Taltos by Steven Brust
“Morrolan, do you know the significance of those dressed in purple?”
“They are the servants of the dead.”
“Oh. Bitch of a job.”
“It is what happens to those who arrive in the Paths of the Dead but don’t make it through, or who die here.”
I shuddered, thinking of the Dragonlords we’d killed. “Is it permanent?”
“I don’t think so. It may last for a few thousand years, though.”
I shuddered again. “It must get old, fast.”
“I imagine. It is also used as punishment. It is likely what will happen to us if our mission fails.”
The building was still quite some distance in front of us, but I could see that it would have compared well to the Imperial Palace. It was a simple, massive cube, all grey, with no markings or decorations I could distinguish. It was ugly.
Our guide gestured toward it and said, “The Halls of Judgment.”
Chapter 13
I held the world in my hands. There was a moment of incredible clarity, when the horizon stopped wavering, and I was deaf to rhythms and pulses. Everything held its breath, and my thought pierced the fabric of reality. I felt Loiosh’s mind together with mine as a perfectly tuned lant, and I realized that, except for my grandfather, he was the only being in the world that I loved.
Why was I doing this?
The scent of pine needles penetrated my thoughts, and everything seemed clean and fresh. It brought tears to my eyes and power to my hands.
As we approached the building, it didn’t get any smaller. I think the area around me continued to change, but I wasn’t noticing. We came to an arch with another stylized dragon’s head, and our guide stopped there. He bowed to Morrolan, studiously ignoring me.
I said, “It’s been a pleasure. Have a wonderful time here.”
His eyes flicked over me and he said, “May you be granted a purple robe.”
“Why, thanks,” I said. “You, too.”
We passed beneath the arch. We were in a sort of courtyard in front of doors I suspect our friend the dragon could have gone through without ducking. I saw other arches leading into it, about twenty of them.
Oh. No, of course. Make that exactly seventeen of them. There were several purple robes standing around in the courtyard, one of whom was approaching us. He made no comment, only bowed to us both, turned, and led us toward the doors.
It was a long way across the courtyard. I had a chance to think about all sorts of possibilities I didn’t enjoy contemplating. When we were before the doors they slowly and majestically swung open for us, with an assumed grandeur that seemed to work on me even though I was aware of it.
“Stole one of your tricks,” I told Morrolan.
“It is effective, is it not?”
“Yeah.”
Back when the doors of Castle Black had opened, Lady Teldra had stood there to greet me. When the doors of the Halls of Judgment opened before us, there was a tall male Dragaeran in the dress of the House of the Lyorn—brown ankle-length skirt, doublet, and sandals—with a sword slung over his back.
He saw me and his eyes narrowed. Then he looked at the pair of us and they widened. “You are living men.”
I said, “How could you tell?”
“Good Lyorn,” said Morrolan, “we wish to present ourselves to the Lords of Judgment.”
He sort of smiled. “Yes, I suppose you do. Very well, follow me. I will present you at once.”
“I can hardly wait,” I muttered. No one responded.
* * * *
I spent the two weeks following Kynn’s death in Candletown, discovering just how much fun you can have while you’re worried sick; or, if you wish, just how miserable you can be while you’re living it up.
Then, one day while I was sitting on the beach quietly getting drunk, a waiter came up to me and said, “Lord Mawdyear?” I nodded, as that was close enough to the name I was using. He handed me a sealed message for which I tipped him lavishly. It read “Come back,” and my boss had signed it. I spent a few minutes wondering if it was faked, until Loiosh pointed out that anyone who knew enough to fake it knew enough to send someone to kill me right there on the beach. This sent a chill through me, but it also convinced me the message was genuine.
I teleported back the next morning, and nothing was said about what I thought must have been a miserable blunder. I found out, over the course of the next few months, that it hadn’t really been that bad a mistake. It was pretty much the policy to send the assassin out of town after he shined someone, especially during a war. I also found out that going to Candletown was a cliché; it was sometimes referred to as Killertown. I never went back there.
But there was something I noticed right away, and I still don’t really understand it. My boss knew I’d killed the guy, and Kragar certainly guessed it, but I don’t think many others even suspected. Okay, then why did everyone treat me differently?
No, it wasn’t big things, but just the way people I worked with would look at me; it was like I was a different person—someone worthy of respect, someone to be careful of.
Mind you, I’m not complaining; it was a great feeling. But it puzzled me then and it still does. I can’t figure out if rumors got around, or if my behavior changed in some subtle way. Probably a little of each.
But you know what was even more strange? As I would meet other enforcers who worked for someone or other in the strange world of the Jhereg, I would, from time to time, look at one and say to myself, “That one’s done ‘work.’” I have no idea how I knew, and I guess I can’t even guarantee I was right, but I felt it. And, more often than not, the guy would look at me and give a kind of half nod as if he recognized something about me, too.
I was seventeen years old, a human in the Dragaeran Empire, and I’d taken a lot of garbage over the years. Now I was no longer an “Easterner,” nor was I Dragaeran or even a Jhereg. Now I was someone who could calmly and coldly end a life, and then go out and spend the money, and I wasn’t going to have to take any crap anymore. Which was a nice feeling while it lasted.
