Tiassa

CHAPTER ONE KHAAVREN

The Captain of the Phoenix Guard received a summons at the ninth hour of the morning on Midweek. The Empress, it seemed, wanted a private audience with him in her breakfast room. Such a meeting at such a time was not unprecedented, but neither was it usual, so when Khaavren found the message waiting, he knew something was up.

He took the long walk to Her Majesty’s apartments without speculating, or even wondering. He nodded to the guards on duty, and exchanged good-mornings with various acquaintances on the way, until he finally presented himself, and was admitted.

The Empress Zerika was dressed simply in her gold morning gown, which anyone but Khaavren would have at least admitted to himself was fetching, and she sat at her table nibbling at fruit and drinking tea. She nodded to Khaavren and gestured him to one of two chairs that had been set across from her. Khaavren knew that the Empress customarily breakfasted alone.

“Good morning, Captain. Tea?”

“Klava, if you have it.”

The Empress nodded to a servant, and the klava was presently brought. Khaavren drank it as poured, with a napkin wrapped about it to protect his fingers, and waited for Zerika to speak.

She ate another bite of fruit, sipped her tea, and carefully set the cup down. It was, Khaavren noticed, a tiny little cup, thin and fragile-looking, decorated with red and blue wavy lines. She said, “Forgive me, Captain, but we’re waiting for someone. I’d prefer not to have to repeat this.”

“Of course, Majesty.” He smiled. “I have klava.”

“Have some fruit as well, if you wish. And there’s some cheese and rolls.”

“I’m fine, Majesty.”

She nodded, and there was no further conversation for some minutes, until a servant announced the arrival of Kosadr. Khaavren kept his surprise to himself, nodded a greeting to the Court Wizard, and waited patiently while Kosadr accepted tea, cheese, and bread. The wizard ate slowly, carefully; Khaavren wanted very much to kick him. Studying Her Majesty, he had a suspicion that the Empress felt the same way.

Kosadr was lanky, dark, and not as young as he looked. He eventually seemed to realize he was holding things up, and said, “Please, Your Majesty, proceed.”

Zerika smiled briefly. “Good wizard, you’re the one who needs to speak. Please explain to me and to Khaavren what you began to tell me earlier.”

Kosadr wiped his lips with a napkin and said, “Oh. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Two days ago, we began to observe fluctuations in the yellow spectrum of the Esswora monitor rods. We immediately began localizing the surge and measuring the distension. As far as we can tell—”

“Excuse me,” said Khaavren. “If I am supposed to understand any of that, I don’t.”

“Oh. Right. We are looking at a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough? Who breaking through what to where?”

“Into our world. The Jenoine.”

“The Jenoine!”

“Please, Captain,” said the Empress. “Sit down.”

“Sorry.” Khaavren sat down while a servant hurried to clean up the klava and replace it. “When? How many?”

“It’s hard to say when. Our guess is that we have sixty hours, but not more than eighty. That assumes the inflow remains constant. Call it a bit less than three days. We can’t be sure—precision isn’t possible in something like this. And we don’t know how many, but from the size of the fluctuations, it looks to be a major incursion.”

“The first thing,” said the Empress, “is to station troops nearby, as well as sorcerous defenses.”

“I can’t do anything about those,” said Khaavren.

“I know. Please, Captain. Remain calm.”

Khaavren nodded, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, berating himself. Losing his head would be of no help to anyone. But still, Jenoine!

“Are you back with us, Captain?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I,” said Kosadr, “will ask for assistance from Sethra Lavode.”

The Empress nodded. “Good, but, Kosadr, you must also look for other means. For this purpose, the Orb will be at your disposal for fact-checking and research. I would have preferred to have more warning, but we work with what we have.”

She turned to Khaavren. “From what we know, troops will be of no use. To the extent we want to test this, I’ll speak with the Warlord. You’re here for something else.”

Khaavren nodded. “I’d wondered why you sent for me instead of Aliera.”

“Because we have time to organize troops, and we have time to prepare arcane defenses and attacks. What do we not have time for, Captain?”

“The people.”

“Exactly. Once we begin preparations, we’ll not be able to keep this a secret. We cannot afford a panic. The Phoenix Guards and the troops can do little enough against the Jenoine, but are all we have against unrest.”

“I understand, Majesty.”

“Good, then. You each have your tasks; be about them.”

The wizard and the captain rose, bowed to Her Majesty, and took their leave.

Their paths, as it happened, ran together for a considerable part of the long walk through the Imperial Wing. As they walked, Kosadr said, “Captain, may I make a confession?”

“I’m not a Discreet, but feel free.”

“I have to admit, I’m looking forward to this.”

Khaavren looked at him.

“I know, I know. It’s terrible. But the fact is, I’ve held this post for twenty years, and I’ve spent my time re-wrapping spells before they unwind, and supervising interrogations. This is what I’ve trained for, you know what I mean?”

“I guess I do. But if you don’t mind a word of advice—”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t let it go beyond me. I don’t think Her Majesty would be pleased.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Kosadr went off toward his chambers while Khaavren continued on to the Dragon Wing. Once there, he asked if the Warlord was in, and, upon being told that she was at her residence in Castle Black, asked that a message be sent requesting a meeting with her. He then dispatched another messenger to inform his staff where he was, and he settled in to wait. Being an old campaigner, he waited by, if not sleeping, then let’s say dozing heavily.

He woke up, fully alert, nearly an hour later when he heard the words, “The Warlord will see you now.”

He rose, bowed to the messenger—a young Dragonlord with light brown hair done into a tail that went halfway down his back—and entered the Warlord’s chamber.

“Lady Aliera,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Lord Khaavren. Always a pleasure.”

“We are expecting an attack by Jenoine.”

Aliera stared up at him, then slowly sat behind her desk. “Sit,” she said.

Khaavren did so, noticing that Aliera’s eyes were turning from green to blue, which he had never seen before; he wondered if she did so sorcerously, or if it was natural. She was, he reflected, not only a Dragonlord, but e’Kieron; anything was possible.

“Give me the details,” said Aliera.

“Kosadr will have more, but it seems there are signs of a buildup for a breakthrough. Magical signs. Something about the Esswora rods, or fluctuations. I don’t know. But from what he said, it seems strong, and imminent. He said we probably have a bit over two days or—”

“I’ll speak with the Necromancer,” she said. “It may be possible to block it. I’ll coordinate with Kosadr, of course.”

“Her Majesty wants troops available as well.”

“Why? To die gloriously? What else does she imagine—?”

“I don’t know, Warlord. I’m passing on what Her Majesty said. No doubt if you speak to her—”

“Oh, I’ll speak to her!”

Khaavren nodded. “If you can spare some for helping me control the city, and to help with evacuation, I’ll appreciate it.”

“Evacuation?”

“Probably. Anyone who remembers the Interregnum—”

“Of course.”

Aliera obviously didn’t care for her troops being used that way, but finally she grunted a sort of agreement.

“Thanks,” said Khaavren. “Then that’s all I have.” He stood and bowed. “Thank you for seeing me, Warlord.”

“Most welcome, Captain,” said Aliera. Then she scowled. “Jenoine,” she muttered.

“Indeed,” said Khaavren, and took his leave, returning to his own quarters in the Dragon Wing. Once there, he pulled out his maps of the city, and lists of guard detachments, and began to work. Throughout the day he received reports of the state of the city, and was pleased that, although people were already starting to leave, there was as yet no sign of panic.

It was fully dark in the city when he finally finished. He stood, stretched, and called for his retainers to see that his orders—an impressive stack of paper—went to the right places.

Although entitled by his rank to transport provided by the Empire, Khaavren usually preferred a cab, because the chatter of the cabbie relaxed him. This time, however, it didn’t relax him at all. The cabbie kept hinting that he wanted Khaavren to tell him what was going on in the city; that something was stirring, and people were nervous. Khaavren answered in grunts and monosyllables, and after a long time, the cabbie shut up. Khaavren under-tipped him, then walked into the Manor feeling bad about it.

Upon entering, he handed his cloak to Cyl without a word, after which he at once went to his den, where, in due time, Orile arrived with wine and to help Khaavren off with his boots.

Khaavren sighed, wriggled his toes, tossed off half the glass of wine, and leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“A difficult day, my lord?”

Hearing his wife’s voice, he smiled, but didn’t open his eyes. “You know me too well, Countess.”

She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him. “I’ve had dinner held. Do you want to talk about it?” As she spoke, she took one of his feet and began rubbing it.

“We could talk about how adorable you are,” said Khaavren.

“Or about the shoulder-rub I’ll be getting later,” she said, smiling.

“Or that.”

“Or about what’s bothering you, if it is something you’re permitted to discuss.”

“No reason why not. Rumors are already circulating, you may as well hear the truth.”

“What is it?”

“Signs the Jenoine are going to attempt a breakthrough.”

“The Gods!”

“Yes. And this time, it isn’t by either sea, it’s right here, just outside the city.”

“They’re going after the Orb?”

“It’s possible.”

The Countess exhaled loudly. “There was an attack only a year ago.”

“Yes, by the Lesser Sea. Sethra Lavode herself dealt with that one, along with Aliera. This looks to be stronger. We don’t know how many there will be.”

“What are you doing?”

“Stationing guards to handle panic in the city and assisting evacuation. There will be a detachment around the Manor.”

“I don’t need more—”

Khaavren opened his eyes. “Countess!”

“My lord, we have twenty good soldiers here at all times. If necessary, I can call up thrice the number again. That is more than sufficient to protect our home against civil disturbance.”

“But—”

“My lord! Just how frail do you imagine I am that you need to weaken the Empire itself just to see to it a glass window isn’t broken? In another minute, I’ll take insult.”

Khaavren sighed. “Very well. It will be as you wish.”

She gently set his foot down, put the other in her lap, and began rubbing it. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’m told I’m very charming when people do what I want.”

“You’re always charming. And that feels wonderful.”

“Hungry?”

“If I say yes, will it make you stop?”

“Fifteen minutes on your feet, then time to clean up. Dinner in an hour. Capons in plum sauce, vinegar beef round with juniper berries and mustard seed.”

“An hour, then. That will do very well.”

The next morning Khaavren rose early, dressed, and called for his horse to be saddled. This was not a day on which he wanted to depend either on Imperial or public transport.

He kissed the Countess, and set off for the palace, his eyes never resting as he watched the faces of the people he passed, and studied how and where they gathered.

Upon arriving, he went first to his office to write out a few supplementary orders, then to the First Antechamber, to have the Empress told that he wished to speak with her at Her Majesty’s convenience.

Her Majesty’s convenience came quickly; he was once more ushered into her breakfast room. This time, she didn’t ask: at a sign from the Empress he was given a glass of klava.

“Good morning, Captain,” said Zerika.

“Good morning, Majesty. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“It is nothing. What have you to report?”

“I’ve made what arrangements I can, and we’ll need them. The city is frightened, Majesty.”

She nodded. “Aliera has agreed to turn the Songbird River Division over to you for the duration.”

Khaavren nodded. “That will help. I think I know the division. The commander is Garsery, e’Terics line.”

“Aliera says they’re stationed just past Oldgate. The lead elements should be here before noon.”

“Good.”

“Now,” said Zerika. “Kosadr was telling me about some new information. Wizard?”

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I have heard rumors of a device, of divine origin, which may have the power to prevent the Jenoine from manifesting.”

“What device?” said Khaavren.

