Dragon (Vlad Taltos) Read Free

Dragaerans just won’t admit it; how can having your innards flop around so violently that you can feel them sloshing not make you queasy? Could natural selection account for it? I don’t buy it; I just don’t think that nature had it in mind for people to get from one place to another without passing through the intervening area.
    These thoughts, I should explain, were one way I occupied my mind while I gave my stomach time to settle down. Another way was to observe that the sentries in the towers were watching me, although they didn’t seem especially surprised. Okay, so I was expected. Over one tower floated a single banner, all of grey.
    Eventually I risked a look down. There were trees below me that looked like miniature bushes, and the two roads and one stream were lines of brown and blue respectively, meeting and crossing and running almost parallel to form a design that, if I tried, I could convince myself was a mark in some runic alphabet. Maybe it was a symbol that told the castle, “Don’t fall down.” That was a comforting thought.
    I adjusted my cloak, ran a hand through my hair, and approached the double doors of Castle Black. They swung open as I approached, which I should have been expecting, because they’d done the same thing last time. I cursed under my breath but kept a small smile on my lips and didn’t break stride—there were Dragonlords watching.
    I hadn’t noticed it the last time, but one reason that it is so effective to see Lady Teldra appear when the doors open is that she is all you can see—the entryway is unlit, and except for her you might be entering the void that one imagines as the land of the dead. (The land of the dead, however, is not a void—it’s worse. But never mind.)
    “My Lord Taltos,” said Teldra. “Thank you for gracing our home. The Lord awaits you. Please, enter and be welcome.”
    I felt welcome in spite of my more cynical side whispering, “Whatever.”
    I crossed the threshold. Lady Teldra did not offer to take my cloak this time. She guided me into the hall with all the paintings, through it, up the wide, curving stairway, and eventually to the library. It was big and full of stuffed chairs and thick books; three of the books, sitting just beyond the entrance, were massive jewel-encrusted objects each chained to a pedestal; I wondered but resolved not to ask. As I entered, Morrolan set a book down and stood up, giving me a small bow.
    He opened his mouth, probably to make some sort of ironic courtesy, as a counterpoint to Teldra’s sincere one, but I said, “Who died?” before he could get the words out. He shut his mouth, glanced at Loiosh, and nodded toward a chair next to his. I sat down.
    He said, “Baritt.”
    I said, “Oh.”
    Morrolan seemed to want me to say something, so eventually I said, “You know, the first time I met him I had the feeling he wouldn’t be—”
    “Do not joke about it, Vlad.”
    “All right. What do you want me to say? I didn’t get the impression he was a friend of yours.”
    “He wasn’t.”
    “Well?”
    Lady Teldra appeared with refreshment—a white wine that would have been too sweet except that it was served over chunks of ice. I sipped it to be polite the first time, and then discovered I liked it. The Issola glided from the room. There was no table on which to set the goblet down, but the chair had wide, flat arms. Very convenient.
    “Well?” I repeated.
    “In the second place,” said Morrolan, “he was an important man. And in the first place—”
    “He was a Dragon,” I concluded. “Yeah, I know.”
    Morrolan nodded. I drank some more wine. The sensation of cold helps reduce the sensation of sweetness. I bet you didn’t know that.
    “So, what happened to the poor bastard?”
    Morrolan started to answer, then paused, then said, “It is unimportant.”
    “All right,” I agreed. “It is unimportant to me, in any case.” I had met Baritt, or, more properly, his shade, in the Paths of the