Steven Brust - Issola

All right, then. If Morrolan could fight with two weapons at once, so could I; I let Spellbreaker fall into my left hand.

“Tell it,” said Morrolan, still spinning his staff, “that it will permit us to leave at once, or we shall destroy it.”

Teldra said, “Lord, that’s what I’ve been telling her, though I have perhaps phrased it differently.”

“And?”

“She is considering her options.”

“How rational,” said Aliera.

“Was Aliera being ironic, Boss? Or was that an insult?”

“We’ll probably never know, Loiosh.”

“Vlad,” said Morrolan. “I can feel the gate. Are you ready to go through it?”

“Sure,” I said. “But now, what’s the plan. Are we trying to escape, or do we want to kill this thing?”

The thing we were talking about kept looking at us; I had impression it was holding itself ready for action, and that it didn’t seem terribly worried.

“Kill it,” said Aliera, and, at the same time, Morrolan said, “If we can get out cleanly, we should.”

“I’m with you, Morrolan.”

Aliera sniffed disdainfully.

Then things happened too fast for me to follow—it was one of those. I can’t tell you who attacked first, or what form the attack took. I can’t tell if the Jenoine’s response was physical, magical, or some combination. I only know that, suddenly, everyone was moving, and I was lost in the combinations of limb, steel, and spell. I know that I was looking for an opening to use the Morganti dagger I held, and I know that I was trying to keep Spellbreaker in between me and anything nasty that it might send at me, and I know that I failed miserably at both efforts.

I can’t tell you what Morrolan, Aliera, and Teldra were up to, but my part in the affair was mercifully brief—I lost consciousness within a matter of seconds. And, while I couldn’t be sure what their situation was after it was over, at least mine was easily and readily understood when I awoke: I was manacled to the wall in almost exactly the same spot Aliera had occupied before. Teldra was next to me, unconscious, blood trailing down from the corner of her dainty mouth.

Well, Morrolan and Aliera were now free, in exchange for an Issola seneschal and an Easterner ex-assassin. A neat two-for-two swap. I wondered who had come out ahead on the trade I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. 7. Asking for and Receiving Assistance

“Think you can wake her up, Boss?”

“Don’t know, Loiosh. Any reason why I should?”

“Uh ... I’ll get back to you on that. Think you can break these manacles the way you broke the other ones?”

I hefted them ... they were lighter than they seemed.

“I hate repeating a trick,” I told him. “But I’m willing to make an exception this time.”

“That’s big of you, Boss.”

“But I’m going to wait, if you don’t mind; I don’t think I could manage a sleep spell right now.”

While I waited and recovered, I did a quick check, and found to my surprise that the Jenoine had left me all my weapons. Why would they do that? The Morganti weapon was lying on the floor, no doubt right where it had fallen; they hadn’t even taken it. Why would they capture me, but leave me all my weapons? They weren’t supposed to do that. Maybe I should get them a copy of the rules.

Teldra stirred next to me.

“Good morning,” I told her.

She squeezed her eyes shut without ever opening them, then did so again, and again. I waited.

“Any idea what that thing did to me, Loiosh? Why I lost consciou s ness?”

“No, Boss. It happened too fast. I didn’t notice it even looking at you — you just went down.”

I looked at Teldra again; she was working on becoming conscious, but it was taking a while.

“Okay, let’s make a note not to underestimate the Jenoine.”

“Right, Boss.”

I leaned my head back, started to take a deep breath, and caught myself. I hate it when I need to take a deep breath but I can’t—I’d have to find a different psychological crutch.

I caught an echo of my familiar’s psychic snicker.

“You aren’t helping any.”

“What happened?” said Teldra.

“To begin with,” I said, “the world was created from the seeds of amorphia spread from the droppings of a giant... no, I guess you aren’t awake enough to appreciate my wit. I don’t know what happened, Teldra. We’re right where Morrolan and Aliera were, but I’m assuming our friends got away. Well, I don’t know; maybe I shouldn’t assume that. I hope they got away. I don’t know. Tough bastards, those guys.”

She chuckled. “Morrolan and Aliera, or the Jenoine?”

“Well, yeah.”

Teldra nodded.

“How do you feel?” I asked her.

She stared at me. I recognized the look; I’d been on the other side of it often enough.

“Sorry,” I said. “Stupid question.”

She flashed me a Lady Teldra smile.

“It seems she’s all right, Boss.”

“Guess so.”

Teldra seemed about to speak, but I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall behind me, and she held her peace. The wall was smoother than it looked. I relaxed, prepared myself, and considered what I was about to do. After several minutes, Teldra said, “You’re going to do something, aren’t you?”

“Eventually.”

“Can I help?”

I stirred, opened my eyes, looked at her. “Any training in witchcraft?”

She shook her head.

“Then I’m afraid not,” I said.

I closed my eyes again and muttered, “Trágya.”

“Legalább,” she agreed.

My head snapped around. “You speak Fenarian?”

“Why yes,” she said.

I grunted, wondering why I was surprised. “How many lan­guages do you speak, Teldra?”

“Several,” she said. “And you, Vlad?”

I shook my head. “None well. A bit of Fenarian. A smattering of a few other Eastern languages. But not enough to actually think in any of them—I always have to translate in my head.”

“I see.”

“How do you do that? How do you learn to think in another language?”

“Hmmm. It isn’t an all or nothing thing, Vlad. You say you don’t think in Fenarian, but what would you say if I said, Köszönöm?”

“Szivesen.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Why did you say that?”

“You said, ‘Thank you’; I said, ‘You’re welcome.’”

“But did you make that translation in your head, or was it automatic?”

“Ah. I see.” I thought about that. “Okay, you’re right. It was automatic.”

“That’s the beginning of thinking in the language.”

“Like whenever I make a comment, Boss, and you say—”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Okay,” I said. “You make a good point. But if I’ve got the basics, the rest is awful slow to follow.”

“But it will get there if you keep speaking it. It starts with rote responses, such as thank you and you’re welcome.”

“Basic courtesy,” I said. “Maybe all languages have rote responses for those: hello, how are you, that sort of thing. I wonder.”

“They do,” said Teldra.

“Are you sure?”

“The languages without courtesy built into them didn’t survive long enough for us to remember them. Because, of course—”

“Yes,” I said. “I see.”

I pondered this linguistic profundity for a moment.

I considered what I had just done, and was soon going to do again. “Is witchcraft a language?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I should imagine it is. I know that sorcery is.”