Yendi

“Good afternoon, Vladimir. Is that a knife in your hand, or are you happy to see me?”

“Both,” I said, sheathing the blade. She tapped my side and I moved over to let her sit down. We exchanged a light kiss. She drew back and studied me.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

I told her what had happened. She shook her head and, when I was finished, held me.

Wow.

“What now?” she asked.

I said, “Do you and your partner ever give friends a bargain?”

“Do you?”

“I didn’t think so.”

She held me a little tighter.

“Would you two rather I left, boss?”

“Maybe in a bit.”

“Hmmph. I was being snide, if you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed. Shut up.”

“By the way, Vladimir, Sethra is giving a banquet.”

“Really? In honor of what?”

“In honor of all of us being alive.”

“Hmmmm. They’ll probably be trying to pump you and Norathar for information.”

“I expect they—how did you find out her name?”

I did a smug chuckle.

“I guess,” she said, “I’ll just have to torture the information out of you.”

“I guess so,” I said. “Okay, Loiosh, you can leave now.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah.”

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It is possible to break meals down into types. There is the formal dinner, with elegant settings, carefully selected wines, and orchestrated conversation. Then there are Jhereg business meetings, where you ignore the food half the time, because to miss a remark, or even a glance, can be deadly. There is the quiet, informal get-together with a Certain Person, where neither food nor conversation is as important as being there. We also have the grab-something-and-run, where the idea is to get food inside of you, without taking time for either conversation or enjoyment. Next, we have the “good dinner,” where the food is the whole reason for being there, and conversation is merely to help wash it down.

And there is one other type of dinner: sitting around a fine, elegant table, deep under Dzur Mountain, with an undead hostess, a pair of Dragonlords, and a team of Jhereg assassins, one of whom was once a Dragon herself, the other of whom is an Easterner.

The conversation at a dinner of this type is unpredictable. For most of the meal, Morrolan entertained us with a few notes on sorcery that aren’t usually included in tomes, and probably shouldn’t be. I enjoyed this—mostly because I was sitting next to Cawti (by chance? With Aliera around? Ha!) and we generally concentrated on rubbing our legs together under the table. Loiosh made a few remarks about this that I won’t dignify by repeating.

Then, while I was distracted, the conversation changed. Suddenly, Aliera was engaging the lady known as the Sword of the Jhereg in a bantering exchange comparing Dragon customs to Jhereg customs, and I was instantly alert. Aliera didn’t do anything by accident.

“You see,” Aliera was saying, “we only kill people who deserve it. You kill anyone you’re paid to kill.”

Norathar pretended surprise. “But you’re paid too, aren’t you? It’s merely a different coin. A Jhereg assassin would be paid in gold, or so I assume—I’ve never actually met one. A Dragon, on the other hand, is paid by satisfying his bloodlust.”

I chuckled a little. Score one for our team. Aliera also smiled and raised her glass. I looked at her closely. Yes, I decided, she wasn’t doing any idle Jhereg-baiting. She was searching for something.

“So tell me,” Aliera asked, “which do you consider the better coin to be paid in?”

“Well, I’ve never bought anything with bloodlust, but—”

“It can be done.”

“Indeed? What can you buy, pray tell?”

“Empires,” said Aliera e’Kieron. “Empires.”

Norathar e’Lanya raised her eyebrow. “Empires, my lady? What would I do with one?”

Aliera shrugged. “I’m sure you could think of something.”

I glanced around the room. Sethra, at the head of the table and to my right, was watching Aliera intently. Morrolan, to her right, was doing the same. Norathar was next to him, and she was also studying Aliera, who was at the other end of the table. Cawti, next to her and to my left, was looking at Norathar. I wondered what was going on behind her mask. I always wonder what’s going on behind people’s masks. I sometimes wonder what’s going on behind my mask.

“What would you do with one?” asked Norathar.

“Ask me when the Cycle changes.”

“Eh?”

“I,” she said, “am currently the Dragon Heir to the Throne. Morrolan used to be, before I arrived.”

I remembered being told about Aliera’s “arrival”—hurled out of Adron’s Disaster, the explosion that brought down the Empire over four hundred years ago, through time, to land in the middle of some Teckla’s wheat field. I was later told that Sethra had had a hand in the thing, which made it more believable than it would be otherwise.

Norathar seemed faintly curious. Her eyes went to the Dragonhead pendant around Aliera’s neck. All Dragonlords wear a Dragonhead somewhere visible. The one Aliera wore had a blue gem for one eye, a green gem for the other. “E’Kieron, I see,” said Norathar.

Aliera nodded, as if something had been explained.

I asked, “What am I missing?”

“The lady,” said Aliera, “was no doubt curious about my lineage, and why I am now the heir. I would guess that she has remembered that Adron had a daughter.”

I said, “Oh.”

It had never occurred to me to wonder how Aliera came to be the heir so quickly, although I’d known she was since I was introduced to her. But sitting at the same table with the daughter of the man who had turned an entire city into a seething pool of raw chaos was a bit disconcerting. I decided it was going to take me a while to get used to.

Aliera continued her explanations to Norathar. “The Dragon Council informed me of the decision when they checked my bloodlines. That is how I became interested in genetics. I am hoping that I can prove there is a flaw in me, somewhere, so I won’t have to be Empress when the Cycle changes.”

“You mean you don’t want to be Empress?” I asked.

“Dear Barlen, no! I can’t imagine anything more dull. I’ve been looking for a way out of it since I’ve been back.”

“Oh.”

“Your conversation is really gifted today, boss.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

I worked all of this over in my mind. “Aliera,” I said at last, “I have a question.”

“Hm?”

“If you’re the Dragon Heir, does that mean your father was the heir before you? And if he was the heir, why did he try the coup in the first place?”

“Two reasons,” she said. “First, because it was the reign of a decadent Phoenix, and the Emperor refused to step down when the Cycle changed. Second, Daddy wasn’t really the heir.”

“Oh. The heir died during the Interregnum?”

“Around then, yes. There was a war, and he was killed. There was talk of his child not being a Dragon. But that was actually before the Disaster and the Interregnum.”

“He was killed,” I echoed. “I see. And the child? No, don’t tell me. She was expelled from the House, right?”

Aliera nodded.

“And the line? E’Lanya, right?”

“Very good, Vlad. How did you know?”

I looked at Norathar, who was staring at Aliera with eyes like mushrooms.

“And,” I continued, “you have been able to scan her genes, and you’ve found out that, lo and behold, she really is a Dragonlord.”

“Yes,” said Aliera.

“And if her father was really the Heir to the Throne, then . . . ”

“That’s right, Vlad,” said Aliera. “The correct Heir to the Throne is Norathar e’Lanya—the Sword of the Jhereg.”

The funniest thing about time is when it doesn’t. I’ll leave that hanging there for the moment, and let you age while the shadows don’t lengthen, if you see what I mean. I looked first at Cawti, who was looking at Norathar, who was looking at Aliera. Sethra and Morrolan were also looking at Aliera, who wasn’t focusing on anything we could see. Her eyes, bright green now, glittered with reflected candlelight, and looked upon something we weren’t entitled to see.

Now, while the Cycle doesn’t run, and the year doesn’t fail, and the day gets neither brighter nor darker, and even the candles don’t flicker, we begin to see things with a new perspective. I looked first at my lover, who had recently killed me, who was looking at her partner, who should be the Dragon Heir to the Orb—next in the Cycle. This Dragonlord-assassin-princess-whatever matched stares with Aliera e’Kieron, wielder of Kieron’s Sword, traveler from the past, daughter of Adron, and current Heir to the Orb. And so on.

The funniest thing about time is when it doesn’t. In those moments when it loses itself, and becomes (as, perhaps, all things must) its opposite, it becomes a thing of even greater power than when it is in its old standard tear-down-the-mountains mood.

It even has the power to break down the masks behind which hide Dragons turned Jhereg.

For an instant, then, I looked at Norathar and saw her clearly, she who had once been a Dragonlord. I saw pride, hate, grim resignation, dashed hopes, loyalty, and courage. I turned away, though, because, odd as it may seem to you who have listened to me so patiently and so well, I really don’t like pain.

“What do you mean?” she whispered, and the world went back to its business again.

Aliera didn’t answer, so Sethra spoke. “The Dragon Council met, early in the Reign of the Phoenix this Cycle, before the Interregnum, to choose the heir. It was decided that the e’Lanya line should take it when the time comes. The highest family of that line were the Lady Miera, the Lord K’laiyer, and their daughter, Norathar.”

Norathar shook her head and whispered again. “I have no memories of any of this. I was only a child.”

“There was an accusation made,” said Sethra, “and Lord K’laiyer, your father, challenged his accuser. There was war, and your parents were killed. You were judged by sorcerers and your bloodlines were found to be impure.”

“But then—”

“Aliera scanned you, and the sorcerers who made the first judgment were wrong.”

I broke in, saying, “How hard is it to make a mistake of that kind?”

Aliera snapped back to the present and said, “Impossible.”

“I see,” I said.

“I see,” said Norathar.

We sat there, each of us looking down, or around the room, waiting for someone to ask the obvious questions. Finally, Norathar did. “Who did the scan, and who made the challenge?”

“The first scan,” said Sethra, “was done by my apprentice, Sethra the Younger.”

“Who’s she?” I asked.

“As I said, my apprentice—one of many. She served her apprenticeship—let me see—about twelve hundred years ago now. When I’d taught her all I could, she did me the honor of taking my name.”

“Dragonlord?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Sorry to interrupt. You were talking about the scan.”

“Yes. She brought the results to me, and I brought them to the Dragon Council. The council had a committee of three do another one. Lord Baritt was one—” Morrolan, Aliera and I exchanged glances here. We’d met his shade in the Paths of the Dead, and had three completely different impressions of the old bas- . . . gentleman. Sethra continued. “Another was of the House of the Athyra, as the expert, and someone from the House of the Lyorn, to make sure everything was right and proper. The committee confirmed it and the council acted as it had to.”

Norathar asked, “Who made the accusation?”

“I did,” said Sethra Lavode.

Norathar rose to her feet, her eyes burning into Sethra’s. I could almost feel the energy flowing between them. Norathar said, between clenched teeth, “May I have my sword back, milady?”

Sethra hadn’t moved. “If you wish,” she said. “However, there are two things I want to say.”

“Say them.”

“First, I made the accusation because that was my duty to the House of the Dragon as I saw it. Second, while I’m not as fanatical about it as Lord Morrolan, I dislike killing my guests. Remember who I am, lady!”

As she said this, she stood and drew Iceflame—a long, straight dagger, perhaps twelve inches of blade. The metal was a light blue, and it emitted a faint glow of that color. Anyone with the psionic sensitivity of a caterpillar would have recognized it as a Morganti weapon, one which kills without chance of revivification. Anyone with any acquaintance with the legends surrounding Sethra Lavode would have recognized it as Iceflame, a Great Weapon, one of the Seventeen. Whatever power it was that hid in, under, and around Dzur Mountain, Iceflame was tied to it. The only other known artifacts with power to match it were the sword Godslayer and the Imperial Orb. Loiosh dived under my cloak. I held my breath.

At that moment, I felt, rather than saw, a knife fall into Cawti’s hand. I felt a tear in loyalties that was almost physically painful. What should I do if there was a fight? Could I bring myself to stop Cawti, or even warn Sethra? Could I bring myself to allow Sethra to be knifed in the back? Demon Goddess, get me out of this!

Norathar stared back at Sethra and said, “Cawti, don’t.” Cawti sighed quietly, and I breathed a prayer of thanks to Verra. Then Norathar said to Sethra, “I’d like my sword, if you please.”

“You won’t hear my reasons, then?” asked Sethra, her voice even.

“All right,” said Norathar. “Speak.”

“Thank you.” Sethra put Iceflame away. I exhaled. Sethra sat down and, after a moment, so did Norathar, but her eyes never left Sethra’s.

“I was told,” said the Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain, “that your ancestry was questionable. To be blunt, I received word that you were a bastard. I’m sorry, but that’s what I was told.”

I listened intently. Bastardy among Dragaerans is far more rare than among Easterners, because a Dragaeran can’t conceive accidentally—or so I’ve been told. In general, the only illegitimate children are those who have one sterile parent (sterility is nearly impossible to cure, and not uncommon among Dragaerans). Bastard, as an insult, is far more deadly to a Dragaeran than to an Easterner.

“I was further told,” she continued, “that your true father was not a Dragon.” Norathar still didn’t move, but she was gripping the table with her right hand. “You were the oldest child of the Dragon Heir. It was necessary to bring this to the attention of the council, if it was true.

“I could,” she went on, “have sneaked into your parents’ home with my apprentice, who is skilled in genetic scanning.” Aliera gave a barely audible sniff here. I imagine she had her own opinion of Sethra the Younger’s abilities. “I chose not to, however. I confronted Lord K’laiyer. He held himself insulted and refused to allow the scan. He declared war and sent an army after me.

She sighed. “I’ve lost count of how many armies have tried to take Dzur Mountain. If it’s any consolation, he was a masterful tactician, certainly worthy of the e’Lanya line. But I had the assistance of several friends, a hired army, and Dzur Mountain itself. He gave me a bit of trouble, but the issue was never in doubt. By the end of the engagement, both of your parents were dead.”

“How?” asked Norathar through clenched teeth. A good question, too. Why weren’t they revivified?

“I don’t know. They were in the battle, but I didn’t kill them personally. They both had massive head injuries, due to sorcery. Beyond that, I can’t tell you.”

Norathar nodded, almost imperceptibly. Sethra continued. “I formally took possession of their castle, of course. We found you there. You were about four years old, I think. I had my apprentice do the scan, and you know the rest. I turned your castle over to the House. I don’t know what became of it, or your parents’ possessions. Perhaps there are relatives . . . ”

Norathar nodded again. “Thank you,” she said. “But this hardly changes—”

“There’s another thing. If my apprentice made a mistake, it reflects on me. Further, it is obvious that my actions were the immediate cause of all this. I trust Aliera’s abilities with genetics more than anyone else’s—and she says you are the product of Dragonlords on both sides, with e’Lanya dominant. I want to know what happened. I intend to investigate. If I kill you, that will make it more difficult. If you destroy me, of course, that will make it impossible. I would appreciate it if you would withhold any challenge until I’ve made this investigation. Then, if you wish, I will entertain a challenge on any terms you name.”

“Any terms?” asked Norathar. “Including plain steel?”

Sethra snorted. “Including a Jhereg duel, if you wish.”

The least shadow of a smile crossed Norathar’s lips as she seated herself. “I accept your terms,” she said. Cawti and I relaxed. Morrolan and Aliera, as far as I could tell, had been interested but unworried.

Morrolan cleared his throat and said, “Well then, perhaps we should discuss just how we’re going to proceed.”

Sethra said, “Tell me this: if there was a plot of some kind, could Baritt have been involved?”

Aliera said “No” at the same instant that Morrolan said “Yes.” I chuckled. Aliera shrugged and said, “Well, maybe.”

Morrolan snorted. “In any case,” he said, “is it likely that they could fool an Athyra? And would an Athyra be involved in a plot of this type? Not to mention a Lyorn? If this was a plot, as you say, they would have had to convince the Athyra to help, and I have trouble believing they could do that. And there is no Lyorn in the world who would go along with it—that is why they’re included in things like that.”

Sethra nodded to herself.

I said, “Excuse me, but what is the procedure for getting a Lyorn and an Athyra to help with something like this? I mean, do you just walk over to the House of the Lyorn and yell, ‘We’re doing a genetic investigation, anyone want to help?’ What do you do?”

Sethra said, “With the House of the Lyorn, it is an official request, through the Empire, for the assistance of the House. With the Athyra, someone will propose a wizard he knows or has heard of, and the council approves it.”

“And the House of the Lyorn is likely to choose someone who’s familiar with this kind of thing,” I added.

Sethra nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “But—Aliera, how hard would it be to fool a genetic scan?”

“A complicated illusion spell would do it,” she said slowly. “If whoever did the scan was incompetent.”

“What if he wasn’t?”

“He wouldn’t be fooled.”

“Could Sethra the Younger be fooled?”

“Easily.” She snorted.

I shot a glance at Sethra Lavode; she didn’t seem convinced. I set it aside for the moment. “What about Baritt?”

“No,” said Aliera.

Morrolan agreed. “Whatever he is—was—he was most assuredly not incompetent.”

“So,” I continued, “if someone did a spell to make it look like she wasn’t a full Dragon, Baritt must have been in on it. The Lyorn could have been fooled.”

“Vlad,” said Morrolan, “the Athyra would have to have been in on it, too—and you’ll have to convince me of that.”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I admitted. “But one thing at a time. Sethra, how did Sethra the Younger first hear about this?”

