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.
I turned back to keep an eye on the big ugly thing, which was now rocking a little from side to side, looking at him.
The guy with the cat muttered under his breath, and the thing howled and jumped, then turned and ran. It ran off toward the fountain, splashed through it, and continued on.
“That was witchcraft,” I said.
He bowed. I let the dog sniff my hand, after which it curled up at the guy’s feet.
“I’m Laszló,” he said.
“Vlad.”
“Actually, you’re Taltos, Count of Szurke.”
“You’re well informed. And it’s Teldra.”
“What?”
“Not Godslayer. Lady Teldra.”
“All right.”
“Who are your friends?”
“Awtlá, and Sireng,” he said, indicating the dog and the cat.
“Laszló,” I repeated. “Wait, I’ve heard of you. You’re—” I stopped, because I didn’t think “the Easterner who’s buffing skin with the Empress” would be politic. “Around the court,” I managed.
He bowed again. “Official unofficial Imperial warlock,” he said.
“Okay, then, here’s the big one. What are you doing in the Halls of Judgment?”
“Rescuing you,” he said.
“Oh, good then. That answers everything.”
He chuckled. “Do you think it’s our human blood that makes us answer everything ironically?”
“Fenarian,” I said. “Ever tried to exchange banter with a Muskovan?”
He nodded. “Good point.”
“How many generations?”
“How—oh. I see. I was born there.”
“Really? You’ve managed the Northwestern speech pretty good.”
“I’ve been here a long time. I’m older than I look.”
I looked around again. There was no sign of Discaru, or the-thing-that-was-Discaru.
“What was that thing, anyway?”
“A demon,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I know it was a demon. What kind of demon?”
“Oh. No idea. Does it matter?”
“Well, it’s part of figuring out what it was doing there, what it was doing here, what I was doing there, what I am doing here, and all like that. I don’t suppose you know anything that might help?”
“What is ‘there?’”
“A place west of Adrilankha called Precipice Manor.”
“Sorry, no.”
“All right.”
I walked over to a bench and sat down, facing away from the water. Laszló came along, sat down next to me. The dog came too, put his paws over the edge and drank noisily, then curled up on the ground at our feet.
“So,” I said. “Rescue.”
“Yeah.”
“Fill me in a bit?”
“You have friends who keep track of you.”
“Do I have to guess which friends?”
“No.”
I waited, then, “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
I glanced at the Phoenix emblem. “Her Majesty. Of course.”
He smiled. “I never said so.”
“I wouldn’t have called her a friend.”
“No,” he said. “That would be impertinent.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And I’m all about being pertinent.”
“I don’t think that’s what that means.”
“If it were the Empress,” I said, “how would she have known I needed rescuing?”
“There are certain things the Orb is sensitive to. A Great Weapon passing through a necromantic gate to the Halls of Judgment is one of them. Hypothetically.”
“I see.”
Loiosh, having considered the matter long and thoughtfully, made up his mind and hissed at the cat. The cat looked up, yawned, then closed its eyes again.
“What was that?”
“‘Hello.’”
“Okay,” I said aloud. “Uh, no one should be able to keep track of me.”
“Because?”
“This,” I said, tapping the amulet.
He leaned over and studied it. “Oh, yes, I see. Black and gold. Well, maybe it doesn’t work in the Halls of Judgment? I’m not an expert.”
“On Phoenix Stone, or the Halls?”
“Either, really.”
“But you know something about Great Weapons.”
He nodded and didn’t elaborate.
“So, what now?”
“Hmmm?”
“Well, I’m sort of in the Paths of the Dead, in the Halls of Judgment no less. Last time I was here—”
“Last time?”
“Long story. Last time, I was told not to come back. So, if this is a rescue, how do you plan to get me out of here?”
“Oh, right. That.”
“That.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, how do you get out?”
“Connections. I have a standing invitation, and that includes the right to leave.”
“Can you bring a guest?”
“Sorry.”
I stretched out my legs. “Well, isn’t this a joy.”
“If I might make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“The demon should be able to return you.”
“The demon you chased away? That one?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Perfect.”
He reached down and petted the dog between the ears. It wagged its tail. The cat jumped down from his lap. Lazsló put a hand under the dog’s chin, looked into its eyes, and muttered something too quiet for me to hear, though from the rhythm I guessed it to be Fenarian. The dog stood up, sniffed the ground, and padded off. The cat ran off after it.
“Good nose on that dog?”
He nodded.
“What will he do when he finds it?”
“I guess we’ll see.”
He sounded like me. I considered hating him.
