Dragon

"Take a length of green, bendable wood," said Virt. "Put a string to it, and you can use it to shoot those things a long distance. Longer, even uphill, than we can throw our javelins downhill."

"A shield would be nice to have along about now," remarked Aelburr.

"We just going to stand here and take it?" I asked.

"I doubt it. Most likely—"

She was interrupted by the juice-drum. "I recognize that one," I said.

" 'Time to Be Alive,' " said Virt. "We're going to charge them."

"Oh, good," I said.

"Any other ideas?" she said, standing up but remaining hunched over.

I waited for the order to charge. If I got myself killed doing this, not only would it be annoying to me, but Morrolan would be irritated that I risked myself this way instead of doing my job. There just wasn't any good reason to be here. I glanced over at Aelburr and found that he was looking at me. I managed part of a smile and turned my eyes back to the enemy.

Crown walked in front of us, about ten feet down the hill, appearing utterly unconcerned by the javelins falling around him. He waved his sword.

"Give them a good yell as you go," he said. And added, "Charge!"

Well, it was better than just lying there waiting to get a hole punched in me.

So I charged down the hill, sword in hand, and then I was back in my tent with a familiar face looking down at me.

"We were sent help," said Virt. "Otherwise I don't think we'd have made it."

"What sort of help?"

"A platoon of cavalry from one side, three companies of heavy infantry from the other."

"We grind them up?" I asked.

"No, but we escaped."

"Everyone all right?"

"Aelburr took a scrape in the shoulder, but no one got it as bad as you. And Napper had himself a fine old time."

"Oh?"

"He laid about in grand style. I think he took out six of them all by himself."

"Maybe he'll get a decoration."

"Yeah, and we both know what he'd say about that, don't we?"

I grunted.

She said, "How are you doing?"

"I feel fine."

"Yeah, well, they've got you pretty doped up."

"Do they? Really? I feel normal."

"You wouldn't say that if you could see your eyes rolling around."

Now that she mentioned it, I was having a bit of trouble focusing. I said, "My back feels wet. I'm not still bleeding, am I?"

"No blood. They got this gunk all over your back, for the burns."

"Burns? From what?"

Loiosh butted in at that point, saying, "Boss? You okay? You've been out cold forever."

"I think I'm all right. What happened?"

"I don't remember. You got hit by something. A spell. I must not have seen it coming."

"That's two of us, I imagine."

I said, "Where am I?"

"In camp. Top of Dorian's Hill."

"Did we delay their attack?"

"What?"

"The expedition. Burning up their biscuits. Did it—"

"That was days ago, Vlad."

"Oh. My head is scrambled."

Virt said, "You got caught by some spell, straight in the back. You don't remember?"

"I don't remember anything. Well—"

"Well what?"

"I don't remember anything that actually happened. I think."

"You think?"

"Was there a little girl on the battlefield? You know, a child?"

"No, I think I can safely say there wasn't."

"Then I can safely say I don't remember anything about the battle."

"That's probably just as well, then."

I tried to fill in the intervening time. Presently I said, "So their trap didn't work."

"So far, at least. And if Sethra or Brigade or whoever was planning a countertrap, that didn't work either. We're expecting a night attack, though."

"Don't wake me up for it."

"I won't."

"I was kidding."

"I wasn't. You're out of it tonight. Physicker's orders. He also says, by the way, that you're to stay on your stomach all night. I hope you can sleep that way."

"I always enjoy the chance to learn a new skill," I told her.

"As for fighting," she said, "we'll see how you're doing tomorrow."

"If there is a tomorrow."

"Oh, there will be. Somewhere. Now excuse me. The others want to know how you're doing."

"I'm touched."

"If you need help, you can … "

Her voice trailed off. What had she been about to say? See the physicker? Then why didn't she complete the sentence? Because the physicker wouldn't be able to do anything more than he'd done? Just how bad was I hurt, anyway?

"Just how bad am I hurt, anyway?"

"You'll live," she said.

"That's good to know. What else can you tell me?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. Well, thanks for coming by."

"You're welcome."

She left me alone.

"What happened, Loiosh?"

"I don't know any more than you, Boss. Whatever got you, I caught a bit of it myself. I don't remember."

"Are you all right?"

"I think so."

"I don't like it that I got hit in the back, though. I mean, was I run-ningl"

"Maybe, but I don't think you're smart enough for that. More likely you got turned around during the fight. Or—" He broke off.

"Or what?" I said.

"Well, it's possible it was our own people. I mean, if they were counterattacking, reinforcing us, and using spells … "

"Right."

Over the next several months, by the way, I started to remember more and more of it. I eventually got a pretty clear memory of getting hit: the feeling of having my muscles contract almost to the point of breaking my own arms and legs; the feeling that my eyes were trying to pop out of my head; the peculiar sensation of every hair on my body suddenly standing up; and watching the battle progress around me as I slowly fell over. But I still have no memory at all of what led up to it—the time between the beginning of the charge and the point where I was hit is completely gone.

All of which is to say that if you want war stories to tell your grandchildren, don't get hit by sorcery.

There, you ask for a story and you get useful advice out of the deal.

At the time, however, I remembered none of it, and that was scary, too. "Wish I knew how bad I was hurt, Loiosh."

"What good would it do to know?"

"I'm scared anyway. It would be nice to know if I had cause to be."

"Well, Boss, if we can judge by what remains of your jerkin, your back got hurt pretty bad."

I thought that over and decided I didn't care for it, and I suppose I fell asleep for a while, but I didn't sleep well; I had all sorts of odd dreams.

"Got it," said Daymar into my mind and into the silence of Fornia, his honor guard, and his sorcerers all staring at me and waiting for me to do something. Relative silence, I should say; there was still a battle moving toward me. Had Daymar actually succeeded? Pulled the information out of Fornia's mind, just like that? Well, I had to believe it.

"Let's have it, then," I said.

"Wait!" said Fornia to those of his honor guard who were moving forward to search me. They stopped and looked at him, while he stared at Daymar, then at me, then back at Daymar. He had evidently felt Daymar invade his mind and he had evidently taken it personally. I wondered if that had pushed him over the edge—if he would now order us killed out of hand. Hell, I would have.

The trouble was, that wouldn't help him any, and would undo the good fortune—from his perspective—of my having arrived here, because, of course, my being here would likely draw Morrolan; so the Easterner's showing up, while puzzling, and thus worrisome, had fit in so well with his plan to have a face-to-face meeting with Morrolan in the middle of the battle and engage him so he could—Oh, that's what was going on.

