The Book of Jhereg (30 page)

And, in this moment of weakness, of near panic, the final stroke came, administered by Daymar, to complete his feeling of disorientation and push him over the edge.

Mellar felt the mind-probe hit and cried out. I didn’t know at that time whether he was sufficiently disoriented that his mental defenses were down. The mind-probe might have worked, or might have failed, but it worked as far as I was concerned: Mellar turned to me. “Get us out of here!” he yelled. It was unfortunate that he chose to look at me instead of the other bodyguard, but I had known that it could happen.

I didn’t look back at him; just stared straight ahead. He saw, no doubt, the stunned and stupefied expression I was wearing. I heard the unmistakable note of panic in his voice, now, as he turned to the other bodyguard. The crowd was beginning to react, and I sincerely hoped that Sethra the Younger or the Necromancer didn’t get to him before we were able to get out of here.

“Move!” he said to the other bodyguard. “Get us out!”

At that moment, I think, something must have clicked in him, and he turned
back to me, his eyes growing wider still. Either Daymar’s spell was fading so I no longer looked like the bodyguard I was imitating, or he noticed a mannerism that I didn’t perform right. He was backing away from me as the walls vanished around us.

* * *

As best I could, I ignored the nausea that accompanied the teleport and made a fast decision.

If he hadn’t realized that something was wrong, if he had happened to turn to the other one first, there would have been no problem. I would have simply killed him and finished off the bodyguard as best I could. Now, however, it was different.

I had time to take out either Mellar, or the other bodyguard, but I couldn’t get both before they got in a cut or two at me. Which one should I go for?

The bodyguard would be setting up a teleport block and a spell to prevent tracing, while Mellar had already drawn his blade. Also, Mellar was closer.

However, I had to make sure that Mellar was killed permanently. As I’ve said, it is no easy thing to kill someone in such a way that he can’t be revivified. With him ready and facing me, it wouldn’t be as easy as it would have been if I’d had a free shot at the back of his head. What if I took him out, but wasn’t able to make it permanent? And then the bodyguard were to nail me? The latter would just teleport again with Mellar’s body, and get him brought back at his leisure. If I went for the guard, I could take the time and do a thorough job on Mellar, and not have to worry about Mellar skipping off on me.

What decided me, however, was the fact that the bodyguard was a sorcerer. That gave him a bigger advantage over me in this situation than I liked.

I didn’t stop to think about any of this; it just flashed through my mind as I moved.

I threw myself backward, and, as my right hand went for my blade, my left hand found three poison darts. I flipped them toward the bodyguard and mentally recited a short prayer to Verra.

Mellar’s first swing, which occurred just about then, missed; I had managed to get just out of range. Gods! He was strong! I was on the ground by then, but I had my rapier out. I rolled to my left and came up . . .

. . . in time to parry, just barely, a cut that would have split my skull open. My arm rang from the blow of his heavier sword, and I heard the welcome sound of a body falling off to my left. The bodyguard was out of it, at least. Thank you, Verra.

At that point I first became aware of my surroundings. We were outside, in a jungle area. That would put us somewhere to the west of Adrilankha, which meant at least three hundred miles from Castle Black. They weren’t going to be able to trace the teleport in time to help me, then; not if the sorcerer/bodyguard had been able to get his spell off. I would have to assume that I was on my own.

Mellar struck again. I fell back as fast as I could, hoping like Hell that there was no obstruction behind me. At the best of times, I was nowhere near as
good a fighter as Mellar, and at this moment my stomach was churning and it was taking a great deal of effort just to keep my eyes focused on him. On the other hand, an inferior swordsman can hold off a superior swordsman for quite a while, as long as he can keep retreating. I could only hope that he would let up enough to give me a chance to throw my dagger at him, and that I was able to hit him with it—without being nailed at the same time. At that moment, I would have let him get through to me if I could have been sure of doing a complete job on him in exchange. I looked for the chance, in fact.

He, however, had no intention of giving me any such opportunity. Whether he guessed my intentions or not I don’t know, but he didn’t let up for an instant. He kept hacking at my head and advancing. His left hand found a knife.

