Steven Brust - Issola

“I know. It’s what Sethra would call a preemptive strike.”

Morrolan said, “Is there anything we need?”

Sethra touched the hilt of Iceflame at her side and said, “No, I believe we have what we need.”

“Do you have the location?”

“I will in a moment. Bide.”

Teldra came up next to me. I said softly, “Do you know what she meant by ‘becoming part of the rock of Dzur Mountain again’?”

“No,” said Teldra, just as softly. “I was wondering myself.”

“She was probably speaking metaphorically.”

“Probably.”

I wasn’t convinced; I’ll bet Teldra wasn’t either.

Teldra took a moment to construct me a sling out of a dark grey linen towel she procured from somewhere. She set my arm in it carefully, and I grunted a thank-you.

“Let’s go,” said Sethra, and we gathered around her. I touched my grandfather’s amulet, just to reassure myself that it was still there, and it occurred to me suddenly that I’d been wandering about without any of my protections and hadn’t even noticed—this could be dangerous habit. On the other hand, if we were killed by the Jenoine, I would have no need to worry about the Jhereg. You take your consolations where you find them.

I had gotten to about this point in my reflections when the walls abruptly collapsed and opened up to the outdoors—or that’s what it seemed like. We stood now on a small rock ledge, overlooking the Lesser Sea of Amorphia, where the greatest city of the Empire used to be until Aliera’s daddy had a hissy-cow at the Emperor. I must make a point of telling Sethra not to underrate the power of the hissy-cow.

I looked out upon the raw, seething amorphia below us—the quintessence of chaos, crying out to be organized, and de­fying anyone’s ability to do so. Some of those with me knew what it took to create order out of chaos; those we were ex­pecting also knew. Some wanted to use it for one thing, some another, and therefrom sprang conflict mortal. Me, I’d just as soon let the damned stuff be.

The old city of Dragaera had grown up in what once, I’m I told, was a fertile plain, fed by several streams and rivers com­ing down from a range of mountains that has more names than peaks. The mountains, which were west of the city, were now behind my left shoulder, except for bits of them that spread out in the form of sharp, ugly bits of greyish rock, one of which I now stood on. There were no signs of any rivers from where I stood, and what had been the city and most of the plain was a swirling mass of colors browns, greens, and oranges, mostly murky in places, sparkling at times, occasion­ally even pulling back to show what appeared to be brown dirt beneath. It did, indeed, seem very much like an ocean, if you can imagine an ocean with no tides, but instead with random waves that lash out up to two hundred feet from the “shore”—waves with the charming property that the merest touch will not only kill you, but cause you to instantly dissolve into nothing. It was not my favorite place to be; especially here, about fifty feet away from it.

To be fair, I should add that being above it was rather safer. Not safe, but safer.

“Now what?” said Morrolan. “Spread out, or remain to together?”

“Remain together,” said Sethra. “And settle in; we might be ­here awhile.”

“Should have brought some chairs,” I said. Morrolan gave me a Look.

So I squatted down. My arm gave another twitch. Maybe, if I were lucky, it would start working again before I needed it. I massaged the arm through the sling for a bit and couldn’t even feel it.

Sethra drew Iceflame and pointed it out toward the middle of the Sea, staring intently after it. Then she sheathed Iceflame and said, “All right. Any time now.”

“That was it?”

“That was it. I have broken their link. Now we wait. If the Necromancer can seal this place off from them before they arrive, then we can all go home. If not, then we get to fight them. If we are lucky, they will be unable to re-establish a link right away, so they will be fighting without the advantage of sorcery, and a good strike with a Great Weapon will kill them. If we are not lucky, things could be more difficult.”

“Here’s to luck,” I said.

“There they are,” said Sethra, and my heart jumped into my mouth. I stood, and tried to let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, but missed the grab and it slithered onto the ground. As I groped for it, I followed Sethra’s gaze until I spotted a shimmering in the air not fifty feet away from us, on the same ledge.

“Okay, here we go, Loiosh.”

“Boss, it’s Aliera and the Demon Goddess.”

“Oh. So it is.”

“Sethra,” I said, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“No,” said Sethra, as she took her hand off the hilt of Iceflame.

Getting the chain wrapped around my wrist again gave me something to do while I recovered. Aliera and the Demon Goddess came up to us, and looked out over the sea. There was an expression on Aliera’s face that I’d never seen before. Was she actually staring out at that and thinking of her father? How could she? Then again, how could she not?

The first words out of Aliera’s mouth were “What did the Necromancer say?”

“She’s working on it,” said Sethra. “But she says it may take a while.”

I said, “Well, we have the Goddess here; maybe she can do something.”

“Not quicker than the Necromancer,” said Verra, in that oddly echoing voice of hers.

“Why not?”

“Because,” said the Goddess patiently, “she’s better than me.”

I stared at her, wanting to say, “But you’re a Goddess!” only that would have sounded stupid, so I just swallowed and said, okay.”

Sethra said, “Very well, then, Verra, I will keep my attention focused the other way.” I’d run into people who were hard to understand; the Demon Goddess is the only being I have met who makes those around her incomprehensible. There is something very wrong about having that effect.

Aliera drew Pathfinder; I took an involuntary step back. Aliera pointed her blade out generally toward the Sea, and swung back and forth a couple of times, then she made some sort of indefinite grunt under her breath. “Nothing yet,” she said.

Morrolan said, “I could reach the Necromancer and—”

“Disturb her while she works,” finished Sethra.

Morrolan scowled, then chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “That was my intention. You don’t like the plan?”

“As much as you like waiting,” said Sethra.

Morrolan looked at her. “You don’t mind waiting, do you, Sethra?”

She laughed. “At my age, one gets used to it, little Dragonlord. I spend more time waiting than doing anything else.”

Morrolan shook his head. “I can’t imagine getting used to it.”

“You see? You have more in common with our friend Vlad than you ever thought.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. Morrolan had nothing to say, either. We stared out over Adron’s Disaster, which did the dance of amorphia: colors shifting, shapes appearing and vanishing, and always something faintly enticing, the way a tall cliff is enticing to someone afraid of heights. I kept my eyes above it as much as I could, because I didn’t want to look at it, but didn’t want anyone to know I was afraid to actually watch it.

“You want to look useful, Loiosh?”

“You mean just to impress them? Of course.”

He and Rocza took off from my shoulder and began flying around the area in opposite directions. I said, “Don’t get too close to it.”

“We don’t intend to, Boss.”

Sethra said, “Are we going to get any help from the Empress?”