"Good work, Daymar," I said aloud. And to Fornia I said, "You don't know exactly what it is, either. And you're only guessing about how to bring it out. That was a possibility that hadn't occurred to me."

Ori stared back and forth between me and Fornia, and the other sorcerers and the bodyguards also seemed uncertain about what had just happened and what to do about it. Fornia said, "I suspect killing you here will draw him to me anyway; I think I no longer need you alive."

Now, that was unfortunate for me.

I said, "Remember, I surrendered."

"Spies can be executed."

"I'm in uniform," I said, remembering from somewhere that that might matter.

"Then you'll look properly military when—" He broke off, staring over my shoulder.

"Boss, don't look now, but we've got company."

"Who?"

"Napper."

"What?"

In spite of his warning, I looked. And there, about fifty yards away, was Napper, sauntering up the hill, come, no doubt, to get in on the action. Did this change anything? Well, yeah, it did change one thing—it put my back to Ori, and that caused a panic that, I suppose, was inevitable after what I'd been through the day before, so I spun back and almost set off a melee right there. I can't believe, with Napper showing up right then, that Fornia would have done anything except have us killed at once if there hadn't been sudden cries from the honor guard—Morrolan's band was on the verge of breaking through—thus giving him other things to think about than this pesky Easterner and his odd friends.

He addressed those of his guard who had been about to bind and search me, and said, "Guard them, all of them. Kill them the instant they do anything suspicious," then he turned back to his war.

That was good. Twice in two days would have been uncalled-for, even if I lived through it.

I almost hadn't lived through it the first time. I even dreamed that I didn't. I half remember several of the dreams, but in one that I remember most of I was sent over Deathgate Falls, and in the Halls of Judgment (which looked a lot different in my dream than they did when I'd actually been there) the Gods all thought it was the greatest joke in the world that I was asking to be admitted, and in the confusion of the dream I tried to explain that I deserved to be admitted as a Dragon, and they just couldn't stop laughing. It sounds funny to tell, but I woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat, breathing hard, and shaking.

I got out of bed because I suddenly couldn't stand to be lying still. I walked out into the quiet of the camp; the mountain air was cold on my chest, but felt good on my back, which was hot, like I had a localized fever.

"Where are you going, Boss?"

"I'm not sure. I need to walk."

"The physicker's tent is this way."

"I've gotten plenty of physic."

I slipped past the pickets, almost out of habit. "Am I going the right way, Loiosh?"

"What do you mean, Boss? You're not heading toward the enemy, but you're going downhill."

"That's what I meant. I wouldn't want to present myself to the enemy just yet."

"Then where are we going? Are we finally getting out of here like sensible people?"

"I'm not sure."

"Because if we are, you've forgotten a few things."

I made my way down into the darkness, my eyes straining to pick out a path from the bits of light from distant campfires. Loiosh landed on my shoulder.

"Ouch"

"Sorry, Boss. You should have a jerkin on."

He was probably right. I had no jerkin, no cloak, no boots, no sword, Spellbreaker was back next to my bed, and the only weapons I carried were two paper-thin throwing knives concealed in the seams of my trousers. I hadn't been out of doors this naked since I joined the Jhereg, and there was something exhilaratingly spooky about it. It was a cleaner fear than what I'd felt in battle, and the pain of stepping on rocks with my bare feet was clean, too, and so was the cold. I hadn't realized how much I needed to feel clean.

I slipped past another line of pickets, effortlessly, and for a while I entertained the illusion that I was the wind itself, that I didn't feel the cold, rather I was the cold, and none could see where I went, but they would feel me pass by a prickling of the hairs on their necks. I was naked but invisible, helpless but omnipotent, and I was lost in the world I all but owned. Certainly, it was false; in the streets of Adrilankha I owned the world, but this was a desert filled with soldiers; the feeling was different, and illusory, but it was there. I made no sound, and, had anyone been looking, I don't think he'd have seen more than my breath in the night air. My awareness of those around me came, above all, from the faint sounds of breathing, and I knew that Loiosh, as silent as I, was above me in the night, in the wind.

A single bush, like a sentry, waves to say with a laugh that it, at least, sees me, and I wave back though my arm doesn't move; a pebble between my toes is a burden which I reject, so it rolls away in search of its own reason for being; my time is filled with empty space, and my space with empty time, and my legs can't move so I must float float float through the armies of the world, clashing forever on the battlefield of my mind where all is in motion and nothing moves and the Cycle looms overhead, and at its top is the Dragon, glaring, plotting, scheming, protecting its young by devouring the souls who are cast loose to roam the night and come to me for protection that I cannot give, for I am in no place but everywhere, and there is no end to the night that is me.

How long I walked, or where, I don't know; nor do I know how far my mind wandered on a journey of its own, but somewhere in the night real thoughts returned, and practical matters impinged on my consciousness and brought me a few steps closer to home.

I found that I was thinking, for example, about just how big Morrolan's army was. My own unit—I couldn't help thinking of it that way—was one company out of scores in one brigade out of dozens. I passed tent after tent, all the same, all full of Dragons and Dzur and Teckla who would be going out the next day to cut and hack at Dragons and Dzur and Teckla on the other side. I walked through the camps as one might travel in a dream, apart from it all, and it came to me that the power I held as a Jhereg was nothing to the power of a Dragonlord, who could, on a whim, command so many to do so much. If I had such power, how would I use it? And what would it do to me? Did that explain why Morrolan was the way he was? There are stories that, in his youth during the Interregnum, he had entire villages put to the sword in sacrifice to the Demon Goddess that she might grant him knowledge of the Elder Sorcery. If the stories were true, did I now understand why? Was it that, having such power, he used it merely because he could? And would I be the same way, given the chance?

I came to the river and turned north, walking by still more camps, and supplies, and pickets to whom I was invisible. That was my own power, and I was using it, I suppose, because I could, and maybe there was my answer. To my right were several large pavilions, some with lights showing within. Perhaps Morrolan and Sethra were meeting even now to plan the destiny of the thousands assembled here—because they could.

And what of Virt, and Napper, and Aelburr? They were all volunteers, professional soldiers, who fought—why? Because if they died bravely they would receive high status in the Paths of the Dead? Or have a chance to be reincarnated as a commander who could lead others into the sorts of battles that led to their own deaths? That didn't account for it, but I couldn't get any closer.