“It is called the silver tiassa, and was supposedly made by Mafenyi.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Zerika. There was a pause, and the Orb briefly flickered white and yellow. “Nor has the Orb.”

Khaavren said, “Where did you hear of it? It seems oddly convenient to appear just now.”

“The first thing I did was put out word to anyone who knew anything that might help. I heard of this from a cousin, who said a bard told a story about it. I’m looking for the bard.”

“Have you asked Sethra?” asked the Empress.

“She’ll be arriving later this morning,” said the wizard. “I’ll ask her then. And the Necromancer.”

“Good,” said Zerika.

“Other than that,” said Kosadr, “we are doing well in gathering what weapons we have that may be effective. We have asked the Lord Morrolan to make himself available.”

“Very well, then. Anything else from either of you? Then that is all for now. Stay in touch; do not hesitate to bespeak me directly through the Orb if it seems called for. I’ll do the same.”

Khaavren took a last sip of his klava as he rose; then he saluted the Empress and followed Kosadr out the door.

The day passed in something of a fury; he checked the arrangement of his forces, dispatched some to take up positions, received messages about the state of the city, met with General Garsery and her staff, met with Aliera twice, and seemed never to have a moment to breathe.

In the middle of the afternoon, Khaavren was once more called to meet with Her Majesty, Kosadr, and Aliera, this time in the alcove, as it was called—an intimate area adjoining the throne room. Also present on this occasion was Sethra Lavode—the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain—who openly carried Iceflame at her hip. She gave Khaavren a nod as to an acquaintance, which he gravely returned. He couldn’t help feeling a certain thrill at being acknowledged by Sethra Lavode; but he could at least keep the reaction from showing.

Zerika began with Aliera, who gave a concise report about the divisions now moving toward Adrilankha, when they would arrive, and how useless she expected they would be.

When she had finished, the Empress turned to Khaavren for his report. He explained what he had done, what he had prepared, and what he proposed. When no one had questions or suggestions, Her Majesty expressed her approval.

Kosadr spoke next, describing at length the measures he had taken, the spells prepared, the sorcerers who remained on alert.

“What of the Necromancer?” said Zerika.

“She will be ready to assist,” said Sethra.

“Good. And what of this device, the silver tiassa?”

“I have spoken of it with Sethra Lavode,” said Kosadr. “She has heard of the artifact, but had no knowledge that it had such properties. The Necromancer has never heard of it, but said that such a thing is possible.”

“But,” asked the Empress, “can it be found?”

“Perhaps. There’s a rumor.”

“What sort of rumor?”

“That it is in the possession of a certain Easterner, an Imperial Count named—”

“Szurke,” said the Empress.

“Yes, that’s the name.”

“Vlad Taltos.”

“Yes, Majesty. A Jhereg. We’re attempting to locate him now. It is difficult; he appears not to want to be found.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” said the Empress. “The question is: Is this the best use of yours?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “If we find it, and it works, it makes everything else unnecessary.”

“What of the gods?”

“I’ve attempted invocations of Barlen, Trout, Verra, and Ordwynac. Nothing.”

“That’s odd; the Orb tells me that they are eager to speak with us when the Jenoine threaten.”

“Yes, Majesty. It is not impossible that the Jenoine have, somehow, interfered with our ability to reach them.”

“All right. See what you can learn. That’s all for now.”

Khaavren threw himself into his work again, forgetting everything else. Eventually, he realized that it was well into the evening, and so he closed up his office, dismissed his staff, and had his horse saddled and brought to the door.

The city was unusually quiet, which puzzled Khaavren until he recalled that he, himself, had earlier declared a curfew, and put the city under the control of the military. He made the rest of the journey quickly, reflecting that he didn’t much like the city this way: quiet and empty. It seemed somehow eerie, almost threatening. I suppose that’s appropriate, he decided.

He had his horse stabled, and, as usual, handed his cloak to Cyl, this time giving the Teckla a friendly nod. “Where is the Countess?”

“In her sitting room, my lord.”

Khaavren nodded and took himself there, politely clapping outside the door, then entered at her word. She was seated, reading. She looked up and gifted him with a smile. “My lord,” she said. “Another late day, as I had expected. I had Cook prepare a summer stew.”

“You’re adorable, Countess. I’ll eat in a bit; right now I just want to sit down and brush your hair.”

Daro smiled. “Because it relaxes you?”

“Exactly.”

“Then I suppose I’ll permit it.”

He found the rosewood brush she always kept in her sitting room, pulled a chair up behind her, and began to brush.

“A difficult day, my lord?” she said.

“A busy and unpleasant one.”

“I know you’ve closed down the city.”

“Yes. I didn’t care for that.”

“Was there another choice?”

“No.”

“Well then?”

“I know. It’s just—we’ve survived one catastrophe. I fear a second. It is one thing to be on a campaign, to face battle. It is another when our home is threatened.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it? I’d be lying if I said it didn’t frighten me, too.”

Khaavren continued brushing her hair. “Maybe it won’t happen,” he said.

“We can always hope.”

“No, I mean specifically. There’s talk about a device that can prevent them coming through.”

“Really? That would be perfect!”

“Aliera doesn’t think so; she wants to fight them. But I’m with you.”

“What sort of device is it?”

“From the gods. A silver tiassa, of all things. Fills me with House pride, and all.” He chuckled.

“A silver tiassa?”

“So I’m told. They’re looking for it now. It is supposed to be in the possession of an Easterner.”

“Let us hope they find it,” said Daro. “Do you think you could eat now?”

“Another hundred strokes.”

“All right. After the stew, there are Imperial strawberries.”

“Fifty strokes.”

The next morning, Khaavren was back at the Palace by the seventh hour. During the night, he had received several reports about the state of the city. He spent the first half hour reading them, and coming to the conclusion that things weren’t as bad as they could be; the citizens of Adrilankha seemed to have settled into an attitude of alert patience.

His mind thus relieved, he went about checking on the dispositions, which required two brief trips outside of the Palace, and several visits with Kosadr and the Warlord. Kosadr, for his part, seemed optimistic about finding the silver tiassa. “I’m certain this Szurke has it,” he said.

“But can you find Szurke?”

“Not so far,” he said. “I believe he has acquired Phoenix Stone from somewhere, so no usual sorcerous trace will work.”

“Could he be trying to keep the artifact out of our hands?”

“It’s possible. But that doesn’t matter; the Orb can always find him.”

Khaavren nodded and went about his business.

CHAPTER TWO DARO

The Countess of Whitecrest was at breakfast when Noli said, “Forgive me, my lady, but is something wrong?”

She brought her mind back to the present and said, “What do you mean?”

“Your Ladyship seems distressed. I thought perhaps there was something with the food.”

“Oh. No, nothing like that, Noli. Distracted, not distressed. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yes, my lady. I’m sorry to have—”

“No, no. It’s all right. In fact, you could do something for me. Have a message sent to the Viscount, saying I wish to see him, today. He can come here, or I will go to him, as he prefers.”

“I will see to it at once, my lady.”

Daro finished a breakfast that she didn’t taste, then went to the front room. She signed the declaration turning county military control over to the Empire and called for a messenger to bring it to the Palace, thinking wryly that, as the Empire had already taken that control, she might as well make it legal. She had received scores of complaints about it. Most of these she could pass on to her staff, but a few she had to answer directly, so she at once set in to doing so.

Next, she met with the Captain of the Whitecrest Guard. Yesterday, she had explained to him the necessity of a central command structure during the crisis, and he grudgingly agreed. Today, he had discovered that this would put him directly under the command of Lord Khaavren, rather than under the command of some nameless colonel under some general who reported to the Warlord. Serving under Khaavren, whom he knew and trusted, took away the sting of losing his own command, albeit temporarily. Daro said she understood, and he returned to his duty.

After some hesitation, she opened up the county books and made some notes about matters to discuss with her staff next week; she knew perfectly well that there might not be a next week, but she may as well act as if there would be.

She was still doing this when Cyl came in to inform her that the Viscount of Adrilankha had arrived, and been shown into the East Room. Daro smiled, closed the books, and stood. “I’ll meet him there.”

When she arrived, he was still standing. “Viscount!” she said. “Thank you for coming!”

“It is always a pleasure, madam.”

Daro hugged her son and said, “Where is Ibronka?”

“At the Palace, hoping to find a way to be useful.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Cyl, bring us some wine. Sit, Viscount. How are the city preparations?”

“In truth, madam, the Lord Mayor is handling everything. I’ve offered her my services, but she seems to have everything in hand. I’m feeling useless; but I admit my life has not prepared me to be useful in this kind of crisis.”

“Then perhaps you can be useful in another way.”

“Really? That would please me very much. How can I help?”

“Something your father said triggered a memory of something you told me about several years ago. Do you recall something about a silver tiassa?”

Piro’s eyes widened a little. “Why, yes. You have a good memory.”

“Viscount, are you blushing?”

“I may well be, madam.”

“I’d like to know what makes you blush.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Really? Well, all right. What of the silver tiassa?”

“I’m familiar with it. I’ve seen it. Why?”

Daro shook her head and frowned. “Something odd. Something feels wrong.”

“What does?”

“Viscount, who has the silver tiassa?”

“So far as I know, Lord Feorae still has it.”

“Feorae? County investigations?”

“And city. He works for us both and collects a double salary. You know him?”

“We’ve met.”

“He is the last one I know to have had it.”

“All right. How did he acquire it?”

“Through the machinations of a Jhereg. His name is Taltos, and he’s an Easterner.”

“Yes. I recall him.”

“You recall him, madam?”

Daro smiled a little. “You must not underestimate the concern or curiosity of a mother. This Taltos prevented you from facing criminal charges, Viscount.”

Piro stared at his mother. “He—”

“We need not speak of that. Where is this Easterner, in case I need to talk to him?”

“He has left town.”

“Oh. That makes it harder. You don’t know where?”

“No, but he had a lover.”

“That was several years ago, Viscount; you know how changeable Easterners are.”

“That’s true.”

“Still, it’s worth checking. What was her name?”

“Cawti.”

“South Adrilankha?”

“No, the City. Lower Kieron area, near Malak Circle.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“Madam, can you tell me what this is about?”

“I don’t know, Viscount. It’s bothering me.”

“Is it related to the expected attack?”

“Related? In some way it must be, because that’s how I heard about it. But it might be tangential. It’s probably tangential. Perhaps I’m only concerning myself with it because there is so little I can do about the real problem.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

She smiled. “You’re right.”

“It is more likely that you have the feeling this is important, even though you don’t know why.”

“You know me well, Viscount.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Look into it.”

“Can I help?”

“You’ve already helped, Viscount.”

“I could accompany you.”

“No, thank you. It may be that your presence would impede my inquiries.”

“I understand. If there is anything else I can do, madam, you know I am ready.”

“Well, if you don’t mind being demoted to messenger—”

“I don’t.”

“Run to the Palace, then, and tell Feorae that I’m about to call on him.”

Piro bowed. “I’m on my way. You will give the Count my warmest greetings?”

“Of course.”

Daro considered for a few minutes after her son had left, then said, “Cyl, have a horse saddled for me.”

“Yes, Countess.”

“And have Noli prepare a valise with cosmetics and my winter walking outfit.”

“Yes, Countess.”

When she was ready, she left from the north door. Cyl handed her valise to the groom, who tied it to the saddle, after which he assisted Daro to mount.

Cyl said, “Any instructions while you are away?”

“No. I’ll be back by this evening.”

“Yes, Countess.”

She set off, riding with the easy seat of the accomplished horseman, to the Palace.

