Iorich (13 page)

“Kind of you to say.” I stood up and nodded.

“I’ll do the teleport,” she said.

How do you ask the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain if she’s too drunk to manage a teleport safely? Answer: You don’t.

“Thanks,” I told her.

It came back sharp and clear, all the edges distinct, the colors vivid, even the sounds echoing in my ears. I had stood there, looking at where she lived then, and unable to speak. I had just finished proving I wasn’t a hero. Kragar came along that time, to provide moral support or something, but had waited a bit down the street so I could meet the boy by myself first.

She invited me in.

“Where is—?”

“It’s his nap time.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll be up again in a bit.”

We sat and talked about nothing for a while. Then there was a sound in the next room like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, and my heart did a thing.

“I’ll be right back,” said Cawti.

Across from me was psiprint of Noish-pa, looking haughty and forbidding, which shows you how false psiprints can be. It was a long two or three minutes before she returned.

A toddler toddled behind her. He wore short pants and a
gray frock, and his dark hair was neatly brushed. His eyes were huge and reminded me of Cawti’s. She said, “Vlad, this is your father.”

The boy stared at me for a moment, then turned and pressed himself against Cawti’s legs. She gave me an apologetic smile. “He’s bashful around strangers,” she said. I nodded. “Just ignore him,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Ignore him. Yeah. “All right,” I said.

“Come on, Vlad. Shall we find your turtle?”

He nodded into her knees. She took his hand and led him over to a long, reddish wooden box under the window. I knew that box; it had once held weapons. Now, it seems, it held a cloth turtle stuffed with I know not what.

I expected him to hug it, but he didn’t; he walked into a corner, sat down, and began studying it. Cawti sat on the edge of a short couch I didn’t recognize and picked up her glass. We watched him.

“What’s he doing?” I asked in a low tone.

“Figuring out how it’s put together,” she said.

“Oh. Is it that difficult?”

“It’s a sort of puzzle. The cloth folds over in certain ways to make a turtle, and if you unfold it right you get something else. The first one was a lyorn, the second a dayocat. I don’t know what this one is. I guess we’ll find out.”

I smiled. “He solved the first two?”

“Quick.”

I smiled more. “Where did you find the toy?”

“A little girl makes them, and brings them around. I don’t know why, but she seems harmless.”

“A little girl? Does she have a name?”

“Devera.”

I nodded.

“Do you know her?” she asked.

“Um. Yes and no. But you’re right; she wouldn’t hurt him.”

That seemed to satisfy Cawti. We watched my son a little more. If he was aware that we were watching him, he chose to ignore it. It was hard to talk about him as if he weren’t there. Probably a bad idea, too.

Vlad Norathar walked over to his mother and presented her with an object. “That’s very good,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”

“It’s a horse,” he explained.

She nodded. “Show your father.”

He turned and gave me an evaluating look; I wished I could have decided what expression to have on my face. I settled on trying to look interested but not demanding, and it must have worked because he marched over and showed me the horse.

“That’s very good,” I said. “But the turtle must be pretty crunched inside it.”

He frowned and considered that. “You’re silly,” he explained.

I’d never been called silly before; I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Good, I think.

He tucked the horse’s ears back in and out a few times, satisfying himself that he had the secret, then he went over and sat on the box and set about turning it into a turtle again. Cawti and I watched him.

“He’s very bright,” I said.

She smiled.

We watched Vlad Norathar a little longer. With no warning, he turned to me and said, “I have a hawk.”

“I’d like to see it,” I said.

He dug in the box and came out with a porcelain figure about a foot high, and very lifelike. He walked over and handed it to me without hesitation. I studied it carefully. At last I said, “This is the bird that is called a vahndoor in the language of our ancestors.”

He studied me. “Are you being silly?”

“Not this time,” I said. “There are lots of languages. People speak different.”

“Why?”

“Now that is a fine question. Maybe because they invented talking in different places, or else moved away from each other so far that they started talking differently. In this language, the one we’re speaking, there is only one word for all sorts of birds of prey. In Fenarian, each sort of bird has its own name.”

“Does each bird have its own name too?”

“If someone names it.”

“Don’t they name themselves?”

“No, they don’t. Well, maybe they do, come to think of it. I’m not sure.”

“What sort of bird is that?”

“Okay, now I’m insulted.”

