Hawk (Vlad) Read online

  I was pacing back and forth in the room I slept in, talking over details of my plan with Loiosh, when I heard excited voices and heavy boots from just outside the door. I touched Lady Teldra’s hilt and ran toward the sounds.

  I counted six of Kragar’s people standing in front of the desk that Melestav used to sit at before I killed him. Two of them had weapons out, the rest were staring at the floor. There was a lot of blood on the floor. And a body.

  “All right,” one of them said. “He’s safe here. Find a healer.”

  He?

  I started to get closer, but one of the bodyguards gave me a look, so I changed my mind.

  I said, “Is it Kragar?”

  The bodyguard was a broad-shouldered guy with thin lips and a tall forehead. He hesitated, then nodded.

  “How is he?” I said.

  “Took one in the back, got his heart. He’s still breathing. We’ve sent for a physicker.”

  “How did they even notice him?”

  The guy shrugged.

  “Where did they get him?”

  “Malak Circle.”

  I moved forward; this time he let me.

  Kragar was facedown, and, yeah, he was still breathing, but that was a kill-shot. I should know; I’ve made enough of them. It was just a matter of time, and not very much of it. I didn’t think there was anything a physicker could do. It’s really hard to get someone with a knife, point-first, one shot, and make it a kill. Just because I’ve done it so often doesn’t mean it’s easy. This was done by someone who knew what he was doing.

  For a long, long moment I just stood there, paralyzed, staring at him. Then I stirred. Dying, but not yet dead. Maybe, maybe. I drew Lady Teldra and everyone spun to me.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Just a precaution. Drop the teleport block.”

  They didn’t look reassured. Or agreeable to my idea. One of them started to speak. I said, “There’s no time to argue. Do it.”

  Still holding Lady Teldra, I slipped the amulet off my neck and put it away. I could hear Loiosh start to say something, and then stop as he recognized the futility.

  Yeah, right then, in various places around Adrilankha, sorcerers—and probably hired sorceresses—were going, “Oh, so that’s where he is.”

  So what.

  I put the amulet into its case and recalled a certain face, and voice, and, above all, attitude. She was short, bad-tempered, very good at any number of things.

  “Vlad? I’m rather busy just at the—”

  “Aliera, Kragar is hurt. Dying.”

  “Yes?” she said. “And?”

  “And I need to save him.”

  “Best of luck with that.”

  “Aliera.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Kragar.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “Aliera, he was hit because he’s been helping me.”

  There was a pause. Then a psychic sigh. “Are you with him?”

  “Yes.”

  The was a pop of displaced air, and she said, “Fine, then. But you owe me.”

  Before she was done talking, Kragar’s bodyguards had drawn their weapons. Aliera gestured, and they all went flying back against the far wall. I don’t mean the weapons, I mean the bodyguards.

  “It’s all right,” I told them. “She’s here to help. And owe you? What about saving your life?”

  “My life is nothing,” she said. “This is humiliating.”

  The bodyguards stood up. They still had their weapons out, and were watching Aliera, but not moving.

  “Fine,” I said. “I owe you.”

  She nodded.

  “Guys,” I said. “Put the weapons away, all right? Seriously. Don’t piss off the Dragon. It never ends well.”

  The bowlegged one with thick eyebrows said, “Yeah, all right,” and they made their weapons vanish. Aliera paid no attention; she stepped forward and knelt next to Kragar.

  She looked him over, then glanced back at me. “You are paying for getting the blood out of this gown.”

  I didn’t say anything. In particular, I didn’t point out that Aliera probably had gotten blood on everything she owned at one time or another. Loiosh did, but only to me.

  “Nice knife-work,” said Aliera. “And there’s a staydead spell on it, too.”

  “A staydead spell?” I said. “Did you just make that up?”

  “The term. Not the spell.”

  “I kind of like it,” I said. “The term. Not the spell. Can you keep him from dying?”

