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Authors: Steven Brust
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had leather hinges on his doors, which are easier to deal with. Or even empty doorways with curtains. Oil, open, walk. First checkpoint.
This door led down into the sublevels, and there were a pair of Dragaeran guards here, in addition to sorcerous alarms. The sorcery was simple and straightforward; mostly token, and I had what the Left Hand of the Jhereg calls a “device” and an Eastern witch would call a “charm” for dealing with it. The guards would be more difficult. They were more or less facing me and, unfortunately, awake.
I kill people for money; I don’t like doing it when I don’t have to. But sometimes there just isn’t any other way. I studied the guards standing there and tried to think of a way to avoid killing them.
I did not succeed.
Some time before this I had assassinated a certain moneylender who, it turned out, had been skimming more than his share out of the profits. His employer had been very upset and wanted me to “make a ‘xample outta the sonufabitch.” The boss arranged to meet the guy in a big, crowded inn at the busiest time. The boss didn’t show; instead, I did. When my target sat down, I walked straight up to him, put a dagger into his left eye, and walked out of the place.
One thing I remember about that is the wave of reaction that followed me out the door, as the patrons of the inn noticed the blood, the body, the event. None of them were able to describe me, though many of them saw me.
What I’m getting at is the advantage of surprise—of the attack that comes with no warning whatsoever. One moment all is peaceful, the next there is an Easterner in your face, knives flashing.
I hauled the bodies of the guards into the kitchen so they wouldn’t be quite so obvious, then I picked the lock and headed down into the dungeon.
I GUESS IT WAS my grandfather who really helped keep me going after my father died. It was funny how he did it. I mean, I’ve always hated being alone, but my grandfather felt that, at fourteen, I had to be independent, so he never responded to my hints that I could move in with him. Instead, hespent even more hours teaching me witchcraft and fencing, to give me something to do in my spare time.
It worked, too, in that I turned into a quite passable witch, a very good swordsman in the Eastern style, and that I learned to live alone.
I learned many things during that time, but it’s taken the perspective of years to understand all of them. Like, I learned that to be not alone was going to take money. I had none, nor any means to acquire any (the restaurant I’d inherited from my father kept me alive and that was about it), but the lesson stuck with me, for the future.
I think practicing witchcraft was what did the most for me during that time. I could do things and
see
the results. Sometimes, in the peculiar trance state that witches fall into when performing, I’d see the entire thing as a metaphor of my life, and wonder if I’d ever be able to take control of my world and just
make
it be what I wanted.
Later, when I’d recovered from my attempt to take the salt out of seawater, or something equally useful, I’d take my lepip and go beat up a few Orca.
The other thing my grandfather did was insist—as did my father—that I have a good grounding in Dragaeran history. My grandfather found an Eastern tutor for me (he made me pay for it, too) who was quite good at those things, but who also knew something of the history of Fenario, the Eastern kingdom of my ancestors. I learned some of the language, too.
I would occasionally wonder what use these things would have for me, but then I’d start wondering about the rest of my life, and I just didn’t want to think about that.
Oh, well.
S O I WENT DOWN . Real quiet, now. My eyes were already adjusted to the dark and there was a dim light from below; I was able to move quickly. The steps were narrow and deep, but solid stone. There was no railing. I concentrated on silence.
I reviewed The
This door led down into the sublevels, and there were a pair of Dragaeran guards here, in addition to sorcerous alarms. The sorcery was simple and straightforward; mostly token, and I had what the Left Hand of the Jhereg calls a “device” and an Eastern witch would call a “charm” for dealing with it. The guards would be more difficult. They were more or less facing me and, unfortunately, awake.
I kill people for money; I don’t like doing it when I don’t have to. But sometimes there just isn’t any other way. I studied the guards standing there and tried to think of a way to avoid killing them.
I did not succeed.
Some time before this I had assassinated a certain moneylender who, it turned out, had been skimming more than his share out of the profits. His employer had been very upset and wanted me to “make a ‘xample outta the sonufabitch.” The boss arranged to meet the guy in a big, crowded inn at the busiest time. The boss didn’t show; instead, I did. When my target sat down, I walked straight up to him, put a dagger into his left eye, and walked out of the place.
One thing I remember about that is the wave of reaction that followed me out the door, as the patrons of the inn noticed the blood, the body, the event. None of them were able to describe me, though many of them saw me.
What I’m getting at is the advantage of surprise—of the attack that comes with no warning whatsoever. One moment all is peaceful, the next there is an Easterner in your face, knives flashing.
I hauled the bodies of the guards into the kitchen so they wouldn’t be quite so obvious, then I picked the lock and headed down into the dungeon.
I GUESS IT WAS my grandfather who really helped keep me going after my father died. It was funny how he did it. I mean, I’ve always hated being alone, but my grandfather felt that, at fourteen, I had to be independent, so he never responded to my hints that I could move in with him. Instead, hespent even more hours teaching me witchcraft and fencing, to give me something to do in my spare time.
It worked, too, in that I turned into a quite passable witch, a very good swordsman in the Eastern style, and that I learned to live alone.
I learned many things during that time, but it’s taken the perspective of years to understand all of them. Like, I learned that to be not alone was going to take money. I had none, nor any means to acquire any (the restaurant I’d inherited from my father kept me alive and that was about it), but the lesson stuck with me, for the future.
I think practicing witchcraft was what did the most for me during that time. I could do things and
see
the results. Sometimes, in the peculiar trance state that witches fall into when performing, I’d see the entire thing as a metaphor of my life, and wonder if I’d ever be able to take control of my world and just
make
it be what I wanted.
Later, when I’d recovered from my attempt to take the salt out of seawater, or something equally useful, I’d take my lepip and go beat up a few Orca.
The other thing my grandfather did was insist—as did my father—that I have a good grounding in Dragaeran history. My grandfather found an Eastern tutor for me (he made me pay for it, too) who was quite good at those things, but who also knew something of the history of Fenario, the Eastern kingdom of my ancestors. I learned some of the language, too.
I would occasionally wonder what use these things would have for me, but then I’d start wondering about the rest of my life, and I just didn’t want to think about that.
Oh, well.
S O I WENT DOWN . Real quiet, now. My eyes were already adjusted to the dark and there was a dim light from below; I was able to move quickly. The steps were narrow and deep, but solid stone. There was no railing. I concentrated on silence.
I reviewed The
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