Steven Brust - Dragon

Most of our time was spent sitting around gabbing—or, in the case of Napper and me, complaining. Most of the conversation was pretty low on the scale: sex and liquor, with drugs and food coming second. The rest of the conversation was at a considerably higher level—there was very little middle ground. Philosophizing, as I mentioned before, is a highly respected activity. At one point I said to Virt, "The trouble with you Dragonlords is that to you killing is so impersonal."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I'd expect to hear from a Jhereg."

"How so?"

"I'd thought some of your associates were in the habit of having people killed for business reasons."

"Sure," I said. "But one at a time."

"I imagine that's an important distinction to whoever gets it."

"Well, no; but it matters a great deal to everyone else in the neighborhood."

"Maybe to the House of the Dragon," she said, "the means must be broader because the ends are more sweeping."

"Excuse me?"

"We're not fighting for control of this-or-that brothel, but for this-or-that barony. While that may not be better, it is certainly bigger, so there would naturally be bigger forces involved."

"You think that accounts for it?"

"It is, at least, the most widely accepted theory, and I believe it."

"Uh … 'the most widely accepted … ' There are theories about this?"

"Oh, certainly. There are theories about every aspect of war."

"I see. And are they useful?"

"Some more so than others. But the ones that aren't useful are usually entertaining."

"I see. I hadn't thought of 'entertaining' as having much to do with war."

"No, you wouldn't have. And the idea that it might be probably disgusts you." I didn't say anything. After a moment she said, "Haven't you ever been in mortal danger and discovered after it was over that you'd been having the time of your life? Haven't you ever taken pleasure in making detailed plans, pleasure that had nothing to do with how good, or bad, or important, the end result was? Can't you imagine the pleasure in setting up a complex problem and watching the pieces line themselves up, and all the forces come together, and having things work out the way you wanted them to?"

This, of course, set me thinking of Assassinations I Have Known. I said, "Yes."

"Well?"

"Yes, but."

She nodded. "Go on." It occurred to me suddenly that she was enjoying the conversation. Then I realized that I was, too. Was this significant of something?

I let my mind run and my eyes wander; she waited patiently. I said, "Well, maybe it's just numbers. But it seems that the more lives are being lost, the more important the cause ought to be. Don't you think?"

" 'Ought' is a tricky word. So is 'important.' "

"I can't deny what you say about danger. Yes, certainly, even though I try to avoid putting myself in danger, I know what you mean about the feeling of, well … "

"Of being fully alive?" she said.

"Yes, that's it. But that's me, and maybe even the guy I'm facing, if he's another volunteer. But what about those conscripts you've mentioned?"

"They're Teckla," she said.

"True," I admitted. "Okay, back to 'ought' and 'important,' then—"

She laughed suddenly. "You'd make a good tactician. I don't know about strategist, but certainly a tactician."

"I don't think I want to know why," I said.

"All right, then. Back to 'ought' and 'important.' They're moral judgments, aren't they?"

"Is that illegal in this dominion?"

"Not at all. But, traditionally, they're considered too important to be trusted to foot soldiers."

"Ah, tradition," I said. "Well, do you believe that?"

"Of course not," she said. "At least, no one can help thinking about the why's of what we're fighting for. And it does no harm, as long as you don't think about it just when someone is trying to skewer you."

"Well then," I said. "Let's get down to specifics. Fornia is as power-hungry as—well, he's power-hungry." I'd been about to say "as Dragons always are," but caught myself. "So is Morrolan. Their lands are next to each other, and Morrolan wants to make sure Fornia isn't able to threaten him, and, of course, Fornia doesn't want his lands invaded, so they make up a pretext of insult, and a few tens of thousand of us start hacking at each other. How do we fit that into 'ought' and 'important'?"

"You're here for much the same reason, aren't you? Fornia offended you, so you're going to kill a few perfect strangers?"

"I'm one man. I'm not commanding an army to do my killing for me."

"You think Morrolan should challenge him to a duel?"

"No, I think Morrolan should kill him."

"How? Assassination?"

"Why not? Anyone can be assassinated."

"So I've heard," she said dryly. I expected her to start in on the cant about how horrid it was to assassinate an enemy compared to honorable battle, and I was all set with a tirade about the death of one versus the death of hundreds or thousands, but she didn't go there. She said, "And, if he succeeded, what would then happen? Do you imagine Fornia has no friends, no family, none who would take offense?"

"If no one knew—"

"Is that how it usually works, my dear Jhereg? When someone is killed in your House, is it not usually known who benefits from his death?"

I didn't have a good answer; she was right. In the Jhereg, you usually wanted it known who had the guy shined; that way it served as a warning to the next guy who might think about committing whatever offense had put a polish on the victim.

"All right," I said. "I concede the point. Assassination would be impractical in cases like this."

"Well, then?"

I grinned. "There's always negotiation."

"Certainly," she said. "As long as you can threaten war, you'll always be able to negotiate."

"I was kidding."

"I know. I was being serious."

"You'd make a good enforcer. I might not want to give you your own territory, but I'd certainly hire you to collect debts."

For an instant she looked annoyed, then she gave me a smile and said, "All right. Well taken."

"Who is that?" I said, gesturing with my eyes.

"Who? Oh. His name is Dortmond. I'm not sure what line he is of. He's been in the company for most of two hundred years. He certainly knows how to campaign, doesn't he?"

"Except that he has to carry it all."

"He's big enough. It all collapses, and I believe he's been known to bribe the wagoners to bring some of his excess along."

The man in question was a couple of tents down from us. He was, indeed, a very large man, of middle years, with long hair and good features for a Dragon. He had his cap pulled down over his eyes and was sitting in front of his tent on what seemed to be a canvas-and-wood chair, complete with back. His feet were on a small footstool of similar construction, and by his elbow was a table, on which sat a wine bottle; a goblet was in his hand, and he was smoking a large black pipe. I watched him for a moment. The complete soldier, all his spare energy devoted to wresting luxury from the tedium of camp life.

"You should see the inside of his tent," said Virt.

"Oh?"

"Double-sized cot with extra padding, pillows, and bug netting. He's painted the bug netting, too; it shows a mountain scene with a wolf howling."

"That is a lot to carry."

"The cot is awfully comfortable, though."

"How—never mind."

Virt didn't answer the question I'd almost asked, but silently watched him along with me. He probably expected to serve as a foot soldier all his life, perhaps someday reaching the rank of corporal. He gave the impression of perfect contentment with his lot. Virt seemed to share my thoughts; eventually she said, "There are worse lives than that of the soldier, you know."

"Evidently," I said. "But you'll never be content with it."