dead teckla on your pillow.”

We ignored Mellar completely and walked back out of the room.

“All right,” snapped Morrolan as we left. “Get this place cleaned up.”

Aliera appeared beside us, and we headed back toward the library. Morrolan handed me the dagger. I touched it, and knew at once that it was Morganti. I shuddered and handed it back to him. There were just too damn many of those things floating around, lately.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” he said.

I nodded.

“And you knew this would happen?”

“I guessed it. When the attempt to nail you didn’t work, they had to go ahead and get him anyway.”

“We’ve been lucky,” I added. “I’ve been too slow to pick up on most of this. If Mellar had happened to walk by the door any time in the last hour, it would be all over by now.”

We entered the library. The Necromancer nodded a greeting to us and gestured with her wineglass, the strange, perpetual half-smile on her face. I’ve always liked her. Some day I hope to understand her. On the other hand, perhaps I’d better hope not to. As we seated ourselves, I said to Morrolan, “I’ve been meaning to get around to talking to you since I found out about the bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards? Whose? Mellar’s?”

“Right. As far as I can tell, he has two of them.”

“As far as who can tell, boss?”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“That is rather interesting,” said Morrolan. “He most assuredly had no bodyguards when he arrived.”

I shrugged. “So they aren’t on your guest list. That makes them fair game, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “It appears that he doesn’t especially trust my oath.”

Something about that bothered me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Possibly,” I said. “But it’s more likely that he doesn’t trust the Jhereg not to start another war, just to get him.”

“Well, he’s correct in that, is he not, Vlad?”

I nodded, and looked away.

“Whoever this Mellar was in the Jhereg” said Morrolan, “he certainly must have hurt some pretty big people.”

“Big enough,” I said.

Morrolan shook his head. “I just can’t believe that the Jhereg would be that stupid. Both Houses were very nearly destroyed the first time, and the last time—”

“ ‘Last time?’ ” I echoed. “It’s only happened once, as far as I know.”

He seemed surprised. “Didn’t you know? But of course, it wouldn’t be something the Jhereg would discuss excessively. I wouldn’t know myself if Aliera hadn’t told me about it.”

“Told you what?” My voice sounded faint and hollow in my own ears.

Aliera cut in. “It happened once more. It started the same as before—with a Jhereg killed by an assassin while he was a guest in a Dragonlord’s home. The Dragons retaliated, the Jhereg retaliated, and . . . ” She shrugged.

“Why haven’t I heard of this before?”

“Because things went to Hell after that, and it never got really well recorded. Briefly, the Jhereg who was killed was the friend of the Dragonlord, and he was helping him out on something. Someone found out what he was doing and put a stop to it.

“The Dragons demanded that the assassin be turned over to them, and this time the Jhereg agreed. I guess House Jhereg felt that he should have known better, and also it may have been a private quarrel on some level. In any case, the assassin escaped from the Dragonlord’s home before he was killed. He killed a couple of Dragons on the way out, then he killed a couple of the Jhereg bosses who had turned him in. He was killed himself, later, but by then it was too late to stop anyone.”

“Why? If it was just the one individual—”

“This was during the reign of a decadent Phoenix, so nobody was trusting anybody. The Jhereg thought that it was the Dragons who had killed the bosses, and the Dragons thought it was the Jhereg who had arranged the escape.”

“And then things went to hell, you say? Right then?”

She nodded. “The Jhereg killed enough of the right Dragonlords, including some wizards, so that a certain one, who’d been planning a coup, found himself forced to move too soon, and to rely too heavily on magic. And, without his best sorcerers, the spell got out of control, even after the Emperor was dead, and . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

It started to sink in. I can subtract as well as anyone can, and if the first Dragon-Jhereg war was when it was, then the second one had to be . . . decadent Phoenix . . . Dragon coup . . . went to Hell . . . spell got out of control . . . dead Phoenix Emperor . . .

“Adron,” I said.

She nodded. “My father. The assassin had reasons of his own to hate the Emperor and was working with father to find a way to poison the Emperor when things fell apart. As you know, it was Mario who finally killed the Emperor, when he tried to use the Orb against the Jhereg. Another Phoenix tried to grab the throne, and father had to move too quickly. The next thing you know, we have a sea of chaos where the city of Dragaera used to be, no Emperor, no Orb, and no Empire. It was close to two hundred years before Zerika turned up with the Orb.”

I shook my head. Just too damn many shocks in too damn few days. I couldn’t handle it.

“And now,” I said, “it’s going to start up again.”

Morrolan nodded at this. We were all silent for a time, then Morrolan said quietly, “And if that happens, Vlad, which side will you be on?”

I looked away.

“You know,” he continued, “that I’d be one of House Jhereg’s first targets.”

“I know,” I said. “I also know that you’d be in the front lines trying to waste the organization. As would Aliera, for that matter. And, by the way, I’d be one of the first ones the Dragons went after.”

He nodded. “Do you think you could convince the Jhereg to let this one go?”

I shook my head. “I’m not an Issola, Morrolan, and I don’t have that sharp a tooth. And, to tell you the truth, I’m not all that sure that I’d do it if I could. I’ve heard all the reasons why Mellar has to go, and they’re hard to argue with.”

“I see. Perhaps you could convince them to wait. As you know, he’ll only be staying here a few more days.”

“No way, Morrolan. It can’t be done.”

He nodded. We sat there in silence for a time; then I said, “I don’t suppose there is any way, just this once, that you could let us have him? All you have to do is kick him out, you know. I hadn’t intended to even ask, but . . . ”

Aliera looked up, intent for a moment.

“Sorry, Vlad. No.”

Aliera sighed.

“All right,” I said. “I didn’t really think you would.”

We were all quiet again, for a few minutes; then Morrolan spoke once more. “I probably don’t have to say this, but I will remind you that if anything, anything at all, happens to him in this house, I’m not going to rest until I find out the cause. I’m not going to hold back, even if it’s you.

“And if it is you, or any other Jhereg, I will personally declare war on the House, and I’ll have the backing of every Dragon in the Empire. We have been friends for a long time, and you have saved my life on more than one occasion, but I will not allow you, or anyone else, to get away with the murder of one of my guests. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Morrolan,” I said, “if I had intended to do anything like that, I wouldn’t have asked you about it, would I? I would have done it already. We’ve known each other for—how long? —four years? I’m surprised that you know me so little that you’d think I’d abuse your friendship.”

He shook his head, sadly. “I never thought you would. I just had to make sure that the matter was stated clearly, and in the open, all right?”

“All right. I guess I had it coming to me for asking you what I did, anyway. I’ll be heading off now. I’m going to have to think about this.”

He stood as I did. I bowed to him, to Aliera, and to the Necromancer. Aliera bowed back; the Necromancer looked out at me from within her dark eyes, and she smiled. As I turned toward the door, Morrolan gripped my shoulder.

“Vlad, I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Me, too,” I said.

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Cawti knew me better than any other being that I’m aware of, with the possible exception of Loiosh. She suppressed any desire she might have had for conversation and allowed me to brood in silence as we ate. She squelched the suggestion that I take her turn at cooking since she’d taken mine, and carefully cooked something bland and uninteresting so that I’d feel no compulsion to compliment her on it. Clever lady, my wife.

