The Book of Taltos by Steven Brust
WE MADE OUR FAREWELLS to the cat-centaurs the next morning. Mist and Morrolan exchanged words that struck me as a bit formal and pompous on both sides. Brandy and I enjoyed making fun of them, though, and Loiosh had a few remarks as well.
Then Mist came up to me, her tail swishing, and she seemed to be smiling. She said, “You are a good companion.”
I said, “Thanks.”
She paused, and I was afraid she was gathering herself together for some speech that I’d have trouble keeping a straight face for, but then she lowered her spear until its point was a few inches from my breast. Loiosh tensed to spring. Mist said, “You may touch my spear.”
Oh. Peachy. I had to restrain myself from glancing over at Brandy to see if he was sniggering. But what the hell. I touched it, then drew my rapier. I said, “You may touch my sword.”
She did so, solemnly. And you know, all sarcasm aside, I was moved by the whole thing. Mist gave Morrolan and me a last nod, then she led her friends or tribe or companions, or whatever, back into the plain. Morrolan and I watched them until they were out of sight, then got our things together and set off for the mountains.
After walking a few more hours, Morrolan stopped again and stared straight ahead, toward the base of the mountains. He said, “I think I can make out enough details to teleport us safely.”
I said, “Better be sure. Let’s walk another few hours.”
He glanced at me. “I’m sure.”
I kept my moan silent and merely said, “Fine. I’m ready.”
He stared hard at the mountains ahead of us as I drew next to him. All was still except for our breathing. He raised his hands very slowly, exhaled loudly, and brought his arms down. There was the sickening lurch in my stomach and I closed my eyes. I felt the ground change beneath my feet, opened my eyes again, looked around, and almost fell.
We were on a steep slope and I was facing down. Loiosh shrieked and dived into my cloak as I fought to recover my balance. After flailing around for a while I did so.
The air was cool here, and very biting. Behind us was an incredible expanse of green. All around us were mountains, hard and rocky. I managed to sit without losing my balance. Then, using my backpack as a pillow, I lay on my back on the slope, waiting for the nausea to pass.
After a few minutes, Morrolan said, “We’re about as close as we can get.”
I said, “What does that mean?”
“As you approach Greymist Valley, sorcery becomes more difficult. From the time you reach the Deathgate, it is impossible.”
I said, “Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you certain it’s true, or is it just rumor?”
“I’m certain. I was at the top of the falls with Zerika, holding off some local brigands while she made her descent. If I could have used sorcery, I would have.”
I said, “Brigands?”
“Yes.”
“Charming.”
“I don’t see any at the moment.”
“Great. Well, if they return, they may recognize you and leave us alone.”
“None of those will return.”
“I see.”
“There are far fewer now than during the Interregnum, Vlad. I wouldn’t worry. Those were wilder times.”
I said, “Do you miss them?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
I continued looking around and noticed a few jhereg circling in the distance. I said, “Loiosh, did you see the jhereg?”
He said, “I saw them.” He was still hiding inside my cloak.
“What’s the matter, chum?”
“Boss, did you see them?”
I looked up at them again but couldn’t figure out the problem until one of them landed on a cliff far above us. Then, suddenly, the scale made sense.
“By the Phoenix, Loiosh! Those things are bigger than I am.”
“I know.”
“I don’t believe it. Look at them!”
“No.”
I stood up slowly, put my pack on, and nodded to Morrolan. We continued up the slope for another couple of hours, then it leveled off. The view was magnificent, but Loiosh couldn’t appreciate it. From time to time, the giant jhereg would come close enough to us to give me the creeps, so I couldn’t blame him. After another hour or so, we came to a wide, fast stream coming from up a slope we didn’t take.
Morrolan turned with the stream, and in a couple more hours it had become a small river. By dark it was a big river, and we found a place to make our last camp.
As we were settling in for the night, I said, “Morrolan, does this river have a name?”
He said, “Blood River.”
I said, “Thought so,” and drifted off to sleep.
After walking for an hour or so the next morning, we had followed it to Deathgate Falls.
10
I suppose I would have composed a chant if I’d had time, but I’m not very good at that. No chance for it now, though. Loiosh lent me strength, which I poured into the enchantment, creating more tension. The rhythm became stronger, and the candle suddenly flared before me.
Scary.
I concentrated on it, turning the flare into a shower of sparks, which exploded into a globe of flickering nothing. I brought it together again, surrounding the candle flame with a rainbow nimbus. I didn’t have to ask Loiosh to pick up and control it; I wanted him to and he did.
My breathing stilled; I felt my eyes narrow. I was relaxed, easy and part of things, no longer on the edge. This was a stage and it would pass, but I could use it while it lasted. Now was the time to forge the connection between source and destination, to establish the path along which reality would bend.
The knife quivered, saying, “Start here.” All right, fine. Start there and do what? I looked from knife to rune and back. I reached forward with my right hand, forefinger extended, and traced a line. I repeated the process. And again.
I kept it up, always going from knife to rune. After a while there was a line of flame connecting them.
