“Yes. We’re hoping—”
“With you and Aliera and the Goddess and Sethra Lavode we don’t have enough of a concentration of power? You need to bring the Necromancer in on this? How ‘bout the Empress, for the love of V ... something or other.”
Morrolan waited for me to run down, then spoke again “We’re trying to reach the Necromancer,” he said. “We’re hoping she can find the Jenoine, and a way to get at them. Our problem at the moment is reaching the Necromancer.”
“Why do you need the Necromancer at all? Why not have Aliera do it?”
“What are you talking about, Vlad?” asked Aliera a bit impatiently.
“Pathfinder,” I said, and suddenly they were all staring at me.
Then, “Pathfinder,” repeated Aliera.
“Damn,” said Morrolan.
“How did I manage to not think of that?” said Verra.
“How did I manage to not think of it?” said Aliera.
“Pathfinder,” said Morrolan.
“All right, all right, I’m a genius,” I said. “Now we’ve thought of it. Can we get on with whatever we’re going to do?”
“I’ve never met anyone so impatient to get himself killed, Boss.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“Yes,” said the Goddess, “I believe we can, as you put it, ‘get on with it.’ Aliera, your weapon?”
I involuntarily took a step back as Aliera drew, and, as the weapon cleared her sheath, I noticed something odd.
I had been in the presence of Morganti weapons a great deal more than I cared to in my brief life; and the same is true of the Great Weapons. I had become, if not used to, then at least familiar with the ugly and terrifying sensation of their presence—sort of the mental equivalent of finding sour milk in one’s pitcher, combined with the feeling of waking up suddenly after a dream of being in a cave with a dzur blocking the exit while anklesnakes slithered around behind. But what was odd was that I suddenly realized that Pathfinder felt different from Blackwand. Not that it was at all pleasant, you understand, but it was as if I were picking up bits of personality from the weapon. I don’t know, maybe what is strange is that I’d never noticed it before.
Exactly what the differences were was harder to say, except that Pathfinder didn’t seem to be quite as, well, aggressive as Blackwand. Morrolan’s weapon gave me the feeling that it would love to have the chance to swallow my soul if I’d just come a little closer; from Aliera’s weapon I got the feeling that it would devour me without a second thought if I gave it the chance, but it wouldn’t go looking for me, either. Also, Blackwand gave me a strong sense of a female personality, wherein from Pathfinder I got no clear indication of a sex. Aliera’s sword, it seemed, was more patient, perhaps more protective, and there was a sense of inquisitiveness; while from Morrolan’s blade I picked up feelings of arrogance, of strength, of the desire to get to smashing things. And there were other, more subtle differences, too, that I couldn’t exactly identify but was now aware of.
I also became aware that Morrolan had said something. “Excuse me,” I said. “I was distracted. What was that?”
“I said that is a good idea, Vlad. You may need it.”
I almost said “Need what?” before I realized that I had allowed Spellbreaker to fall into my hand. It was dangling, inert, about a foot long, with tiny little links. For a second I stared at it; then I recovered and grunted something at him, and fingered it.
Aliera held Pathfifider out in front of her, the blade at about a forty-five-degree angle toward the ceiling. Her eyes were almost but not quite closed—reminding me, crazily, of how Aibynn looked when playing his drum. I waited, sort of expecting Pathfinder to start glowing or something, but nothing of the kind happened.
After a while, Morrolan said, “You need to find—”
“Shut up, cousin,” said Aliera pleasantly.
Morrolan clamped his mouth shut, and Aliera returned to doing whatever it was she was doing. As I waited, I felt a stirring in my left hand, as if Spellbreaker were trembling a little.
“Something is happening with that thing, Boss.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“I’m not sure I like it.”
“I just wish I understood what it meant. Any Serioli around to ask?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. We’ve got everything else.”
“Okay,” said Aliera suddenly. “I’m getting something.”
|Her eyes were a little more open now, and she was focusing in front of her, in the middle distance—I followed her glance, but there was nothing there, so she was probably seeing things not apparent to a regular pair of unenchanted human eyes. I happened to look at Verra, then, and she had an expression on her face of the sort you’d associate with any mother seeing her daughter pulling off a difficult task. If I’d let myself, I could have gotten very distracted thinking about just how bizarre that was. Then I noticed that the tip of Pathfinder was trembling, very lightly. I don’t know how much you know about the science of defense, or about Aliera’s skill as a swordsman, but, believe me, that hint of movement at the tip of her blade bespoke more intensity of magic and power than a roomful of pyrotechnics. “Here we go,” said Loiosh.
I wanted to be holding my rapier, or a dagger, or something, but I didn’t know what, so I just waited.
“They aren’t far away,” said Aliera. “This world, within a few thousand feet, in fact. But ... barriers. There are barriers of some kind. I don’t yet know of what kind, or how strong. Stand closer to me.”
We did so. I made sure Teldra was between me and the Goddess, not for any particular reason except that I didn’t feel like standing next to her.
I said, “Does anyone know what we’re going to do when we get there?”
“We’re going to attack them,” said Morrolan.
“Oh.”
“We should have surprise working for us,” he added.
“Do you really think so?”
He didn’t answer. Verra said, “The theory, my little Easterner, is that they don’t actually want to kill us, or they’d have done so already.”
“What if what they wanted is to kill you, Goddess?”
“They may find that difficult.”
Aliera was murmuring under her breath—the sort of murmuring one might expect of a rider urging his horse over a difficult jump.
“Can you get through them?” asked Morrolan.
“Of course,” snapped Aliera. “Now let me concentrate. Be ready.”
Be ready.
They were always saying stuff like that. Just exactly what does that mean, anyway? Be ready. Like, have your eyes open? Be certain you’ve had a good meal and used the chamber pot? Now is the wrong time for a nap? Make sure you aren’t sneezing when it happens? What, exactly? It means nothing, that’s what it means. An empty noise. “I’m ready,” I said.
“As am I,” said Morrolan.
“Yes,” said Teldra.
Verra did not deign to speak, and no one expected her to, I suppose because being a goddess means never needing to sneeze.
I was watching the trembling at the end of Pathfinder, so I saw it when it happened: A tiny spark appeared on the very tip of the blade. The trembling caused it to jump around, leaving diminutive golden trails in the air; I couldn’t tell if they were really there or were just products of my vision. Not, I suppose, that it mattered. There began to be a sensation of motion—the kind of motion that happens in dreams, where nothing changed, and my feet didn’t move, but there was the feeling as if my stomach had suddenly been left behind and needed to catch up—not the wrenching nausea of a teleport, fortunately, but still unsettling.
The sense of motion increased.
“Shallow breaths, Boss.”
“Right.”