The Book of Jhereg

  I shook the mood off. “Okay,” I said, “start checking it. Let me know as soon as you have something.”

  He nodded, then said, “I heard something interesting today.”

  “Oh, what did you hear?”

  “One of my button-men was talking, and I overheard him say that his girl friend thinks something is wrong with the council.”

  I felt suddenly sick. “Wrong how?”

  “She didn’t know, but she thought it was something pretty big. And she mentioned Mellar’s name.”

  I knew what that meant, of course. We didn’t have much time left. Maybe a day, perhaps two. Three at the most. Then it would be too late. The Demon was certainly hearing rumors by now, too. What would he do? Try to get to Mellar, of course. Me? Would he make another try for me? What about Kragar? Or, for that matter, Cawti? Normally, no one would be interested in them, since it was I who was at the top. But would the Demon be trying for them now, in order to get to me?

  “Shit,” I said.

  He agreed with my sentiments.

  “Kragar, do you know who this fellow’s girl friend is?”

  He nodded. “A sorceress. Left Hand. Competent.”

  “Good,” I said. “Kill her.”

  He nodded again.

  I stood up and took off my cloak. Laying it across my desk, I began removing things from it, and from various places around my person. “Would you mind heading down to the arsenal and picking up the standard assortment for me? I may as well do something useful while we’re talking.”

  He nodded and departed. I found an empty box in the corner and began putting discarded weapons in it.

  “Still ready to protect me, Loiosh?”

  “Somebody has to, boss.”

  He flew over from his windowsill and landed on my right shoulder. I scratched him under the chin with my right hand, which brought my wrist up to eye level. Spellbreaker, wrapped tightly around my forearm, gleamed golden in the light. I had hopes of that chain being able to defend me against any magic I might encounter; and the rest of my weapons, if used properly, gave me a chance of taking out anyone using a normal blade. But it all depended on getting sufficient warning.

  And, as an assassin, one thing kept revolving around in my head: Given time and skill, anyone can be assassinated. Anyone. My great hope, and my great fear, all rolled into one.

  I took a dagger out of the box in front of me and checked its edge—Box? I looked up and saw that Kragar had returned.

  “Would you mind telling me how you keep doing that?” I asked.

  He smiled and shook his head in mock sadness. I looked at him, but learned nothing new. Kragar was about as average a Dragaeran as it is possible to get. He stood just about seven feet tall. His hair was light brown over a thin, angular face over a thin, angular body. His ears were just a bit pointed. No facial hair (which was why I grew a mustache), but other than that it was hard to tell a Dragaeran from a human by looking only at his face.

  “How?” I repeated.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You really want to know?” he asked.

  “Are you really willing to tell me?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. It isn’t anything I do deliberately. It’s just that people don’t notice me. That’s why I never made it as a Dragonlord. I’d give an order in the middle of a battle and no one would pay any attention. They gave me so much trouble over it that I finally told ’em all to jump off Deathgate Falls.”

  I nodded and let it pass. The last part, I knew, was a lie. He hadn’t left the House of the Dragon on his own; he’d been expelled. I knew it, and he knew I knew it. But that was the story he wanted to give, so I accepted it.

  Hell, I had my own scars that I didn’t let Kragar scratch at; I could hardly begrudge him the right to keep me away from his.

  I looked at the dagger that was still in my hand, made sure of the edge and balance, and slipped it into the upside-down spring-sheath under my left arm.

  “I’m thinking,” said Kragar, changing the subject, “that you don’t want Mellar to know you’re involved in this any sooner than you have to.”

  “Do you think he’ll come after me?”

  “Probably. He’s going to have something of an organization left, even now. Most of it will have scattered, or be in the middle of scattering, but he’s bound to have a few personal friends willing to do things for him.”

  I nodded. “I hadn’t planned to advertise it.”

  “I suppose not. Do you have any thoughts yet on how to approach the problem of getting him to leave Castle Black?”

  I added another dagger to the pile of weapons in the “used” box. I picked out a replacement, tested it, and slipped it into the cloak’s lining sheath outside of where my left arm would be. I checked the draw and added a little more oil to the blade. I worked it back and forth in the sheath and continued.

  “No,” I told him, “I don’t have the hint of an idea yet, to tell you the truth. I’m still working on it. I don’t suppose you have anything?”

  “No. That’s your job.”

  “Thanks heaps.”

  I tested the balance on each of the throwing darts, and filled the quills with my own combination of blood, muscle, and nerve poison. I set them aside to dry, discarded the used ones, and looked at the shuriken.

  “My original idea,” I said, “was to convince him that we’d stopped looking for him and then maybe set up something attractive-looking in terms of escape. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that in three days. Damn, but I hate working under a time limit.”

  “I’m sure Mellar would be awfully sorry to hear that.”

  I thought that over for a minute. “Maybe he would, come to think of it. I think I’ll ask him.”

  “What?”

  “I’d like to see him myself, talk to him, get a feel for what he’s like. I still don’t really know enough about him.”

  “You’re nuts! We just agreed that you don’t want to go anywhere near him. You’ll let him know that you’re after him and put him on the alert!”

