“Damn it, Vlad! Talk! What’s going on?”
“You should know,” I told him.
“What?”
“You pointed to it first, a couple of times, the other day. Verra! Was it only a day or two ago? It feels like years . . . ”
“What did I point to? Come on, damn you!” Kragar said.
“You’re the one who started telling me what it would be like to grow up a cross-breed.”
“So?”
“So we still couldn’t help thinking of him as a Jhereg.”
“Well, he is a Jhereg.”
I shook my head. “Not genetically, he isn’t.”
“What does genetics have to do with it?”
“Everything. That’s when I should have realized it; when Aliera told me what it really meant to be of a certain House. Don’t you see, Kragar? But no, you wouldn’t. You’re a Jhereg, and you—we—don’t look at things that way. But it’s true. You can’t deny your House, if you’re a Dragaeran. Look at yourself, Kragar. To save my life, you had to disobey my orders. That isn’t a Jhereg thing to do at all—the only time a Jhereg will disobey orders is when he’s planning to kill his boss. But a Dragon, Kragar, a Dragon will sometimes find that the only way to fulfill his commander’s wishes is to violate his commands, and do what has to be done, and risk a court-martial if he has to.
“That was the Dragon in you that did it, despite your opinion of the Dragons. To a Dragaeran, his House controls everything. The way he lives, his goals, his skills, his strengths, his weaknesses. There is nothing, but nothing that has more influence on a Dragaeran than his House. Than the House he was born into, no matter how he was raised.
“It’s different with humans, perhaps, but . . . I should have seen it. Damn! I should have seen it. A hundred things pointed to it.”
“For the love of the Empire, Vlad! What?”
“Kragar,” I said, settling down a bit, “think for a minute. This guy isn’t just a Jhereg, he’s also got the bloodlust of a Dragon, and the heroism of a Dzur.”
“So?”
“So check your records, old friend. Remember his father? Why don’t you find out more about him? Go ahead, do the research. But I’ll tell you right now what you’re going to find.
“His father killed someone, another Jhereg, just before the Interregnum. The Jhereg he killed was protected by a Dragonlord; to be exact, by Lord Adron. Mellar’s plan wasn’t concocted to get Jhereg gold and get out alive—the whole point of it was to get himself killed. For more than three hundred years he’s been planning things so that he’d be killed, perhaps with a Morganti weapon; he didn’t care. And he’d be killed, and the information he’d planted would come out about the Dzur, and he’d wash their faces with mud. And, at the same time, the two Houses that he hates the most, the Dragons and the Jhereg, would destroy each other. The whole thing was done for revenge, Kragar—revenge for the way a cross-breed is treated and revenge for the death of his father.
“Revenge as courageous as a Dzur, as vicious as a Dragon, and as cunning as a Jhereg. That’s what this is all about, Kragar.”
Kragar looked like a chreotha who’s just found that a dragon has wandered into its net. He went through the same process I had, of every little detail falling into place, and like me, he began to shake his head in wonderment, his face a mask of stony shock. “Oh, shit, boss,” was all he said.
I nodded in agreement.
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15
“Staring into the dragon’s jaw, one quickly learns wisdom.”
The banquet hall of Castle Black appeared the same as it had the last time. A few different faces, a few of the same faces, many faceless faces. I stood in the doorway for a moment, then stepped inside. I wanted to gather my thoughts a little, and let my stomach finish its recovering act before I began any serious work.
“Can you believe, boss, that Morrolan actually likes it this way?”
“You know Dragons, Loiosh.”
Kragar had taken an hour and had verified each of my guesses as regarded Mellar’s parentage. It seemed that his father had indeed been the one whose work had set off the second Dragon-Jhereg war, which Kragar had never heard of either. The references to it among the Lyorn records had been scattered, but clear. The thing had happened, and more or less as I’d been told.
Everything fit together very nicely. And I wasn’t a bit closer to figuring out what to do about it than I’d been the day before. That was the really annoying thing. All of this information really ought to be good for something besides the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. Oh, sure, it meant that I knew now that certain things wouldn’t work, since Mellar had no intention of leaving Castle Black alive, but I hadn’t had any idea of what to do before, so that didn’t really affect anything. It occurred to me that the more I found out, the more difficult, instead of easier, the thing became. Maybe I should arrange to forget most of this.
There was, I realized then, still one more mystery to solve. It wasn’t a big one, or, I expected, a difficult one, but I was somewhat curious about why Mellar had brought bodyguards with him at all, if he didn’t intend to try to save his life. Not very important, perhaps, but by now I couldn’t afford to overlook anything. This was what had brought me back to the banquet halclass="underline" to take a look at them and see if there was anything I could learn, guess, or at least eliminate.
I wandered through the crowd, smiling, nodding, drinking. After about fifteen minutes, I spotted Mellar. I brought up the memory of the two faces that Loiosh had given me and found the two bodyguards, a few feet away.
I moved as close to them as I figured was safe and looked at them. Yes, they were both fighters. They had that way of moving, of standing, that indicated physical power. Both were large men, with big, capable hands, and they were both skilled in observing a crowd without seeming to.
Why were they doing it, though? I was convinced, by now, that they had no intention of stopping an assassin, so they must have some other purpose. A small part of me wanted to just take them both out, here and now, but I had no intention of doing so until I knew what their business was. And, of course, there was no guarantee that I’d succeed.
I was very careful to avoid having them notice my scrutiny, but you can never be sure, of course. I checked them as carefully as I could for concealed weapons, but oddly, I didn’t spot any. They both had swords, standard Dragaeran longswords, and they each had a dagger. But I couldn’t see anything concealed on any of them.
After five minutes, I turned and started to leave the banquet hall, making my way carefully through the mass of humanity. I had almost reached the door, when Loiosh interrupted my contemplation.
“Boss,” he said, “tough-guy warning, behind you.”
I turned in time to see one of them coming up to me. I waited for him. He stopped about one foot in front of me, which is what I call “intimidation range.” I wasn’t intimidated. Well, maybe just a little. He didn’t waste any time with preliminaries.
“One warning, whiskers,” he said. “Don’t try it.”
“Try what?” I asked innocently, although I felt my heart drop a few inches. I ignored the insult; the last tune I’d let the term bother me, I hadn’t had any. But the implications of the statement were, let us say, not pleasing.