None of my answers satisfied me.

I stepped out into the river, just a few feet, and felt the bitter current against my legs and the sand between my toes. I stood there, alone amongst thousands, and only then became aware that my knees were trembling, and that I felt light-headed, and that my arms were without strength. Whatever the sorcery had done to my mind, which was, apparently, a great deal, it had also taken a lot out of me physically. I wondered if I'd be able to fight the next day. I began to shiver uncontrollably, but I stayed where I was. It would be wonderfully ironic if I passed out from weakness and drowned in two feet of water.

"You have any answers, Loiosh?"

"To what, Boss?"

"To why Dragons are the way they are."

"That's easy, Boss: They can't help it."

Well, there was maybe something to that, but it was hardly satisfying. When I thought about it, the differences in character among Morrolan and Aliera and Virt and Napper, to pick four, were greater than the similarities. What was the common thread? Put that way, the answer was obvious: Once having decided on a course, motivated by greed, or by anger, or by the highest moral outrage, they attacked with a ruthlessness that would excite envy—or disgust—in a hardened Jhereg operative. I tried to decide if this were inherently a bad thing, and I could come to no conclusion. Fortunately, no conclusion was demanded of me.

I did, however, come to two other conclusions. The first being that, if one were forced into the service of a Dragonlord, one was better off serving a Dragonlord who was better at being ruthless than the other Dragonlord. The second being that the river was bloody damned cold, and that it was surpassing stupid for me to be standing in it when I hardly had the strength to remain upright.

"I bid you a pleasant evening, Lord Taltos."

The voice came out of nowhere, but I must have subconsciously known there was someone around, because it didn't startle me.

"Who is it?"

I turned around. At first I couldn't see her, but then she came up to the edge of the water and nodded to me, and then I recognized her. It took me a moment to reconstruct where I had met her before, but it came back to me at last.

"You're the Necromancer," I said.

"What are you doing?" she asked me.

I considered the question carefully, then said, "Dreamwalking, I think."

Her head tilted. She was very, very thin, wispy, and her skin was so pale it almost glowed against the darkness and against the black of her garments. "I didn't know Easterners did that," she said.

"Neither did I."

"I sense that you've been injured."

I turned enough to show her my back, then faced her again.

"I understand," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"I understand why you're dreamwalking."

"Ah. But I'm really here, aren't I?"

"How do you mean that?"

Crap. Even while dreamwalking there was only so much mysticism I could take. I said, "I mean that if I drop dead I'll be really dead, and my body will be found here in the morning."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Your body will actually float downriver from here, at least as far as the next bend. If you climb up on the shore—"

I laughed, probably more than it was worth.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Did what?" she said.

"Made me laugh. Brought me back."

"Oh. Well, yes. You may have to fight tomorrow."

"Not the way I'm feeling now."

"Oh? Oh, of course. You were hit hard, weren't you? Come here for a moment."

I did, walking up to the bank until only my ankles were in the river, and she reached out and cradled my face in her hands. Her hands were very, very cold, and I tried not to think about what was touching me. I looked into her eyes, and it seemed she was a long way away, speaking to me from another world. I got the sense that speech for her required effort; she didn't think in words the way I did, she probably thought in—no, I didn't want to consider what forms her thoughts might take; I probably couldn't understand them anyway.

She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, and said, "Go back to your camp and sleep, dream-walker. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Right," I said. "And I'll think this was all a dream."

"Maybe. Maybe it is."

"We've been through that."

"Go back to your tent, Easterner. Go to sleep. Dream of bearded women."

"Excuse me? No, never mind. Don't explain. I don't want to know."

Now that I was myself again, the wind was really cold, especially on my wet legs. And the rocks hurt my bare feet. And I had to work to slip past several sets of pickets, more of them than I remembered from getting there.

"Well, she was pretty weird."

"Who was, Boss?"

"I hope," I said after a moment, "that you're joking, Loiosh."

"Ummmm."

"I've just had a conversation with the Necromancer, Loiosh. A real conversation. Out loud and everything. You really didn't see her?"

"Boss, I didn't see her, I didn't hear her, and I didn't hear you talking. You just walked out into the river, stood there for a while, and walked back."

"Grand," I said. "Just grand. I get myself into the army, stand up in battles I have no business in, get nailed in the back by sorcery, accept an impossible assignment to be carried out in the middle of it all, and then, just to top things off, I have to go have a mystical fucking experience. This is just great."

"Whatever it was, Boss, I think it helped. You're sounding like yourself."

"Oh, thank you so much, Loiosh."

I made it back to the camp, and to my tent, and to my cot, and I remembered to lie down on my stomach, and it was only then that I realized that whatever weakness I'd felt before was, if not gone, at least diminished. I tried to make sense of it, but I must have fallen asleep, because then it was morning, and I got up to the sound of the drum before I remembered that I probably wouldn't have had to. Rascha was outside the tent when I emerged, bare-chested and blinking.

"You all right?" she said.

In spite of everything, I managed to give her a straight answer. "A bit wobbly on my feet, and my back itches, and I could use about another forty or fifty hours of sleep, but yeah, I'm okay."

"Think you can take a spot on the line?"

"Sure."

"Good. We had some casualties."

"Did they attack last night?"

She looked at me. "Just before dawn. Glad we didn't wake you up."

"I think you could have burned the tent down without waking me up."

"Today, I think."

"Hmmm?"

"I think today will settle things."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yes. And our end of it shouldn't be too bad. All we have to do is hold this hill. Unless, of course, the powers-that-be change their minds and have us do something else."

"Holding the hill might be rough enough," I said.

"Maybe. Go get some food in you."

"Good idea," I said.

I went back inside and grabbed my jerkin and inspected it. I found that it no longer had a back—just a big hole, about a foot in diameter, with ugly burn marks around the edges. I started to feel queasy again.

"Boss—"

"Yeah. Impressive, isn't it?"

"What are you going to do for a jerkin?"

"I brought a spare."

"Oh. Good thinking."

I put it on and my back started itching. I filled the ribs and sleeves and the collar from my old shirt, then put a light cloak over it, and made sure that I was properly packed. I ate three biscuits and drank a lot of water, then got myself shaved and cleaned up as best I could.

