The Book of Jhereg (21 page)

I had three weapons pointing at me, then. I didn’t move. Looking at them, I gave myself even odds of fighting my way out, given that Loiosh was there and these fools generally don’t know much about dealing with poison or thrown weapons of any kind. I didn’t do anything about it, of course. Even if I’d felt in top shape and there was only one of them, I wouldn’t have touched him. You do
not
kill Imperial Guards. Ever. You can bribe them, plead with them, reason with them; you don’t fight them. If you do, there are only two possible outcomes: either you lose, in which case you are dead; or you win, in which case you are dead.

But this time, it turned out, I had no reason to worry. I heard Aliera’s voice, over my shoulder. “Leave us,” she said.

The guard turned his attention to her, seemingly for the first time. He raised his eyebrows, recognizing her for a Dragonlord, and not quite knowing how to take all this. I felt tremendous amounts of sympathy for the fellow.

“Who are you?” he asked, approaching her, but keeping his blade politely out of line.

Aliera flung back her cloak, and placed her hand on the hilt of Pathfinder. They must have sensed what it was immediately, for I saw them all recoil somewhat. And they knew, as I knew, that there was all the difference in the world between an Imperial Guard killed by a Jhereg and a fight between Dragons.

“I,” she announced, “am Aliera e’Kieron. This Jhereg is mine. You may go.”

He looked nervous for a moment, licked his lips, and turned back to the others. As far as I could tell, they didn’t express an opinion one way or the other. He turned back to Aliera and looked at her for a moment. Then he bowed and, without a word, turned and left, his fellows falling in behind. I would be very interested in hearing what they put in their reports, I decided.

Aliera turned back to me. “What hit you?” she asked.

“A complete external binding, as far as I can tell. They didn’t get my ears, or for that matter, my heart or lungs, but they got just about everything else.”

She nodded. I suddenly remembered what we’d been doing there.

“The sorceress! Did you get her?”

She smiled, nodded, and patted the hilt of Pathfinder.

I shuddered again. “You had to destroy her?”

She shook her head. “You forget, Vlad—this is a Great Weapon. Her body is back in Castle Black, and her soul is here, where we can get at it whenever we want it.” She chuckled.

I shuddered still another time. I’m sorry, but some things bother me. “And Morrolan’s body?”

“He’s at Castle Black, too. The Necromancer is looking after him, seeing if she can find a way to break the spell. It doesn’t look hopeful unless we can convince our friend to help.”

I nodded. “Okay, then let’s get going.”

At this point I suddenly remembered that, when those Imperial Guards were here, I’d been carrying a high potency Morganti weapon on my person. If I’d remembered that at the time, I don’t know what I would have done, but I’d have been a lot more worried. This was the first time I’d come close to actually getting caught with one, and I was suddenly very happy that Aliera was along.

* * *

By the time we returned to Castle Black, my stomach was more than just a little irritated with me. If I’d eaten recently, I would probably have lost the meal. I resolved to be extra kind to my innards the rest of the day.

Morrolan has a tower, high up in his castle. It is the center of much of his power, I’m told. Besides himself, very few people are allowed up there. I’m one, Aliera is another. Still another is the Necromancer. The tower is the center of Morrolan’s worship of Verra, the Demon Goddess he serves. And I do mean “serves.” He has been known to sacrifice entire villages to her.

The tower is always dark, lit only by a few black candles. There is a single window in it, which does not look down on the courtyard below. If you’re lucky, it doesn’t look upon anything at all. If you aren’t, it will look upon things which may destroy your sanity.

We laid Morrolan’s body on the floor beneath the window. On the altar in the center of the room was the sorceress. Her head was propped up, so that she could see the window. This was at my suggestion. I had no intention of actually using the window for anything, but having her see it would help with what we were trying to do.

The Necromancer aided Aliera, who revivified the sorceress. It could, conceivably, have been the other way around, too. There are few who know more about the transfer of souls, and the mysteries of death, than the Necromancer. But it was Aliera’s Great Weapon, so she did the necessary spells.