It felt right. I raised my eyes. The landscape still wavered, as if I were surrounded by unreality, ready to close in on me. That could be pretty frightening, if I let it.
DEATHGATE FALLS HAS AN exact geographical location; therefore, so do the Paths of the Dead, only they don’t. Don’t ask me to explain that because I can’t. I know that somewhere in the Ash Mountains is a very high cleft called Greymist Valley. There is a possibly legendary assassin named Mario Greymist who was named after the place, for the number of people he sent there.
To this valley are brought the corpses of any Dragaeran deemed important (and rich) enough for someone to make the arrangements. The Blood River flows into the valley, and over a waterfall, and that is the end of the matter as far as the living are concerned.
The height of the waterfall has been reported by those undead who have returned from the Paths. The reports say it is a mere fifty feet, that it is a thousand feet, and any number of distances in between. Your guess is as good as mine, and I mean that.
No one has ever come to the foot of the falls by any route except the cliff, though many, especially Hawks and Athyra, have tried. For all intents and purposes, the foot of the falls isn’t in the same world as the lip. Volumes have been written in the debate over whether this was set up by the gods, or whether it is a naturally occurring phenomenon. To show how futile it is, several of the gods have participated in the debate on various sides.
Those few who leave the Paths of the Dead (undead such as Sethra, and the Empress Zerika who got a special dispensation) do not leave by means of the falls. Instead they report finding themselves walking out through a long cave they can never find later, or waking up at the foot of the Ash Mountains, or lost in the Forbidden Forest, or even walking along the seacoast a thousand miles away.
It isn’t supposed to make sense, I suppose.
I stood next to the lip of the waterfall and looked out at an orangish horizon interrupted by the occasion
I stepped back from the brink. Morrolan, next to me, did the same at almost the same instant. We walked away from it. The sound dropped off rapidly, and, just as quickly, the river widened and slowed, until only fifty feet from the falls it seemed like you could wade in it, and we could hear ourselves breathe.
This did not seem normal, but I saw no reason to ask about it.
Morrolan was glancing around him, an odd look on his face. I would have said wistful if I could have believed it of him. I noticed him staring at a pedestal set back about twenty feet from the water. I came up next to him, expecting, I guess, to see the name of some dead guy, and to ask Morrolan if it was a relative. Instead, I saw a stylized dzur head.
I looked a question at Morrolan: He pointed back toward the river, where I noticed a flat spot. “It is here where the remains of those of the House of the Dzur are sent onto the river to go over the falls.”
“Splash,” I said. “But at least they’re dead already. I doubt it bothers them.”
He nodded and continued to stare at the pedestal. I said, trying to sound casual, “Know any Dzurlords who’ve come this way?”
“Sethra,” he said.
I blinked. “I thought she was a Dragon.”
Morrolan shrugged and turned away, and we continued walking away from the falls. We came upon another flat spot against the river, which was starting to curve now, and I saw a stylized chreotha, then later a hawk, then a dragon. Morrolan paused there for some moments, and I backed up and gave him room for whatever he was feeling. His hand was white where he gripped the staff that contained some form of the soul of his cousin, in some condition or another.
Loiosh still hid inside my cloak, and I realized that the giant jhereg still circled above us, and we could hear their cries from time to time. Presently, Morrolan joined me in staring at the dark swirling waters. Birds made bird sounds, and the air was clear and very sharp. It was a somber, peaceful place, and it seemed to me that this was a calculated effect, achieved I’m not sure how. Yet, certainly, it worked.
Morrolan said, “Dragons usually use boats.”
I nodded and tried to picture a small fishing boat, then a skip like they use along the Sunset River above the docks, and finally a rowboat, which made the most sense. I could see it floating down the stream until it reached the waterfall, and over, lost.
I said, “Then what happens?”
Morrolan said, “Eventually the body comes to rest along the shore, below the falls. After a few days, the soul awakens and takes whatever it finds on the body that it can use, and begins the journey to the Halls of Judgment. The journey can take hours or weeks. Sometimes it lasts forever. It depends on how well the person has memorized the Paths for his House while he is alive, and on what he meets on the way, and how he handles it.” He paused. “We may meet some of those who have been wandering the Paths forever. I hope not. I imagine it would be depressing.”
I said, “What about us?”
“We will climb down next to the falls.”
“Climb?”
“I have rope.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s all right, then.”
I HAD BEEN IN the Organization nearly a year and it was getting to where I was feeling quietly good at what I did. I could threaten people without saying a word, just with a raised eyebrow or a smile, and they’d feel it. Kragar and I functioned well together, too. If the target started getting violent I’d just stand there while Kragar hit him, usually from behind. Then I’d inflict some minor damage on him and give him a lecture on pacifism.
It was working well, and life was going smoothly, until we heard about a guy named Tiev being found in an alley behind a tavern. Now, it is sometimes possible, although expensive, to return a corpse to life. But in this case Tiev had been cut in the back of the neck, severing his spine, which is something sorcerers can’t deal with. He was carrying about twenty imperials when he was killed, and the money was still on his body.
