Steven Brust - Jhereg

“Did you ever find any clues about why he wanted to get into the Dzur, the second time, when he fought his way in?”

Kragar shook his head.

“Okay. That’s something I’d like to find out. What about sorcery? Has he studied it at all?”

“As far as I can tell, only a little.”

“Witchcraft?”

“No way.”

“Well, so we have something, anyway, for all the good it will do us.”

I sipped my wine, as the information began to sink in, or rather, as much of it as I could handle just then. Studied under Onarr, eh? And fought his way into the Dzur, only to leave and join—or rather, rejoin—the Jhereg, and get to the top, and then lighten the whole council. Why? Just to show that he could do it? Well, he was part Dzur, but I still couldn’t quite see it. And that business with Onarr, and all that plotting and scheming. Strange.

“You know, Kragar, if it ever comes down to any kind of straight fight with this guy, I think I’m in trouble.”

He snorted. “You have a talent for understatement. He’ll carve you into stew.”

I shrugged. “On the other hand, remember that I use Eastern-style fencing. That could throw him off a bit, since he’s one of you hack-hack-cut types.”

“A damn good one!”

“Yeah.”

We sat there for a while, in silence, sipping our wine. Then Kragar asked, “What did you find? Anything new?”

I nodded. “Had a busy day yesterday.”

“Oh, really? Tell me about it.”

So I gave him an account of the day’s events, the new information I’d gotten. Loiosh made sure that I got the part about the rescue right. When I told him about the bodyguards, he was impressed and puzzled.

“That doesn’t make sense, Vlad,” he remarked. “Where would he have sent them?”

“I don’t have the vaguest. Although, after what you’ve just told me, I can see another explanation. I’m afraid I don’t like it much, either.”

“What’s that?”

“It could be that the bodyguards are sorcerers, and that Mellar figures that he can handle any physical attack himself.”

“But it didn’t look like he was doing anything at all, did it?”

I shook my head. “No, I have to admit it didn’t. But maybe he was figuring to beat the guy only if he had to, and was counting on Morrolan’s guards to stop him. Which, after all, they did. With help,” I amended, quickly.

Kragar shook his head. “Would you count on someone else to be quick enough?”

“Well, no. But then, I’m not the fighter that Mellar is; we already know that.”

Kragar looked highly unconvinced. Well, so was I.

“The only thing that really makes sense,” he said, “is if you were right originally: he had some mission for them and they happened to be off doing it when the assassin came in for his move.”

“Maybe,” I said. Then, “Wait a minute, I must be slipping or something. Why don’t I check it?”

“What?”

“Just a minute.”

I reached out for contact, thinking of that guard who I had talked to in the banquet hall. I’d made a mental note of him, now, what was his name?

“ Who is it? ”

“ This is Lord Taltos ,” I said. (Let us be pretentious.)

“ Yes, my lord. What is it? ”

“ Have you been keeping an eye on those two bodyguards of Mellar’s? ”

“ I’ve been trying, my lord. They’re pretty slippery. ”

“ Okay, good. Were you on duty during the assassination attempt last night? ”

“ Yes, my lord. ”

“ Were the bodyguards there? ”

“ No, my lord — wait! I’m not sure . . . Yes. Yes, they were. ”

“ No possible doubt? ”

“ No, my lord. I had them marked just before it happened, and they were still there when I found them again just a few seconds afterwards. ”

“ Okay, that’s all. Good work. ”

I broke the link and told Kragar what I’d found out. He shook his head, sadly.

“And another nice theory blown through Deathsgate.”

“Yeah.”

I just couldn’t figure it. Nothing about this business made sense. I couldn’t see why he did it, or why his bodyguards seemed so cavalier about the whole thing, or any of it. But nothing happens for no reason. There had to be an explanation somewhere. I took out a dagger and started flipping it.

Kragar grunted. “You know the funny thing, Vlad?”

“What? I’d love to hear something funny just around now.”

“Poor Mellar, that’s what’s funny.”

I snorted. “ ‘Poor Mellar!’ What about poor us? He’s the one who started this whole thing, and we’re going to get ourselves wiped out because of it.”

“Sure,” said Kragar. “But he’s dead anyway, one way or another. He started this thing, and there isn’t any way that he’s going to survive it. The poor fool came up with this truly gorgeous scheme to steal Jhereg gold and live through it, and he worked on it, as far as we can tell, for a good three hundred years. And, instead of having it work, he’s going to die anyway, and take two houses with him.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m sure he wouldn’t cry about taking the two Houses with him—” I stopped. “The poor fool,” Kragar had said. But we knew Mellar was no fool. How can you come up with something like this, spend hundreds of years, thousands of Imperials, and then trip up because you didn’t realize that the Jhereg would take an action which, even to me, seemed logical and reasonable? That wasn’t just foolishness, that was downright stupidity. And there was just no way I was going to start thinking that Mellar was stupid. No, either he knew some way of coming out of this alive, or . . . or . . .

Click, click, click. One by one, things started to fall into place. Click, click, wham! The look on Mellar’s face, the actions of the bodyguards, the fighting his way into the House of the Dzur, all of it fit. I found myself filled with awe at the magnificence of Mellar’s plan. It was tremendous! I found myself, against my will, filled with admiration.

“What is it, Vlad?”

“ What is it, boss? ”

I just shook my head. My dagger had stopped in mid-toss, and I was so stunned I didn’t even catch it. It hit my foot, and it was only blind luck that the hilt was down. But I expect that even if it had landed point first in my foot, I wouldn’t have noticed. It was so damn beautiful! For a while, I almost wondered whether I had the heart to stop it, even if I could think of a way. It was so perfect. As far as I could tell, in the hundreds of years of planning and execution, he hadn’t made one mistake! It was incredible. I was running out of adjectives.

“Damn it, Vlad! Talk! What’s going on?”

“You should know,” I told him.

“What?”

“You pointed to it first, a couple of times, the other day. Verra! Was it only a day or two ago? It feels like years . . . ”

“What did I point to? Come on, damn you!” Kragar said.

“You’re the one who started telling me what it would be like to grow up a cross-breed.”

“So?”

“So we still couldn’t help thinking of him as a Jhereg.”

“Well, he is a Jhereg.”

I shook my head. “Not genetically, he isn’t.”

“What does genetics have to do with it?”

“Everything. That’s when I should have realized it; when Aliera told me what it really meant to be of a certain House. Don’t you see, Kragar? But no, you wouldn’t. You’re a Jhereg, and you—we—don’t look at things that way. But it’s true. You can’t deny your House, if you’re a Dragaeran. Look at yourself, Kragar. To save my life, you had to disobey my orders. That isn’t a Jhereg thing to do at all—the only time a Jhereg will disobey orders is when he’s planning to kill his boss. But a Dragon, Kragar, a Dragon will sometimes find that the only way to fulfill his commander’s wishes is to violate his commands, and do what has to be done, and risk a court-martial if he has to.