Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"No."

It amazing how bright a single candle can be, and how much it hurts your eyes. There was a simple enchantment to adjust one's eyes to the dark or to the light; but of course I wasn't about to remove my amulet to cast it, so I waited.

The snores stopped, and a drunken voice went, "Huh, what?"

I strained, and there was whispering, followed by the drunk again: "Lemme sleep."

The whisper again, and this time I could make out words: "Lahchi, someone's in the house!"

I considered calling back, "No there isn't," but it didn't seem like that good an idea. I set the candle down.

My eyes had adjusted enough that I was able to position myself next to the door. I turned to the side and pulled up the collar of my cloak. I could hear him fumbling around in the room, and when the door opened I got enough of a glimpse of the bedroom to note the position of people and objects.

I reminded myself that with humans, the throat is more intimidating than the back of the neck; I'm not sure exactly why that is, but it's the sort of thing worth knowing.

This was going to have to be fast. The dagger I carried at my I belt had the heaviest pommel, so I picked that; as he walked by me, I gave him a sharp one to the back of the head; I had no idea if he'd lose consciousness, but in his present state it ought to be enough to complete his disorientation. Before he hit the floor I was next to the bed pressing the back of the dagger against the woman's throat. Cold steel against your throat in the dark is going to get your attention, and by using the dull side I could press hard without getting blood everywhere. I spoke in a normal tone of voice.

"Not a sound, not a motion, not a whisper, or you're both dead."

The moment when she might have screamed came and went. I heard him moaning a little.

" Got an eye on him, Loiosh?"

"Got it, Boss.”

I said, "I have no intention of killing, hurting, or even stealing from you. Don't do anything to change my mind. I have questions. You'll answer them, then I'll leave. Nod your head."

She nodded once. Her eyes were very wide.

"Your husband is a witch. Are you as well?"

Her eyes widened. I repeated the question.

She nodded again. Good, that saved some trouble.

"Are you a member of the Coven?"

Hesitation, then a nod.

"Who runs it?"

"I, we, I don't know."

"You don't know."

"The heads of the Coven, they appoint each other, secretly. They wear hoods at gatherings. When they invite you, they're all hooded and you never know who they are."

Well, okay; Noish-pa had mentioned that it worked that way sometimes. At least I had confirmed that there was a Coven; that was progress.

"I need to know about the two sorts of witchcraft in this town. You'll explain it to me."

From ambient light from the candle in the next room, I could see her just well enough to observe that she looked puzzled. I pulled the knife from her throat, but kept it in my hand. I said, "Take a moment to think. It is important to me to understand, and no one will answer my questions. You will answer my questions. Yes?"

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"You don't need to understand, you just need to tell me what I want to know."

"Who are you?"

"The one with the knife. Someone said something about witches who follow the light, and those who follow the dark. What does that mean?"

I had a certain amount of sympathy for the woman. You wake up in the middle of the night, your husband is dead drunk and then he gets slugged by a stranger who's invaded your home, and the stranger wants to ask you esoteric questions about the nature of the arcane arts. It can't be easy to wrap your head around that well enough to give a coherent answer, no matter how much you want to, so when her mouth had opened and closed a few times, and I saw panic building in her eyes, I said, "All right, let me try something easier. Why did most of the Merss family leave town?"

"The Merss family?"

"Yes. The ones who weren't killed yesterday."

"But they left years ago."

"I know. Why?"

"I don't know. It was years ago. Before I was born. I just heard about it."

"What did you hear?"

"They were the last of the followers of the dark way."

"What do followers of the dark way do that followers of the light way don't?"

"They practiced forbidden magic."

"What magic is forbidden?"

"They summoned demons."

As far as I could tell, she actually believed that. She was a witch, and she believed that. How can you practice the Art and yet remain so ignorant of it? It was nonsense, of course. There are such things as demons, and, yes, they can be summoned, but not by witchcraft. To summon a demon requires breaking through the barriers that separate realities—and no, that makes no more sense to me than it does to you, unless you happen to have studied necromancy, in which case you know a lot more about this stuff than I do so why are you asking me? But the point is, the art of the witch is simply to use the energy of the mind to manipulate probabilities, and there are strictly limited ways in which that can be done. Yeah, one time I caused a small object to be transported to me from thousands of miles away using witchcraft, and I know you aren't supposed to be able to do that, either; but that is a lot different from bending the entire shape of reality within a given space to make a rift in something that doesn't exist in the first place.

Besides, I was desperate that time. I don't want to think about it.

What mattered here wasn't whether the "dark" witches had actually done this, what mattered was that this woman thought they could. And this whole "dark" and "light" business had a smell to it that reminded me a lot of the mill—meaning it stank, if that was too subtle for you. The dark way? The light way? Who thinks like that? Who sees the world in those terms? It isn't something to be believed by anyone with any sense; it's something to convince the gullible of.

Which was the answer, wasn't it? Someone was trying to put one over on a lot of people. And, to judge from this woman, it was working.

So, then, why? In whose interest was it to believe that there were a group of people with this sort of power? Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to sell one hell of a big lie, and there had to be a reason for it.

And my family had been the casualty of a big lie; at least, those who hadn't gotten out—

"Wait, you said they left before you were born?"

She nodded.

"I thought they had only left ten or fifteen years ago."

"Oh, them. I don't think they were witches. They just left because, well, because having the name Merss isn't easy around here. I think they went to the City. It wasn't me!" she said suddenly, looking frightened again. "I mean, I didn't do anything to them, or even say anything about them. It was the others, you know."

"What about the ones who were witches?"

"They left the country. Some say they went West to sell their souls to the elfs."

Yeah, some would say that.

"And the ones who were killed—who did it?"

"I don't know!" She sounded close to panic.

"I'm not accusing you. But you must have an idea, a theory. You heard about it, you must have, had a thought about who it was."

She shook her head.

Was there any way to get more information out of her? Probably not. I could spend an hour getting her calmed down and she still wouldn't want to name anyone. And if I applied pressure, she'd be much more likely to lie than to point the finger at someone who deserved it. That still might be useful information, though. I was in a sort of mood to apply pressure anyway, just for the satisfaction of seeing someone sweat. But I had something to do, and I'd get more pleasure out of squeezing when I knew it was the right person being squeezed.