Steven Brust - Athyra

“Oh, you’re safe until he’s gotten me, I’m sure. But you’d better think about what happens after that. Or have you? Maybe I’ve got it backwards. Maybe you’re already planning to do him. I’m sorry I won’t be around to watch it.”

“It’s not working, Easterner,” said His Lordship. “Ishtvan, he’s getting desperate. Maybe he really is hurt. Why don’t you just finish him? I’ve got all the protections up; I don’t think he can do anything about it.”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “Why don’t you, Ishtvan? Finish me, then he’ll finish you. Why don’t you ask him to finish me? Afraid you will lose the wages, my lord? Of course not, because you’ve already been paid, and you know very well you’re going to have to kill him any—”

There was still another flash, and Savn saw His Lordship, hands now raised high above his head. At the same time, Vlad gasped.

“Vlad, are you all right?”

“Barely.”

“Isn’t there something you can do?”

“I don’t carry poison darts anymore, and I don’t have the strength to throw a knife. You have any ideas?”

Another flash of light illuminated the scene. The assassin had moved around to Vlad’s right, but was still keeping his distance. Vlad had moved a foot or so to his left, and was still swinging the gold chain. Loiosh gripped Savn’s shoulder, and occasionally squeezed with his talons. Savn wished he knew what Loiosh was trying to tell him. It would almost be funny if some brilliant idea for escaping were locked up in that reptilian brain but the poor thing couldn’t communicate it. But of course that couldn’t be the case, or Loiosh would have told Vlad. Unless, perhaps, it was something Vlad wouldn’t approve of. But what wouldn’t Vlad approve of if it would get him out of this?

Well, Vlad apparently wouldn’t approve of Savn doing anything risky, whereas Loiosh probably wouldn’t care. But what could he, Savn, do, anyway? He could hardly attack an assassin, barehanded, in the dark. And to do anything to His Lordship was both impossible and unthinkable.

You’re so convinced that your Baron Smallcliff is invincible and perfect that you d stand there and let him kill you rather than raising a finger to defend yourself.

Vlad had been right about that, just as he’d been right about the assassin, and the Morganti weapon, and even about His Lordship being ...

He could imagine the jhereg saying, “You’ve finally figured it out, fool.” Because he had figured it out, only now he didn’t know if he had the courage to do anything about it.

You’re so convinced that your Baron Smallcliff is invincible and perfect that you’d stand there and let him kill you rather than raising a finger to defend yourself.

It had rankled because it was true, and now, when he thought he knew what he could do about it, it rankled even more.

“Savn, don’t,” said Vlad. “Just get out of here.” Savn ignored him. He knelt down into the slowly flowing water and filled up the lamp. “Savn!”

His sister whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Wait,” he whispered back. “Don’t move.” He stood up, and as best he could, walked quickly and firmly toward where he had last seen His Lordship, holding before him the lamp filled with Dark Water, stagnant and contained. When stagnant and contained, it can be used to weaken and repel the undead....

His Lordship’s voice came from directly in front of him. “What are—Ishtvan! Kill this Teckla brat for me.” Savn felt his hand shaking, but he continued walking forward.

The Jhereg answered, “I can’t see anymore.”

“Then make a light. Hurry! I can’t do anything while—”

“The Easterner—”

His Lordship made an obscene suggestion concerning the Easterner, which Savn noticed indifferently as he continued to walk forward. He hardly blinked when a soft light filled the room, and, oddly enough, it hardly mattered that he could now see His Lordship, about five feet away, walking slowly backward, and glaring.

Savn wondered, in a familiar, detached way, how he could survive an attack by a Jhereg assassin. But the attack didn’t come, because at that instant, Loiosh left Savn’s shoulder.

Savn couldn’t help it—he turned and watched as Loiosh and his mate simultaneously attacked. Evidently, His Lordship’s spells that had kept them away were now gone. Ishtvan snarled and cut at the jhereg with the Morganti dagger. He turned, and apparently realized, at the same time as Savn did, that he was offering his back to Vlad, and that he was within range of the Easterner’s sword.

He tried to spin back, but it was already too late. It made Savn wince to see Vlad, in his condition, execute a maneuver so demanding, but the Easterner managed it—the point of his sword penetrated deeply into the assassin’s back right over his heart. At the same time, Polyi was shrieking—“Savn!” and Vlad continued forward, falling limply onto his face as the assassin screamed and the Morganti dagger went flying into the air—

—and the lamp was struck from Savn’s hand to land and shatter on the floor. He turned in time to see His Lordship recovering from delivering a kick that must have been very difficult for him, judging by the look of concentration and effort on his face, and Savn felt an impossible combination of pride and shame in having caused His Lordship such distress. He wondered what His Lordship would do now, but—

—he didn’t know, because the assassin’s light-spell faded, and the room was suddenly pitched into darkness. It seemed that proximity to the Dark Water had taken His Lordship’s magical powers, but hadn’t actually hurt him—he could still kick. Which meant he might also be able to simply grab Savn and throttle him. Savn started to back away, but he was struck a blow that knocked him onto his back and caused him to crack his head sharply on the floor.

He decided he was glad he hadn’t hit his head harder, when he realized that he had hit his head harder, that he was sick and dizzy and was almost certainly about to die, and, worst of all, he wasn’t certain that he didn’t deserve to.

It came to him that he had once again achieved the state of witchcraft, this time by the accident of bumping his head. He didn’t have anything to do, but it was much more pleasant here, flying over walls, and cavorting in the air like a disembodied jhereg. There were terrible things happening to his body, and he had done terrible things himself, but they didn’t matter anymore. He could—

There, before him, was His Lordship, grinning a terrible grin, his hand looming large, ready to smash him down as Savn would swat an insect.

I am not an insect, cried Savn in a voice no one could hear as, in helpless rage, he flew right into His Lordship’s face, defying him, and waiting for his consciousness to end, for the sleep from which there is no waking.

He felt something break, but it didn’t seem to matter, even though it was himself. He hoped somehow Vlad would survive, but he didn’t see—

—he didn’t see anything, because the room was dark, and his thoughts, all that remained, were becoming scattered, misty, and going away.

What he asked was impossible.

Not physically impossible; the evil thing spun and twirled right in front of her, and plucking it out of the air would be no problem at all, even in the total darkness. She could feel exactly where it was all along its path through the air. But it was still impossible. To touch such a thing was—

But her mate was insistent. Her lover was saying that if she didn’t, the Provider would die. She didn’t understand how this could be, or why it would be too late if she didn’t do it now, as the evil thing reached the top of its arc and began to fall to the ground.