The sorceress’s eyes fluttered open, and her face went through the same patterns that Fentor’s had, earlier, except that it ended with fear.

This part was my job. I had no desire to give her time to take in her surroundings more than casually, or to orient herself. The fact that she had been picked by whoever had killed Morrolan guaranteed that she was good, which guaranteed that she was tough. I didn’t figure to have an easy time of this, by any means.

And so the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the window. It was politely empty at the moment, but nonetheless effective. And before she had time to adjust to that, she saw my face. I was standing over her and doing my best to look unfriendly.

“Well,” I said, “did you enjoy the experience?”

She didn’t answer. I wondered what it was like, having your soul eaten, so I asked her. She still didn’t answer.

By this time, she would be cognizant of several things—including the chains that held her tied to the altar and the spells in the room which kept her from using sorcery.

I waited for a moment, to make sure it all sank in properly. “You know,” I
said conversationally, “Aliera enjoyed killing you that way. She wanted to do it again.”

Fear. Controlled.

“I wouldn’t let her,” I said. “I wanted to do it.”

No reaction.

“
You okay, boss?
”

“
Damn! Is it showing that much?
”

“
Only to me
.”

“
Good. No, I’m not okay, but there isn’t anything I can do about it, either
.”

“Perhaps,” I went on to her, “it is a flaw in my character, but I truly enjoy using Morganti weapons on you bitches.”

Still nothing.

“That’s why we brought you back, you know.” As I said it, I drew the dagger Kragar had supplied me with and held it before her eyes. They widened with recognition. She shook her head in denial.

I’d never had to do anything like this before, and I wasn’t liking it now. It wasn’t as if she’d done something wrong—she’d just accepted a standard contract, much as I would have done. Unfortunately, she’d gotten involved with the wrong people. And, unfortunately, we needed her cooperation because she’d done a good job. I couldn’t stop myself from identifying closely with her.

I touched her throat with the back of the blade, above the edge. I felt it fighting me—trying to turn around, to get at the skin, to cut, to drink.

She felt it too.

I held on to control. “However, being an honorable sort, I have to inform you that if you cooperate with us, I won’t be allowed to use this on you. A pity, if that were to happen.”

Her face showed the gleam of hope she felt, and she hated herself for it. Well, after all, I didn’t feel real good about myself just then either, but that’s the game.

I grabbed her hair, and lifted her head a bit more. Her eyes landed on Morrolan’s figure, lying directly under the window, which still showed only black. “You know what we want,” I said. “I, personally, don’t give a teckla’s squawk if you do it or not. But some others here do. We arrived at a compromise. I have to ask you, just once, to remove the spell you put on. If you don’t agree, I can have you. If you do, Morrolan gets to decide what to do with you.”

She was openly trembling, now.

To a Jhereg professional, a contract is an almost sacred bond. Most of us would rather lose our souls than break a contract—in the abstract. However, when it comes right down to the moment, well . . . we’d soon see. I’d never been in the kind of situation she was in, and I prayed to Verra that I never would be, feeling very much the hypocrite. I think I would have broken about there, myself. Well, maybe not. It’s so hard to say.

“Well, what is it?” I asked, harshly. I saw her face torn with indecision. Sometimes I truly loathe the things I do. Maybe I should have been a thief after all.

I grabbed hold of her dress and raised it up, exposing her legs. I pulled at one knee. Loiosh hissed, right on cue, and I said, aloud, “No! Not until I’m done with her!”

I licked the forefinger of my left hand and wetted down a spot on the inside of her thigh. She was close to tears, now, which meant she was also close to breaking. Well, now or never.

“Too late,” I said with relish, and lowered the Morganti blade, slowly and deliberately, toward her thigh. The point touched.

“
No! My god, stop! I’ll do it!
”

I dropped the knife onto the floor and grabbed her head again and supported her shoulders. She was facing Morrolan’s body; her own was shaking with sobs. I nodded to Aliera, who dropped the protection spell which had cut off her sorcery. If she’d been faking, she was now in a position to put up a fight. But she knew damn well that she wouldn’t be able to win against both Aliera and me, not to mention the Necromancer.