  “Will he figure that out? Think about it. He must know that I’m working for Morrolan. By now, he is aware that Morrolan is onto him, so he’s probably expecting a visit from Morrolan’s security people. And if he does suspect that I’m after him, so what? Sure, we lose an edge, but he isn’t going to leave Castle Black until he’s ready to, or until Morrolan kicks him out. So what is he going to do about it?

  “He can’t kill me at Castle Black for the same reason that I can’t kill him there. If he guesses that I’m the one who’s going to take him, he’ll guess that I’m revealing it to him so that he’ll bolt, and he’ll just hole up tighter than ever.”

  “Which,” pointed out Kragar, “is exactly what we don’t want.”

  I shrugged. “If we’re going to get him to leave, we’ll have to come up with something weird and tricky enough to force him out no matter how badly he wants to stay. This isn’t going to matter one way or the other.”

  Kragar pondered this for a while, then nodded. “Okay, it sounds workable. Want me to come along?”

  “No thanks. Keep things running here, and keep working on Mellar’s background. Loiosh will protect me. He promised.”

  11

  “When the blameless

  And the righteous die,

  The very gods

  For vengeance cry.”

  THEY SAY THAT THE banquet hall of Castle Black has never been empty since it was built, over three hundred years ago. They also say that more duels have been fought there than in Kieron Square outside the Imperial Palace.

  You teleport in at approximately the center of the courtyard of the Castle Black. The great double doors of the keep open as you approach, and your first sight of the interior of the castle shows you a dimly lit hallway in which Lady Teldra is framed, like the Guardian, that figure that stands motionless atop Deathgate Falls, overlooking the Paths of the Dead, where the real becomes the fanciful—but onl
y by degrees.

  Lady Teldra bows to you. She bows exactly the right amount for your House and Rank, and greets you by name whether she knows you or not. She says such words as will make you to feel welcome, whether your mission be of friendship or hostility. Then, if it be your desire, you are escorted up to the banquet hall. You ascend a long, black-marble stairway. The stairs are comfortable if you are human, a bit shallow (hence, elegant) if you are Dragaeran. They are long, winding, sweeping things, these stairs. There are lamps along the wall that highlight paintings from the long, violent, sometimes strangely moving history of the Dragaeran Empire.

  Here is one done by the Necromancer (you didn’t know she was an artist, did you?), which shows a wounded dragon, reptilian head and neck curled around its young, as its eyes stare through you and pierce your soul. Here is one by a nameless Lyorn showing Kieron the Conqueror debating with the Shamans—with his broadsword. Cute, eh?

  At the top, you may look to the right and see the doors of the actual dining hall. But if you turn to the left, you soon come to a large set of double doors, standing open. There is always a guard here, sometimes two. As you look through, the room makes itself felt only a little at a time. First, you notice the picture that fills the entire ceiling; it is a depiction of the Third Seige of Dzur Mountain, done by none other than Katana e’M’archala. Looking at it, and tracing the details from wall to wall, gives you an idea of just how massive the room really is. The walls are done in black marble, thinly veined with silver. The room is dark, but somehow there is never any problem seeing.

  Only then do you become aware of people. The place is always packed. The tables around the edges, where food and drink are served, are focal points for an endless migration of humanity, if I may use the word. At the far end there are double doors again, these letting out onto a terrace. At other sides are smaller doors which lead to private rooms where you can bring some innocent fool to tell your life story to, if you so choose, or ask a Dragon general if he really had that last counterattack planned all along.

  Aliera uses these rooms often. Morrolan, seldom. Myself, never.

  * * *

  “You know, boss—this place is a friggin’ menagerie.”

  “Very true, my fine jhereg.”

  “Oh, we’re a wit, today; yes, indeed.”

  I shouldered my way through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and sneering at enemies as I went. Sethra Lavode spotted me, and we chatted for a few minutes about nothing. I didn’t really know how to deal with her anymore, so I cut the conversation short. She gave me a warm-despite-the-cold kiss on the cheek; she either knew or suspected, but wasn’t talking.

  I exchanged pleasant smiles with the Necromancer, who then turned her attention back to the Orca noble she was baiting.

  “By the Orb, boss; I swear there are more undead than living in this damn place.”

  I gave a cold stare to the Sorceress in Green, which she returned. I nodded noncommitally at Sethra the Younger, and took a good look around.

  In one corner of the room, the crowd had cleared for a Dzur and a Dragon, who were shouting insults at each other in preparation for carving each other up. One of Morrolan’s wizard-guards stood by, casting the spells that would prevent any serious damage to the head, and laying down the Law of the Castle with regard to duels.

  I continued searching until I spotted one of Morrolan’s security people. I caught his eye, nodded to him, and he nodded back. He slowly drifted toward me. I noted that he did a fair-to-good job of moving through the crowd without disturbing anyone or giving the impression that he was heading anywhere in particular. Good. I made a mental note about him.

  “Have you seen Lord Mellar?” I asked him when he reached me.

  He nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He should be over in the corner near the wine-tasting.”

