Steven Brust - Issola

The Necromancer’s eyebrows went up. “Is it unprotected?”

“Yes. The other has been protected all along, almost by accident, as it were. And it never occurred to me to look for an attack that way.”

The Necromancer nodded, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Nothing yet,” she said.

“Are you certain?”

The Necromancer frowned and said, “What do you mean?”

“Look again. Look for anything that doesn’t belong.”

“Very well,” she said. Then, “Oh.”

“They are tapping it?”

“Someone is. It will take a while to find out where it is going, but it certainly seems like their workmanship.”

Sethra nodded. “I suspected it, from what Vlad told me. They are evidently collecting it in quantity.”

“Collecting it? Raw?”

“So it would seem.”

“How are they keeping it unstable?”

“They have found a large piece of trellanstone, and use it to keep the amorphia flowing, rather like a stream, from what Vlad and Teldra said.”

“I see. Yes, that might work, if you had someone monitoring it at all times, and if it was physically near the trellanstone.”

“The stream ran within a few hundred feet of it.”

The Necromancer nodded. “This could be a real problem,” she said, almost as if she cared. “Have they stirred?”

“They have indeed. Morrolan and Aliera were taken, Verra threatened—yes, they are stirring.”

“Then they are ready with their stroke.”

“So it would seem. Except that we have freed Morrolan and Aliera; I don’t know how that will change their plans. But we have to assume they’re still going ahead with it.”

“Very well,” said the Necromancer. “What do you require? I can cut their access easily enough.”

“Insufficient,” said Sethra. “Can you keep them out of the area?”

The Necromancer was silent for a moment; then she said, I don’t know. It’s so large. Thirty-five or forty square miles, the last time I looked.”

“Yes,” said Sethra. “The Empress will almost certainly be willing to help.”

“Then perhaps,” said the Necromancer.

“If you cannot keep them out, do you think you could, perhaps, keep them in?”

The Necromancer frowned. “One of them, certainly. Ten or twelve of them, all with access to the power of the amorphia, impossible. But the same set of enchantments can be used in both directions.”

“All right,” said Sethra. “Good. You ought to start your preparations at once. In the meantime, I need to be there, along with Morrolan, Aliera, and whoever else we can gather together quickly. How much time will you need?”

“I don’t know. I won’t know until I start. Certainly, several hours, even with the Orb. Possibly a day or two. I wish you had told me sooner.”

“I wish I had realized sooner what they were up to. We cannot wait a day or two before cutting off their link. I’m nervous about waiting even another hour.”

“I shall hurry as much as I can.”

“Yes. We will move as soon as we can, and, if you aren’t ready, then we will endeavor to hold the place until you are.”

The Necromancer nodded and said, “I’ll get started, then.” She turned away without ceremony, took three steps, and sort of faded away in midstride, leaving a trail of golden sparks behind her; possibly for effect, though that didn’t seem like the sort of thing she’d do.

She left the room just as Morrolan returned—he coming in by the door—according to some sort of law of conservation of wizards. The Necromancer left in a shower of sparks; Morrolan appeared with a flapping of wings. Jhereg wings, to be exact. Rocza’s wings, to be precise. Loiosh left my shoulder and flew toward her, the two of them doing a sort of midair dance of greeting, then flying around the room once together before landing on my shoulders, and continuing the reunion with neck and face rubs behind my head. It was all very cute.

“I told you I was cute.”

“I thought you might be missing her,” said Morrolan.

“I was, and so was Loiosh. Thank you from both of us.”

He nodded to me, then faced Sethra and announced, “The Empress agrees.”

“Good,” said Sethra. “So does the Necromancer.”

“I love it when a plan comes together,” I remarked to no one in particular.

Morrolan shrugged and said, “Here, Vlad.” He reached into his cloak and emerged with a bag, which he emptied on the table near my elbow. It contained half a dozen daggers of various sizes. “I thought you might like to restock,” he said, “so I grabbed these from my armory. I don’t know exactly what you like, but one or two of these must be all right.”

“Yes,” I said. “That was very thoughtful of you.” I inspected them, then placed all of them about my person in various ways. It took some work, with only one hand to work with; but this reminded me to make sure they were all accessible to my right hand. That put one behind my back, one between my shoulder blades, one in my right sleeve, well, you get the idea. Having them there made me feel better at once. I stretched my feet out in front of me and leaned back. Sethra said, “You look like a man who isn’t going anywhere, Vlad.”

“Well, I don’t plan on leaving here any time soon. Am I mistaken about something?”

“I had planned to bring us to the site of Adron’s Disaster right away. We don’t know when they will appear; I’d just as soon anticipate them.”

I looked at my left arm, then at Sethra, with what I hoped was an eloquent expression.

She nodded. “I take your point. But Spellbreaker could still be useful, if you can manage to wield it right-handed.”

I sighed. “Very well,” I said, and made it to my feet. “I assume Aliera will be joining us soon?”

“I should imagine. Morrolan, if you will please reach your cousin when she becomes available, and let her know that we are leaving now, and give her our precise location.”

He saluted, with, I think, a touch of irony. I imagine he was still annoyed about her “young Dragon” remark earlier.

I drained off the remainder of my wine and said, “Do you ever get tired being the general-in-chief, Sethra?”

Sethra gave me a wry smile. “This is half of a general’s dream, Vlad: a campaign with no need for a quartermaster. The other half, of course, would be a campaign with no subordinates to keep happy. If I ever have both of those at once, I’ll consider my existence fulfilled and become part of the rock of Dzur Mountain again.”

“Again?” said Loiosh.

“Again?” I said.

She shrugged and didn’t answer, damn her.

I carefully set down my wineglass and said, “Well, shall we be about it, then?”

“Yes,” said the Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain. She turned to Teldra and said, “If we have the chance to negotiate with them, we will take it, but the difficulty will be knowing if they are deceiving us. Do you think you can tell?”

“I don’t know,” said Teldra. “I hope so. I will certainly try.”

Sethra nodded. “All right. Let’s make an end to this.”

“Do you think,” I said, “that this will really be the end?”

“If we’re lucky, it will end this gambit on the part of the Jenoine.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I said, trying to sound like I was all kinds of excited to be part of it. My arm hung there, limp and useless, and Spellbreaker unraveled. I took it in my right hand, and managed, after too much effort, to get it around the wrist. It felt funny there. It also felt funny to be carrying a Morganti dagger. And not having a working left arm felt funny as well. I was a walking joke.

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“I didn’t—”