“I don’t know, Vlad. It was more than four hundred years ago.”

“At your age, Sethra, that’s almost yesterday.”

She raised an eyebrow. Then her eyes moved up and to the left as she tried to remember. “She said that she heard through a friend who’d been drinking with Lady Miera. She said that Lady Miera had told her friend about it, and her friend told her.”

“And the friend’s name?”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. She rested her hands on top of her head, leaned her head back, and rolled her eyes straight up. We sat there, hardly daring to breathe. Suddenly she straightened up. “Vlad, it was Baritt!”

Why, I wondered, doesn’t this surprise me?

I shook my head. “If you people want to find out what Baritt knows about this, I can tell you where to find him, but don’t expect me to go along with you. I’ve been to Deathsgate once; that will last a lifetime—at least. I’ve got my own problems. There’s a guy who’s trying to send me there. Figuratively speaking,” I added. “I understand they don’t allow Easterners in.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “Sethra, do you remember who the Lyorn was?”

“I never knew,” she said. “My part of it was over, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. I wasn’t along when they did the second scan.”

“Oh. So I suppose you don’t know who the Athyra was, either.”

“Right.”

“It’ll all be in the records,” Aliera put in. “We can find out.”

I nodded. “Then I don’t think there’s anything more to do about this at the moment, right?”

There were nods from Sethra, Aliera, and Morrolan. Norathar and Cawti had been watching us the entire time without any expression. It occurred to me that it was odd for me to have taken the lead in this investigation into the history of the House of the Dragon. But then, in a certain sense, investigation is one of the things I’m good at. Cawti could have done it as well, but she had even less interest than I did.

“The next question,” said Morrolan, “is how we’re going to present this to the Dragon Council. I would suggest that Aliera and I appear before them and—”

Aliera interrupted. “Perhaps later would be better for this. It’s really a matter to be discussed among Dragons.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence; then Cawti stood up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I believe that I’d like to retire now.”

Sethra stood and bowed an acknowledgment as Cawti left. Then Sethra sat down again, and Morrolan said, “I wonder what troubles her?”

Typical.

“The end of a partnership,” Norathar said, and it seemed that there were new lines of pain around her eyes and jaw. But then, she was a Dragonlord now, so she could show her feelings. She stood, bowed, and followed Cawti out of the room.

I followed them with my eyes, then glanced at the table. The food was cold and the wine was warm. If there had been an onion, it would have been rotten clear through.

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They left me alone at the table, so I thought about onions for a while. I was still thinking about them when I felt someone reaching for me psionically.

“Who is it?”

“Fentor, at Castle Black, milord. I have the information you wanted.”

“On the riot? Good, let’s have it.”

“It was confined to three blocks, near—”

“I know where it was. Go on.”

“Yes, milord. It was a row of flats, all owned by the same person. He’d started raising rents about four weeks before, and letting things deteriorate, and then began beating Easterners who were slow in paying.”

“I see. Who owned the flats?”

“A Jhereg, lord. His name is—”

“Laris.”

“Yes, milord.”

I sighed. “Had he owned the property for long?”

There was a pause. “It didn’t occur to me to check, lord.”

“Do so. And find out who he bought it from.”

“Yes, milord.”

“Is there anything more?”

“Not yet, milord, but we’re still working on it.”

“Good. Another thing, too: I suspect someone triggered the riot deliberately. Try to find out.”

“Yes, milord.”

We broke the contact. The conversation made me realize, among other things, that I’d been neglecting my own affairs again. I got in touch with Kragar and told him to expect me in two minutes. Then I made contact with Sethra, explained that I had to leave, and would she be good enough to teleport me back to my office? She would and did.

I didn’t have to tell her where it was, either. Sometimes I wonder about her.

Kragar was waiting for me, along with Glowbug and someone I didn’t recognize. We went into the still-unrepaired building, and I told Kragar to come into the office with me, I shut the door, looked around, and didn’t see him. I opened up the door again and said, “Kragar, I said to—”

“Boss?”

I turned, and saw him this time.

“Damn it, Kragar, stop doing that.”

“Doing what, Vlad?”

“Never mind. Cut it out, Loiosh.”

“I didn’t say a thing, boss.”

“You were laughing up your wing.”

I sat down and put my feet up on the desk. “Who’s the new guy?”

“An enforcer. We need another one, and we can almost afford it. He knows he’s staying on subject to your approval.”

“What’s his name?”

“Stadol.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s called ‘Sticks.’ ”

“Oh. So that’s Sticks.” I yelled, “Melestav, send Sticks in.”

The door opened and he walked in.

“Sit,” I told him.

He did.

Sticks might have gotten his name because he looked like one, but that can be said of almost all Dragaerans. Still, he was taller and thinner than most, and carried himself as if every bone in his body were jelly. His arms swung easily when he walked, and his knees sagged a bit. He had sandy hair, straight, and worn to his ears. One lock dangled over his forehead and looked like it would get in his eyes. He periodically threw his head to the side to clear it, but it flopped down almost right away.

In fact, the nickname came from his preference for using two three-foot clubs. He beat people up with them.

I said, “I’m Vlad Taltos.” He nodded. “You want to work for me?”

“Sure,” he said. “The money’s good.”

“That’s because things are hot right now. You know about that?”

He nodded again.

“You ever ‘work’?”

“No. No future in it.”

“That’s debatable. I’ve heard of you doing some muscle a few years back. What have you been doing since?”

He shrugged. “I have some connections with a few minstrels, and with some taverns. I help introduce them, and they give me a percentage. It’s a living.”

“Then why leave it?”

“No future in it.”

“ . . . Okay. You’re in.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s it for now.”

He made a slow climb to his feet and ambled out. I turned back to Kragar. It took me a moment to find him, then I asked him: “Anything new?”

“No. I’m working on the patron angle, but I haven’t come up with anything.”

“Keep on it.”

“Right.”

“Get Narvane and Shoen here.”

“Right.”

He got hold of them and we sat back to wait. While we were waiting . . .

“Milord?”

“Yes, Fentor?”

“You were right. There was someone who provoked the riot. It looks deliberate.”

“Pick him up and hold him. I’m going to want to—”

“We can’t, milord.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, milord. In the riot.”

“I see. Chance, or was someone after him?”

“I can’t tell, milord.”

“All right. What about the previous landlord?”

“The Jhereg Laris has owned those flats for about nine weeks, milord. We don’t know who he bought them from. The records are confused, and there seems to have been some false names used.”

“Untangle it.”

“Yes, milord.”

“What was that?” asked Kragar when I broke the contact.

I shook my head and didn’t answer. He stood, went to my closet, and came back with a box. “You asked for these.”

The box contained a rather large selection of cutlery, of various sorts. Seeing them gathered together like that, I was a little amazed that I could fit it all around my person. I mean, there were—no, I don’t think I want to give the specifics.

I thought about sending Kragar out while I changed weapons, then decided against it. I picked up the first thing I came to, a small throwing knife, tested its edge and balance, and put it into my cloak in place of the one like it that I had there.

It was surprising how long it took to go through all the weapons I carried and replace them. When I’d finally finished the chore, Narvane and Shoen were waiting. As I stepped out of the office, I ran a hand through my hair and adjusted my cloak with the other hand, thus allowing me to brush my arms along my chest, making sure various things were in place. A very useful nervous gesture.

Narvane acknowledged me with a flicker of the eyes. Shoen nodded brusquely. Sticks, flopped all over a chair, lifted a hand, and Glowbug said, “Good to see you, boss. I was beginning to think you were a myth.”

“If you’re beginning to think, Glowbug, it’s an improvement already. Let’s go, gentlemen.”

This time, Loiosh was the first one out of the door, followed by Glowbug and Narvane. The other two followed me, leaving Kragar behind. We turned left and headed up to Malak Circle. I said hello to a few customers I knew personally, and to some people who worked for me. I got the impression that, in the last day, business had picked up. This was a considerable relief. There was still a feeling of tension in the air, but it was more in the background.

We reached the Fountain Tavern, then the first door to the left. “Sticks,” I said.

“Hm?”

“This is where the trouble started. Laris opened up a small business upstairs, without even dropping me a polite note about it.”

“Mm.”

“For all I know, it’s still going on. Glowbug and Shoen will wait out here with me.”

“Okay.”

He turned and went up the stairs. Narvane followed wordlessly. As they went in, I saw Sticks pulling a pair of clubs out from his cloak. I leaned against the building to wait. Glowbug and Shoen stood in front of me, to either side, casually alert.

“Watch above, Loiosh.”

“I’m already doing it, boss.”

It wasn’t long before we heard a crash from up and to the right. We looked, and a body came flying out the window, landing in a heap about ten feet from me. A minute or so later, Narvane and Sticks reappeared. Sticks was holding something in his left fist. With the club in the other hand, he drew a series of squares in the dirt in front of me. I looked at him questioningly, but before he could say anything, I noticed a crowd had begun to gather around the body. I gave them all a smile.

Sticks opened his left hand then, and dropped several stones, some white, some black, onto the squares he’d drawn in the street.

“A quick game, boss?”

“No thanks,” I told him. “I don’t gamble.”

He nodded sagaciously. “No future in it,” he said. We continued on around the circle.

Eventually, I returned to my office; I was pleased to be able to tell Kragar to expect an increase in our take this week. He grunted.

“Do something for me, Kragar.”

“What?”

“Go visit that guy who told us about the setup. Find out if he knows anything more.”

“Visit him? Personally?”

“Yeah. Face to face and all that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to find out if he’s unusual, so we can guess if we’re going to get any other takers.”

He shrugged. “All right. But won’t that be putting him in danger?”

“Not if no one notices you.”

He grunted again. “All right. When?”

“Now will be fine.”

He sighed, which was a welcome relief from the grunts, and left.

“Now what, Loiosh?”

“Got me, boss. Find Laris?”

“I’d love to. How? If he weren’t protected against witchcraft, I’d just try to nail him where he is.”

“It works out even, boss. If we weren’t protected against sorcery, he’d nail us where we are.”

“I suppose. Hey, Loiosh.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I feel like I’ve been, I don’t know, brushing you off lately, when I’ve been around Cawti. I’m sorry.”

His tongue flicked against the inside of my ear. “It’s okay, boss. I understand. Besides, one of these days, I’ll probably find someone myself.”

“I hope so. I think. Tell me something: have I been off recently? I mean, this business with Cawti, do you think it’s been getting in my way? I feel like I’ve been distracted or something.”

“A little, maybe. Don’t worry about it. You’ve been doing all right when things get rough, and I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it anyway.”

“Yeah. You know, Loiosh, I’m glad you’re around.”

“Aw, shucks, boss.”

Kragar returned about two hours later.

“Well?”

“I’m not sure if I learned anything useful or not, Vlad. He doesn’t have any idea where Laris is, but he’s willing to tell us if he finds out. He was pretty nervous about meeting me, but that’s understandable. Well, not nervous, exactly. Surprised, maybe, and caught off guard. Anyway, he hadn’t heard anything that struck me as useful.”

“Hmmmm. Did you get any feel for whether there might be others like him?”

Kragar shook his head.

“Okay,” I admitted, “I guess that didn’t get us anywhere. How about our other sources? Have we found anyone else who works for Laris?”

“A couple. But we can’t do anything about them until we have more funds. Paying for ‘work’ would break us right now.”

“Just two days until Endweek. Maybe we’ll be able to do something then. Leave me alone for a while now. I want to think.”

He made an exit. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and was interrupted again.

“Milord?”

“What is it, Fentor?”

“We found out part of it. The flats had belonged to a Dragonlord who died, and they’ve been sort of kicking around since then.”

“How long ago did he die?”

“About two years ago, milord.”

“I see. And you can’t find out who got possession after that?”

“Not yet, milord.”

“Keep working on it. Who was the Dragon, by the way?”

“A powerful sorcerer, lord. He was called Baritt.”

Well now . . . By all the Lords of Judgment, how was I going to fit this into my thinking? Coincidence came to mind, was thrown away, and kept coming back. How could it be coincidence? How could it not be coincidence?

“Milord?”

“Fentor, find out everything you can about that, right away. Put more people on it. Break into Imperial records, bribe recordsmiths, whatever you have to, but find out.”

“Yes, milord.”

Baritt . . . Baritt . . .

A powerful sorcerer, a wizard, a Dragonlord. He was old when he died, and had made such a name for himself that he was no longer referred to by his lineage. Rather, his descendants referred to themselves as “e’Baritt.” He had died only two years ago, and his monument, near Deathsgate Falls, had been the site of the bloodiest battle since the Interregnum.

Baritt.

It was easy enough to imagine him involved in some sort of conspiracy within the House of the Dragon, but what could he have to do with the Jhereg? Could he be Laris’s patron? Or could one of his descendants be? If so, why?

What’s more, if there was a relationship between my problem with Laris and Norathar’s problem with Baritt, that meant a deep intrigue of some kind, and Dragonlords simply aren’t intriguers—with the possible exception of Aliera, and then only within a limited sphere.

Was I really going to have to visit Deathsgate Falls and the Paths of the Dead again? I shuddered. Remembering my last visit, I knew that those who dwell there would not take my coming again at all kindly. Would it do any good if I did? Probably not; Baritt had certainly not been well disposed toward me last time.

But it couldn’t be coincidence. His name turning up like that, owning the very flats that had been used by Laris. Why hadn’t they merely passed to his heirs? Because someone had played with the records? Maybe, which would explain why Fentor was having so much trouble tracking down the ownership. But then, who? Why?

I reached out for contact with Morrolan.

“Yes, Vlad?”

“Tell me about Baritt.”

“Hmmph.”

“I already knew that.”

“Precisely what do you wish to know, Vlad?”

“How did he die?”

“Eh? You don’t know?”

“If I knew—no, I don’t know.”

“He was assassinated.”

Oh. That at least explained some of the remarks he’d made to me.

“I see. How was it done? I’m surprised a sorcerer as skilled as Baritt would allow himself to be cut down.”

“Hmmm. As I recall, Vlad, there is a saying among you Jhereg . . . ”

“Ah. Yes. ‘No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.’ ”

“Yes.”

“So it was a Jhereg?”

“What other assassins do you know of?”

“There are plenty of amateurs who’ll knife anyone for five gold. A Jhereg will hardly ever ‘work’on anyone who isn’t in the House; there usually isn’t any need to, unless someone is threatening to go to the Empire about something, or—”

I stopped dead.

Morrolan said, “Yes, Vlad? Or . . . ?”

I let him hang there. Or, I had been about to say, unless it’s done as a special favor, set up by a Jhereg, for a friend from another House. Which meant that maybe, maybe it hadn’t been Baritt behind the whole thing, after all. Maybe he’d been working with whoever it was, and this other person then needed Baritt taken out. And this other person was Laris’s patron. And, since Laris had helped out with Baritt, his patron was ready to help Laris get rid of me. A simple exchange of favors.

“Vlad?”

“Sorry, Morrolan, I’m trying to figure something out. Bide a moment, please.”

“Very well.”

So Laris’s patron was someone who had been working with Baritt about two years ago. Yes. Who would know?

“Morrolan, who would be likely to know someone who was working with Baritt shortly before his death?”

“I’m not sure, Vlad. I don’t know, myself. We never had much to do with each other while he was alive. Perhaps you should show up at Castle Black and ask around.”

“Yes . . . perhaps I’ll do that. Well, thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Certainly, Vlad.”

Well, well, and well.

At the very least, Laris was in it with someone else, and this someone else, presumably a Dragonlord, was helping him against me. If I could find out who he was, I might be able to nullify him simply by threatening to expose him; Dragons don’t think highly of their own kind helping out Jhereg.

Finding him involved discovering who had owned those flats. Hmmm. I reached out for—

“Fentor.”

“Yes, milord?”

“Make a list of every currently living descendant of Baritt. Have it ready in an hour.”

“An hour, milord?”

“Yes.”

“But—yes, milord.”

I broke the link, and opened another one.

“Who is it?”

“Hello, Sethra.”

“Oh, Vlad. Good evening. What can I do for you?”

“Is it still necessary to hold Norathar and Cawti prisoner?”

“I was just discussing that with Aliera. Why?”

“It would be helpful if Cawti were free this evening.”

“I see.” There was a pause, then: “Very well, Vlad. Neither Aliera nor Morrolan objects.”

“You’ll release both of them?”

“The Easterner was the only one in doubt. Norathar, as far as we’re concerned, is a Dragon.”

“I see. Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll tell them at once.”

“Make it five minutes from now, all right?”

“If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

Then I took a deep breath and began concentrating on Cawti, whom I didn’t really know all that well. But I thought about her face, her voice, her—

“Vladimir!”

“Got it on the first guess. What are you doing tonight?”

“What am I—? What do you suppose I’m doing? Your friends still haven’t allowed us to leave.”

