Steven Brust - Yendi

The funniest thing about time is when it doesn’t. In those moments when it loses itself, and becomes (as, perhaps, all things must) its opposite, it becomes a thing of even greater power than when it is in its old standard tear-down-the-mountains mood.

It even has the power to break down the masks behind which hide Dragons turned Jhereg.

For an instant, then, I looked at Norathar and saw her clearly, she who had once been a Dragonlord. I saw pride, hate, grim resignation, dashed hopes, loyalty, and courage. I turned away, though, because, odd as it may seem to you who have listened to me so patiently and so well, I really don’t like pain.

“What do you mean?” she whispered, and the world went back to its business again.

Aliera didn’t answer, so Sethra spoke. “The Dragon Council met, early in the Reign of the Phoenix this Cycle, before the Interregnum, to choose the heir. It was decided that the e’Lanya line should take it when the time comes. The highest family of that line were the Lady Miera, the Lord K’laiyer, and their daughter, Norathar.”

Norathar shook her head and whispered again. “I have no memories of any of this. I was only a child.”

“There was an accusation made,” said Sethra, “and Lord K’laiyer, your father, challenged his accuser. There was war, and your parents were killed. You were judged by sorcerers and your bloodlines were found to be impure.”

“But then—”

“Aliera scanned you, and the sorcerers who made the first judgment were wrong.”

I broke in, saying, “How hard is it to make a mistake of that kind?”

Aliera snapped back to the present and said, “Impossible.”

“I see,” I said.

“I see,” said Norathar.

We sat there, each of us looking down, or around the room, waiting for someone to ask the obvious questions. Finally, Norathar did. “Who did the scan, and who made the challenge?”

“The first scan,” said Sethra, “was done by my apprentice, Sethra the Younger.”

“Who’s she?” I asked.

“As I said, my apprentice—one of many. She served her apprenticeship—let me see—about twelve hundred years ago now. When I’d taught her all I could, she did me the honor of taking my name.”

“Dragonlord?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Sorry to interrupt. You were talking about the scan.”

“Yes. She brought the results to me, and I brought them to the Dragon Council. The council had a committee of three do another one. Lord Baritt was one—” Morrolan, Aliera and I exchanged glances here. We’d met his shade in the Paths of the Dead, and had three completely different impressions of the old bas- . . . gentleman. Sethra continued. “Another was of the House of the Athyra, as the expert, and someone from the House of the Lyorn, to make sure everything was right and proper. The committee confirmed it and the council acted as it had to.”

Norathar asked, “Who made the accusation?”

“I did,” said Sethra Lavode.

Norathar rose to her feet, her eyes burning into Sethra’s. I could almost feel the energy flowing between them. Norathar said, between clenched teeth, “May I have my sword back, milady?”

Sethra hadn’t moved. “If you wish,” she said. “However, there are two things I want to say.”

“Say them.”

“First, I made the accusation because that was my duty to the House of the Dragon as I saw it. Second, while I’m not as fanatical about it as Lord Morrolan, I dislike killing my guests. Remember who I am, lady!”

As she said this, she stood and drew Iceflame—a long, straight dagger, perhaps twelve inches of blade. The metal was a light blue, and it emitted a faint glow of that color. Anyone with the psionic sensitivity of a caterpillar would have recognized it as a Morganti weapon, one which kills without chance of revivification. Anyone with any acquaintance with the legends surrounding Sethra Lavode would have recognized it as Iceflame, a Great Weapon, one of the Seventeen. Whatever power it was that hid in, under, and around Dzur Mountain, Iceflame was tied to it. The only other known artifacts with power to match it were the sword Godslayer and the Imperial Orb. Loiosh dived under my cloak. I held my breath.

At that moment, I felt, rather than saw, a knife fall into Cawti’s hand. I felt a tear in loyalties that was almost physically painful. What should I do if there was a fight? Could I bring myself to stop Cawti, or even warn Sethra? Could I bring myself to allow Sethra to be knifed in the back? Demon Goddess, get me out of this!

Norathar stared back at Sethra and said, “Cawti, don’t.” Cawti sighed quietly, and I breathed a prayer of thanks to Verra. Then Norathar said to Sethra, “I’d like my sword, if you please.”

“You won’t hear my reasons, then?” asked Sethra, her voice even.

“All right,” said Norathar. “Speak.”

“Thank you.” Sethra put Iceflame away. I exhaled. Sethra sat down and, after a moment, so did Norathar, but her eyes never left Sethra’s.

“I was told,” said the Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain, “that your ancestry was questionable. To be blunt, I received word that you were a bastard. I’m sorry, but that’s what I was told.”

I listened intently. Bastardy among Dragaerans is far more rare than among Easterners, because a Dragaeran can’t conceive accidentally—or so I’ve been told. In general, the only illegitimate children are those who have one sterile parent (sterility is nearly impossible to cure, and not uncommon among Dragaerans). Bastard, as an insult, is far more deadly to a Dragaeran than to an Easterner.

“I was further told,” she continued, “that your true father was not a Dragon.” Norathar still didn’t move, but she was gripping the table with her right hand. “You were the oldest child of the Dragon Heir. It was necessary to bring this to the attention of the council, if it was true.

“I could,” she went on, “have sneaked into your parents’ home with my apprentice, who is skilled in genetic scanning.” Aliera gave a barely audible sniff here. I imagine she had her own opinion of Sethra the Younger’s abilities. “I chose not to, however. I confronted Lord K’laiyer. He held himself insulted and refused to allow the scan. He declared war and sent an army after me.

She sighed. “I’ve lost count of how many armies have tried to take Dzur Mountain. If it’s any consolation, he was a masterful tactician, certainly worthy of the e’Lanya line. But I had the assistance of several friends, a hired army, and Dzur Mountain itself. He gave me a bit of trouble, but the issue was never in doubt. By the end of the engagement, both of your parents were dead.”

“How?” asked Norathar through clenched teeth. A good question, too. Why weren’t they revivified?

“I don’t know. They were in the battle, but I didn’t kill them personally. They both had massive head injuries, due to sorcery. Beyond that, I can’t tell you.”

Norathar nodded, almost imperceptibly. Sethra continued. “I formally took possession of their castle, of course. We found you there. You were about four years old, I think. I had my apprentice do the scan, and you know the rest. I turned your castle over to the House. I don’t know what became of it, or your parents’ possessions. Perhaps there are relatives . . . ”

Norathar nodded again. “Thank you,” she said. “But this hardly changes—”

“There’s another thing. If my apprentice made a mistake, it reflects on me. Further, it is obvious that my actions were the immediate cause of all this. I trust Aliera’s abilities with genetics more than anyone else’s—and she says you are the product of Dragonlords on both sides, with e’Lanya dominant. I want to know what happened. I intend to investigate. If I kill you, that will make it more difficult. If you destroy me, of course, that will make it impossible. I would appreciate it if you would withhold any challenge until I’ve made this investigation. Then, if you wish, I will entertain a challenge on any terms you name.”