My knees felt very shaky by then, and I wasn't looking forward to taking a spot on the line. If I'd remembered what I had promised Morrolan I'd do I might have panicked, but my brain was still a bit scrambled and that didn't occur to me until later. The experiences of the night before came back in pieces, and I kept wanting to think of the whole thing as a dream, but I couldn't convince myself, and then I made the mistake of asking Loiosh, who confirmed that at least some of it had actually happened.

When I returned to the tent, I found Rascha sitting with Virt and Aelburr. I sat with them, and soon after that Crown came along. "Morning, soldiers," he said cheerfully. "Today we take them."

Rascha nodded. "What do you think of the earthworks on the southwest side? They got pretty messed up last night."

He nodded. "It wouldn't hurt to build them up again."

Dunn came over then. He said, "Sergeant, I'd like—"

"No," said Crown. "Mora's taking the colors. If she goes down, then you're up. So stick by her. And keep her alive, if you can. You can answer to Dortmond if she shines."

"Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant."

Dunn walked away. I shook my head. "I just don't get it."

Crown looked me up and down. "No, you wouldn't, would you?" He walked off.

"I think," I said, "that I've just been insulted."

"Don't let it keep you up nights," said Virt.

From farther down the line someone called out, "Here they come," and we walked up to the remains of the earthworks and waited for the assault to begin.

They came, and we held them off, and they came, and we held them off. The whole time Loiosh remained on my shoulder, maybe for whatever effect it might have on anyone who faced me. I kept asking him why he didn't get to somewhere safe, but I didn't get a satisfactory answer, just questions to which I couldn't give a satisfactory answer. My legs kept wanting to buckle—residual effects from getting hit the day before, but I never quite collapsed at the wrong time. If the Necromancer had actually done something, well, it must have worked.

After the second attack, Virt said, "Have you noticed that every time they attack they've been knocking away at the earthworks?"

"Uh … you're right."

"And that they attack with more troops each time?"

"Right again," I said. "You're on a roll. Don't stop now."

"They're forming up for another charge," she said.

Rascha came by and said, "Up to the line again. Where's Aelburr?"

"I'll sit this one out, I think," he said.

That was when we noticed that he was flat on his back, bleeding from two distinct chest wounds and another on his right leg. "Physic!" came the call, from Rascha and Virt at the same time.

As the physicker approached, Virt said, "We're awfully cut up. Do we have anyone left to plug the holes?"

"No," said Rascha. "We've got holes everywhere. About twelve percent casualties. And, from the looks of things, I don't think we can expect any support from Brigade."

"Oh," said Virt.

"Time for someone to think of something clever," I suggested, at which moment the juice-drum gave the call to prepare for a charge. I said, "That wasn't the sort of clever I was thinking of."

Virt said, "This should be interesting."

"Interesting?" I said. "We're too weak to defend, so we attack? That isn't sound military practice, is it?"

"No," said Virt.

"Well good," I said. "See? I've learned something."

"I'm sure it will do you a lot of good next time you enlist." She paused. "It's been done before, though. And it isn't that bad an idea. One time, at Kipper Bay, we—" She broke off abruptly and pointed. "I'll tell you the story later," she said optimistically.

They were coming up the hill, and there was something horribly determined about how they came. I didn't like it at all. We prepared to go down the hill. I liked that even less. At least we had elevation on our side.

One way or the other, we were going to settle it right now.

"Well," said Loiosh. "Here you are."

"No shit," I said.

I turned back toward Fornia and stood there next to Daymar as Napper approached from behind me to my left, and the whole bloody war approached from behind me to my right.

Napper got there first. He came up next to me, holding a short, heavy sword that was streaked with red. I glanced over at him, and his eyes were shining, and he wore a delighted smile all over his face. I said, "Napper, meet Daymar. Daymar, Napper. And that is the Count of Fornia. Anyone bring wine? Cheese? I could manage some biscuits."

The three who had been assigned to watch us didn't think I was very funny, but neither did they construe my remarks as suspicious enough to cut us down. "Your weapons," said one of them.

"Daymar, can you break through the block and get us out of here?"

"No," he explained gently. "They strengthened the block after I broke through it."

"Pity," I said.

"If I can get about half an hour—"

He might as well have asked for half a year. "Yeah, well, I'll let you know."

"Weapons," repeated the soldier. "Now."

"What's the plan, Vlad?" said Napper, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"The good news is that we're negotiating," I told him. "The bad news is that I surrendered."

"You what?"

"On the other hand, if he plans to kill me, I'll have to say the surrender is off. In the meantime, you'd best give the nice man your sword. I would, too, but I don't have one."

"Carefully," added the guard. "Unbuckle the belt and let it fall."

He looked fairly tough. So did the others. I didn't like Napper's chances against all three of them. One was between us and Fornia, the others flanked us. Napper began to comply, with exaggerated slowness.

"I don't suppose, Daymar, you know what they're doing?"

"No," said Daymar. "He has me bbcked." Daymar sounded hurt.

Orders came barking out from somewhere in the group, and swords were drawn. I drew in my breath, terrified all over again, but the honor guard and the sorcerers turned to face the approaching battle. For an instant, with all the movement, I had a clear shot at Fornia, but then it was gone before I could have taken it even if I'd been so inclined.

There was an odd, unreal quality to the whole thing that lingers in my memory even now. I stood with Daymar on one side of me and Napper on the other, with the whole war, or at least a crucial part of it, rushing down on me, with Fornia amidst his honor guard and sorcerers turning away from us as if we were suddenly no part of their world and certainly no threat to them.

Well, okay, we were no threat to them.

I knew what Fornia was doing, I knew why he was doing it, I knew where it would lead; and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

There's a certain frustration that players of S'yang Stones get when their best shots fail and their opponents keep getting lucky breaks. I've seen it, and I've had it happen to me. You start just throwing your stones, even the flat ones, almost at random, as if you want to punish yourself for your bad luck by playing badly. I was feeling the same thing right now.

Was I making a bad play out of frustration, or was I really getting the odds I needed, now that the battle was loud and everyone had their backs to us?

I threw a shuriken into the throat of the man in front of us, the one who was threatening Napper, and then planted a knife in the throat of the one to my left; I heard Napper draw his sword, and by the time I turned around the third of the guards was dead and Napper was finishing off the one I'd started on. I caught of glimpse of Daymar staring, wide-eyed.

