Steven Brust - Taltos

I picked up the stiletto with my right hand, then wrapped my left hand around it, too. There would be blood on the handle, but that wouldn’t hurt this; might even help. I raised the stiletto high and focused on the target. It was every bit as important to strike dead on as it was when striking at a person. This was easier, though, as I could take my time.

The moment was right; I plunged the weapon into the ground, the depression, the blood.

I saw, for just an instant, a sheet of white before my eyes, and my ears were filled with an incomprehensible roar, and there was the smell of fresh parsley. Then it was all gone, and I was left with the rhythm, the glowing rune, and the queer landscape. And, in addition, a certain feeling of fulfillment.

The link was forged.

I began composing my mind for the next step.

We made it back up to the library and found seats. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Loiosh spent his time hissing at Morrolan and being generally jumpy. I was feeling a bit weak-kneed, but not too bad, all in all. Morrolan kept glancing at Loiosh, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of him. I rather enjoyed that.

Sethra Lavode joined us. She nodded to each of us, glanced at Loiosh without remarking on his presence, and sat down. Her servant, whose name turned out to be Chaz, came in and was sent out again. While he was getting refreshments, Loiosh was staring at the Dark Lady of Dzur mountain.

“That’s her, boss? Sethra Lavode?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“Boss, she’s a vampire.”

“I’d wondered about that. But is she a good vampire or a—”

“Have we ever run into her before? “

“Ummm, Loiosh, I think we’d remember if we had.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

While this was going on, the lady under discussion held out her hand toward Morrolan. He gave her the staff. She studied it for a moment, then said, “Someone is, indeed, inside of it.” As she was saying it, Chaz walked back in. He glanced quickly at the staff and went on with serving us. Well, if he can step over bodies, he can ignore people inside wizard staffs, I guess.

Morrolan said, “Is it she?”

“I will tell you anon.”

She sat there for a moment longer, her eyes closed. At one point Chaz stepped up behind her with a cloth and wiped her forehead, which I hadn’t noticed had become sweaty.

He still never looked up. Then Sethra announced, “It passes the tests. It is she.”

“Good,” said Morrolan.

“I will begin work on it then. Chaz, open up the west xxx .”

As the servant left, without answering or acknowledging, Morrolan said, “Shall I ask the Necromancer to come by?” I didn’t know to whom Morrolan referred here, but I heard the capital letter.

“No,” said the Enchantress. “Perhaps later, if there are problems.”

Morrolan nodded and said, “How have things been here?”

“Difficult.” I noticed then that she seemed a little harried and worn out, as if she’d just been through a rough experience of some kind. None of my business.

Her eyes fell on the chain I was still holding in my left hand. “Is that yours?”

I said, “Yes.”

“Where did you find it?”

“An Athyra wizard gave it to me.”

She maybe smiled a bit. “How kind of him.” She stared at it for a moment longer, then said, “Have you named it?”

“Huh? No. Should I?”

“Probably.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

“No.”

“All right.”

She took the staff and walked out of the room. I wrapped the chain around my left wrist and asked Morrolan if he’d be good enough to teleport me back to my home. He said he’d do this, and he did.

I’d first met Kiera when I was eleven years old, during an altercation in my father’s restaurant, and she’d been inordinately kind to me—the first Dragaeran who ever was. We’d been in touch off and on since then. Once I asked her why she liked me, when every other Dragaeran I’d met hated me. She’d just smiled and tousled my hair. I didn’t bother asking a second time, but I wondered quite a bit.

She wore the grey and black of the House into which my father had purchased orders of nobility, but I eventually learned that she actually worked for the organization—that she was a thief. Far from being disturbed by this, I always found it fascinating. Kiera taught me a few things, too, like picking locks, disabling sorcery alarms, and moving through crowds without being noticed. She offered to teach me more, but I was just never able to picture myself as a thief.

I don’t want to talk about all the boring business stuff associated with running a restaurant, but there was one time—I think I was fifteen—when it looked like I’d have to sell the place due to some weird tax thing. In the midst of trying to decide how to deal with this, the pressure let up, and the imperial tax man stopped coming around.

I’ve never been one to let well enough alone, so I started looking for him, to find out what was going on. Eventually I saw the guy harassing another merchant in the area and asked him about it.

“It’s been taken care of,” he said.

“How?”

“It was paid.”

“Who paid it?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

I thought fast. “I’m missing some money,” I said, “and there was someone who should have taken care of it, and I just want to make sure it was done.”

“A Jhereg paid it off. A lady.”

“Wearing a grey cloak with a big hood? Long hands, a low voice?”

“Right.”

“Okay, thanks.”

A week or so later I noticed Kiera in an alley, leaning against a building. I walked up to her and said, “Thanks.”

She spoke from out of her hood. “For what?”

“Paying off my taxes.”

“Oh, that,” she said. “You’re welcome. I want you to owe me a favor.”

I said, “I already owe you about a hundred. But if there’s something I can do for you, I’d be happy to.”

She hesitated, then said, “There is.”

I got the vague impression that she was making this up as she went along, but I said, “Sure. What is it?”

She pushed the cowl back and stared at me. She chewed her lip, and it suddenly startled me that Dragaerans did that, too.

It always surprises me how young she seems, if you don’t look into her eyes. She made a slow careful scan of the alley. When she turned back to me, she was holding something in her hand. I took it. It was a small, clear vial with a dark liquid inside; perhaps an ounce. She said, “Can you hold this for me? I don’t think it will be dangerous to you. It is dangerous for me to hold it just now.”

I studied the vial to see how breakable it was. It wasn’t very. I said, “Sure. How long do you think you’ll want me to hang on to it?”

“Not long. Twenty, thirty years maybe.”

“Huh? Kiera—”

“Oh. Yes. I guess that is a long time to you. Well, perhaps it won’t be that long. And, as I say, it shouldn’t be dangerous for you.”

She handed me a small pouch on a cord. I slipped the vial into it and put it around my neck.

I said, “What’s in the vial?”

She paused, appearing to consider, then covered her head again. “The blood of a goddess,” she said.

“Oh.” And, “I don’t think I’ll ask.”

I woke up the night after my altercation with Loraan feeling a peculiar half-thought growing in the back of my head and realized that someone was trying to reach me psionically. I woke up more fully, saw that it was almost dawn, and allowed the contact to occur.

“Who is it?”

“Sethra Lavode.”

“Oh. Yes?”

“We need your help.”

Several remarks came to mind, but I didn’t make any of them. “Go on,” I said.