  “Not if you keep distracting me,” she said.

  Her fingers dug into Kragar’s back at various points around the knife. Then she slid a hand under his chest, and her shoulders tensed. I felt the swirl of sorcerous energy, which reminded me to put my amulet back on, after which I didn’t feel it anymore. I resheathed Lady Teldra.

  “Good work, Boss. Now that they already know exactly where you are, you cleverly vanish, and stay right where you were. That’ll fool ’em.”

  I ignored him, Aliera ignored everyone and kept working—pressing her fingers around the wound, mostly; at least, that’s all I could see. I unclenched my hands. A moment later I unclenched them again. I kept watching, waiting.

  I almost strained my neck trying to simultaneously stay out of Aliera’s way and watch what she was doing. It was futile because, from what was visible, she wasn’t doing anything. Of course, in reality, she was doing a great deal; I hoped it was enough. Loiosh shifted his weight back and forth on my left shoulder. Sometimes when he does that it means he’s nervous; other times it’s comforting to me. I’m not sure what the difference is, but he always seems to; on this occasion it was a comfort.

  I needed some.

  Kragar coughed, which I thought was a good sign until Aliera said something un-ladylike and muttered about stupid lungs.

  There was a disturbance at the stairway, and lots of weapons were suddenly out—including mine, I discovered. It turned out to be the physicker, who was summarily sent back to where he’d come from. We all put our weapons away. Aliera never stopped working. Or muttering under breath. Her back was to me, but I’d have bet big that she was scowling.

  After about three minutes she stopped and glanced back at me. “I’m losing him,” she said.

  “Isn’t there anything—”

  “Yes, there is. Get everyone out of here.”

  When Aliera uses that tone, I don’t argue. The others gave her looks, but shuffled out of the room. She didn’t seem to mind if I stayed, so I did. When they were gone, she fiddled with her necklace and removed a tiny, round stone of dark blue, of a type instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with Elder Sorcery. And to me as well. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Good thing you had everyone leave, Aliera. It wouldn’t do to break the law in front of a bunch of Jhereg thugs.”

  She glared at me. “Do you want him saved or not, Vlad?”

  “Yes, my lady. Shutting up, my lady.”

  She turned her attention back to Kragar.

  I took a step closer. She put the stone on the small of his back and as she pressed her fingers into his back, the stone darkened, some red creeping into it, and light played across its surface.

  Kragar said, “What—” and screamed.

  “Lie still,” said Aliera. “Better, go back to sleep.”

  His head dropped back to the floor. Aliera used a term of strong approbation under her breath. “I’d worry about brain damage,” she said, “only—never mind.”

  Ten minutes later, I made my contribution to the event: I found a cloth and wiped the sweat from Aliera’s forehead. Glad to help.

  “Death is a process,” said Aliera.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “In some sense, one could say he’s dead. But what’s really happening is that his heart is unable to pump blood. So I have to artificially force the circulation while repairing it.”

  The knife rose about an inch. She kept working.

  “There aren’t
many sorcerers who could manage to do that while repairing the heart, keeping the arteries intact, preventing the other organs from shutting down, and making certain the pathways from the brain don’t die out before they’re needed again. It isn’t easy. Just so you know.”

  “I know,” I said.

  A few minutes later she pulled the knife out and set it aside. Blood rushed from Kragar’s back for an instant, but Aliera ran her finger along the wound and it closed up. Then she placed her palm over it and held it there. A moment later, I noticed that the blue stone had vanished.

  Aliera sat back. “Done,” she said.

  “He isn’t awake.”

  “I used a sleep spell. The screaming was annoying.”

  “But you can wake him up, can’t you?”

  “But then he’ll say something, and I’ll kill him, and all of this work will be wasted.”

  “Ah. Well, thank you.”

  She nodded and stood up. She gestured toward Kragar and vanished. He stirred.

  “Ouch,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, I imagine. Be right back. Don’t move.”