Better yet, Fornia hadn't noticed, nor had any of his group.

Napper said, "What's the plan?"

That almost made me laugh. A little demon in my head wanted me to say "Kill them all," but I resisted temptation.

"Boss, does this situation seem a little absurd to you?"

"Absurd? Well, among other things, yes."

Then Morrolan's band reached Fornia's honor guard, and the game was being played in earnest.

I saw Aliera, now dismounted, standing next to Morrolan; around them were several others I didn't recognize, and behind them—where she came from I couldn't say—behind them, mounted, was Sethra Lavode, holding the weapon I knew to be Iceflame. They were all of them heading straight for Fornia, who was waiting with the patience of a gambler who has staked everything he has on one throw and knows, now that the coins are spinning, that all he can do is wait and see which way they land.

My task was simple, put that way: just reach my hand out and scoop up the coins before they stopped spinning. And somehow contrive not to have my hand cut off.

Now that was a thought.

Good. I had a thought. All I had to do was combine thought with opportunity and I'd have something else: a chance.

I tried to make contact with Morrolan, but either I didn't know him well enough or he was concentrating on his mayhem too hard, or both. Probably both. I knew Aliera even less, but it was a worth a try—

And at that moment Fornia's honor guard fell back toward us as a body, struck by Morrolan's attack—or, more exactly, the remnants of the Eastern cavalry that was being pushed into Fornia's honor guard—and the three of us had to scramble or be trampled down.

"The plan," I told Napper, "is not to get killed."

"We could attack from behind."

"And get maybe two each at the most before they wiped us out. I don't think so."

Now, you must understand that, as we were speaking, we were also running to get away from the retreating honor guard. This left me facing the northeast, the highest part of the hill. I touched Napper's arm and said, "Look. What's that?"

He stopped in his tracks, watching another mass of humanity head toward us. "That's the hammer," he said. He gestured back over his shoulder and said, "And that's the anvil."

"Well, we had to expect him to have reinforcements handy once Morrolan started breaking through."

"That makes me feel better," said Napper.

Daymar, who had been silent this entire time, said, "I think I am perhaps no longer useful here."

"Does that mean you can teleport now?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking of a different method."

I thought of Morrolan's window and an idea began to form. I said, "Tell me about it."

He stared at me with a puzzled expression and said, "I was thinking about running."

"Oh," I said. "I hadn't thought of that."

The battle continued pressing toward us, and the approaching company looked to be light infantry.

"Do you think Morrolan will reach Fornia before the reinforcements arrive?" said Napper.

"If Fornia has his way, he will."

"Beg pardon?"

"I have to do something," I said.

"Like what?"

"Something clever."

We backed up a little farther. "Clever," said Napper, "will only get you so far."

I didn't answer, because things had gotten even louder, and that just wasn't the right moment to be philosophical. The light infantry was closing on us quickly, and on the other side Easterners were dying, and to the smells of battle that I've already refused to describe once we can add the distinctive and equally unpleasant smell of dead and dying horses.

What Napper said was reasonable, though: Fornia's plan wasn't "clever" in the usual sense; rather it was a bold, calculated gamble, like redoubling the bet when the pattern is in your opponent's favor but one perfect throw could give you the game and you're down to your last flat stone.

"Napper," I said aloud. "I think it's time to die valiantly. What do you think?"

"Yes!" he said.

"How 'bout you, Daymar? Want to join us?"

"In what?"

"We're going to attack, of course."

"Oh. Very well," he said.

"He's not armed," pointed out Napper.

"I most certainly am," said Daymar, sounding slightly offended.

Well, he wasn't carrying a blade, but I believed him.

"All right," I said. "That one, with his hair in a queue, is Ori. He is preparing a split-second teleport as part of Fornia's plan to, well, never mind. The important thing is to kill him. Killing Fornia will be harder, because he is surrounded by his honor guard, but it isn't as important either. It is Ori who has to die."

"All right," said Napper.

"Very well," said Daymar.

"Any questions?"

There were none.

"Charge," I said conversationally.

We walked forward at an even pace. I had evidently drawn a dagger at some point, and I held it in my right hand. Spell-breaker was in my left, swinging in circles. It had grown longer somehow, to almost three feet, I think, and the links were bigger; its swing covered my whole body, and Daymar on my right and Napper on my left.

Napper said, "Should we give them a yell as we go in?"

"No," I said. "We should say nothing. No more talking."

"You're going to strike them in the back, without warning?"

"Yes."

"I don't—"

"You volunteered for this. We're doing it my way. If you don't like it, take off. In either case, keep quiet."

"Yes, sir," said Napper. It didn't occur to me until later to wonder if he was being ironic. Thinking about it, I don't believe he was.

Yes. Battles are decided, Sethra told me, when timing and momentum and courage all come together and, at just the right moment, someone fails to make a critical mistake and doesn't manage to miss a vital opportunity. An opportunity that, perhaps, no one quite realized was there, because it is just all too confusing to have a complete grasp of everything that is happening. I was right in the middle of it, and I still don't know enough about who was doing what to give a complete picture. But I have my incomplete picture; I have to be satisfied with that, and you will, too.

As we approached, I reached out for Daymar, who was astonishingly easy to make contact with, and I said, "What is Ori doing?"

"Which one is Ori again?"

"That one."

"Oh. I don't know what he's doing exactly. They're still blocking me. But he's concentrating on a spell of some kind."

"Doing one, or preparing to do it?"

"Oh, he's preparing to do it. He's—what's the word? Poised. Yes, that's the word. He's poised to do a spell."

We hadn't stopped walking forward, and by this time we were ten feet behind the sorcerers, who were just behind Fornia and his honor guard. Ori was facing away from me.

I walked up and stuck my knife squarely into his back.

He screamed, and everyone turned around and looked at me as Ori spasmed and dropped to his knees. I couldn't see the expression on Ori's face, but I wasn't terribly interested in it, either. Fornia, however, stared at me wide-eyed.

"I hope," I said, "I haven't interfered with your plans."

"Kill him," said Fornia. "Kill all three of them."

And likely they would have, too; except that, at that moment, Morrolan broke through the final line of Eastern cavalry, and, amid the cries of people and horses, they charged Fornia's honor guard.

