Steven Brust - Issola

“Yes,” said Morrolan. “She’s sending the Court Wizard.”

“Ah.”

That was irony—Morrolan had been Court Wizard for some years, since an unfortunate incident involving Sethra the Younger, who had held the post previously.

The Goddess said, “I believe we will be ready for them.”

Aliera said, “If you missed that, she said we will have aid from Barlen, and several of the other Lords of Judgment.”

This brought up several questions, such as why in blazes they needed me here; but what I said was “Aliera, why is it that whenever the Goddess your mother speaks, everyone hears something different? It seems—”

Sethra broke in suddenly, “The Necromancer says they are coming. She can’t stop them, but she hopes to be able to hold them here.”

Loiosh and Rocza returned to my shoulder. Aliera, Morrolan and Sethra all drew their weapons. I managed to unravel Spellbreaker without dropping it. I was disappointed. I’d really been hoping Aliera would answer my question. 15. When Negotiation Becomes Strained

I wondered if Sethra was happy about having guessed right. Myself, I’d just as soon she’d been wrong.

“I see them,” said Aliera.

I followed her gaze, and spotted them almost at once, about fifty yards from us, standing right next to the Sea—closer than I’d have gotten to it for any reason, ever.

“They’ve spotted us,” said Morrolan pointlessly, because they were obviously staring at us.

“What are those things they’re carrying?” I asked.

“Probably something magical,” said Aliera.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Loiosh?”

“I can’t tell from here. Should I get closer?”

“No.”

In the course of moving away from the rampant Great Weapons, I discovered I was next to Teldra. “Okay,” I said to her in low tones. “I’ve got a plan. First of all, are you secretly Mario?”

“No,” she said.

“Oh. All right, so much for that plan.”

She laughed more than it was worth; maybe she was scared too.

As far as I could tell, the Jenoine were doing nothing except looking at us; Aliera, Morrolan, Sethra, and Verra spread out a little, leaving Teldra and I just a bit behind them.

I said to her, “Perhaps you should have a weapon.”

She shook her head. “I hardly know which end to hold.”

I nodded, thinking that I’d still feel better if she were armed. But why? What did I have to offer her that could hurt them? And then, for all I knew, she could be armed; you never know about an Issola. Hell, maybe she was secretly Mario. It would certainly solve a lot of problems if she were. I looked at Spellbreaker. It was long this time—almost three feet—but the links were very, very fine. I set it swinging slowly.

I took a step forward, then, and Sethra said, “Wait, Vlad.”

I stopped. Maybe she had a plan. I’d like her to have a plan. I’d like any reason not to get any closer to those things.

“Sethra, are we going to attack?”

“Bide, Vlad. I’m not yet certain.”

I bit back more questions, and waited.

“There!” said Sethra, suddenly.

I looked where she was pointing, and saw a dark figure standing, about as far from the Jenoine as we were, but on the opposite side.

“It’s Barlen,” said Loiosh.

“He should help.”

I glanced at Verra, and saw her locking eyes with Barlen briefly. I felt smug, as if I’d caught her at something; supposedly they were ancient enemies and lovers. That’s the sort of thing gods do, you know. It’s all in the legends. If this thing continued. I was going to have to start believing in legends.

Then the other Lords of Judgment appeared. Four ... six ... maybe ten of them, spreading out over the area. Some I might have recognized from the Halls of Judgment if I’d been closer. Some of them appeared to be more or less human from this distance, others not—I recognized one figure that seemed to be nothing more than a burning stick; another took the form of a cat-centaur; there was a thing that reminded me a little of that chunk of trellanstone, only with legs and spindly little arms; yet another seemed like a walking prism, at least, there were a lot of colors, and my eyes couldn’t focus on it; and there was even a dragon which, from across a long distance, seemed almost to catch my eye for an instant, as if it knew me. I stared back. Could it be that one from the Paths of the Dead? No, for some reason, it didn’t seem like that dragon. Eventually it looked away, leaving me wondering.

“Sethra,” I said. “Is this it? I mean, is this going to be the cataclysmic battle between the gods and the Jenoine? And, if so, may I please be excused?”

The Enchantress of Dzur Mountain didn’t look at me, but said, “I sincerely hope not, Vlad. This would be a bad place for such a battle; the results would be unpredictable. But it might happen. My hope is just to keep them away from the Sea and unable to use it, and to inflict enough punishment on them to discourage them from trying again. And to answer your other question, no, you may not. We may require that artifact you’re carrying, and someone who knows how to use it.”

Wonderful.

The Jenoine were looking around them, and, as far as I could tell, did not seem unduly disturbed.

“All right,” said Sethra. “Let’s move in.”

Just exactly what I wanted to do. But they all just nodded, so I did too. They all started closing in on the Jenoine, so I did too. They all put expressions on their faces like they were ready to conquer or die, so I did too.

“Do you do everything they do, Boss?”

“Sure.”

“If they all jumped into the Sea of Amorphia, would you do that, too?”

“Not again.”

“Heh.”

Rocza shifted on my shoulder, and I caught the psychic whispers of Loiosh telling her something—she probably didn’t like the place much. Well, who did?

We moved closer to them—so did the gods. If I’d been at­tuned to more levels of magic, I have no doubt I would have detected all sorts of powerful enchantments swirling about above the place that was itself the most powerful of enchantments. I set Spellbreaker spinning a bit faster.

“I’d really like to be somewhere else, right about now.”

“Oh, c’mon, Boss. Where’s your sense of history?”

“I like to read about history, not make it.”

“You see, Boss? It’s because of attitudes like yours that there are so few human heroes.”

“And so many humans.”

“Heh.”

Rocza shifted again on my shoulder.

“How is she doing, Loiosh?”

“She’ll be fine, Boss.”

“Are you sure? She seems nervous.”

“Right, Boss. As opposed to you and me?”

“Good point.”

We continued on, another step, two, three, closer to where the Jenoine stood, on the very edge of the Sea.

“Boss, does this remind you at all—”

“No. It doesn’t. Shut up.”

I realized that I was still avoiding looking at the amorphia—sort of skirting it with my eyes. I didn’t want to look at the Jenoine, either, but I made myself. I watched them, and tried to keep an eye on our Divine allies. This really was shaping up to be one of those battles they write songs about. I wondered if I’d get mentioned—the Easterner, Jhereg, outcast, walking around unarmed except for a length of chain that was useful for blocking magic of a kind that I wasn’t going to encounter here. Maybe Teldra and I could find a quiet spot and continue our discussion of the philosophy of courtesy. I had enjoyed that. In fact, on reflection, I had enjoyed that more than I had enjoyed anything for several years. Strange, isn’t it? I hadn’t even realized it at the time, but trapped on a world not my own, perhaps in a universe not my own, held by godlike beings intent on some ineffable evil, Teldra and I had sat back and had the sort of discussion that I most enjoyed, the sort that Cawti and I had once had.