The Book of Taltos (23 page)

The building was still quite some distance in front of us, but I could see that it would have compared well to the Imperial Palace. It was a simple, massive cube, all grey, with no markings or decorations I could distinguish. It was ugly.

Our guide gestured toward it and said, “The Halls of Judgment.”

I held the world in my hands. There was a moment of incredible clarity, when the horizon stopped wavering, and I was deaf to rhythms and pulses. Everything held its breath, and my thought pierced the fabric of reality. I felt Loiosh’s mind together with mine as a perfectly tuned lant, and I realized that, except for my grandfather, he was the only being in the world that I loved.

Why was I doing this?

The scent of pine needles penetrated my thoughts, and everything seemed clean and fresh. It brought tears to my eyes and power to my hands.

A
S WE APPROACHED THE
building, it didn’t get any smaller. I think the area around me continued to change, but I wasn’t noticing. We came to an arch with another stylized dragon’s head, and our guide stopped there. He bowed to Morrolan, studiously ignoring me. I said, “It’s been a pleasure. Have a wonderful time here.”

His eyes flicked over me and he said, “May you be granted a purple robe.”

“Why, thanks,” I said. “You, too.”

We passed beneath the arch. We were in a sort of courtyard in front of
doors I suspect our friend the dragon could have gone through without ducking. I saw other arches leading into it, about twenty of them.

Oh. No, of course. Make that exactly seventeen of them. There were several purple robes standing around in the courtyard, one of whom was approaching us. He made no comment, only bowed to us both, turned, and led us toward the doors.

It was a long way across the courtyard. I had a chance to think about all sorts of possibilities I didn’t enjoy contemplating. When we were before the doors they slowly and majestically swung open for us, with an assumed grandeur that seemed to work on me even though I was aware of it.

“Stole one of your tricks,” I told Morrolan.

“It is effective, is it not?”

“Yeah.”

Back when the doors of Castle Black had opened, Lady Teldra had stood there to greet me. When the doors of the Halls of Judgment opened before us, there was a tall male Dragaeran in the dress of the House of the Lyorn—brown ankle-length skirt, doublet, and sandals—with a sword slung over his back.

He saw me and his eyes narrowed. Then he looked at the pair of us and they widened. “You are living men.”

I said, “How could you tell?”

“Good Lyorn,” said Morrolan, “we wish to present ourselves to the Lords of Judgment.”

He sort of smiled. “Yes, I suppose you do. Very well, follow me. I will present you at once.”

“I can hardly wait,” I muttered. No one responded.

I
SPENT THE TWO
weeks following Kynn’s death in Candletown, discovering just how much fun you can have while you’re worried sick; or, if you wish, just how miserable you can be while you’re living it up.

Then, one day while I was sitting on the beach quietly getting drunk, a waiter came up to me and said, “Lord Mawdyear?” I nodded, as that was close enough to the name I was using. He handed me a sealed message for which I tipped him lavishly. It read “Come back,” and my boss had signed
it. I spent a few minutes wondering if it was faked, until Loiosh pointed out that anyone who knew enough to fake it knew enough to send someone to kill me right there on the beach. This sent a chill through me, but it also convinced me the message was genuine.

I teleported back the next morning, and nothing was said about what I thought must have been a miserable blunder. I found out, over the course of the next few months, that it hadn’t really been that bad a mistake. It was pretty much the policy to send the assassin out of town after he shined someone, especially during a war. I also found out that going to Candletown was a cliché; it was sometimes referred to as Killertown. I never went back there.

But there was something I noticed right away, and I still don’t really understand it. My boss knew I’d killed the guy, and Kragar certainly guessed it, but I don’t think many others even suspected. Okay, then why did everyone treat me differently?

No, it wasn’t big things, but just the way people I worked with would look at me; it was like I was a different person—someone worthy of respect, someone to be careful of.

Mind you, I’m not complaining; it was a great feeling. But it puzzled me then and it still does. I can’t figure out if rumors got around, or if my behavior changed in some subtle way. Probably a little of each.

But you know what was even more strange? As I would meet other enforcers who worked for someone or other in the strange world of the Jhereg, I would, from time to time, look at one and say to myself, “That one’s done ‘work.’” I have no idea how I knew, and I guess I can’t even guarantee I was right, but I felt it. And, more often than not, the guy would look at me and give a kind of half nod as if he recognized something about me, too.

