Jhereg (10 page)

And then the jaws of Deathsgate swung open.

The Dragons, it seemed, didn't approve of assassins plying their trade on guests. They demanded an apology from House Jhereg and got one. Then they demanded the assassin's head, and instead got the head of their messenger returned to them in a basket.

The insult, reasoned the Jhereg, wasn't
that
great. After all, they hadn't destroyed the poor fellow's brain, or done anything else to make him unrevivifiable. They were just sending the Dragons a message.

The Dragons got the message and sent back one of their own. Somehow, they found out who had issued the contract. The day after the messenger was returned to them, they raided the home of this fellow. They killed him and his family, and burned down his house. Two days later, the Dragon heir to the throne was found just outside the Imperial Palace with a six-inch spike driven through his head.

Four bars along Lower Kieron Road, all owned by the Jhereg, and all housing some illegal activity upstairs or in back, were raided and burned, and many of the patrons were killed. All Jhereg in all of them were killed. Morganti weapons were used on several.

The next day, the Warlord of the Empire disappeared. Pieces of her were found over the next few days at the homes of various Dragon nobles.

The House of the Dragon declared that it intended to wipe House Jhereg out of the cycle. The Dragons said that they fully intended to kill each and every Jhereg in existence.

House Jhereg responded by sending assassins after each Dragon general who commanded more than a thousand troops and then began working its way down. The e'Kieron line of the Dragons was almost wiped out, and for a while it seemed that the e'Baritt line had been.

Have you heard enough?

All in all, it was a disaster. The "Dragon-Jhereg War" lasted about six months. At the end, when the Athyra Emperor forced a meeting between the surviving Dragon leaders and the Jhereg council and forced a peace treaty down both of their throats, there had been some changes. The best brains, the best generals, and the best warriors in the House of the Dragon were dead, and House Jhereg was damn near out of business. It is admitted by the Jhereg that they came out pretty much the losers. This should be expected, since they were at the bottom of the cycle, and the Dragons were near the top. But still, the Dragons don't boast of the outcome.

It was fortunate that the Athyra reign was long, and the Phoenix reign even longer after that, or there would have been real trouble having a House of the Dragon strong enough to take the throne and the Orb when their turn came, following the Phoenix. It took the Jhereg the entire time until their turn at the throne, nearly half the cycle away, which worked out to several thousand years, to achieve a stable business. I summed it up, as I went over the whole affair in my mind. Since that time, no Dragon has given sanctuary to a Jhereg, and no Jhereg has attempted to assassinate anyone in the home of a Dragonlord.

Castle Black was the home of Lord Morrolan e'Drien, of the House of the Dragon.

"How do you think he did it?" asked Kragar.

"How the hell should I know?" I said. "He found some way of tricking Morrolan into it, that's for sure. Morrolan would be the last person on Dragaera to deliberately let his home be used by a Jhereg on the run."

"Do you think Morrolan will kick him out, once he finds out that he's been used?"

"That depends on exactly how Mellar tricked him. But if Morrolan actually invited him there, he'll never agree to allowing him to be harmed, and he won't deny him sanctuary, not unless Mellar sneaked in without an invitation."

Kragar nodded and sat quietly for a while, thinking.

"Well, Vlad," he said at last, "he can't stay there forever."

"No. He can stay there long enough, though. All he has to do is to set up a new identity and figure out a good place to run. We can't keep up a vigilance on him for hundreds of years, and he can afford to wait that long if he has to."

"And what's more," I continued, "we can't even wait more than a few days. Once the information gets out, we've blown it."

"Do you think we can put up a tracer net around Castle Black, so we can at least find him if he leaves?"

I shrugged. "I suspect Morrolan wouldn't mind that. He might even do it himself, if he's as upset about being used this way as I expect him to be. But we still have the time problem."

"I don't suppose," said Kragar slowly, "that, since Morrolan is a friend of yours, he might, just this once..."

"I don't even want to ask him. Oh, I will, if we get desperate enough, but I don't think we have much of a chance of his agreeing. He was a Dragonlord long before he was a friend of mine."

