Liavek 7 Read online

  "If you wish."

  "Do you deny it?"

  "No."

  She stared. "And you work for him."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "My own reasons."

  "But—"

  "If you want justifications, Kaloo, I can supply them. Yes, all you say about the Regent is true. Yet Liavek is thriving as it hasn't in hundreds of years. We are not at war, although our perpetual enemies still sniff at us. Our trade markets continue to expand, and the people are fat and happy. If this is the result of being power-hungry, ruthless, and cruel, then we could use more leaders who are power-hungry, ruthless, and cruel. And if we have completed today's lesson in politics, let us return to sorcery. Before you is a bottle with a crack in it. Repair the crack so it doesn't show."

  Kaloo studied the man who was her father, wondering what he was feeling. It was even stranger to wonder what she herself was feeling. Irritation, mostly, she decided, and tried to shelve the thought. Then she shrugged and, licking her lips, ran her finger over the fracture in the glass, trying to bring her power to bear on it. Nothing happened.

  "No," said Dashif. "This is the point of the exercise. You aren't trying to join two things, you are restoring a thing that was whole. Levitation and similar things can be done quickly, just by joining your luck with your desire, but it you ever want to change an object or repair it, you must first concentrate on understanding its unity. That requires patience. You must not be in a hurry to do it; let it take as much time as it wishes. Work slowly, attempt change to deepen understanding, use understanding to work change. Continue this process until the transformation has taken place."

  She tried again. Nothing.

  "No, dear. Patience. It isn't going to happen—"

  "Can't you show me?"

  "No."

  "Why not? L'Fertti used to show me what he wanted me to do, and I could just hold onto him and feel how he used his luck and then—"

  "No." He was adamant. The frustrated look on her face seemed to soften him. "Kaloo, much of what L'Fertti taught you was useless. Now you must learn to find the way your own luck flows, not just copy others. Be patient. Take your time."

  "Useless! And fixing bottles is a useful skill, I suppose?" she asked sarcastically.

  "Patience is a useful skill, one I won't have my daughter without," he replied evenly.

  Something in her snapped. She swept the bottle to the floor, where it smashed into shards. Then she leaned back in her chair, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.

  It surprised her. He glanced at the pieces on the floor. "You've only made it harder for yourself. But you seem to enjoy making things as hard as possible for yourself. The principle is still the same, Kaloo. Sense the unity, and apply yourself. With patience."

  "I don't feel patient," she told him in as rude a tone as she could muster. "And I don't feel like any more lessons today." She stood up and began to walk toward the door.

  "Kaloo," he said in a pleasant voice. "Are you still fond of that old sailor? The one who cut my ear off last time we met?"

  She turned to stare at him.

  "I think I've been very patient with him, don't you? Why don't you show me how patient you can be with me?"

  •

  He watched her come back, step by dragging step. Her eyes were very big. He watched her seat herself cross-legged on the floor, extend her hands toward the glittering shards of glass. "Don't cut yourself," he told her automatically. She glanced up at him, bit her lower lip, and then closed her eyes.

  He sat very still and quiet, watching the bottle slowly draw itself together. Would he ever be able to get past her guard without evoking her anger? He knew how she shut him out with her coldness. If making her angry was the only way to reach her, he'd do it. Otherwise he'd never be able to teach her all she had to know before he could publicly acknowledge her. A grim smile crossed his lips. The heir of Count Dashif would have many enemies; he would not let her meet them unarmed. He would do whatever he had to do, to teach her what she had to know. And if she grew up hating him? Well, at least she would be able to hate as he had … with great patience.

  •

  "You live here?" asked Jolesha.

  "For the moment," said the tall woman whose name Jolesha had forgotten.

  They were in a tiny second-floor room in a boarded-up building between Old Town and Mystery Hill. There were no furnishings, nor, indeed, any sign of habitation except a set of neatly-folded blankets near the window. Jolesha noted that it seemed clean and free of dust, which couldn't be the natural state of an abandoned building.

