Brust, Steven - Vlad Taltos 05 - Phoenix

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Phoenix

by Steven Brust

The Adventures of Vlad Taltos

JHEREG

YENDI

TECKLA

TALTOS

PHOENIX

ATHYRA

This one's for Pam and David

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks for help in preparing this book are due to Emma Bull, Pamela Dean, Kara

Dalkey, Will Shetterly, Fred A. Levy Haskell, Terri Windling, and Beth Fleisher.

Thanks also to my mother, Jean Brust, for various political insights, and to Gail

Cathryn and Adrian Morgan for research work on Dragaeran history. Thanks to Robin

"Adnan" Anders for percussive help, and, lastly, thanks to my house-mate, Jason,

without whose taste in television this book would have taken much longer to finish.

PROLOGUE

ALL THE TIME people say to me, "Vlad, how do you do it? How come you're so

good at killing people? What's your secret?" I tell them, "There is no secret. It's like

anything else. Some guys plaster walls, some guys make shoes, I kill people. You just

gotta learn the trade and practice until you're good at it."

The last time I killed somebody was right around the time of the Easterners' uprising,

in the month of the Athyra in 234 PI, and the month of the Phoenix in 235. I wasn't all

that involved in the uprising directly; to be honest, I was just about the only one

around who didn't see it coming, what with the increased number of Phoenix Guards

on the street, mass meetings even in my neighborhood, and whatnot. But that's when

it occurred, and, for those of you who want to hear what happens when you set out to

kill somebody for pay, well, here it is.

ONE

Technical Considerations

Lesson One

CONTRACT NEGOTIATIONS

MAYBE IT'S JUST me, but it seems like when things are going wrong—your wife is

ready to leave you, all of your notions about yourself and the world are getting turned

around, everything you trusted is becoming questionable—there's nothing like having

someone try to kill you to take your mind off your problems.

I was in an ugly, one-story wood-frame building in South Adrilankha. Whoever was

trying to kill me was a better sorcerer than me. I was in the cellar, squatting behind

the remains of a brick wall, just fifteen feet from the foot of the stairs. If I stuck my

head out the door again, it might well get blasted off. I intended to call for

reinforcements just as soon as I could. I also intended to teleport out of there just as

soon as I could. It didn't look like I'd be able to do either one any time soon.

But I was not helpless. At just such times as these, a witch may always take comfort

in his familiar. Mine is a jhereg—a small, poisonous flying reptile whose mind is

psychically linked to my own, and who is, moreover, brave, loyal, trustworthy—

"If you think I'm going out there, boss, you’re crazy.”

Okay, next idea.

I raised as good a protection spell as I could (not very), then took a brace of throwing

knives from inside my cloak, my rapier from its scabbard, and a deep breath from the

clammy basement air. I leapt out to my left, rolling, coming to my knee, throwing all

three knives at the same time (hitting nothing, of course; that wasn't the point), and

rolling again. I was now well out of the line of sight of the stairway—both the source

of the attack and the one path to freedom. Life, I've found, is often like that. Loiosh

flapped over and joined me.

Things sizzled in the air. Destructive things, but I think meant only to let me know the

sorcerer was still there. It wasn't like I'd forgotten. I cleared my throat. "Can we

negotiate?"

The masonry of the wall before me began to crumble away. I did a quick counterspell

and held myself answered.

"All right, Loiosh, any bright ideas?"

‘‘Ask them to surrender, boss.''

"Them?"

'I saw three.''

‘‘Ah. Well, any other ideas?''

"You've tried asking your secretary to send help?"

‘I can't reach him.''

‘‘How about Morrolan?''

'I tried already.''

"Aliera? Sethra?"

‘‘The same.''

‘I don't like that, boss. It's one thing for Kragar and Melestav to be tied up, but—"

"I know.”

‘‘Could they be blocking psionics, as well as teleportation?''

‘‘Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if it's pos-sib— “Our chat was interrupted

by a rain of sharp objects, sorcerously sent around the corner behind which I hid. I

wished fervently that I were a better sorcerer, but I managed a block, while letting

Spellbreaker, eighteen inches of golden chain, slip down into my left hand. I felt

myself becoming angry.