Our apartment was a small, second-story number, which had two virtues: it was well-lit and it had a large kitchen. There is one way to tell an apartment owned by a member of the Jhereg from any other kind of apartment: the lack of spells to prevent or detect burglary. Why? Simple. No common thief is going to lighten the apartment of a member of the organization except by mistake. If a mistake like that happens, I will have everything back within two days, guaranteed. Kragar may have to arrange for a few broken bones to do it, but it will get done. The only other kind of burglar there is, is someone like Kiera; someone specifically commissioned to get into my place and get something. If this happens, there just isn’t any kind of defense I could put up that would matter a teckla’s squawk. Keep Kiera out? Ha!

So we sat, snug and secure, in our little kitchen, and I said, “You know what the problem is?”

“What?”

“Every time I try to think of how to do it, all I can think of is what happens if I don’t.”

She nodded. “It’s still hard for me to believe that the Demon would consciously and deliberately go out and start a Dragon-Jhereg war.”

I shook my head. “What choice does he have, really?”

“Well, if you were in his position, would you?”

“That’s just the thing,” I said. “I think I would. Sure, they’d chew us up and spit us out again, but if Mellar gets away with this, it’s slow death for the whole organization. If you get every punk on the street thinking that he can burn the council, one of them is bound to succeed, eventually. And then, even more will try, and it’ll just keep getting worse.”

It hit me, then, that I was parroting everything the Demon had told me. I shrugged. So what? It was true. If only there were some way to get rid of Mellar without a war—but, of course, there had been a way. The Demon had found one.

Sure, just kill Morrolan, he had thought. That was why he had given me that chance, back at the Blue Flame, to cooperate. Well, he was an honorable sort, after all, I couldn’t deny that.

I wondered what his next move would be. He could take another try for me, or Morrolan, or skip it and go straight for Mellar. I guessed that he would try for Mellar, since time was becoming rather critical, with people already starting to talk. How much longer could this be held under our cloaks? Another day? Two, if we were lucky? Cawti was speaking, I realized.

“You’re right,” she was saying. “He has to be taken out.”

“And I can’t touch him while he’s at Castle Black.”

“And the Jhereg isn’t about to wait until he leaves.”

Not anymore, they wouldn’t. How would the attack come this time? No matter, they couldn’t set anything up in a day, and Morrolan had tightened his security again. It would wait until tomorrow. It had to. I wasn’t good for much of anything today.

“Just as you said,” I told her. “Caught between a dragon and a dzur.”

“Wait a minute, Vlad! What about a Dzur? Couldn’t you maneuver a Dzur hero into taking him out for you? We could try to find one of the younger ones, who doesn’t know the story about him, maybe a wizard. You know how easy it is to manipulate Dzur heroes.”

I shook my head. “No good, beloved,” I said, thinking of Morrolan’s speech earlier. “Aside from the chance that Morrolan would figure out what happened, I’m just not willing to do that to him.”

“But if he never found out—”

“No. I’d know that I was the one who had caused his oath to be broken. Remember, Mellar isn’t just at the home of a Dragonlord, which would be bad enough; Morrolan in particular has made a point of having Castle Black be a kind of sanctuary for anyone and everyone he invites. It means too much to him for me to trifle with it.”

“My, my, aren’t we the honorable sort today?”

“Shut up, Loiosh. Clean your plate.”

“It’s your plate.”

“Besides,” I added to Cawti, “how would you feel if you had taken the job, and the target was holed up with Norathar?”

The mention of her old friend and partner stopped her “Hmmmm. Norathar would understand,” she said after a while.

“Would she?”

“Yes . . . well, no, I suppose not.”

“Right. And you wouldn’t ask her to, would you?”

She was silent for a while longer, then, “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

She sighed. “Then I don’t see any way out.”

“Neither do I. The ‘way out,’ as you put it, is to convince Mellar to leave Castle Black of his own free will and then nail him when he does. We can trick him however we want, or set up any kind of fake message, but can’t actually attack him, or use any form of magic against him while he’s there.”

“Wait a minute, Vlad. Morrolan won’t let us attack him, or use magic, but if we, say, deliver a note that convinces him to leave, that’s okay? Morrolan won’t care?”

“Right.”

A look of utter confusion passed over her features. “But . . . but that’s ridiculous! What difference does it make to Morrolan how we get him out, if we do? What does using magic have to do with it?”

I shook my head. “Have I ever claimed to understand Dragons?”

“But—”

“Oh, I can almost see it, in a way. We can’t actually do anything to him, is the idea.”

“But isn’t tricking him ‘doing something’ to him?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. But it’s different, at least to Morrolan. For one thing, it’s a matter of free choice. Magic doesn’t give the victim a choice; trickery does. I also suspect that part of it is that Morrolan doesn’t think we’ll be able to do it. And he has a point there. You know Mellar is going to be on his guard against anything like that. I don’t really see how we’re going to be able to do anything.”

“I don’t, either.”

I nodded. “I’ve got Kragar digging into his background, and we’re hoping we’ll find some weak spot there, or something we can use. I’ll have to admit I’m not real hopeful.”

She was silent.

“I wonder,” I said a little later, “what Mario would do.”

“Mario?” she laughed. “He would hang around him, with no one seeing him, for years if he had to. When Mellar finally left Castle Black, however and whenever, Mario would be there, and take him.”

“But the organization can’t wait—”

“They’d wait for Mario.”

“Remember, I took this on with time constraints.”

“Yes,” she said softly, “but Mario wouldn’t have.”

That stung a bit, but I had to admit that it was true, especially since I’d come to the same realization when the Demon had first proposed the job to me.

“In any case,” she went on, “there’s only one Mario.”

I nodded sadly.

“And what,” I asked her then, “would you and Norathar have done, if the thing had been given to you?”

She thought about that for a long time, then she said, “I’m not really sure, but remember that Morrolan isn’t that close a friend of ours; or at least he wasn’t when we were still working. Chances are we’d put some sort of spell on Mellar to get him to leave and make damn sure Morrolan never found out.”

That didn’t help, either.

“I wonder what Mellar would do? I understand he was a pretty fair assassin himself, on his way up. Maybe we’ll invite him over sometime and ask him.”

Cawti laughed easily. “You’ll have to ask him at Castle Black. I understand he isn’t getting out much these days.”

I idly watched Loiosh nibble at the scraps of our meal. I got up and wandered into the living room. I sat there for a while, thinking and looking at the light brown walls, but nothing came.

I still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I’d gotten when I’d been talking to Morrolan. I tried to recall the part of the conversation that had triggered it. Something about bodyguards.

“Cawti,” I called.

Her voice came back from the kitchen. “Yes, dear?”

“Did you know that Mellar has a couple of bodyguards?”

“No, but I’m not surprised.”

“I’m not either. They must be pretty good, too, because they were watching me while I talked to Mellar, and I didn’t notice them at all.”

“Did you mention them to Morrolan?”

“Yes. He seemed a little surprised.”