He reached into his cloak and came out with a small cloth bag. He opened it and extended it. “Sweetmeat?”
I took one and ate it. “Not bad.”
“Apricot.”
I nodded.
“So now you don’t hate him?”
“It isn’t like I’d already made a final decision or anything.”
“If you give me some of the next one, I won’t hate the cat.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“So, Awtlá, and, what was the cat’s name?”
“Sireng.”
“Yeah. They’re familiars?”
He nodded.
“Two familiars,” I said.
He nodded again.
“Didn’t know that was possible.”
“Boss—”
“Don’t worry about it, Loiosh.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Rocza flapped her wings on my other shoulder.
Laszló didn’t reply except by some sort of motion that could have meant anything.
Purple Robes and other “souls,” I’d guess you’d say, wandered by. I kept wanting to look at the fountain, but then I remembered, and didn’t. We waited, and I came up with more questions he wouldn’t answer, like “Is it true about you and Her Majesty,” so I didn’t bother asking them.
“There,” he said suddenly.
I looked up, and Discaru, or the demon, or whatever, came hissing and growling toward us. At his heels were a wolf and a dzur. There was no sign of the dog, no sign of the cat, but there was a wolf and there was a dzur.
I turned and stared at the warlock. “Are those—”
“Not now,” he said.
They herded the thing, nipping and scratching at it until it had reached us, then circled it, making sure it couldn’t move. The wolf growled, the dzur hissed, the demon bellowed, Loiosh and Rocza flapped their wings. The warlock stood up and brushed off his cloak, which was the first time I realized that it was silk, and very expensive. He took his time positioning himself in front of the demon. I got up and stood next to him because if there was going to be a party I didn’t want to be left out.
The warlock spoke to the demon, and I have no clue what language it was, but there were a lot of whistles and clicks and rising and falling inflections like singing, and sounds I wasn’t aware the human mouth was capable of.
The demon answered, not sounding happy. They had brief conversation, and the demon turned like it wanted to run, but the wolf and dzur growled and hissed and snapped. Then Laszló raised his hand, palm out, then turned it palm up and slowly formed a fist, muttering under his breath. The demon howled, convulsed, twisted, shrank, and blurred, and then—
“Ah, Discaru,” I said. “How have you been?”
He glared at the warlock. “May you never—”
“Really?” said Laszló, his voice shooting out like a thrown knife. “You’re going to curse me? You are going to curse me?”
Discaru shut up.
“You’re better than me,” I told the warlock.
“Hmmm?”
“You’re a better witch than I am.”
“I’ve been at it a while.”
“I still resent it.”
“I’ve heard you once managed to teleport an object. I mean, with witchcraft.”
“Yeah. What—”
“I’ve never done that.”
“Okay, that helps.”
“Maybe we could trade recipes sometime?”
“Sure.”
I turned to the Athyra, or the demon, as you please. “So, I have some questions for you.”
He suggested I do something that demons might be able to manage, though I’d prefer not to watch.
“Can’t,” I said. “Let’s start with the one that’s really bugging me: are those clothes part of the illusion, or do you create actual clothes when you transform?”
He made another suggestion, one I don’t think even a demon could have managed.
“So, what’s this about? Why did you really bring me here?”
His response was short, but colorful.
“I get part of it,” I said. “You had to bring me here so I couldn’t use my weapon against you, and so I’d draw it and get all the gods pissed off at me. But why kill me? What are you afraid I’ll find out?”
His fourth suggestion disappointed me. “You’re getting less interesting now,” I told him. “How about just answering my question?”
He stood mute, which I guess was an improvement.
“Yeah, well.” I turned to Laszló. “Can you convince him to talk?”
“How?”
“He must feel pain.”
“I won’t do that,” he said. “I have sort of a personal history with that kind of thing and I’ve sworn off it.”
“I guess I get that,” I said, shuddering involuntarily. I hoped neither of them noticed.
I could try it myself. But no.
So many questions he could have answered.
“Boss, if he can get us out of here, he could bring us somewhere that isn’t in that weird building, right?”
“Maybe.”
“You could ask.”
“I could.”
“But you’re not going to, are you?”
“All right, Discaru—is that your real name? Never mind. All right, if you won’t talk, you won’t. What say you bring me back and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened. How does that sound?”
He smirked.
I turned to the warlock. “You sure you don’t torture?”
“I’m sure.”
“Too bad.”
“But if he doesn’t take you back, I’m happy to chain him to the fountain for ten thousand years or so. He wouldn’t like that.”