“I think that can be arranged. If so, would the lady be so kind as to allow me to escort her to a small gathering this evening?”

“I should be honored, most gracious lord.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll see you in an hour.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

I broke the contact and yelled for my bodyguards to escort me home, so I could get properly dressed for the occasion. It doesn’t do to underdress for Castle Black.

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Two teleports after leaving home I was at Castle Black with Cawti and an unsteady stomach. Cawti was dressed to kill in long trousers of light gray, a blouse of the same color, and a gray cloak with black trim. I wore my good trousers, my good jerkin, and my cloak. We looked like a matched set.

Lady Teldra admitted us, greeted Cawti by name, and bade us visit the banquet hall. We must have been quite a sight: a pair of Easterners, both in Jhereg colors, with Loiosh on my left shoulder, putting him between us.

No one particularly noticed us.

I reached Fentor and told him where I was. He showed up, found me, and surreptitiously handed me a slip of paper. After he left, Cawti and I wandered around for a bit, seeing people and studying Morrolan’s “dining room,” and being casually insulted by passersby. After a while, I introduced her to the Necromancer.

Cawti bowed from the neck, which is subtly different than bowing the head. The Necromancer seemed uninterested, but returned the bow. The Necromancer didn’t care whether you were a Dragaeran or an Easterner, a Jhereg or a Dragon. To her, you were either living or dead, and she got along better with you if you were dead.

I asked her, “Did you know Baritt?”

She nodded absently.

“Do you know if he was working with anyone shortly before his death?”

She shook her head, just as absently.

“Well, uh, thanks,” I said, and moved on.

“Vladimir,” said Cawti, “what’s this business with Baritt all about?”

“I think someone is backing up Laris—someone big, probably in the House of the Dragon. I think whoever it is was working with Baritt at some point. I’m trying to find out who.”

I took her to a corner and pulled out the list Fentor had handed me. There were seven names on it. None of them meant anything to me.

“Recognize any of the names?”

“No. Should I?”

“Descendants of Baritt. I’m going to have to check them out, I think.”

“Why?”

I gave her a rundown on the story of the riot. Her beautiful face drew up into an ugly sneer. She said, “If I’d known what he had in mind—”

“Laris?”

She didn’t answer.

“Why take it so hard?” I asked her.

She stared at me. “Why take it so hard? He’s using our people. That’s us, Easterners, being set up to be beaten and killed just to manipulate a few guards. What do you mean, why take it so hard?”

“How long have you lived in the Empire, Cawti?”

“All my life.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it, that’s all. I expect things like that.”

She looked at me coldly. “It doesn’t bother you anymore, eh?”

I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times. “It still bothers me, I guess, but . . . Deathsgate, Cawti. You know what kind of people live in those areas. I got out of it, and you got out of it. Any of them—”

“Crap. Don’t start on that. You sound like a pimp. ‘I don’t use ‘em any more than they want to be used. They can do something else if they want. They like working for me.’ Crap. I suppose you feel the same way about slaves, right? They must like it or they’d run away.”

To be honest, it had never occurred to me to think about it. But Cawti was looking at me with rage in her lovely brown eyes. I felt a sudden flash of anger and said, “Look, damn it, I’ve never ‘worked’ on an Easterner, remember, so don’t give me any—”

“Don’t throw that up at me,” she snapped. “We’ve been over it once. I’m sorry. But it was a job, all right? That has nothing to do with your not caring about what happens to our own people.” She kept glaring at me. I’ve been glared at by experts, but this was different. I opened my mouth to say something about what it had to do with, but I couldn’t. It suddenly hit me that I could lose her, right now. It was like walking into a tavern where you’re going to finalize someone, and realizing that the guy’s bodyguards might be better than you. Except then, all you’re liable to lose is your life. As I stood there, I realized what I was on the verge of losing.

“Cawti,” I started to say, but my voice cracked. She turned away. We stood like that, in a corner of Morrolan’s dining room, with multitudes of Dragaerans around us, but we might as well have been in our own universe.

How long we stood there I don’t know. Finally, she turned back to me and said, “Forget it, Vlad. Let’s just enjoy the party.”

I shook my head. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

I took both of her hands, turned her around, and led her into a small alcove off to the side of the main room. Then I took both of her hands again and said, “Cawti, my father ran a restaurant. The only people who came in were Teckla and Jhereg, because no one else would associate with us. My father, may the Lords of Judgment damn his soul for a thousand years, wouldn’t let me associate with Easterners because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. You, maybe, got a title after you’d made some money, so you could get a link to the Orb. I was given a title through my father, who spent our life savings on it, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran.

“My father tried to make me learn Dragaeran swordsmanship, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. He tried to prevent me from studying witchcraft, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. I could go on for an hour. Do you think we were ever accepted as Dragaeran? Crap. They treated us like teckla droppings. The ones that didn’t despise us because we were Easterners hated us because we were Jhereg. They used to catch me, when I went on errands, and bash me around until—never mind.”

She started to say something, but I cut her off. “I don’t doubt that you could tell me stories just as bad; that isn’t the point.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate them,” I said, squeezing her hands until she winced. “I joined the organization as muscle so I could get paid for beating them up, and I started ‘working’ so I could get paid for killing them. Now I’m working my way up the organization so I can have the power to do what I want, by my own rules, and maybe show a few of them what happens when they underrate Easterners.

“There are exceptions—Morrolan, Aliera, Sethra, a few others. For you, maybe Norathar. But they don’t matter. Even when I work with my own employees, I have to ignore how much I despise them. I have to make myself pretend I don’t want to see every one of them torn apart. Those friends I mentioned—the other day, they were discussing conquering the East, right in front of me, as if I wouldn’t care.”

I paused and took a deep breath.

“So I have to not care. I have to convince myself that I don’t care. That’s the only way I can stay sane; I do what I have to do. And there’s precious little pleasure in this life, except the satisfaction of setting a goal, worthwhile or not, and meeting it.

“How many people can you trust, Cawti? I don’t mean trust not to stab you in the back, I mean trust—trust with your soul? How many? Up until now, Loiosh has been the only one I could share things with. Without him, I’d have gone out of my head, but we can’t really talk as equals. Finding you has . . . I don’t know, Cawti. I don’t want to lose you, that’s all. And not for something as stupid as this.”

I took another deep breath.

“I talk too much,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

While I’d been speaking, her face had relaxed, the rage draining out of it. When I finished, she came into my arms and held me, rocking me gently.

“I love you, Vladimir,” she said softly.

I buried my face in her neck and let the tears come.

Loiosh nuzzled my neck. I felt Cawti scratching his head.

A bit later, after I’d recovered, Cawti brushed my face with her hands and Loiosh licked my ear. We walked back to face the multitude. Cawti placed her hand on my left arm as we walked; I covered it with my right hand and squeezed.

I noticed the Sorceress in Green, but avoided her, not feeling like a confrontation just then. I looked for Morrolan, but didn’t see him. I noticed the Necromancer talking to a tall, dark-haired Dragaeran woman. The latter turned for a moment, and I was suddenly struck by her resemblance to Sethra Lavode. I wondered—

“Excuse me,” I said, approaching them. They broke off and looked at me. I bowed to the stranger. “I am Vladimir Taltos, House Jhereg. This is the Dagger of the Jhereg. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”

“You may,” she said.

I waited. Then I smiled and said, “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“I am Sethra,” she said. Bingo!

“I have heard much of you from your namesake,” I told her.

“No doubt. If that is all you wish to say, I am engaged just at the moment.”

“I see,” I said politely. “As a matter of fact, if you can spare a few moments—”

“My dear Easterner,” she said, “I am aware that Sethra Lavode, for reasons best known to herself, chooses to tolerate your presence, but I am no longer apprenticed to her, so I see no reason why I should. I have no time for Easterners, and no time for Jhereg. Is all of this clear to you?”

“Quite.” I bowed once more; Cawti did the same. Loiosh hissed at her as we turned away.

“Friendly, isn’t she?”

“Quite,” said Cawti.

At that moment Morrolan came in, escorting Norathar. She was dressed in black and silver, the colors of the House of the Dragon. I looked at Cawti; her face was expressionless. We approached them, fighting our way through the crowd.

Norathar and Cawti locked eyes, and I couldn’t see what was passing between them. But then they smiled, and Cawti said, aloud, “The colors are most fetching. You wear them well.”

“Thank you,” said Norathar softly. I noticed that there was a ring on the little finger of her right hand. On its face was a dragon, with two red eyes.

I turned to Morrolan. “Is it official?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Aliera is speaking to the Dragon Council about setting up an inquiry. It may take a few more days.”

I looked back at Norathar and Cawti, who were talking a few paces away from us. Morrolan was silent. It is a very rare skill in a man, and far more rare in an aristocrat, to know when to be still, but Morrolan had it. I shook my head as I watched Cawti. First, I’d become angry with her, then I had poured out my problems at her feet; when all the time her partner of—how long?—at least five years, was on the verge of becoming a Dragonlord.

By the Demon Goddess! What Cawti must have gone through as a child would have been very much like what I went through, or worse. Her friendship with Norathar must have been like my relationship with Loiosh, and she was watching it end. Gods, but I can be an insensitive ass when I try!

I looked at Cawti then, from behind and to the side. I’d never really looked at her before. As any man with the least amount of experience can tell you, looks mean absolutely nothing as far as bedding is concerned. But Cawti would have been attractive by the standards of any human. Her ears were round, not the least bit pointed, and she had no trace of facial hair. (Contrary to some Dragaerans’ belief, only male Easterners have whiskers—I don’t know why.) She was smaller than I, but she had long legs that made her seem taller than she was. A thin face, almost hawklike, and piercing brown eyes. Hair was black, perfectly straight, falling below her shoulders. She obviously paid a fair amount of attention to it, because it glistened in the light and was cut off exactly even.

Her breasts were small, but firm. Her waist, slender. Her buttocks were also small, and her legs slim but well muscled. Most of this, you understand, I was remembering rather than seeing, but as I looked, I decided that, even on this level, I’d done rather well for myself. A crude way of putting it, I suppose, but—

She turned away from Norathar and caught me looking at her. For some reason, this pleased me. I held out my left arm as she came up; she pressed it. I reached for contact with her and it came more easily than last time.

“Cawti . . . ”

“It’s all right, Vladimir.”

Norathar came up to us then, and said, “I’d like a word with you, Lord Taltos.”

“Call me ‘Vlad.’ ”

“As you wish. Excuse us,” she said to the others, and we walked a bit away.

Before she could say anything I started in. “If you’re going to give me any of the don’t-you-dare-hurt-her dung, you can forget it.”

She gave me a thin smile. “You seem to know me,” she said. “But why should I forget it? I mean it, you know. If you hurt her needlessly, I’ll kill you. I just feel I should tell you that.”

“The wise falcon hides his claws,” I said, “and it’s the poor assassin who warns his target.”

“Are you trying to make me angry with you, Vlad? I care about Cawti. I care enough to destroy anyone who causes her pain. I feel I should let you know, so you can avoid doing it.”

“How kind of you. What about you? Haven’t you hurt her more than I ever could?”

To my surprise, she didn’t even start to get angry. She said, “It may look that way, and I know I’ve hurt her, but not as badly as you could. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t see that it matters,” I said. “The way things are looking, I’m liable to be dead in a week or two anyway.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was, let us say, not overwhelmed with sympathy.

“If you really don’t want her hurt, you might try helping me to stay alive.”

She chuckled a bit. “Nice try, Vlad. But you know I have standards.”

I shrugged, and mentioned something that had been bothering me for a while. “If I’d heard he was looking for you, I would have put everything on the line and hired you myself, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“The one who employed us didn’t need to look for us; he knew where to find us, so there was no chance of your hearing.”

“Oh. I wish I’d been so privileged.”

“I have no idea how he found out—it isn’t common knowledge. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve said what I wanted to, and I think you under—”

She broke off, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just from habit.

“What is it, Loiosh?”

“The bitch you met last time. The Sorceress in Chartreuse, or whatever.”

“Great.”

“May I interrupt?” came the voice from behind me.

I looked at Norathar and raised my eyebrows. She nodded. I turned then, and said, “Lady Norathar e’Lanya, of the House of the Dragon, this is—”

“I am the Sorceress in Green,” said the Sorceress in Green. “And I am quite capable of introducing myself, Easterner.”

I sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not wanted here? Never mind.” I bowed to Norathar and Loiosh hissed at the Sorceress.

As I walked away, the Sorceress was saying, “Easterners! I’ll be just as pleased when Sethra the Younger goes after them. Won’t you?”

I heard Norathar say, “Hardly,” in a cold tone of voice, and then I was thankfully out of earshot. Then it hit me: I was looking for an Athyra who had been involved in the plot against Norathar. The Sorceress in Green was an Athyra. Just maybe, I decided. I’d have to think about how to verify or disprove this.

I returned to Cawti and said, “Is there anything keeping you here?”

She looked startled, but shook her head.

“Should we leave?” I asked.

“Weren’t you going to be checking on that list?”

“This party runs twenty-four hours a day, five days a week. It’ll wait.”

She nodded. I gave Morrolan a bow, then we went out the door and down to the entryway without taking our leaves of anyone else. One of Morrolan’s sorcerers was standing near the door. I had him teleport us back to my apartment. The sick feeling in my stomach when we arrived was not, I think, due only to the teleport.

My flat, at that time, was above a wheelwright’s shop on Garshos Street near the corner of Copper Lane. It was roomy for the money because it was an attic, and the sloping ceiling would have annoyed a Dragaeran. My income, just before the business with Laris had started, had me thinking about getting a larger place, but it was just as well I hadn’t.

We sat down on the couch. I put my arm around her shoulder, and said, “Tell me about yourself.” She did, but it isn’t any of your business. I’ll just say that I was right in my earlier guesses about her experiences.

We got to talking about other things, and at one point I showed her my target in the back room, set so I could throw through the hall and give myself a thirty-foot range. The target, by the way, was in the shape of a Dragon’s head. She thought that was a nice touch.

I took out a brace of six knives and put four of them into the left eye of the target.

She said, “Good throwing, Vladimir. May I try?”

“Sure.”

She put five into the right eye, and the sixth less than half an inch off.

“I see,” I said, “that I’m going to have to practice.”

She grinned. I hugged her.

“Vlad,” said someone.

“What the bleeding deviltries of Deathsgate Falls do you—Oh, Morrolan.”

“Bad time, Vlad?”

“Could be worse. What is it?”

“I’ve just spoken to Aliera. She has found the names of the Lyorn and the Athyra who were involved in the test on the Lady Norathar. Also, you may wish to inform your friend Cawti that the Dragon Council has authorized an official scan for tomorrow, at the sixth hour past noon.”

“All right. I’ll tell her. What are the names?”

“The Lyorn was Countess Neorenti, the Athyra was Baroness Tierella.”

“Baroness Tierella, eh? Morrolan, could Baroness Tierella be the real name of the Sorceress in Green?”

“What? Don’t be absurd, Vlad. She—”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. Why?”

“Never mind; I just lost a theory I liked. Okay, thank you.”

“You are most welcome. A good evening to you, and I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at my party longer.”

“Another time, Morrolan.”

I gave Cawti the news about Norathar, which broke the mood, but what was I supposed to do? I went into the kitchen and got us some wine, then got in touch with Fentor.

“Yes, milord?”

“House of the Lyorn, Countess Neorenti. House of the Athyra, Baroness Tierella. Are they alive? If so, find out where they live. If not, find out how they died. Get right on it.”

“Yes, milord.”

Cawti sighed.

“I’m done,” I said quickly. “It was just—”

“No, it isn’t that,” she said. “I only wish there were some way I could help you with Laris. But all the information I have came from him, and I couldn’t tell you that, even if it was useful.”

“I understand,” I said. “You have to live with yourself.”

She nodded. “Things were so easy, just a week ago. I mean, I was happy . . . I guess. We were secure. My reasons for wanting to kill Dragaerans are the same as yours, and Norathar, well, she just hated everything. Except me, I suppose.” I put my arm back around her shoulder. “Now, well, I’m happy that she has what she wants, even if she’d managed to convince herself she didn’t want it anymore, but me—” She shrugged.

“I know,” I said. Now, would you like to hear something crazy? I wanted, badly, to say something like, “I hope I can take her place for you,” or maybe, “I’ll be here,” or even, “I love you, Cawti.” But I couldn’t. Why? Because, as far as I could tell, I was going to be dead in a little while. Laris was still after me, still had more resources than I did, and, most important, he knew where to find me, and I didn’t know where to find him. So, under the circumstances, how could I do anything that would tie her to me? It was crazy. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut.

I looked up at her and noticed that she was staring over my shoulder and nodding slightly.

