It’s a lot easier to do than it is to talk about. The magic part, the technique, was being handled for me; all I had to do was focus my thoughts, and, at the same time, keep my mind open and alert for contact. That’s all. Yeah.
I made sure my breathing was slow and even—in through the nose, out through the mouth, not how you play an instrument, but like when practicing witchcraft. After all, witchcraft is nothing more than a means of controlling psychic energy the way sorcery is means of controlling amorphia. But then, sometimes you blend them, and strange things happen. I’ve seen that happen before—if you hang around people like Morrolan, you see that sort of thing.
That was the principle underlying the whole thing, really—sometimes if you’re expecting someone to use one skill or another, and he comes back with a combination …
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
At the time, I stood in front of three Jhereg mucky-mucks and three sorcerers, controlling powerful psychic and sorcerous forces, and tried to keep my mind open and relaxed. And I managed, and, except for being a bit shaky at the beginning, I even made it look easy. Pretty impressive, don’t you think?
Just don’t ask me about that middle part, because I’m still not sure what happened.
I lost sight of what those in the room were doing; the amulet was off, Loiosh was outside, and I wasn’t even paying attention to what was going on around me. Kragar’s words about being over-trusting clapped at the door, and I told them firmly that I wasn’t home. Which was pretty much true.
Loiosh tried to tell me something, then, but I had no concentration to spare for him.
And I felt it—a hint, like a whispering. I willed it to become clearer, like when you can almost hear something and you strain to hear it better and it doesn’t work; only this did. That’s what I like about magic—things like straining to hear better actually work. And somewhere in the distance, the euphonium changed its tune; began to play something soft and soothing. What had it been playing before? I have no idea, I’d had no attention to spare. Didn’t now, either, really—but I’m giving it to you as I recall it, which I’m sure bears at least some relationship to what happened.
Don’t demand too much, all right?
Look, let’s make this short: It worked. As I stood there, I felt the stirring in my brain as of someone reaching me, only, well, it wasn’t someone reaching me. It was just there. Like a voice without a voice, if you will. Somewhere, I became aware that there was an odd silence, and realized I’d stopped playing.
I put the instrument down and looked at the Demon. “The orchard on the west side of your home, my lord, has room for three more trees, if they’re placed carefully.”
His face devoid of emotion, he nodded.
I took a deep breath. I only had so long until the effects of the egg wore off. “Who’s next?” I said.
“Do you need to know?” asked Illitra.
I nodded. “I have to focus on someone; I’m not receiving every piece of psychic communication in the Empire. That would be a bit tiring, I think.”
“When you’re—”
“This isn’t going to last long,” I said. “I mean, using the egg is a cheat, because I’m neither a psychic expert nor a sorcery expert, so I need to get this done in a hurry. Let me finish, then I’ll answer your questions. Who’s next?”
“I’m ready,” said the one called Diyann.
“Good then,” I said. “Remember the ten-count, please.”
Diyann concentrated a bit, then nodded. I set mouth and fingers to the euphonium and started playing a tune. At least, I suppose it was a tune. I wasn’t exactly listening, and I certainly wasn’t controlling it. I knew Diyann even less than I knew the Demon, which made it a better test, but, you know, a bit harder. I had to keep my eyes open, to watch him, to stare at him, to imagine myself inside his head.
I didn’t know him; I didn’t have to know him. For that matter, I didn’t want to know him. I just had to focus on him. The music knew him—the spell wove through the air, my lungs, through the instrument, out to him, wrapping itself around him, testing, touching; he wouldn’t know, he wouldn’t feel it; and he wouldn’t like it, later, when he learned what I was doing, how close I came to seeing his thoughts. I’d told the truth, but still, it’s a near-run thing, and no one likes to have his mind read by a stranger.
I’d once almost put a knife into Daymar’s eye for doing that to one of my people, back when I had people. Back when killing was easier.
Never mind, never mind. If this worked, I’d be glad I left him breathing.
Focus. Concentrate. Music, music, almost seeing it, wrapping around his head, getting into his skin drawing invisible lines me to him to somewhere else to me; open. Must be open, don’t make it happen; let it happen.
And, yes, there it was.
Again, I stopped. One thing I hadn’t expected was how quickly it would become tiring. I took a couple of breaths and said, “The new exhibit of psiprints by Rusco is disappointing, but it’s good to see that he’s still taking chances, even so.”
The Jhereg grunted, nodded, and even smiled a little. “I always enjoying seeing someone push himself,” he said. “Very good.”
The sorceress named Radfall glanced at him and they exchanged a nod. Then she went back to glaring at Illitra. I realized later how comical it was; at the time I was too busy concentrating on other things.
“All right, then,” I said, looking at Poletra. “If you’re ready—”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t necessary. I’m convinced.”
“In that case,” I said, “I can—”
That’s as far as I got before the door burst open. Then things, as they say, happened fast.