"Do you think we might be able to make it look like an accident?" I thought about that for a long time. "No. For one thing, the Demon wants it known that the Jhereg killed him--that's sort of the point of doing it in the first place. For another, I'm not sure it's possible. Remember: this has to be permanent. By Morrolan's rules, we can kill him as many times as we want, as long as we make sure he can be, and
is,
revivified after. People are killed every day at Castle Black, but he hasn't had one permanent death there since he had the place built. There's no point in having an accident that isn't permanent; and do you have any idea how hard it would be to set up an 'accident' so he's killed unrevivifiably? What am I supposed to do, have him trip and fall on a Morganti dagger?"

"And another thing," I went on, "if we were to kill him that way, you can be damn sure that Morrolan would throw everything he had into an investigation. He takes a lot of pride in his record and would probably feel 'dishonored' if someone were to die, even accidentally, at Castle Black."

I shook my head. "It's really a strange place. You know how many duels are fought there every day? And not one of them on any terms other than no cuts to the head, and revivification afterwards. He'd check everything himself, twenty times, if Mellar had an

'accident,' and chances are good that he'd find out what happened."

"All right," said Kragar. "I'm convinced,"

"There's one more thing. Just to put this away, or anything like it, I'd better make it clear that I consider Morrolan a friend, and I'm not going to let him get hurt like that if there's any way I can prevent it. I owe him too much."

"
You're rambling, boss.
"

"
Shut up, Loiosh. I was done anyway.
"

Kragar shrugged. "Okay, you've convinced me. So what
can
we do?"

"I don't know yet. Let me think about it. And if you get any more ideas, let me know."

"Oh, I will. Someone has to do your thinking for you. Which reminds me--"

"Yes?"

"One piece of good news out of this whole thing."

"Oh, really? What is it?"

"Well, now we have an excuse to talk to the Lady Aliera. After all, she is Morrolan's cousin, and she is staying with him, last I heard. From what I know about her, by the way, she isn't going to be at all pleased that her cousin is being used by a Jhereg. In fact, she'll probably end up an ally, if we work it right."

I took out a dagger and absently started flipping it as I thought that over. "Not bad," I agreed. "Okay, then I'll make seeing her and Morrolan my first priority." Kragar shook his head, in mock sorrow. "I don't know, boss. First the witchcraft thing, and now this business with Aliera. I've been coming up with all the ideas around here. I think you're slipping. What the hell would you do without me, anyway?"

"I'd have been dead a long time ago," I said. "Want to make something of it?" He laughed and got up. "Nope, not a thing. What now?"

"Tell Morrolan that I'm coming to see him."

"When?"

"Right away. And get a sorcerer up here to do a teleport. The way I'm feeling right now, I don't trust my own spells."

Kragar walked out the door, shaking his head sadly. I put my dagger away and held out an arm to Loiosh. He flew over and landed on my shoulder. I stood by the window and looked out over the streets below. It was quiet and only moderately busy. There were few street vendors in this part of town and not really a lot of traffic until nightfall. By then I'd be at Castle Black, some two hundred miles to the Northeast.

Morrolan, I knew, was going to be mighty angry at someone. Unlike a Dzur, however, an angry Dragon is unpredictable.

"
This could get really ugly, boss,
" said Loiosh.

"
Yeah,
" I told him. "
I know.
"

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"Always speak politely to an enraged Dragon."

My first reaction, years before, upon hearing about the Castle Black, had been contempt. For one thing, black has been considered the color of sorcery for hundreds of thousands of years on Dragaera, and it takes a bit of gall to name one's home that. Also, of course, is the fact that the Castle floats. It hangs there, about a mile off the ground, looking real impressive from a distance. It was the only floating castle then in existence.

I should mention that there had been many floating castles before the Interregnum. I guess the spell isn't all that difficult, if you care to put enough work into it in the first place. The reason that they are currently out of vogue is the Interregnum itself. One day, over four hundred years ago now, sorcery stopped working... just like that. If you look around in the right places in the countryside you will still find broken husks and shattered remnants of what were once floating castles.