Feorae was expecting her, and she was admitted at once. He rose as she entered and bowed, then gestured to a chair. Daro nodded to him. She remained standing, though she set her valise down. She said, “Some years ago, you purchased a silver tiassa.”

His eyes widened. “Yes, my lady. Though I don’t know how you could know—”

“Please get it. I want to see it.”

Feorae hesitated, then said, “Yes, my lady. It is with my collection, in my chambers. I’ll be back at once.”

Two minutes later he was back, looking distressed. In his hand was an open case. He turned it around to show that it was empty. He said, “I don’t—”

“Yes,” said Daro. “I hadn’t thought it would be that easy.” She sat down. “When did you see it last?”

Feorae sat down behind his desk. “I spend a day with my collection every month. The last time would have been, let me think, a week ago yesterday.”

“Send for one of your sorcerers.”

He nodded. “I was just about to do that.”

Daro didn’t recognize the small, frail-looking woman who arrived ten minutes later, but she recognized the arms of Whitecrest (party per bend sinister ship and tiassa counter-charged argent and azure) on the collar of the shirt she wore, and at once identified the slightly flattened features, the dark complexion, and the colors of her clothing. An Athyra, it would seem, thought Daro. I should really learn more of the names of those who work for me. “Greetings,” she said. “I am Daro.”

“I recognize you, Countess. I am Lyndra, at my lady’s service.” She bowed to Feorae and said, “My lord?”

“This box,” he said, handing it over. “The contents were stolen. What can you tell me?”

Lyndra took it, and gave the inside and the outside a careful examination, after which she ran her fingers over it, her brow furrowed and her eyes almost closed.

Eventually she opened her eyes and said, “The thief was careful, and calm. There is a slight trace here, in the center, no doubt where the thief touched the box while removing the object.”

“What can you tell us?”

“There’s a hint of personality. Cold, distant, nothing to rely on. A professional. Male, I think. And—odd.”

“Odd?”

“I mean, there’s something odd here. I can’t—I think this may have been an Easterner.”

“Ah,” said Daro.

Feorae frowned. “Could it be—”

“Feorae.”

“My lady?”

“I’ll handle this.”

“My lady, the tiassa—”

“I’m sorry about your loss, Feorae, but this is bigger than you. If possible, I’ll see to it you’re compensated, but whatever happens, I do not expect you to see the object again.”

“Will there be anything else?” said Lyndra.

“No, that is all. And unless you hear from the Empire, do not speak of this.”

“Yes, my lady.”

When she had gone, Feorae said, “I don’t understand, my lady.”

“Nor do I,” said Daro. “But I will.”

“And what am I to do?”

“The same as Lyndra; nothing. Speak of this to no one, unless there is an official inquiry from the Empire. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Now, wait here while I use your chambers. I must change my dress a little for the next part of my errand.”

Daro picked up her valise and, without waiting for a reply, entered Feorae’s private chambers. She quickly changed her dress, and, with a few quick strokes of the appropriate color to her eyebrows and lips, and a slight darkening of her complexion, became, to all appearances, a Lyorn of some minor family. Daro generally favored the Lyorn red for her dress; she had learned that with only a little work it could become an effective disguise. She returned to Feorae, reminded him again to say nothing, and called for her horse.

An hour later, Daro was in Malak Circle, where a contingent of tired-looking Phoenix Guards was gathered. Other than the guards, the streets were nearly deserted, and those who did have business seemed furtive, keeping their eyes too straight ahead, walking too fast. Daro dismounted and approached the guards. They turned with friendly expressions—according her the respect a Lyorn is given, no matter the Lyorn’s station in life.

The one with the corporal’s badge said, “I beg your pardon, m’lady, but the streets are to be kept clear.”

Daro nodded. “I will be off the street soon, I just need…”

“Do you require assistance, m’lady?”

Daro gave him a friendly smile. “I don’t require it, exactly. I was simply wondering if you could recommend a good place to eat.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but everything is closed. The crisis, you know. That’s why no one is permitted on the streets, save on urgent business.”

“Crisis? Oh, yes. The Jenoine silliness. I don’t believe they’re really going to come. Do you?”

“Well, my lady—”

“I’ve been meaning to visit this district for so long, and today I can because county archives are closed, and everything is closed here, too. I guess I should have known.”

The other guards were carefully looking off into space. The corporal smiled indulgently.

“Think nothing of it, m’lady. Come back again after this is all over, there are many fine places to eat in this neighborhood.”

“I should think so! All sorts of different kinds of people live here.”

“That is true, m’lady. Teckla, nobles, Jhereg, craftsmen.”

“There must be lots of stories.”

He laughed. “Oh, yes. After my term, I should write my memoirs.”

“Everything but Serioli and Easterners.”

“Oh, we have an Easterner.”

“Here? I thought they were all in South Adrilankha.”

“Most of them are, but a few live other places in the city.”

“My goodness! I’ve never met an Easterner socially. What are they like?”

“This one—that is, these two—are pretty rough characters. Jhereg. One of them ran all the illegal operations in this area until the Jhereg got tired of an Easterner putting on airs, you know, and drove him out.”

“It sounds terrible.”

The corporal shrugged. “No more than he deserved.”

“And what of the other?”

“His wife. She still lives here, I believe. At least, I saw her not more than a year ago, walking around like she owned the place.”

“Really! I would like to meet her. What is her name?”

The corporal frowned. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d advise meeting her, my lady. She’s a desperate character, from what I hear.”

“Well, but surely you could protect me.”

“Yes, my lady. But our orders are to remain here, to keep an eye out for any disturbances.”

“You couldn’t spare a couple of men for a few minutes?”

“Well … I suppose. I’ll send for a couple more while they’re with you.”

One of the guardsmen, a dark Dragonlord with curly hair and a hooked nose, turned to the corporal and said, “I know the Easterner, m’lord.” He then bowed to Daro. “Her name is Cawti.”

The right one, at least, she thought. And married, are they?

The corporal nodded. “All right. Take Wyder with you.”

Another Dragonlord stepped out, and the two of them set off down Copper Lane. Daro led her horse instead of re-mounting so as not to out-pace them. The horse, named Breeze, seemed to resent the restraint. Daro patted her neck and apologized.

She fell in next to the curly-haired Dragonlord and said, very softly, “Thank you.”

“My lady?”

Daro smiled at him. He let a slight smile pass his lips and said, just as softly, “You’re welcome, Countess. I assume you don’t wish your husband the captain to hear of this excursion?”

“He would want to protect me, and that would be inconvenient.”

“I understand, my lady. I trust you’ll protect me from him if he hears?”

“I’ll do my best.”

In her normal voice, she said, “Where are we going?”

“They live just ahead there, upper flat. That is, she lives there; he used to.”

“All right.”

“If you don’t mind, my lady, I’d prefer to go up first.”

“You think she’s a threat?”

“I’ve been told she’s an assassin. And it is all but certain that her husband is.”

Daro felt her mouth curl up in distaste. “What a family,” she said. “Very well.”

“She can’t be that bad,” said the other. “She used to run around with Princess Norathar.”

“Not anymore; not since the Princess’s matters were put right.”

“Doesn’t matter; let’s do this.”

She and the one called Wyder waited for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. She noticed Wyder becoming more and more disturbed, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword. She said, “What did this Cawti and Norathar do together?”

“It’s said they killed people. For money.”

Daro nodded. “I did hear something about that; gossip during her coronation.”

“I’ve heard the same, don’t know if it’s true. Dammit, where is he?”

“If you wish,” she said, “I’m sure I’ll be fine here.”

“No, my lady. We must—there he is.”

“Sorry for the delay. It seems she’s moved, and it took some work to find out where.”

“But you found out?” said Daro.

“South Adrilankha. I have the directions.”

“We’ll have to clear it,” said Wyder. “And get horses.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I’ll ask.”

“That would be splendid.”

“Yes, my lady.”

An hour later they were in South Adrilankha. This part of the city is part of my county, she reminded herself as she worked to keep the distaste off her face.

As they turned onto Elm, she said, “This neighborhood isn’t all that bad, really.”

The long-haired Dragonlord, whose name Daro discovered was Sahomi, said, “I was stationed in South Adrilankha for a couple of years. This is one of the better parts. Clean. They pick up after themselves, at least sometimes. The streets aren’t always full of—”

“Sahomi!” said Wyder.

Sahomi coughed. “Sorry, m’lady.”

“I thought it was the horse,” she said.

“Beg pardon?”

“Never mind,” she said, keeping her smile to herself.

“This is the house,” said Wyder. “If my lady will be willing to wait a moment—”

“No,” she said, studying the house. “I’ll do this myself. Wait here.”

“My lady—”

“Sahomi, explain who I am. You are under my orders. You’ll wait here. If things go wrong, and I die and this destroys your careers, you have my apologies.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Sahomi.

“Amazing you can speak so clearly with your teeth clenched like that,” said Daro as she dismounted.

She strode up to the little house, noting clear signs of a child’s presence in the holes dug in the yard and the toys scattered around it. She stood in front of the wooden door and clapped. She heard movement through the door, but it didn’t open. She clapped again.

She heard approaching footsteps and the door opened. A small, dark-haired Eastern woman stood before her, frowning and looking wary.

“You are Cawti?” said Daro.

She watched the Easterner’s eyes focus behind her, on the two Phoenix Guards who remained mounted in the street. “Who are you?” she said.

“I am called Daro, Countess of Whitecrest.”

The Easterner took a step back, as if startled. “Are you indeed! Yes, I am Cawti.” She hesitated, then took another step back. “Please, come in.”

Then Daro in turn hesitated, but from what she could see, it looked clean, so she took a step forward.

“Sit, if you wish. May I get you something? Wine? Klava?”

“I’m fine.” The room looked clean, but still.

A small boy came into the room; Daro had no idea about what the age would be in an Easterner, but he was just over knee-high, and able to walk well enough on his own. Cawti picked him up, gave him a hug, and set him down again. “Go play outside, hun. In the back yard.”

“Why in back?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because it would be impolite to say in front of our guest.”

“Why?”

“Vlad, make your bow and go to the back yard.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When the boy had left, Cawti said, “What does my lady wish?”

Daro wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard a certain emphasis on “my lady.” She said, “He calls you Mama.”

Cawti tilted her head, as if to say, “I can’t imagine you’d say such a thing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Daro, feeling herself blushing. “My son addresses me more formally, and I suddenly found myself wishing—never mind. I believe I will sit after all. Klava would be lovely.”

“Of course.”

Daro seated herself on a stuffed chair while Cawti went through an archway into what was presumably the kitchen. The room was small, and tastefully sparse save for a surprising number of books on two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Daro resisted the temptation to inspect them.

Cawti returned with only one glass. It’s going to be like that, is it? thought Daro.

Cawti seated herself at one end of a plain brown couch and said, “Now, to what do I owe the honor?”

The stress on the word “honor” was just barely there. Daro felt a flash of anger, but sipped her klava until it had passed. It was good klava. She said, “You are married to a certain Vladimir Taltos, are you not?”

Cawti stared at her until it was almost rude, then looked away. “We are separated.”

“I’m sorry. I should have realized; I heard that he has left town. Do you know where he is?”

The Easterner’s surprise at the question seemed genuine. “My lady, do you think that, if I knew, I would simply tell you?”

Daro frowned. “He is in hiding?”

“Yes, he certainly is.”

“I didn’t know. Who is he hiding from?”

“The Jhereg, my lady. For years now. They want him very badly.”