“Then do it now!” I snapped. “Before I change my mind.”

She nodded, weakly, still sobbing quietly. I saw her concentrate for a moment.

The Necromancer spoke for the first time. “It is done,” she said.

I let the sorceress fall back. I felt sick again.

The Necromancer stepped up to Morrolan’s body and began working on it. I didn’t watch. The only sounds were the sobbing of the sorceress and, very faintly, our breathing.

After a few minutes, the Necromancer stood up. Her dull, undead eyes looked almost happy for a moment. I looked over at Morrolan, who was breathing now, evenly and deeply. His eyes opened.

Unlike the others, his first reaction was anger. I saw a scowl form on his lips, then confusion. He looked around.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You were set up,” I said.

He looked puzzled and shook his head. He held a hand up, and I assisted him to his feet. He looked at all of us, his eyes coming to rest on the sorceress, who was still sobbing quietly.

He looked back and forth at Aliera and me for a moment, then asked, “Who is this one?”

“Left Hand,” I explained. “She was retained, I expect, by whoever did the job on you. She was to make sure you couldn’t be revivified. She did it, too. But of course, whoever put the spell on can take it off again, and we convinced her to remove it.”

He looked thoughtfully at her. “She’s pretty good then, eh?”

“Good enough,” said Aliera.

“Then,” said Morrolan, “I suspect she did more than that. Someone hit me as soon as I arrived at that—place.”

“Warehouse,” I said.

“That warehouse. Someone succeeded in stripping away all of my defensive spells. Could that have been you, my lady?”

She looked over at him bleakly, but didn’t respond.

“It must have been,” I said. “Why hire two sorceresses when you only need one?”

He nodded.

I retrieved the dagger from the floor, sheathed it, and handed it to Morrolan. He collects Morganti weapons, and I didn’t ever want to see this one again. He looked at it and nodded. The knife disappeared into his cloak.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

We headed for the exit. Aliera caught my eye, and she couldn’t quite keep the disgust from her face. I looked away.

“What about
her
?” I asked Morrolan. “We guaranteed her her soul if she’d help us, but made no promises other than that.”

He nodded, looked back at her, and drew a plain-steel dagger from his belt.

The rest of us went out the door, none of us really desirous of seeing the end of the affair.

M
ORROLAN HAD CAUGHT UP
to us by the time we reached the library, and his dagger was sheathed. I tried to put the whole incident out of mind. I failed, of course.

In fact—and here’s a funny thing, if you’re in the mood for a laugh—I had done forty-one assassinations at this point, and I had never been bothered by one. I mean, not a bit. But this time, when I actually hadn’t even hurt the bitch, it bothered me so much that for weeks afterwards I’d wake up seeing her face. It could be that she laid some kind of curse on me, but I doubt it. It’s just that, oh, Hell. I don’t want to talk about it.

Fentor was in the library when we arrived. When he saw Morrolan, he almost broke down. He rushed up and fell to his knees, casting his head down. I thought I was going to get sick all over again, but Morrolan was more understanding.

“Get up,” he said gruffly. “Then sit down and tell us about it.”

Fentor nodded and stood. Morrolan guided him to a seat and poured him a glass of wine. He drank it thirstily, failing to appreciate the vintage, while we found seats and poured wine for ourselves. Presently, he was able to speak.

“It was this morning, my lord, that I received a message.”

“How?” Morrolan interrupted.

“Psionic.”

“All right, proceed.”

“He identified himself as a Jhereg and he said he had some information to sell me.”

“Indeed? What kind of ‘information’?”

“A name, my lord. He said that there was going to be an attempt made on Mellar, one of our guests, and that the assassin didn’t care that he was here.” Fentor gave an apologetic shrug, as if to apologize for his contact’s lack of judgment. “He said the assassin was good enough to beat our security system.”

Morrolan looked at me and raised his eyebrow. I was in charge of security, he was saying, in his eloquent way.
Could
it be beaten?

“Anyone can be assassinated,” I told Morrolan, drily.

He allowed his lips to smile a bit, nodded, and returned his attention to Fentor.