Steven Brust: Phoenix

Phoenix

by Steven Brust

The Adventures of Vlad Taltos

JHEREG

YENDI

TECKLA

TALTOS

PHOENIX

ATHYRA

This one's for Pam and David

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks for help in preparing this book are due to Emma Bull, Pamela Dean, Kara Dalkey, Will Shetterly, Fred A. Levy Haskell, Terri Windling, and Beth Fleisher.

Thanks also to my mother, Jean Brust, for various political insights, and to Gail Cathryn and Adrian Morgan for research work on Dragaeran history. Thanks to Robin "Adnan" Anders for percussive help, and, lastly, thanks to my house-mate, Jason, without whose taste in television this book would have taken much longer to finish.

INDEX

ONE - Technical Considerations

Lesson One - Contract Negotiations

Lesson Two - Transportation

Lesson Three - The Perfect Assassination

Lesson Four - Handling Interrogation

Lesson Five - Returning Home

TWO - Business Considerations

Lesson Six - Dealing With Middle Management I

Lesson Seven - Matters Of State I

Lesson Eight - Dealing With Middle Management II

Lesson Nine - Making Friends I

Lesson Ten - Making Friends II

Lesson Eleven - Matters Of State II

Lesson Twelve - Basic Survival Skills

Lesson Thirteen - Advanced Survival Skills

Lesson Fourteen - Fundamentals Of Betrayal

THREE - Aesthetic Considerations

Lesson Fifteen - Basic Improvisation

Lesson Sixteen - Dealing With Upper Management I

Lesson Seventeen - Dealing With Upper Management II

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

All the time people say to me, "Vlad, how do you do it? How come you're so good at killing people? What's your secret?" I tell them, "There is no secret. It's like anything else. Some guys plaster walls, some guys make shoes, I kill people. You just gotta learn the trade and practice until you're good at it."

The last time I killed somebody was right around the time of the Easterners' uprising, in the month of the Athyra in 234 PI, and the month of the Phoenix in 235. I wasn't all that involved in the uprising directly; to be honest, I was just about the only one around who didn't see it coming, what with the increased number of Phoenix Guards on the street, mass meetings even in my neighborhood, and whatnot. But that's when it occurred, and, for those of you who want to hear what happens when you set out to kill somebody for pay, well, here it is.

ONE

Technical Considerations

Lesson One

CONTRACT NEGOTIATIONS

Maybe it's just me, but it seems like when things are going wrong—your wife is ready to leave you, all of your notions about yourself and the world are getting turned around, everything you trusted is becoming questionable—there's nothing like having someone try to kill you to take your mind off your problems.

I was in an ugly, one-story wood-frame building in South Adrilankha. Whoever was trying to kill me was a better sorcerer than me. I was in the cellar, squatting behind the remains of a brick wall, just fifteen feet from the foot of the stairs. If I stuck my head out the door again, it might well get blasted off. I intended to call for reinforcements just as soon as I could. I also intended to teleport out of there just as soon as I could. It didn't look like I'd be able to do either one any time soon.

But I was not helpless. At just such times as these, a witch may always take comfort in his familiar. Mine is a jhereg—a small, poisonous flying reptile whose mind is psychically linked to my own, and who is, moreover, brave, loyal, trustworthy—

"If you think I'm going out there, boss, you're crazy."

Okay, next idea.

I raised as good a protection spell as I could (not very), then took a brace of throwing knives from inside my cloak, my rapier from its scabbard, and a deep breath from the clammy basement air. I leapt out to my left, rolling, coming to my knee, throwing all three knives at the same time (hitting nothing, of course; that wasn't the point), and rolling again. I was now well out of the line of sight of the stairway—both the source of the attack and the one path to freedom. Life, I've found, is often like that. Loiosh flapped over and joined me.

Things sizzled in the air. Destructive things, but I think meant only to let me know the sorcerer was still there. It wasn't like I'd forgotten. I cleared my throat. "Can we negotiate?"

The masonry of the wall before me began to crumble away. I did a quick counterspell and held myself answered.

"All right, Loiosh, any bright ideas?"

"Ask them to surrender, boss."

"Them?"

"I saw three."

"Ah. Well, any other ideas?"

"You've tried asking your secretary to send help?"

"I can't reach him."

"How about Morrolan?"

"I tried already."

"Aliera? Sethra?"

"The same."

"I don't like that, boss. It's one thing for Kragar and Melestav to be tied up, but—"

"I know."

"Could they be blocking psionics, as well as teleportation?"

"Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if it's possib—" Our chat was interrupted by a rain of sharp objects, sorcerously sent around the corner behind which I hid. I wished fervently that I were a better sorcerer, but I managed a block, while letting Spellbreaker, eighteen inches of golden chain, slip down into my left hand. I felt myself becoming angry.

"Careful, boss. Don't—"

"I know. Tell me something, Loiosh: Who are they? It can't be Easterners, because they're using sorcery. It can't be the Empire, because the Empire doesn't ambush people. It can't be the Organization, because they don't do this clumsy, complicated nonsense, they just kill you. So who is it?"

"Don't know, boss."

"Maybe I'll take a longer look."

"Don't do anything foolish."

I made a rude comment to that. I was seriously upset by this time, and I was bloody well going to do something, stupid or not. I set Spellbreaker spinning and hefted my blade. I felt my teeth grinding. I sent up a prayer to Verra, the Demon-Goddess, and prepared to meet my attackers.

Then something unusual happened.

My prayer was answered.

It wasn't like I'd never seen her before. I had once travelled several thousand miles through supernatural horrors and the realm of dead men just to bid her good-day. And, while my grandfather spoke of her with reverence and awe, Dragaerans spoke of her and her ilk like I spoke about my laundry. What I'm getting at is that there was never any doubt about her real, corporeal existence; it's just that although it was my habit to utter a short prayer to her before doing anything especially dangerous or foolhardy, nothing like this had ever happened before.

Well, I take that back. There might have been once when—no, it couldn't have been. Never mind. Different story.

In any case, I found myself abruptly elsewhere, with no feeling of having moved and none of the discomfort that we Easterners, that is, humans, feel when teleporting. I was in a corridor of roughly the dimensions of the dining hall of Castle Black. All of it white. Spotless. The ceiling must have been a hundred feet above me, and the walls were at least forty feet apart, with white pillars in front of them, perhaps twenty feet between each. Perhaps. It may be that my senses were confused by the pure whiteness of everything. Or it may be that everything reported by my senses was meaningless in that place. There was no end to the hallway in either direction. The air was slightly cool, but not uncomfortable. There was no sound except my own breathing, and that peculiar sensation you have when you don't know whether you're hearing your heart beat or feeling it.