Dragon

I nodded. "And so, you go to war to get it, because you want it, and you don't want Fornia to have it." I thought, but didn't say, all of which is why you let him steal it in the first place.

"Yes," he said.

"And I go to war because he irritated me."

"Yes."

"I guess that makes sense. You think this, whatever it is, will give you any problems?"

"Fornia isn't stupid. I was protecting Baritt's household, and he violated it. He must have expected reprisals. He knows he is likely to be facing Sethra Lavode, Aliera e'Kieron, the Necromancer, and, if you'll excuse me, myself. He's a fool if he isn't worried about what we can do. That means he thinks he's up to facing us. He must have some reason for thinking so."

"Uh … I see your point. What do you think? Could he be right?"

"Maybe. Still interested?"

"Do you know the Jhereg saying about wizards and knives?"

"Yes. Do you know the Dragon saying about trying to drown water?"

"No, and I'd as soon not. It might be too subtle for me."

Morrolan looked inscrutable and said nothing.

I went back to my flat and, in spite of the stiffness in my side, threw knives at a piece of wood.

No one taught me how to throw knives. I remain convinced that there is a better way to learn. But what I did, a few years ago when I decided it was a good thing to know how to do, was this: I set up a piece of wood against a wall, and I bought a bunch of identical knives and positioned myself exactly nine paces away from the target—just about all I had room for at the time. And I just started throwing them as hard as I could. From the beginning my aim was pretty good; there wasn't much damage to the wall. But I must have thrown four hundred of the things, varying my grip slightly each time, until I got one to hit point first. Then I suppose I threw another couple of hundred until I got it to happen again. And so on.

I have no idea how many thousands of knives I threw at how many pieces of wood before I could regularly stick one in the thing—from exactly nine paces. Loiosh, of course, would periodically make helpful suggestions about how I could convince an enemy to position himself properly.

How long did it take me to learn to hit a target from any reasonable distance? That's easy: I still can't do it reliably. It's a lot harder than you'd think to get the damn thing to go in point first. And even if you manage, it's hard to nail him so well that he's going to be taken out of the action; all of which might make it seem wasted effort.

On the other hand, if you throw a knife at a guy, he's going to duck. Besides, you might get lucky. Anything that may give you an edge when your life is on the line is worth putting some work into, don't you think? And another reason, just as important, is the satisfaction one gets from learning a skill—from learning how to do something you couldn't do before. It is a good feeling any time you're dissatisfied with life. And aside from all that, there's something relaxing about the rituaclass="underline" deep breath, drop your shoulders, focus on the target, let fly.

So I went home and threw a bunch of knives at a defenseless piece of wood.

The next day I put in a real day at the office for the first time that week. It felt a little odd. I handled a few loan requests, checked on my various interests, sent one of my boys to jog the memory of a forgetful debtor, and had a pleasant lunch at a nearby inn called the Crow's Feet. Then I had a heart-to-heart talk with one of my people who was starting to use a little heavily and might become unreliable, kidded around with Kragar and Melestav, and got caught up reading the local scandal sheets, none of which had any interesting news. And no one tried to kill me all day. Not even any mild threats. It was refreshing.

The next day was Endweek, and most of the soreness was gone from my side; Aliera apparently did good work. I said as much to Loiosh, who suggested I hire her.

Whether I go in to the office on Endweek depends on how much I have going on; that day there wasn't much, so I figured to take the day off, and, that evening, maybe treat myself to a dinner at Valabar's. I mentally went through a list of possible dinner companions and came up with several options. The idea of spending the day finding a nice Eastern girl to share wonderful food with was entertaining. With luck, I figured, maybe I could even forget about this silly situation I'd gotten myself into.

It was about then that Morrolan made contact with me.

"What the fuck do you want?" I said pleasantly, as soon as I realized who had invaded my mind.

"Have I had the misfortune to interrupt something?"

"You have interrupted nothing; that's why I'm so irritated. What do you want?"

"If you are available, I should appreciate your company on a short journey."

"Grand. I assume it's dangerous."

"No," he said.

"You're kidding."

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, just startled."

"If you will meet me here—"

"Can you give me a couple of hours? I want breakfast, and to give it time to settle in before I teleport."

"Very well," he said, and the contact was broken.

I made myself an omelet with sausage, onions, teriano mushrooms, and red peppers. I lingered over it. Loiosh cleaned my plate while I cleaned the frying pan. Then I buckled on my sword, secreted little surprises in their appropriate places in spite of Morrolan's assurance, and donned my cloak—a lightweight one, because the breeze coming in through the kitchen window promised a warm day. Morrolan, most likely, was going to take us someplace cold, but if I'd taken the heavy cloak he'd take us someplace hot and I didn't feel like attempting psychic contact with him in order to ask what I should wear.

I didn't want to call up one of my own sorcerers, so I returned to the House of the Dragon, which turned out to be a mistake; Baron Lokran wasn't there so I had to waste a lot of time finding someone else who would and could teleport me to Castle Black; the worst part being that I had to reach Morrolan to ask him. But eventually I made it there, and I didn't lose my breakfast.

Lady Teldra gave me her warm Lady Teldra smile and, after a pleasant greeting, did not say, "The Lord Morrolan will join you in the library." Instead she said, "If you will be kind enough to accompany me, I will take you to where the Lord Morrolan awaits." Variation. Something different.

"Goodness, Boss. What does it all mean?"

"Glad to," I told Lady Teldra.

We went up the main stairway, as usual, but continued past the library all the way down the long and very wide hallway. It ended in a door, which brought us to another flight of stairs; these were straight and wide, and reached a landing that swept back in an elegant curve before straightening again. At the top was another hallway; this one I'd never seen before. It was also wide, and it curved gently. Teldra opened a door and gestured for me to precede her. I stepped onto a very narrow circular stairway; the stairs were made of iron and they went up a long way. The door closed behind me. I looked back. Teldra had not followed.

"Maybe it's a trap," said Loiosh.

"That isn't as funny as you think it is."

The stairwell was so narrow I nearly had to ascend sideways, and my shoulder kept rubbing against stonework. The metal rail was cold against my hand. There were a lot of stairs. It flashed through my mind that we were getting pretty high up, and then I almost laughed when I realized that we'd started about a mile up in the air, so this climb didn't change much.

At last we reached the top, where there was a thick, black door. I stood outside it like an idiot for a minute, trying to decide what to do, then I clapped.

"Come in," said Morrolan.

I opened the door. It creaked melodramatically. I wouldn't put it past Morrolan to have purposely installed a door that would creak melodramatically.