“I suppose. You know you’re free to do them, don’t you? Since they obviously sneaked in, they aren’t guests.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “It also proves how good they are. Slipping into Castle Black isn’t the work of an amateur, if our protections are half as good as I think they are. Of course, we hadn’t increased the guards then, but still . . . ”

She finished up her cleaning, and sat down next to me. I rested my head on her shoulder. She moved away from me, then, and patted her lap. I stretched out and crossed my legs. Loiosh flew over and landed on my shoulder, nuzzling me with his head.

There was still something about those bodyguards that seemed funny. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, which was incredibly frustrating. In fact, there was something strange about this whole affair that I couldn’t quite see.

“Do you think,” said Cawti a little later, “that you might be able to buy off one of the bodyguards?”

“What do you think?” I said. “If you have a whole organization to choose from, don’t you think you could find two people in it who were completely trustworthy? Especially if you had an extra nine million gold to pay them with?”

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “On the other hand, there are other kinds of pressures we could bring to bear.”

“In two days, Cawti? I don’t think so.”

She nodded, and gently stroked my forehead. “And,” she said, “even if we did, I don’t suppose it would really help. If we can’t take him anyway, it won’t do any good to convince one of the bodyguards to step back at the right time.”

Ching! I had it! Not much, perhaps, but I suddenly knew what had been bothering me. I sat up on the couch, startling Loiosh, who hissed his indignation at me.

I leaned over and kissed Cawti, long and hard.

“What was that for?” she asked, a little breathlessly. “Not, you understand, that I mind.”

I gripped her hand, and locked eyes, and concentrated, letting her share my thoughts. She seemed a bit startled at first, but quickly settled into it. I brought up the memory of standing at the entranceway, and past it, running, and the sight of the dead assassin with a Morganti dagger in his hand. I played over the whole thing, remembering expressions, glimpses of the room, and things only an assassin would have noticed—as well as things an assassin should have noticed if they’d been there.

“Hey, boss, want to run by the part of me getting the guy one more time?”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Cawti nodded as it unfolded, and shared it with me. We reached the point where Morrolan handed me the dagger, and I broke out of it.

“There,” I said, “does anything strike you as odd?”

She thought it over. “Well, Mellar seemed pretty calm for someone who has almost been killed, and with a Morganti dagger. But other than that . . . ”

I brushed it aside. “Chances are, he never realized that it was Morganti. Yes, it was odd, but I don’t mean that.”

“Then I don’t see what you’re referring to.”

“I’m referring to the strange action of the bodyguards at the assassination attempt.”

“But the bodyguards did nothing at the assassination attempt.”

“That was the strange action.”

She nodded, slowly.

I continued. “If the Dragon guard had been just a little bit slower, Mellar would have been cut down. I can’t reconcile that with our conclusion that they are competent. I suppose Mellar might have had time to get a weapon out, or something, but he sure didn’t look like it. The bodyguards were just nowhere to be seen. If they’re as good as we think they are, they should have been all over the assassin before Morrolan’s guard had time to show steel.”

“Ahem!”

“Or Loiosh had time to strike,” I added.

“They couldn’t be that fast.”

Cawti looked thoughtful. “Could it be that they just weren’t around? That Mellar sent them on some kind of errand?”

“That, my dear, is exactly what I’m thinking. And if so, I’d very much like to find out what it was that they were doing.”

She nodded. “Of course,” she said, “it could be that they were there, and were good enough to see that Morrolan’s guard was going to stop him.”

“That is also possible,” I said. “But if they’re that good, I’m really scared.”

“Do you know if they are still with him?”

“Good point,” I said. “Just a minute while I check.”

I contacted one of Morrolan’s people in the banquet hall, asked, and was answered. “They’re still around,” I said.

“Which means that they weren’t bought off by the Demon, or the assassin. Whatever reason they had for their ‘strange action,’ it was good enough for Mellar.”

I nodded. “And that, my dearest love, is a good place to start looking tomorrow. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

She gave me her wide-eyed-innocent look. “What did you have in mind, my lord?”

“What makes you think I have something in mind?”

“You always do. Are you trying to tell me that you don’t have everything planned out?” She walked into the bedroom.

“Nothing,” I said, “has been planned out since I started this damned job. We’ll just have to improvise.”

I gave myself two days to complete the thing. I was aware that I was being unduly optimistic.

I arrived at the office somewhat early the next morning, hoping to spend the day looking for a solid plan, or at least the shade of a direction. I was congratulating myself on having beaten Kragar, who is normally an early riser, when I heard him coughing gently. He was seated opposite me, with his smug little, I’ve-been-sitting-here-for-ten-minutes-now look.

I gave him a moderate-to-dangerous Jhereg sneer and said, “What did you find out?”

“Well,” he said, “why don’t we start out with the bad news, before we get to the bad news, the bad news, or the other bad news.”

“Damn. You’re just full of high spirits today, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

“Okay,” I said, “what’s the bad news?”

“There have been rumors,” he stated.

“Oh, joy. How accurate are they?”

“Not very. No one has quite put together the rumors of something unusual going on with Mellar, and the ones about the Jhereg’s having financial trouble.”

“Can it wait two days?”

He looked doubtful. “Maybe. Somebody’s going to have to start answering questions soon, though. Tomorrow would be better, and today would be better still.”

“Let me put it this way: will the day after tomorrow be too late?”

He looked thoughtful. “Probably,” he said at last.

I shook my head. “Well, at any rate, it isn’t me who’s going to have to answer the questions.”

“There is that,” he agreed. “Oh, and one piece of good news.”

“Really? Well, break out the kilinara, by Verra’s hair! We’ll have a bloody celebration.”

“I’ll bring the dead teckla.”

“Don’t drink yourself into a stupor yet. All it is, is that we’ve gotten that sorceress you wanted.”

“The one who was spreading rumors? Already? Good! give the assassin a bonus.”

“I already have. He said it was half luck—she just happened to be in the perfect place, and he took her right away.”

“Good. You make luck like that, though. Remember the guy.”

“I will.”

“Okay, now for the rest. Did you find out anything about Mellar’s background?”

“Plenty,” he said, taking out his notebook and flipping it open. “But, so far as I can tell, none of it is going to be of any real help to us.”

“Forget about that for now; let’s at least try to get some idea of who the hell he really is; then we’ll see if that gives us anything to work with.”

Kragar nodded, found his place, and began reading. “His mother lived the happy and fulfilling life of a Dragon-Dzur halfbreed. She wound up a whore. His father, it seems, was into a whole lot of different things, but was certainly an assassin. Reasonably competent, too. As far as I can tell, his father died during the fall of the city of Dragaera. We think the same thing happened to his mother. He hid out during the Eastern invasions, and showed up again after Zerika took the throne. He tried to claim kinship with the House of the Dragon and was rejected, of course. He tried the same thing with the House of the Dzur, with the same results.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “you mean this was before he fought his way in?”

“Right. Oh, by the way, his real name is Leareth—or rather that was the name he was born with. That was the name he used the first time he joined the Jhereg.”

“The first time?”

“Right. It took one hell of a lot of digging to find out, but we did. He was using the name Leareth, of course, and there are no references to anyone of that name in Jhereg records.”

“Then how—”

“Lyorn records. It cost us about two thousand gold to do, by the way. And, it turns out, ‘someone’ had managed to bribe a few Lyorns. A lot of records that should have mentioned him, or his family, weren’t there. Part of it was just luck that we ran across something that he’d missed, or couldn’t get access to. The rest was clever planning, brilliant execution—”

“Money,” I said.