Discaru stiffened, then said, “I don’t like threats.”
I looked at the wolf, at the dzur, at Laszló, then back to him. “And?”
He gave me a murderous look, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take you back.” He turned and gestured, and the two rocks appeared again. I wondered if all he’d done was turn them invisible, and I could have left anytime. I doubted it was that simple.
“Let’s go, then,” he said.
He took a couple of steps toward the rocks, then, I guess, observed that the wolf and the dzur were gone. I turned back to Laszló, and there were a dog and a cat next to him.
“Um,” I said.
I tried to wrap my head around what had just happened, with only limited success. The cat jumped into his arms.
“Thanks,” I told him.
He bowed, which made it look like the cat was bowing too, which was weird. “Glad to be of help.”
I felt like there was probably more to say, but Discaru was waiting. I saluted Laszló, turned, and followed my demonic leader.
We walked between the stones, and we were once more in a hallway of the house.
He turned and glared at me. “There,” he said.
I drew Lady Teldra. “Yeah. Now, I have some questions.”
He sighed. “How did I not see this coming?”
“It’s not like you could have done anything about it. If you start to transform, I swear by Verra’s sense of humor that I’ll put this weapon through your guts before your forehead drops.”
“Will you really use that thing on me?”
“Gleefully. What are you?”
“You’d call me a demon.”
“Yeah, I got that part. You know, the squat legs, big snout, pink skin with blue splotches? I put that together. Now, what are you?”
“I’m from another world.”
“Right. What world?”
“Depending on the language, we call it ‘ground’ or ‘the world’ or ‘home’ or ‘dirt.’ Does that help?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
He looked down the length of Lady Teldra, then said, “Probably not a good idea, I guess.”
“I see you come from a people capable of learning. What does your race call yourselves?”
“Our term for ourselves translates to ‘those who think.’”
I sighed.
“All right, tell me this, then. Why are you trying to keep me from finding out anything? What’s the big deal?”
“I’m carrying out Zhayin’s wishes.”
“Oh, a demon thing?”
“Actually, no. He could have bound me. You know that, right?”
“Right. That’s what it means to be a demon.”
“Yeah. But he didn’t. We’re friends. He helped me once, long ago. So he asked for my help, and I agreed. That’s all. Does it surprise you that I could have a human friend?”
I chose not to comment on what “human” means. I said, “No. I have a friend who’s a demon. Well, he’s called the Demon, he isn’t really one. And he isn’t a friend, he’s more of an enemy. But anyway. What is it that you so desperately want me not to find out?”
“Oh, that,” he said.
“Yeah, that.”
“Can we negotiate?”
“Uh, I think that’s what we’re doing.”
“You’re aware that just having that, that weapon out, is attracting all sorts of attention, right? I’m expecting help—”
“To have showed up the first time I drew her,” I finished for him. “That is, if there was anyone to show up.”
“Okay, point,” he said.
I gestured with Lady Teldra. Discaru shrugged and said, “All right.”
He moved fast, really fast. Maybe it was a demon thing, or maybe I was off guard, or maybe some of each, but he was past Lady Teldra before I knew it. He slammed his shoulder into me, and as I fought to keep my balance he ran past me back into the room and vanished.
“Well, crap,” I said to the walls.
“Sorry, Boss. I should have picked up on that.”
“So should I.”
I pulled the door shut. Okay, then. I’d learned some things from all of that. I wasn’t sure exactly what those things were, and certainly not how they fit together, and I had absolutely no idea how—or if—they were related to the mysterious nature of the “platform” I was walking around in, but I’d certainly learned some things.
Now what?
“Invent theories, then test them?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, Loiosh.”
“Oh? What theory have you tested so far?”
“That I died, was brought to Deathgate, and the entire house is contained in the Paths of the Dead, and this has all been part of one of those tests you have to go through to reach the Halls of Judgment.”
“Oh. Is it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The Paths are set up for Dragaerans. Only Dragaerans. They couldn’t bring in a fake, mentally constructed Easterner I’d never met. He has to have been real. If he’s real, it’s all real. If it’s all real, then this isn’t part of a test, and I’m still alive. Also, if I’d died, you’d have mentioned something about it.”
“Good, then. Uh, did you really think that was going on, Boss?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“I’m not starting with the most likely, I’m starting with the easiest to test.”
“Oh. So, what’s the next theory?”
“Actually, that was the only one I had.”
“Right.”