"Careful, boss. Don't—"

"I know. Tell me something, Loiosh: Who are they? It can't be Easterners, because

they’re using sorcery. It can't be the Empire, because the Empire doesn’t ambush

people. It can't be the Organization, because they don't do this clumsy, complicated

nonsense, they just kill you. So who is it?"

‘‘Don’t know, boss.''

"Maybe I'll take a longer look.”

‘‘Don’t do anything foolish.''

I made a rude comment to that. I was seriously upset by this time, and I was bloody

well going to do something, stupid or not. I set Spellbreaker spinning and hefted my

blade. I felt my teeth grinding. I sent up a prayer to Verra, the Demon-Goddess, and

prepared to meet my attackers.

Then something unusual happened.

My prayer was answered.

It wasn't like I'd never seen her before. I had once travelled several thousand miles

through supernatural horrors and the realm of dead men just to bid her good-day.

And, while my grandfather spoke of her with reverence and awe, Dragaerans spoke of

her and her ilk like I spoke about my laundry. What I'm getting at is that there was

never any doubt about her real, corporeal existence; it's just that although it was my

habit to utter a short prayer to her before doing anything especially dangerous or

foolhardy, nothing like this had ever happened before.

Well, I take that back. There might have been once when—no, it couldn't have been.

Never mind. Different story.

In any case, I found myself abruptly elsewhere, with no feeling of having moved and

none of the discomfort that we Easterners, that is, humans, feel when teleporting. I

was in a corridor of roughly the dimensions of the dining hall of Castle Black. All of

it white. Spotless. The ceiling must have been a hundred feet above me, and the walls

were at least forty feet apart, with white pillars in front of them, perhaps twenty feet

between each. Perhaps. It may be that my senses were confused by the pure whiteness

of everything. Or it may be that everything reported by my senses was meaningless in

that place. There was no end to the hallway in either direction. The air was slightly

cool, but not uncomfortable. There was no sound except my own breathing, and that

peculiar sensation you have when you don't know whether you're hearing your heart

beat or feeling it.

Loiosh was stunned into silence. This does not happen every day.

My first reaction, in the initial seconds after my arrival, was that I was the victim of a

massive illusion perpetrated by those who had been trying to kill me. But that didn't

really hold up, because, if they could do that, they could have shined me, which they

clearly wanted to do.

I noticed a black cat at my feet, looking up at me. It meowed, then began walking

purposefully down the hall in the direction I was facing. All right, so maybe I'm nuts,

but it seems to me that if you're in big trouble, and you pray to your goddess, and then

suddenly you're someplace you've never been before, and there's a black cat in front

of you and it starts walking, you follow it.

I followed it. My footsteps echoed very loudly, which was oddly reassuring.

I sheathed my rapier as I walked, because the Demon Goddess might take it amiss.

The hall continued straight, and the far end was obscured in a fine mist that gave way

before me. It was probably illusory. The cat stayed right at the edge of it, almost

disappearing into it.

Loiosh said, "Boss, are we about to meet her?"

I said, ' 'It seems likely.''

"Oh."

"You’ve met before—''

“I remember, boss.''

The cat actually vanished into the mists, which now remained in place. Another ten or

so paces and I could no longer see the walls. The air was suddenly colder and felt a

great deal like the basement I'd just escaped. Doors appeared, caught in the act of

opening, very slowly, theatrically. They were twice my height and had carvings on

them, white on white. It seemed a bit, well, silly to be having both of those doors

ponderously open themselves to a width several times what I needed. It also left me

not knowing whether to wait until they finished opening or to go inside as soon as I

could. I stood there, feeling ridiculous, until I could see. More mist. I sighed,

shrugged, and passed within.

It would be hard to consider the place a room—it was more like a courtyard with a

floor and a ceiling. Ten or fifteen minutes had fallen behind me since I'd arrived at

that place. Loiosh said nothing, but I could feel his tension from the grip of his talons

on my shoulder.