“Why?”

Cawti looked away. “You would have to ask them, Countess.”

“I see. Then perhaps you could tell me something else. Are you familiar with an artifact, supposed to be of divine origin, called the silver tiassa?”

“I imagine,” said Cawti, “that you already know I’m familiar with it. I hadn’t been aware that it was of divine origin.”

“Perhaps it isn’t. It is being sought by the Empire. I come to you because it is rumored to be in the possession of Lord Taltos, and because—” She hesitated. “And because there is something about this that feels wrong.”

The Easterner’s features remained impassive. “My lady, is there a reason you would expect me to help you?”

“You must have heard of the threat to the city.”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.”

“There is a story that this artifact can help. In fact, can stop it.”

“I see.”

“I assume whatever your resentment of me in particular, or the aristocracy in general, or the Empire in total, or whatever it is you resent, you are not anxious for the Jenoine to replace the Empire, or kill us all, whichever they’ll do?”

“Let me think about that while you recover your breath,” she said.

“Take your time.”

“I hadn’t realized it showed.”

“Your resentment?”

“I’m not sure that’s the right word, but yes.”

“Whatever the word is, yes, it shows.”

“No, I wouldn’t care for a Jenoine victory.”

“So, will you help?”

“My lady, you said you heard a story. How reliable is it?”

“I’ve no idea. Why?”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the item. Or, at least, with a small tiassa made out of silver that could be what you’re referring to. But I had no idea there was anything to it other than a nice piece of silver-work. It seems unlikely.”

Daro nodded. “It seems unlikely to me, too.”

“It does? Then why are you here?”

“Because there’s something going on that I don’t understand, and it intrigues me, and worries me.”

Cawti sat back on her couch. “I see,” she said.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” said Daro.

“Which is why you came to my home, rather than summoning me?”

Daro nodded.

“But you brought a pair of Phoenix Guards with you.”

Daro nodded again.

“In fact,” said the Easterner, “I don’t trust you. But I was a Jhereg once—I’m used to working with people I don’t trust.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Give me the details. I’m no Tiassa, but I’ve been known to have an idea now and then.”

Daro let it pass. “All right, here’s what I know: There is an artifact called the silver tiassa that is reputed to be able to stop the Jenoine from manifesting. At one time, it was supposedly in the hands of your husband, then it was given to a certain Lord Feorae, and then passed again to your husband. That, at any rate, is the story. Hence the desire to find him.”

“So, who is attempting to locate him?”

“I don’t know. Presumably Kosadr.”

“Who?”

“The Court Wizard.”

“Oh. He cannot be found with sorcery.”

“He cannot?”

“He has protection. Phoenix Stone.”

“What is Phoenix Stone?”

Cawti laughed a little. “I was hoping you could tell me. But I know sorcery can’t find him, nor witchcraft, nor—”

“Witchcraft?”

“The Eastern magical arts.”

“Are those real?”

“Some think so. But for finding Vladimir, they may as well not be. Those with psychic skills won’t find him either.”

“I see. What of the Orb?”

“The Orb?”

“Yes. What if Her Majesty should use the Orb to locate him?”

“Can she do that? I know little of the Orb, of what it can do.”

“I am no expert. But it should be possible. It must be, because there are laws regarding under what circumstances she may or may not do so.”

Cawti nodded. “It makes sense, then.” The Easterner appeared to be speaking to herself.

“What does?” said Daro.

“I believe I know what is going on, Countess. And you were right to be suspicious.”

“What is it?”

Cawti closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “I beg a boon, Countess.”

“A boon? That can’t have been easy for you to say.”

“It wasn’t.”

“What is this boon?”

“You can reach the Empress at any time, can you not?”

“Anyone can.”

“You’re the Countess of Whitecrest. You can do so without running the danger of having your mind burned out if the Empress is in a bad mood.”

“All right. What do you wish?”

“Ask her to delay finding Vladimir.”

“To delay? She may be doing it now.”

“Then Your Ladyship must hurry.”

“And in exchange for this delay?”

“I called it a boon, my lady. Not a trade.”

“Then you’d best explain why you want it.”

“Because I know who is doing what, and why.”

“My l—that is, Cawti, I think you ought to explain that to me.”

“You asked if I trusted you. Will you trust me?”

Daro took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is this a test?”

The Easterner seemed to consider for a moment. “No.”

“You are a friend of the Princess Norathar, are you not?”

“You’ve checked on me.”

“Only a little.”

“Yes, we’re friends. Why does it matter?”

“I’m looking for a reason to trust you.”

The Easterner pressed her lips together. “I see.”

“I understand,” said Daro, “that it isn’t flattering. But you’re asking me to ask the Empress to delay finding an artifact that might prevent the Jenoine from invading the city. I am to do that merely on your word?”

“And on your own instincts, which have told you that all is not as it seems.”

“That is still not much on which to risk the safety of the city.”

“It isn’t much of a risk. I just want a little time to find out if my guess is right.”

“And you won’t tell me what this guess is?”

“It would be wrong for me to say anything until I’m sure.”

“And when you’re sure?”

“It won’t matter to you or the Empire.”

“You just want it delayed? Not stopped? I am to simply ask Her Majesty to wait before locating your husband?”

“Estranged husband. Yes.”

“And if she asks for how long?”

“Be vague.”

“And if she asks why?”

“Be evasive.”

“And if she doesn’t agree?”

“Be convincing.”

“You aren’t giving me much.”

“My word is good. Ask Norathar, if you must.”

Daro spoke slowly. “Your hus—that is, Lord Taltos once did a significant service for my son. I have felt that I should repay that service, if I ever had the chance. Can you speak for him? And is this the service?”

Cawti laughed, but didn’t explain what she found amusing. “Yes, to the first, and most definitely yes to the second.”

“All right. I agree.”

“Let me know when you’ve spoken with her.”

“And not what she says?”

“If you have any sense, you’ll tell me she agrees whether she does or not. I won’t even be able to tell if you really spoke with her, will I?”

“You said you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust you. But I have no choice. Let me know when you’ve spoken with her.”

Daro nodded, focused, and reached the Empress, who was, fortunately, not especially busy.

“Majesty, it is Whitecrest.”

“Yes, Daro?”

“You have been asked to find this Easterner?”

“Count Szurke, yes.”

“Majesty, might I beg you to wait before doing so?”

“Why?”

“I have reason to believe that—”

“What is it?”

“Majesty, I have suspicions I do not even wish to hint at until I have verified them.”

“This sounds serious, Countess.”

“Majesty, it is.”

“You know we only have a day or two?”

“This will only take a few hours.”

“Perhaps you should come and see me in person, Daro.”

“I will do so at once, Majesty. Until then?”

“I won’t locate Szurke before then.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

She opened her eyes and said, “Her Majesty agrees.”

“I am grateful. I will do my best to see to it you don’t regret trusting me.”

Daro stood. “I appreciate the sentiment. And now, I am off to the Palace.”

“The Palace, my lady?”

“Her Majesty wants to see me.”

“I see. May I accompany you?”

Daro frowned. “Why?” Then she felt herself blushing. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“There is someone there I want to see, and I’d enjoy the company.”

You’re lying, Jhereg, thought Daro. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Countess,” said Cawti, rising to her feet. “If you would be good enough to wait outside, I will join you shortly. I must arrange for the care of my son.”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need.”

The Easterner was gone for some few minutes. She returned and said, “A moment more, please, and I’ll be ready.” Cawti vanished into the cottage’s other room, pulling a drape across the door. It seemed to Daro that the drape wasn’t used very often. There was the sound of rustling, and of heavy objects moving; when Cawti emerged, she wore a cloak of Jhereg gray, and a wide leather belt with a sheathed dagger at each hip.

“Thank you for waiting, my lady. I’m ready now.”

Daro rose. “I see that you are.”

“I’ll need a horse. There is a livery a quarter of a mile west.”

“All right.”

They walked out of the cottage. Daro gave the guards a sign to dismount, and so the four of them walked to the stable. The Easterner’s face was set, determined. But determined to do what?

“If I may ask,” said Daro as they walked, “why are you accompanying me?”

Cawti smiled. “Perhaps I want my share of the credit.”

The aristocrat laughed. “Not likely.”

“No, I suppose not. I have a friend at the House of the Dragon.”

“And you just decided that now was a good time to visit?”

“Perhaps there is more to it than that.”

They reached the livery and Cawti picked out a tall gelding. Daro offered to pay for it, but the Easterner declined with a smile that tried to be polite.

When they set off from the stable, one guard rode ahead, the other behind.

The Countess didn’t speak for a while; then she said, “I don’t expect you to trust me. And I shan’t attempt to compel you to tell me. But if whatever you’re doing has an effect on my mission, it may be to your advantage to tell me of it.”

After another quarter of a mile, Cawti said, “Why?”

“It feels like the right thing to do.”

“Do you generally rely on your feelings, my lady?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Perhaps Easterners are different; I haven’t known many.”

“You mean you haven’t known any, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“We scare you a little, don’t we?”

Daro looked over at her, then returned her eyes to the road.

“Yes,” said Cawti. “I’m impertinent.”

Daro nodded. “You are that.”

They reached the Stone Bridge and started across. Daro watched the river, and inhaled its scent—so different from the ocean. The swells pushed their way toward the ocean as if they were solid objects. On the upriver side, a barge was being worked into a berth by bargemen and dockside sorcerers.

“The river,” she said, “is so peaceful. I mean, compared to the ocean-sea.”

“You live on the cliffs, don’t you?”

“Yes. In the mornings when the weather is fine, my lord the captain and I breakfast on the terrace so we can watch it.”

“That must be very pleasant.”

“You and your husband, did you have such customs?”

“My lady the Countess, are you attempting to find common ground with me?”

She laughed a little. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“And of all the things we might have in common, all you can find is marriage?”

“It was just my first try; we still have a long ride before us.”

“Your first try wasn’t about me, but about who I’m married to. Is who you’re married to the most important thing in your life?”

“I’d never thought about it. Would that be so horrid?”

“Just odd. Seems like a strange way to live.”

The horses of the Dragaerans were shod with iron; Cawti’s was shod with an iron and copper alloy, producing a higher-pitched sound. The combination was oddly musical.

“Out of curiosity,” said Daro, “do you hate me because I’m human, or because I’m a Tiassa?”

“I don’t hate you, my lady.”

“No?”

“Hate is personal. I don’t know you.”

“I see.”

“I doubt that is true, my lady.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

They reached the Palace without further conversation. When they were before the Imperial Wing, Cawti said, “I thank you for the company, my lady.”

“You are most welcome.”

Daro dismounted and turned her horse over to the care of a groom, while Cawti continued on toward the House of the Dragon. Daro entered the Palace and followed the familiar path to the Last Antechamber, where she gave her name and asked to speak with Her Majesty. She was admitted in less than two minutes, and at once walked up to the Empress, making the proper obeisance.

“What is it, Countess?”

“Your Majesty, may we speak privately?”

Zerika frowned. “Very well.” She rose, as did everyone else in the room. She nodded to the nearest guard and announced, “I will be in the Blue Room for a few minutes.”

Daro followed her out the east door and down a very wide stairway that had, in Daro’s opinion, far too much gold filigree. The second door on the right was the Blue Room, named not for the walls, which were an inoffensive beige, but for the furnishings—a long couch and three comfortable chairs. There was also a table, upon which a servant deposited an open bottle of wine and two glasses. Neither Daro nor the Empress so much as glanced at the wine.