To my left was the beast, locked in its room. I didn’t feel like meeting it again. To my right was the stairway back down, and places I hadn’t yet explored. So, just go ahead and open doors? Why not. Maybe there were answers behind one of them. Maybe there were pieces of answers behind all of them. So downstairs, and—
“Boss, there’s still a door here you haven’t opened.”
“Where?”
“There.”
Yeah, heading back toward the stairs, on my right. Well, sure then. The echo of my boots was very distinct as I walked toward that door; I was aware of the sound as I hadn’t been before.
I stood in front of the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Light.
Pure light.
I don’t mean blinding; I didn’t have an urge to shut my eyes or anything, but it was like the entire room was filled with light, or there was so much light that it was impossible to make out anything inside.
“Loiosh?”
“Boss?”
“Seem dangerous?”
“Well, not as far as I can tell.”
I shut the door and looked around. My eyes worked fine.
Why was there a room of light? Who would do that? And what would be in the room? Well, if I couldn’t answer that, there was another one: what would be past a room full of light? As I was trying to figure that out, something else occurred to me.
A room of mirrors, a room of light, the smell of bread, stone grinding against stone, footsteps in the hall: Light and sound and smell. The fact is, if you’ve known me for a while, the things I notice aren’t so much how much light there is, and what odd sounds there are, and smells. I have, from time to time, mentioned them, because I’ve been trying to give you, my listener, an idea of the place where things happened. But I’ve had to work to do it, because the things I notice are more like There’s a nook where someone could be hiding, or, That guy could be walking that way because he has a knife in his boot, or, I could go ten steps down that street, duck into that doorway, and vanish, or, Both of those guys can use a blade, but the one on the right is faster, or, That guardsman is watching me. That’s the stuff that I automatically pay attention to, because that’s who I am, because that’s what you need to be aware of when you kill people for a living. I’m not apologizing, I’m just telling you, because it was just then, standing before that door, that I became aware of how important light and sound and smell were in this place, and that I hadn’t been paying enough attention to them.
There was a connection between my world and the Halls of Judgment, and the connection was based on necromancy, which I understood not at all. But I knew this much: if I was going to make sense of how this place was put together, I was going to need to pay attention to all sorts of things I wasn’t used to noticing. Things are always the way they are for a reason: sometimes as a cause to create an effect, sometimes as a deliberate or accidental effect of something else, sometimes both at once. But there was a reason for the light, for the dark, for the smell of bread, for the sound of stones and footsteps.
I opened the door again.
“Boss?”
There was probably a little end table that I’d bark my shin on, or I’d set off a trap that would send a bucket of molten lava on my head and kill me, or something like that.
“Boss, we’re not going in there, are we?”
“Would you be afraid if it were dark, instead of light?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’re going in. Our answers are on the other side.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Uh, because, why not?”
“Oh, good.”
I don’t know why entering into a room I couldn’t see because of light was scarier than entering into a room I couldn’t see because of darkness. Maybe how weird it was? Probably.
I took a step into the room and didn’t die. I took another step, a smaller one, because now the idea of a table at shin height had set itself up in my head. I started sliding my feet forward. I heard the door close behind me, but I ignored it and continued. I kept going, and after what felt like miles, my foot reached the far wall. I was obscurely disappointed that I hadn’t cleverly detected any shin-level furniture.
I ran my hands over the wall, looking for a door. I had about concluded that either there wasn’t one or it was on another wall, when I found it. Then it was a matter of feeling for the knob, turning it, pushing—And I could see again.
“That was almost too easy, Boss.”
“Loiosh, never ever say that again.”
“Right. Sorry.”
There was a small, oval area. There was a white marble table with a sculpture sitting on it, and a corridor leading off to the left, and a curved stairway heading up with a round mirror placed so that I could see the top stair.
“Ah ha,” I said.
“Ah ha?”
“Ah ha.”
“So, you know where we are?”
“I think so. I think at the top of that stairway is the chamber where Zhayin does his sorcery.”
“Oh. Then why aren’t we going the other direction?”
I went straight across, no hesitations, and climbed the stairway.
It curved around to the left until I was pointing back the way I’d come, which, given the nature of this obnoxious structure, could mean I was anywhere pointing in any direction. I kept reminding myself of that in hopes of easing the shock the next time something bizarre happened. My boots made more of a scuffing than a tapping sound, for whatever reason.
There was a door at the top, opening outward. I put my hand on the knob, tried it, and it turned.
It was only a place set aside by a sorcerer to perform necromantic experiments in a building that didn’t make sense but clearly crossed over from world to world and had managed to trap Devera here. What danger could there possibly be?
“Boss—”
I pulled the door open.