Fornia was thrust back toward me, which might have made it an excellent chance to kill him but I couldn't because I had to get out of the way of the large, very plain, unadorned Morganti greatsword he was swinging at my head. I did so, falling to the ground and rolling. I continued to roll away, not knowing exactly where Fornia and the Morganti blade were, and making the calm, rational decision that I needed to get away from them both, and besides, it was all I could do in the midst of my panic.

"Boss! Boss! You can stand up now!"

It's always embarrassing to panic in front of Loiosh. I stood up, and for just an instant, no one was around me and nothing horrible was happening in my immediate vicinity.

Then I spotted Fornia, about twenty feet away. He held both hands on the hilt of the sword, holding it at about waist height. Napper, his back to me, stood facing Fornia. Neither of them moved. It took me a second to realize that I could see a few inches of the point of the Morganti greatsword sticking out of Napper's back.

Napper dropped his sword, which fell, point first, very slowly, then stuck in the ground and swayed back and forth, also slowly. Nothing else moved in the entire world; Fornia and Napper were like twin sculptures, and would hold that pose until the world dissolved into the dreamstuff of the Gods, as my people say it will someday. But even then, the essence of Napper would never come back, and the shadowy remembrances of him in the minds of people like me, his comrades, would be all that would ever again exist of him.

And still they both stood, mutually transfixed.

Then Fornia looked at me, Napper unceremoniously fell to the ground, and the world started up again.

My moment of panic was over, replaced by a kind of hollowness that isn't all that bad a way to feel in such circumstances; at least it didn't keep me from observing, anticipating, and acting. I threw a couple of knives at Fornia just to let him know to keep his distance and began working my way toward Morrolan. At this point, the light infantry finally reached us. They flowed past me—I guess they figured that, being an Easterner, I had to be one of their cavalrymen—and Fornia was momentarily lost from sight.

I tried to spot Morrolan, but, ironically, now that he was within a knife-throw I couldn't see him. I kept looking.

Thinking back on it, this was what I had always imagined a battle to be like: constantly dodging, moving, trying to look in every direction at once, and never really sure of what I ought to be doing. The actual battles I had been in had certainly had elements of confusion, but at least I always knew what I had to do, and I could always concentrate on one direction. I guess the difference was that there were no actual lines here: Everyone was mixed up with everyone else, the entire thing being broken up into an endless, chaotic series of one-on-one or two-on-one fights. I could just imagine how often those who were actually participating had to stop and check caps or sashes to make sure they weren't about to strike down someone on their own side. Probably a few people got hit because they took too long to be sure, and almost certainly a few people got hit because the guy in front of them didn't take long enough.

At length I spotted Morrolan, just a glimpse of him through a temporary part in the sea of struggling humanity, and I moved toward him. If, by the way, you're wondering what became of Daymar, I still don't know. Maybe he was around the entire time, mixing it up with the enemy in his own way and doing what damage he could, but I suspect he took to his heels right around the time Fornia was destroying Napper. Can't say as I blame him much.

I skipped around a few fights, shuffled, dodged, and tried to spot Morrolan again. On the way, I passed by Napper's lifeless and souless body, and had another, very brief, moment of panic until Loiosh said, "He's not here, Boss. Not in sight, at least." I kept going.

I wrapped Spellbreaker around my left wrist again and grabbed Napper's sword from where it stuck out of the ground, even though it was too heavy for me, and moved toward where I'd seen Morrolan, hoping that I could trust Loiosh's perceptions and that Fornia wasn't about to appear swinging at the back of my head.

But no, Fornia wasn't coming after me just now, he was coming after Morrolan. And Morrolan seemed pretty pleased about it. They faced each other in a spot that sensible people had stayed away from, circling each other, and both apparently delighted by the encounter. Just beyond Morrolan I saw Aliera and a couple of other officers I didn't recognize, and they also seemed quite happy with this state of affairs.

In fact, everyone was happy about it except me, and I wouldn't have minded either except that I knew what Fornia was up to. The fact that I'd killed Ori had certainly messed with part of his plan, but he was going merrily on with the rest of it, I suppose trusting himself to find a way out when it was over. Or maybe not caring if he found a way out; he was, after all, a Dragon.

"No way around it, Loiosh."

"Boss—"

"I know. But I hate letting people get away with things. It offends me when they think they've put one over on me. It's a pride thing."

"You've been hanging around Dragons too long."

"Lieutenant Loiosh—First Jhereg Assassins—Charge."

"Whatever."

It was less of a charge than a stroll, but I carried it out, hardly planned and barely thought about, as neatly as any assassination I'd ever done, and under the circumstances that is no small thing. I did my calculations during the half dozen paces that separated us: I still didn't want to kill him, and didn't want to get close enough to that weapon to be so much as scratched by bad luck should he spasm; but I couldn't let him fight Morrolan with that weapon. I held Napper's big, heavy sword with both hands and toyed with it a bit. I wished I'd had more time to get a feel for the thing.

I came up directly behind Fornia. Morrolan spotted me, although I was awfully close before he did; he probably doesn't know how I did that, or maybe he just thinks he was concentrating too hard on Fornia. But the look on Morrolan's face warned Fornia, who took a step backward and started to turn, and when he was part of the way around I stepped in and swung Napper's sword down in a long overhead arc such as no Eastern fencer would ever execute and I put everything I had into it, knowing that if I missed I was dead and worse, but that it would likely take all my strength.

I struck him just above the wrists, and his scream was instantaneous and a joy to my ears. The force of the blow left my own weapon embedded in the ground, but I was done with it anyway. Before I could think about what I was doing—because, I assure you, thinking would have done me no good at all—I picked up the Morganti greatsword by the pommel, and ignoring the hands still wrapped tightly around it, I tossed it in Morrolan's general direction, being careful not to throw it actually at him, because I knew he might take that wrong.

Fornia sobbed.

His honor guard closed on me, and I did something I had been wanting to do for several weeks: I turned and ran.

My plan at that point was to run as fast as I could and as far as I could and not stop until I reached Adrilankha, and if I happened to be going in the wrong direction, well, okay, so maybe I'd make a bit of a detour; they say the world is round, after all.

As I dashed by, I saw someone stoop to pick up the Morganti sword that Fornia had recently held—I didn't even notice at the time which side had recovered the thing—and that gave me even more reason to run. Adrilankha, here I come.