16
MAKING TESTS OR MAKING ENEMIES
I reached for Lady Teldra, but Illitra made the smallest gesture at me, and my head lolled forward as I pretended I’d suddenly fallen asleep. All part of the plan, you see; something in the back of my mind went, “Ha! Called it!”
Not that hard; there were, after all, only four possibilities: a quick Morganti strike, for which I’d been watching; chains; paralysis; or a sleep spell. They’d gone for the sleep spell. I was fine with that.
But I guess Illitra was of the type who used both a clasp and a pin, because he wasn’t done.
I couldn’t move my arms. Or my legs. The euphonium fell to the floor with a kind of chirrupy ringing sound that, just for a crazy instant, made me wish my friend Aibynn were there to hear it. I really hoped I hadn’t put a dent in Sara’s instrument. I’d feel awful about that. But I could have been paralyzed holding it, which wouldn’t have been any fun either.
My heart could move—it was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. I remember that. Sleep, yes; the obvious spell. But a paralysis spell too—they were taking no chance. They wanted me Morganti, and if the only way to ensure that was to nail me while I was sleeping and paralyzed, well, that’s just what they’d do.
I could talk, too—I suspect deliberately. “And here I trusted you,” I said. Pretending to be asleep, at this point, didn’t gain me much. And besides, I’d been so startled by the paralysis, my eyes had opened on their own.
The Demon glanced at me, but he didn’t reply. He sat back and watched. I concluded he was probably the one who decided on both spells. He knew me too well, that one. I should really put something sharp into some vital portion of his anatomy. Assuming I had the chance.
I remained motionless, because I had no choice in the matter, and my mind raced. I know something of sorcery. I know it isn’t easy to keep someone paralyzed. It takes concentration, and you have to maintain it or the guy’ll slip out.
That’s the thing about sorcery, you see: With witchcraft, it’s all about gathering the energy to execute the spell. With sorcery, there’s all the power you could ever want for anything. The question is, how do you handle it? How do you make it work for you, doing what you want, instead of just dissipating into nothing—or, worse, blowi
ng up in your face, maybe taking a few people you like along with your face?
The word “spell” is misleading, or at least ambiguous.
When someone speaks of a witchcraft “spell,” that’s sort of just a fast way of saying a series of actions that will permit you to gather the power you want for a particular use, and simultaneously attuning it to that use. When someone speaks of a sorcery “spell,” that means a series of actions, or words, or even drawn diagrams, that help you concentrate in the right way to produce a certain effect.
Got all that? I hope so. The lecturer will be asking questions about it tomorrow. Heh. And please don’t ask me about wizardry, because, like they say, if you ask five wizards what the word means you’ll get six answers.
Point is, I knew he was going to have to drop the spell, sooner or later. I once saw Morrolan maintain a paralysis spell for half an hour, while drinking wine and discussing the latest discoveries in natural history, but there aren’t all that many Morrolans lying around. This guy was going to have to drop the spell.
And that gave him a problem, you see.
If he dropped it, there was nothing preventing me from sticking a dagger into his eye. Admittedly, I couldn’t draw Lady Teldra, but I still had plenty of hardware. The object with something like this is to get the guy dead, not have a fight. Which meant that the paralysis spell should only have to last long enough to—
Yeah.
One of the bodyguards pulled a knife, and I knew at once that it was Morganti. I noticed, in a sort of distant way, that it was my favorite kind for shining: a long, slim stiletto. I wondered if he intended to stick it into my left eye, as a sort of ironic salute. They’d studied me well enough to know how I like to work, after all. If it had been me, that’s what I’d have done.
But no, he’d been going for the more standard approach, up under the chin. He struck.
But, you see, I had all of this psychic energy flooding my brain, and there was no point in letting it go to waste. Sometimes you get fancy, sometimes you just do the only thing you can, and if it’s a bit inelegant, well, that’s how it goes.
The blade stopped about five inches from my skin.
“Problems?” I said.
The button-man looked at Poletra, which let me know who he worked for. Not that it mattered. Poletra said to the Demon, “You were right.”
“He may have someone coming,” said the Demon.
“Block is in place,” said Farthia. “No teleports in or out.”
“Necromantic gates?” said the Demon. “He knows at least two people who can pull that off.”
“Covered,” said Radfall. “If someone starts trying to break through, I’ll let you know. It won’t be quick.”
“Goodness me,” I observed. “A lot of magic flying around. I hope no one gets hurt.”
They all ignored me. Of course, it’s what I would have done. I was the target. My job was to die. Nothing I had to say could make any difference.
Now me, I had a whole different take on matters. But even if I couldn’t participate in the discussion, I found it interesting.
“All right,” said Poletra. “Let’s kill his beasts, first.”
“They’re gone,” said someone behind me. “Flew away as we were moving in.”
“I see,” said the Demon. He gave me a speculative look. I could see he had questions; he knew he wouldn’t get answers if he asked them. Then he looked at someone over my right shoulder and said, “How long is his shielding spell going to last?”
