Steven Brust - Yendi

I brushed it aside. “All right. I’ll take your advice now, Aliera. I think I’d like to sleep.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I checked the relevant part of me, then nodded. “A bit. Perhaps when I wake up.”

“All right. I’ll speak to Sethra about it. Do you feel any nausea, or would you be up to a full meal?”

“I feel fine,” I told her. “Just tired.”

“Good.”

I bowed to each of them and sat back on the bed as they left.

“ You’re no more tired than I am, boss .”

“ True. But I am sore. Quiet for a minute .”

I reached out for contact with Kragar. It took a while, but eventually he responded.

“ Vlad! Welcome back! ”

“ Thanks. It’s nice to be alive again .”

“ I imagine. Aliera told me you ’ d taken the trip, but they ’ d brought you back. I was beginning to worry, though. It ’ s been three days. ”

“ I know. How are Varg and Glowbug? ”

“ Glowbug is okay; the dagger caught his kidney, but we got to him in time. ” He paused. “ Varg didn ’ t make it. The revivification failed. ”

I cursed, then asked, “ How ’ s our income? ”

“ A trickle. ”

“ Hmph. How about standing funds? ”

“ Around nine thousand left .”

“ Okay. Thirty-five hundred each for anyone who brings me Wyrn and Miraf ’ n. ”

“ Boss, they ’ re going to be protected, you ’ ll never— ”

“ Fine. Then I won ’ t have to pay anything. But put the word out. ”

Mental shrug. “ Okay, ” he said. “ Anything else? ”

“ Yes. Tighten up. I mean, everybody. No action until I ’ m back, but I don ’ t want anybody out alone, ever. Got that? ”

“ Got it. ”

“ And blow another thousand on bumping up the protection on every place we have. I don ’ t want any more surprises. ”

“ Check. Anything else? ”

“ Yeah. Thanks .”

“ You’re welcome .”

“ What tipped you off? ”

“ I got a message from one of those people we ’ ve been trying to cultivate as friends. It seems that the thing was arranged in an upstairs room of his tavern, and he decided to help us out. ”

“ Well I’ll be . . . . Give him two hundred .”

“ I gave him one-fifty already .”

“ Good. Kragar . . . all the Phoenix Guards disappeared, went away, just about the time I left the office. I can ’ t believe that ’ s a coincidence, and I can ’ t believe they have the Empress helping them out—or the commander of the Phoenix Guards, for that matter. Do you know anything about it? ”

“ Our contact said that he heard it would be ‘taken care of.’ ”

“ Hmmmm. I see. Check up on it, all right? ”

“ I’ll try .”

“ Good. And do you know who those two were? The ones who got me? They were damn good. They did half the job anyway, even after Morrolan and Aliera showed up. ”

There was a pause. “ Boss? You don ’ t know? ”

“ What are you talking about? How could I know? ”

“ Think about it, boss. Two assassins. Female. One Dragaeran, one Easterner. One with a greatsword, one with daggers. How many teams like that are there? ”

“ Oh . . . I—uh, I’ll be talking to you later, Kragar .”

“ Sure, Vlad .”

And the contact was broken.

When you talk about assassins, good ones, the name Mario Greymist has a place by itself. He is the best there is, ever has been, or, as far as I’m concerned, ever could be. But after Mario, there are several names that come to mind, among those few who know such things: the ones who are good, dependable, command high rates, and are feared by anyone thinking of making a powerful enemy within the organization.

Most assassins work alone. I mean, murder is a very private thing. But there are a few teams. One of these teams is on the list I mentioned above. I’d heard of them, and their names have been linked to a score of jobs in the last five years. None of these tales is certain, and most are probably wrong, but still . . . . This team involved a Dragaeran, using a greatsword with all the skill of a Dragonlord, and an Easterner using a dagger. Both were women—and the Right Hand of the Jhereg has very few women. (There’s Kiera the Thief, and maybe a few others, but they are a rarity.) This pair of assassins called themselves “The Sword of the Jhereg” and “The Dagger of the Jhereg,” and no one knew anything about where they’d come from. It was very hard to get hold of them—usually, if you wanted them, you just put the word out on the streets and hoped they’d hear and be interested.

It should be pointed out that the most I’ve ever been offered for an assassination is six thousand gold, and these two won’t even talk to you for less than eight or nine. It had never occurred to me to send them after Laris, because they’d have wanted at least twenty thousand, and there was no way I could raise that kind of cash without committing everything to the one shot—a stupid thing to do since anyone can fail. (I haven’t yet, but I’ve been lucky.)

I wondered how much I was worth, and where Laris had found the funds. I discovered that I was shaking, which was stupid, since the threat was over. Unless they decided to complete the job. I continued shaking.

“ You okay, boss? ”

“ Not really. Let’s take a walk .”

I stepped out of the room into the cold, black stone halls of Dzur Mountain. I knew where I was at once. To my right would be the library, where I’d first met Sethra. To my left would be more bedrooms. On impulse, I turned to the left. There were doors on either side of the hall. The hall continued past them. I stopped. Could the assassins be in one of these? Or one in each? I decided to keep walking; there was nothing to be gained by seeing them. I mean, as an assassin, I never had anything to say to my targets; as a target, what was I going to say to my assassins? Plead for my life? Sure. No, there was no point in . . . I discovered that I hadn’t moved. I sighed.

“ I guess there ’ s just a time for doing dumb things, Loiosh. ”

I opened the door as quietly as I could and looked inside.

She was awake and looking at me. Her face was calm, her eyes expressionless. No question about it, she was as human as I was. Her eyes moved down to my right hand, which I discovered was gripping a dagger at my belt. She didn’t seem to be frightened.

She was sitting up, a blue nightgown showing her pale skin in the dim light of a single set of candles. Her hair was dark brown, almost black. Her eyes were darker yet, a vibrant contrast with the shade of her skin. The nightgown was intended to be modest, but it was also intended for a Dragaeran, so it fell rather low on her. She showed no embarrassment.

Her eyes traveled from the dagger to my face. We studied each other for a time; then I forced my hand to relax, and release its grip on the weapon.

Dammit! I was the one who was armed, she was the one who was helpless. There was no reason for me to be afraid of her. I managed to speak.

“Have you a name?” My voice sounded dry, almost cracked.

“Yes,” she said, in a soft contralto.

I waited for her to continue. When she showed no signs of doing so, I said, “Will you tell me what it is?”