“Loiosh!”

“Yeah, boss?”

“What are you telling her, damn you?”

“What you’d tell her yourself, boss, if you weren’t a dzur-brained fool.”

I made a grab for him, but he fluttered over to the windowsill. I stood up, growling, and felt a touch on my arm.

“Vladimir,” she said calmly, “let’s go to bed.”

Well, between wringing the neck of a wiseass, know-it-all jhereg, and making love to the most wonderful woman in the world—I mean, the choice wasn’t hard to make.

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“Milord?”

“Yes, Fentor?” I came more fully awake and pulled Cawti closer to me.

“I’ve located Countess Neorenti.”

“Good work, Fentor. I’m pleased. What about the Athyra?”

“Milord, are you certain about her name? Baroness Tierella?”

“I think so. I could check on it a little more, I suppose. Why? Can’t find her?”

“I’ve checked the records as thoroughly as I can. Milord. There has never been anyone named ‘Tierella’ in the House of the Athyra, ‘Baroness’ or anything else.”

I sighed. Why does life have to be so Verra-be-damned complicated?

“Okay, Fentor. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

“Thank you, milord.”

The contact was broken. Cawti was awake, and snuggled closer to me.

“What is it, Vladimir?”

“More trouble,” I said. “Let’s forget it for now.”

“Mmmmmmm,” she said.

“Loiosh.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You are provisionally forgiven.”

“Yeah, I know.”

A few brief, happy hours later we were up and functional. Cawti offered to buy me breakfast and I accepted. Before we left, she wandered around the rooms, looking into nooks and crannies. She commented on a cheap print of an expensive Katana sketch of Dzur Mountain, sneered good-naturedly at some imitation Eastern cut glass, and would have continued all day if I hadn’t finally said, “Let me know when you’re through with the inspection. I’m getting hungry.”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry.” She gave the flat another look. “It’s just that I suddenly feel as if this were home.”

I felt a lump in my throat as she took my arm and guided me to the door.

“Where shall we eat? Vladimir?”

“What? Oh. Uh, anywhere’s fine. There’s a place just a couple of doors up that has clean silver and klava that you don’t need a spoon for.”

“Sounds good.”

Loiosh settled on my shoulder and we went down to the street. It was about four hours after dawn, and a few things were just beginning to get going, but there was little street traffic. We went into Tsedik’s and Cawti bought me two greasy sausages, a pair of burned chicken eggs, warmed bread, and adequate klava to wash it down with. She had the same.

I said, “I just realized that I haven’t cooked a meal for you yet.”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to it.” She smiled.

“You know I cook? Oh. Yeah.” She continued eating. I said, “I really ought to do a job on your background, just to make us even, you know.”

“I told you most of it last night, Vladimir.”

“Doesn’t count,” I sniffed. “Not the same thing.”

Midway through the meal, I noted the time and decided to do some business. “Excuse me,” I said to Cawti.

“Morrolan . . . ”

“Yes, Vlad?”

“The Athyra you gave me isn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She isn’t an Athyra.”

“What is she, pray?”

“As far as I know, she doesn’t exist.”

There was a pause. “I shall look into this and inform you of the results.”

“Okay.”

I sighed, and the rest of the meal passed in silence. We kept it short, because being in a public restaurant without bodyguards can be dangerous. All it would take would be a waiter who knew what was going on to get a message to Laris’s people, and they could send someone in to nail me. Cawti understood this, so she didn’t make any comment when I rushed a bit.

She understood it so well, in fact, that she stepped out of the place ahead of me, just to make sure there was no one around. Loiosh did the same thing.

“Boss, stay back!” And, “Vladimir!”

And, for the first time in my life, I froze in a crisis. Why? Because all of my instincts and training told me to dive and get away from the door, but my reason told me that Cawti was facing an assassin.

I stood there like an idiot while Cawti rushed out, and then there was someone in front of me, holding a wizard’s staff. He gestured, and then Spellbreaker was in my hand and swinging toward him before I knew what I was doing. I felt a tingling in my arm and knew that I’d intercepted something. I saw the guy in front of me curse, but before he could do anything else there was a dagger sticking out of the side of his neck. Whatever Cawti was doing, she apparently had time to keep an eye on the door. As I scrambled through, drawing a stiletto, I managed a psionic “Help!” to Kragar. Then I saw three more of them. Sheesh!

One was yelling and trying to fight off Loiosh. Another was dueling, sword to sword, with Cawti. The third spotted me as I emerged and his hand flicked out. I dived toward him, rolling (this is not easy with a sword at your hip), and whatever he threw missed. I lashed out with both feet, but he danced back out of the way. There was a knife in his left hand, set for throwing. I hoped he’d miss any vital spots.

Then the knife fell from his hand as a dagger blossomed from his wrist. I took the opportunity to roll up and do unto him what he’d been about to do unto me. I considered his heart an adequate vital spot; I didn’t miss it.

A quick glance at Cawti showed me that she was doing all right against her man, who apparently wasn’t used to a swordsman who presented only the side. I drew my rapier and took two steps toward the one Loiosh was engaging. He gave Loiosh a last swipe, turned to face me, raised his blade, and took the point of my rapier in his left eye. I turned back to Cawti. She was cleaning her weapon.

“Let’s move, troops,” I said, as Loiosh returned to my shoulder.

“Good idea. Can you teleport?”

“Not when I’m this excited. You?”

“No.”

“How about walking, then. Back to my office.”

Cawti cleaned her blade, while I dropped mine where it was. Then I led us back into Tsedik’s and out the back door, and we began a leisurely stroll back to the office. If we walked fast, we’d attract even more attention than we already had, but I don’t know if there is anything in the world more difficult than trying to stroll while your heart is racing and the adrenaline is pumping through your system. I was trembling like a teckla, and the knowledge that this made me an even easier target didn’t help.

We had gone less than a block toward the office when four more Jhereg showed up: Glowbug, N’aal, Shoen, and Sticks.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I managed. They all greeted me. I refrained from telling N’aal that he looked well, because he might have thought I was mocking him. He didn’t seem resentful, though.

We made it back to the office without incident. I contrived to be alone when I finally lost my breakfast. It hadn’t been that good, anyway.

I’ve known Dragaerans, and I mean known, not just heard of, who can eat a meal, go out and have an incredibly close brush with death, then come home and eat another meal. You might run into one of these jokers an hour later and ask if anything interesting has been happening, and he’ll shrug and say, “Not really.”

I don’t know if I admire these types or just feel sorry for them, but I’m sure not like that. I have a variety of reactions to almost dying and none of them involves being plussed. It’s especially bad when it comes as the result of an assassination attempt, because such attempts are, by nature, unexpected.

But my reactions, as I said, vary. Sometimes I become paranoid for a few hours or days, sometimes I become aggressive and belligerent. This time, I sat very still at my desk for a long time. I was shaken and I was scared. The sight of those four—four—kept running through my mind.

I was definitely going to have to do something about this Laris fellow.

“Time to get moving, boss.”

“Eh?”

“You’ve been sitting there for about two hours now. That’s enough.”

“It can’t have been that long.”

“Humph.”

I noticed Cawti was in the room, waiting for me. “How long have you been there?”

“About two hours.”

“It can’t—have you been talking to Loiosh? Never mind.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not used to this.”

“You should be by now,” she remarked dryly.

“Yeah. I’ve got that to console me. How many people do you know who have survived . . . ”

“Yes, Vlad? What is it?”

I sat there thinking for a very long time indeed. Then I asked the question again, in a less rhetorical tone of voice. “How many people do you know who have survived even two assassination attempts, let alone three?”

She shook her head. “There are damn few who survive the first one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone surviving two. As for three—it’s quite an accomplishment, Vladimir.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look Cawti, I’m good, I know that. I’m also lucky. But I’m not that good, and I’m not that lucky. What does that leave?”

“That the assassins were incompetent?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

I saw it and raised one. “Are you?”

“No.”

“So what else does it leave?”

“I give up. What?”

“That the attempts weren’t real.”

“What?”

“What if Laris hasn’t been trying to kill me?”

“That’s absurd.”

“I agree. But so is surviving three assassination attempts.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Let’s think about it, all right?”

“How can I think about it? Damn it, I did one of them myself.”

“I know. All right, we’ll start with you, then. Were you actually hired to assassinate me, or were you hired to make it look like you were trying to assassinate me?”

“Why on Dragaera—?”

“Don’t evade the issue, please. Which was it?”

“We were hired to assassinate you, damn it!”

“That’s admissible at Court, you know. Never mind,” I said quickly as she started flushing. “Okay, you say you were hired to assassinate me. Suppose you were given the job of making it look good. How—”

“I wouldn’t take it. And get myself killed?”

“Skip that for the moment. Just suppose. How would you deal with the questions I’ve been asking, if your job was to make me think Laris wanted to kill me?”

“I—” she stopped and looked puzzled.

“Right. You’d answer just as you’ve been answering.”

“Vladimir,” she said slowly, “do you actually think that’s the case?”

“Uh . . . not really. But I have to allow for the possibility. Don’t I?”

“I guess,” she said. “But where does that leave you?”

“It means that, for the moment, we can forget about you and Norathar.”

“You still haven’t said why he’d want to do this.”

“I know. Skip that, too. Let’s take the attempt outside the office. I’ve told you about it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I got out of that because I’m quick and accurate and, mostly, because Loiosh warned me in time, and took care of one of them so that I was free to deal with the other.”

“I was wondering if you’d remember that, boss.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Now,” I continued, “how could Laris, and therefore anyone he hired, not have known about Loiosh?”

“Well, of course he knew about him—that’s why he sent two assassins.”

“But they underestimated him?”

“Well—forgive me, Loiosh—but he didn’t do all that well against Norathar and me. Also, you reacted better and more quickly than Laris could have expected. As I told you before, Vladimir, you have a talent for making people underestimate you.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he gave the job to a pair of incompetents, hoping they’d bungle it.”

“That’s absurd. He couldn’t tell them to bungle it, that would be suicide. And he couldn’t know they’d fail. As I understand it, they almost got you.”

“And, maybe, even if they had, they wouldn’t have made it permanent. We can’t question them. Which reminds me, you could also have been told not to make it permanent. Were you?”

“No.”

“Okay, skip that. Maybe he figured I’d survive, and, if I didn’t, that I’d be revivified.”

“But you still haven’t said why.”

“Wait for it. Now, about today—”

“I was wondering when you were going to get to that. Did you see what the one threw at you?”

“The sorcerer?”

“No, the other one.”

“No. What was it?”

“A pair of large throwing knives, with thin blades. And they were perfectly placed for your head.”

“But I ducked.”

“Oh, come on, Vlad. How could he know that you’d react that quickly?”

“Because he knows me—he’s studied me. Deathsgate, Cawti. That’s what I’d do—what I’ve been trying to do as best I can.”

“I have trouble—”

“Okay, just a minute then.” I yelled past her. “Melestav! Get Kragar in here.”

“Okay, boss.”

Cawti looked an inquiry at me, but I held up a finger as a signal to wait. Kragar came into the room. He stopped, glanced at Cawti, and looked at me.

“This lady,” I informed him, “is the Dagger of the Jhereg.” As I said it, I looked a question at her.

“Might as well,” she said. “It doesn’t much matter anymore.”

“Okay,” I said. “She is also known as Cawti. Cawti, this is Kragar, my lieutenant.”

“Is that what I am?” he mused. “I’ve wondered.”

“Sit down.” He sat. “Okay, Kragar. You’re Laris.”

“I’m Laris. I’m Laris? You just said I was your lieutenant.”

“Shut up. You’re Laris. You get word that I’m sitting in a restaurant. What do you do?”

“Uh . . . I send an assassin over.”

“ ‘An’ assassin? Not four?”

“Four? Why would I send four? Laris wants to kill you, not give you Imperial Honors. With four assassins, you have three eyewitnesses to the thing. He’d get one good guy. There are plenty of ‘workers’ who wouldn’t have any trouble finalizing you if they knew you were sitting in a restaurant. If he couldn’t find someone good, he might go with two. But not four.”

I nodded and looked at Cawti. “The way you and Norathar work keeps you out of contact with a large part of the Jhereg. But Kragar’s right.”

“Is that what happened, boss?” Kragar asked, looking puzzled.

“Later,” I told him. “Now, let’s suppose that you didn’t have anyone around who could do it, or any two. For some reason, anyway, you want to use four of them. What do you tell them to do?”

He thought for a moment.

“Do I know where you’re sitting, and what the layout of the place is?”

“Whoever told you I was there told you that stuff, too, or else you get back in touch with him and ask.”

“Okay. Then I tell them that stuff, and say, ‘go in there and do him.’ What more is there to say?”

“You wouldn’t have them wait outside?”

He shook his head, looking more puzzled than ever. “Why give you a chance to be up and moving? If you’re sitting down—”

“Yes,” said Cawti suddenly. “When I stepped outside, they were just standing there, waiting. That’s been bothering me, but I didn’t realize it until now. You’re right.”

I nodded. “Which means that either Laris, or his button-man, is a complete incompetent, or—that’s all for now, Kragar.”

“Uh . . . good. Well, I hope I helped.” He shook his head and left.

“Or,” I continued to Cawti, “he wasn’t really trying to kill me after all.”

“If he was trying to fool you,” she said, “couldn’t he have done a better job of it? After all, you figured it out. If you’re going to use success or failure to prove intention—”

“If we follow that reasoning, then I’m supposed to figure out that he’s only bluffing, right? Come on, lover. We aren’t Yendi.”

“Okay,” she said. “But you still haven’t said why he’d only want to bluff you.”

“That,” I admitted, “is a tricky one.”

She snorted.

I held my hand up. “I only said it’s tricky—not that I’m not trickier. The obvious reason for him not to kill me is that he wants me alive.”

“Right,” she said. “Brilliant.”

“Now, what reason could he have for wanting me alive?”

“Well, I know of at least one good reason, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

I blew her a kiss and hacked my way onward. “Now, there are several possible reasons why he might want me alive. If any—”

“Name one.”

“I’ll come back to that. If any of them is true, then he might be hoping to scare me into making a deal. We might be hearing from him any time, asking me if I’ll accept terms. If I do hear from him, what I say will depend on if I can figure out what he’s after, so I know how badly he wants to keep me alive. Got it?”

She shook her head. “Are you sure you aren’t part Yendi? Never mind. Go on.”

“Okay. Now, as for reasons why he might want me alive, the first thing that comes to mind is: he might not like something that will happen when I die. Okay, now, what happens when I die?”

“I kill him,” said Cawti.

“One possib—What did you say?”

“I kill him.”

I swallowed.

“Well,” she said angrily, her nostrils flaring, “what did you think I’d do? Kiss him?”

“I—Thank you. I didn’t realize . . . ”

“Go on.”

“Could he know that?”

She looked puzzled. “I don’t think so.”

Which suddenly made me wonder about something. “Loiosh, could someone have—?”

“No, boss. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? Love spells—”

“I’m sure, boss.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I shook my head. “Okay, what I was going to say is, some of my friends—that is, my other friends—might come down on him. Not Aliera—she’s the Dragon Heir, and the Dragon Council would have a lyorn if she started battling Jhereg—but Morrolan might go after Laris, and maybe Sethra would. Laris might be worried about that. But if so, why did he start the war? Maybe he only found out about my friends after it was too late to back out.”

“That’s quite a chain of supposition, Vladimir.”

“I know, but this whole thing is a big chain of supposition. Anyway, another possibility is that he started the war knowing all this, but had some other reason for starting the war anyway, and hopes to get something without having to kill me.”

“What reason?”

“What’s the war about?”

“Territory.”

“Right. Suppose that there is some particular area he wants. Maybe there’s something buried around here, something important.” She didn’t look convinced. I continued. “You saw the front of this place? They staged a raid on it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but maybe my office is sitting right on top of something they want.”

“Oh, come on. This is so farfetched I can’t believe it.”

“All right,” I said, backing up a bit. “I’m not saying that I’ve hit dead center, I’m just trying to show you that there are possibilities.”

She grimaced. “You aren’t going to convince me,” she said. “This whole thing is based on assuming that Norathar and I are part of the hoax. Maybe I can’t prove to you that we aren’t, but I know we’re not, so I’m not going to be convinced.”

I sighed. “I don’t really believe you are, either.”

“Well, then, where does that leave your theory?”

I thought about it for a while. Then, “Kragar.”

“Yeah, Vlad?”

“Remember that tavern keeper who tipped us off?”

“Sure.”

“You said that he heard it being arranged—do you know if he heard someone actually talking to the assassins?”

“Yes, he did. He said the button-man addressed them by name. That’s how I knew who we were up against.”

“I see. When you went to see him, you said he was, how did you put it? ‘Surprised and caught off guard.’ Now, can you take a guess about whether he was more afraid of you, or afraid of being seen with you?”

