Steven Brust - Hawk

When he passed away from acute exhaustion, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation, the wand, with all of his other possessions, went to his only surviving relative: his nephew, Daymar. I found out about it many years ago, and wondered, even then, if it might be useful someday.

* * *

One end of the case had a cover. I removed it, and slid the contents out: a narrow rod that appeared to be made of glass, though it wasn’t.

“That’s it, Vlad.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

I nodded.

“Why do you want it?”

I looked at him. That look was sending a message, a reminder, that I had already told him all that I wanted to tell him. The message, as it happened, didn’t get through; he waited.

I sighed. “Why do you think?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to imagine. With that amulet on, you won’t be able to detect anything.”

“I know.”

“Will you take the amulet off?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You don’t have to guess.”

“Unless you worry about falling asleep suddenly.”

“Yes, I do. The fear of it keeps me awake at night.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Ah, I see. Yes. The fear of falling asleep keeps you awake, so you aren’t worried about falling asleep. Yes. That’s why it’s funny. I see what you did there.”

“Thank all the gods for that.”

“And you still won’t tell me?”

“When it’s all over, I’ll tell you.”

“What if you’re dead?”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“No, I suppose you won’t.”

“Thank you for the loan,” I said. “I should be done with it by nightfall tomorrow, one way or the other.”

“All right. Is there anything else you need?”

“A good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

“And with, you know, the other thing.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to go, and I said, “Daymar.”

He turned back. “Hmmm?”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and walked out, shoulders a little stooped, his tread heavy. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.

“Cut it out, Boss.”

“What. I’m in danger. I could be killed. I can’t even look on the bright side?”

I sat down, leaned against a wall, and closed my eyes. A last meal at Valabar’s would be nice. A last talk with my son would be even nicer. And Cawti. What was I-no, stop it, you idiot. All of those are out of the question anyway. Just think how good it’ll be when that becomes your biggest problem, Vlad. So forget the crap and make things work.

Heh. Now Loiosh had me so well trained I was doing it myself.

I went over it all in my head, yet again, looking for things that might go wrong and figuring out what to do about them; or as many of them as possible.

And, you know, it wasn’t that bad. Yeah, there were places I was playing probabilities instead of near certainties, but I had contingencies for most of those.

“I think we have a shot, Loiosh.”

“I think so too, Boss. But I don’t like it that I’m not in the room.”

“Actually, that works out better for us.”

“Yeah, you said that before. But I don’t see how.”

“It means you can be where I need you to be.”

“Yeah, I know. But where is that, and why?”

“Outside. Holding that, and being ready to use it.”

I pointed to the neat little clear ball that Morrolan had given me: a standard, military-issue smoke bomb, only mildly sorcerous, and very reliable.

“So you’re afraid of an attack from outside the room?”

“Exactly. And if that happens, I’ll be climbing up a cliff on a ladder built into the rock, and be in no condition to defend myself.”

“Got it,” he said.

Deragar clapped and opened the door. “Lord Taltos, someone is here to see you.”

“The most stunningly beautiful Issola you’ve ever seen?”

He nodded. “Expecting her, huh. Well, my opinion of you just climbed a few notches.”

“Good. Now I can sleep nights. So I don’t need the wand.”

“Wand?”

“Never mind. Send her in.”

“I will.”

I stood up. “Hello, Sara,” I said. “Thank you for coming by.”

She wrapped me in a hug, then kissed the top of my head.

* * *

I’ve heard a lot of people say music is magical, and a few say magic is musical. I don’t know. Both sound like the sort of clever things people say to make their listeners nod wisely, but when you pick it up to look at it, it crumbles. Or maybe I’m wrong; that isn’t my area.

But it is true-or at least, Sethra told me, and that’s close enough to true for most purposes-that music was one of the first things that magic was applied to, and that the magical arts have been enhanced by music for almost as long. By now, some have even gotten pretty good at it.

So, yeah, even if you don’t buy into stupid aphorisms, there are a lot of enchantments for music, and a lot of musical instruments that carry enchantments. Most Issola had a few, and Lady Saruchka was no exception. She had mentioned the ensorcelled euphonium as an instrument she had no use for: no interest in playing it, nor in being in the sort of orchestra that required one. For the most part, she played instruments that permitted her to sing at the same time, and I’d never known her to play with more than four other musicians at the same time. She’d told me once that it wasn’t the number of musicians that mattered, it was the size of the stage; she liked what she called intimate venues, which I guess means small.

The most basic enchantment that can be put on a musical instrument is, of course, the ability to play it. As I understand it, the more musical skill you have, the better it works, even more if you already know how to play that particular instrument. Or something like that.

And, since we’re doing the whole balance thing, the better you are at playing an instrument, the better you can use any spell that uses the instrument to enhance sorcery, the better your sorcery will work; and the better you are at sorcery, well, you know.

Sara had acquired-she was a little vague as to how-a euphonium that did both; it had a spell that permitted anyone to play it competently, and it had an enchantment that permitted fine control of psychic phenomena; and I imagine that now you’re getting an idea of why I wanted it.

When you don’t have the skill you need, you hire someone who does; and when you can’t do that, you find a way to fake it. Some days I think that explains most of my career.

* * *

“You’re welcome,” she said, handing me an instrument case. “Here is what you asked for.”

I took it, but didn’t open it. “Have a chair.”

She did, and looked around. “This is where you’re living now?”

I sat down facing her, relaxed, and crossed my legs. She sat upright, but on her it looked relaxed. “I’d put it as staying, not living. Just for another day.”

“Oh?”

“Then I should have things settled.”

“What things?”

“If it works, I won’t have to run anymore.”

“Vlad, really?”

“Yes.”

“You might get out of trouble with the Jhereg?”

“There’s a good chance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You mean, afterward, instead of running? Well, I thought-”

“You know very well that isn’t what I meant.”

I sighed. “It’s complicated, and involves some internal Jhereg matters, and arcane magic that I don’t understand, and Imperial trade laws that I understand even less.”