She was seated on a white throne set on a pedestal, and she was as I remembered her,

only more so. Very tall, a face that was somehow indefinably alien, yet hard to look at

long enough to really get the details. Each finger had an extra joint on it. Her gown

was white, her skin and hair very dark. She seemed to be the only thing in the room,

and perhaps she was.

She stood as I approached, then came down from the pedestal. I stopped perhaps ten

feet away from her, unsure what sort of obeisances to make, if any. She didn't appear

to mind, however. Her voice was low and even, and faintly melodic, and seemed to

contain a hint of its own echo. She said, "You called to me."

I cleared my throat. "I was in trouble."

"Yes. It has been some time since we've seen each other."

"Yes." I cleared my throat again. Loiosh was silent. Was I supposed to say, "So how's

it been going?" What does one say to one's patron deity?

She said, "Come with me," and led me out through the mist. We stepped into a

smaller room, all dark browns, where the chairs were comfortable and there was a fire

crackling away and spitting at the hearth. I allowed her to sit first, then we sat like

two old friends reminiscing on battles and bottles past. She said, "There is something

you could do for me."

"Ah," I said. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"I couldn't figure out why a group of sorcerers would be suddenly attacking me in a

basement in South Adrilankha."

"And now you think you know?"

"I have an idea."

"What were you doing in this basement?"

I wondered briefly just how much of one's personal life one ought to discuss with

one's god, then I said, "It has to do with marital problems." A look of something like

amusement flicked over her features, followed by one of inquiry. I said, "My wife has

gotten it into her head to join this group of peasant rebels—"

"I know."

I almost asked how, but swallowed it. "Yes. Well, it's complicated, but I ended up, a

few weeks ago, purchasing the Organization interests in South Adrilankha—where

the humans live."

"Yes."

"I've been trying to clean it up. You know, cut down on the ugliest sorts of things

while still leaving it profitable."

"This does not sound easy."

I shrugged. "It keeps me out of trouble."

"Does it?"

"Well, perhaps not entirely."

"But," she prompted, "the basement?"

"I was looking into that house as a possible office for that area. It was spur-of-the-

moment, really; I saw the ‘For Rent' sign as I was walking by on other business—"

‘‘Without bodyguards?''

"My other business was seeing my grandfather. I don't take bodyguards everywhere I

go." This was true; I felt that as long as my movements didn't become predictable, I

should be safe.

"Perhaps this was a mistake."

"Maybe. But you didn't actually have them kill me, just frighten me."

"So you think I arranged it?"

"Yes."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Well, according to some of my sources, you are unable to bring mortals to you or

speak with them directly unless they call to you."

"You don't seem angry about it."

"Anger would be futile, wouldn't it?"

"Well, yes, but aren't you accustomed to futile anger?"

I felt something like a dry chuckle attempt to escape my throat. I suppressed it and

said, "I'm working on that."

She nodded, fixing me with eyes that I suddenly noticed were pale yellow. Very

strange. I stared back.

"You know, boss, I'm not sure I like her. "

"Yeah."

"So," I said, "now that you've got me, what do you want?"

"Only what you do best," she said with a small smile.

I considered this. "You want someone killed?" I'm not normally this direct, but I still

wasn't sure how to speak to the goddess. I said, "I, uh, charge extra for gods."

The smile remained fixed on her face. "Don't worry," she said. "I don't want you to

kill a god. Only a king."

"Oh, well," I said. "No problem, then."

"Good."

I said, "Goddess—"

"Naturally, you will be paid."

"Goddess—"

"You will have to do without some of your usual resources, I'm afraid, but—"

"Goddess."

"Yes?"

"How did you come to be called 'Demon Goddess,' anyway?"

She smiled at me, but gave no other answer.

"So tell me about the job."

"There is an island to the west of the Empire. It is called Greenaere."

"I know of it. Between Northport and Elde, right?"

"That is correct. There are, perhaps, four hundred thousand people living there. Many

are fishermen. There are also orchards of fruit for trade to the mainland, and there is

some supply of gemstones, which they also trade."

"Are there Dragaerans?"

