“I’m afraid so.”
“Maybe you should open it again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That is quite impossible.” And he began to transform.
7. The Turn of Discaru
I’d never seen someone turn into something else before, and in other circumstances I’d have enjoyed watching. No, I wouldn’t. Well, the point is, I’d have been a lot more fascinated if I hadn’t been too busy being scared out of my senses. The face sort of shifted and blurred, and he grew a snout. His shoulders got bigger, he got taller, his arms and legs got thicker, and his skin became sort of a blotchy pink with streaks of blue. His clothes looked like they melted into his skin.
The whole thing took about two seconds and was pretty disturbing.
There was that single thump of my heart, then I settled in, relaxed, ready, evaluating distance, trying to guess body language in a body unlike anything I’d seen before. I found that I’d taken a step backward, but I stopped there. It wasn’t that I was opposed to running from danger, but the thing looked like it could probably move really fast, which meant presenting my back wasn’t my first choice. But he wasn’t immediately attacking me, so I risked a quick look around. No one else in the area was reacting—they were walking, or sitting, or staring at the fountain just as before—which meant either there was illusion at work, or this wasn’t an unusual occurrence here. I wasn’t all that familiar with day-to-day life in the Halls of Judgment, so I tried to avoid coming to any conclusions, but it sure didn’t seem like an illusion.
“Boss? Sniff.”
I did, and, yeah, there was an acridity in the air. Well, if it was an illusion, it was a bloody good one.
“So,” I said. “Uh, what’s new?”
He emitted a hissing sound and his head went up and down. Until I could come up with a better idea, I’d assume that was a laugh.
I tried again. “Do you plan to keep me here?”
This time he made an inarticulate rumble full of k’s and guttural r’s. I was pretty sure there were words in there, and almost certainly a sentence. I shrugged.
My right hand wasn’t exactly hovering near Lady Teldra’s hilt, but the hand knew where the hilt was, if you know what I mean. We stood there. Maybe I could ask him yes-or-no questions, and he’d shake his head or something?
“Am I stuck here?”
He made the hissing laugh again and took a step toward me. I took another step back. No. No more, Vlad. That’s as far back as we go. I took Lady Teldra’s hilt in my hand, and he said something else I couldn’t understand, but if I could judge from the tone, I would say I was being taunted.
I love the feeling that comes when my brain is, like, sprinting, working fast, analyzing in a fraction of a second things that normally would take a long time to sit and figure out. It’s a wonderful feeling. Now, if only I could figure out a way to get it when I wasn’t about to die some sort of unknown but horrible death.
Laughing? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he—it—laughed when I threatened to draw Lady Teldra.
So, was something horrible going to happen if I drew her? Or was it some sort of bluff? It’d be stupid to die because I fell for a simple trick. It’d be stupid to die doing something I’d received a good hint would be disastrous. It’d be stupid to die.
Well, I had all sorts of other weapons, right?
It took another step toward me and I looked at it. It was looming over me, and if it struck out with its arms I’d have to lean back in a hurry. I considered my weapons. I don’t know, maybe a stiletto perfectly placed in some vital spot might have done it, but I didn’t know what its vital spots were, except for maybe the eyes. The thing was, like, nine feet high. I didn’t like my chances of hitting its eye. Besides, they were yellow. I hate yellow. Which way? The gold or the dragon? The knife or the poison? The rocks or the water? I had to decide, and had no time and not enough information. If I’d had just a little more time I’d have spun a coin.
Well, bugger it, then. It was really to act or to refrain, and when looked at that way, there was never any choice. I gripped her hilt and pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
Nothing.
She was Verra-be-damned stuck in her Verra-be-damned sheath and I really was on the edge of pure panic. In case we never met before, I’m Vlad Taltos and I don’t panic easy, okay?
What could do that? What could have power over a Great Weapon? Okay, later. Think later. Fight down the panic and come up with another idea, really, really fast. Yeah. Next idea: run like all the demons of the Halls were—
Wait a minute.
The thing had stopped, and its head tilted like a dog’s.
It had expected me to draw, and, now that I hadn’t, it didn’t know what to do.
A part of it fell into place: Lady Teldra had held herself in her sheath, which must mean she knew something I didn’t, something that made it a bad idea for me to draw.
Thanks, Lady, but please don’t ever scare me like that again.
But what was it? Later, later. One thing at a time.
“Sorry,” I told the big ugly guy. “I didn’t believe you, but I guess she did. Hard luck.”
Its eyes narrowed, which I was guessing meant the same thing as when a human does it. It said something unfriendly, uncomplimentary, or both. I’m good at picking this stuff up.
“I get that you’re not happy right now. I’m not all that pleased either, to be honest. And my voice is shaking a little because you’ve got me all pumped up and ready to fight, and I hate it when my voice shakes and I don’t think I’m going to forgive you for that. But if you intended to rip me open, I think you’d have done it already. So the rules forbid it, or it would interfere with some plan, or you can’t. How about if you just turn back into something I can understand? Maybe we can negotiate. How does that sound?”
It spoke again, and I was pretty sure it was not only declining my offer, but wishing something bad would happen to me.
“Well, this is boring. If you aren’t going to attack me, and you aren’t going to help me, and you won’t even tell me what’s going on, I guess I’ll just wander off.”
My threat didn’t appear to terrify it.
“Well, can you at least tell me why I couldn’t draw my weapon? I’ll bet you know. I mean, if you realize she’s sentient, and maybe sort of partly aware, a little. I think. Anyway—”
“Your weapon,” said someone, “is called Godslayer. You are in the Halls of Judgment. Where the gods live. I’ll bet if you think about it real hard you can come up with a theory.”
I looked around, and right next to me was a dog, medium sized, golden, looking a lot like an exceptionally furry Lyorn that had had its horn removed. I was about to ask it something stupid when someone cleared his throat. I turned further, and there was a guy there.
“Oh,” I said. “I thought the dog—”
“Right,” he said.
“You’re human,” I said. “I mean, an Easterner.”
“Right again,” he said.
“And you’re alive,” I said.
“How could you tell?”
I let that pass.
He was about my height, and had a mustache like mine, only longer and droopier, and his hair was like mine except longer and curlier. He was wearing tights of dark blue tucked into riding boots, a white blouse with big puffy sleeves I could never have pulled off, blue leather doublet with peplum and raised shoulders, black cloak pinned with a Phoenix emblem, and black leather gauntlets. If he’d had a feathered beret, he’d have looked like a courtier, except for the being human part. He had a sword hanging from a wide belt with a silver buckle, and was holding a cat.