* * * *
I wondered, walking through the Halls, if there were ever any dragons brought there for judgment. I mean, not only were the doors large enough to admit one, but the halls were, too. At any rate, the scale made me feel small and insignificant, which was probably the reason behind the whole thing.
Reason?
“Loiosh, who designed this place, anyway?”
“You’re asking me, boss? I don’t know. The gods, I suppose.”
“And if I just knew what that meant, I’d be fine.”
“Have you noticed that there isn’t any decoration? Nothing at all.”
“Hmmm. You’re right, Loiosh. But, on the other hand, what sort of mood would you pick if you were decorating this place?”
“A point.”
The place was nearly empty, save for a few purple robes coming or going, all with that same blank look. Seeing them made me queasy. I didn’t notice any side passages or doors, but I don’t think I was at my most observant. It was big and it was impressive. What can I say?
“Good day,” said someone behind us. We turned and saw a male Dragaeran in the full splendor of a Dragonlord wizard, complete with shining black and silver garb and a staff that was taller than he was. His smile was sardonic as he looked at Morrolan. I turned to see my companion’s expression. His eyes were wide. I’d now seen Morrolan wet, embarrassed, and startled. If I could just see him frightened, my life would be complete.
I said, “Are you certain it’s day?”
He turned his sardonic expression to me and sent me the most withering glare I’ve ever experienced. Several comments came to mind, but for once I couldn’t manage to get them out. This may have saved my life.
Morrolan said, “I salute you, Lord Baritt. I had thought you were yet living. I grieve to know—”
He snorted. “Time flows differently here. Doubtless when you left, I hadn’t been ....” H
Morrolan indicated the surrounding wall. “You live within this building, Lord?”
“No, I merely do research here.”
“Research?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”
By this time I’d recovered enough to appreciate someone being contemptuous of Morrolan. Morrolan, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate it at all. He drew himself up and said, “My lord, if I have done something to offend you—”
“I can’t say much for your choice of traveling companions.”
Before Morrolan could respond, I said, “I don’t like it either, but—”
“Don’t speak in my presence,” said Baritt.
As he said it, I found that I couldn’t; my mouth felt like it was filled with a whole pear, and I discovered that I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t thought it possible to perform sorcery here. The Lyorn who was guiding me took a step forward, but at that moment I found I could breathe again. Baritt said “Jhereg” as if it were a curse. Then he spat on the floor in front of me and stalked away.
When he was gone I took a couple of deep breaths and said, “Hey, and here I’d thought he hated me because I’m an Easterner.”
Morrolan had no witty rejoinder for that. Our guide inclined his head slightly, from which I deduced that we were to follow him. We did.
A few minutes later he had led us to a big square entrance way, which was where the hall ended. He stopped outside it and indicated that we should continue through. We bowed to him and stepped forward into another world.
* * * *
After Kynn’s death, and its aftermath, I learned slowly. I trained in sorcery in hopes of being able to follow someone teleporting, but that turned out to be even harder than I’d thought.
I never again used Loiosh as a distraction, but he got better at other things, such as observing a target for me and making sure an area was free of Phoenix Guards or other annoyances.
The war between Rolaan and Welok lasted for several months, during which everyone was careful and didn’t go out alone. This was an education for me. I “worked” several more times during that period, although only once was it a direct part of the war as far as I know.
The mystery, though, is where, by all the gods, my money went. I ought to have been rich. The fee for assassination is high. I was now living in a nice comfortable flat (it was really nice—it had this great blue and white carpet and a huge kitchen with a built-in wood stove), but it didn’t cost all that much. I was eating well, and paying quite a bit for sorcery lessons, as well as paying a top fencing master, but none of these things comes close to accounting for all the income I was generating. I don’t gamble a whole lot, which is a favorite means of losing money for many Jhereg. I just can’t figure it out.
Of course, some of it I can trace. Like, I met an Eastern girl named Jeanine, and we hung out together for most of a year, and it’s amazing how much you can spend on entertainment if you really put your mind to it. And there was a period when I was paying out a lot for teleports—like two or three a day for a couple of weeks. That was when I was seeing Jeanine and Constance at the same time and I didn’t want them finding out about each other. It ended because all the teleports were making me too sick to be of much good to either of them. I guess, in retrospect, that could account for quite a bit of the money, couldn’t it? Teleports don’t come cheap.
Still, I can’t figure it out. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose.
* * * *
My first reaction was that we’d stepped outside, and in a way I was right, but it was no outside I’d ever seen before. There were stars, such as my grandfather had shown me, and they were bright and hard, all over the place, and so many of them....
Presently I realized that my neck was hurting and that the air was cold. Morrolan, next to me, was still gawking at the stars. I said, “Morrolan.”
He said, “I’d forgotten what they were like.” Then he shook his head and looked around. I did the same at just about the same time, and we saw, seated on thrones, the Lords of Judgment.