"Yes. But they are not imperial subjects. They have no House, so none of them have a

link to the Orb. They have a King. It is necessary that he die."

"Why don't you just kill him, then?"

"I have no means of appearing there. The entire island is protected from sorcery, and

this protection also prevents me from manifesting myself there."

"Why?"

"You don't have to know."

"Oh."

"And remember that, while you're there, you will be unable to call upon your link to

the Orb."

"Why is that?"

"You don't need to know."

"I see. Well, I rarely use sorcery in any case."

"I know. That is one reason I want you to do this. Will you?"

I was briefly tempted to ask why, but that was none of my business. Speaking of

business, however—"What's the offer?"

I admit I said this with a touch of irony. I mean, what was I going to do if she didn't

want to pay me? Refuse the job? But she said, "What do you usually get?"

"I've never assassinated a King before. Let's call it ten thousand Imperials."

"There are other things I could do for you instead."

"No, thanks. I've heard too many stories about people getting what they wish for. The

money will be fine."

“Very well. So you will do it?"

"Sure," I said. "I've got nothing pressing going on just at the moment."

"Good," said the Demon Goddess.

"Is there anything I should know?"

"The King's name is Haro."

"You want him non-revivifiable, I assume?"

"They have no link to the Orb."

"Ah. So that shouldn't be a problem. Ummrh, Goddess?"

"Yes?"

"Why me?"

"Why, Vlad," she said, and it was odd to have her call me by my first name. "It is

your profession, is it not?"

I sighed. "And here I'd been thinking of getting out of the business."

"Perhaps," she said, "not quite yet." She smiled into my eyes, and her eyes seemed to

spin, and then I was once more in the same basement in South Adrilankha. I waited,

but there was no sound. I poked my head out quickly, then for a longer time, then I

stepped over, picked up my three throwing knives, and walked up the stairs and out of

the house. I saw no sign of anyone.

"Melestav? I told you to send Kragar in.”

“I already did, boss.”

"Then where—? Never mind. “ “Say, Kragar."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm being called out of town for a while."

"How long?"

"Not sure. A week or two, anyway."

"All right. I can take care of things here."

"Good. And keep tabs on our old friend, Herth."

"Think he might decide to take a shot at you?"

"What do you think?"

"It's possible."

"Right. And I need a teleport for tomorrow afternoon."

"Where to?"

"Northport."

"What's up?"

"Nothing special. I'll tell you about it when I get back."

"I'll just wait to hear who dies in Northport."

"Funny. Actually, though, it isn't Northport, it's Greenaere. What do you know about

it?"

"Not much. An island kingdom, not part of the Empire."

"Right. Find out what you can."

"All right. What sorts of things?"

"Size, location of the capital city that kind of stuff. Maps would be good, both of the

island and of the capital city.''

"That shouldn't take long. I'll have it by this evening."

"Good. And I don't want anyone to know you're after the information. This job might

cause a stir and I don't want to be attached to it."

"Okay. What about South Adrilankha?"

"What about it?"

"Any special instructions?"

"No. You know what I've been doing; keep it going. No need to rush anything."

"Okay. Good luck." "Thanks."

I climbed the stairs to my flat slowly, unaccountably feeling like an old man. Loiosh

flew over and began necking (quite literally) with his mate, Rocza. Cawti was

wearing green today, with a red scarf around her neck that highlighted the few, almost

invisible freckles on her nose. Her long brown hair was down and only haphazardly

brushed, an effect I rather like. She put down her book, one of Paarfi's "histories," and

greeted me without coolness, but without the pretense of great warmth, either. "How

was your day?" I asked her.

"All right," she said. What could she say? I wasn't terribly interested in the details of

her activities with Kelly and his band of rebels, or nuts, or whatever they were. She

said, "Yours?"

"Interesting. I saw Noish-pa."

She smiled for the first time. If we had anything at all in common at that point, it was

our love for my grandfather. "What did he say?"

"He's worried about us."

"He believes in family."

"So do I. It's inherited, I suspect."