Her Majesty sat in one of the chairs and nodded to Daro, who sat at the end of the couch.

“What is it, Countess?” The Orb, slowly circling her head, was a pale green.

CHAPTER THREE CAWTI

The Easterner left the Tiassa who dressed like a Lyorn and spoke like an Issola. Then she continued on to the House of the Dragon, where she put her horse into the hands of a groom, with instructions to return her to the livery stable in South Adrilankha. The groom bowed, and Cawti tipped him, thanked him, and approached the House itself.

The doors stood open; she walked past the guards who flanked it, ignoring the way they ignored her. They’d seen her before, and had learned not to interfere with her, but they didn’t have to like it. She walked through the Grand Hall and took the White Stairway up three floors and so to the private chambers of the Heir. A single guard stood beside the pale yellow door with the e’Lanya symbol embossed in silver. This guard, too, recognized Cawti, and pulled the rope hanging next to the door.

Presently the door opened to reveal Her Highness Norathar. “Cawti! Come in!”

Cawti smiled and entered. “Greetings, Princess. Ouch!”

“I told you I’d smack you if you called me that again. Sit. What are you drinking?”

“Nothing. I need a clear head. You aren’t drinking either, sister.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Don’t play stupid; you see how I’m dressed.”

Norathar nodded. “Either something is up in South Adrilankha, or it’s about Vlad.”

“Nothing is up in South Adrilankha.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning would be when Her Ladyship the Countess of Whitecrest came to my door.”

Norathar sat back. “Really! She came to your house? That’s priceless!”

“Isn’t it just?”

“What did she say?”

Cawti described the conversation; Norathar appeared to enjoy it; especially the negotiation.

“So,” said the Dragon Heir. “We have a Jenoine invasion—”

“The threat of a Jenoine invasion.”

“Right. And an artifact that can help that is supposedly in Vlad’s possession, and an Empress agreeing to use the Orb to locate him.”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve drawn the obvious conclusion.”

“I’m glad it’s obvious to you, too, or I’d have to wonder if paranoia were contagious.”

“It’s obvious. Any idea how they’re going to do it?”

“Not yet.”

“What is this silver tiassa?”

“I don’t know anything about its history or properties, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s something Vlad used in a caper a few years ago. Before we were married, in fact. So far as I know, it doesn’t actually do anything. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It was pretty.”

“And it reminds you of Vlad.”

“This is a lovely room. Is the still-life new?”

“Cawti—”

She sighed. “I’m not the Countess of Whitecrest.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Everything I do does not, in fact, revolve around the guy I used to live with.”

Norathar stared at her. “Where would you get the idea that I thought it did?”

“All right. It was a strange conversation with the Countess. I mean, while we were riding over. Nothing significant, just strange.”

“It must have been.”

“Have you met László?”

“The Empress’s … I mean, the Easterner?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, we’ve met.”

“He’s one of the finest masters of witchcraft the world has ever seen. Ever. He has two familiars, which as far as I know has never … he has extended his life for hundreds of years. You can’t do that with witchcraft. He—”

“What’s your point?”

“He’s the Empress’s lover.”

“Just because everyone sees him—”

“No, no. That’s how he thinks of himself. That’s the most important thing there is to him.”

“That’s very odd.”

“Yeah. And from some of the things the Countess said, it sounds like she’s another. Maybe. I don’t know, I could be wrong. But it sounds like what matters to her is that she’s married to the captain. And then you said—”

“Oh. I see.”

“You know about my work, even if we don’t talk about it.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever you think about it, that matters.”

“I know it matters to you.”

“No, it—all right, we won’t get into that. My point is—”

“I’m way ahead of you, sister. I’m sorry.”

“But you know why Vlad is on the run.”

“I know.”

“I hate it that he threw everything away to save me.”

“I know.”

“I hate it that he saved me.”

“I know.”

“I hate it that I have to feel grateful to him.”

“I know.”

“And now—”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Are you in, Norathar?”

“Is that a stupid question, or a formality?”

“A formality.”

“I’m in.”

Cawti smiled. “Thank you.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Of course.”

“All right. This is your score. What’s the first step?”

“A visit to the Empress. You can get me in?”

“Of course. I’m a princess.”

“Hey, it’s got to be good for something.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

“I don’t know. Best to assume we are.”

“Give me a moment.”

“Of course.”

Norathar vanished into her dressing room, and emerged five minutes later wearing a cloak of Jhereg gray over her clothing, which was the black and silver of the House of the Dragon. She wore a sword belt; she took her sword from where it hung on the wall and slid it into the scabbard.

“Ready,” she said.

“Like the bad old days,” said Cawti.

“For me, they were good.”

“They were that, too. Let’s go. I’ll fill you in as we walk.”

It was only a couple hundred yards from the House of the Dragon to the entrance to the Imperial Wing.

As they passed through on their way to the throne room, Cawti said, “You saw the looks?”

“The tall one tried to keep his face blank. I think he may have sustained a permanent injury.”

“I may have sustained a permanent injury trying not to laugh at him.”

“The Dragon Heir and an Easterner, both wearing Jhereg cloaks. I don’t think I blame them.”

“Nor do I. But I am tempted to go out the Liscom Door, circle around, and do it again.”

“Aren’t we in a hurry?”

“I suppose so.”

They had no trouble until they reached the Last Antechamber, where the pair of guardsmen seemed to have some trouble admitting Cawti. Norathar was about to demand to see the captain when the door opened from within and Lord Summer announced that the Empress wished to see the Princess Norathar and her guest. Summer guided them through the throne room and out the Orb Door and conducted them just a few steps down a wide hallway, where their guide opened a pale blue door and stepped aside for them.

Cawti felt a quick thump from her heart, and silently cursed herself for it.

They entered. Her Majesty was standing next to a chair of the same shade of blue as the door; the Orb, circling her head, was a light shade of green. Facing Her Majesty was the Countess of Whitecrest. Cawti and Norathar bowed.

“Please sit,” said Her Majesty. They all did so.

Old eyes in a young face, thought Cawti.

“Lady Taltos, Princess Norathar.” She smiled without warmth. “Let’s hear it.”

She didn’t offer us refreshment. I think I won’t correct her about my name.

“May I ask Your Majesty a question?”

“Princess, if this concerns the threat from the Jenoine, ceremony is a waste of time. If it doesn’t, this whole conversation is a waste of time. Ask your question.”

“In the matter of finding the silver tiassa, have you had an offer of assistance from a Jhereg?”

The Empress briefly appeared startled, started to speak, stopped, and said, “Not assistance; a request to observe the process.”

“On what basis?”

“A legal one.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Using the Orb to locate a citizen is illegal except for ‘pressing Imperial reasons,’ which means whatever the Emperor wants it to. So legally, any House that wishes may send a witness.”

“So,” said Norathar. “The Jhereg wants a witness. No one else?”

“The Athyra, but they always do. Locating someone via the Orb is unusual, and they like to send someone to study the spell.”

“Always,” repeated the Princess. “How many times has this been done?”

The Empress hesitated, presumably consulting the Orb, then said, “This will be the thirtieth.”

Cawti looked at Norathar, who was looking back at her. They nodded to each other.

“Well?” said the Empress. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid,” said Norathar, “that Your Majesty has been duped.”

The Orb darkened. “I was beginning to get that feeling. Daro?”

“As I told Your Majesty, it was a request from Cawti. I trust her.”

“You do?”

“Conditionally.”

The Empress looked at Norathar. “Is it about the silver tiassa?”

“No, it is about the individual who doesn’t have it.”

The Imperial eyes turned to Cawti. “Your husband.”

Cawti nodded.

“We learn of a Jenoine invasion, we suddenly learn of an artifact that can help, then we learn that it is in the possession of your husband.”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible,” said the Empress slowly, “that this entire threat is false?”

“Possible, yes,” said Norathar. “But it’s more likely the Jhereg learned of it and decided to exploit it for their own purposes.”

“The Jhereg?” said the Empress.

Cawti cleared her throat.

“Speak up.”

Cawti forced herself to ignore the irritation she felt and said, “It would be more accurate to say elements within the Jhereg.”

“I will find them and destroy them.”

“Your Majesty—”

“But until we know, we must assume the threat is real.”

The Countess said, “Was that the royal we, Majesty, or did you mean the four of us?”

The Empress chuckled, and the Orb briefly flickered white. “I meant the four of us.”

“What would you like us to do?”

“I’m not the one with the plan,” she said. “They are. True, Your Highness?”

“True, Your Majesty.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Your Majesty,” said Norathar. “We want to test this theory by asking you to feign locating Count Szurke, and then give a false location. If we are wrong, Your Majesty can always give the true location later.”

“And this false location will be?”

“A place Cawti and I will choose.”

“What will happen at this false location?”

“We will see who arrives there.”

“And report back to me?”

“Of course,” said the Dragon Heir, staring at a place on the wall over Her Majesty’s shoulders.

Zerika stared at her, frowning.

“All right,” said the Empress at last. “I’m willing to do that much. But I want to know what’s behind this.”

“After it’s over?” said Norathar.

“Very well. When do you want to begin?”

Cawti caught her friend’s eye, and nodded. “We’re ready now,” said Norathar.

The Orb flickered again, and Her Majesty said, “Very well; the wizard will be in the throne room shortly. Have you selected a place?”

Norathar looked at Cawti. “Do you have something in mind? It should be far enough from the city to be believable.”

“Remember that little hamlet just east of Candletown?”

Norathar smiled. “It would be hard to forget. Bevinger’s House.”

“Yes.”

The Princess bowed to the Empress. “Your Majesty may take the location from me. I’m thinking of it now.”

“I have it. Go. I’ll return to the throne room and make sure everyone knows what I’m doing. Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Norathar led the way out, taking a long detour around the throne room. The Countess walked with them.

“I am concerned for the Empire,” she said.

“As am I,” said Norathar.

“I’m not,” said Cawti. The Countess gave her a look, but Norathar just smiled.

“Not,” added the Countess, “that I have any special concern for what happens to the Jhereg.”

“There we all agree,” said Norathar.

“But the last thing the Empire needs is warfare within the Empire. The Interregnum did not end so long ago. A battle among Houses, and the slaughter of Imperial personnel, would not be good just now.”

“I don’t think the Jhereg would have much of a chance,” said Norathar. “But still, you’re right.”

“So, what do we do about it?”

“What I’m going to do about it is deal with the immediate threat.”

“The threat to—?”

“You don’t need to know that, Countess,” said Norathar.

Whitecrest started to speak, but then stopped and nodded. “Very well. If I am there when Her Majesty does the location spell—”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps I can discover who will be taking the information.”

“How?”

“Her Majesty might tell me, if I ask nicely.” She smiled.

“Then what?” said Norathar.

“Then I’ll tell you.”

Norathar nodded. “I’ll expect to hear from you, then.”

“Good luck.”

“And to you.”

The Countess left; Cawti and Norathar continued out of the Palace.

“Are you comfortable doing the teleport?” asked Cawti.

Norathar nodded. “I’m fine with it.”

They left the Palace through the Hearthfire Door, and took the path toward the Athyra Wing, stopping in Songbird Circle. “This is good,” said Norathar.

“I’m ready,” said Cawti.

Norathar concentrated, and, just to be safe, gestured. Cawti felt the world spinning, and the ground seemed to move. She closed her eyes and knelt down.

“It’s been a while,” she said. “I’d forgotten how much I hate teleporting.”

“Take your time.”