“Right. And I found a young Lyorn lady who couldn’t resist my obvious charms.”

“I’m surprised she noticed you.”

“Ah! They never do, until it’s too late, you know.”

I was impressed, in any case, both with Kragar, and with Mellar. Bribing Lyorns to get access to records isn’t easy, and bribing them to actually alter records is almost unheard of. It would be like bribing an assassin to give you the name of the guy who gave him the contract.

“Actually,” Kragar continued, “he didn’t officially join House Jhereg then, which was one reason we had so much trouble. He worked for it on a straight free-lance basis.”

“ ‘Worked?’ ”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t believe this, Kragar! How many assassins are we going to run into? I’m beginning to feel like I’m one of a horde.”

“Yeah. It just isn’t safe to walk the streets at night, is it?” he smirked.

I gestured toward the wine cabinet. It was a bit early for me, but I felt the need of something to help me keep up with the shocks. “Was he good?” I asked.

“Competent,” he agreed, as he poured us each a glass of Baritt’s Valley white. “He did only small-time stuff, but never muffed one. It seems that he never took on anything that was worth over three thousand.”

“That’s enough to make a living,” I said.

“I guess so. On the other hand, he also didn’t spend very much time at it. He didn’t take on ‘work’ more than once or twice a year, in fact.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Here’s the killer, if you’ll excuse the expression: all the time he was working for the Jhereg, he was spending most of his free time studying swordsmanship.”

“Really?”

“Really. And, get this, he was studying under Lord Onarr.”

I sat up in my chair so suddenly that I almost dumped Loiosh, who complained rather bitterly about the abuse. “Oh, ho!” I said. “So that’s how he got so good with the blade that he could beat seventeen Dzur heroes!”

He nodded grimly.

I asked, “Do you have any guesses as to why Onarr was willing to take him on as a student?”

“No guesses—I know exactly. It’s a real sweet story, too. Onarr’s wife apparently contracted one of the plagues during the Interregnum. Mellar, or I guess he was called Leareth then, found a witch to cure it. As you know, sorcery was inoperable then, and there were damn few Easterner witches willing to work on Dragaerans, and even fewer Dragaerans who knew witchcraft.”

“I know all about it,” I said shortly.

Kragar stopped and gave me a look.

“My father died of one of the Plagues,” I explained. “After the Interregnum, when they were pretty much beaten. He didn’t know sorcery. I did, but not quite enough. We could have cured him with witchcraft, either myself or my grandfather, but he wouldn’t let us. Witchcraft was too ‘Eastern,’ you see. Dad wanted to be a Dragaeran. That’s why he bought a title in the Jhereg and made me study Dragaeran-style swordsmanship and sorcery. And, of course, after dumping all of our money out the window, there wasn’t any left to hire a sorcerer. I’d have died of the same plague if my grandfather hadn’t cured me.”

Kragar spoke softly. “I didn’t know that, Vlad.”

“Anyway, go on,” I said abruptly.

“Well,” he continued, “if you haven’t guessed it already it was Mellar who had arranged with a witch to give Onarr’s wife the plague in the first place. So he comes up, just as she’s dying, saves her, and Onarr is very, very grateful. Onarr is so grateful, in fact, that he’s willing to teach swordsmanship to a houseless cross-breed. Nice story, isn’t it?”

“Interesting. Some elegant moves, there.”

“Isn’t it interesting? You’ll note the timing, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. He started this before he tried to join the House of the Dzur the first time, or the House of the Dragon.”

“Right. Which means, unless I miss my guess, that he knew exactly what would happen when he tried to claim membership.”

I nodded. “That puts a bit of a different light on things, doesn’t it? It makes his attempting to join the Dragon and the Dzur not so much confusing, as downright mystifying.”

Kragar nodded.

“And another thing,” I said. “It would appear that his planning goes back a lot longer than the twelve years we were thinking of. It’s more like two hundred.”

“Longer than that,” said Kragar.

“Oh, that’s right. He started during the Interregnum, didn’t he? Three hundred, then? Maybe four hundred?”

“That’s right. Impressive, isn’t it?”

I agreed. “So continue.”

“Well, he worked with Onarr for close to a hundred years, in secret. Then he fought his way into the House of the Dzur when he felt he was ready, and from there you know the story.”

I thought it over a bit, trying to sort it out. It was too early to see if there was anything there that I could use, but I wanted to try to understand him as well as I could.

“Did you ever find any clues about why he wanted to get into the Dzur, the second time, when he fought his way in?”

Kragar shook his head.

“Okay. That’s something I’d like to find out. What about sorcery? Has he studied it at all?”

“As far as I can tell, only a little.”

“Witchcraft?”

“No way.”

“Well, so we have something, anyway, for all the good it will do us.”

I sipped my wine, as the information began to sink in, or rather, as much of it as I could handle just then. Studied under Onarr, eh? And fought his way into the Dzur, only to leave and join—or rather, rejoin—the Jhereg, and get to the top, and then lighten the whole council. Why? Just to show that he could do it? Well, he was part Dzur, but I still couldn’t quite see it. And that business with Onarr, and all that plotting and scheming. Strange.

“You know, Kragar, if it ever comes down to any kind of straight fight with this guy, I think I’m in trouble.”

He snorted. “You have a talent for understatement. He’ll carve you into stew.”

I shrugged. “On the other hand, remember that I use Eastern-style fencing. That could throw him off a bit, since he’s one of you hack-hack-cut types.”

“A damn good one!”

“Yeah.”

We sat there for a while, in silence, sipping our wine. Then Kragar asked, “What did you find? Anything new?”

I nodded. “Had a busy day yesterday.”

“Oh, really? Tell me about it.”

So I gave him an account of the day’s events, the new information I’d gotten. Loiosh made sure that I got the part about the rescue right. When I told him about the bodyguards, he was impressed and puzzled.

“That doesn’t make sense, Vlad,” he remarked. “Where would he have sent them?”

“I don’t have the vaguest. Although, after what you’ve just told me, I can see another explanation. I’m afraid I don’t like it much, either.”

“What’s that?”

“It could be that the bodyguards are sorcerers, and that Mellar figures that he can handle any physical attack himself.”

“But it didn’t look like he was doing anything at all, did it?”

I shook my head. “No, I have to admit it didn’t. But maybe he was figuring to beat the guy only if he had to, and was counting on Morrolan’s guards to stop him. Which, after all, they did. With help,” I amended, quickly.

Kragar shook his head. “Would you count on someone else to be quick enough?”

“Well, no. But then, I’m not the fighter that Mellar is; we already know that.”

Kragar looked highly unconvinced. Well, so was I.

“The only thing that really makes sense,” he said, “is if you were right originally: he had some mission for them and they happened to be off doing it when the assassin came in for his move.”

“Maybe,” I said. Then, “Wait a minute, I must be slipping or something. Why don’t I check it?”

“What?”

“Just a minute.”

I reached out for contact, thinking of that guard who I had talked to in the banquet hall. I’d made a mental note of him, now, what was his name?

“Who is it?”

“This is Lord Taltos,” I said. (Let us be pretentious.)

