Dragon

As I say, I very much doubt it happened like that, but it's a good story. I bring it up because, if someone had asked me how I felt when I walked into a room full of more Morganti weapons than I had thought existed in the world, I'd have said, in the same way, "Poorly."

"Boss … "

"I know, Loiosh."

The weapons were piled everywhere. It was like stepping into a room full of yellowsnakes. I could feel the two Dragonlords behind me, and even the knowledge that I was showing fear in front of them couldn't propel me forward.

"This is pretty ugly, Vlad."

"Tell me about it, Kragar."

"I wonder what he wanted them for."

"I wonder why the Serioli invented them in the first place."

"You don't know, Vlad?"

"No. Do you?"

"Sure. Well, I know what they say, at least."

"What do they say?"

"Back before the beginning of the Empire they were invented by a Serioli smith in order to make war so horrible no one would fight anymore."

I snorted. "You're kidding. Do you believe they could be that stupid?"

"Oh, but it worked."

"Huh?"

"Among the Serioli."

"Oh."

"Shall we go in?"

"I don't think I can."

"That's a problem."

"Yes."

We stood there like idiots for a little longer.

"Should we leave, then?" he asked.

"No, dammit."

"All right."

Hours and hours went by. All right, maybe a minute. The worst part was knowing those Dragonlords were right behind me. Showing fear in front of a Jhereg is bad business; showing fear in front of a Dragon hurts my pride.

Kragar said, "I have an idea."

"Good," I said. "I accept. An excellent idea. Whatever it is."

"This will take a couple of minutes."

"Even better. You think I'm in a hurry?"

Kragar's brow wrinkled. I suspected psychic contact.

"All right," he said. "He'll be here."

"Who?"

"Someone who can help. I met him some years ago when I was—it doesn't matter."

He might as well have completed the sentence. Kragar wasn't born into the Jhereg—he'd once been a Dragonlord himself—and whatever reasons he had for not being one anymore were his own business.

"What's his name?"

"Daymar. He's a Hawklord."

"All right. How can he help?"

"Psychics."

"What about them?"

"He's very good. He can do things with the powers of his mind that skilled sorcerers can't do using the power of the Orb. He—just a minute." He stepped out of the room for a moment and spoke quietly with the guards. When he returned, there was a thin, sharp-featured Dragaeran with him, all in black, with a sort of dreamy, vague expression on his face that was quite at odds with his features and with other Hawklords I'd known.

"Hello, Kragar," he said in a low, quiet voice.

"Hello, Daymar. This is my boss, Vlad."

He bowed politely, which also set him apart from others of his House. "Pleased to meet you," he said.

"And you," I told him.

He studied the room. "Very impressive," he said. "I've never seen so many at once."

"I was thinking much the same thing," I said.

Kragar said, "Can you, uh, tone them down a little? Vlad is a bit sensitive to their aura."

He turned to me with a look of curiosity. "Really? That's interesting. I wonder why?"

I refrained from saying, "Because I'm an Easterner with a superstitious dread of the damned things"; instead I just shrugged.

"Mind if I find out what it is about you that—"

"Yes," I said.

"All right," he said, appearing to be a little hurt. Then he looked around the room again. "Well," he said, "it shouldn't be difficult," and, just like that, I felt better. Not good, mind you, but better—it was as if they were still out there, and still hungry, but much farther away.

"How did you do that?" I said.

Daymar frowned and pursed his lips. "Well," he said, "if we consider the aura emitted by each weapon as a spherical field of uni—"

"Psychics," said Kragar.

I walked into the room as if there was nothing to it, and began looking around. Kragar and Daymar stayed behind me.

The weapons were a bit more arranged than I'd first thought—they were stacked, rather than just lying around, and they were all in sheaths or scabbards—I tried not to think of how it would feel if they'd been naked. I couldn't, however, discern exactly what the order or arrangement was.

"The most powerful are at this end," said Daymar conversationally, "and the weakest are down there. That's a Jhereg on your shoulder, isn't it?"

"Psychics," I said. "And a keen eye for detail as well," I added.

"Excuse me? Oh, that was irony, wasn't it?"

"Sorry. I'm a bit jumpy."

"Oh? Why?"

I glanced at Kragar, who, it appeared, was gallantly attempting not to smile. I left the question hanging and tried to look like I was studying the weapons, while simultaneously not really looking at them. This isn't easy, and it didn't work—they kept assaulting my mind, Daymar's psychic ability notwithstanding.

"How do you link to it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The Jhereg. You must have some sort of psychic link to it. How—"

"Witchcraft," I said.

"I see. Does it involve—?"

"I don't care to discuss it."

"All right," said Daymar, looking puzzled and maybe a little hurt once more. I wasn't used to running into Dragaerans who had sensitive feelings.

"So," said Kragar. "Any ideas on how to go about this?"

I glanced at him again, and he flushed a little—whoever this Daymar was, I wasn't prepared to discuss my business in front of him, and Kragar ought to have known that.

"What are you trying to do?" said Daymar.

"It's hard to explain," I said.

"Oh, well then—" he said, and, as I was still looking at Kragar, I saw a startled look spread over his features.

I said, "What—"

"Mind probe, Boss. A really, really, good one. And fast. That guy—"

I picked up the weapon closest to me, a dagger, and pulled it from its sheath. I crossed the room, stopping in front of Daymar, about four feet away. I stared up at him, holding the weapon casually in front of me. I was no longer frightened of the thing; it was as if something had taken control of me, and that something was red and burning. I said, "Look, I appreciate your help, but if you ever mind-probe one of my people again, it'll be the last thing you ever do, in this life or any other. Is that clear?"

He seemed a little startled but not at all frightened. "Sorry," he said. "I won't do it again."

I turned away, took a deep breath, and sheathed the weapon. I never know what to say after I've intimidated someone; I ought to keep a list of tough-guy remarks.

"I do have a suggestion, however."

I turned around and stared at him, not quite sure what I was hearing.

"Boss, either you're losing your touch or this guy is really stupid."

"Well," continued Daymar, "since I know anyway … "

I gave Kragar a "What should I do about this?" look, and he returned a "Don't ask me" shrug.

I sighed. "All right, Daymar. Let's hear it."

"Well, Morrolan thinks someone is going to try to steal these weapons, right? And you—"

"Do you know Morrolan?" I said.

"Certainly. Why?"

"I just wondered. Go on."

"You want to trap whoever it is."

"Trap? Maybe. At least find the culprit, if there is one."

"I can set up a psychic trace that will let us identify anyone who steps in here."

"Sounds too easy," I said.

"No one guards against psychics."