Dragon

"More or less," I told him. Loiosh flew over and landed on my shoulder. I was worried, and even a bit frightened. I don't worry much about opening my door, because the Jhereg considers one's home sacrosanct; but who knows what Dragons think?

"My name is Ori. My Lord the Count of Fornia requests and requires you not to interfere in any way in his concerns. This is the only warning you will receive. Is that understood?"

I took a moment to work that through. Fornia knew that I was involved. Okay. And he was warning me to stay out of the way. What did he imagine I was going to do? And why was he even bothering to threaten me?

It was puzzling as well as annoying, but the annoyance predominated. Three Dragonlords—three, for the love of Verra, and one of them clearly a sorcerer, come into my home and tell me what to do? Even the Jhereg doesn't do that. Even the Phoenix Guard, when they're harassing the Jhereg, doesn't do that. If a Jhereg or a representative of the Empire wanted to threaten or intimidate me, they'd have the courtesy to call on me in one of my workplaces—say the office, or a restaurant, or an alley. This business of having my home invaded set me off, but I resolved to be diplomatic about the whole thing. I said, "What if I request and require the Count of Fornia to kiss my ruddy bum?"

Both of the Dragonlords drew their swords as best they could in the confined space of my entryway; at the same time they moved forward. An instant later they fell backward; one because there was a Jhereg in his face, the other because I'd thrown a knife into his shoulder.

Ori raised his hand, but I knew very well what it means when a Dragonlord isn't carrying a sword. At the same time as I'd thrown the knife (a boot knife, one of only four knives I was still carrying after disarming myself when I'd gotten home), I let Spellbreaker, about eighteen inches of gold chain, fall into my left hand. I set it spinning to intercept whatever he was about to throw at me.

Ori turned out to be pretty fast; some part of his spell got past, and I felt weak, dizzy, and I couldn't move the right side of my body. I let myself fall over and started rolling away from the door.

The effects of the spell were short-lived; I was able to stand and come up with another knife—this one a stiletto, not well suited to throwing—and start Spellbreaker spinning again. If Ori threw something else at me, the chain got all of it, and Loiosh was keeping the one Dragon pretty busy, but the other one, my knife still sticking out of his shoulder, had picked up his sword with his left hand and was charging me.

This was cause for some concern.

There was no way to parry his sword with my stiletto, so I did the only thing I could, which was to move in at him and hope to get past his attack.

I felt my knife strike home, and, at the same time, something hit me in the side, and then I felt the floor against my face. I did some calculations as I was lying there: Loiosh could handle the one, and, with luck, I had disabled the other at the same time as he'd gotten me, but there was still the sorcerer to worry about. I tried to roll over, and noticed that Spellbreaker was no longer in my hand; this is where I got really worried. I tried again to roll over, and I figured I must have succeeded because I was looking at the ceiling; that was a start. Only the ceiling was wrong, somehow. I tried to get up, wondering when the pain was going to hit me. Someone said, "Lie still, Vlad."

A woman's voice. Whose? I knew it, but I couldn't place it. But I was like Hell going to lie still. I tried to sit up again.

"Lie still. It's all right."

All right? What—?

Aliera e'Kieron came into view overhead.

"You're at Castle Black, Boss."

"Castle Black? How did I get here?"

"Morrolan came and got you."

"How did he—?"

"I told him."

"How could you—?"

"I wasn't sure I could."

"Am I ever going to be able to complete a—"

"How do you feel?" asked Aliera.

"Angry," I said. "Very, very angry. I would badly like to kill someone. I—"

"I mean, how do you feel physically?"

That was a tougher question, so I took some time to consider it. "All right," I finally said. "My side is a little stiff. What happened?"

"Someone cut you."

"Bad?"

"Fairly deep," she said judiciously. "No organs were damaged. Two ribs were cracked."

"I see. Considering all of that, I feel great. Thanks."

"Any pain?"

"Some."

"It'll get worse."

"All right."

"Would you like something for the pain?"

"Pain doesn't bother me," I told Aliera.

She didn't choose to be impressed.

I'd first run into Aliera in a wizard's laboratory, trapped inside a piece of wood, which had hindered our ability to get to know one another. Later, when she was breathing and talking and such, we'd been too busy for much chatting. I'd picked up that she was related to Morrolan—which wasn't surprising, because I imagine most Dragons are related to most others, one way or another. As far as I knew then (I learned more later, but that doesn't come into this story), she was fairly typical for a Dragonlord, except shorter. Evidently she had some abilities as a physicker.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"A Dragon," I said.

She nodded. "So Morrolan informs me. I meant more specifically."

"Someone in the employ of Fornia. There was a sorcerer named Ori; I didn't get the names of the blademen."

"What did they want?"

"They wanted me to stay out of their business."

She nodded as if it made perfect sense that this request involved attempting to cut me in half crosswise. I suppose it makes sense to me, too. And it might even have seemed reasonable if they hadn't walked into my home to do it. Maybe that doesn't make sense to you, and maybe it is even irrational, but I'd been in the Jhereg for several years, and to us, well, you just don't do that.

"Will you?" she said.

"Stay out of his business? Not anymore," I told her.

She laughed a little. Her eyes were light brown. "You sound like a Dragon."

"I'd challenge you to a duel, but that would just confirm your opinion, so I'll pass."

"Good thinking," she said.

I kept my anger under a lid because it works better that way, because I can use it that way. It was a very cold anger, and I knew that it would sustain me for quite some time—for long enough, at least, to track down this Fornia and do unto him.

But not now. Now I had to stay cool and recover. I took a deep breath and let my vision wander. The ceiling was of some very dark hardwood; my own was a textured plaster of some kind and much lower—the trained eye picks up these details almost instantly. There were other subtle things that had made me feel I might be in the wrong place when I first became conscious—like, my entire flat would nearly have fit into the room, and every item of furniture—three chairs, a desk, a table, and a sofa—cost more than I made for killing a man.

I said, "What do you know of this weapon Fornia had stolen?"

"Why?"

"It seems to be the cause of all this unpleasantness; either the weapon, or the fact that he stole it, or … "

She waited. "Yes? Or?"

"Or something entirely different that I have no clue about. I always have to include that as one of the possibilities."

She looked at me. "Well, you seem to be out of danger, and I have better ways to spend my time than to be interrogated by a Jhereg, so you'll have to excuse me."

"Hugs and kisses to you, too."

She gave me a glance and floated out of the room. I carefully sat up, discovered that doing so hurt, and began looking around for my clothing.

"On the little table at the foot of the bed, Boss. You're going to need a new shirt, and your trousers have some bloodstains."