“Yes, my lord. What is it?”

“Have you been keeping an eye on those two bodyguards of Mellar’s?”

“I’ve been trying, my lord. They’re pretty slippery.”

“Okay, good. Were you on duty during the assassination attempt last night?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Were the bodyguards there?”

“No, my lord—wait! I’m not sure . . . Yes. Yes, they were.”

“No possible doubt?”

“No, my lord. I had them marked just before it happened, and they were still there when I found them again just a few seconds afterwards.”

“Okay, that’s all. Good work.”

I broke the link and told Kragar what I’d found out. He shook his head, sadly.

“And another nice theory blown through Deathsgate.”

“Yeah.”

I just couldn’t figure it. Nothing about this business made sense. I couldn’t see why he did it, or why his bodyguards seemed so cavalier about the whole thing, or any of it. But nothing happens for no reason. There had to be an explanation somewhere. I took out a dagger and started flipping it.

Kragar grunted. “You know the funny thing, Vlad?”

“What? I’d love to hear something funny just around now.”

“Poor Mellar, that’s what’s funny.”

I snorted. “ ‘Poor Mellar!’ What about poor us? He’s the one who started this whole thing, and we’re going to get ourselves wiped out because of it.”

“Sure,” said Kragar. “But he’s dead anyway, one way or another. He started this thing, and there isn’t any way that he’s going to survive it. The poor fool came up with this truly gorgeous scheme to steal Jhereg gold and live through it, and he worked on it, as far as we can tell, for a good three hundred years. And, instead of having it work, he’s going to die anyway, and take two houses with him.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m sure he wouldn’t cry about taking the two Houses with him—” I stopped. “The poor fool,” Kragar had said. But we knew Mellar was no fool. How can you come up with something like this, spend hundreds of years, thousands of Imperials, and then trip up because you didn’t realize that the Jhereg would take an action which, even to me, seemed logical and reasonable? That wasn’t just foolishness, that was downright stupidity. And there was just no way I was going to start thinking that Mellar was stupid. No, either he knew some way of coming out of this alive, or . . . or . . .

Click, click, click. One by one, things started to fall into place. Click, click, wham! The look on Mellar’s face, the actions of the bodyguards, the fighting his way into the House of the Dzur, all of it fit. I found myself filled with awe at the magnificence of Mellar’s plan. It was tremendous! I found myself, against my will, filled with admiration.

“What is it, Vlad?”

“What is it, boss?”

I just shook my head. My dagger had stopped in mid-toss, and I was so stunned I didn’t even catch it. It hit my foot, and it was only blind luck that the hilt was down. But I expect that even if it had landed point first in my foot, I wouldn’t have noticed. It was so damn beautiful! For a while, I almost wondered whether I had the heart to stop it, even if I could think of a way. It was so perfect. As far as I could tell, in the hundreds of years of planning and execution, he hadn’t made one mistake! It was incredible. I was running out of adjectives.

“Damn it, Vlad! Talk! What’s going on?”

“You should know,” I told him.

“What?”

“You pointed to it first, a couple of times, the other day. Verra! Was it only a day or two ago? It feels like years . . . ”

“What did I point to? Come on, damn you!” Kragar said.

“You’re the one who started telling me what it would be like to grow up a cross-breed.”

“So?”

“So we still couldn’t help thinking of him as a Jhereg.”

“Well, he is a Jhereg.”

I shook my head. “Not genetically, he isn’t.”

“What does genetics have to do with it?”

“Everything. That’s when I should have realized it; when Aliera told me what it really meant to be of a certain House. Don’t you see, Kragar? But no, you wouldn’t. You’re a Jhereg, and you—we—don’t look at things that way. But it’s true. You can’t deny your House, if you’re a Dragaeran. Look at yourself, Kragar. To save my life, you had to disobey my orders. That isn’t a Jhereg thing to do at all—the only time a Jhereg will disobey orders is when he’s planning to kill his boss. But a Dragon, Kragar, a Dragon will sometimes find that the only way to fulfill his commander’s wishes is to violate his commands, and do what has to be done, and risk a court-martial if he has to.

“That was the Dragon in you that did it, despite your opinion of the Dragons. To a Dragaeran, his House controls everything. The way he lives, his goals, his skills, his strengths, his weaknesses. There is nothing, but nothing that has more influence on a Dragaeran than his House. Than the House he was born into, no matter how he was raised.

“It’s different with humans, perhaps, but . . . I should have seen it. Damn! I should have seen it. A hundred things pointed to it.”

“For the love of the Empire, Vlad! What?”

“Kragar,” I said, settling down a bit, “think for a minute. This guy isn’t just a Jhereg, he’s also got the bloodlust of a Dragon, and the heroism of a Dzur.”

“So?”

“So check your records, old friend. Remember his father? Why don’t you find out more about him? Go ahead, do the research. But I’ll tell you right now what you’re going to find.

“His father killed someone, another Jhereg, just before the Interregnum. The Jhereg he killed was protected by a Dragonlord; to be exact, by Lord Adron. Mellar’s plan wasn’t concocted to get Jhereg gold and get out alive—the whole point of it was to get himself killed. For more than three hundred years he’s been planning things so that he’d be killed, perhaps with a Morganti weapon; he didn’t care. And he’d be killed, and the information he’d planted would come out about the Dzur, and he’d wash their faces with mud. And, at the same time, the two Houses that he hates the most, the Dragons and the Jhereg, would destroy each other. The whole thing was done for revenge, Kragar—revenge for the way a cross-breed is treated and revenge for the death of his father.

“Revenge as courageous as a Dzur, as vicious as a Dragon, and as cunning as a Jhereg. That’s what this is all about, Kragar.”

Kragar looked like a chreotha who’s just found that a dragon has wandered into its net. He went through the same process I had, of every little detail falling into place, and like me, he began to shake his head in wonderment, his face a mask of stony shock. “Oh, shit, boss,” was all he said.

I nodded in agreement.

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The banquet hall of Castle Black appeared the same as it had the last time. A few different faces, a few of the same faces, many faceless faces. I stood in the doorway for a moment, then stepped inside. I wanted to gather my thoughts a little, and let my stomach finish its recovering act before I began any serious work.

“Can you believe, boss, that Morrolan actually likes it this way?”

“You know Dragons, Loiosh.”

Kragar had taken an hour and had verified each of my guesses as regarded Mellar’s parentage. It seemed that his father had indeed been the one whose work had set off the second Dragon-Jhereg war, which Kragar had never heard of either. The references to it among the Lyorn records had been scattered, but clear. The thing had happened, and more or less as I’d been told.

Everything fit together very nicely. And I wasn’t a bit closer to figuring out what to do about it than I’d been the day before. That was the really annoying thing. All of this information really ought to be good for something besides the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. Oh, sure, it meant that I knew now that certain things wouldn’t work, since Mellar had no intention of leaving Castle Black alive, but I hadn’t had any idea of what to do before, so that didn’t really affect anything. It occurred to me that the more I found out, the more difficult, instead of easier, the thing became. Maybe I should arrange to forget most of this.