  The tall woman sat down against a wall. Jolesha sat crosslegged, facing her, and carefully peeled the makeup from her face, which had begun to itch. When she was finished, the woman said, "I had no idea."

  "Good," said Jolesha. "I'm glad it fooled someone. Who are you, why did you bring me here, and do you have any water so I can wash my face?"

  "My name, as I said, is Brajii. I'll get you some water, and I brought you here so you can help me find a way to kill Dashif before he kills us. And what is your name, by the way?"

  "Jolesha." She digested Brajii's answers while Brajii got a dish of water. She washed her face as well as she could and dried it on her tattered coat. "Why is Dashif after you?" she asked.

  "Because he knows I want to kill him?"

  "Oh," said Jolesha. "Why do you want to kill him?"

  "It is personal," said Brajii. "What about you?"

  "I never wanted to kill him. But I need to be safe from him because of the Regent. If there were another way—"

  "I doubt there is."

  "Yes," Jolesha said with unease. "Well, have you a plan?"

  "No. I have now missed four times. I am not a bad shot. He has acquired some protection. We must find out how to divest him of it, and then lure him into a place where—"

  "Are you a magician?"

  "No."

  "Neither am I."

  "Can you think of anything with which—" Jolesha stopped. She regarded her rescuer narrowly. "Am I your lure, then? Is that why—"

  "No. Oh, you might be—but not without your agreement, and not if we can think of any other way. I came to you because he wants to kill you, and that makes you my ally. Since you've remained alive, a formidable ally, perhaps."

  "I see."

  "I need your help."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "I told you. Help me kill Dashif."

  "I don't know. What is your quarrel with him?"

  Brajii looked away. "I was once in the employ of the government of Ka Zhir. He stole from me some documents I was responsible for."

  Jolesha frowned. "But, well, that was his job. Is that a reason to hate him?"

  "It is for me," snapped Brajii. Jolesha frowned. Brajii continued, "If we work together and use his weaknesses, we can kill him before he kills you."

  "Well, then, what weaknesses has he?"

  "I know of one. A daughter he dotes on."

  Jolesha's eyes widened. "A daughter? How old?"

  "Fourteen or fifteen. Just a few years younger than you, I think."

  "You've seen her?"

  "Yes. She lives at the Mug and Anchor."

  "There's your lure, then. You never needed me at all."

  Brajii shook her head. "I'm not happy about using a child, even his child."

  "Nor am I," Jolesha agreed, although she was thinking about Brajii's comparison of her to this daughter: Not much younger than you. Jolesha said, "But there's no reason why you'd have to harm her, is there?"

  "That is true," Brajii agreed, her tone conveying that she had not considered that. So single-minded was she, the wider scope of reasoning seemed to elude her.

  "What about that protection of his? How effective is it, do you know?"

  "He still lives. I've hit him, but I haven't killed him."

  "So you think it's magical," Jolesha said, and added, "He is reputed to be a powerful wizard. Still, you say you've hi
t him."

  "Yes." She seemed lost in some deeper reflection.

  "Ought the wounds to have been mortal?"

  Brajii chewed her lip. "No."

  "You're certain that it could not be your aim?" The question had been inevitable, she supposed. Brajii hardly reacted at all.

  "Yes. Once, in Fortune Way, I—no, never mind the details. There is more to it than marksmanship."

  They sat in silence for a while. Then Jolesha said, "I wish I could find Arenride."

  "Who?"

  "An agent of the Levar. He was supposed to guide me to the Palace."

  Brajii snorted. "Didn't do much of a job of it, did he."

  Jolesha felt a flash of anger, and wondered at it. Brajii noticed it as well. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to—"

  "No, it's all right."

  "Do you think he would help us?"

  "If he could find me, or I could find him, he'd guide me to the Levar. I don't think he'd help us kill someone. But to tell you the truth, Brajii, if I could get to the Levar, I wouldn't need to kill Dashif."

  "You think he'd let you leave the city alive?"

  "Why not?"

