Steven Brust - Issola

“I think we might be in real trouble, Boss.”

“It’s possible.”

“Let’s do it,” said Morrolan.

There was no time for any other remarks, so we all got to work. 12. Exercising Due Care for the Comfort and Safety of Others

It’s funny, but it didn’t occur to me until much later to think of it in terms of four of them and five of us. None of the ways things could have gone had much to do with numbers. Morrolan and Aliera were the first to move, Great Weapons flashing. The Goddess strode forward, right behind them, leaving Teldra and me standing there for just an instant before I cursed, put my hand on the Morganti dagger, started Spellbreaker swinging in slow circle, and tried to figure out something useful to do. Nothing came instantly to mind.

The two who were sitting remained sitting. One of the others turned its hands over as if asking why we might want to disturb it—Morrolan and Aliera began moving at this one. That left the other one for the Demon Goddess, while Teldra and I were, I guess, just along as witnesses.

It seemed like the opening of some sort of dance—Morrolan and Aliera moved toward either side of the one, who stepped forward as if to place itself between them—in the worst possible position except for letting them both stand behind it. There was a strange grace to its movements. Was it an especially athletic one of its kind? Were they all like that? How can you tell when you’re seeing something typical of a species, and when you’re seeing an interesting individual of that species? Why does my mind always wander like that when I’m frightened and don’t know what to do?

Verra, in the meantime, began to circle to her left with the other Jenoine, who obligingly circled to its left, as if it had no qualms about turning its back to me.

“Careful, Boss. The two sitting ones are watching you.”

I acknowledged the warning. But, still, I had a Morganti dagger; if the thing were willing to actually show me its back how could I resist? Offering a Jhereg your back is like offering a Dzur an insult or an Orca a free piece of merchandise: he’ll find it hard not to take it even if he has no use for it. I kept my hand on the hilt of my dagger, watched, and waited.

Two things happened, then, so close together they were almost simultaneous—one was the sudden realization on my part that the room was shrinking in all directions; in other words, the walls were collapsing inward, very quickly. The other was that Verra laughed. I know that I flinched, I don’t know if any of the others did, and then, just as quickly, the walls stopped collapsing.

“Illusion,” said Loiosh. “Never fooled me for an instant.”

“Yeah. Me, either.” I told him.

Spellbreaker was about a foot and a half long, with rather thick, heavy links; I kept it spinning slowly. Verra and the Jenoine facing her had both stopped. It was, unfortunately, just short of giving me the nice shot at its back I wanted. While both of their eyes faced forward, they were also wide-set—they had, then, better peripheral vision than humans or Dragaerans, and I needed to be aware of that when trying for a back shot.

We trained professionals notice stuff like that.

The Goddess and the Jenoine appeared to have locked gazes, I couldn’t tell if they were engaged in some sort of massive, mystical, magical struggle happening on a level beyond my comprehension, or if they were just having a good old-fashioned stare-down.

Teldra came up to my side; perhaps to share in whatever protection Spellbreaker might give, perhaps just to back me up if I was attacked.

I said “Any ideas, Teldra?” and out of the corner of my eye I saw her shake her head.

“Shallow breaths, Boss.”

“Check, Loiosh.”

My thoughts were still on the Morganti dagger at my side, but I didn’t draw it; wouldn’t know quite what to do with it. My instincts told me to wait and see what happened, that this was not yet my moment.

Then Aliera lunged suddenly with Pathfinder, and Morrolan struck with Blackwand in a downward slanting arc at the same time. Their timing was precise, their coordination perfect. It ought to have been a deadly combination, the more so as the Jenoine made no effort to avoid either attack. It worked per­fectly, except for the part where the Great Weapons were supposed to stab or cut the Jenoine; that didn’t happen. Both weapons stopped what appeared to be a fraction of an inch away from their respective targets. Offhand, I didn’t know anything tough enough to withstand the direct attack of a Great Weapon. Nor, in fact, did I want to know any such thing, or even think about it too hard.

Then I realized that whatever had neatly stopped Pathfinder and Blackwand had stopped Aliera and Morrolan as well—they were standing utterly motionless, as if frozen by their weapons’ contact, or near contact, with the Jenoine. That was no good at all.

I get the shakes when I think back on that moment—Aliera e’Kieron and Morrolan e’Drien and Pathfinder and Blackwand held motionless by these things, while Verra, whether she was doing something or not, at least wasn’t casually destroying them the way she ought to be, and, on top of it all, there were those two just sitting there, not even getting involved, as if it weren’t worth their effort. That’s how I feel now. But at the time, all I felt was irritation, especially directed at those two sons of bitches who were sitting on their superhuman godlike asses.

I really wanted to do something to get their attention.

Okay, I know how stupid that is, I should have been giving thanks to Verra—who was, after all, only a couple of feet away—that I didn’t have their attention; but maybe I was temporarily nuts or something. No, I won’t say that. I won’t plead the excuse of being off my head. I remember clearly and coldly making the decision, and putting it into action.

My right hand left the vicinity of the Morganti weapon—which, powerful as it no doubt was, was certainly not going to do anything Pathfinder and Blackwand couldn’t do—and reached into my pouch. I made my motions small and smooth to avoid attracting premature attention and, almost immedi­ately, my fingers found what I’d sent them after.

“Boss, do you know what you’re doing?”

“More or less,” I told him.

“Oh, good.”

It was, in fact, something that, years before, I had been warned in the strongest possible terms never to do again. But the first time I hadn’t had any choice. This time was different: this time I was irritated.

What I was about to do wasn’t like witchcraft: a focusing of the will, a concentration on desire; nor was it at all like sorcery: an almost mechanical application of known laws to achieve a precise result. When I’d done it before, years ago, it had been born out of anger, frustration, and desperation, and on top of it I had had my link to the Orb to provide the power to get it started. This time I had none of that—just the idea, which had been in the back of my head since my walk with Teldra, and the vague notion that I ought to do something.

But I did have a few things working for me: For one, the simple knowledge that I’d done it once before, which was by itself of incalculable value. For another, my memory, confused and imprecise, but there, of how that had felt, and where I had reached into myself, and how I had found those innate abilities inherited through the connection of my spirit to ancestors stretching back to when Sethra was young. And, for still another, I had the device in my fingers—a small, purple-blue stone, smooth as a pearl, which would act like the rendered goose fat that provides the basis of a good red pepper sauce.