Lord Morrolan e'Drien was born during the Interregnum, which he spent mostly in the East, studying witchcraft. This is very rare for a Dragaeran. While the Easterners were using the failure of Dragaeran sorcery to turn the tables and invade
them
for a change, Morrolan was quietly building up skill and power.

Then, when Zerika, of the House of the Phoenix, came strolling out of the Paths of the Dead with the Orb clutched in her greedy little hands, Morrolan was right there, helping her stomp her way to the throne. After that, he was instrumental in driving back the Easterners, and he helped cure the plagues they left behind them as remembrances of their visit.

All this conspired to make him more tolerant of Easterners than is normal for a Dragaeran, particularly a Dragonlord. That is partly how I ended up working for him on a permanent basis, after we almost killed each other the first time we met. Little misunderstandings, and all.

I slowly came to realize that the Lord Morrolan was actually worthy of having a home called Castle Black--not that he would have cared a teckla's squeal what I thought of it in any case. I also came to understand part of the reason behind the name. You must understand that Dragonlords, particularly when they are young (if you've been paying attention, you'll note that Morrolan was under five hundred), tend to be--how shall I put this--excitable. Morrolan knew quite well that naming his keep what he did was somewhat pretentious, and he also knew that, from time to time, people would mock him for it. When that happened, he would challenge them to duel and then take great delight in killing them.

Lord Morrolan, of the House of the Dragon, was one of damn few nobles who deserved the title. I have seen him show most of the attributes one expects of a noble: courtesy, kindness, honor. I would also say that he is one of the most bloodthirsty bastards I have ever met.

I was welcomed to Castle Black, as always, by Lady Teldra, of the House of the Issola. I don't know what Morrolan paid her for her services as reception committee and welcoming service. Lady Teldra was tall, beautiful, and graceful as a dzur. Her eyes were as soft as an iorich's wing, and her walk was smooth, flowing, and delicate as a court dancer's. She held herself with the relaxed, confident poise of, well, of an issola. I bowed low to her, and she returned my bow along with a stream of meaningless pleasantries that made me very glad I had come and almost made me forget my mission.

She showed me to the library, where Morrolan was seated, going over some kind of large tome or ledger, making notes as he went.

"Enter," said Morrolan.

I did, and bowed deeply to him; he acknowledged.

"What is it, Vlad?"

"Problems," I told him, as Lady Teldra swished back to her position near the castle entrance. "What else do you think I'd be doing here? You don't think I'd deign to visit you socially, do you?"

He permitted himself a smile and held out his right arm to Loiosh, who flew over to it and accepted some head-scratching. "Of course not," he responded. "That was only an illusion of you at the party the other day."

"Exactly. How clever of you to notice. Is Aliera around?"

"Somewhere. Why?"

"The problem also involves her. And, for that matter, Sethra should be in on it too, if she's available. It would be easier if I could explain to all of you at once." Morrolan's brows came together for a moment; then he nodded to me. "Okay, Aliera is on her way, and she'll mention it to Sethra."

Aliera arrived almost immediately, and Morrolan and I stood for her. She gave us each a small bow. Morrolan was a bit tall for a Dragaeran. His cousin Aliera, however, was the shortest Dragaeran I have ever known; she could have been mistaken for a tall human. Bothered by this, it was her habit to wear gowns that were too long, and then make up the difference by levitating rather than walking. There have been those who made disparaging remarks about this. Aliera, however, was never one to hold a grudge. She almost always revivified them afterwards.

Both Morrolan and Aliera had something of the typical Dragon facial features--the high cheekbones, rather thin faces and sharp brows of the House; but there was little else in common. Morrolan's hair was as black as mine, whereas Aliera had golden hair--rare in a Dragaeran and almost unheard of in a Dragonlord. Her eyes were normally green, another oddity, but I've seen them change from green to gray, and occasionally to ice blue. When Aliera's eyes turn blue, I'm very, very careful around her. Sethra arrived just after her. What can I tell you about Sethra Lavode? Those who believe in her say she has lived ten thousand years (some say twenty). Others say she is a myth. Call her life unnatural, feel her undead breath. Color her black for sorcery, color her gray for death.