Dragon (Vlad Taltos) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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