Steven Brust - Iorich

“Vlad, do you know what hap­pens if you do that?”

“Some­thing pret­ty un­pleas­ant for the Jhereg. Do I care?”

“What about for the Em­pire?”

“Do I care about that?”

“And for Zeri­ka?”

“Like she cared how un­pleas­ant it was for Aliera?”

“She did, you know.”

“Stop, Kiera, be­fore you move me to tears. Oh, wait, no, that’s the pain from the beat­ing I got for ask­ing ques­tions about how much she cared.”

“I don’t think that’s why you got beat­en.”

“No, nei­ther do I. I think it was be­cause it’s con­sid­ered rude for East­ern­ers who are al­so Jhereg to go ask­ing ques­tions about the War­lord.”

“Maybe.”

“You have an­oth­er idea?”

“No, just a feel­ing.”

“A feel­ing.”

“The beat­ing. It doesn’t feel right.” I start­ed to make an ob­vi­ous re­mark but she cut me off. “No, lis­ten, Vlad. I’m se­ri­ous. Try to re­con­struct the se­quence in your head.”

“It isn’t that hard. I was ask­ing ques­tions about No­rathar, and—”

“Of whom?”

“Eh? Well, No­rathar, first of all. And Cawti. And a ser­vant in the Palace, who first told me No­rathar was now War­lord.”

She nod­ded. “Go on.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Is it? Where did these Drag­onlords hear about it?”

“I as­sume from the Teck­la. Or, in­di­rect­ly from the Teck­la.”

“That’s what’s both­er­ing me.”

“You didn’t even know about it.”

She didn’t deign to an­swer that. “Imag­ine how they heard it.”

“The Teck­la gos­sips to one of his friends, the Drag­onlord over­hears it—”

“When is the last time you knew of a Drag­on lis­ten­ing to a Teck­la’s gos­sip?”

I shrugged, which sent pain shoot­ing from my rib to the op­po­site shoul­der. “Okay, then the Teck­la men­tions it to some­one who some­one will lis­ten. Snake up a rope, as they say.”

“When did you speak to the Teck­la?”

“Yes­ter­day.”

“So, how long did this all take?”

“Kiera, how long does it take?”

“I’m not say­ing it’s im­pos­si­ble. I’m just sus­pi­cious.”

“What do you think hap­pened in­stead?”

“I would very much like to know.”

“If you’re of­fer­ing to look in­to it for me, you know I’m not go­ing to turn you down.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, cross-​legged, which was on­ly strange when I thought about it lat­er. “I’m not sure,” she said at last. “The fact is, I don’t want to look in­to it, I want to fig­ure it out.”

“I know that one.”

“So, any ideas?”

“Yeah, give up. At least, it’s nev­er worked for me.”

“Vlad—”

“Look, I still think it was just what it seemed to be. How can I fig­ure out what I don’t think hap­pened?”

“Work with me.”

I sighed. “All right, let’s as­sume you’re right. In the first place, if the beat­ing wasn’t a mes­sage not to in­ves­ti­gate the War­lord, then the mes­sage didn’t come across very well, be­cause I have no idea what it might be about.”

“I think we can as­sume they weren’t telling you not to help Aliera.”

“That sounds pret­ty safe.”

“So, what else have you been do­ing that might have of­fend­ed some­one?”

“Hid­ing from the Jhereg. And you know how much Drag­ons hate that.”

“Heh.” Then she said, “No, wait a minute.”

“Kiera, if Drag­onlords start car­ing about Jhereg busi­ness—”

“Vlad, what made you think they were Drag­ons?”

I sighed. “Ev­ery­body is ask­ing me that. Most­ly be­cause if they were Jhereg, I’d be dead. And if they were Or­ca, I’d have won.”

“Or­ca? What do Or­ca have to do with this?”

I waved it away. “If they weren’t Drag­onlords, who do you think they were?”

“I think they were Jhereg.”

“Then why didn’t they—”

“Be­cause they weren’t hired to kill you, just to beat you.”

“By whom?”

“The Left Hand,” she said.

Iorich

10

Q: Please state your name and house.

A: Efrin, Teck­la.

Q: Where do you live?

A: Nowhere. I used to live in Tir­ma.

Q: Ad­dress the Court as “my lord.” You say you live nowhere, how is that pos­si­ble?

A: My home was burned down on the same day my wife, my son, and my daugh­ters were mur­dered by butch­ers in uni­form.

Q: The wit­ness is re­mind­ed to ad­dress the Court as “my lord.” How is it you weren’t there when it hap­pened?

A: I was tak­ing the mule and the keth­na to Nu­vin’s, to keep them safe from the mon­sters.

Q: The wit­ness is re­mind­ed for the last time to ad­dress the Court with re­spect, and speak of the Im­pe­ri­al sol­diers—

A: Im­pe­ri­al mon­sters. [wit­ness is re­moved]

“All right,” I said at last. “Tell me about it.”

“How much do you know about the Left Hand of the Jhereg, Vlad?”

“Last time we spoke, about as much as you, and you knew noth­ing.”

“That was sev­er­al years ago. You made me cu­ri­ous. I’ve been learn­ing things.”

“Then maybe it’s time to fill me in on what you’ve learned?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have—”

“That isn’t fun­ny.”

“Yes it is.”

“Uh, all right. It is. But tell me any­way.”

She nod­ded. “You know how they start­ed?”

“I’ve heard sto­ries. Sor­cer­ess­es ex­pelled from dif­fer­ent Hous­es for il­le­gal sor­cery band­ing to­geth­er, that sort of thing.”

She nod­ded. “From me, as I re­call. Well, they’re pret­ty much true, as far as I can tell. And, yes, they’re in­volved in il­le­gal mag­ic; ev­ery­one knows that, and it’s even true.”

“Rare for some­thing ev­ery­one knows,” I sug­gest­ed.

“But they’re al­so—I don’t know how to say this with­out in­sult­ing your cul­ture, Vlad.”

“I have a pret­ty thick skin.”

“They have cus­toms like an East­ern cult.”

“Um. I’m less in­sult­ed than I am con­fused.”

“East­ern mag­ic—at least, in rep­uta­tion—is se­cre­tive, yes?”

I thought about my grand­fa­ther and start­ed to ob­ject, then re­mem­bered the oth­er witch­es I’d en­coun­tered, and grunt­ed an agree­ment.

“The Left Hand is like that, com­plete with oaths of si­lence and obe­di­ence and rit­uals of mem­ber­ship.”

“Huh. Doesn’t sound very busi­nesslike.”

“That was my thought, too.”

“If the Jhereg tried to op­er­ate that way, they’d be laughed—”

“We used to.”

“What?”

“Be­fore the In­ter­reg­num.”

“You’re kid­ding.”

“Nope.” She ex­tend­ed her hand and crossed her mid­dle fin­gers and in­toned, “For the breath of this life I bind my­self to pro­tect my pro­tec­tors, to pro­vide for my providers, to—”

“You’re kid­ding!”

She shook her head. “Not too many laughed about it, as it hap­pened.”

“Good thing I wasn’t around then. I’d have laughed, and chances are they wouldn’t have cared for that.”

“Chances are,” she agreed.

“All right, so they wal­low in child­like su­per­sti­tion in be­tween mak­ing peo­ple un­re­viv­ifi­able and eaves­drop­ping on pri­vate con­ver­sa­tions. What else?”

“All sorts of ar­cane rules.”

“Rules. The kind that are good for busi­ness, or the kind that in­ter­fere with busi­ness?”

“Some of one, some of the oth­er, and some that de­pend.”