There was, I realized then, still one more mystery to solve. It wasn’t a big one, or, I expected, a difficult one, but I was somewhat curious about why Mellar had brought bodyguards with him at all, if he didn’t intend to try to save his life. Not very important, perhaps, but by now I couldn’t afford to overlook anything. This was what had brought me back to the banquet hall: to take a look at them and see if there was anything I could learn, guess, or at least eliminate.

I wandered through the crowd, smiling, nodding, drinking. After about fifteen minutes, I spotted Mellar. I brought up the memory of the two faces that Loiosh had given me and found the two bodyguards, a few feet away.

I moved as close to them as I figured was safe and looked at them. Yes, they were both fighters. They had that way of moving, of standing, that indicated physical power. Both were large men, with big, capable hands, and they were both skilled in observing a crowd without seeming to.

Why were they doing it, though? I was convinced, by now, that they had no intention of stopping an assassin, so they must have some other purpose. A small part of me wanted to just take them both out, here and now, but I had no intention of doing so until I knew what their business was. And, of course, there was no guarantee that I’d succeed.

I was very careful to avoid having them notice my scrutiny, but you can never be sure, of course. I checked them as carefully as I could for concealed weapons, but oddly, I didn’t spot any. They both had swords, standard Dragaeran longswords, and they each had a dagger. But I couldn’t see anything concealed on any of them.

After five minutes, I turned and started to leave the banquet hall, making my way carefully through the mass of humanity. I had almost reached the door, when Loiosh interrupted my contemplation.

“Boss,” he said, “tough-guy warning, behind you.”

I turned in time to see one of them coming up to me. I waited for him. He stopped about one foot in front of me, which is what I call “intimidation range.” I wasn’t intimidated. Well, maybe just a little. He didn’t waste any time with preliminaries.

“One warning, whiskers,” he said. “Don’t try it.”

“Try what?” I asked innocently, although I felt my heart drop a few inches. I ignored the insult; the last tune I’d let the term bother me, I hadn’t had any. But the implications of the statement were, let us say, not pleasing.

“Anything,” was his answer. He looked at me for a few seconds more, then he turned and walked away.

Damn! So Mellar did know I was after him. But why would he want to stop me? Oh, of course, he didn’t. He was working under the assumption that I was out for him, and that I had no idea of why he was doing this. That made sense; if I had somehow given myself away, which was certainly possible, then it would be out of character for him to ignore it. He was playing the game to the hilt. (Interesting choice of words there, I noticed.)

This made me feel somewhat better, but not a whole lot. It was a Bad Thing that Mellar knew where the threat was coming from. While the bodyguards wouldn’t actually stop a direct attack on Mellar, the fact that they were aware of me seriously cut my chances of getting away with anything tricky—and whatever I came up with now, it was going to have to be something tricky. I felt the first glimmerings of the younger brother to despair stir within me as I left the hall. I forced the feeling down.

Just outside the door, I stopped and got in touch with Aliera. Who knows, I thought, maybe she and Sethra have come up with something. In any case, I felt that I ought to let them know what we’d learned.

“What is it, Vlad?”

“Mind if I come up and see you? I have some information that you probably don’t want to hear.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said. “I’ll be expecting you in my chambers.”

I walked down the hall to the stairs and met Morrolan, descending. I nodded to him and started to pass by. He motioned to me. I stopped, and he walked up the hall toward the library. I followed dutifully and sat down after he had closed the door behind me. The situation reminded me unpleasantly of a servant being called in for a dressing down for not scrubbing the chamberpots sufficiently.

“Vlad,” he said, “perhaps you would care to enlighten me on just exactly what is occurring around here?”

“Eh?”

“Something has happened somewhere that I don’t know about. I can feel it. You are preparing to move on Mellar, aren’t you?”

By Verra’s fingers! Did the whole Empire know?

He began ticking off points. “Aliera is rather upset about this whole matter and doesn’t know quite what to do. You were acting the same way, as of yesterday. Today, I am informed that you have been, if I may put it so, snooping around Mellar. I see Aliera and she is just as pleased with life as you can imagine. Then I see you walking up the stairs, I assume to see my cousin, and you appear to know what you’re doing all of a sudden. Now, would you mind telling me exactly what it is you two are planning?”

I was silent for a while; then I said, slowly and carefully, “If I’m acting any different today than yesterday, it’s because we just solved the mystery—not the problem. I still don’t have any idea of what I’m going to do about it. I will say, however, that I have no intention of doing anything that will, in any way, compromise you, your oath, or your House. I believe I stated that yesterday, and I have no reason to change my mind. Is that sufficient?”

“Go, boss, go!”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Morrolan stared at me, long and hard, as if he were trying to read my mind. I flatter myself, however, that even Daymar would have trouble doing that without my noticing. Morrolan, I think, also respects me too much to do so without asking first. And in any case, hawk-eyes should stay on Hawklords, where they belong.

He nodded, once. “All right, then,” he said. “We’ll say no more about the matter.”

“Frankly,” I said, “I don’t know what is on Aliera’s mind. As you guessed, I was heading up to see her when I ran into you. But I don’t have anything planned with her—yet. I hope she doesn’t have anything planned without me.”

He looked grim. “I like that rather less,” he said.

I shrugged. “As long as I’m here, tell me: have you checked over those bodyguards?”

“Yes, I took a look at them. What of it?”

“Are they sorcerers?”

He seemed to debate with himself for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yes, both of them. Quite competent, too.”

Damn. The good news just kept piling up.

“Okay, then. Is there anything else you wanted?”

“No—yes. I would appreciate it if you would keep an eye on Aliera.”

“Spy on Aliera?”

“No!” he said emphatically. “Just, if she tries to do something that she should, perhaps, not do—I think you understand—try to discuss it with her, all right?”

I nodded, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into its place. Of course! That was what Mellar was worried about! He had bodyguards so that he wouldn’t be killed by a non-Jhereg. He had, indeed, heard of Pathfinder.

The solving of this last piece of the mystery put me no closer to its solution; no surprise. I took my leave of Morrolan and headed up the stairs to Aliera’s chambers. I felt his eyes on my back the whole way.

“What kept you?” asked Aliera.

“Morrolan wanted to have a chat.”

I noted that Aliera did, indeed, seem to be in fine spirits today. Her eyes were bright green and shining. She relaxed against the back of her bed, absently stroking a cat that I’d not been introduced to. Loiosh and the cat eyed each other with abstract hunger.

“I see,” she said. “What about?”

“He seems to think that you have something in mind. For that matter, so do I. Care to tell me about it?”

She arched her eyebrows and smiled. “Maybe. You go first.”

The cat rolled over on its back, demanding that its stomach be attended to. Its long, white fur stood out a little, as it chose to deny that Loiosh existed. Aliera obliged it.

“Hey, boss.”

“Yes, Loiosh?”

“Isn’t it disgusting how some people cater to the whims of dumb animals?”

I didn’t answer.

“For starters, Aliera, the idea we had before won’t work.”

“Why not?”

It seemed that she wasn’t too worried. I was beginning to be.

“A number of reasons,” I said. “But the main thing is that Mellar has no intention of leaving here.”

I explained our deductions about Mellar’s plans and motives. Surprisingly, her first reaction was similar to mine—she shook her head in admiration. Then, slowly, her eyes turned a hard metallic gray. I shuddered.