“It isn’t a bird, it’s a jhereg. A sort of flying reptile that eats dead things and makes sarcastic comments.”

“What does that mean?”

Me and my big mouth.

“It means sometimes he says things he doesn’t mean because he thinks they’re funny.”

“He talks?”

“Into my mind.”

“What’s he saying now?”

“He isn’t saying anything just this minute.”

“Does he like me?”

“How would I know? I haven’t tasted him.”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

“You can touch him if you wish.”

“What is that, punishment?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head furiously, his eyes wide. I smiled. “It’s all right.” I went back to studying his hawk. I handed it back to him. He took it and brought it over to Cawti, and spent some time studying Rocza, perched on her shoulder. After a moment, Rocza stretched her neck out toward him and lowered her head. He hesitated, then reached out a finger and touched her head as if it were a hot stove. When she didn’t move, he stroked the top of her head once.

“I’m trying to figure out if I should be jealous,”
said Loiosh.

“Let me know when you’ve decided.”

“I want one of my own,” announced Vlad Norathar.

I looked at Cawti, who looked back at me and shrugged. “These are very special animals,” she said. “You have to study a long time to be able to have one.”

He looked stubborn.

“If you want one,” she continued, “we’ll start you on the training.”

He looked at her and nodded once, then went back to his box of toys. Was he too young to start training as a witch? Maybe. It wasn’t my decision.

“You’re looking good,” I said.

“Thank you.”

Vlad Norathar turned around from the box and said, “Why aren’t you living with us?”

I met his eyes, which was more difficult than a lot of other eyes I’ve had to meet. “There are people who want to kill me. If I stay here, they’ll find me.”

“Oh,” he said. He considered it carefully. “Why don’t you kill them instead?”

I stroked the hilt of Lady Teldra inside my cloak and said, “You know, I’ve asked myself that same question.”

Cawti said, “You can’t always solve problems by killing someone. In fact, as your father can testify, most of the time killing someone just makes things worse.”

“That,” I said, “is unfortunately true. But, hey, it’s a living.”

“Your father is teasing,” said Cawti.

I nodded. “I do that sometimes.”

“Why?” said Vlad Norathar.

“Another good question,” I said.

“I could answer it,” said Cawti. “But I shan’t.”

“Probably best.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, but let it go—a trait that he’d certainly find very useful later in life. He said, “Why do they want to kill you?”

I started to say something about breaking the rules, but Cawti cut me off with, “He was saving my life.” Was there an edge of bitterness when she said it, or was it purely my imagination?

“He did?”

“Yes,” she said.

“They want to kill him for that?”

“Yes.”

Vlad Norathar said, “That isn’t fair.”

“No,” said Cawti. “It isn’t.”

I resisted the urge to make some trite remark about how life wasn’t fair, and instead let the kid think about it.

He pulled a lyorn out of the box, held it in one hand with the horse in the other and studied them carefully. Then he put the horse down and began playing with the lyorn’s horn, pushing it in and out. It seemed to me he was still thinking about our conversation, but maybe that was my imagination.

I said, “Kragar would like to meet him, too.”

She frowned. “I have no objection, but another time would be better.”

“All right.”

I stood up. “I should be going.”

Cawti nodded. “Say good-bye to your father, Vlad.”

He got bashful again and hid his face. Cawti gave me an apologetic smile and the two of them walked me to the door. Rocza rubbed Cawti’s face then flew over to my left shoulder.

I turned and walked back to where Kragar waited.

Lukka, I just had a talk with Nurik, and it was made pretty clear that we’re supposed to dump this all on the lowest ranks we think we can get away with. I told him if he wanted that sort of game played, he’d have to get someone else to run the thing, because I won’t go there. If I resign, you’re the obvious choice to take over, so think hard about how you’ll handle this. I know what sort of pressures N. can bring, so if you go with it, I’ll stay mute, but it’s worth considering. I know Papacat and the new Warlord do not favor any such arrangement, and you should remember that HM is, so far as I know, not in on it either; I think she wants the investigation to be forthright, mostly because she wants to know if it’s all her fault. I’d tell her if I knew. Maybe in another week, if I’m still running this thing. But if you want a career, you can’t ignore N., you know it and I know it. Anyway, give it some thought.

—Private note in the handwriting of Desaniek
(not authenticated)