Steven Brust - Phoenix

"Oh."

Lord Taltos, do you know the Organization will kill you if you betray them?"

"Perhaps," I said. "They will certainly try."

She shook her head. The Orb resumed its pinkish hue and the Empress led the way back to the throne room where she announced a declaration under the Orb.

The court watched. The Orb floated over my head, and prepared, however it did so, to determine truth or false hood. I phrased my accusation very carefully, so there could be no question of the truth, or of the guilt. All the time I spoke, my eyes were on Count Soffta, who was trying very hard to keep any expression from his face.

And I was smiling.

THREE

Aesthetic Considerations

Lesson Fifteen

BASIC IMPROVISATION

I returned to Castle Black and considered consequences.

My life was worth rather less than the small change in my purse, and if things went as I more than half expected them to, I would only have the satisfaction of cheating the Organization of the pleasure of killing me themselves. I indulged myself in a few minutes of soul-searching as I returned to my chambers to rest for a while.

This was nothing like the fatalism that comes upon certain Lyorn who take too long a view of life, and it wasn't really the suicidal madness that had taken me for a short time after I'd been broken under torture. It was more that things had lined themselves up so that I had fewer and fewer options, so the one remaining had to be the right thing to do.

Which brought up the next question: When had I suddenly become enamored of doing the right thing, rather than the practical thing? Was it on the streets of South Adrilankha? Was it in my grandfather's shop, when he said, so simply and quietly, that what I did was wrong?

Was it when I finally realized, once and for all, that the woman I'd married was gone forever, and that, whoever she had become, she had no use for me as I was? Or was it that I was finally faced with a problem that couldn't be solved by killing the right person; could only be solved, in fact, by performing a service to the Empire that I hated? That, I suddenly realized, was what had happened to Cawti: She had transferred her hate from Dragaerans to the Empire. There are fools who pretend that one can get through life without hating, or that the emotion itself js somehow wrong, but I've never had that problem. But sometimes your own hate can fool you as much as your own love, with results that are just as disastrous. It had been silly, at best, to think that I hated Dragaerans when all of my close friends were of the race. Cawti's hatred of the Empire, which I now shared in my own way, was perhaps more reasonable, but ultimately frustrating. Noish-pa was right: Hatred is inevitable; allowing it to control your actions is foolish.

I didn't know where that left me now, and I admitted, as I stared at the ceiling and hid my thoughts from Loiosh, that none of it mattered, anyway. By surrendering to "right" as opposed to "practical," I had changed irrevocably. But once you allow yourself to recognize necessity, you find two things: One, you find your options so restricted that the only course of action is obvious, and, two, that a great sense of freedom comes with the decision.

By this time tomorrow, Vlad Taltos, Jhereg and assassin, would be dead, one way or the other. I made certain all of my documents were correct and decided that the time allotted for self-indulgent soul-searching had expired.

But I fervently hoped that I would have a chance to give my Demon Goddess a piece of my mind before all was said and done.

It was early afternoon when I was summoned to Morrolan's lower workshop, the place set aside for his exponents with sorcery. I was much calmer, and beginning to be nervous. Make that frightened.

I picked up Aibynn on the way. Sethra, Daymar, and Morrolan were there, staring at the black stone and speaking together. They looked up when I came in and Sethra said, "Here, Vlad, catch," and tossed me the stone. "Now, speak to me psionically." I attempted to do so, and it was like it was back on the island; no one was home. I shrugged. "Now," she said, "watch." She gestured with one hand, and my rapier began rising out of its sheath. She stopped, it slid back in. "Well?" I said.

"The stone has no effect on sorcery whatsoever." "All right. But then—"

She held up a hand. "Now, if you please, set Spell-breaker spinning."

"Eh? All right." I let the chain fall into my left hand, wondering what she was after. It was very cool in my hand, and alive like a Morganti weapon was alive, yet different. I did as she'd said. When it was going good, spinning between Sethra and me, she gestured again. This time, nothing happened, except perhaps the faintest tingling running up my arm.

"Well?" I said. "We knew Spellbreaker interfered with sorcery. That's why I gave it the name."

"Yes. And so does whatever else is on the island. Does the similarity strike you?"

"Yes. What's your point?"

"There is more to that chain than I know," she said. "But I think we are able to determine one thing now. It is not, in fact, made of gold. It is made of gold Phoenix stone."

"Is that what you call it?" put in Aibynn, who'd been so quiet I'd forgotten he was there.

"What do you call it?" asked Morrolan, in all innocence.

"In my land," said Aibynn, "we call it a rock."

I said hastily, "I'm not really surprised that breaker isn't just gold; I've never seen gold as hard as the links of this chain."

"Yes. Black disables psionic activity, gold prevents the working of sorcery."

I studied Spellbreaker. "It certainly looks like metal," I said. "And feels like it."

"As I said, there's more to that chain than I understand."

"Well, all right. Now, do you know how to use this information to get past it to the island?"

"Possibly. Set Spellbreaker spinning again." I did so. She looked at Daymar, nodded, and gestured. Once again, the sword began to rise from its sheath, only very slowly. She stopped, it returned.

"Looks good," I said. "How?"

"How did Aliera break through the wall the last time you were on the island?"

"Pre-Empire sorcery," I said.

"Yes."

"Can you control it well enough to teleport with it? I'd understood such fine control was impossible, which is why the Orb was invented in the first place."

"Yes and no," said Sethra. "I can create a disturbance in the field set up by the Phoenix Stone, which allows Daymar to direct his energy through the gold stone, ignoring the black, which allows me to channel mine through the black, ignoring the gold. It isn't easy," she added.

"It is similar," added Morrolan, "to the way you and Loiosh communicate. It isn't exactly psionically, it's more—"

"Never mind the details," I said, "as long as it works."

"It should," said Sethra. "As long as we can get a good enough image of the place."

She looked at Aibynn. He stared back, looking innocent.

"All right," I said. "Sethra, what about getting us

"Daymar will have to try to break through to you."

"All right, when?"

"Let's talk about it.

We decided that they would give us a couple of hours, and after that, Daymar would attempt to reach me psionically every half hour until we said we were ready to return.

Sethra said, "You know, don't you, that it is much more difficult to teleport something to you than from you?"

"Yeah," I said. "But I trust you."

"As you say."

"Then we can proceed."

"Yes," she said. "Are you ready?"

"I was bora ready."

"Then let us call Aliera and be about it."

Aliera arrived almost at once. She was wearing the black and silver battle garb of a Dragonlord. She was barely taller than I, which was quite short for a Dragaeran. It used to bother her, I guess, since she was in the habit of wearing long gowns and levitating rather than walking, but she had recently stopped doing this. I thought that I'd ask her why at some future date, then realized there probably wouldn't be some future date for me. I shivered. At her side was a shortsword called Pathfinder, which was one of the Seventeen Great Weapons, though I knew little about it beyond that. That it was Morganti was sufficient information for most people, myself included.