I didn't actually make it that far—it was more like fifty feet before I was stopped. The command, "Hold it!" was so sharp and so, well, commanding, that I found I had obeyed before I actually thought about it. I turned around and found I was looking up at Sethra Lavode, atop a horse that, with my equine expertise, I can assure you was dark colored and very big. It looked at Loiosh and tossed its head, snorting like Morrolan had on one or two occasions. Loiosh didn't dignify it with an answer.

Sethra said, "Where are you going, soldier?"

"Uh … I think you have me confused with someone else," I said.

"I doubt it," said Sethra. "In any case, there's no reason to run now; the battle is nearly over."

I looked at where I'd just come from, turned back to Sethra, and said, "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not kidding. Your unit routed the enemy from Dorian's Hill and drove them almost right up to the Wall. That would have been Fornia's moment to bring up his reserves, except that he was busy just then and didn't get around to it. Besides, Morrolan informs me that Fornia is dead now, anyway, and we have the weapon that caused all the trouble, so there isn't all that much to fight about. I expect a general surrender within the next few minutes, as soon as they can find someone with sufficient authority to surrender to us."

I looked again. "If you say so," I said.

Sethra seemed amused. "It's over, Vlad. Trust me. I've done this sort of thing before. You should have run earlier, when it would have done some good."

"I know, I know."

"Now you might as well wait here, with me."

"You're not going to send me back into battle as punishment for desertion?"

"The punishment for desertion is beheading. Being sent into battle is a reward."

"You mean that, don't you?"

She looked serious for a moment, and said, "Yes."

She was right, though. I don't mean about being sent into battle, I mean about the whole thing being pretty much over. Within half an hour the fighting had stopped, there were banners piled up all over the field, and Sethra, Aliera, and Morrolan were all involved in negotiations with their previous enemies. The war was over. If I chose to, I could convince myself that I had had a major part in winning it. I would have preferred to forget the whole thing, but that was harder.

We eventually formed a camp on the hill where we'd lately fought with Fornia, his sorcerers, and his honor guard. Most of the honor guard had fallen to Blackwand and to Kieron's greatsword (Aliera's actions in the battle were much discussed, although I hadn't actually seen much of her). I sat far away from the action, but eventually Virt found me. She had a brand-new scar on her face and a noticeable limp.

"Hey there," she said. "So you bugged out, huh?" She sounded more bantering than hostile.

"Yeah," I said. "I bugged out."

"I've heard about it. Probably not accurately, but I've heard. Good show."

"Thanks."

"And I've heard about Napper. We're going to have services for him this evening. Aelburr and I would like you to help us anoint him."

"What's the point? There's nothing left for Deathgate."

"I think you know what the point is."

I took a deep breath, then I nodded. "All right. I'll be there."

She moved on. A little later, Rascha came by. She said, "Good work, soldier."

"Thanks," I said.

"I also convey congratulations from Crown, and from the Captain."

"Thank them for me."

She started to say more, then snapped a salute and walked off. A little later Sethra walked by again. She said, "You should know that Cropper has recommended you for a Dragonshead Medal. I declined on your behalf, with thanks, but I thought you should know."

"Thanks," I said. "And thanks."

How did she know me so well? I suppose that's part of being a general, or maybe part of being Sethra Lavode. I knew that in a few days or weeks the idea of being recommended for a medal by a Dragon warrior would be pretty funny, but right now a ceremony would be nothing more than an irritation. They'd be giving out a lot of medals this evening, and I didn't have much interest in hanging around to watch, much less participating. I just wanted to go home.

I said, "Will Napper receive one?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She wandered away, and a little later Aliera came up and stood over me. I looked up at her, and then away. When she didn't speak, and the silence was becoming uncomfortable, I said, "I understand you did a lot of killing today. Congratulations. Did Morrolan get the weapon?"

"No."

I looked up. "No? What happened to it?"

"It was picked up by the officer at whose feet it landed when you threw it. She claimed it as battlefield spoil. Hard to argue with."

"Oh."

"Morrolan was wondering why you jumped in when you did."

"Fornia had a plan; I wished to stop it. Besides, I told him I'd get the damned thing."

"Wasn't Morrolan well on his way to stopping Fornia's plan anyway?"

"No, he was well on his way to helping Fornia carry it out."

"I don't understand."

"As Napper used to say, it don't matter."

"No? Well, maybe not. But tell me: Do you understand us a little better now than you did when you signed up?"

"No."

"I think you do," she said.

I didn't answer, and presently she walked away. At least she didn't salute.

Later that night I met up with Cropper Company and helped anoint the bodies for Deathgate. There were thirty-four dead, and many more in various stages of recovery. Dunn was among the dead, having fallen carrying the unit colors, just as he wanted. I had the awful feeling that some of the company were jealous of him. No one, of course, was jealous of Napper. And, pointlessly, Virt and Aelburr and I rubbed the oil onto him so his body would remain whole until he went over the Falls, where his body would eventually rot anyway. Then came the ceremonies for the dead, and the awarding of decorations, and then we were done, and back to our tents.

Virt and Aelburr and I sat around and watched the fire burn down. I said to Virt, "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said. "And so did you."

"Yes," I said. "I did."

"Was it worth it?"

"Yes. Just barely, but yes."

"That's how I feel."

"Sometimes winning is painful, but it's always better than losing."

"Hear, hear," said Aelburr.

The teleport blocks were down, and I could have returned to Adrilankha that night, but I told myself that I was in no mood to have my insides scrambled, so I spent one more night in the tent, and it was only the next morning, when confronted with salted kethna, bad coffee, and biscuits that I said good-bye to Virt and Aelburr, suggested they come visit me sometime, and teleported back to my own street, where I found a place that served decent food and I ordered klava, hot muffins, boiled goose eggs, and a thick slab of bacon, with onions.

I lingered over breakfast, then headed back home for a nap. I figured I'd earned a day off. Tomorrow I'd go back to making crime; it was so much kinder than war.

When it was over, my dining room table was suitable for firewood, and the upholstery on two of my chairs was suitable for rags, but my favorite chair had escaped with only a slight nick in one leg, and my carpet had no blood on it. Sethra the Younger lay next to the window box, half conscious, her eyes rolling about in her head.

Morrolan, who had broken up the fight, much to Aliera's disgust, stood between them and addressed me: "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, back during the battle. You knew."

"I only knew what Fornia had in mind, and I didn't find that out until the end."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"My job was to get the weapon. I got it. I didn't much care who ended up with it."