“That’s pretty subtle, Vlad.”

“So are you, Kragar. Try.”

There was a pause. “My first reaction was that he was afraid of me personally, but I don’t see—”

“Thanks.”

I turned back to Cawti. “Would you mind telling me where this thing was set up?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve admitted that you were hired to assassinate me. All I want to know is where it was arranged.”

She looked at me for a long moment. “Why? What does this have to do with—”

“If my suspicions are confirmed, I’ll tell you. If not, I’ll tell you anyway. Now, where was it arranged?”

“A restaurant in Laris’s area. You know I can’t be more specific—”

“Which floor?”

“Huh?”

“Which floor?”

This earned me a quizzical look. “The main floor.”

“Right,” I said. “And a restaurant, not a tavern. Okay. And you didn’t discuss it with him personally, did you?”

“Certainly not.”

“So you don’t even know who the job came from?”

“Well . . . not technically, I suppose. But I assumed—” She stopped, and her eyes grew wide. “Then who—?”

“Later,” I said. “We’ll get to that. It isn’t what you think—I think. Give me a moment.”

She nodded.

“Kragar.”

“Yes, Vlad?”

“Our friend the tavern keeper—I would like him to become dead.”

“But boss, he—”

“Shut up. Finalize him.”

“Whatever you say, Vlad.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.” I thought for a moment. “Have Shoen do it—he’s reliable.”

“Okay.”

That’s the trouble with not having any button-men: you have to do all the dirty work yourself.

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previous | Table of Contents | next

I leaned back in my chair. “The next question,” I said, “is why they—Cawti? What is it?”

She was staring at me through slitted eyes.

“He set us up,” she said. “Or someone did.”

“Hmmm. You’re right. I was so involved in my problem that I didn’t see it from your end.”

“You said I was wrong before, when it occurred to me that someone else had done it. Why?”

“We got the information from one of Laris’s people. That means that he must have had a hand in it.”

“You’re right. So it was him.”

“But why, Cawti? Why does he want me to think he’s after me?”

“I’ll ask you another one,” she said. “Why use us?”

“Well,” I said, “it was certainly convincing.”

“I suppose. When I tell Norathar about this—” she stopped, and a strange look came over her face.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell Norathar about this, Vladimir. She’s the Dragon Heir now, or soon will be. If she gets involved in Jhereg activities at this point, she’ll lose her position. I can’t do that to her. I wish I hadn’t told her about the earlier attempt on you.”

“Mmmm,” I said.

“So it’s you and me. We’ll find that bastard, and—”

“How? He’s vanished. He’s protected against sorcery traces and even blocked against witchcraft. I know; I’ve tested.”

“We’ll find a way, Vladimir. Somehow.”

“But why? What is he after?”

She shrugged, took out a dagger, and started flipping it. My breath caught for a moment, watching her. It was as if she were a female version of me . . .

“Okay,” I continued, “what are the anomalies? First, hiring a team of assassins with the kind of reputation you and Norathar have, just to pull off a bluff. Second, doing it in such a way that you two find out and are still alive. He must have known that you wouldn’t be pleased about this, and—”

“No,” said Cawti. “The only reason I’m alive is that Norathar refused to speak to Aliera unless she revivified me. And the only reason Norathar is alive is that Aliera was convinced she was a Dragonlord and wanted to hear her story.” She chuckled. “Norathar wouldn’t talk to her anyway.”

“I see,” I said softly. “I hadn’t known that. Well then, if this was his plan, he could have pretty much counted on you two being—That’s it, then.”

“What?”

“Just a minute. Is it? No, that doesn’t make sense, either. Why . . . ?”

“What is it, Vladimir?”

“Well, what if the point was to kill you and Norathar? But that doesn’t make sense.”

She thought about it for a minute. “I agree; it doesn’t. There are other ways to have killed us. And why continue the bluff after it failed?”

“I agree, but . . . could Laris know about Norathar’s background?”

“I don’t see how. I suppose it’s possible, but why would he care?”

“I don’t know. But look: the part of this that could most reasonably be a slip is that you and Norathar are still alive. So the only thing that should have been accomplished, so far, is the deaths of you two. Now of the two of you, it makes the most sense that someone would want Norathar killed, and it probably has to do with her background. What if we assume that’s the case and go from there. What does that get us?”

“It still doesn’t explain the war on you. Why not just kill her? Or, if he wants to be devious, give us the job of killing you and hire someone else to finalize us there?”

I nodded. “There’s more to this than I can see,” I admitted. “I know just the person we’re going to want to talk to about it.”

“Who?”

“What Dragonlord do you know of with the most interest right now in who the heir is? Who could have set this whole thing up, just to have Norathar dead, then revivified, then made the Dragon Heir? And maybe make attempts on my life just to make things look good? Who is it who most wants to find a new heir to the throne?”

She nodded. “Aliera.”

“I’m going to arrange a teleport,” I said.

Cawti and I leaned on each other for support. We stood in the courtyard of Castle Black, which floated above a small village about 175 miles northeast of Adrilankha. The tip of Dzur Mountain could be seen to the east, which was a more pleasant view than looking down provided.

“I’m sick,” I remarked conversationally.

Cawti nodded.

“The couple that heaves together, cleaves together.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Cawti chuckled. I glanced at her sharply.

“Loiosh, did you say that to her, too?”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“You shouldn’t have said it at all. But that isn’t what I meant. It’s just . . . interesting.”

By then our stomachs had settled down a bit; we approached the doors. They opened, displaying a wide hallway and Lady Teldra. She bestowed compliments upon us, during which we learned that Aliera was with Morrolan in the library. I told her we could find our own way. We went up the stairs, not stopping, as I usually did, to look at the artwork, and clapped at the door to the library.

“Enter,” said Morrolan.

We did, and I could tell by looking at their faces that a remarkable thing was occurring: they weren’t arguing about anything.

“Is one of you sick?” I asked.

“No,” said Morrolan. “What leads you to ask?”

“Never mind. I have to talk to you, Aliera. Morrolan, this probably concerns you, too, so you may as well hear it.”

“Sit down, then,” he said. “Wine?”

“Please.” I looked over at Cawti. She nodded. “Two,” I said. “Where is Norathar?”

“She is being examined,” said Aliera.

“Oh. Probably just as well.”

One of Aliera’s fine eyebrows climbed. “She shouldn’t hear this?”

“Not yet, anyway.”

As we pulled up chairs, a servant appeared with wine. Morrolan favors sparkling wines, whereas I think such things are an abomination. But, since he knows that, he brought a dry white, nicely chilled. I raised my glass in salute, sipped, and let my tongue enjoy itself while I tried to figure out how to tell Aliera what I had to tell her, and how to find out from her what I wanted to know.

When she’d had enough of waiting, she said, “Yes, Vlad?”

I sighed and blurted out the story of the assassination attempts as best I could, not going into any more detail than necessary about my own affairs, and never actually saying that Cawti had admitted trying to kill me. I mean, Aliera knew it, but habits are hard to break.

As I spoke, she and Morrolan became more and more alert. They occasionally exchanged glances. I finished up by saying that I could see no reason why Laris would have wanted Norathar dead, but I couldn’t explain things any other way. Did they have any ideas?

“No,” said Aliera. “But it doesn’t matter. And, as soon as I can track him down, it will matter even less.”

Morrolan coughed gently. “I would suggest, my dear cousin, that you at least wait until the Lady Norathar’s position is confirmed. You are currently the heir, and the council hardly approves of Dragons involving themselves with Jhereg.”

“So what?” she snapped. “What will they do to me? Find me unfit to be Empress? Let them! Besides, Norathar is certain to be confirmed.”

“Hardly,” said Morrolan. “She has a long history of associating with the Jhereg.”

“Completely justified, under the circumstances.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, I don’t care. I’m going to find this Jhereg, and I’m going to show him Kieron’s Sword. You are welcome to assist me. Hindering me would be an error.”

She stood up and glared at Morrolan. “Well?”

I turned to Cawti and said in a normal tone of voice, “Don’t worry about it; they do this all the time.” She giggled. Neither Aliera nor Morrolan appeared to hear me.

Morrolan sighed. “Sit down, Aliera. This is nonsense. All I am asking you to do is wait a day or two, until we know the results of the council’s decision on Lady Norathar. If she fails to become the heir, we will discuss it then. There is nothing to be gained by rushing out there like this. You have no way of finding him.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then seated herself. “Two days, then,” she said. “At the most. Then I kill him.”

“I’ll help,” said Cawti.

Aliera started to object, but Cawti interrupted. “It’s all right,” she said. “You forget: I’ve worked with Dragaerans before. I really don’t mind at all.”

Cawti and I happily accepted Morrolan’s hospitality in the form of a good lunch. Then I excused myself and went back into the now deserted library to think.

All of this business with Norathar, I decided, was fine, but it wasn’t helping me find Laris, or at least get him off my back. Cawti and Aliera could talk about killing him, but they couldn’t find him any more than I could, even if Aliera was telling the truth. And I couldn’t afford to wait. If this kept up, I’d be out of business in a matter of weeks, at best.

It occurred to me that I might be able to get a message to him, proposing a truce. But he wouldn’t go for it. And when I remembered Nielar’s body, lying in the rubble of his shop, and the years I’d worked with Temek, and with Varg, I knew that I wouldn’t go for it either.

Which brought me back to finding Laris, which brought me back to the big questions: Who had been working with Baritt shortly before his death? Was this person Laris’s patron? How did this fit in with the business with Norathar? Was it Aliera? If not, who? And how to find out for sure?

I had reached that point when Cawti, Morrolan, and Aliera walked in. Before they could even sit down, I said, “Morrolan, did you find out anything yet about that Athyra?” I tried to keep an eye on Aliera as I asked the question, but her face betrayed nothing.

“No. Sethra is looking into the matter. Is there something in particular you wish to know?”

“Yes. You said that an Athyra is likely to be recommended by someone: can you find out who recommended the one used in Norathar’s earlier examination?”

He nodded. “I see why you are asking. We must assume that the Athyra was, as you would say, ‘a ringer,’ and whoever recommended her may have known this. Very well, I’ll see if I can find out. But I doubt that it was recorded, and it is unlikely that anyone remembers.”

“Except the one who did it, of course. Hmmm. Is there any way of putting together a list of everyone who could have made the suggestion?”

Morrolan looked startled. “Why—yes, that should be possible. I shall look into it immediately.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“It is nothing.”

“How much will that help, Vlad?” asked Aliera after Morrolan had left.

“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “It’s impossible in something like this to tell who’s a willing dupe, who’s an unwilling dupe, and who might be behind it. But if we can find out who made the recommendation, it’ll at least be a start.”

She nodded. “What about the Lyorn?”

“I haven’t spoken to her yet. But look: I was told that the Lyorn was only there to make sure all the forms were followed. Say they were. There isn’t any reason why the Lyorn couldn’t have been taken in by whoever fooled Sethra the Younger about the first examination.”

“True.”

“So, of the people involved, we have: Sethra the Younger, who was duped or involved; the Lyorn, who was duped or involved; Baritt, who was duped or involved and then assassinated; and someone posing as an Athyra, or an Athyra using a false name.”

“In other words, we have nothing.”

“Right. We have to find out who that ‘Athyra’ was; she’s our only clue to whoever is behind it—if, in fact, she isn’t behind it herself.”

“Well, Vlad, don’t you have the name of the Lyorn noble? Why don’t you ask her? She’s liable to remember, or at least have written it down—Lyorns write everything down.”

“Now there,” I said, “is an idea.” I considered for a moment. What would Aliera do if . . . “But Lyorns don’t like to talk to Jhereg,” I said suddenly. “Is there any chance that you can find out for me?”

“What is her name, and where does she live?”

I told her.

“I’ll find out for you,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She bowed to Cawti and me, and left.

“Why did you do that, Vladimir?”

“To find out what Aliera will do about it. If the Lyora shows up recently dead, we have our answer. If not, we’ll see what Aliera says the Lyora told her.” I sighed, and settled back to think. Cawti came up behind me and began rubbing my shoulders. I reached up with both hands and touched hers. She leaned over my head and kissed me upside down, dislodging Loiosh.

“You two are disgusting.”

“Quiet. I’m busy.”

There was a clap at the door. We sighed and Cawti straightened up.

“Come in,” I called.

Norathar came in, death written all over her face. I stood up and glanced at Cawti, whose eyes were locked with Norathar’s.

“The examination showed you aren’t a Dragon,” I suggested.

“Wrong,” she said.

“Then what happened?”

“I am now confirmed as a Dragonlord—but not as the heir.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. If you two would rather—”

“It isn’t that,” she snapped. “They wish to ‘observe’ me for a while before making me the heir. I have to serve a stint in the Phoenix Guard, to ‘prove’ myself. As if I have any desire to be Emperor, anyway!”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t any Dragonlord ever want to be Emperor?”

“No,” said Norathar.

“Okay. You’re upset that they don’t trust you enough to make it immediate?”

“Some. But I found out something else. I’m afraid that it isn’t something I can discuss with you, Lord Taltos. But my sister and I—” She stopped, and I guessed that she and Cawti were conversing psionically. After a moment, Norathar turned to me and said, “So you know.”

“About why your attack on me failed? And what it means?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll understand why my sister and I must leave for the moment. We have to attend—”

“How did you find out?”

“I was told.”

“By whom?”

“I swore not to say.”

“Oh.”

“Farewell for the—”

“Wait a minute, please. I have to think. There’s something, before you go . . . ”

“Make it quick.”

I ignored the looks of inquiry Cawti was giving me, and reached out—“Morrolan! Come back here, quick!”

“Why?”

“No time. Hurry!”

And then, “Aliera, there’s trouble. Morrolan’s on his way, you should be here, too.” Whether Aliera was innocent or not, she would want to stop Norathar—I hoped.

Morrolan came bursting into the room, Aliera following by a second or two. Morrolan’s blade was at his side, but Aliera was holding eight feet of glistening black steel. They looked at me.

“What is it, Vlad?” asked Morrolan.

“The Lady Norathar wants to go out Jhereg-hunting.”

“So?”

“So the Dragon Council has—”

“This isn’t any of your business, Lord Taltos,” said Norathar coldly, her hand on the hilt of her blade.

“—accepted her as a Dragon, but—”

Norathar drew her blade. Loiosh hissed and gathered himself on my shoulder. I had a brief glimpse of Cawti, a look of anguish on her face, but then Morrolan’s longsword, Blackwand, was in his hand. He gestured with it toward Norathar, and her blade swung and buried itself deeply into a wooden beam against the wall of the library. She looked at Morrolan, wonderment in her eyes.

“My lady,” he said, “at Castle Black, I do not allow the killing of my guests except under conditions where they can be revivified. Further, you, as a Dragonlord, should not have to be reminded of treatment of guests.”

After a moment, Norathar bowed. “Very well,” she said. She wrenched her sword out of the beam and sheathed it with the plain efficiency of a Jhereg, instead of the flash of a Dragonlord. “I’ll be leaving then. Let’s go, sister.”

“Aliera, stop them!”

As I finished “speaking,” Morrolan turned to Aliera. “What did you just do?”

“I put a teleport block around Castle Black,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Norathar’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “Lord Morrolan,” she said slowly, “I must insist—”

“Oh, for the love of Verra,” I said. “Can you at least give me thirty seconds to finish my sentence?”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She stared at me, but Dragonlords have been trying to stare me down since I was nineteen.

I said, “The Dragon Council wants to observe her for a while, before officially making her the heir. If she goes running off after Jhereg, that’ll do it. I felt you two should know, and at least have the chance to talk her out of it before she does something that commits her. That’s all. Now, the rest of you argue about it. I’m leaving before someone takes my head off.”

I didn’t quite run out of the library. I went down to the entryway and found a small sitting room. I helped myself to a glass of cheap wine and quaffed it, thinking dark thoughts.

The bottle was half empty when someone clapped at the door. I ignored it. It was repeated, and I ignored it again. Then the door opened. My scowl died when I saw that it was Cawti. She sat down.

“How did you find me?”

“Loiosh.”

“Oh. What happened?”

“Norathar has agreed to wait two days before doing anything, same as Aliera.”

“Great.”

“Vladimir?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what? Stop her?”

“Yes. Don’t you want someone to take Laris out?”

“She isn’t going to have any better luck finding him than I will. The same goes for you and for Aliera.”

“But, still, with more of us looking . . . ” She let the sentence die, and I didn’t pick it up again. After a minute or so, I remembered my manners and poured her some cheap wine, too. She sipped it, delicately, thumb and forefinger around the stem, little finger off in space somewhere, just like at Court. And she kept her eyes fixed on me the whole time.

“Why, Vladimir?” she repeated.