She smiled again. I could die for that smile. "We should speak to Aliera. Perhaps she's

isolated the gene." Then the smile was gone, leaving me looking at the lips that had

held it. I looked into her eyes. I always used to look into her eyes when we made love.

The moment stretched, and I looked away, sat down facing her. I said, "What are we

going to do?" My voice was almost a whisper; you'd never know we had already had

this conversation, in various forms, several times.

"I don't know, Vladimir. I do love you, but there's so much between us now."

"I could leave the Organization," I said. This wasn't the first time I'd said that.

"Not until and unless you want to for your own reasons, not because I disapprove." It

wasn't the first time she'd said that, either. It was ironic, too; she'd once been part of

one of the most feared teams of assassins ever to haunt the alleys of Adrilankha.

We were silent for a while, while I tried to decide how to tell her about the rest of the

day's events. Finally I said, "I'm going to be leaving for a while."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. A job. Out of town. Across the great salt sea. Out past the horizon. To sail

beyond the—"

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. Not more than a week or two, I hope."

"Write when you find work," she said.

Lesson Two

TRANSPORTATION

I can’t tell you much about Northport (which ought to have been called Westport, but

never mind) because I didn't really see it. I saw the area near the waterfront, which

compared pretty poorly to the waterfront of Adrilankha. It was dirtier and emptier,

with fewer inns and more derelicts. It occurred to me in the first few minutes, before

I'd even recovered from the teleport that this was because Adrilankha was still a busy

port, whereas North-port had never recovered from Adron's Disaster and the

Interregnum.

Yet there were, once or twice a day, ships that left for Elde or returned from there, as

well as a few that went up and down the coast. Of the ships leaving for Elde, many

stopped at Greenaere, which was more or less on the way, taking tides and winds into

account. (Personally I knew nothing about tides or winds, but as I also knew almost

nothing about where these islands could be found, I had no trouble believing what I

was told.)

In any case, I located a ship in less than an hour and had only a few hours' wait. I had

arrived in the early afternoon. We weighed anchor just before dusk.

I sometimes wonder if sailors don't get lessons in how to do strange and confusing

things, just to impress the rest of us. There were ten of them, pulling on ropes, tying

things, untying things, setting boxes down, and striding purposefully along the deck.

The captain introduced herself as Baroness Mul-something-or-other-inics, but the

name I caught was Trice, when they didn't call her "Captain." She was stocky for a

Dragaeran, with a pinched-in face and an agitated manner. The only other officer was

named Yinta, who had a long nose over a wide mouth and always looked like she was

half asleep.

The captain welcomed me aboard with no great enthusiasm and a gentle request to

"keep your arse out of our way, okay, Whiskers?" Loiosh, riding on my shoulder,

generated more interest but no comments. Just as well. The ship was one of those

called a "skip"; intended, I'm told, for short ocean jaunts. She was about sixty feet

long, and had one mast with two square sails, one with a little triangular sail in front,

and a third holding a slightly larger square one in back. I settled down on the deck

between a couple of large barrels that smelled of wine. The wind made nice snapping

sounds on the sails as they were secured, at which time some ropes were undone and

we were pushed away from the dock by a couple of shore hands wielding poles I

couldn't have lifted. Shore hands, crew, and officers were all of the House of the

Orca. The mast held a flag which showed an orca and a spear and what looked like

the tower of a castle or fort.

Before leaving, I had been given a charm against seasickness. I touched it now and

was glad it was there. The boat went up and down, although, frankly, not as much as

I'd been afraid it would.

"I've never been on one of these before, Loiosh. "

"Me, neither, boss. Looks like fun. "

“I hope so.''

' 'Better than basements in South Adrilankha.''

“I hope so. ''

In the setting sun, I saw the edge of the harbor. There was more activity among the

sailors, and then we were in the open sea. I touched the charm again, wondering if I'd

be able to sleep. I made myself as comfortable as I could and tried to think cheery

thoughts.