Two of them were right in front of us; others were off to the sides, forming what may have been a massive circle of thrones, chairs, and like that. Some of them were grouped close together, in pairs or trios, while others seemed all alone. The creature directly before me, perhaps fifty feet away, was huge and green. Morrolan began walking toward it. As we came closer, I saw that it was covered with scalelike hide, and its eyes were huge and deep-set. I recognized this being as Barlan, and an urge to prostrate myself came over me; I still have no idea why. I resisted.
Next to him was one who looked like a Dragaeran, dressed in a gown of shifting colors, with a haughty face and hair like fine mist. I looked at her hands, and, yes, each finger had an extra joint. Here was the Demon Goddess of my ancestors, Verra. I looked to her right, half expecting to see the sisters legends claimed she had. I think I saw them, too—one was small and always in shadow, and next to her was one whose skin and hair flowed like water. I avoided looking at either of them. I controlled my shaking and forced myself to follow Morrolan.
There were others, but I hardly remember them, save one who seemed to be dressed in fire, and another who seemed always to be fading into and out of existence. How many? I can’t say. I remember the few I’ve mentioned, and I know there were others. I retain the impression that there were thousands of them, perhaps millions, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust my senses fully.
Morrolan seemed to be steering us to a point between Verra and Barlan. As we neared them, it seemed that their gigantic size was illusory. We stopped when we were perhaps fifteen feet from them, and they appeared large, but hardly inhuman. At least in size. Barlan was covered with green scales and had those frightening huge pale green eyes. And Verra’s hair still shimmered, and her clothing refused to stop changing color, form, and material. Nevertheless, they seemed more like beings I might be able to talk to than some of the others in the area.
They acknowledged us at the same moment.
Morrolan bowed, but not as low as he had to Baritt. I didn’t try to figure it out; I just bowed myself, very low indeed. Verra looked back and forth between the two of us, then over at Barlan. She seemed to be smiling. I couldn’t tell about him.
Then she looked back at us. Her voice, when she spoke, was deep and resonating, and very odd. It was as if her words would echo in my mind, only there was no gap in time between hearing them in my mind and in my ears. The result was an unnatural sort of piercing clarity to everything she said. It was such a strange phenomenon that I had to stop and remember her words, which were: “This is a surprise.”
Barlan said nothing. Verra turned to him, then back to us. “What are your names?”
Morrolan said, “I am Morrolan e’Drien, Duke of the House of the Dragon.”
I swallowed and said, “Vladimir Taltos, Baronet of the House of the Jhereg.”
“Well, well, well,” said Verra. Her smile was strange and twisted and full of irony. She said, “It would seem that you are both alive.”
I said, “How could you tell?”
Her smile grew a bit wider. She said, “When you’ve been in the business as long as I have—”
Barlan spoke, saying, “State your errand.”
“We have come to beg for a life.”
Verra’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? For whom?”
“My cousin,” said Morrolan, indicating the staff.
Barlan held his hand out, and Morrolan stepped forward and gave him the staff. Morrolan stepped back.
“You must care for her a great deal,” said Verra, “since by coming here you have forfeited your right to return.”
I swallowed again. I think Verra noticed this, because she looked at me and said, “Your case is less clear, as Easterners do not belong here at all.”
I licked my lips and refrained from comment.
Verra turned back to Morrolan and said, “W
“Yes?”
“Is she worth your life?”
Morrolan said, “It is necessary. Her name is Aliera e’Kieron, and she is the Dragon heir to the throne.”
Verra’s head snapped back, and she stared straight into Morrolan’s face. There is something terrifying about seeing a god shocked.
After a little while, Verra said, “So, she has been found.”
Morrolan nodded.
Verra gestured toward me. “Is that where the Easterner comes in?”
“He was involved in recovering her.”
“I see.”
“Now that she has been found, we ask that she be allowed to resume her life at the point where—”
“Spare me the details,” said Verra. Morrolan shut up.
Barlan said, “What you ask is impossible.”
Verra said, “Is it?”
“It is also forbidden,” said Barlan.
“Tough cookies,” said Verra.
Barlan said, “By our positions here we have certain responsibilities. One of them is to uphold—”
“Spare me the lecture,” said Verra. “You know who Aliera is.”
“If she is sufficiently important, we may ask to convene—”
“By which time the Easterner will have been here too long to return. And his little jhereg, too.” I hardly reacted to this at the time, because I was too amazed by the spectacle of the gods arguing. But I did notice it, and I noted that Verra was aware of Loiosh even though my familiar was inside my cloak.
Barlan said, “That is not our concern.”
Verra said, “A convocation will also be boring.”
“You would break our trust to avoid boredom?”
“You damn betcha, feather-breath.”
Barlan stood. Verra stood. They glared at each other for a moment, then vanished in a shower of golden sparks.
* * * *
It is not only the case that Dragaerans have never learned to cook; it is also true, and far more surprising, that most of them will admit it. That is why Eastern restaurants are so popular, and the best of them is Valabar’s.