  We continued to smile and nod as we talked—just a chance meeting of casual acquaintances.

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “Should I be ready for trouble?” he asked.

  “Always. But not in particular at the moment. Just stay alert.”

  “Always,” he agreed.

  “Is Morrolan here at the moment? I haven’t seen him.”

  “Neither have I. I think he’s in the library.”

  “Okay.”

  I began walking toward the wine-tasting.

  I scanned in one direction, Loiosh in the other. He rode on my right shoulder, as if daring anyone to make a remark about his presence. He spotted Mellar first.

  “There he is, boss.”

  “Eh? Where?”

  “Against the wall—see?”

  “Oh, yes. Thanks.”

  I approached slowly, sizing him up. He had been hard to spot because there was nothing particularly distinctive about him. He stood just under seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown and somewhat wavy, falling to just above his shoulders. I suppose a Dragaeran would have considered him handsome, but not remarkably so. He had an air about him, like a jhereg. Watchful, quiet, and controlled; very dangerous. I could read “Do Not Mess With Me” signs on him.

  He was speaking to a noble of the House of the Hawk that I didn’t know, and who was almost certainly unaware that, as he spoke, Mellar was constantly scanning the crowd, perhaps even unconsciously, alert, looking. . . . He spotted me.

  We looked at each other for a moment as I approached, and I felt myself come under expert scrutiny. I wondered how many of my weapons and devices he was spotting. A good number, of course. And, naturally, not all of them. I walked up to him.

  “Count Mellar,” I said. “How do you do? I am Vladimir Taltos.”

  He nodded to me. I bowed from the neck. The Hawklord turned at the sound of my voice, noted that I was an Easterner, and scowled. He addressed Mellar. “It seems that Morrolan will let anyone in these days.”

  Mellar shrugged, and smiled a little.

  The Hawklord bowed to him then, and turned away. “Perhaps later, my lord.”

  “Yes. A pleasure meeting you, my lord.”

  Mellar turned back to me. “Baronet, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  “Not at all.”

  This was going to be different than my dealing with the Dzurlord, Keleth. Unlike him, Mellar knew all the rules. He’d used my title to let me know that he knew who I was—implying that it might be safe to tell him more. I knew how the game was played as well.

  This was a strange conversation in other ways, however. For one thing, it simply isn’t my custom to speak to people that I’m going to nail. Before I’m ready, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I have no desire to give the target any idea who I am or what I’m like, even if he doesn’t realize that I’m going to become his executioner.

  But this was different. I was going to have to get him to set himself up. That meant that I needed to know the bastard better than I’d ever known any other target in my career. And, just to put the honey in the klava, I knew less about him than I did about anyone else I’d ever set out after.

  So, I had to find out a few things about him, and he, no doubt, would like to find out a few things about me; or at least what I was doing here. I thought up and rejected a dozen or so opening gambits before I settled on one.

  “I understand from Lord Morrolan that you acquired a book he was interested in.”

  “Yes. Did he tell you what it was?”

  “Not in detail. I hope he was satisfied with it.”

  “He seemed to be.”

  “Good. It’s always nice to help people.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  “How did you happen to get hold of the volume? I understand that it’s quite rare and hard to come by.”

  He smiled a little. “I’m surprised Morrolan asked,” he said, which told me something. Not much perhaps, but it confirmed that he knew that I worked for Morrolan. File that away.

  “He didn’t,” I said. “I was just curious myself.”


  He nodded, and the smile came on again briefly.

  We made small talk for a while longer, each letting the other be the first to commit himself to revealing how much he knew in a gambit to learn what the other knew. I decided, after a while, that he was not going to be first. He was the one with only a little to gain, so—

  “I understand Aliera introduced herself to you.”

  He seemed startled by the turn of the conversation. “Why, yes, she did.”

  “Quite remarkable, isn’t she?”

  “Is she? In what way?”

  I shrugged. “She’s got a good brain, for a Dragonlord.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. She seemed rather vague, to me.”

  Good! Unless he was a lot sharper than he had any right to be, and a damn good liar (which was possible), he hadn’t realized that she’d been casting a spell as she was speaking to him. That gave me a clue as to his level of sorcery—not up to hers.

  “Indeed?” I said. “What did you talk about?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. Pleasantries.”

  “Well, that’s something, isn’t it? How many Dragons do you know who will exchange pleasantries with a Jhereg?”

  “Perhaps. On the other hand, of course, she may have been trying to find something out about me.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I didn’t say I thought so, just that she may have been. I’ve wondered myself as to her reasons for seeking me out.”

  “I can imagine. I haven’t noticed that Dragons tend toward subtlety, however. Did she seem irritated with you?”

  I could see his mind working. How much, he was thinking, should I tell this guy, hoping to pull information out of him? He couldn’t risk a lie that I would recognize, or I wouldn’t be of any further use to him, and he couldn’t really know how much I knew. We were both playing the same game, and either one of us could put the limit on it. How much did he want to know? How badly did he want to know it? How worried was he?

  “Not on the surface,” he said at last, “but I did get the impression that she might not have liked me. It ruined my whole day, I’m telling you.”