When I think of the House of the Orca, I mostly think of the younger ones, say a

hundred or a hundred and fifty years old, and mostly male. When I was young I'd run

into groups of them, hanging around near my father's restaurant being tough and

annoying passersby; especially Easterners and especially me. I'd always wondered

why it was Orca who did that. Was it just that they spent so much time alone while

their family was out on the seas? Had it something to do with the orca itself,

swimming around, often in packs, killing anything smaller than itself? Now I know: It

was because they ate so much salted kethna.

Please understand, I don't dislike salted kethna. It's tough and rather plain, yes, but not

inherently unpleasant. But as I sat in my little box on the Chorba 's Pride, huddled

against the cold morning breeze, and was handed a couple of slabs with a piece of

flatbread and a cup of water, I realized that they must eat a great deal of it, and that,

well, this could do things to a person. It isn't their fault.

The wind was in my face the next morning as I looked forward, making me wonder

how the winds could propel the ship, but I didn't ask. No one seemed especially

friendly. I shared the salted kethna with Loiosh, who liked it more than I did. I didn't

think about what I was going to do, because there would be no point in doing so. I

didn't know enough yet, and empty speculation can lead to preconceptions, which can

lead to errors. Instead I studied the water, which was green, and listened to the waves

lapping on the sides of the ship and to the conversation of the sailors around me.

They swore more than Dragons, although with less imagination.

The man who'd delivered the food stood next to me, staring out into the sea, chewing

on his own. I was the last to be fed, apparently. I studied his face. It was old and

wrinkled, with eyes very deep set and light blue, which is unusual in a Dragaeran of

any kind. He studied the sea with a detached interest, as if communing with it.

I said, "Thanks for the food." He grunted, his eyes not leaving the sea. I said,

"Looking for something in particular?"

"No," he said in the clipped accent of the eastern regions of the Empire, making it

sound like "new."

There is, indeed, a steady rocking motion to a ship, not unlike my own experience

with horses (which I won't detail, if it's all the same to you). But, within the steady

motion, no two actions of the ship are precisely the same. I studied the ocean with my

companion for a while and said, "It never stops, does it?"

He looked at me for the first time, but I couldn't read his expression. He turned back

to the sea and said, "No, she never stops. She's always the same, and she's always

moving. I never get tired of watching her." He nodded to me and moved back toward

the rear of the ship. The stern, they call it.

Off to the left, the side I was on, a pair of orca surfaced for a moment, then dived. I

kept watching, and it happened again, somewhat closer, then yet a third time. They

were sleek and graceful; proud. They were very beautiful.

"Yes, they are," said Yinta, appearing next to me.

I turned and looked at her. "What?"

"They are, indeed, beautiful."

I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. I nodded and turned back toward the sea, but they

didn't reappear.

Yinta said, "Those were shorttails. Did you notice the white splotches on their backs?

When they're young they

tend to travel in pairs. Later they'll gather into larger groups."

"Their tails didn't seem especially short," I remarked.

"They weren't. They were both females; the males have shorter tails."

"Why is that?"

She frowned. "It's the way they are."

There were gulls above us, many flying low over the water. I'd been told that this

meant we were near land, but I couldn't see any. There were few other signs of life.

Such a large body of water, and we were so alone there. The sails were full and made

little sound, save for creaking of the boom every now and then in response to a slight

turn of ship or wind. Earlier, they had made snapping sounds as the wind changed its

mind more quickly about where it wanted us to go and how fast it wanted us to get

there. During the night I had become used to the motion of the ship, so now I hardly

noticed it.

Greenaere was somewhere ahead. Something like two hundred thousand Dragaerans

lived there. It was an island about a hundred and ten miles long, and perhaps thirty

miles wide, looking on my map like a banana, with a crooked stem on the near side.

The port was located where the stem joined the fruit. The major city, holding maybe a

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PhoenixbyStevenBrustTheAdventuresofVladTaltosJHEREGYENDITECKLATALTOSPHOENIXATHYRAThisone'sforPamandDavidACKNOWLEDGMENTSThanksforhelpinpreparingthisbookareduetoEmmaBull,PamelaDean,KaraDalkey,WillShetterly,FredA.LevyHaskell,TerriWindling,andBethFleisher.Thanksalsotomymother,JeanBrust,forvariouspolitic...

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