  I went into the next room—actually, his office—and let his people know that it was safe to come out. They did, giving me odd looks which I ignored.

  Kragar turned himself over, then tried to stand up; failed. A couple of his guys helped him up and assisted him to a chair. He looked very, very pale.

  “Remember the part about not moving?” I said. “That was moving.”

  “What happened?” he said.

  The guy with the shoulders picked up the knife and handed it to him. He stared at it, but didn’t touch it. After a moment he looked at me and said, “Did they miss?”

  I shook my head. “Aliera,” I said.

  “Really?” He laughed, then winced. “She must have loved that. What did you have to promise her?”

  “That she could kill you when you were done helping me.”

  “Seems reasonable.”

  “Kragar, how did they notice you?”

  “Vlad, you notice me. Sometimes. Eventually. I mean, it isn’t impossible. Just tricky.”

  “Heh. I’d always figured … never mind. Does it hurt?”

  “Not really. More like a stiff back than real pain. I’m exhausted, though. Did Aliera leave any instructions?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Of course not. Well, if I keel over, I leave you that funny chair you left me.”

  “Who was it? Who got you?”

  “How should I know? It was in the back.”

  “Other than helping me, have you done anything to piss anyone off?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “All right.”

  “Vlad, it isn’t going to help for you to blow your top.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “How does your hand feel?”

  “My—”

  I forced myself to relax the grip on my rapier. Now that I thought about it, the hand was sort of cramping up. Painfully. “My hand is fine,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.” He grimaced. “So’s my back. But there’s no point in being mad because they took a shot at me. They know I’m helping you, they want to get you. It’s how things work.” He punctuated it with a shrug, then winced.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Or short,” he agreed.

  I called him a name; he nodded.

  “Give me the knife,” I said.

  He looked at me. “You can find who did it?”

  “They don’t usually protect against witchcraft. It’s worth trying.”

  “Okay, Vlad. But I don’t know what that will give us. It’ll just be hired muscle.”

  “I have some ideas.”

  “All right. Take it.”

  “Is my lab still intact?”

  “Never touched it.”

  “See you in a while,” I said.

  He nodded and closed his eyes.

  I started to walk away, stopped, looked at him sitting there. I had all kinds of thoughts and memories. I don’t know how long I stood there.

  Eventually, I decided that if he opened his eyes again and saw me there, it’d be uncomfortable for both of us, and Barlen preserve me from ever being uncomfortable.

  I walked out and headed down the back stairway.

  Back when the office and the area were mine, I’d had a special place in the basement for performing witchcraft, which I called by a traditional Eastern term I don’t understand. It was much as I’d left it, give or take a few layers of dust. I stood there for a few minutes, sneezing at old memories.

  “Been a while, Boss. Sure you’re up to this?”

  “This is you building my confidence, right?”

  “You’re pissed off, and trying to do a spell, that’s—”

  “Loiosh, I’m fine. You—”

  “This is my job, Boss.”

  After a while I said, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? All right.”

  “Take some time, Boss.”

  “Okay. But we don’t have a lot—”

  “We can take half an hour.”

  “All right.”

  So I sat on the dusty floor and leaned my head back and pretended I was trying to sleep. At least they hadn’t tried to make it a Morganti killing; that was something. Morganti is ugly. That’s how the Jhereg wanted me. Dead, dead, dead: no soul to reincarnate or go to Deathgate, just the end of everything. A big void. I couldn’t conceive of it; I couldn’t help trying.

  I remembered a guy named Faloth back in 241. He was an enforcer with more pride than sense, and when he couldn’t pay off his debt, he’d hinted that he’d go to the Empire if he wasn’t left alone. Worse, when he wasn’t left alone, he actually did. He made a serious amount of trouble for a lot of people.