I felt a cold shiver run up my spine as I realized that he was now holding the Morganti blade that I had set him up with, one of the two we gave him, to make sure that he used one on Aliera. He noticed it, then, and his eyes widened. For the first time, he smiled. It was a very unpleasant smile to be on the wrong end of. The same could be said for the dagger. Somehow, at that moment, the irony of the whole thing was lost on me.

I kept falling back. The only thing that had kept me alive so far, I knew, was the fact that he wasn’t used to a fencer who presented only the side of his body, rather than the full forward of the sword-and-dagger Dragaeran style. He, of course, was fighting full forward, with a dagger up in a position to strike, or parry, or cast spells with.

He wasn’t about to cast spells with it, and he didn’t need to parry because I hadn’t had a chance to attack yet. Not even a simple riposte—and now he had two blades to my one. Also, he was a good enough swordsman that it wouldn’t take him long to learn how to deal with my kind of swordplay.

He was quite content, meanwhile, to keep me busy until I ran up against a tree or tripped on a log, as I inevitably would in this jungle. Then it would be all over—he’d come in with the dagger, and my soul would go to feed a sentience in nine inches of cold steel.

He spoke for the first time. “It was all a trick from the beginning, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t answer, not having the breath.

“I can see it now,” he continued. “It might have worked, too, if you were a better swordsman, or if you had nailed me when you had the chance, instead of going for my friend back there.”

That’s right, you bastard, I thought. Rub it in.

“But as it is,” he continued, “they should know the truth by now at Castle Black. If I can figure it out from here, they can certainly figure it out from there, where they have the body and the blade to look at. What’s to stop me from just going back there?”

I stopped and tried to bind him, parrying strongly. He took a cut at me with the dagger, however, and I had to jump back. I’d had no chance for an attack.

“It is unfortunate,” he went on, “that I can teleport, or it might have worked anyway.”

It takes you two or three seconds to teleport, my friend, and I don’t intend to give you two or three seconds. Sorry, but I don’t psych.

He must have realized that, too, because he stopped talking. I managed to put my left hand on the stiletto I’d selected to destroy him with, and I pulled it out. I cradled it in my hand like a jhereg holds her egg. I thought, very briefly, about trying to flip it at him, but to do that I’d have to turn full forward. If I did that, he’d have me before I could even loose it, and my head would be rolling on the ground.

For a moment, then, I considered that. If I fell to his sword, the dagger couldn’t hurt me. It requires a living soul to feed such a blade. My soul would be safe, and, just maybe, I could take him with me.

I threw away the idea and stepped back again. No, he was going to have to do it all himself—that much I’d take from him. I was not about to let him cut me down and leave me here, for the wild jhereg to feed on my corpse, to complete the irony of the situation.

. . . Jhereg? Wild jhereg? I felt a sudden breeze, cool against the back of my neck, reminiscent of the feel of a knife’s edge, and of other things.

A memory came back to haunt me, from years ago. This same jungle it was. . . . Could I . . .?

I was just distracted enough by the thought that I almost missed a parry. I jumped backward, and his deflected sword ripped into my side. I felt the blood start to flow, and it began to hurt. Verra be thanked, my stomach was settling down.

Witchcraft is similar to sorcery in many ways, but uses one’s own psionic powers rather than an external energy source. The rituals and incantations were used to force the mind down the right path, and to direct the power. How much were they really necessary?

My mind reached back . . . back . . . back to the time I had summoned the jhereg who was Loiosh’s mother from these very jungles. His mother was, quite likely, long dead, but I didn’t need her. Could I do it again?

Probably not.

“
Come to me, blood of my House. Join me, hunt with me, find me
.”

I almost stumbled, and was almost killed, but didn’t and was not. What the Hell was it? Come on, brain, think!

As my grandfather had taught me long ago, I let my arm, and my wrist, and even my fingers do all the work of keeping me alive. My mind had other things to do, the sword-arm would just have to take care of itself.