“I don’t know. Why ruin her chances for nothing?”

“Who is she to you?”

“Your partner.”

“Oh.”

She set the glass down and stood up. She walked over to my chair and looked down at me for a moment. Then she dropped to one knee, took my right hand in hers, kissed it, and rubbed her cheek against it. I opened my mouth to make some smart remark about was I supposed to pat her head, or what, but Loiosh brought his head around and smacked me in the larynx so I couldn’t speak.

Then, still holding my hand, Cawti looked up at me and said, “Vladimir, it would make me the happiest of women if you would consent to be my husband.”

About three hundred years later I said, “What?”

“I want to marry you,” she said.

I stared at her. Finally I burst out with “Why?”

She stared back at me. “Because I love you.”

I shook my head. “I love you, too, Cawti. You know that. But you can’t want to marry me.”

“Why?”

“Because, damn it, I’m going to be dead in a few days!”

“You said Laris was bluffing.”

“Maybe he is, but he won’t be if I keep coming after him. And whatever game he’s playing, he has to make it real sooner or later.”

“He won’t get you,” she said calmly, and I almost believed her.

I kept staring at her. Finally I said, “All right, I’ll tell you what. When this business with Laris is over, if I’m alive, and you still want to, I mean, well, um, of course I will. I, oh, Deathsgate, Cawti. I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you, lord.”

“By the Lords of Judgment, get off the floor! You’re making me feel like—I don’t know what.”

She calmly got up off her knees and stood before me. Then she broke into a grin, jumped, and landed on my lap. The chair went over backwards and we ended up on the floor in a tangle of limbs and clothes. Loiosh barely escaped in time.

Two hours and three bottles of wine later, we staggered back up to the library. Morrolan was alone there. I was just sober enough not to want him to know how drunk we were, so, somewhat regretfully, I did a quick sobering spell.

He looked us over, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Come in.”

“Thank you,” I said. I turned to Cawti, and noticed that she’d given herself the same treatment. A shame.

“Will you two be staying this evening?”

Cawti looked at me. I nodded. “I still need to check over that list of Baritt’s descendants. Which reminds me, did you find out who might have recommended the Athyra?”

“One of my people is compiling the list. It should be ready by this evening some time.”

“Good. I asked Aliera to find out about the Lyorn. Do you know if she did?”

“She is speaking to Norathar at the moment; I think they’re attempting to determine how to locate this Laris person.”

“Oh. Well, tomorrow, maybe.”

“Yes. I’m having my dinner brought to me in the small dining room. I believe Aliera, Sethra, and Lady Norathar will be joining me. Would the two of you care to also?”

I looked at Cawti. “We’d be delighted,” she said.

“Excellent. And, afterwards, you can join the party in the main dining room and continue your investigation.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Maybe I can even avoid having any words with your Athyra friend.”

“Athyra friend? I don’t believe there have been any Alhyra nobles present for some time.”

“You know who I mean: the Sorceress in Chartreuse, or whatever.”

Morrolan smiled. “The Sorceress in Green. I’ll admit she looks like one, though.”

Something went off in the back of my head. “She isn’t?” I asked. “What is she then?”

“House of the Yendi,” said Morrolan.

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“What is it, Vlad? Why are you staring at me?”

“I can’t believe what I just heard. A Yendi? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. What is it?”

“Morrolan, how many Yendi does it take to sharpen a sword?”

He looked at me through slitted eyes. “Tell me,” he said.

“Three. One to sharpen the sword, and one to confuse the issue.”

“I see.” He chuckled a bit. “Not bad. What has that to do with our situation?”

“I don’t know exactly, but—wherever you find a Yendi, you find a plot. A devious plot. Twisted, confusing, just the kind of thing we’re facing. I don’t know what it’s about, but she—the Sorceress in Green—has been hanging around all of us since things started. She’s been near you, near me, near Aliera, and indirectly near Norathar and Cawti and Sethra. All of us. This can’t be an accident.

“And if that weren’t enough, she looks like an Athyra. We’re sitting here trying to find an Athyra who doesn’t exist, and now we find a Yendi who resembles one and who’s been around the whole time. And you don’t think she has something to do with all this?”

“I see what you mean,” he said. “I think I shall speak to her, and—”

“No!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t speak to her. Don’t let her know, yet. The only advantage we have is that she doesn’t know we’re suspicious. We don’t dare lose that until we know what she’s after.”

“Hmmm. It is axiomatic that no one but a Yendi can unravel a Yendi’s scheme.”

“Maybe. But to paraphrase Lord Lairon e’N’vaar, maybe I use different axioms.”

He thought about it for a while, then said, “All right, Vlad. What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet. First, I want to think over what we know and see if I can make some sense of it.”

“All right.”

“Cawti, why don’t you find Norathar and Aliera?”

She nodded. Morrolan said, “You might need help,” and the two of them went off.

I sat pondering for about half an hour, until the four of them returned, along with Sethra.

“Well,” said Aliera, “what have you figured out?”

“Nothing,” I said. “On the other hand, I haven’t given up, either.”

“Great,” said Norathar.

“Sit down,” I suggested. They all pulled up chairs around me. I felt like I was back in the office, with my enforcers sitting around waiting for orders.

“Vladimir?”

“Yes, Cawti?”

“Morrolan told Aliera about the Sorceress in Green. I didn’t think to warn him not to.”

“Damn. All right. So either the Sorceress is warned, or Aliera isn’t involved. I’m beginning to doubt that Aliera is behind this in any case. We’ll see.”

I said, “First of all, Lady Norathar, can—”

“You can drop the ‘Lady,’ Vlad.”

I was startled. “Thank you,” I said. I saw Cawti flash her a smile, and I understood. “All right, Norathar, are you sure you can’t tell us how you found out what Laris did?”

“Yes,” she said.

“All right. But think about it. If it was the Sorceress in Green—”

“It wasn’t.”

“Whoever it is, that person might be working with the Sorceress in Green, or perhaps is being used by her. I wish you could tell us who it is.”

“Sorry. But I don’t think it would help.”

Cawti said, “Do you really think the Sorceress in Green is behind it?”

“Let’s just say it’s a real good guess. We won’t know for sure who’s behind it until we know what they’re after.”

Cawti nodded.

I continued. “Let’s try to put the events in order. First, just before the Interregnum, someone decides that he doesn’t want Lord K’laiyer to take the Orb. Maybe this someone is the Sorceress in Green, or the Sorceress in Green is working for him, okay?”

There were nods from around the room.

“Okay, the first thing he—or she—does is make it look like Norathar is a bastard. Of course, when confronted with this, K’laiyer fights, and, naturally, when fighting Sethra, loses. During the battle, they make sure K’laiyer ends up dead. This makes Adron the heir. So far, so good. Either that is what they wanted, or they didn’t have time to deal with him. Because then we have Adron’s Disaster, and two-hundred-some years of Interregnum. Still, nothing happens. Afterwards, Morrolan is the heir. Still nothing happens.”

I looked at them again. They were watching me closely. I continued. “For over two hundred and forty years after the Interregnum, nothing. So whoever is behind it, if he is still around, doesn’t object to Morrolan. But then, three years or so ago, Aliera shows up. Within a year Baritt, who is probably one of the conspirators, is assassinated. Two years after that, Norathar is set up, killed, revivified, and is suddenly going to be the heir. That’s where we are as I see it.”

Either Aliera hadn’t caught any implication against her, or she was a fine actress. She seemed deep in thought, but not otherwise affected by what I’d been saying. Norathar said, “Vlad, is there any chance that the Sorceress in Green could have known Aliera well enough to know that we’d be brought back?”

I said, “Uh . . . you mean, then, that even that was part of her plan? I don’t know.” I turned to Aliera.

She chewed her lip for a moment, then shrugged. “Anything is possible with a Yendi,” she said.

“Not that,” said Morrolan. We turned to him. “You are forgetting that I was there, too. If you are supposing that she set it up so that Aliera would kill, then revivify, Norathar, then she must have known that I would be with Aliera. I will not believe that she could predict exactly where we would have been standing when we teleported, and if I had happened to be closer to Norathar than Aliera was, I’d have attacked, and I’d have used Blackwand.”

Norathar paled as he said this. I swallowed and felt a little queasy myself. If Norathar had been killed by Blackwand, nothing and no one could have revivified her, nor would she have been reborn, as Dragaerans believe happens to anyone who isn’t brought to the Paths of the Dead, and some who are. I wondered if Aliera could have arranged that. Or was Morrolan in on it too?

“You’re getting paranoid, boss.”

“Occupational hazard, Loiosh.”

I cleared my throat and said, “I think we can safely assume that Norathar was expected to die permanently.”

The others agreed.

“Now,” I said, “let us turn to Laris. He may be well hidden, and well protected, but he is certainly losing money and taking big chances by not killing me. Why?”

“I imagine,” said Cawti, “that he’s being well paid.”

“He’d have to be paid a lot to take that big a risk.”

Cawti shrugged. “Perhaps he owes her a favor, or something.”

“A big favor. Besides, I’m guessing that he killed Baritt as repayment of . . . wait a minute.”

They all looked at me. Finally, Morrolan said, “Yes, Vlad?”

I turned to Cawti. “What do you know of Laris’s history?”

“A fair bit. When I was studying you, I came across references to him from time to time, back when you both worked for Welok the Blade. And of course, I hear things now and then.”

“Did you hear that he ran the war for Welok against the Hook?”

She and Norathar nodded.

“I was involved,” said Norathar.

“Why did Welok let him run the war? And how did he win? He didn’t have any experience at the time.”

Cawti and Norathar studied me. “The Sorceress in Green?” asked Norathar.

I said, “It sure looks like he had something on Welok, or else knew how to get around him. What if our friend the sorceress maneuvered for him, and helped him with the war?”

Cawti said, “You think she’s running the war against you, too?”

“Maybe. I met Laris, and he impressed me. I don’t think he’s a dupe, but I could be wrong. On the other hand, it’s possible that the sorceress has something on him and can make him do what she wants. Especially if she can arrange for him to win in the end anyway, or tells him she can.”

“If she has something on him,” said Norathar, “why doesn’t he just kill her?”

As a Jhereg, she was still a Dragon.

“Any of a number of reasons,” I replied. “He might not know who she is. The hold might not disappear with her death. Maybe he can’t reach her. I don’t know.”

“Any idea what that hold might be?” asked Cawti.

I frowned. “Could be anything. My first guess is that he’s the one who finalized Baritt, and the sorceress has proof—easy enough if she had him do it, say as a favor in exchange for her help against the Hook.”

“I can see it,” said Cawti. Norathar concurred.

“This speculation is quite entertaining,” said Morrolan, “but I fail to see where it helps.”

“We’re trying to understand what they’re doing,” I said. “Every detail we get helps put it together.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I should like to hear your opinion on why the Sorceress in Green would do all this.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“I’m not certain precisely what she’s doing—”

“Exactly.”

He nodded, slowly. “All right. I see.”

I turned to Sethra, who hadn’t said a word the entire time. “Have you any ideas, or guesses?”

“Not exactly,” she said slowly. “But I’m beginning to suspect that the answer lies mostly before the Interregnum, the first time this conspiracy acted. What were they after, exactly?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “We should at least look into it.” I glanced at Norathar; she looked like her teeth hurt. Well, I could hardly blame her.

“The motive for that one,” said Cawti, “seems clear at least: it was an attempt to gain the Orb.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been told that no Dragon wants the Orb.”

“What about Adron?” she asked, looking at Aliera.

Aliera smiled. “A point,” she said. “But my father didn’t really want the Orb, he was forced to make a try for it out of a sense of duty.”

I stared at her. “Wait a minute. Did your father know the Sorceress in Green?”

Aliera looked startled. “I . . . believe they were acquainted, yes. But if you’re thinking that my father was the one behind the whole thing—”

“I wouldn’t say I think so; I’m just checking into it.”

She glared at me, and her eyes turned to steely gray. “If you feel you must.”

“I feel I must. How well acquainted were they?”

“They often saw each other, and Sethra, at Dzur Mountain. Ask Sethra. She knows better than I.”

I turned to Sethra. “Well?”

“I doubt,” she said, “that Adron was behind a conspiracy of this type. It isn’t his style. Besides, he and Baritt got along quite well.”

“That proves nothing,” I said. “Or, if anything, it makes the case stronger against him. How well did he get along with the Sorceress in Green?”

Sethra closed her eyes, as if having trouble remembering. Then she said, “We all got along in those days. Adron was never especially close to the sorceress, though.”

“So,” I said, “if Adron felt it his duty to take the Orb, he might have felt it was his duty to make sure he was the next Dragon Emperor.”

“I don’t believe it,” snapped Aliera, becoming more angry by the minute. I started laughing. She stood up, glaring. “Mind letting me in on the joke, Vlad?”

“I just can’t help but see how funny it is. We’re talking about a guy who, trying to take the Orb, blew up half the Dragaeran Empire, created a Sea of Chaos where the biggest city in the Empire used to be, killed I don’t know how many millions of people, and you’re upset because I’m wondering if he faked a bit of evidence to make his path a little easier.”

Cawti started laughing, too. None of the others seemed to think it was funny. That made it even funnier, and, for a moment, I almost had hysterics. Aliera said, “That’s different. This involved tricking Sethra, who was a friend. There is such a thing as honor in the House of the Dragon.”

Strangely, that sobered me up. It wasn’t any less funny, but, in a way, it was sad, too. Presently Cawti got the better of her mirth. I said, “All right, Aliera. Maybe he didn’t do it himself, but the Sorceress in Green could have done it without his knowledge, couldn’t she?”

Aliera sat down again and sniffed. “I doubt it.”

“All right, then, how did Adron and Norathar’s father, K’laiyer, get along?”

Aliera shrugged and looked away haughtily. I turned to Sethra. She looked uncomfortable, but said, “They had disagreements, I remember. They weren’t bitter enemies, by any means, but they did disagree.”

“Of course they disagreed!” said Aliera. “My father felt the Dragons had to take the throne, K’laiyer didn’t.”

Sethra nodded. “That was pretty much it,” she said. “They didn’t agree on how immediate the problem was.”

“What problem?”

“The decadence of the Emperor. Phoenix Emperors always become decadent at the end of their reign, except every seventeenth Cycle, when we have a reborn Phoenix, such as Zerika. Since that was at the end of the Great Cycle—seventeen Cycles—it was especially bad. The Empire appeared to be falling apart, there were Easterners making encroachments on the eastern border, and Adron felt the Emperor should either step down or be removed.”

“And K’laiyer didn’t?”

“No. I remember him pointing out to me that the ‘encroachments’ were into territories where most of the population was made up of Easterners anyway. He said that it was basically their land, and he saw no reason why they shouldn’t have it back.”

“I think I would’ve liked the guy,” I said.

“Maybe,” said Sethra. “He was likeable enough. And he would have made a good Emperor, I think.”

“It sounds to me,” I said, looking at Aliera, “as if Adron was—”

“I believe it is time to dine,” said Morrolan. “Perhaps we should continue this after the meal?”

I smiled a bit, nodded, stood, and offered Cawti my arm. She took it, and we headed toward the small dining room. I hoped this meal would be easier to digest than the last one with this crowd.

Which set me to remembering that meal. Which set me to remembering the days I had spent in Dzur Mountain. Most of the memories were quite pleasant.

But I remembered one conversation . . . That couldn’t have anything to do with this. Could it? The whole thing, just to accomplish that? But then, Dragaerans are Dragaerans.

“Wait a minute.”

Morrolan sighed and turned around. “Yes, Vlad?”

“I just—”

“Can it wait?”

“Uh . . . let’s go in and sit down while I think about it.” My mind was racing like a cat-centaur. I think I bumped into a few people and walls as I found my place.

I noticed that we were sitting in exactly the same positions that we’d been in before. A servant brought wine. I drank some without tasting it.

“All right, Vlad,” said Morrolan, in a resigned tone of voice. “What is it?”

“I think I might have just figured out who’s behind this, and why.”

I suddenly had everyone’s attention.

“Go on,” said Morrolan.

“Verra, but this is convoluted. But, with the Sorceress in Green doing the planning, how could it not be?”

“Well, who is it?”

“Let me put it this way: I’m going to guess that, between two and three years ago, the Sorceress in Green had a falling out with a certain individual she’d been friendly with up until then.”

I turned to Sethra. “Am I right?”

She looked puzzled. Then, suddenly, her nostrils flared and her eyes widened. After a moment, she nodded.

“That’s it, then.”

“What, Vlad?” said Morrolan, still calm.

“You’re enjoying keeping everyone in suspense, aren’t you, boss?”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Okay, I’ll put it this way: Suppose Norathar has just been killed. By Morrolan and Aliera. End of problem. So, the correct heir to the throne is out of the way, right? Who’s next?”