  "Why did he want to kill you?"

  Because I broke his agreement, and because I know about Erina. "You're right," she said. And she sighed. "We really are going to have to kill him."

  "Yes," said Brajii. "But how? We don't know what sort of spells are protecting him."

  "I'm not a sorcerer," said Jolesha. "But I know something about magic. If a sorcerer cast a spell to make a stick float in the air, a strong man could still push it down. If it was a powerful wizard, it might take several strong men, but it could still be pushed down."

  "That is true, but how does it help us?"

  "No matter how good his protection is, if our trap is good enough, and your aim is true enough, we can kill him."

  Brajii was silent for a moment, then she nodded slowly. "Fine. Let's prepare a trap."

  Very well, Jolesha thought, I will help you. But if I find a way to deliver myself safely to the Levar without harming Dashif or anyone, I'll do it. Whatever I am, assassin, I'm not your kind.

  •

  He was thin and lanky and dark, and his name was Pitullio. When Dashif was in the field, Pitullio was in the office. He worked for Resh, and his job involved many duties. He handled the administrative details that the Regent couldn't be bothered with, and he served as a sounding board for the Regent's ideas. Few knew his name, and those who did didn't fear him, though he had killed more men by his pen than Dashif had with his pistols. He was usually cheerful.

  "Your Eminence?"

  "Come in, Pitullio. Well?"

  "Dashif missed the woman."

  His Scarlet Eminence frowned at this, but said nothing.

  Pitullio continued, "There was shooting, but she escaped."

  "I'm surprised."

  "Arenride."

  "Ah. We may need to dispose of that one."

  "Very likely, Your Eminence. Shall I set someone on it?"

  "No. Dashif ought to take care of him, if not during this affair, then after it. Is Dashif searching for the woman?"

  Pitullio winced, started to speak, stopped, then said, "Not just at the moment, Your Eminence."

  Resh's jaw muscles worked. "Indeed?"

  "He is apparently engaged in some other pressing business."

  "What business?" snapped the Regent.

  Pitullio hesitated again. So far as he knew, he, Pitullio, was the only one who knew about Dashif's daughter, and it wasn't up to him to let the secret out. He said, "Something of a personal nature, Your Eminence."

  Resh took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I see." The Regent scowled. "Pitullio, keep an eye out for someone to replace Count Dashif, should he be expended."

  Pitullio shifted uncomfortably. "Will that be necessary, Your Eminence?"

  "I'm not yet certain, Pitullio. If it is, I want to be prepared. What about Arenride? Might he be open to an offer?"

  "I'm not certain, Your Eminence. He is the Levar's creature, but I'm not sure if that is from loyalty or practicality."

  "It may be time to find out. He is skilled and brave, and Dashif may have worn out his usefulness."

  "Your Eminence, I—"

  "That will be all, Pitullio."

  "Yes, Your Eminence."

  •

  "Come in. Is that you, Aren?"

  "I'm sorry, no, Your Magnificence."

  "Where is he?"

  "Your Magnificence, there was a fight at the docks."

  "What? Is he—?"

  "No, Your Magnificence. The Chancellor of Highgate is fine, but—"

  "Then where is he?"

  "During the fight, the woman, Jolesha, ran off, and—"

  "Where is Arenride?"

  "Searching for the woman, Your Magnificence."

  "Why is he doing that when I want him here?"

  "You sent him to bring the girl's artifact, so he's looking for—"

  "I want Aren."

  "Yes, Your Magnificence. I'll send someone to fetch him."

  "Now."

  "Yes, Your Magnificence."

  4 THE ENTRANCE

  Brajii the hunter knew she was being hunted. She couldn't have said how she knew, because there were no real signs of it as she and Jolesha made their way through the streets, but she didn't doubt it. She had changed from her usual green apparel to white trousers with a loose-fitting yellow top, she'd done her hair up in a knot, and she wasn't carrying her crossbow. Few of Dashif's agents would know what Jolesha looked like without her makeup. All these things helped, but she couldn't shake the feeling of pursuit, and she had learned to trust these feelings, so she was careful.

