Steven Brust - Athyra

Savn sat down where he was, lost in the darkness, and took a deep breath. At first he did nothing else, just sat there thinking about breathing, and letting the tension flow out of his body. His mind didn’t want to cooperate—it kept showing him what would happen if he failed, or if he was too late. But he looked at each scene of death or torment, viewed it carefully, and set it aside, and as he did so, he told himself to relax, just as Vlad had taught him, starting at the top of his head, and working down.

It took longer than it should have, but he knew when he was there—floating apart from the world, able to move at will, everywhere and nowhere.

He imagined the cave, imagined the Easterner lying there, his eyes closed, the two jhereg around him, unaware of what was happening. Or maybe Vlad was awake, but unable to do anything about it.

He got a picture of the larger of the two jhereg, and concentrated on it, trying to talk. Did it understand? How could he communicate to such a beast; how would he know if he was succeeding?

He tried to imagine what its mind might feel like, but couldn’t conceive of it. He imagined it, and imagined himself, calling to it, and imagined it answering him, but as far as he could tell, nothing happened. In desperation, he shouted his message to it, but it was as if he shouted to the air.

After some time—he didn’t know how much—he came to himself, feeling shaky and exhausted. He opened his eyes, but was still in darkness, and now the darkness began to terrify him. He forced himself to stand slowly, and reached out with his hands. But wait, which way had he come in? He had sat down without turning, so he should turn now. He did so, reached out again, and again felt nothing.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. It can’t be far.

He tried taking a step, didn’t run into anything, and reached out once more. Still nothing. He risked one more step, and this time he felt the cool, damp stone of a wall. He wanted to kiss it.

He slid forward until he was practically hugging the wall, and reached out in both directions, and so found the door. Now the darkness was becoming even more threatening, so it was with great relief he found that the door opened easily on its leather hinges. Very little light came through it, and as he stuck his head out, he saw that what there was came from a single lantern placed at the top of the stairs. He wondered how often these lanterns were checked, and who filled them, and how long it would be before someone missed it, and, for that matter, how much more kerosene it contained.

But there was no time for that. He went back up the stairs, fetched the lantern down, and went through the door once more. The room turned out to be big, and, except for several wooden tables, empty. He looked at the floor, and was unsurprised to find the remains of faint markings on it—this had been one of the places His Lordship had been accustomed to practice his wizardous work. But, while he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, he knew that wasn’t it.

One wall, the one furthest from the door, looked odd. He crossed over to it, being careful to walk around the markings on the floor, and held up the lamp. There were several—four, in fact—odd, door-like depressions in the wall, each one about ten feet high and perhaps five feet wide at the bottom, curving at the top. And carved into the floor in front of each was a small, straight gutter that ran the length of the room and ended, as he followed them, in what looked to be a dry, shallow well.

He returned to the far wall and looked at the doors again. They looked almost like—

Almost like tunnels.

Or waterways.

Yes, there they were, just where they ought to be. He stared at them until the lamp flickered, which broke his reverie and reminded him that if he was going to do something, now would be a good time. He looked around the room, hoping to see some tool with which to open the gates, but the room was empty. He remembered Vlad saying something about traps and alarms, but there was no point in worrying about setting those off if he couldn’t figure out a way to get the waterways open in the first place.

He approached one, and struck it with the side of his fist, and it did, indeed, sound hollow. He studied the wall around it, the floor below it, the ceiling above it.

And there it was, a chain, hanging down from the ceiling, as if there were a sign on it saying, “Pull me.” And, in case it wasn’t obvious enough, there were three more, one in front of each door. Well, on reflection, why should His Lordship have made it difficult for himself in his own work area?

So, Savn asked himself, what now? If he pulled the chain, the waterway would open, and all sorts of alarms would go off, and, no doubt, His Lordship would appear as fast as he could teleport. Then what? Could Savn escape, maybe swimming underwater for all he knew, before His Lordship caught him?

Not a chance.

He thought about trying once more to reach one of the jhereg, but at that moment he was startled almost out of his wits by a soft tap tap that came from somewhere he couldn’t place.

He looked around, wildly, and it came again.

Could he have reached the jhereg after all?

Tap tap ... tap tap.

He followed the sound, and discovered that, without doubt, it came from behind one of the waterways.

He hesitated no more. He stood in front of it, straddling the small gutter, then reached up and took the chain. It felt grimy with old rust, but he was able to get a good grip. He pulled.

At first it didn’t move, as if rusted from long disuse, but he put his whole weight on it, and all of a sudden it gave.

In the dim light of the lantern, it looked for a moment as if the wall was moving backward, but then the reality of it became clear. The door in front of him creaked open noisily and admitted a small stream of water; a pair of jhereg; Polyi, dripping wet and looking frightened; and one very wet, very pale, very shaken-looking Easterner who stumbled forward and collapsed onto the floor at Savn’s feet.

At that moment, as if Vlad’s weight were enough to shake the entire manor, the floor began to vibrate. Savn looked around, but, for a moment, nothing happened. And then there was the sudden pop of displaced air, and Savn was looking at His Lordship and the Jhereg assassin, standing not ten feet away from him. His Lordship seemed very tall, with his hands out in front of him as if to touch the air, while the Jhereg crouched on the balls of his feet, holding a long, gleaming knife before him.

And there was a feeling Savn had never had, but could not possibly mistake for anything else: the knife in the Jhereg’s hand was certainly Morganti.

I’m gonna marry me a bandit,

I’m gonna marry me a bandit,

Rich and free is how I’ve planned it.

Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

Step on out ...

Savn grabbed Polyi with his free hand and pulled her back against the wall. Vlad remained where he was, on his hands and knees, looking up at His Lordship and the Jhereg assassin, who stood about ten feet away, motionless. The pair of jhereg took positions on either side of Vlad, and everyone waited.

Then Vlad slowly rose to his feet. He seemed to have some trouble standing, but managed. The jhereg flew up to land on either shoulder. Savn noticed that Vlad held a flask in his right hand.

“Careful,” said His Lordship. “He’s probably not hurt as badly as—”

“Shut up,” said the Jhereg.

“Tsk,” said Vlad. “No squabbling, now. It’s unseemly. I have something for you, Loraan.” He started forward, and there was a flash. Polyi screamed, but the knife didn’t strike Vlad; it struck the flask in his hand.