Steven Brust - Jhereg

He, however, had no intention of giving me any such opportunity. Whether he guessed my intentions or not I don’t know, but he didn’t let up for an instant. He kept hacking at my head and advancing. His left hand found a knife.

I felt a cold shiver run up my spine as I realized that he was now holding the Morganti blade that I had set him up with, one of the two we gave him, to make sure that he used one on Aliera. He noticed it, then, and his eyes widened. For the first time, he smiled. It was a very unpleasant smile to be on the wrong end of. The same could be said for the dagger. Somehow, at that moment, the irony of the whole thing was lost on me.

I kept falling back. The only thing that had kept me alive so far, I knew, was the fact that he wasn’t used to a fencer who presented only the side of his body, rather than the full forward of the sword-and-dagger Dragaeran style. He, of course, was fighting full forward, with a dagger up in a position to strike, or parry, or cast spells with.

He wasn’t about to cast spells with it, and he didn’t need to parry because I hadn’t had a chance to attack yet. Not even a simple riposte—and now he had two blades to my one. Also, he was a good enough swordsman that it wouldn’t take him long to learn how to deal with my kind of swordplay.

He was quite content, meanwhile, to keep me busy until I ran up against a tree or tripped on a log, as I inevitably would in this jungle. Then it would be all over—he’d come in with the dagger, and my soul would go to feed a sentience in nine inches of cold steel.

He spoke for the first time. “It was all a trick from the beginning, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t answer, not having the breath.

“I can see it now,” he continued. “It might have worked, too, if you were a better swordsman, or if you had nailed me when you had the chance, instead of going for my friend back there.”

That’s right, you bastard, I thought. Rub it in.

“But as it is,” he continued, “they should know the truth by now at Castle Black. If I can figure it out from here, they can certainly figure it out from there, where they have the body and the blade to look at. What’s to stop me from just going back there?”

I stopped and tried to bind him, parrying strongly. He took a cut at me with the dagger, however, and I had to jump back. I’d had no chance for an attack.

“It is unfortunate,” he went on, “that I can teleport, or it might have worked anyway.”

It takes you two or three seconds to teleport, my friend, and I don’t intend to give you two or three seconds. Sorry, but I don’t psych.

He must have realized that, too, because he stopped talking. I managed to put my left hand on the stiletto I’d selected to destroy him with, and I pulled it out. I cradled it in my hand like a jhereg holds her egg. I thought, very briefly, about trying to flip it at him, but to do that I’d have to turn full forward. If I did that, he’d have me before I could even loose it and my head would be rolling on the ground.

For a moment, then, I considered that. If I fell to his sword, the dagger couldn’t hurt me. It requires a living soul to feed such a blade. My soul would be safe, and, just maybe, I could take him with me.

I threw away the idea and stepped back again. No, he was going to have to do it all himself—that much I’d take from him. I was not about to let him cut me down and leave me here, for the wild jhereg to feed on my corpse, to complete the irony of the situation.

. . . Jhereg? Wild jhereg? I felt a sudden breeze, cool against the back of my neck, reminiscent of the feel of a knife’s edge, and of other things.

A memory came back to haunt me, from years ago. This same jungle it was . . . Could I . . . ?

I was just distracted enough by the thought that I almost missed a parry. I jumped backward, and his deflected sword ripped into my side. I felt the blood start to flow, and it began to hurt. Verra be thanked, my stomach was settling down.

Witchcraft is similar to sorcery in many ways, but uses one’s own psionic powers rather than an external energy source. The rituals and incantations were used to force the mind down the right path, and to direct the power. How much were they really necessary?

My mind reached back . . . back . . . back to the time I had summoned the jhereg who was Loiosh’s mother from these very jungles. His mother was, quite likely, long dead, but I didn’t need her. Could I do it again?

Probably not.

“ Come to me, blood of my House. Join me, hunt with me, find me. ”

I almost stumbled, and was almost killed, but didn’t, and was not. What the Hell was it? Come on, brain, think!

As my grandfather had taught me long ago, I let my arm, and my wrist, and even my fingers do all the work of keeping me alive. My mind had other things to do, the sword-arm would just have to take care of itself.

Something . . . something about . . . wings? No, winds , that was it, winds . . .

“ Let the winds of Jungle’s night . . . ”

Something, perhaps the look on Mellar’s face, warned me of the tree behind me. Somehow I stepped around it without being spitted.

“ Stay the hunter in her flight. ”

I felt myself weakening. Blood loss, of course. I didn’t have time for that.

“ Evening’s breath to witch’s mind . . . ”

I wondered whether Loiosh would ever speak to me again. I wondered whether anyone would be able to speak to me again.

“ Let our fates be intertwined. ”

Mellar changed tactics, suddenly, and his sword thrust at my chest, instead of chopping at my head. I was forced into a clumsy parry, and he caught me with the tip. Was that a rib cracking, or just a good imitation? I brought up my blade before the dagger could sweep down, and made a leap backward. He followed immediately.

“ Jhereg! Do not pass me by! ”

As he closed, perhaps just a touch too cockily, I tried a full-extension stop-thrust—Dragaeran swordplay has nothing like it—dropping to one knee and cutting up under his sword-arm. He was as surprised as I that my first offensive move got through, and it gave me time to get back before he countered. He bled a little from high on his right side. It was too much to hope for that this would affect his sword-arm, but it gave me more time.

“ Show me where they soul doth lie! ”

My side screamed with pain as I stepped back still further. Each parry caused red flashes before my eyes, and I felt that I was near to blacking out. I felt drained, too. I mean, drained . I don’t think I had ever put that much into a spell.

I moved back out of the way of another blow that almost slit open my belly. He followed with a cut with the dagger that was almost faster than I could see, but I was moving back, so it missed. I stepped back again, before he could set himself . . .

What? Was there . . . ? Come on, brain! Mind, relax . . . be receptive . . . listen . . .

“ Who? ” came the thought to my forebrain.

“ One who needs you ,” I managed, as I almost stumbled. I hung on to my consciousness with everything I had.

“ What have you to offer? ”

Oh, Demon Goddess! I don’t have time for this! I wanted to start crying, to tell them all to just go away.

He caught my blade with the dagger, and the sword swept down; I squirmed to the side, made it.

“ Long life, O Jhereg. And fresh, red meat, with no struggle or search. And, sometimes, the chance to kill Dragaerans. ”

All in all, one hell of a time to be bargaining.

Mellar did a fillip with his wrist that should have been impossible with that heavy a sword. He connected lightly with the side of my head—as heavily as he could, given what he was doing, and as lightly as it was possible for him to, considering the size of the weapon he had.