Steven Brust - Issola

“All right,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s simple enough,” said Aliera. “The trellanstone will per­mit us to break through whatever is blocking—”

“No,” said Morrolan.

“What do you mean, no?”

“That isn’t how we’re going to do it.”

“Oh?” said Aliera. “It isn’t? Then, pray, how are we going to do it?” She let the irony drip from her lips onto the floor and crawl over to rub against Morrolan’s leg.

My eyes rolled up of their own accord. I walked to the far side of the room, pretty much out of earshot, because listening to Morrolan and Aliera yell at each other was already getting old; I found it was not one of the things I missed, although it had never bothered me before. I wondered if being away from people had changed me, made me less patient with minor annoyances.

“No, Boss, it’s just made you introspective.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Impatient, too.”

I sent a psychic growl in his direction, then sat down against a wall and leaned my head back. Morrolan and Aliera, after an instant of conversation, walked out of the door Teldra and I had found. I blinked. Well, I suppose they figured if they were going to argue, they might as well investigate our story at the same time.

Teldra came over and sat down next to me. I said, “Well, whatever happens, it has been a pleasure having the chance to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Vlad. I feel the same way.”

I wondered if she really did. That’s the tricky part about the Issola; you can never be certain how they are feeling. Maybe it doesn’t bother Dragaerans, not knowing how someone is actually feeling, but we Easterners aren’t like that. I wondered if it bothered Teldra to know that, when she really, actually liked someone, that person would always have to wonder how much was genuine, and how much was show.

After some time, Morrolan and Aliera came back through the door, approached us, and Morrolan said, “All right, we have a plan.”

“That’s lucky,” I told him.

His eyes narrowed, but he must have decided to let it pass, Best for him.

“Worked yourself into a mood, haven’t you Boss?”

I mentally grunted at my familiar. Morrolan said, “We’re going to attempt something with the trellanstone. We’re going to—”

“Use it to break through whatever is blocking you from opening the gate?”

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. Then he slowly and carefully explained the plan to me. Teldra gave nary a twitch of an eyebrow, and Aliera’s eyes had turned blue. When Morrolan was finished, he said, “Are there any questions?”

I hardly knew where to begin. I said, “How did you come up with that idea?”

“In part, because of your river of amorphia. The fact that they have it changes everything. And, moreover, this is some­thing that—I believe—lies within our power.”

I grunted at him and muttered, “If all you’ve got’s a stick, everything looks like a kneecap.”

“Beg pardon?” said Morrolan.

“Never mind; old Jhereg saying.”

He graced me with a look of distaste and turned to Lady Teldra. “You are clear on your role?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Aliera?”

She rolled her eyes, which Morrolan and I took as an affir­mative.

“Then let’s begin.”

“He didn’t ask if I was ready.”

“And I’m not going to either.”

Morrolan took a position next to the trellanstone, hovering over it like a goose over her goslings. Aliera stood in front of it, to Morrolan’s left, and laid her hands on it, touching and feeling it as if looking for handholds. For this stage, Teldra and I were back and out of the way, watching. Aliera’s hands came to rest, and she nodded to Morrolan. He licked his lips. I rec­ognized that gesture—I’d been there often enough myself, just before trying something difficult and a little scary.

Sometimes it almost seemed as if Morrolan were human. He placed his hand on the stone, near Aliera’s. Presently he said, “All right, I’m getting something.”

“Yes,” she said.

I couldn’t see her face, but I saw the concentration in the muscles of her back, and in Morrolan’s case, in the muscles of his jaw. They were working. It was nice to see for a change. They fell silent, I assume communicating psychically; Teldra and I waited patiently for them to finish. Or, rather, Teldra waited patiently; I waited. Presently my feet started to hurt; standing hurts more than walking. I shifted from foot to foot and tried to catch Teldra’s eye, but she was watching the sorcerers work. Abruptly, and for no reason I could see, the veins in the stone began to glow—not much, you had to be watching closely, but it was there, like a yellow phosphorus, if you can imagine such a thing.

Morrolan said, “Okay, Vlad. Get ready.”

“I’m ready,” I told him, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, and felt a very small, subtle vibration running through it, almost a tremble, as of eagerness.

“Boss—”

“Not now, Loiosh.I don’t want to think about it.”

Easier said than done, that not thinking about it business; but I really didn’t want any distractions just then, because if Morrolan’s plan worked, things were just about to get interesting. I touched the rapier at my side, started to check my daggers before remembering that most of them were lying in pieces around the room. My hand accidentally touched the sheath of the Morganti blade I still carried; my hand then returned to the hilt of my sword and remained there, so I looked like I was ready to draw in a hurry—like I was ready for action. Maybe Morrolan would be impressed if he glanced over at me. Maybe if the Jenoine showed up suddenly they’d see how ready for action I was and die of fear.

“I’m getting something,” said Aliera. “It’s opening.” I happened to notice her hands, which now gripped the stone very tightly; her fingers were white. I looked for some change in the stone itself, but didn’t see anything.

“All right, Vlad,” said Morrolan, in that tone of voice uses when he’s keeping tight control on his emotions—which is usually, now that I think of it.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, and, under my breath, I began an invocation to Verra. It was one of the old ones, one of the first I had ever learned, and I shan’t repeat it here. At first, I was only going through the motions, but soon enough I felt Morrolan’s presence, and, through him, Aliera’s, pointing out to me the direction, as it were, in which to, well, direct my efforts. I recited the invocation over and over, trying for some sort of response, or at least the feeling that I was getting through.

It is strange, the things I’ve done to the inside of my own head. In one way or another, that is where all magic is; that is what all magic is, and that is why it is magic—you treat the contents of your skull as if they were a sort of world that you can walk around in, filled with objects that you can manipulate; creatures with whom you can communicate; landscapes that you can observe. This bit of witchcraft is a narrow stream, and you dip your feet in it and splash. This piece of sorcery is a lever you can move stones with, and you grunt and sweat until it moves and you feel the satisfaction of watching it roll down a hill. And the invocation was a chat with a Demon Goddess who bore only the most passing and coincidental relationship to the being I had met, who had from time to time aided me, and who had used and was using me for purposes I was only beginning to have a glimmering of.

The conversation was strictly one-sided; how could it not be, being a creation of myself with myself. One-sided, yet (and here is the magic) it must have done something, because as stood upon that world whose air was nearly unbreathable, in that room whose contents were nearly unknowable, doing things to my head that are nearly indescribable, feeling a connection within me in a language almost untranslatable, there appeared before my real eyes a hint of red and golden sparks generated by nothing, that shimmered there for a moment, until they took