Cawti nodded and regretted it; then just waited for it to pass. When it did, she stood up and opened her eyes.

“It hasn’t changed,” said Norathar.

They had appeared behind the inn, between a pair of oak trees near the stable, blocked from view of the back door by an old well.

“This is the spot you gave the Empress?”

“Not exactly. Closer to the well.”

“Good. A triangle, then.”

“Yes. Do we give him a chance?”

“Can’t afford the time; it’s liable to be someone good.”

Norathar nodded.

Cawti said, “Testing me, sister?”

“Yes. It’s been a while. I need to be sure—”

“Now you’re sure.”

Norathar nodded.

Cawti looked around, moved to a place two feet in front of the stable, and drew her daggers. Norathar walked to a place equidistant from Cawti and the well, and drew her sword.

Cawti felt her shoulders relax. The daggers felt cool in her hands, forefingers at the balance points, middle finger for leverage, palms up just above her hips, pointing just a little bit toward each other. For knife-fighting, she would be using different weapons, holding them with the points inward and the edges out—but this wasn’t for fighting, this was for killing.

“Ready, sister?” said Norathar.

“Just like the old days,” said Cawti softly.

“Just like. I’m telling Her Majesty to go ahead.”

Cawti nodded. Her eyes unfocused, and she felt her breath coming evenly and slowly. “Good,” she said, a little surprised to hear the soft, distant monotone of her own voice. “Let’s get it done.”

Then there was the wait.

There was always the wait.

If nothing else had brought it all back, that would have—the familiar easy tension, the hint of excitement, the trace of anticipation.

Gods! Do I miss this?

Across from her was Norathar, sword relaxed in both hands, point slightly off to the side, face like stone, eyes like ice.

She isn’t missing this.

One endless moment from when she took her position to the appearance of—may as well say it—the targets. More, stretching from the first target, a cleaner’s assistant who couldn’t keep his hands off the stock. All the way from him, and twenty-eight others. Twenty-nine, counting Vlad. In, then out, then back in. Like stepping in and out of a different world; the colors were duller but the edges sharper, and nothing and everything mattered and didn’t matter. All moments were one moment of waiting for the targets that were all the targets, with her sister, Norathar, silent and steady and ready and dire, like two walls that could never fall over because they were leaning on each other.

Then she was moving forward, and knew that Norathar was moving as well, and it was an instant later that she was aware that they had arrived.

Barlen’s balls. Five of them.

One of the parts of her mind that had nothing to do with action found the time to be pleased that they were obviously so afraid of him.

But five!

By the time this thought had completed itself, she had already left one of her daggers in one of them: her favorite strike, coming up under the chin, through the throat into the brain. With her left hand, she threw her other dagger in the general direction of a pair of startled eyes.

She pulled a pair of fighting knives from the sheaths behind her back and then rolled as she felt something swing in her direction.

Of course, it does make sense. One for Vlad, one for Loiosh, one for Rocza, and two for backup.

She came easily to her feet and turned to see what was going on; she was aware that Norathar had neatly decapitated one of them. Three left. She didn’t notice unimportant details like their appearance. What mattered was that they were all carrying swords and daggers, none had completely recovered from the surprise of being attacked, and they looked to be hired muscle, rather than assassins; this could be good or bad. If one of those still standing was a sorcerer, things could get very ugly. She sensed the presence of a Morganti weapon, but couldn’t tell who had it.

Norathar was dueling with one of them, so Cawti looked at the other two; one was cautious, the other aggressive. Good.

The aggressive one came at her just like he should. Cawti hesitated, then moved in quickly to throw his timing off, and—left to deflect the sword, right to guard against the dagger, another half step in, and left again. She stepped out quickly before the other one could flank her—the aggressive one dropped his weapons and put his hands over his throat. Futile; he was already dead.

There was a grunt and a cry, and Cawti knew she didn’t have to worry about the one Norathar was fighting; not that she ever had.

The remaining one looked from her to Norathar, sword out, knife ready. If he was frightened—and he almost certainly was—he didn’t let it show.

Norathar worked her way around him; he backed up to the well. Cawti said, “As far as I’m concerned, you can walk away. Can you walk away?”

His eyes flicked between the two of them. “Yes,” he said.

“Go, then,” said Norathar.

He hesitated, then turned his back on them, sheathed his weapons, and walked. Apparently he had the Morganti weapon, as its presence diminished as he left.

Cawti looked around. Three of the enemy were dead, and the other was probably dying.

“He might have recognized me,” said Norathar.

“And if he did?”

“Good point. All right, then. Now what?”

“We’re not done.”

“I know. Back to the Palace, then?”

“We need to find who’s responsible.”

“We could have asked our friend.”

“You’re funny, sister.”

Norathar grinned. Cawti couldn’t remember having seen her grin in years. She grinned back.

“Suggestions?” Norathar asked.

“Know anyone who can do a mind-probe?”

“No one I can ask. You?”

“The Empress.”

“Well, yes. But the consequences?”

“For her, Cawti? You care?”

“For the Empire, and no, but you do.”

Norathar nodded. “She’ll go after the Jhereg with everything she has.”

“They deserve it.”

“Whoever came up with this idea deserves it.”

“And whoever approved it. Think it had to go through the Council?”

“No. I think it had to, but didn’t. I can’t see the Council approving something like this.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Cawti. “So the question is, is it our responsib—we’re attracting attention.”

“I’ll bring us back to the Palace.”

Cawti took a deep breath, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

Then the churning, the twisting, the flopping around; and once more she knelt with her eyes closed, waiting for it to pass.

“Ugh,” she said.

“You’d think there’d be a way to prevent those effects,” said Norathar.

“There is; I just haven’t gotten around to it. I haven’t needed to teleport in years.” She stood up. “I’m all right now.”

Norathar shook her head. “Five of them. Can you believe it?”

“We did all right.”

“Yes, we—you’re bleeding!”

“Am I? Where? Oh. Just a scratch. I can’t think of how it happened.”

“Here, wrap this around it. I’ll tie it.”

“It’s really nothing.”

“The longer you wait, the more blood you’ll have to get out of that blouse.”

“All right.”

“Too tight?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks.”

“I should have learned a few healing spells.”

“We’re attracting attention again.”

“I suppose it comes with being in Jhereg outfits outside the Imperial Wing, and one of us being an Easterner and bleeding, and the other waving around a big honking sword.”

Norathar sheathed her weapon. “Other than that, why would we be attracting attention?”

“Let’s leave off exchanging witticisms until we’re somewhere more private.”

“Back to my rooms?”

“Maybe.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering if you know a Jhereg from the old days, someone who owes you a favor.”

“Enough of a favor to finger whoever tried to shine Vlad? No.”

“How about someone you can threaten?”

“The only one we could threaten is the guy who did it.”

“Or,” said Cawti, “whoever paid for it.”

“What could we threaten him with? Even if we knew, we couldn’t prove it.”

“We don’t have to prove it, sister. It’s enough if the Empire believes it.”

“Oh,” said Norathar. Then, “Not bad.”

“Can you find out who paid for it?”

“I can get enough information to make a good guess.”

“So, where to?”

“Nowhere. Right here. Let them look. I just need to ask a few people.”

Cawti nodded to a bench a few feet away. “I’m going to sit down. I haven’t enjoyed standing as much as I did before the Boulder.”

“You don’t still call him that, do you?”

“I haven’t. But if he keeps growing so fast and still wants to be picked up, I’ll start to again.”

Cawti went to the bench and sat and watched as Norathar closed her eyes. She kept them closed for some time; occasionally her lips moved a little. Cawti could imagine what was going on—old acquaintances, some of them almost friends. Yes. Surprise, greetings, caution, evasions … “I’m going to be Empress someday. How much is it worth to you to have the Empress owe you a favor?” Maybe not quite so direct; but then again, Norathar wasn’t big on subtlety, was she? There would be hesitation, and finally, maybe, a few pieces of information swimming in a sea of qualifiers like the bits of bread in a prisoner’s broth. She remembered prisoner’s broth. The memory wasn’t pleasant. She missed Vlad’s cooking, too, sometimes. As well as his nasty wit, and—no, no point in that.

Norathar walked up to her. “Two names. I don’t know either of them, but my sources tell me it’s probably one or the other. One is Rynend, who was given the job by the Council. The other is Shribal, who’s been heard to make remarks about wanting to pull it off.”

“I haven’t heard of them either.”

“Where should we start?”

“Rynend, I think.”

Norathar nodded. “We have more leverage if it ties directly to the Council.”

“Exactly. Where do we find him?”

“He works out of his home. On Greenway, in the Parapet.”

“Of course,” said Cawti. “What’s the best way to play this?”

Norathar frowned, then said, “I think the best bet is just me. If I don’t get anything, we’ll both take on Shribal.”

“This is a comfortable bench,” said Cawti. “I’ll wait here.”

Norathar nodded, concentrated, and vanished with a quiet pop of displaced air.

CHAPTER FOUR TWO DAYS EARLIER, DATHAANI

The Jhereg spoke slowly, his voice as melodic as he could make it, which wasn’t very: And it so happened that Barlen called together the Gods that dwelt in the Halls of Judgment, and said, Our enemy will attack us anew. We must prepare ourselves. And so each of the Gods, in his own way, spoke of the preparations he would make, whether in arms, or magic, or strength of body. But then Mafenyi, the artificer, said, I will make me a mighty device, that in the hands of one who touches the powers, will close whatever door our enemy may open to our world.

Barlen spoke high praise for Mafenyi, and the others of the Gods did as well, and so Mafenyi went forth, built the device, casting it into the form of a tiassa, all of silver, small enough to fit into the hand, yet endowed with power to close the world against the enemy.

And when it was complete, Mafenyi sent it forth into the world, knowing it would be found when it was needed.

It wasn’t about the money. Not really. To be sure, it never would have occurred to him to work for free, and the size of the payoff in this case pleased him immensely; but at heart, he wasn’t motivated by money.

It was the job itself—the pleasure of arranging each detail, and then watching it all come together. He wondered if he had been a Yendi in some previous life. He’d had the thought before, and, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was.

“Dathaani?”

He glanced up. “Oh, sorry; I was musing.”

His guest said, “You stopped in the middle of the story.”

Dathaani’s guest was a young gentleman named Ched, of the House of the Hawk. Dathaani had invited him over for several reasons. First, Ched, despite his relative youth, had something of a reputation as a collector and popularizer of myths and legends. Second, Ched had a small gambling problem which had turned into a large debt. Third, Ched had expressed a willingness to engage in slight, insignificant dishonesty, provided no law was broken, to see this debt wiped away. Dathaani had bought up the debt, pleasing himself, Ched, and the author of the loan. Everybody won. Dathaani liked it when things worked out that way.

“Actually,” he said, “that’s pretty much it. Do you have it?”

“I have the gist of it. If you want me to be able to repeat it back, I’ll need to hear it again.”

“Presently. First, you need to know what to do with it.”

“All right, I’m listening.”

“There is an Athyra named Kosadr.”

“Funny, that’s the same name as the Court Wizard.”

“What a coincidence. His favorite place to drink is a private club called Shim’s. I’ve bought you a membership.”

“All right. I can do this.”

“Good.”

“Funny, I’ve never come across that story before.”

“If you want to touch it up a bit I’m good with that. Just so long as the key elements come across.”

“The key elements being the silver tiassa, and what it does.”

“Exactly.”

“Actually,” said his guest, “the story isn’t bad.”