“Aliera,” said Morrolan.

“Right. But information comes out that she was involved in a Jhereg war. Then what?”

“Mmmmm,” said Morrolan. “The council might—”

“Assume further that the council is being manipulated. Maybe just a bit, maybe a lot, but there are strings being pulled.”

“All right, so Aliera is out as heir, if that’s what you want.”

“Right. And, by the same logic, Morrolan, so are you. Who’s next?”

They looked at each other. “I don’t know,” said Aliera at last.

“Neither do I. But, in a sense, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure the Sorceress in Green knows. Whoever it is probably isn’t even involved—it’s merely someone whose politics are known. No Dragon wants to be heir, you said. What does every Dragon want to be?”

“Warlord,” said Aliera, with no hesitation.

“Right. Morrolan, why don’t you send for that list, if it’s ready now.”

“But . . . all right.” He concentrated for a moment. “It’s on the way.”

“What list?” asked Sethra.

“I asked Morrolan to collect the names of everyone who might have suggested the Athyra wizard who helped on Norathar’s scan.”

“Now,” I continued, “if Morrolan or Aliera were Emperor, each would have appointed the other Warlord, so you both had to go. Norathar had been harmless before, but with things moving as they were, it was safest to eliminate her, too.”

“Before the Interregnum, there was an obvious choice for Warlord if Adron were Emperor, so—”

“Who?” said Cawti.

“I’ll get to it. Anyway, without his knowledge, it was arranged for him to become the heir. When he failed, the Phoenix remained in power, so there was no immediate problem. Then Morrolan became the heir, which was fine—”

“It was?” said Morrolan.

“Yes—until Aliera suddenly arrived. Then, the person who would have been Warlord under you was out. And, worse than that, Aliera’s politics were wrong. You both had to go. Baritt, who had been willing to help until then, drew the line at this. He had to go, too.

“So, the Warlord-to-be and the Sorceress in Green, who was a good friend as well as being a Yendi, laid new plans. The first thing they did was pretend to quarrel, so they wouldn’t be linked in anyone’s mind.

“The plan took two years to mature, which is quick work for a Yendi. The fact that you two became friendly with me, and that I moved up in the Jhereg so quickly, must have helped quite a bit.

“First, they were going to kill Norathar.”

“Why?” said Morrolan.

“Because Aliera was looking everywhere for someone to be Dragon Heir instead of her. She wouldn’t deliberately do something to get herself disqualified by the council; she wouldn’t consider it honorable. But she was trying to find someone with ‘purer genes,’ or whatever it is the Dragons look for. That would have led her, eventually, to the e’Lanyas.”

“It did,” said Aliera. “I was trying to find out what had happened to Norathar already, just on the chance that she could lead me to another relative.”

I nodded. “So they had to kill her, because, as soon as Aliera found her, she’d realize that she was, in fact, pure.”

“All right,” said Morrolan. “Go on.”

“The idea,” I said, “was to kill Norathar and discredit the two of you for helping me. I suspect that someone slipped somewhere, and you two were supposed to have been alerted sooner. I don’t think they wanted to cut it as close as they did. But it worked anyway—until you, Aliera, spoiled everything by revivifying Norathar. Then they had to improvise. The first thing they did was to test Norathar, just to see if she could, in fact, be of use to them as Emperor.”

“How?” asked Norathar.

“Don’t you remember the Sorceress in Green asking you how you felt about invasion plans for the East? I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but—”

“You’re right!”

“Yes. And if you had said you were in favor, they would have stopped right there, finished me off, and found a way to convince you to make the right person Warlord. Since your politics were wrong, they tipped you off about Laris so you’d go rushing off to kill him—he’s expendable—and disqualify yourself as heir.”

Cawti shook her head. “But why continue the fake assassination attempts, Vladimir?”

In answer, I turned to Norathar. “If there hadn’t been two failed attempts on my life, would you have believed that you’d been set up, even after you were told?”

Her eyes narrowed, then she shook her head. Cawti nodded.

At that point, right on cue, a servant arrived, holding a piece of paper. He gave it to Morrolan.

Morrolan glanced at it. “Find,” I said, “the name of the person whom you would have named Warlord if Aliera had not shown up.”

He did, and his mouth dropped open. Sethra leaned past Aliera and took the list from Morrolan’s limp hand. She glanced at it, nodded, and threw it down onto the middle of the table, her eyes cold as the blade of Iceflame.

“I would rather,” she said, “that she had tried to kill me.”

There were nine names on the list. The third one down was Sethra the Younger.

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We all sat there looking at each other; then Morrolan cleared his throat.

“Shall we eat?” he said.

“Why don’t we?” said Sethra.

Morrolan gave the necessary orders. I have no idea what appeared, but I must have eaten it, because I have no memory of being hungry later.

“Will they be here tonight?” asked Norathar at one point.

Morrolan said, “I would expect them to be.” There was no need to ask who “they” were.

“Then perhaps we should plan to meet with them. Do you agree, sister?” Norathar asked Cawti.

“Not here,” I said. “Morrolan forbids the mistreatment of his guests.”

“Thank you, Vlad,” said Morrolan.

“You’re welcome.”

“But surely,” said Aliera, “under the circumstances—”

“No,” said Morrolan.

Before another storm could erupt, I said, “We should still verify all of our guesses before we do anything else.”

Norathar looked at me. “You mean you aren’t sure?”

“I’m sure. But it should still be verified.”

“How?”

“I’ve a way. It may take a little time. But then, we’re eating anyway.”

“Fentor.”

“Yes, milord?”

“Have you tracked down the ownership of those flats, yet?”

“No, milord.”

“Maybe it’ll help if I give you a couple of names that might tie into them. Sethra the Younger, and the Sorceress in Green.”

“I’ll check into it, milord.”

“Very good. Get hold of me as soon as you have something.”

“Yes, milord.”

“With luck,” I said aloud, “we’ll know something soon.”

“Vladimir,” said Cawti, “how should we approach them?”

“Yes,” said Morrolan dryly. “You wouldn’t want her to turn you into a newt.”

“I’ll get better,” I said. “In any case we can’t attack them here if we want to do anything permanent to them. Does anyone know where the sorceress lives?”

“One never knows where a Yendi lives,” said Sethra.

“Yeah. One possibility is Laris. If I can arrange to meet with him, I might be able to show him that his partners are stabbing him in the back. Maybe he’ll help us set them up.”

“But aren’t you still going to try to kill him?” asked Aliera. “If you aren’t, I am.”

“And I,” said Norathar.

“Sure I am, but he doesn’t have to know that.”

Aliera’s eyes narrowed. “I will have nothing to do with such a plan.”

“Nor will I,” said Morrolan.

“Nor I,” said Sethra.

“Nor I,” said Norathar.

I sighed. “Yeah, I know. You insist that everything be honorable, upright, and in the open. It isn’t fair to take advantage of someone, just because he’s been trying to assassinate you and conspiring against your friends, right?”

“Right,” said Aliera, with a perfectly straight face.

“You Dragons amaze me,” I said. “You claim it’s unfair to attack someone from behind, but somehow it’s a fair fight even when it’s against someone both of you know is weaker, less experienced, and less skilled than you. That’s not taking advantage? What rubbish.”

“Vlad,” said Morrolan, “it’s a matter of—”

“Never mind. I’ll think of something—wait a minute, I think I’m getting that verification now.”

I had a brief conversation with Fentor, then turned back to them. “It’s confirmed,” I said. “Sethra the Younger, through intermediaries, owns a row of flats that were used as part of the setup for the attempt on me by Cawti and her friend the Dragonlord.”

“Very well,” said Morrolan. “How do we proceed?”

“It is vain to use subtlety against a Yendi,” said Sethra. “Make it something simple.”

“Another axiom?”

She smiled coldly. “And I’ll deal with Sethra the Younger myself.”

“It’s simple enough,” I said a while later, “but Cawti and I aren’t at our best right after a teleport.”

“Cawti and you,” said Aliera, “will have no need to do anything.”

I looked at Cawti.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “Vladimir and I will just watch.”

I nodded. I intended to do more than that, but there was no need to tell them about it. Except—

“Excuse me, Morrolan, but just to be safe, may I borrow a Morganti knife?”

His brows furrowed. “If you wish.”

He concentrated for a moment. Soon a servant appeared with a wooden box. I opened it, and saw a small, silver-hilted dagger in a leather-covered sheath. I took it partway out and at once recognized the feel of a Morganti weapon. I replaced it in the sheath and slipped it into my cloak.

“Thank you,” I said.

“It is nothing.”

We stood up and looked at each other. No one seemed able to find anything suitable to say, so we just stepped out of the small dining room and walked over to the central part of the castle, where the main dining room was.

We walked in and spotted Sethra the Younger almost right away. Loiosh left my shoulder and began flying around the room, staying high enough to be unobtrusive. (Morrolan’s banquet hall had ceilings that were forty feet high.) Morrolan approached Sethra the Younger and spoke quietly with her.

“Found her, boss. Northeast corner.”

“Good work.”

I gave this information to Morrolan, who began guiding Sethra the Younger that way. The rest of us converged on the Sorceress in Green; we reached her at about the same time Morrolan did. She looked at him, looked at Sethra, then looked at us. There was, perhaps, the smallest widening of her eyes.

Morrolan said, “Sethra the Younger, Sorceress, for the next seventeen hours you are not welcome in my home. After that time, you may return.” He bowed.

They looked at each other, then at the rest of us. Others in the hall began to watch, sensing that something unusual was occurring.

Sethra the Younger started to say something, but stopped—the sorceress had probably told her psionically that it was pointless to argue. The two of them bowed.

Sethra Lavode stepped up behind her namesake and put a hand on her arm, above the elbow. They looked at each other, but their expressions were unreadable.

Then, abruptly, the Sorceress in Green was gone. Loiosh returned to my shoulder, and I looked at Aliera. Her eyes were closed in concentration. Then Sethra the Younger disappeared. Sethra Lavode left with her.

“What will she do to her?” I asked Morrolan.

He shrugged and didn’t answer.

Presently Aliera spoke, her eyes still closed. “She knows I’m tracing her. If she stops to break the trace, we’ll have time to catch up with her.”

“She’ll find the most advantageous place she can,” I said.

“Yes,” said Aliera.

“Let her,” said Norathar.

Cawti swept her hair back with both hands just as I was adjusting my cloak. We smiled at each other, as we realized what the gestures meant. Then—

“Now!” said Aliera.

There was a wrenching in my bowels, and Castle Black vanished.

The first thing that hit me was the heat—an agony of flames. I started to scream, but the pain went away before I had the chance. We seemed to be standing in the heart of a fire. From somewhere off to my left I heard a dry voice say, “Quick work, Aliera.”

I recognized the voice as belonging to the Sorceress in Green. She continued: “You may as well dispense with your teleport block; I’m not going anywhere.”

It occurred to me that she must have prepared herself while teleporting, then brought us into a furnace. Apparently, Aliera had figured it out and put a protection spell around us before we had time to be incinerated.

“You all right, Loiosh?”

“Fine, boss.”

Then the flames surged around us and went out. We were in a room, about twenty feet on a side, with blackened walls. We were standing in ash that came above our ankles. The Sorceress in Green stood before us, her eyes as cold as the fires had been hot. In her hand was a plain wooden staff.

“You had best leave,” she said coolly. “I am surrounded by my own people, and you can hardly do anything to me before they get here.”

I glanced at Aliera.

The Sorceress in Green gestured with her staff, and the wall behind her collapsed upon itself. On the other side of it, I could see about thirty Dragaerans, all armed.

“Last chance,” said the sorceress, smiling.

I coughed. “Are all Yendi so melodramatic?” I inquired.

The sorceress gave a signal, and they stepped onto the ash.

Aliera gestured, and we were surrounded by flames again for a moment; then they died.

“Nice try, my dear,” said the sorceress. “But I’d thought of that already.”

“So I see,” said Aliera. She turned to Morrolan. “Do you want her, or the troops?”

“It is your choice.”

“I’ll take her, then.”

“Very well,” said Morrolan, and drew Blackflame. I saw the faces of the men and women facing us as they realized that he was holding a Morganti blade, and one of power that, beyond doubt, none of them had encountered before. Morrolan calmly walked up to them.

“Remember,” I told Cawti, “we’re just here to watch.”

She flashed me a nervous smile.

Then there was a flicker of motion to my side, and I saw Norathar charge for the sorceress, blade swinging. Aliera hissed and leapt after her. A spell of some kind must have gone off behind me, because I heard a dull boom and smoke came billowing past.

The sorceress slipped past the front line of her troops and raised her staff. Fires leapt from it toward Norathar and Aliera, but Aliera held her hand up and they fizzled out.

Morrolan, Norathar, and Aliera hit the front line at the same instant. Blackwand cut a throat, swept across the chest of the next guard, and, with the same motion, buried itself high in the side of a third. Morrolan slipped to his right like a cat before anyone even struck at him, withdrawing Blackwand, then sliced open two bellies. He parried a cut and impaled the attacker’s throat, then stepped back, facing full forward, slightly on his toes, blade held at head height and pointing toward his enemies. In his left hand was a long dagger. The room was filled with the sound of screams, and those who’d been watching Morrolan turned pale.

I saw three more guards at Norathar’s feet. Aliera, meanwhile, was wielding her eight-foot greatsword like a toy, flipping it back and forth amid their ranks. She had accounted for five so far.

Then, incredibly, the dead guards began to stand up—even the ones slain by Blackwand. I looked at the sorceress, and saw a look of profound concentration on her face.

“Hold them!” cried Aliera. She stepped back a pace, held her blade with her right hand, and stabbed the air with her left. The corpses who’d been trying to rise stopped. The sorceress gestured with her staff. They continued. Aliera stabbed the air. They stopped. They started again.

Then Aliera did something else, and the sorceress cried out as a blue glow began in front of her. After a moment it went away, but I could see perspiration rolling down her face.

Morrolan and Norathar had ignored all of this, and by now more than half of the enemy had fallen.

I spoke to Cawti out of the corner of my mouth. “Should we do something?”

“Why? They’re Dragonlords; they enjoy this kind of thing. Let them do it.”

“There is one thing I’m going to have to do, though. And pretty soon, it looks like.”

“What?”

About then Norathar broke through the line. The sorceress cried out and swung her staff, and Norathar fell over, clutching the air.

Cawti moved before I could do anything. She got through to her friend, somehow, and knelt by her side.

The ones who’d been fighting Norathar turned to Aliera, and she had to defend herself again. I took out a pair of throwing knives and, just to test, threw them at the sorceress. Naturally, they veered away from her when they got close.

I heard Morrolan curse and saw that his left arm hung uselessly at his side, and that there was red over the black of his cloak.

Aliera was still locked in some kind of struggle with the sorceress while holding off three guards. There was a sudden flurry near her as two more of them came at her. There was an impossible tangle of metal, and three of the guards were down. Aliera was still up, but there was a knife sticking out of her low on her back, and a broadsword actually through her body, just to the right of the spine, front to back, above the waist. She seemed to be ignoring it; I guess sorcery is also good for overcoming shock. But no matter how skilled a sorceress she was, her gown was ruined.

Norathar seemed to be alive, but dazed. This, it appeared, would be the best chance I had. I drew two fighting knives, then ran forward as fast as I could through ash up to my calves. When I reached the fighters, I watched Aliera closely, then ducked under a swing. I left the knives in the stomachs of two fighters who had no ability to deal with an Easterner rolling past them; then I was beyond the line, about four feet from the sorceress. Spellbreaker was in my hand before I stood up, and I swung it in front of me.

She had seen me, of course, and greeted me with a gesture of her staff. I felt a tingling in my arm. I screamed, and fell over backward.

“Vladimir!”

“Stay there!”

I opened my eyes and saw that the sorceress had turned away. I smoothly got to my feet, drew the Morganti dagger Morrolan had lent me, came up behind her, and brought Spellbreaker crashing down on the back of her head.

The effect on her was minimal, since she’d had some sort of shield around her; she jerked a bit and turned around. But, while the shield had prevented the chain from hitting her, the chain had brought the shield down. Before she could do anything there was the point of a Morganti dagger against her throat.

Morrolan and Aliera were dealing with the last of her defenders, but Morrolan seemed unsteady on his feet and Aliera’s lips were clamped tight with the concentration of holding herself together. Cawti was helping Norathar to her feet. I didn’t have much time, so I spoke quickly.

“This fight isn’t any of my business, and I’ll get out of the way if you give me what I want. But if you don’t tell me where Laris is, I’ll cut your throat—with this. And if you warn him, I’ll be after you as long as I live.”

She didn’t even hesitate.

