The Book of Taltos (54 page)

I started walking again, faster now, but I didn’t make it to the headquarters. I was still half a mile away when I came upon a guard station. There
was no one there wearing the gold cloak, however; instead there were a score of men and women, mostly Easterners, but I picked out a few Teckla as well, all armed, and all wearing yellow headbands. They stood outside the guardhouse, smiling and saluting everyone who came by.

They scowled at my Jhereg colors, but were willing to talk to me. I said, “What does the headband mean?”

“It means,” said a willowy human woman of middle years, “that we are protectors. We have taken control.”

“Of what?” I said.

“Of this part of the city.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Press gangs,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, Jhereg. You’d best move along now.”

It was either that or start killing Easterners. I moved along.

“I don’t like this, boss. We should get out of here.”

“Not yet, Loiosh.”

Abreeze came up, and brought with it a smell that I couldn’t place. I’d smelled it before; the associations were not pleasant. But what was it?

“Horses, boss.”

“That’s it. Where?”

“Left here. Not far.”

It wasn’t far. Just around a curve in the street, and there were more of the brutes than I’d ever seen at one place since the Eastern horse-army at the Wall of Baritt’s Tomb. But this time, instead of being ridden, they were attached to large carts—six or seven carts, I think—and the carts were being loaded with boxes. I recognized them as the sort of farmers’ transports that regularly came into South Adrilankha with deliveries, and left while it was still morning. What was most unusual was how many of them there were.

I approached, and asked one of the workmen what was going on. He, too, sneered at my colors, but said, “We have control of South Adrilankha; now we are issuing proclamations for the rest of the city.”

“Proclamations? Let me see one.”

He shrugged and pulled a piece of paper out of the box. It was neatly set in printer’s type, and said, in distinctly unimaginative language, that the Easterners
and Teckla of South Adrilankha were refusing to admit press gangs into the city, and were demanding the release of their imprisoned leaders, and were rising as one to take the government from the hands of tyrants, and so on and so on.

It was there, as these wagons began to drive off, that I began to get a sense of unreality—a sense that became stronger as I wandered off and saw, lying unattended and ignored in the street, the body of a Dragaeran, dead from many wounds, wearing the gold cloak of the Phoenix Guards.

A
LONG TIME LATER
, in the cottage of an Eastern family where I spent a night, I found Maria Parachezk’s little pamphlet “Grey Hole in the City,” a description of those few days in Adrilankha. As I read it, I lived it again; but more than that, I found myself nodding and saying, “Yes, that’s true,” and, “I remember that,” as she described the pikemen’s stand at Smallmarket, the Guardsmen walking twenty abreast down the Avenue of the Moneylenders, the burning of the grain exchange, and other events that I actually witnessed. If you find the pamphlet, read it, and, if you like, insert here descriptions of any event that catches your imagination. Because until I read it, I didn’t really remember any of those things.

I remember laughs and screams, fading into each other as if they were part of a single musical composition, although they were long hours apart. I remember the smell of the burning grain, and looking down at my hands to see the ashes there. I remember standing in an alley, out of the way of a marching battalion of Phoenix Guards, tapping a broken axe handle against the wall of a boardinghouse. There was blood on the axe handle, but I don’t know how I acquired the thing, much less if I was the one to blood it.

Maria Parachezk, whoever she is, was able to make sense out of the whole thing, put events in order and connect them logically. I wasn’t then, so I’m not going to pretend to now. Apparently the insurgents, Easterners and Teckla, were actually winning until late in the second day of the rebellion, the third of the new year, when the sailors on the
Whitecrest
withdrew their support of the rebels and allowed the landing of the Fourth Seaguard, who broke the siege at the Imperial Palace. But, from where I was, I never saw any difference between winning and losing, right up until the end, when the
Orca came through the streets, mowing down everyone they saw. I didn’t even find out until afterward that the Imperial Palace had been attacked twice and was under siege for nine hours.

I remember that, at one point, I became aware that I’d been in South Adrilankha for an entire day, and I remember the early evening of that day, when it seemed that the whole city was screaming, but, as I go through my memories like a cedar chest I’ve lost something in, I don’t think that I saw anything more than sporadic fighting even at the worst. There’d be silence, a few people running, then the sound of metal on metal or metal on wood, screams, the horrible smell of burnt human flesh, so like and so unlike the smell of cooking meat.

Did I actually strike a blow for “my people”? I don’t remember. I’ve asked Loiosh, but he remembers even less; only that he kept asking me to go home and I kept saying not yet. I know that I tried to make contact with Cawti several times, but she wasn’t receiving.

For some reason, it was only when the massacre started—and even then I wasn’t conscious of it as a massacre—that I remembered my grandfather. I walked quickly through the streets, only dimly aware that I was hurrying past the bodies of Easterners, men, women, and children. I am grateful that I can bring to mind so little of what I must have seen. I know that I skidded on something and almost fell, and only later did I realize that it was blood, flowing from the lacerated body of an old woman who was still moving.

I came across some fighting, but mostly I skirted it. At one point I ran into a patrol of four Dragaerans wearing the gold cloaks. I stopped, they stopped. They saw I was an Easterner, and they saw I was a Jhereg, and I guess that puzzled them. They didn’t know what to do with me. I was not then holding a weapon, but they looked at the two jhereg on my shoulders and the rapier at my side. I said, “Well?” and they shrugged and moved on.

I saw the fires while I was still a mile or more from my grandfather’s shop. I began to run. The first thing I noticed when I got there was that the house across the street from his shop was burning, as was the little grocer’s next to it. As I got close enough to smell burning vegetables, I saw that Noish-pa’s shop was still standing, and I began to feel relief. Then I saw that the entire front was missing, and my heart sank.