“Thanks. Do this, and you owe no one anything.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and I assume I don’t need to tell you to keep your mouth shut about it.”

“No, no need for that at all.”

Dathaani thought he might have detected a slight shudder running through the young Hawklord. If so, all to the good.

Some hours later, he sat in the same place, speaking to another guest; this one wore the gray and black of House Jhereg, and was, as Dathaani couldn’t help but be aware, significantly more female.

“Right. Yes. I require necromancy.”

“That is legal, provided it injures no one, and with a few other exceptions. What effect do you require?”

“The appearance of a gate about to open.”

“The appearance? Not the gate?”

“Not the gate.”

“Why ask me? Any—”

“It needs to appear as if it is the Jenoine.” Then, “Come, Lady Cheoru. If you keep staring at me like that, I’ll start to think you’re ensorceling me.”

“Appear as if the Jenoine are trying to break through?”

“Exactly. And it must be convincing.”

“Are you aware of what will happen if I do that?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I am very much aware. There are certain devices the Empire uses to monitor such activity. The devices themselves are not guarded against—”

“And are you aware of what will happen to us if we get caught?”

“I don’t believe I’ll be caught. And if I am, you’ll not be implicated, of course.”

“I don’t even know how to set a price for that. I’ll need to think about it.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

“It is not impossible that the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain will interest herself. It’s happened before.”

“That’s as may be.”

Cheoru hesitated. “Have you a location in mind?”

He opened a map and indicated the marked spot.

“That is very close to the city,” she said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Very well, I trust you know your business. One thousand.”

“I assume you’d prefer coin. Send someone by to pick it up.”

“My man’s name is Jessic. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“I’d like two days’ notice.”

“Two days? This is a matter of hours. I can give you two days’ notice whenever you wish.”

“Now then.”

“Very well.”

Dathaani rose and bowed. “A pleasure, Lady Cheoru.”

“Lord Dathaani.”

Once she was gone, he carefully counted two hundred five-imperial coins into four bags of fifty each. As he did so, he discarded a few which showed sufficient wear to reduce their value. When finished, he set the bags aside, and studied his notes, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. He continued until he heard a clap at the door, which he assumed, correctly, to be the messenger for the gold.

When the messenger had left, he put on his cloak, strapped on his sword, checked the dagger in his sleeve and the other in his boot; then he went out. He followed Westwind as it curved and twisted and turned into Spinners. After half a mile, as he came to the Parapet, he turned onto Greenway, with its flowering hedges marking the private homes of the almost wealthy. Number Eighty-eight was a dark green house of three stories, with an artificial stream surrounding a rock garden. To look at it, one might think it the home of an Iorich advocate, or a successful Jhegaala merchant.

Dathaani approached the door and pulled the clapper.

There was little that frightened Dathaani, and, if you’ll accept that being nervous is a different feeling than fright, there was even less that made him nervous. Meeting with Rynend was one of those.

He did his best to hide the nervousness, because it was humiliating; but Rynend could have him killed by just making the suggestion. And Rynend was the sort to do it if he got irritated. It was hard not to keep that in mind while having a conversation.

Rynend didn’t have an office; like most of the higher-ups in the Organization, he operated out of his home. And like most higher-ups in any organization, he liked to make people wait. So Dathaani sat in the parlor and waited.

After ten minutes that felt like an hour, Rynend appeared with a bodyguard—a burly fellow who looked like his face had been carved out of the same marble as the floors. Rynend himself was small, elderly, and frail-looking. Dathaani rose and bowed; Rynend gestured that he should sit again, then sat down facing him.

Rynend looked at the bodyguard, who walked to the far end of the room; far enough that he was effectively out of earshot. Then the boss said, “Dathaani, you have something, or not?”

“I have something, my lord.”

“Yeah? Is it good? Will it finish this business, or let me down?”

“I like the chances.”

“You like the chances. Well, I don’t like chances, I like sure things.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“So, do we have a sure thing?”

“No, my lord.”

“No. See, that’s not the answer I wanted. I wanted you to say, ‘This Easterner will no longer pollute the world with his miserable, unclean presence.’”

“I understand, my lord. But, I don’t know, it seems like it might be a bad idea to lie to you. To tell you something is certain when it isn’t.”

“You think that’s a bad idea?”

“I do.”

“You’re right. You don’t want to tell me something that isn’t true, because then I’ll be sad, and you don’t want me to be sad.”

“I understand, my l—”

“But if this worthless crumb gets away, then I’ll be sad, too.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“So tell me what you need.”

“Blades to do the finalizing, a sor—”

“What about you?”

“I do the set-up, my lord. I’m not such a reliable hand with a blade. Also, with enough effort, this can lead back to me. That could be bad for all of us, so I need to make it hard for anyone to find me. Put me near the body, that’s more connection than we want.”

“The body. I like the sound of that.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“All right. Blades. More than one?”

“We’ll have surprise, certainly. But you know about his familiars?”

“How many do you want?”

“At least three.”

“Three!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Can’t get professionals; no one will work that way. I can find you muscle.”

“Make it five, then.”

“All right. What else?”

“A sorcerer to teleport the blades once we have the fix, and a note from you asking the Imperial representative to help get me what I want.”

Rynend didn’t look happy. “You need the representative?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord.”

“Why?”

“We’ll need someone close to the Orb to pull the location and transfer it to the sorcerer to do the teleport. It should be done right away; if we wait even half a minute, he might have moved, and then things don’t go so smooth. We have to catch him flat.”

“What if the Empress refuses?”

“Legally, she can’t.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It sounds complicated.”

“It is.”

Rynend shook his head. “I don’t like complicated.”

Dathaani waited.

“All right,” said Rynend. “You don’t go near the rep. Tell me what you need, and when you need it, and I’ll arrange it.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ve met with someone from the Left Hand. Once I have the name—”

“Make sure whoever you find is able to appear at court.”

Dathaani nodded.

“So, the set-up. You like it?”

“It was a tough problem, my lord, but I think I’ve solved it. As I said, I like our odds.”

“But it’s complicated.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“So, how are you getting him?”

“I’ve recruited help finding him.”

“Help. From who?”

“The Empress.”

After a moment, Rynend said, “You’d better explain. No, forget that. Don’t explain. I don’t want to know. You have a time and a place?”

“A place and a day; the time is iffy, but I’ll have some warning before we get his location. And then we move instantly. The blades have to be ready.”

“How much warning?”

“Between half an hour and an hour.”

“All right,” said Rynend. “I’ll get you the blades, send them to you. You have a meeting place?”

Dathaani told him where to meet.

“All right. Next I want to hear, this problem is solved. You understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Anything else?”

Dathaani hesitated. “There is, my lord. You have to know, this is going to raise a stink. A big stink. If word gets out that the Organization is behind this, and we did it just to get this guy, they’re going to come down on us hard. The Empire. I need to know you’ll back me if this works.”

“Back you how?”

“I’d be very sad if heat came down, and the Organization decided to use me for ice.”

Rynend sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

“How bad will the heat be?”

“My lord, we are making it look as if there is about to be a major attack by Jenoine. They’ll pull out everything they can: troops, sorcerers, everything. If things work the way I want, nothing will come of it. But if they find out, it’ll be bad. Very bad.”

“Okay, then. If you get this bastard, I’ll protect you from any heat that comes down. You’ll be a rich man, and I’ll see to it you live to spend it. But if you miss him, you’re on your own. Clear enough?”

“Yes, my lord. Very clear.”

“And you’re good with that?”

“I’m good with that.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“No, my lord.”

“You can find your own way out.”

Dathaani stood, bowed, and found his own way out, the hairs on the back of his neck still standing up.

Relax, he told himself. You’ll either be rich, or you won’t need to worry about it.

Still and all, he really did like the odds.

CHAPTER FIVE NORATHAR

The Dragon Heir was admitted to Rynend’s home by a burly, narrow-eyed man who looked—and no doubt was—much more bodyguard than butler.

“I have business with Lord Rynend,” she said.

“He isn’t expecting you,” stated the other.

“Show him this,” she said, and handed over the ring with the mark of the Heir on it.

The bodyguard walked out to deliver the errand, just as another, cut from the same mold, though a little shorter and burlier, came in to take his place. Norathar had nothing to say to him; he evidently felt the same.

A short time later, the first returned along with Rynend himself, who could have been from the same family as his bodyguards, except that the cut of his clothes spoke of substantially greater wealth.

“What do you want?” he said, handing back her token.

She accepted it and put it away. “A few minutes of your time, if you can spare it.”

“Concerning what?

“Imperial politics, conspiracies, saving your life and reputation.”

He frowned and studied her. “I recognized the seal. But you look like a … who are you, anyway?”

“I’m called the Sword of the Jhereg.” She couldn’t help being pleased to see his eyes widen.

“Well,” he said. “Come in.”

She followed him into a room that could have belonged to a successful advocate: dark woodwork, small sculptures on ledges, cut-glass decanters, a very large desk, bookcases full of heavy-looking volumes. With the delicacy of an Issola, Rynend sat in front of the desk, rather than behind it, motioning Norathar to a stuffed chair facing it. There was a small table between them; he asked if she wanted wine, or perhaps an ice.

“I don’t want to take up that much of your time,” she said.

“All right then. I’m listening.”

“Just to state the obvious, I’m not here to do you any favors. It’s a case of my interest running with yours.”

“What are we talking about?”

“The failed assassination attempt on Lord Taltos, and the catastrophe that will fall on your head when your assassin is found and the Empire traces it back to you.”

There was not a flicker of response from him, unless his blank expression itself was a response; Norathar was inclined to think it was. She let the silence build itself. Eventually Rynend said, “Not that I’m admitting anything, but—failed?”

Norathar forced herself not to smile. First try! “Five people showed up to attack Lord Taltos an hour ago. He wasn’t there. Four of them are dead. None of them were especially good, by the way.”

“What do you want?”

“First, let’s be clear on your situation. The Empire is liable to find out what happened, and why. If—as I suspect—there really is no threat from the Jenoine, then think about all of the expense and disruption this has caused, and consider how they’ll feel when they put it together.”

“Are you threatening to go to the Empire?”

“No. I’ve no need to go to the Empire. They’ll investigate and either learn about you, or they won’t learn and will take it out on the Organization. Then what will your position be?”

Rynend smiled without humor. “You making an offer?”

“Yes. I keep your name out of it, of course. And I can’t guarantee that the Empire will be satisfied with what I give them, but I think it’s a good possibility.”

“What are you going to give them?”

“The body of the guy who put it all together. I know it wasn’t you. You don’t work on that level.”

“His body.”

Norathar nodded.

“I see. And how will they know he’s the guy who did it?”

I’m still working that out, she thought. “You’ll have to trust me on that.”

“Trust you.”

Norathar nodded.

“Well, you have a good reputation. And I don’t have much choice.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“No need. What do you want?”

“Who did it?”

“No, I mean: What is it you want for clearing this matter up for me?”

“Oh. That’s personal. I have my own reasons; you owe me nothing.”

He didn’t even pause. “His name is Dathaani.”

“How do I know he’s the one?”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

Norathar frowned. “Give me something.”

“I’ve nothing to give. Have someone talk to him, drop some hints and see how he reacts.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I got nothing else.”

“All right. Where is he?”

“His home is on Garden, in the Cliffs. But he’s more likely to be at an abandoned inn on Newalter and Slate. That’s his rendezvous during the operation.”

Norathar stood. “I know the place. All right. If everything works out, I won’t be in touch.”