“He’s on the top floor of a warehouse on Pier Street. Two buildings east of the corner of Pier and One-Claw, on the south side of the street.”

Shows you how much loyalty you can expect from the House of the Yendi. “Thank you,” I said, and backed away, still holding the dagger and Spellbreaker.

She turned away from me, apparently taking me at my word. She did something that was probably putting her defenses back up. At that moment, however, Kieron’s greatsword, in the hands of Aliera e’Kieron, swept the head from the last of the defenders.

Morrolan stepped forward, and a black streak came from the point of Blackwand and struck the sorceress. This, I was told later, took her defenses down again. And before she could do anything else, there was a sweep from Norathar’s blade and the sorceress’s staff went flying—and her right hand with it.

She cried out and dropped to her knees, and it was in that position that Norathar impaled her, directly through the chest.

There was dead silence in the room. The Sorceress in Green stared up at Norathar with a look of complete disbelief on her face. Then blood came from her mouth and she fell in a heap at the feet of the Sword of the Jhereg.

Cawti came up next to me. I nodded toward the three of them, standing around the body.

“Honor,” I muttered, “in the House of the Dragon.”

Aliera collapsed. Cawti squeezed my arm.

We returned to Castle Black, leaving the body of the Sorceress in Green where it was. I helped myself to a large glass of brandy, which I despise, but it’s stronger than wine and I didn’t want to suggest Piarran Mist; somehow this didn’t feel like a time to celebrate.

“She was quite an accomplished sorceress,” said Aliera weakly, from the couch where the Necromancer was working on her. There were nods from around the room.

“Vlad,” said Morrolan, whose arm was in a sling, “what was it that you did to her, and why?”

“She had some information I wanted,” I explained. “I got it.”

“And then you let her go?”

I shrugged. “You said you didn’t need my help.”

“I see.” I noticed Cawti holding a grin behind her hand. I slipped her a wink. Morrolan asked, “What was the information?”

“Do you remember that I’m in the middle of a war? Laris was backed by her, but he still has the resources to hurt me. He’s going to find out that she’s dead very soon. When he does, he’ll start coming after me for real—I have to make sure the war is over before he does. I figured that she knew where Laris is hiding. I hope she wasn’t lying.”

“I see.”

Cawti turned to me. “Shall we finish it up, then?”

I snorted. “Do you think it’ll be that easy?”

“Yes.”

I thought about it. “You’re right. It will be.” I closed my eyes for a moment, just to make sure there wasn’t anything I’d forgotten.

“Kragar.”

“Hello, Vlad.”

“How’s business?”

“A little better.”

“Good. Get hold of the Bitch Patrol. In exactly two and a half hours, I want a teleport block to prevent anyone from leaving a certain warehouse.” I told him where it was.

“Got it, boss.”

“Good. In exactly one-half hour, I want the following people in the office: Shoen, Sticks, Glowbug, Narvane, N’aal, Smiley, and Chimov.”

“Uh . . . that’s all?”

“Don’t be funny.”

“Have we got something, Vlad?”

“Yeah. We’ve got something. And I don’t want any mistakes. This ought to be quick, painless, and easy. So get everyone there, and make sure the sorceress you find is competent.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

The contact was broken.

Cawti and I stood up. “Well, thank you for the entertainment,” I said, “but I’m afraid we have to be on our way.”

Norathar bit her lip. “If there’s anything I can do . . . ”

I looked at her for a moment, then I bowed low. “Thank you, Norathar, and I mean that sincerely. But no. I think, for the first time in months, everything is under control.”

We left them and went down to the entry way, where one of Morrolan’s people teleported us back to my office. This time I made sure to warn them we were coming.

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Now, I suppose, you expect me to tell you how I caught up with Laris after a long chase through the streets of Adrilankha, cornered him at last, how he fought like a dzur and I barely managed to kill him before he did me in. Right? Crap.

There were only two things that could have gone wrong. One, the Sorceress in Green might have lied about where Laris was, and two, she might have had time to warn him. But, in both cases, why? To the sorceress, he was merely a tool. And, since we’d discovered what they were up to, he was no longer a useful tool.

I didn’t really think the Sorceress in Green had had time to warn Laris before Norathar finished her. And, if she had lied about where he was, there was no harm done. So I explained my plan to everyone in my office, which took about half an hour. I did make one point worth mentioning: “If anyone here has the idea that he can do well for himself by telling Laris about this, he can forget it. Laris had a backer; the backer is dead. Right now, we’re holding nothing but flat stones, and he has nothing but round ones. So don’t try to be clever.”

I rummaged around my bottom-left drawer until I found a suitable weapon—a stiletto with a thin handle and a seven-inch blade. I put it into my belt on the right side. We sat around waiting for another half-hour, then Shoen and Chimov got up and slipped out the door. The rest of us waited ten minutes more, then stood.

“Luck, boss,” said Kragar.

“Thanks.”

Loiosh flew high above us as we set out toward Malak Circle. Cawti was leading. Sticks and Glowbug were to my right and left, and the others were walking in front and back.

We reached the circle and jogged over to Pier. We had almost reached Silversmith when I received a message from Shoen.

“He has four outside, boss. Two at the door, two making rounds.”

“Okay. I’ll send help.”

“Thanks.”

“Narvane and Smiley, run up ahead. Shoen is in charge of the operation. You have five minutes to get set up.”

They ran off while the rest of us slowed to a casual stroll, hardly moving at all.

“Still clear, boss.”

“Okay.”

Cawti looked back at me and nodded. Six minutes later, Shoen reported in. “All set, boss. It’ll take between five and ninety seconds, depending on where the patrollers are.”

“Okay. Hold for now.”

We reached the place on Pier where it curves, just before you get to One-Claw.

“How are they placed, Shoen?”

“If you give the word now, about thirty seconds.”

“Do it.”

“Check.”

I held up my hand, and we stopped. I mentally counted off ten seconds, then we started walking again, quickly. We came around the curve and the building was in sight. The only people we could see were Shoen and Chimov. Presently, Narvane appeared next to them, then Smiley. We reached them a few seconds later.

I checked the Imperial Clock.

“The teleport block should be up now. Check it, Narvane.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.

I said, “The door.”

N’aal said, “Maybe we should clap first.”

Shoen and Glowbug stood by the door. They looked at each other, nodded, and Glowbug brought his mace down on the door mechanism just as Shoen set his shoulder into the middle. The door fell in.

N’aal said, “Won’t you feel stupid if it was unlocked?”

I said, “Shut up.”

Cawti slipped between them before we could move and stepped inside. There was a flurry of movement, and I heard the sound of falling bodies as Glowbug, N’aal, and Shoen went in. Loiosh landed on my shoulder as Chimov and Smiley stepped past the threshold. I followed, with Sticks and Narvane bringing up the rear.

It was a big, empty warehouse, with two bodies in it. Both had knives sticking out of them. We saw the stairs right away and took them. We didn’t meet anyone on the way up. I left N’aal and Smiley to hold the bottom of the stairs to the third floor while the rest of us went up.

We emerged into a large, empty room. About five feet ahead of us were three smaller rooms; to the right, ahead, and to the left. Offices, I supposed.

Just as we got there, three Jhereg appeared from a room to the right. They stood there with their mouths hanging open. Sticks leapt at them, with Glowbug a little behind. Glowbug still had his mace, and he was grinning like an idiot. Sticks had his sticks. It took them about three seconds.

Then I sent Glowbug and Shoen to the right. I was about to send Chimov and Narvane to open the door ahead of us when I heard, “What’s the ruckus about, gentlemen?” from the room to the left. I recognized Laris’s voice.

I caught Narvane’s eye. He stood in front of the door; the rest of us positioned ourselves behind it. Narvane raised his hand and the door flew in.

It was a small room, with about eight or nine padded chairs and two desks. One of the desks was empty; Laris was behind the other one. There were four other Jhereg in the room.

For an instant, no one moved. Then Laris turned to one and said, “Teleport.”

We just waited.

The Jhereg he’d spoken to said, “There’s a block up.”

Cawti entered the office. Still none of them did anything. Sticks came in with his two clubs, then Glowbug with his mace. Then the rest of us.

Laris and I looked at each other, but neither of us spoke. What was there to say? I looked at his enforcers, most of them with half-drawn weapons. I told my people to stand aside. We cleared a path to the door. Sticks hefted his weapons, looked at Laris’s enforcers, and cleared his throat.

He said, “No future in it, gentlemen.”

They looked at the horde of us. Then, one by one, they stood up. They held their hands out, clear of their bodies. One by one, without a glance at Laris, they filed out.

I said, “All of you except Cawti, escort them out of the building.” I drew the blade I’d selected.

When we were alone with Laris, I shut the door with my foot. Cawti said, “He’s yours, Vladimir.”

I made it quick. Laris never said a word.

An hour later I was staring at Aliera, my mouth hanging open. “You what?”

“I revivified her,” she said, looking at me quizzically, as if to say, “Why should you find this unusual?” I was sitting in the library of Castle Black, with Morrolan, Cawti, Norathar, and Sethra. Aliera was on her back, looking pale but healthy.

I sputtered like a klava-boiler, then managed, “Why?”

“Why not?” she said. “We’d killed her, hadn’t we? That was enough humiliation. Besides, the Empress is a friend of hers.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “So now, she—”

“She won’t do anything, Vlad. There isn’t anything she can do. When we revivified her we did a mind-probe and wrote down the details of every plot of any kind she’s ever been involved in, and we gave her a copy so that she knows we know.” She smiled. “Some of them were rather interesting, too.”

I sighed. “Well, have it your way, but if I wake up dead one morning, I’ll come to you and complain about it.”

“That’s telling her, boss.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Norathar, to my amazement, said, “I think you did the right thing, Aliera.”

“So do I,” said Sethra.

I turned to the latter. “Indeed? Tell us what you did to Sethra the Younger.”

“The House of the Dragon,” she said, “has decided that Sethra the Younger can never be Emperor or Warlord, nor can any of her heirs.”

“Huh,” I said. “But what did you do to her?”

She gave me a dreamy kind of half-smile. “I believe I found a suitable punishment for her. I made her explain the entire affair to me, then—”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“Nothing surprising. She wished to conquer the East, and complained to the Sorceress in Green, who was her friend, that when Lord K’laiyer became Emperor, he wouldn’t authorize an invasion of the East. The sorceress came up with a scheme to make sure Adron became the Dragon Heir because they knew Adron would appoint Baritt to be Warlord, and Baritt was sympathetic to the invasion idea. Baritt agreed, mostly because he thought Adron would be a better Emperor than K’laiyer—sorry, Norathar.”

Norathar shrugged. Sethra continued.

“After Adron’s Disaster, they just let things lie. When Zerika took the throne and things got going again, Morrolan proved to be the heir. They arranged for Sethra the Younger to become friendly with Morrolan and found that he wouldn’t object to an invasion, so they relaxed. When Aliera showed up out of nowhere and became the heir, they went back to work again. They came up with the idea of discrediting Aliera and Morrolan, using your friendship with Vlad. They already knew Laris, because he’d done some of the dirty work in arranging the fake genetic scan. When Baritt refused to cooperate, they had Laris kill him. Then they used that as a threat to make Laris attack you. Apparently he was perfectly willing to take over your territory, Vlad, but had to be convinced not to kill you right away. They told him he could have you after their plans were complete. You know the rest, I think.”

I nodded. “Okay. Now, about Sethra the Younger . . . ”

“Oh, yes. I had the Necromancer gate her to another Plane. Similar to Dragaera, but time runs at a different rate there.”

“And she’s stuck?” It seemed rather harsh to me—better to kill her. Besides, I wasn’t nearly as upset with her as I was with the Sorceress in Green.

But, “No,” said Sethra. “She can come back when her task is finished. It shouldn’t take more than a week of our time.”

“Task?”

“Yes.” Once more, Sethra gave us her dreamy little smile. “I put her in the desert, with plenty of food, water, shelter, and a stick. And I set her to writing, ‘I will not interfere with the Dragon Council,’ in the sand, eighty-three thousand, five hundred and twenty-one times.”

Picture an old man—an Easterner, almost seventy years old, which is a very impressive age for our race. But he’s in good condition for his age. He is poor, but not destitute. He has raised a family in the midst of the Dragaeran Empire and done it well. He has buried (an Eastern term for “outlived”; I’m not sure why) a wife, a sister, a daughter, and two sons. The only surviving descendant is one grandson, who nearly gets himself killed every few weeks or so.

He is almost completely bald, with only a fringe of white hair. He is a large, portly man, yet his fingers are still nimble enough with the rapier to give a good battle to a younger man, and to shock the sorcery out of any Dragaeran who doesn’t understand Eastern-style fencing.

He lives in the Eastern ghetto, on the south side of Adrilankha. He ekes out a living as a witch, because he refuses to let his grandson support him. He worries about his grandson, but doesn’t let it show. He’ll help, but he won’t live through his children, and he won’t live their lives for them. When one of his sons tried to make himself into an imitation Dragaeran, he was saddened and felt his son was doomed to disappointment, but he never offered a word of criticism.

I went to see this old gentleman the day after Laris’s death. Walking through the filth in the streets made me want to retch, but I hid it. Anyway, we all know Easterners are filthy, right? Look at how they live. Never mind that they can’t use sorcery to keep their neighborhoods clean the way Dragaerans do. If they want to use sorcery, they can become citizens of the Empire by moving into the country and becoming Teckla, or buying titles in the Jhereg. Don’t want to be serfs? They’re stubborn, too, aren’t they? Don’t have the money to buy titles? Of course not! Who’d give them a good job, seeing how filthy they are?

I tried not to let it bother me. Cawti tried too, but I could see the strain around the comers of her eyes and feel it in the purposeful way she walked. I should have felt good about coming back here—successful Easterner boy walks through the old neighborhood. I should have, but I didn’t. I only felt sick.

There was no sign above my grandfather’s shop, and nothing on display. Everyone in the neighborhood knew who he was and what he did, and he didn’t care about anyone outside it. Dragaerans had stopped using witchcraft when the Interregnum ended and sorcery worked again.

As I walked under the doorway (no door), my head brushed a set of chimes and set them ringing. His back was to me, but I could see that he was making candles. He turned around and his face lit up in an almost toothless grin.

“Vladimir!” he said. He looked at me, smiled at Cawti, and stood looking at me again. He and I could communicate psionically (he had taught me how), but he refused to do so unless it was necessary. He considered psionic communication something too precious to use casually—though, as was his custom, he never criticized me for using psionics as I do. So we traveled when we wanted to speak with each other. And, since we had to pass through areas where Easterners walking alone are in danger, and since he refused to be teleported, he seldom left the area.

“Vladimir,” he said again. “And who is this?”

Loiosh flew over, as if the question had been about him, and happily accepted some neck scratching.

“Noish-pa,” I said, “I’d like you to meet Cawti.”

She gave him a curtsy, and he positively beamed.

“Cawti,” he repeated. “Do you have a patronymic?”

“Not anymore,” she said. I bit my lip. Someday I’d ask her what that meant, but not now.

He gave her a kindly smile, then looked at me, his eyes twinkling and a thin, white eyebrow climbing a broad forehead.

“We’d like to get married,” I said. “We want your blessing.”

He came forward and hugged her, and kissed both cheeks. Then he hugged me. When he pulled back, I saw tears at the comers of his eyes.

“I’m happy for you,” he said. Then his brows furrowed, for just a moment, but I knew what he was asking.

“She knows,” I said. “She’s in the same line of work herself.”

He sighed. “Oh, Vladimir, Vladimir. Be careful.”

“I will, Noish-pa. Things are looking better for me. I almost lost everything a while ago, but I’m all right now.”

“Good,” he said. “But how did you come to almost lose everything? That isn’t good.”

“I know, Noish-pa. For a while, the shadows were distracting me so I couldn’t see the target.”

He nodded. “But come in, have something to eat.”

“Thank you, Noish-pa.”

Cawti said, timidly (I think it was the only time in her life she’s been timid about anything), “Thank you . . . Noish-pa.”

And his grin became even wider as he led us inside.

The next day I moved into Laris’s old office and set up business. I met with Toronnan, and set about trying to take control of the area Laris had been running—but that really belongs to a different tale. Besides, as I speak these words, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, so I may not be telling you about it after all. I’ve still got word out for Wyrn and Miraf’n, and money to pay for their heads, so I expect that very soon I’ll be seeing them—after a fashion.

The same day I moved into Laris’s old office I finally got a chance to cook Cawti a meal. I have to say I outdid myself, too—goose with Eastern red pepper, Valabar-style kethna dumplings, anise-jelled . . . but you don’t want to hear about that.

I will say, though, that while I was cooking, I came across an onion that had a small bad spot on the side. I cut the spot out, and the rest of the onion was perfectly fine.

Life is like that, sometimes.

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