Steven Brust - Taltos

My dagger caught him high on his back next to his backbone, though it didn’t quite hit his spine. He stumbled. Morrolan straightened and took a step forward. He turned to Loraan. Loraan promptly vanished; one of the fastest teleports I’ve ever seen. Morrolan gestured at him as he was going, and there was a flash of bright light, but I didn’t think it had accomplished anything. I entered the room and approached Morrolan.

He turned to me. “Thank you, Lord Taltos.”

I shrugged. “I can’t figure out how to get the staff out of whatever it is he’s got in in.”

“Okay. Let’s—”

Clang. The door burst open and Dragaerans started pouring through. About a zillion of them, give or take a few. Most of them had the sharp chins and high foreheads of the House of the Dragon, though I thought I saw a Dzur or two. They all wore the red and white of the Athyra. I looked at their broadswords and longswords as I drew my cute little rapier. I sighed.

“No, Vlad,” said Morrolan. “Get the staff. I’ll hold them.”

“But—”

Morrolan drew his sword, which assaulted my mind by its very presence, and the room seemed to darken. I’d known it was Morganti the first time I’d seen it, but he hadn’t actually drawn it in my presence before. Now ...

Now I suddenly knew it for a Great Weapon, one of the Seventeen. A blade that could break kingdoms. Its metal was as black as its pommel, and its heart was grey. It was small for a longsword, and it seemed to absorb the light from the room. The demons of a thousand years came and sat upon my shoulder, crying, “Run, as you value your soul.”

Our eyes locked for a moment. “I’ll hold them,” he repeated.

I stood there, staring, for perhaps a second, then snapped back. “I can’t get it out of—”

“Right,” he said and glanced around the room. If you’re wondering about the guards, during this whole exchange they were stopped in the doorway, staring at Morrolan’s sword and, I suppose, trying to work up courage to attack. Morrolan’s eyes came to rest on the pedestal on which end of the golden chain rested, the other end hanging, coiled in midair.

“Try that,” said Morrolan.

Right. Just the sort of thing I wanted to play with.

I raced over and, trying hard not to think, grabbed the end of the chain near where it touched the pedestal. It wa fastened, coming away easily in my hand, still coiling in midair like a snake about to strike. I crossed over to the door beyond which was the cell. I paused long enough to look at the tableau of guards and Morrolan. All of their eyes were riveted on that blade.

Perhaps their courage would have failed them and they wouldn’t have attacked, I don’t know. But while they were considering, Morrolan charged. One sweep of that blade and one fell, his body almost cut in half from right shoulder to left hip. Morrolan lunged and took the next through the heart and he screamed. A stream of what I can only describe as black fire came from Morrolan’s left hand and more cries rose.

I turned away, not doubting that he could hold them off—as long as Loraan didn’t show up again.

I hurried to the glowing cube.

The chain looked like it was made of gold links, each link about half an inch long, but as I held it, it seemed harder than gold. I wished I’d had the time to study it least a little. I ran my left hand over it, in a kind of petting motion. It wasn’t held in the air rigidly, so I pushed it down. There was a bit of resistance, then it hung free, like a chain is supposed to. I felt worlds better. I took a moment to reflect and to allow my life to pass before my eyes if it chose to (it didn’t), and then, for lack of any other idea, struck the chain against the orange glow, bracing myself to take whatever kind of backlash it generated. A light tingle ran up my arm. The glow became a flare and was gone.

A white staff with a rusty star at the end lay on the floor. I swallowed and picked it up. It felt a bit cold, and perhaps heavier than it ought to have been, but nothing happened to me when I touched it. I turned, holding my trophies, toward the sounds of mayhem.

As I walked back into the room, I was nearly blinded by a flash of light. I managed to blink and duck my head enough to avoid most of it, so I was able to look up and see perhaps two dozen bodies lying on the floor. Morrolan was standing, feet braced, his sword acting as a shield to hold off a barrage of white light coming from—

Loraan!

I cursed softly to myself. He now held both a red staff and a small rod or wand. The light was coming from the staff, and, as I entered, I saw him look at me and look at the staff in my hand; his eyes grew wide. Then he saw the chain and they grew wider, and I even saw him mouthing a curse which I recognized and won’t repeat. He turned the rod toward me. I fell over backward as a blue sheet of ... something came rolling toward me. I might have screamed. I threw my hands up in front of my face.

The golden chain was still in my right hand. As I threw my hands up, it swung out in front of me and struck the sheet of blue, which promptly evaporated. All I felt was a tingling in my arm.

It’s all in the wrist, see.

By this time I was flat on my back. I raised my head in time to see Morrolan step toward Loraan, stop, curse loudly, and begin to gesture with his left hand. Loraan was still looking at me, which I didn’t like at all. Then he turned the staff so it was pointed at me, which I liked even less.

I felt as if I’d been kicked in the head and stomach at the same time, lying there on my back, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was going to do. Somehow he was holding off Morrolan, who would have killed him then if it were possible, so the wizard must have had some sort of sorcerous defense against physical attacks.

“Suggestions, Loiosh?”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t have any defense against witchcraft, boss.”

“Sure. Now just give me an hour or two to set up a spell, and—” No, wait. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Witchcraft is controlled psychic energy. Maybe I could—

I sat up, setting the chain to spinning in front of me, hoping that would prevent whatever Loraan wanted to do to me. I saw him gnash his teeth and turn back and gesture with the rod at Morrolan, who gave a cry and fell against the far wall.

I allowed my psychic energy to flow into a dagger I pulled, and I think I chanted something, too. Then I let the chain fall and threw the dagger. Loraan waved his arms and something hit me and I fell backward, cracking my head against the floor. I wondered which one of us would get it. Maybe both.

I heard a scream from what seemed to be the right direction, and then Morrolan was hauling me up. I shied away from his sword, but he held me. My left hand still gripped the chain.

“Come on, dammit! Stand up. He summoned help, and I’ve been holding them off for the last minute. We have to get out of here.”

I managed to support myself, and saw Loraan. My knife was in his stomach, and there was a large cut, as from a sword, in his chest, directly over the heart. He seemed to be rather dead. Morrolan was holding the white staff. Just about then figures began to appear all around us. Morrolan gestured with his free hand. The walls vanished.

We were lying on hard stone. I recognized the place where I had first arrived at Dzur Mountain. Morrolan collapsed onto the floor. The staff went rolling off to the side. I threw up.

I began to feel a slight giddiness, but that was to be expected, and I could ignore it if it didn’t get any worse. I dropped my eyes from the empty spot in front of me and studied the glowing rune. If the rune was here, then the object of my desire was—there.

I touched the spot, making a small impression with my forefinger. I picked up one of the knives I’d laid out—the small, sharp one—and made a cut in the palm of my left hand. It stung. I held it over my right hand until I’d cupped a few drops of blood; then I let the blood dribble into the impression in the dirt. It was soaked up immediately, but that was all right.