Steven Brust - Taltos

It started raining just as I was getting dry again after the soaking we’d started this journey with. I hate being wet.

The rain lasted only long enough to annoy me, then we were walking among sharp, jutting rocks. Our path seemed to have been cut through the stonework, and I’d have guessed we were in a mountain.

It was then that a dragon appeared before us.

I ran into Kragar the next day. He cleared his throat and looked away in the particular way he has and said, “I heard that one of Rolaan’s enforcers went for a walk last night.”

I said, “Yeah?”

He said, “No one saw who did it, but I heard a rumor that the assassin used a jhereg to distract the guy he was with.”

I said, “Oh.”

He said, “I’d almost think of you, Vlad, except you’re so well known for having a pet jhereg that you couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to do something that obvious.”

I suddenly felt queasy. Loiosh said, “Pet?”

I said, “Shut up,” to Loiosh, and “that’s true,” to Kragar.

He nodded. “It was interesting, though.”

I said, “Yeah.”

My boss sent for me a little later. He said, “Vlad, you should leave town for a while. Probably a month. You have anywhere to go?”

I said, “No.”

He handed me another bag of gold. “Find somewhere you’ll like. It’s on me. Enjoy yourself and stay out of sight.”

I said, “Okay. Thanks.”

I got out of there and found a commercial sorcerer with no Jhereg connections to teleport me to Candletown, which is along the seacoast to the east and is known for food and entertainments. I didn’t even stop home first. It didn’t seem wise.

It is really hard to conceive of just how big a dragon is. I can tell you that it could eat me, perhaps without the need for a second bite. I can mention that it has tentaclelike things all around its head, each of which is longer than I am tall and as big around as my thigh. I could let you know that, at the shoulders, it was around eighteen feet high and much, much longer than that. But, until you’ve seen one up close, you just can’t really imagine it.

Loiosh dived under my cloak. I’d have liked to have followed. Morrolan stood stiffly at my side, waiting. His hand wasn’t resting on his sword hilt, so I kept my hands away from my rapier.

Anyway, just what good is a rapier going to do against a dragon?

“WELL MET, STRANGERS.”

What can I say? It wasn’t “loud” as a voice is loud, but, ye gods, I felt the insides of my skull pounding. Earlier, when the athyra had spoken to us, I had the impression that it was carrying on simultaneous but different conversations with Morrolan and me. This time, it seemed, we were both in on it. If I ever actually come to understand psychic communication I’ll probably go nuts.

Morrolan said, “Well met, dragon.”

One of its eyes was fixed on me, the other, I assume, on Morrolan.

It said, “YOU ARE ALIVE.”

I said, “How can you tell?”

Morrolan said, “We are on an errand.”

“FOR WHOM?”

“The lady Aliera, of the House of the Dragon.”

“OF WHAT IMPORTANCE IS THIS TO ME?”

“I don’t know. Does the House of the Dragon matter to you, Lord Dragon?”

I heard what may have been a chuckle. It said, “YES.”

Morrolan said, “Aliera e’Kieron is the Dragon heir to the throne.”

That was news to me. I stared at Morrolan while I wondered at the ramifications of this.

The dragon turned its head so both its eyes were on Morrolan. After a moment it said, “WHERE STANDS THE CYCLE?”

Morrolan said, “It is the reign of the Phoenix.”

The dragon said, “YOU MAY BOTH PASS.”

It turned around (not a minor undertaking) and walked back out of sight. I relaxed. Loiosh emerged from my cloak and took his place on my right shoulder.

Our guide continued to lead us onward, and soon we were back in a more normal (ha!) landscape. I wondered how much time had actually passed for us since we’d arrived. Our clothing had pretty much dried before the rain and we’d had a meal. Four hours? Six?

There was a building ahead of us, and there seemed to be more people around, some in the colors of the House of the Dragon, others in purple robes.

“Morrolan, do you know the significance of those dressed in purple?”

“They are the servants of the dead.”

“Oh. Bitch of a job.”

“It is what happens to those who arrive in the Paths of the Dead but don’t make it through, or who die here.”

I shuddered, thinking of the Dragonlords we’d killed. “Is it permanent?”

“I don’t think so. It may last for a few thousand years, though.”

I shuddered again. “It must get old, fast.”

“I imagine. It is also used as punishment. It is likely what will happen to us if our mission fails.”

The building was still quite some distance in front of us, but I could see that it would have compared well to the Imperial Palace. It was a simple, massive cube, all grey, with no markings or decorations I could distinguish. It was ugly.

Our guide gestured toward it and said, “The Halls of Judgment.”

I held the world in my hands. There was a moment of incredible clarity, when the horizon stopped wavering, and I was deaf to rhythms and pulses. Everything held its breath, and my thought pierced the fabric of reality. I felt Loiosh’s mind together with mine as a perfectly tuned lant , and I realized that, except for my grandfather, he was the only being in the world that I loved.

Why was I doing this?

The scent of pine needles penetrated my thoughts, and everything seemed clean and fresh. It brought tears to my eyes and power to my hands.

As we approached the building, it didn’t get any smaller. I think the area around me continued to change, but I wasn’t noticing. We came to an arch with another stylized dragon’s head, and our guide stopped there. He bowed to Morrolan, studiously ignoring me.

I said, “It’s been a pleasure. Have a wonderful time here.”

His eyes flicked over me and he said, “May you be granted a purple robe.”

“Why, thanks,” I said. “You, too.”

We passed beneath the arch. We were in a sort of courtyard in front of doors I suspect our friend the dragon could have gone through without ducking. I saw other arches leading into it, about twenty of them.

Oh. No, of course. Make that exactly seventeen of them. There were several purple robes standing around in the courtyard, one of whom was approaching us. He made no comment, only bowed to us both, turned, and led us toward the doors.

It was a long way across the courtyard. I had a chance to think about all sorts of possibilities I didn’t enjoy contemplating. When we were before the doors they slowly and majestically swung open for us, with an assumed grandeur that seemed to work on me even though I was aware of it.

“Stole one of your tricks,” I told Morrolan.

“It is effective, is it not?”

“Yeah.”

Back when the doors of Castle Black had opened, Lady Teldra had stood there to greet me. When the doors of the Halls of Judgment opened before us, there was a tall male Dragaeran in the dress of the House of the Lyorn—brown ankle-length skirt, doublet, and sandals—with a sword slung over his back.

He saw me and his eyes narrowed. Then he looked at the pair of us and they widened. “You are living men.”

I said, “How could you tell?”

“Good Lyorn,” said Morrolan, “we wish to present ourselves to the Lords of Judgment.”

He sort of smiled. “Yes, I suppose you do. Very well, follow me. I will present you at once.”

“I can hardly wait,” I muttered. No one responded.

I spent the two weeks following Kynn’s death in Candletown, discovering just how much fun you can have while you’re worried sick; or, if you wish, just how miserable you can be while you’re living it up.