"But you knew—"

"Yes, dammit, I knew. And now you know. There was a Great Weapon concealed inside that blade Fornia had taken from Baritt, just as you suspected. I assume it was Baritt who concealed it, and that he did it for reasons of his own. Fornia was able to find it, but didn't know how to release it from its concealment. His idea was that if it clashed with another Great Weapon, it would emerge. I tried it tonight. It worked."

"And Fornia," said Aliera before Morrolan could compose a response, "set up his battle so that he would cross blades with a Great Weapon, either Blackwand or Iceflame. He could," she added reflectively, "have just challenged Morrolan to a duel and gotten the same result."

"He probably would have," said Morrolan reflectively. "But I launched a war, and he was never one to turn down a challenge like that."

The weapon in question lay on the floor midway between Aliera and where Sethra the Younger sprawled. All around it were pieces of the greatsword in which it had been hidden. With its concealment gone, it appeared as a dull, black short sword. No one touched it.

"You could say thank you," said Morrolan suddenly.

Aliera said, "For what?"

"For saving your life, cousin. Do you think you could have gone up against a Great Weapon?"

"Yes. Besides, Cawti was going to stick a knife in her back."

Morrolan looked at Cawti, who was leaning against the wall with her arms folded. She dimpled and dropped Morrolan a curtsy. I was surprised that Aliera had noticed. Aliera added, "And Loiosh was going to attack her, too, I think. She never really had a chance. If you hadn't butted in—"

"If Morrolan hadn't butted in," I said, "we wouldn't have discovered the Great Weapon, which I take to be—what did they call it, Morrolan?"

"It is called Pathfinder."

"Well named," said Aliera. "It found its way to me, eventually."

"To you?" said Morrolan.

Aliera stepped forward, bent over, and picked it up, transferring Kieron's greatsword to her left hand. "Yes," she said.

"And what do you suppose Sethra the Younger will say about that?"

Aliera unbuckled the sheath she wore on her back and tossed it onto the floor near Sethra. Then she put Kieron's sword next to it. "She'll say we have a bargain," said Aliera.

"You know, Vlad," said Morrolan, "I've suspected for years now that there were things you never told me about the Wall of Baritt's Tomb."

"There were things I didn't want to think about," I said. "Some of it I still don't want to think about, and some of it I still don't remember clearly. But you told me to get that sword—you didn't, by the way, tell me anything about how to go about it or what to do when I'd gotten it—so I went and got the sword. And—as I say, that's all I remember."

"That's all you remember, is it?"

"My memory sometimes plays tricks on me, Morrolan. Just a couple of days ago, I suddenly remembered a few things about our trip to Deathgate that I'd forgotten up until then. Maybe, someday, I'll remember more about this."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You have to believe it; you're in my house. Next time I'm at Castle Black you can call me a liar if you want." His lips twitched. I added, "And with everything you knew but didn't tell me, you have no cause to come down on me about not telling you everything."

"Hmmm. I may concede on that point," he said. "I'll have to think about it."

"Do that," I said. "In the meantime, why don't you get your things, including that"—I pointed to Sethra the Younger—"and leave me alone. I'm sure she wants to go plan the invasion of the East, and Aliera wants to play with her new toy, and you, well, maybe you'll want to go start another war or something."

"Vlad—"

"Never mind, Morrolan. I just want to relax now."

"I'll send someone over to clean up the mess."

"No, I can get it. I'll see you … sometime."

He nodded.

They gathered up Sethra and headed for the door. Aliera carried Pathfinder. Morrolan started to say something at the door, then shrugged and walked out. What they did after that I neither know nor care about; the Wall of Baritt's Tomb was finally over for me, except for the final telling. And at the cost of a table and a couple of chairs I considered it a pretty good deal.

I sat down in my favorite chair, and, because the others were destroyed, Cawti sat in my lap. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

"That," I said, "is what the Dragons call negotiating."

"Mmmm," she said. "What now?"

"As I said, I'll clean the place up tomorrow. Eventually I have to go put this whole thing behind me by having a last session with an odd metal box, and then—what day is it?"

"Farmday."

"Right. Valabar's won't be too busy. Thinking about all those months of bad food has made me want something good, and I'm in just the mood to have someone else cook it and bring it to me and then wash the dishes."

"My treat," she said.

"Mine. I'm finishing a job and getting paid."

"All right. When are you going to go talk to the box?" She leaned her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled of sandalwood and was very soft.

"Soon," I said. "But not instantly."

Loiosh flew over and landed on my shoulder. I didn't much want to move, but it would be good to have the whole thing finished. I opened my eyes and looked at the wreckage of my flat, thought back on my days in the army, and stroked Cawti's hair.

If just surviving can be counted as a win, I was way ahead of the game.

What would you like to know about me, assuming that you care? My full name is Steven Karl Zoltan Brust. I was born in 1955, so I'm forty-two at the time of this writing, and I have a big bald spot which I cover up with a hat, but I was wearing the hat before I developed the bald spot so it doesn't really count. I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, except that I spent this last winter in Arizona, and if you don't know why, you haven't spent a winter in Minnesota.

I play drums, guitar, banjo, and Middle Eastern percussion, and I've written some songs, and I have produced a solo record called A Rose for Iconoclastes; if you want information on the record you can get it by sending E-mail to UncleHugo@aol.com, and if you don't understand the title you need to read more Roger Zelazny.

In addition to the abovementioned Zelazny, my heroes are: Alexandre Dumas, Mark Twain, Leon Trotsky, Dorothy Parker, Mickey Hart, and Mike Caro. If you don't recognize one or more of these names, it doesn't make you a bad person.

I have a Strapping Son named Corwin and three Charming Daughters named Aliera, Carolyn, and Toni. I live with my Lovely Associate, Liz Cooper, in a beautiful house in a crummy neighborhood. I have a dog named Miska and a double-yellow-headed Amazon parrot named John Henry Holliday, and if you don't know his nickname you should see Val Kilmer in Tombstone.

Liz has a cat named Rogue and an African Grey parrot named Loiosh, and if you don't know where the name "Loiosh" comes from, why are you even reading this bio?

My favorite games are Texas Hold 'Em and Stud hi-lo/8. If you don't know what those are, I'd be glad to teach you.

Steven Brust

Lake Havasu City, Arizona

February 1998

[14 aug 2003—scanned by Peanut]

[21 jul 2003—proofed by Escaped Chicken Spirits(ECS)]