“I’m not going to let him get away with this, Vlad. You know that, don’t you?”

Well, I hadn’t actually known, but I’d been afraid of something like it. “What are you going to do?” I asked softly.

She didn’t say anything, but her hand came to rest on Pathfinder’s hilt.

I kept my voice soft, even, and controlled. “If you do, you are aware that Morrolan will be forced to kill you.”

“So what?” she asked, simply.

“Why don’t we find a better way?”

“For example?”

“Dammit, I don’t know! What do you think I’ve been racking my brains about for the last few days? If we can find some way to convince him to leave, we can still follow the original idea—you trace him with Pathfinder, and then we take him wherever he ends up. If I just had more time!”

“How much time do you have?”

That was a very good question. If we were very, very lucky, the news wouldn’t get out for three more days. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t count on being lucky. And, what was worse, neither could the Demon. What would his next effort be like? I asked myself again. And how much of a chance would I have to stop it? I didn’t like the answer I got to that last question.

“Today and tomorrow,” I told her.

“And what,” she asked, “happens then?”

“Deathsgate opens up. The matter is taken out of my hands, my body turns up somewhere, and I miss out on a fine Dragon-Jhereg war. You get to see the war. Lucky you.”

She gave me a nasty grin. “I might enjoy it,” she said.

I smiled back at her. “You might at that.”

“However,” she admitted, “it wouldn’t do the House any good.”

I agreed with that, too.

“On the other hand,” she said, “if I kill him, there’s no problem. The two Houses don’t fight, and only the Dzur are hurt, and who cares about them, anyway? Well, maybe we can think of some way to intercept the information about them before it gets out.”

“They aren’t the problem,” I told her. “The problem is that you end up dead, or having to kill Morrolan. I don’t consider either possibility to be an ideal outcome.”

“I have no intention of killing my cousin,” Aliera stated.

“Great. Then you leave him alive, with his reputation dead.”

She shrugged. “I am not unconcerned about my cousin’s honor,” she informed me. “It’s just that I’m more concerned with precedence than Morrolan.”

“There’s another thing, too,” I added.

“Oh?”

“To be honest, Aliera, I’m not convinced that you can take Mellar. He’s got two experts guarding him, both of them good fighters, and both good sorcerers. I’ve already told you who trained him as a swordsman, and remember that he was good enough to fight his way into the House of the Dzur. He’s determined that only a Jhereg is going to get him, and I’m afraid he may have what it takes to back that up. I’m not at all sure that you’ll be able to kill him.”

She listened patiently to my monologue, then gave me a cynical smile. “Somehow,” she said, “I’ll manage.”

I decided to change the subject. There was only one other thing I had to try—and that was liable to get me killed. I didn’t really feel like doing it, so I asked, “Where is Sethra, by the way?”

“She’s returned to Dzur Mountain.”

“Eh? Why?”

Aliera studied the floor for a while, then turned her attention back to the cat. “She’s getting ready.”

“For . . . ”

“A war,” said Aliera.

Just wonderful. “She thinks it will come to that?”

Aliera nodded. “I didn’t tell her what I plan on doing, so she’s assuming it’s going to happen.”

“And she wants to make sure that the Dragons win, eh?”

Aliera gave me a look. “It isn’t our custom,” she explained, “to fight to lose.”

I sighed. Well, now or never, I decided.

“Hey, boss, you don’t want to do that.”

“You’re right. But it’s what I’m paid for. Now shut up.”

“One final thing, Aliera,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed; I guess she picked up something from the tone of my voice. “And that is . . . ?”

“I still work for Morrolan. He pays me, and I therefore owe him a certain amount of loyalty. What you propose doing is in direct violation of his wishes. I won’t let you do it.”

And, just like that, even as I finished speaking, Pathfinder was in her hand, its point level with my chest. She measured me coolly with her eyes. “Do you think you can stop me, Jhereg?”

I matched her gaze. “Probably not,” I admitted. What the hell? Looking at her, I could see that she was prepared to kill me at once. “If you do, Aliera, Loiosh will kill your cat.”

No response. Sheesh! Sometimes I think Aliera has no sense of humor at all.

I looked down the length of the blade. Two feet separated it from my chest—and my soul, which had once been her brother’s. I recalled a time, it seemed like ages now, when I had been in a similar position with Morrolan. Then, as now, my thoughts had turned to figuring out which weapon was closest. A poison dart would be a waste of time. My poison works fast, but not that fast. I’d have to hit a nerve. Fat chance. I was going to have to go for a kill—anything else wouldn’t do. My odds that time had been poor. This time they were worse. At least Morrolan didn’t have his weapon out.

I looked back to her eyes. A person’s eyes are the first things that let you know when he is about to make a move. I felt the hilt of the dagger up my right sleeve—point out. A sharp, downward motion would be required, and it would be in my hand; an upward motion after that would have it on the way to her throat. From this range, I couldn’t miss. From this range, neither could she. I’d probably be dead before she was, and they wouldn’t be able to revivify me.

“Just say the word, boss. I’ll be at her eyes before—”

“Thanks, but hold, for now.”

That last time, Morrolan had changed his mind about killing me because he’d had a use for me, and I’d stopped just short of mortal insult. This time, I felt sure, Aliera would not change her mind—once she decided on a course of action she was as stubborn in pursuing it as I was. After all, I thought bitterly, in an odd sort of way we were related.

I readied myself for action—I would have to get the drop on her to have any chance at all, so there was no point in waiting. It was odd; I realized that everything I’d been doing since I’d spoken to the Demon had been directed either at finding a way to kill Mellar, or risking my life to prevent someone from solving my problem.

I timed my breathing and studied her. Ready, now . . . wait . . . I stopped. What the Hell are you doing, Vlad? Kill Aliera? Be killed by her? What, by the Great Sea of Chaos, would that solve? Sure, Vlad, sure. Good thinking. All we need now is for you to kill a guest of Morrolan’s—and the wrong one at that! Sure, all we need now is for Aliera to be dead. That would—

“Wait a minute!” I said. “I’ve got it!”

“You’ve got what?” she asked coolly. She wasn’t taking any chances on me—she knew what a tricky bastard I was.

“Actually,” I said in a more normal tone of voice, “you’ve got it.”

“And what, pray tell, have I got?”

“A Great Weapon,” I said.

“Yes, I certainly do,” she admitted, not giving an inch.

“A weapon,” I continued, “that is irrevocably linked to your soul.”

She waited calmly for me to go on, Pathfinder still pointed straight at my heart.

I smiled, and for the first time in days, I actually meant it. “You aren’t going to kill Mellar, my friend. He’s going to kill you!”

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There was absolutely no question about it: I was doing too much teleporting these last few days. I forced myself to take a few minutes to relax at the teleport area for my office building, then went charging up the stairs like a dzur on the hunt. I skimmed past my secretary before he had time to unload mundane business on me and said, “Get Kragar up here. Now.”

I stepped into the office and plumped down. Time for some hard thinking. By the time my stomach had settled, the details of the plan were beginning to work themselves out. Timing would have to be precise, but that was nothing new. There were a few things I would have to check on, to make sure they could be done, but these I’d make sure of in advance, and maybe I could find a way around any problems that turned up.