I came up to it, and the first thing I saw was the bodies of three Phoenix
Guards. There was no doubt who had killed them; each bore a single small wound right over the place where a Dragaeran or a human keeps his heart. I dashed into the shop, and when I saw him, calmly cleaning his blade, I almost cried with relief.

He looked up and said, “You should leave, Vladimir.”

“Eh?”

“You should leave here. At once.”

“Why?”

“Quickly, Vladimir. Please.”

I looked back at the bodies, looked at my grandfather, and said, “One got away, huh?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been able to kill women. This is a weakness we have from being human.”

“You’re lucky she wasn’t a sorcerer,” I said.

“Perhaps. But there is little time. You must leave at once.”

“If you’ll come with me.”

He shook his head. “I have nowhere to go. They will find you.”

I chewed my lip. “There may be a place,” I said. “Bide.”
“Morrolan. Funny-talking Dragonlord. Dragaeran witch. Wielder of Blackwand. Morrolan. Morrolan . . . .”

“Who is—Vlad?”

Himself.”

Where are you? Are you all right? The whole city—”

“I know. I’m in the thick of it, but I’m all right. I request sanctuary, Lord Morrolan. For myself and for my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather? What happened?”

“Phoenix Guards tried to burn his shop down. He prevented them from doing so.”

“I see.”

“Where are you now?”

“The Imperial Palace, but I’ll be leaving soon.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I was preparing to defend the Empress, if necessary. But the siege was broken.”

“Siege?”

“Your Easterners, Vlad.”

“Oh. Who’s with you?”

“Aliera, Sethra.”

“Sethra? That must have made quite a stir.”

He chuckled.
“I wish you could have seen it. What about you? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, as far as the rebellion goes, but I’ve got Jhereg troubles. That’s why I need sanctuary.”

“I seem to recall another Jhereg—”

“Yeah, me, too. But we’re in a hurry, Morrolan. There may be some goldcloaks coming back, and—”

“Very well, Vlad. You have sanctuary for at least seventeen days. Probably forever. And your grandfather as well, of course. I’ll inform Teldra.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

I turned to Noish-pa and said, “It’s settled. We can stay at Castle Black.”

He frowned. “What is that?”

“A floating castle, Noish-pa. It’s really quite comfortable. You’ll like Morrolan. He—”

“He is an elf?”

“Yes, but—”

“No. I will remain here.”

I smiled. “Very well. I know I can’t make you leave.”

“Good.”

I went over and sat down in one of his chairs. He frowned and said, “Vladimir, you should go now.”

“No.”

“What?”

“If you stay, so do I. You can’t make me leave, either.”

“They will return in force.”

“Indeed. And with sorcerers. But I know some tricks.”

“Vladimir—”

“Both of us or neither, Noish-pa.”

He looked me in the eye, then a bit of a smile came over his face. “Very well, Vladimir. Bring me to the elf castle.”

“Be prepared to be sick, Noish-pa.”

“Why?”

“Teleport spells do that to humans. I don’t know why.”

“All right, then.” He picked up Ambrus, his familiar, and took one last glance around the shop. “Let us leave at once, then.”

I put one arm around my grandfather’s shoulders and concentrated on the courtyard of Castle Black. When the image was clear, I drew on the power, shaped it, and felt the familiar twist in my bowels. South Adrilankha vanished, and the walls of the courtyard appeared in reality to match the picture in my mind.

Noish-pa looked queasy, but otherwise all right. I watched his face as he slowly recovered, even more slowly than I did, and became aware of the size of the courtyard, of the ground below us, and then of the symbols on the walls and the huge double doors some forty paces in front of us.

“How can this elf know the Art?” he asked.

“He’s very unusual for a Dragaeran,” I said.

When he was able to, we walked together up to the doors, which opened before us. Noish-pa looked at me but didn’t comment. Lady Teldra gave us a courtesy and said, “Lord Vladimir, we are so relieved that you are safe, and delighted that you will be staying with us. And you, sir, your grandson has spoken so much and so highly of you that we were nearly afraid to hope for the honor of your presence here someday. We are delighted that you have come, though sorry for the hardship that forced the journey on you. Please be welcome. I am Teldra.”

She is, after all, of the House of the Issola.

He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing, and then his face lit up in a big grin and he said, “I like you,” and, for the first time, I think I saw Lady Teldra actually touched.

She showed us in. “The Lord Morrolan requested that you await him in the library,” she said. “If you would follow me?”

Noish-pa seemed awed by the display of Castle Black as we made our way down the marble halls and up the wide stairways. Ambrus looked around as well, as if he were memorizing an escape route. I could almost see Noish-pa making notes to himself to study various of the sculpture, paintings, and psiprints we passed. Lady Teldra would have been willing to stop and let
him examine them then, and would gladly have told all their histories and given brief biographies of the artists, but I badly wanted to sit down.

Morrolan’s library is actually quite a complex of rooms, so it was helpful to have her show us which one. It says something either about him or about Dragaerans in general that his books were arranged neither by subject nor title, but, primarily, by the
House
of the author. We awaited him in the largest room, which was, quite naturally, filled with books written by Dragonlords.

We had hardly gotten seated, and Lady Teldra was just pouring the wine, when he entered. We both stood and bowed, but he motioned us to sit. He bowed deeply to my grandfather, rising in time for Loiosh to land on his shoulder. Rocza flew over to Ambrus, who hissed at her, and then allowed herself to be licked, which startled me.