Tiev, I heard, was working for a guy named Rolaan, and rumors had it that Tiev had been known to do assassinations. Rolaan was a powerful kind of guy, and Kragar mentioned hearing a rumor that another powerful kind of guy, named Welok the Blade, had ordered Tiev’s killing. This was important to me because my boss worked for Welok—or, at least, he supposedly paid Welok a percentage of everything he earned.
A week later a guy named Lefforo was killed in a manner similar to Tiev. Lefforo worked directly for Welok and was, furthermore, someone I’d actually met, so that was hitting pretty close to home. People I’d see at my boss’s place started looking nervous, and my boss implied to me that it would be a good idea not to wander around alone. I couldn’t imagine what anyone had to gain from killing me, but I started staying home a lot. That was okay. I wasn’t making so much money that I was anxious to go and spend it, and Loiosh was by now almost full grown, so it was fun to spend time training him. That is, I’d say, “Loiosh, find the red ball in the bedroom,” and he’d go off and come back with it in his claws. He’d stopped calling me “Mama” by then, but had picked up the habit of calling me “boss,” I guess from the way I addressed my superior.
Anyway, a couple of weeks later, my boss asked to see me. I went over to his office, and he said, “Shut the door.” I did. We were alone, and I started getting nervous.
He said, “Sit down, Vlad.”
I sat down and said, “Yeah, boss?”
He licked his lips. “Any interest in doing some work for me?” There was just a bit of emphasis on the word “work.”
My mouth went dry. After close to a year, I’d picked up enough of the slang to know what he meant. I was surprised, startled, and all that. It had never occurred to me that anyone would ask me to do that. On the other hand, saying no never crossed my mind. I said, “Sure.”
He seemed to relax a little. “Okay. Here’s the target.” He handed me a drawing of a Dragaeran. “Know him?”
I shook my head.
He said, “Okay. His name is Kynn. He’s an enforcer for, well, it doesn’t matter. He’s tough, so don’t take any chances. He lives on Potter’s Market Street, near Undauntra. He hangs out in a place called Gruff’s. Know it?”
“Yeah.”
“He bounces for a brothel three doors up from there most Endweeks, and he does collecting and bodyguard work pretty often, but he doesn’t keep to a schedule. Is that enough?”
I said, “I guess so.”
“He isn’t traveling alone much these days, so you may have to wait for a chance. That’s okay. Take as much time as you need to get it right, and don’t let yourself be seen. Be careful. And I don’t want him revivifiable, either. Can you handle that?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Is he going to have alarms in his flat?”
“Huh? Oh. Stay away from his flat.”
“Why?”
“You don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Look, he’s a Jhereg, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re a Jhereg, right?”
“Right.”
“You don’t do that.”
“Okay.”
“You also don’t go near him while he’s in or around a temple, an altar, or anywhere like that.”
“All right.”
“He’s married, too. You don’t touch him while his wife’s around.”
“All right. Do I get to use both hands?”
“Don’t be funny.”
“I don’t get to do that, either, huh?”
Loiosh, who’d taken to wandering around on my shoulder, stared at the drawing and hissed. I guessed he was picking up on more than I thought. My boss started at this, but didn’t comment. He handed me a purse. I took i
I said, “What’s this?”
“Your payment. Twenty-five hundred imperials.”
When I could speak again, I said, “Oh.”
WE BUILT A FIRE considerably back from the river and cooked the last of the meat from the kethna. We ate it slowly, in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Loiosh sneaked out of my cloak long enough to grab a morsel and dived back in.
We rested and cleaned up after eating, then Morrolan suggested we rest some more.
“Some have said it is bad luck to sleep while in the Paths. Others have said it is impossible. Still others have said nothing on the subject.” He shrugged. “I see no reason to take chances; I should like to be as well rested as possible before we begin.”
Later I watched Morrolan as he fashioned a harness to hold the staff to his back, so he could have both hands free for climbing. I unwrapped my chain from around my left wrist and looked at it. I swung it around a few times. It was behaving just like any other chain, which was either because of where we were or because it hadn’t anything else to do. I put it away again, considered testing what Morrolan had said by attempting sorcery, changed my mind.
I caught Morrolan staring at me. He said, “Have you named it?”
“The chain? No. What’s a good name?”
“What does it do?”
“When I used it before, it worked like a shield against whatever that wizard was throwing at me. How about Spellbreaker?”
Morrolan shrugged and didn’t answer.
“I like it, boss.”
“Okay. I’ll stick with it. I have trouble being all that serious about giving a name to a piece of chain.”
Morrolan said, “Let’s be about it, then.”
I nodded, put Spellbreaker back around my wrist, and stood up. We walked back to the falls, our voices once again drowned by proximity to the falls. I noticed there was a pedestal quite close to the edge, and saw an athyra carved on it. Morrolan tied one end of his rope around this pedestal which some might think in poor taste, I don’t know.