“Can’t say,” said the sorcerer called Farthia, who had apparently moved to somewhere behind me. “He’s using pure psychic energy, probably from the hawk’s egg. It’s pretty solid. Might be hours.”
“I can’t hold for hours,” said Illitra.
The Demon frowned. “Did anyone,” he said, “think to bring chains?”
“I have some rope,” said Poletra.
“No good,” said the Demon. “He’s carrying too much edged hardware. We need chains, fetters, manacles, locks.”
“I can have a set here in two minutes, if you’ll drop the teleport block.”
“No,” said the Demon.
“How far out does the block extend?”
“Not far. A couple of hundred yards,” said Farthia.
“Ten minutes then.”
“I can hold him for that long,” said Illitra.
Ten minutes. What could I do in ten minutes? Not much, in fact, what with not being able to move and all.
In the past, I’ve pulled off some capers that depended on exact timing. I was always proud of that. This time, I had been pleased that I didn’t need to know exact timing—that I had like half an hour of slack built into the schedule.
But, you see, I had just squished that egg. My head was filled with psychic energy like it had never been before. And, while I didn’t actually know how to manipulate psychic energy, I am something of an accomplished amateur witch, and psychic energy is what we use.
Which is why I was still alive—I was, quite literally, holding the knife back with my mind. Nice trick, huh? Wouldn’t be able to do it for long, but they didn’t know that. Now, if they hadn’t been so determined to make it Morganti, they could have used that same paralysis spell to stop my heart. I think I could have used that same energy to keep my heart pumping—maybe. If they’d done that and come at me with the knife at the same time, I think I would have had problems. And, certainly, if the first attack had been to kill me instead of to make me fall asleep, they’d have had me before I was aware of it.
But they wanted it Morganti, and I could keep the knife away for a while longer. I was not, in other words, quite as helpless as they thought I was.
“Don’t go thinking he’s helpless,” said the Demon. “I don’t know what he had planned, but I know he planned for this. He always does. Be careful.”
Bastard.
Meanwhile, the enforcer turned suddenly and tried to nail me with the stiletto again, but my grandfather didn’t raise idiots; I’d kept the barrier up.
I hadn’t made any progress beyond just staying alive by the time one of Poletra’s enforcers came in with chains, padlocks, and no expression on his face. So I sat there, unable to move, while they stood me up, as I couldn’t do it myself, and I was oddly pleased that when they did my back straightened; having me sitting there hunched over would have made me feel absurd.
They attached the manacles to the fetters in front of me, and several padlocks went click, click. Then the sorcerer released me, and, at the same time, passed his hands over each one of the locks; without my amulet on, I was able to detect a simple, basic enchantment—because enchanting an object to remain in a certain position is an entirely different matter from keeping a person that way. Like I said before: It’s one thing to cast a spell on an object, another matter entirely to cast it on a person. I mean, without killing him. And by the way, almost everyone I know agrees it’s bad form to kill someone by accident; and if you want to do it on purpose, there are better ways than by deliberately messing up a spell that’s intended to do something else.
“I think we should get him out of here,” said the Demon. “Whatever he had planned must have been set up for this place.”
The older guy, Diyann, who hadn’t said a word this entire time, now said, “Why?”
“I didn’t realize it, but when he set the conditions for the meet, he wanted this exact room, this exact building. I should have caught on before. He might even have done something to my head so I picked this place. If he has something set up, it’s for here. So let’s get him out.”
Look, I never claimed the Demon was an idiot.
They started dragging me toward the door, and that made it time for me to move. There was still all that power running around in my head, but I could feel it diminish. To the left, however, the guy wasn’t trying to stab me anymore. I’ve always preferred those times when no one is trying to stab me.
The two guys hauling me took their job seriously—their
grip on my arms was brutal. I was going to need to get clear of them before anything else. I was considering this when Poletra suddenly said, “Wait.”
They stopped just as they were about to start dragging at me.
“Taltos,” he said. “What’s your game?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say that would be to my advantage, so I didn’t say anything. Rare for me, but it happens from time to time.
We all stood there, motionless, while he tried to see inside my skull; which was kind of funny, considering what we’d just been through. He didn’t manage, however.
“What are you playing at, Taltos?”
I remained mute.
“Your little friends haven’t done anything. Why? You always…” His voice trailed off as he stared at me. “The Demon is right. You have something planned.”
I said, “You can just let me go. We’ll say this never happened.”
“Do you even have any idea why we’re doing this, you fucking Easterner bug?”
Well, yeah I do. I even expected it.
“Feel free to tell me,” I said.
“You know what you did. Everyone knows what you did. And you never learned your place, Easterner. And I hate the hair on your face, and the smirk on your lips. And some of the people you stepped on on the way up were friends of mine. Money? You think money will make up for everything you’ve done? Do you?”