Steven Brust - Jhereg

She nodded. I suddenly remembered what we’d been doing there.

“The sorceress! Did you get her?”

She smiled, nodded, and patted the hilt of Pathfinder.

I shuddered again. “You had to destroy her?”

She shook her head. “You forget, Vlad—this is a Great Weapon. Her body is back in Castle Black, and her soul is here, where we can get at it whenever we want it.” She chuckled.

I shuddered still another time. I’m sorry, but some things bother me. “And Morrolan’s body?”

“He’s at Castle Black, too. The Necromancer is looking after him, seeing if she can find a way to break the spell. It doesn’t look hopeful unless we can convince our friend to help.”

I nodded. “Okay, then let’s get going.”

At this point I suddenly remembered that, when those Imperial Guards were here, I’d been carrying a high potency Morganti weapon on my person. If I’d remembered that at the time, I don’t know what I would have done, but I’d have been a lot more worried. This was the first time I’d come close to actually getting caught with one, and I was suddenly very happy that Aliera was along.

By the time we returned to Castle Black, my stomach was more than just a little irritated with me. If I’d eaten recently, I would probably have lost the meal. I resolved to be extra kind to my innards the rest of the day.

Morrolan has a tower, high up in his castle. It is the center of much of his power, I’m told. Besides himself, very few people are allowed up there. I’m one, Aliera is another. Still another is the Necromancer. The tower is the center of Morrolan’s worship of Verra, the Demon Goddess he serves. And I do mean “serves.” He has been known to sacrifice entire villages to her.

The tower is always dark, lit only by a few black candles. There is a single window in it, which does not look down on the courtyard below. If you’re lucky, it doesn’t look upon anything at all. If you aren’t, it will look upon things which may destroy your sanity.

We laid Morrolan’s body on the floor beneath the window. On the altar in the center of the room was the sorceress. Her head was propped up, so that she could see the window. This was at my suggestion. I had no intention of actually using the window for anything, but having her see it would help with what we were trying to do.

The Necromancer aided Aliera, who revivified the sorceress. It could, conceivably, have been the other way around, too. There are few who know more about the transfer of souls, and the mysteries of death, than the Necromancer. But it was Aliera’s Great Weapon, so she did the necessary spells.

The sorceress’s eyes fluttered open, and her face went through the same patterns that Fentor’s had, earlier, except that it ended with fear.

This part was my job. I had no desire to give her time to take in her surroundings more than casually, or to orient herself. The fact that she had been picked by whoever had killed Morrolan guaranteed that she was good, which guaranteed that she was tough. I didn’t figure to have an easy time of this, by any means.

And so the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the window. It was politely empty at the moment, but nonetheless effective. And before she had time to adjust to that, she saw my face. I was standing over her and doing my best to look unfriendly.

“Well,” I said, “did you enjoy the experience?”

She didn’t answer. I wondered what it was like, having your soul eaten, so I asked her. She still didn’t answer.

By this time, she would be cognizant of several things—including the chains that held her tied to the altar and the spells in the room which kept her from using sorcery.

I waited for a moment, to make sure it all sank in properly. “You know,” I said conversationally, “Aliera enjoyed killing you that way. She wanted to do it again.”

Fear. Controlled.

“I wouldn’t let her,” I said. “I wanted to do it.”

No reaction.

“ You okay, boss? ”

“ Damn! Is it showing that much? ”

“ Only to me. ”

“ Good. No, I’m not okay, but there isn’t anything I can do about it, either. ”

“Perhaps,” I went on to her, “it is a flaw in my character, but I truly enjoy using Morganti weapons on you bitches.”

Still nothing.

“That’s why we brought you back, you know.” As I said it, I drew the dagger Kragar had supplied me with and held it before her eyes. They widened with recognition. She shook her head in denial.

I’d never had to do anything like this before, and I wasn’t liking it now. It wasn’t as if she’d done something wrong—she’d just accepted a standard contract, much as I would have done. Unfortunately, she’d gotten involved with the wrong people. And, unfortunately, we needed her cooperation because she’d done a good job. I couldn’t stop myself from identifying closely with her.

I touched her throat with the back of the blade, above the edge. I felt it fighting me—trying to turn around, to get at the skin, to cut, to drink.

She felt it too.

I held onto control. “However, being an honorable sort, I have to inform you that if you cooperate with us, I won’t be allowed to use this on you. A pity, if that were to happen.”

Her face showed the gleam of hope she felt, and she hated herself for it. Well, after all, I didn’t feel real good about myself just then either, but that’s the game.

I grabbed her hair, and lifted her head a bit more. Her eyes landed on Morrolan’s figure, lying directly under the window, which still showed only black. “You know what we want,” I said. “I, personally, don’t give a teckla’s squawk if you do it or not. But some others here do. We arrived at a compromise. I have to ask you, just once, to remove the spell you put on. If you don’t agree, I can have you. If you do, Morrolan gets to decide what to do with you.”

She was openly trembling, now.

To a Jhereg professional, a contract is an almost sacred bond. Most of us would rather lose our souls than break a contract—in the abstract. However, when it comes right down to the moment, well . . . we’d soon see. I’d never been in the kind of situation she was in, and I prayed to Verra that I never would be, feeling very much the hypocrite. I think I would have broken about there, myself. Well, maybe not. It’s so hard to say.

“Well, what is it?” I asked, harshly. I saw her face torn with indecision. Sometimes I truly loathe the things I do. Maybe I should have been a thief after all.

I grabbed hold of her dress and raised it up, exposing her legs. I pulled at one knee. Loiosh hissed, right on cue, and I said, aloud, “No! Not until I’m done with her!”

I licked the forefinger of my left hand and wetted down a spot on the inside of her thigh. She was close to tears, now, which meant she was also close to breaking. Well, now or never.

“Too late,” I said with relish, and lowered the Morganti blade, slowly and deliberately, toward her thigh. The point touched.

“ No! My god, stop! I’ll do it! ”

I dropped the knife onto the floor and grabbed her head again and supported her shoulders. She was facing Morrolan’s body; her own was shaking with sobs. I nodded to Aliera, who dropped the protection spells which had cut off her sorcery. If she’d been faking, she was now in a position to put up a fight. But she knew damn well that she wouldn’t be able to win against both Aliera and me, not to mention the Necromancer.

“Then do it now!” I snapped. “Before I change my mind.”

She nodded, weakly, still sobbing quietly. I saw her concentrate for a moment.

The Necromancer spoke for the first time. “It is done,” she said.