  Turns out, the reason he needed the money in the first place was to buy presents for his lover, a Chreotha who had too-expensive tastes. After the Jhereg had threatened him, he started visiting her at different times, and taking different routes; sometimes even teleporting to be really safe. Only he couldn’t teleport, so he had to have it done for him by a sorcerer who lived just one street over from him. I caught him just outside the sorcerer’s door. It was very fast. It has to be. I mean, it always has to be fast, because you don’t want the target to have a chance to fight back. But with a Morganti weapon, it needs to be exceptionally fast, because anyone can sense the power that comes out of those things. You have to keep it in a sheath with special enchantments, and then draw and use it fast. I had the sheath on my left hip for a cross draw. And I was fast enough, taking him in the left eye and into his brain. He looked surprised. They always look surprised.

  I don’t know who or what will finally get me, but I’m pretty sure that when it happens I’ll look surprised. And, if it’s Morganti, after that will be nothing, nothing, nothing.

  “Okay, Loiosh. I think I’m ready.”

  “Let’s go then, Boss.”

  8

  MAKING WAVES OR MAKING MAGIC

  I emptied the brazier and filled it again from the bucket of charcoal. I found the candles, and placed them, black and white, around the brazier. Then I took the amulet off. I mean, they knew where I was anyway, right?

  “Loiosh, don’t monitor the spell. I need you checking for anyone about to show up and ruin my party or anything coming from outside that might, you know, hurt me.”

  “I can do that, Boss. But…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure you’ll be all right, Boss? It’s been years since—”

  “Yeah, I think so. It should be pretty straightforward.”

  There wasn’t all that much in the way of supplies, but a spell like this didn’t call for much; I found what I needed and arranged it in front of the brazier.

  Since I had my link to the Orb back, I used it to light the charcoal, and then the candles, moving wrongwise around the circle. I took the knife in my left hand, gripping it by the blade, the hilt held over the fire. Fennel and caraway went in, along
with a little rosemary just because it smelled good. It’s a lot like cooking. Well, no, it isn’t at all like cooking, but you use some of the same things.

  I sat cross-legged in front of the brazier, watching the coals glow and inhaling the smoke. The knife felt slightly heavy, but that’s because I’m a little guy, at least compared to Dragaerans. The blade in my hand no longer felt cold. I was touching Kragar’s blood, the smoke was curling around sweat and skin oil of whoever had used the weapon.

  My breathing was even and deep: in through the nose, out through the mouth. My breath disturbed the dark gray smoke billowing up, wrapped up with traces of someone, someone who killed for money, just like I do, I mean did, but if you kill, I mean, if you actually go out and just put a knife into someone, does it make that much difference why? There were whys drifting in the smoke, in my eyes. I was no longer in the musty basement, I was gone, lost in my head among a corridor of whys. It doesn’t make any difference to the guy you’ve just shined why you did it. Money. Honor. Duty. Or maybe the pleasure of knowing that, just for a second, you’re the most important thing in someone’s life. I’ve known guys like that. Worked with them. Hired them. What did that make me? Bullshit question. I reached to secure the connection to my target, to give it tangibility. Some things you have to do—you either do them, or live with the Empire’s foot on your head. I didn’t choose to live that way, so I did what I had to. Maybe this guy was like that, too. Or maybe he killed for one of those other reasons. It didn’t matter, but then again it did—it mattered because I had to secure him, to bring him to me, to turn wisps of dark gray smoke harsh and burning in my nose, my eyes, in the air, in my mind, floating, drifting, letting it happen, no longer aware of my heartbeat, my breathing, my body, turn that into who and what he was. Nothing and nowhere, everything and everywhere, and I was studying the image that had formed in my head before I was consciously aware that it was there.

  No, “image” isn’t exactly the right word. It was more like a feel, or a taste of his presence. Not much, but it was something. All I needed to do was—

  Oops.

  This was where I turn the sense of presence into a psychic impression embedded in a crystal. Only I’d forgotten the part about having a crystal ready. You get out of practice with this stuff.