Something . . . something about . . . wings? No,
winds
, that was it, winds. . . .

“
Let the winds of Jungle’s night
. . .”

Something, perhaps the look on Mellar’s face, warned me of the tree behind me. Somehow I stepped around it without being spitted.

“
Stay the hunter in her flight
.”

I felt myself weakening. Blood loss, of course. I didn’t have time for that.

“
Evening’s breath to witch’s mind
. . .”

I wondered whether Loiosh would ever speak to me again. I wondered whether anyone would be able to speak to me again.

“
Let our fates be intertwined
.”

Mellar changed tactics, suddenly, and his sword thrust at my chest, instead of chopping at my head. I was forced into a clumsy parry, and he caught me with the tip. Was that a rib cracking, or just a good imitation? I brought up my blade before the dagger could sweep down, and made a leap backward. He followed immediately.

“
Jhereg! Do not pass me by!
”

As he closed, perhaps just a touch too cockily, I tried a full-extension stopthrust—Dragaeran swordplay has nothing like it—dropping to one knee and cutting up under his sword-arm. He was as surprised as I that my first offensive move got through, and it gave me time to get back before he countered. He bled a little from high on his right side. It was too much to hope for that this would affect his sword-arm, but it gave me more time.

“
Show me where thy soul doth lie!
”

My side screamed with pain as I stepped back still further. Each parry caused red flashes before my eyes, and I felt that I was near to blacking out. I felt drained, too. I mean,
drained
. I don’t think I had ever put that much into a spell.

I moved back out of the way of another blow that almost slit open my belly. He followed with a cut with the dagger that was almost faster than I could see, but I was moving back, so it missed. I stepped back again, before he could set himself. . . .

What? Was there . . .? Come on, brain! Mind, relax . . . be receptive . . . listen . . .

“
Who?
” came the thought to my forebrain.

“
One who needs you
,” I managed, as I almost stumbled. I hung on to my consciousness with everything I had.

“
What have you to offer?
”

Oh, Demon Goddess! I don’t have time for this! I wanted to start crying, to tell them all to just go away.

He caught my blade with the dagger, and the sword swept down; I squirmed to the side, made it.

“
Long life, O Jhereg. And fresh, red meat, with no struggle or search. And, sometimes, the chance to kill Dragaerans
.”

All in all, one Hell of a time to be bargaining.

Mellar did a fillip with his wrist that should have been impossible with that heavy a sword. He connected lightly with the side of my head—as heavily as he could, given what he was doing, and as lightly as it was possible for him to, considering the size of the weapon he had.

But I still didn’t black out. I took a chance, then, because I had to, and lunged, cutting down at his forehead. He stepped back and parried with his dagger. I backed up another step before the sword came sweeping down at me
again. It occurred to me that, even if the jhereg should choose to respond, it might be too far away to do me any good.

“
And what do you ask?
”

Mellar was smiling again. He could see that I was going, and all he had to do was wait. He continued pressing the attack.

“
For the future, aid in my endeavors, and your friendship, and your wisdom. For the present, save my life!
”

Once again, Mellar struck at the side of my head and got through. There was a ringing in my ears, and I felt myself start to fall. I saw him move in, raising the dagger and grinning broadly . . .

. . . and then he was turning, startled, as a winged shape struck at his face. He moved back and took a swipe with his sword; missed.

I dropped my sword and caught myself with my right hand. I heaved myself up from there until I was standing; barely. Mellar took another swing at the jhereg. I transferred the dagger to my right hand, and fell forward, walking being somewhat beyond my powers at that point. My left hand grasped his left arm, his dagger-arm, and swung him around.

He turned, and I saw panic in his eyes, and his dagger began to arc toward my neck. I tried to hold back his right arm, which was swinging forward with the sword, but it slipped from my grasp.

I thrust straight in, then, with everything that was left in me.

The stiletto took him in the left eye, burying itself to the hilt in his brain. He screamed then—a long wail of despair, and he lost interest in removing my head. I saw the light of life go out in his right eye, and I might even have rejoiced if I’d been capable of it.