I was seventeen years old, a human in the Dragaeran Empire, and I’d taken a lot of garbage over the years. Now I was no longer an “Easterner,” nor was I Dragaeran or even a Jhereg. Now I was someone who could calmly and coldly end a life, and then go out and spend the money, and I wasn’t going to have to take any crap anymore.

Which was a nice feeling while it lasted.

I
WONDERED
,
WALKING THROUGH
the Halls, if there were ever any dragons brought there for judgment. I mean, not only were the doors large enough to admit one, but the halls were, too. At any rate, the scale made me feel small and insignificant, which was probably the reason behind the whole thing.

Reason?

“Loiosh, who designed this place, anyway?”

“You’re asking me, boss? I don’t know. The gods, I suppose.”

“And if I just knew what that meant, I’d be fine.”

“Have you noticed that there isn’t any decoration? Nothing at all.”

“Hmmm. You’re right, Loiosh. But, on the other hand, what sort of mood would you pick if you were decorating this place?”

“A point.”

The place was nearly empty, save for a few purple robes coming or going, all with that same blank look. Seeing them made me queasy. I didn’t notice any side passages or doors, but I don’t think I was at my most observant. It was big and it was impressive. What can I say?

“Good day,” said someone behind us. We turned and saw a male Dragaeran in the full splendor of a Dragonlord wizard, complete with shining black and silver garb and a staff that was taller than he was. His smile was sardonic as he looked at Morrolan. I turned to see my companion’s expression. His eyes were wide. I’d now seen Morrolan wet, embarrassed, and startled. If I could just see him frightened, my life would be complete.

I said, “Are you certain it’s day?”

He turned his sardonic expression to me and sent me the most withering glare I’ve ever experienced. Several comments came to mind, but for once I couldn’t manage to get them out. This may have saved my life.

Morrolan said, “I salute you, Lord Baritt. I had thought you were yet living, I grieve to know—”

He snorted. “Time flows differently here. Doubtless when you left, I hadn’t been . . . .” He scowled and didn’t complete the sentence.

Morrolan indicated the surrounding wall. “You live within this building, Lord?”

“No, I merely do research here.”

“Research?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”

By this time I’d recovered enough to appreciate someone being contemptuous of Morrolan. Morrolan, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate it at all. He drew himself up and said, “My lord, if I have done something to offend you—”

“I can’t say much for your choice of traveling companions.”

Before Morrolan could respond, I said, “I don’t like it either, but—”

“Don’t speak in my presence,” said Baritt. As he said it, I found that I couldn’t; my mouth felt like it was filled with a whole pear, and I discovered that I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t thought it possible to perform sorcery here. The Lyorn who was guiding me took a step forward, but at that moment I found I could breathe again. Baritt said “Jhereg” as if it were a curse. Then he spat on the floor in front of me and stalked away.

When he was gone I took a couple of deep breaths and said, “Hey, and here I’d thought he hated me because I’m an Easterner.”

Morrolan had no witty rejoinder for that. Our guide inclined his head slightly, from which I deduced that we were to follow him. We did.

A few minutes later he had led us to a big square entrance way, which was where the hall ended. He stopped outside it and indicated that we should continue through. We bowed to him and stepped forward into another world.

A
FTER
K
YNN’S DEATH
,
AND
its aftermath, I learned slowly. I trained in sorcery in hopes of being able to follow someone teleporting, but that turned out to be even harder than I’d thought.

I never again used Loiosh as a distraction, but he got better at other things, such as observing a target for me and making sure an area was free of Phoenix Guards or other annoyances.

The war between Rolaan and Welok lasted for several months, during which everyone was careful and didn’t go out alone. This was an education for me. I “worked” several more times during that period, although only once was it a direct part of the war as far as I know.

The mystery, though, is where, by all the gods, my money went. I ought to have been rich. The fee for assassination is high. I was now living in a
nice comfortable flat (it was
really
nice—it had this great blue and white carpet and a huge kitchen with a built-in wood stove), but it didn’t cost all that much. I was eating well, and paying quite a bit for sorcery lessons, as well as paying a top fencing master, but none of these things comes close to accounting for all the income I was generating. I don’t gamble a whole lot, which is a favorite means of losing money for many Jhereg. I just can’t figure it out.