I realized that I was also going to have to depend a lot more on other people than I was at all comfortable with, but life is full of risks.

I started ticking off points, when I realized that Kragar was sitting there, waiting for me to notice him. I sighed. “What’s the news today, Kragar?”

“The rumor mill is about to explode—it’s leaking from several directions.”

“Bad?”

“Bad. We aren’t going to be able to keep this under our cloaks for very long; there’s too much going on. And the bodies didn’t help either.”

“Bodies?”

“Yeah. Two bodies turned up this morning. Both sorceresses, Left Hand.”

“Oh. Right. One of them would be the one we discussed before.”

“Yeah. I don’t know who the other one was. My guess is that the Demon found someone else who was spreading too many rumors.”

“Could be. Was she killed with a single dagger blow to the heart?”

He looked startled. “Yes, she was. How did you know?”

“And there was a spell on her to prevent revivification, right?”

“Right. Who was she, Vlad?”

“I never learned her name, but she was just what you said, a sorceress from the Left Hand. She was involved in setting up and taking out Morrolan, and he took it personally. I didn’t actually know that it would be single shot to the heart, but that’s how he was nailed, and he does have a certain sense of poetic justice.”

“I see.”

“Anything else worth noting?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I wouldn’t go outside today, if I were you.”

“Oh? What did you hear?”

“It seems that the Demon doesn’t like you.”

“Oh, wonderful. How did you find this out?”

“We have a few friends in his organization, and they’ve heard rumors.”

“Great. Has he hired anyone?”

“No way of being sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Terrific. Maybe I’ll invite him over for a friendly game of ‘Spin the Dagger,’ and let the whole thing get settled that way.”

Kragar snorted.

“Do you think,” I asked, “that he’ll back off if we finish this Mellar business for him?”

“Maybe. Probably, in fact, if we can do it in time—that is, before the word gets out too far. From what I hear, that isn’t too long from now. I guess the council members are starting to feel the bite of digging into their own purses. They aren’t going to be able to avoid giving an explanation too much longer.”

“That’s all right. They aren’t going to have to.”

He sat up suddenly. “You have something?”

“Yeah. Nothing I’m horribly proud of, but it ought to do the trick—at least part of it.”

“What part is that?”

“The hard part.”

“What—?”

“Wait a minute.”

I stood up and went over to the window. I made an automatic glance down at the street below, then opened the window.

“Loiosh, see if you can find Daymar. If you do, ask him if he would mind putting in an appearance here.”

For once, Loiosh didn’t make any remarks as he left.

“Okay, Vlad, so what is it?”

“Get a message out that I would very badly like to see Kiera. Then draw off a thousand gold from the treasury, and bring it up here.”

“What—?”

“Just do it, okay? I’ll explain everything later, after everyone is here.”

“ ‘Everyone?’ How many should I figure on?”

“Uh, let me see . . . five. No, six.”

“Six? Should I rent a convention hall?”

“Scram.”

I settled back to wait and went over the plan again. The rough spot, as I saw it, was whether or not Kiera could pull off the switch. Of course, if anyone could, she could, but it was going to be difficult even for her, I suspected.

There was, to be sure, an even rougher spot, but I tried to avoid thinking about that.

Alarms. “Bing bing,” and “Clang,” and everything else, both psionic and audible, went off all over the place. I hit the floor rolling and had a dagger ready to throw as my receptionist came bursting in, sword in one hand, dagger in the other. Then I realized what had happened—I saw Daymar floating cross-legged, about three feet off the floor.

I was rather pleased that before he had time to uncross his legs and stand up (or stand down, as the case may be), there were a total of four of my people in the office, weapons drawn and ready.

I stood up, resheathed my dagger, and held my hand up. “False alarm,” I explained, “but good job.”

Daymar was looking around him with an expression of mild interest on his face. My receptionist was looking unhappy about putting his weapons away. “He broke right through our teleport blocks like they weren’t even there! He—”

“I know. But it’s all right, never mind.”

They stood for a moment, then shrugged and left, casting glances at Daymar, who was now looking bewildered.

“Did you have teleport blocks up?” he said. “I didn’t notice any.”

“I should have thought to have them turned off. It doesn’t matter. Thanks for showing up.”

“No problem. What do you need?”

“More help, old friend. Sit down, if you wish.” I set an example by picking up my chair and sitting myself down in it. “How are you at illusions?”

He considered this. “Casting them, or breaking them?”

“Casting them. Can you do a good one, quickly?”

“By ‘quickly,’ I assume you mean fast enough so that no one sees the intermediate stages. Is that right?”

“That, and with little or no warmup time. How are you at it?”

He shrugged. “How is Kiera at stealing?”

“Funny you should bring that up. She should be here—soon, if I’m lucky.”

“Oh, really? What’s going on, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Hmmm. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to wait on the explanations until everyone shows up.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine with me. I’ll just meditate for a while.” And, lifting his legs off the floor, he closed his eyes and began to do so.

At that moment, I heard Loiosh tapping on the window. I opened it. He flew in and landed on my right shoulder. He looked at Daymar, hissed a hiss of puzzlement, and looked away.

I reached out for contact with my wife, found her. “Honey, could you come over to the office?”

“Certainly. I don’t suppose you have work for me, do you?”

“Not exactly, but the next thing to it.”

“Vlad! You’ve got something!”

“Yep.”

“What is—? No, I suppose you want to wait ’til I’m there, right? I’ll be right over.”

I repeated the process with Aliera, who agreed to teleport in. This time, however, I remembered to drop the protection spells before she arrived.

She looked around. “So this is your office. It looks quite functional.”

“Thank you. It’s small, but it suits my humble life-style.”

“I see.”

She noticed Daymar, then, who was still floating some three or four feet off the floor. She rolled her eyes in a gesture that was remarkably like Cawti’s. Daymar opened his eyes and stood up.

“Hello, Aliera,” he said.

“Hello, Daymar. Mind-probed any teckla, lately?”

“No,” he answered with a straight face, “did you have one that you wanted mind-probed?”

“Not at the moment,” she said. “Ask me again next Cycle.”

“I’ll be sure to.”

He probably would, too, I reflected, if they were both still around then.

Cawti arrived at that moment, in time to avoid any further clashes between Hawk and Dragon. She greeted Aliera warmly. Aliera gave her a cheery smile, and they went off into a corner to gossip. The two of them had become close friends in recent months, based in part on a mutual friendship with Lady Norathar. Norathar was a Dragon turned Jhereg turned Dragon, who had been Cawti’s partner, if you recall. Aliera had been instrumental in returning to Norathar her rightful place as a Dragonlord. Well, so had I, but never mind. That’s another story.

It occurred to me, then, that Norathar was another one who would be somewhat caught in the middle by this whole thing. Her two best friends were going to have to try to kill each other, and she had loyalties on both sides. I put it out of my mind. We were here to prevent her from having to make that choice.

Kiera entered shortly, followed by Kragar. He handed me a large purse, which I immediately turned over to Kiera.

“Still another job, Vlad? I ought to teach you the craft. You could save a lot of time and money if you could do it on your own.”

“Kiera,” I said, “there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to learn your art. Besides, my grandfather doesn’t approve of stealing. Are you willing to help me out in this? It’s in a good cause.”