  "That's it," said Brajii, pointing to the Mug and Anchor.

  "She lives there?" asked Jolesha.

  "Upstairs." Brajii led them into an alley across the street from the tavern, from which they could watch while remaining hidden.

  "Have you been planning this for a long time?"

  "Not exactly," Brajii replied. "We had a run-in some time ago. I thought it might be useful to find out who had saved Dashif's life, so I tracked her down. I was surprised when I found out who she was."

  "I share your surprise. Well, what now?"

  "Some time in the next hour or so, during the afternoon slack time, she'll be going out to run errands."

  "Then what?"

  "Then we take her."

  "In broad daylight?"

  "Why not? That's what the wagon is for. We'll have her away and hidden before anyone can follow us, and if they know she's been kidnapped it doesn't matter, since we're going to tell Dashif anyway. If you do your job well, we won't have to use violence. She's only a child."

  "I suppose so," Jolesha said vaguely.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "I've never done anything like this before."

  Brajii looked at her. She, Brajii, had kept herself going for the last year by looking at the world through veils of pain, hate, and vengeance. Now for a moment, she tried to see past them. "I hope you never have to again," she said abruptly. She returned to watching the Mug and Anchor.

  •

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Jolesha. Come along with me."

  "Why?"

  "You'll see. I don't have time to explain now."

  "What's it about."

  "It's about your father, Kaloo."

  "My father? You don't know—"

  "Yes, I do. Now hurry."

  "But I can't—"

  "Yes, you can. Come with me. I'll explain when we get there."

  "Where?"

  "You'll see. Dashif is in trouble. Now hurry."

  •

  Dashif approached a flower-vendor who worked at the edge of the Market. There was no one else around. He didn't bother to pretend to purchase flowers.

  "Well?"

  "No sign of the girl, Jolesha, but we have a good idea where Arenride is."

  "Oh?"

/>   "Yes. Old Town."

  "Does that indicate that—"

  "Maybe. We still haven't spotted them."

  Dashif studied the flower-vendor. He didn't doubt that there were those who worked for him who also worked for others. Was this one? Could he find out? Could he take the chance?

  No.

  "Very well. I'll continue investigating. Stay in touch. Send messages to the bootblack who works on Threadbare Street."

  "Very well, Count Dashif."

  •

  Kaloo looked around the room. Something was very wrong here. She tried to keep her sudden fear from her face, tried to slow her heart and breathing as Dashif had taught her. It almost worked. "Where's Dashif? Why do you have me here?"

  The one who had called herself Jolesha turned away. The other, the tall, scary one, said, "You shouldn't be here long. We need you for—something we're doing. I'm sorry."

  Kaloo felt a trembling begin within her. "I'm leaving."

  "No. You're staying."

  Kaloo studied her, felt her fear building up again. "I know you, don't I?"

  "Yes. A year ago you shot me with your father's pistol."

  A noise slipped out of Kaloo's mouth before she knew she was going to make it. She shut her jaws firmly for an instant. When she spoke again, her voice was too high. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Brajii."

  "You're going to kill Dashif, aren't you?"

  "Yes," she said. "That is what we're going to do. I'm sorry."

  "You can't," she said, and took strength from her certainty. But as she looked from one woman to the other, her confidence ebbed. "You can't," she repeated, and felt panic rise in her. Not now, she wanted to tell them, he can't die yet, there is too much between us that has to be settled first, too many things he hasn't told me, and he hasn't made me forgive him yet. Her own thought jolted her. For the first time, she knew that she would forgive him, that she had known all along it was only a matter of time. But he didn't know that yet, and these two were going to kill him before he did.

  She had forgotten to control her face. She felt the two women looking at her, wished she could strike them dead where they stood. Brajii said, "All right. We don't need this," and walked into the next room.

  "What are you going to do?" asked the other. But there was no answer except the sounds of moving and shuffling, until Brajii returned and said, "Here, girl."