Rynend rose and nodded. “Then I look forward to not hearing from you.”

He escorted her to the door. She walked a hundred feet down the street and teleported.

Cawti was still waiting on the bench. Norathar approached her.

“What are you looking at?” said Cawti.

“Trying to decide if you’re pale.”

“Compared to whom?”

“Compared to how you look when you haven’t lost blood.”

“I’m fine.”

“All right.”

“Shall we take a coach?”

“Why not ride in comfort?”

Cawti took a step, then hesitated. “Norathar?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is this going to leave you vulnerable?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will it give the Jhereg leverage on you? They can threaten to tell what you’ve done—”

“They’re smart enough to know what will happen if they threaten me.”

Cawti nodded.

Norathar checked the time and said, “Sixteen minutes after the hour. One and six is seven.”

Cawti nodded, and they went to the seventh coach in line, earning dirty looks from the first six coachmen. They climbed in; the poor coachman was so startled that he had been selected that he had no chance to open the door for them, and only barely remembered to close it. Norathar gave him the streets.

The coach shook as the coachman climbed into his seat; then he made the “yip-ha” of his profession, and the team of horses—Norathar had thought they looked tired—put the coach into motion.

Newalter and Slate, she thought. I know the area. It’s just over the Stone Bridge, near the old refinery. Not much Jhereg activity. Not much of anything, in fact. She looked at Cawti, who was looking at her, probably thinking the same thing. Cawti’s hands were in her lap, but a finger tapped the hilt of the dagger at her left hip.

It was a long ride; they settled in. Norathar faced forward, Cawti sat facing her. As they passed through Little Deathgate the coachman whistled, and the horses began to trot. Norathar chuckled, and noticed Cawti doing the same. At least he didn’t drive around it, she thought.

“You know the area better than me,” said Cawti. “When we arrive, what will we find?”

“Not much, anymore. There was a refinery there, years ago. It blew up.”

“I remember hearing about that.”

Norathar nodded. “No one lives there, few go there. The inn is called Antlers. I doubt it does any business, except for letting out the space to private parties once in a while.”

“Dathaani,” said Cawti.

Norathar nodded.

“You’ve heard of him?”

“The name sounds familiar, but I can’t recall from where.”

“We could take some time to learn about him,” said Cawti.

“We could,” said Norathar. “Except that we risk Her Majesty learning his name before we can act.”

“I keep forgetting that you care about that now.”

Norathar nodded, accepting the words at face value.

“So how do we play it?” asked her partner. “Make the body vanish? The Empire won’t be able to learn anything if he just vanishes.”

Norathar frowned. “I can’t say I like it much. Usually, there’s no one looking for your target until after the job. With this, lots of ways for things to go wrong.”

“I know. What do you suggest?”

“You’re the one with the ideas.”

Cawti laughed a little. “My idea is to kill him. We’ll worry about after, after.”

Norathar sighed. “I’d object if I had a better idea.” She hesitated. “There’s also another issue: making sure it’s the right guy.”

“My,” said Cawti. “That’s a problem we’ve never addressed before. Better tell me about it.”

Norathar related the conversation. Cawti listened, then was quiet for a while. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

“We could talk to him,” said Norathar.

Cawti scowled.

“Let’s think about it,” she said.

Norathar nodded.

Cawti turned her head and watched Adrilankha roll past. After a moment, Norathar did the same.

Eventually they arrived. The coachman dismounted and assisted Norathar out the door; Cawti managed on her own. Norathar paid him and said, “Wait for us; we shouldn’t be long.”

He bowed and climbed up to his seat, looking as if he were prepared to wait indefinitely.

There were few structures still standing in the area—the rubble had been cleared from what had once been the petroleum refinery, but there remained an empty lot surrounded by a few houses that appeared deserted. The inn was easily identified—the sign appeared freshly painted. It was a tall, thin wooden structure, and Norathar wondered how it had survived the explosion.

They approached the building and Cawti said, “Shall I…?”

“Yes.”

Her partner walked around the side of the building. Norathar waited until she had disappeared around the corner, then approached the front door. Norathar always took the front.

“Ready,” said Cawti into her mind.

“Go,” Norathar said, and stepped through the door.

The sound of the door opening echoed loudly, so any thought of surprise was gone at once. “Drawing,” she said, and did so.

To her right was a stairway, to her left and ahead was a single, large room. A bar on the right ran from near the stairway to the far wall, which had a single door, which, as she watched, flung open to reveal her partner, a dagger in each hand.

There was no sign of a host—nor was there any sign of bottles behind the bar. The room was full of small, round tables, with chairs upended on them, as if to clear the floor for sweeping. After a long fraction of a second, she saw that one table was occupied, its chairs set upright. The figure was, it seemed, looking at her from under a hood. As she watched, he reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing a head full of curly brown hair, and bright, sharp eyes. He carefully set his hands on the table, and waited.

Norathar approached, aware of Cawti closing the distance as well. She stopped just a bit more than her sword’s length away. The table was between them, but Cawti was behind him.

“You,” he said, “are not who I was expecting.”

Cawti looked at her; she mentally shrugged. “I imagine not.”

“Mind if I ask who you are?”

“We’re the ones who killed the assassins you sent after Lord Taltos.”

“Oh,” he said. He glanced behind him, seeing Cawti for the first time, then turned back to Norathar and said, “Who is the Lyorn?” Norathar saw Cawti’s eyes widen, but her partner gave no hint that there was danger, so she kept her eyes on the target.

“Actually,” said Whitecrest from behind Norathar’s right shoulder, “I’m a Tiassa.”

Norathar said, “You are Dathaani?”

“That’s my name, yes.”

Without turning, Norathar said, “Perhaps you should wait outside, Countess.”

“I won’t be a party to anything illegal.”

“That,” said Norathar patiently, “is why I suggested you wait outside.”

“No,” said the Countess. “I don’t play those sorts of games.”

From behind Dathaani, Cawti was expressionless; she was waiting for a signal, or to get an indication of what the play was.

Norathar wished she knew. “Why did you come, Countess?” she said.

“To speak to Dathaani. To find out if he really did what I think he did, for the reason I think he did it.”

“You think he’ll tell you?”

“You know, I’m sitting right here,” said Dathaani.

“Very well,” said the Countess. “Will you answer some questions?”

“Depends on the questions.”

Cawti shifted, just a little—Norathar read it as a question: Shouldn’t we just kill him and be done with it?

She barely shook her head, and waited.

“Is the Jenoine invasion real?” said the Countess.

“Perhaps,” said Dathaani, “you could give me some reason why I should answer?”

Norathar cleared her throat. “I can. It didn’t work. Four of the idiots—that is, the assassins—you sent after Lord Taltos are dead. If the Empire learns of your plan, and the Jhereg learns that the Empire has learned, what do you suppose will happen to you?”

Dathaani sat back in his chair. “I see your point.”

“We can, if nothing else, offer you a cleaner death.”

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s something.” He sighed. “It’s irritating. I thought I had everything worked out.”

“I know the feeling,” said Cawti dryly.

“So,” said Norathar. “Care to answer her questions?”

He cleared his throat. “What was … I remember. No, it isn’t real.”

“How did you manage that?” said the Countess. “No, never mind. It isn’t important now. Later, maybe. It was all just a set-up to kill Lord Taltos?”

Dathaani coughed. “If I admit that—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Norathar. “We are so beyond that.”

Dathaani sighed again and nodded. “True. All right, yes. That’s what it was about.”

Whitecrest said, “Now what do we do, Highness?”

“This is your show, Countess. You tell us.”

“We bring him back to the Palace and turn him over to the Guard, I think.”

“What will happen to him?”

“I don’t know the law. It may count as treason, in which case he’ll be starred. Or it might simply be considered a nuisance on a grand scale, in which case a whipping will suffice. In either case, there won’t be action taken against the Jhereg, for which he’ll be held responsible.”

“That’s acceptable to me,” said Norathar. “You?”

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” said Dathaani.

“You don’t. I was asking my partner.”

Dathaani chuckled grimly.

“We’re done with the part I care about,” said Cawti. “I’m indifferent toward the rest.”

“I knew that,” said Norathar. “But I had to ask.”

Cawti nodded. Norathar noted, as she had before, that Cawti had the gift of perfect control of her muscles; when she moved her head, there was not a hint of movement of the point of either dagger. Still not turning her head, she said, “Very well, Countess. If you wish him arrested, then so be it.”

“Good,” said Whitecrest. “And you, Lord Dathaani. If you are arrested, will you make a full confession?”

“I will tell you everything but the names of the others who were involved,” he said.

“And did the man who hired you know that you were going to create anarchy, panic, and disorder throughout the city by your method?”

“No,” said Dathaani.

“Will you so testify under the Orb?”

“No,” said Dathaani.

Daro was quiet for a moment; then she said, “I think that will do.” Then she called loudly, “Come!” and Norathar, hearing the door open, turned her head and saw a pair of Dragonlords come into the room, both of them wearing the gold half-cloak of the Phoenix Guard.

When Norathar turned back, Dathaani was rising, his hands well clear of his body, palms out. He unbuckled his sword belt and put it on the table, then a pair of daggers followed it.

“Arrest that man,” said Whitecrest. “I’m not sure of the exact charge, but a suitable one will be found.”

The guards moved in and flanked Dathaani, one of them taking his arm above the elbow. They escorted him out the door.

Norathar said, “Astonishing that they just happened to be there, Countess.”

Whitecrest smiled a little.

Cawti moved up to stand beside Norathar, sheathing her daggers. Norathar returned her sword to her scabbard. “How long have you known, Countess?”

“Known what, Your Highness?”

“That it was all an elaborate attack on Lord Taltos.”

“Oh. When I saw your partner’s reaction.”

“What did that tell you?”

“That she knew something I didn’t, is all. After that, it was a matter of paying attention and putting the pieces together.”

“So then,” said Norathar slowly, “you could have stopped the alarms days ago?”

“No. Until I found out who was behind it, I had no way of knowing if the Jhereg had created the threat, or were just using it.”

“I see. How did you find Dathaani?”

“I was following you from outside the Palace, when you hired the coach.”

“Oh,” said Norathar.

She looked at Cawti, who shrugged. “We’ve been played.”

“No,” said Whitecrest. “I don’t see it that way. That man,” she gestured toward the door, “tried to play us all. We stopped him.”

“It was,” said Norathar, “an impressive move. Not something I’d have looked for. He thinks big. I respect that.”

“Be certain to mention that at his trial,” said Whitecrest.

“Can we keep this quiet? That is, see that it stops with him?”

“Yes,” said Whitecrest. “It wasn’t, in fact, the entire Jhereg behind it, was it?”

“No.”

“Then if one or two others are getting away, it isn’t the worst injustice the Empire has ever seen.”

“No,” said Cawti, “it isn’t.”

“Then we’re done here, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Please give my warmest regards to your son.”

“Thank you. I shall.”

Norathar bowed to Whitecrest. “It has been a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Highness.”

Whitecrest bowed to each of them in turn, then walked out the door.

“Are you going to tell Vlad?” said Norathar.

Cawti shook her head. “He doesn’t need to know. What’s important is that I know.”

Norathar nodded. “I wish this place was open,” she said. “I could use a drink.”

“There’s Kokra’s place.”

“Good idea.”

“It’s going to be odd drinking after a job without using the client’s money.”

“I’ll put it in as part of my royal expenses, and charge it to the Empire. Just on principle.”

“Good principle,” said Cawti, and the two of them headed out to the waiting coach.