Nightlord: Shadows (120 page)

“The things that show their faces, but gather up all the hair in a bag at the back?”

“Yes. I am no expert on women’s garments, but I believe it is called a
wriage
. It has fallen out of fashion in many cities of old Rethven, but here it flourishes. Terrany may be codifying that custom into a law. For example, as part of the wedding ceremony, after the bride shaves the groom’s head, and he helps her don the
wriage
for the first time—”

“Hold it. The bride is expected to
shave the groom’s head?
”

“Of course.” Sedrick blinked at me in surprise. “Did you not know this?”

“I had no idea,” I admitted. “What the hell for?”

“Well, as I understand it,” he said, thinking, “it came about in a number of ways. One way was to insure that his hair was not, ah… infested?”

“Lice.”

“And fleas,” Sedrick agreed. “Not all kingdoms are as, well,
clean
as yours, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve noticed. Go on.”

“Also, the tradition is that, until he has enough hair to reach his eyebrows, he can indulge in no dangerous deeds. A soldier may not go to war, a knight may not participate in the passage of arms, nor may a man participate in a duel—he can challenge or be challenged, but it must wait until his hair grows out.” He smiled. “It is also said that it is good luck to sire a child during that time, and might be another reason for it. To give the couple a chance to do so,” he finished.

“I see. Okay, back to Terrany. He’s trying to make this
wriage
thing a law?”

“His order does not make laws. He is merely codifying the tradition,” Sedrick replied. “We have talked much, he and I. He and his order are keepers of the law. They write the laws down and interpret them. Kings often use them for judges, for they take holy oaths to be impartial. Just as often, they are forbidden to be judges, for their gift is law, not justice, you see. He will doubtless approach you when he has assembled a codex of law for Karvalen, for your approval.”

“As long as he doesn’t try to lay down the law without consulting me,” I agreed, then mused, “I suppose we do need to have some laws actually in force, rather than just word-of-mouth customs and traditions.”

“That is the purpose of their order, as I understand it. They seek only to understand and define the laws of men. Your kingdom is a delight to him, for you have no laws.”

“I guess I can live with that. I’m not sure I like the idea of a holy order of lawyers, but…”

“He’s actually very agreeable,” Sedrick said, smiling. “He is a good man, and he means well.”

“Those are the worst kind,” I muttered. “All right. I’ll talk to him at some point and go over what he thinks makes a good law.”

“Eminently fair, as always, Your Majesty. Now, before we go our ways, is there anything else I may do for you?”

“Actually, yes; I think there is.”

“Name it, Your Majesty.”

“Take this mirror,” I said, handing him a small, wooden box. “It will let you talk to me, or to Tort, or to pretty much anyone in authority in Karvalen.” He accepted it with a bow.

“And what shall I say to them?”

“If you would, go into Byrne and see what evil lurks there. If you find some, let us know what kind of evil it is. And, if some one of us should call you on that mirror, we might tell you to flee that city; if so, please do.”

“Flee?” he asked, frowning. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because, if I’m asking you to flee, it’s because I don’t want you to be hurt by what I’m about to do to it.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” he agreed, nodding. “I shall certainly seek out evil for my own sword to smite, but if I find something worthy of your powers—or, at least, beyond my own—I shall be swiftly forthcoming with that information.”

“I appreciate it. And one more thing…”

“Name it.”

“As you go, you might mention that you’re hero-ing up here because you’ve heard that the King of Karvalen is coming, and there won’t be anything left for you when he finishes.” I grinned at him. “It’s not true; I usually leave survivors. But it might encourage guilty people to run for it, which kind of makes them obvious. ‘The guilty flee when no man pursueth,’ and all that.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, chuckling. “And, I trust, if you have any actual evil that needs smiting, you will recall me?”

“Naturally. Everyone needs a professional Hero now and again.”

“Then farewell, Lord of Night and King of Karvalen. Long may you reign in peace, prosperity, and righteousness.”

“And may good fortune follow you all the days of your life,” I answered. He and all his baggage set off at a headlong slow walk.

I turned my attention to the bridge. I jogged west for a bit, past the waterfall-pool, and found a suitably narrow place. I aligned the model bridge carefully, then set it down on the stony lip of the riverbed. It latched on immediately, almost hungrily.

How long would it take to grow, I wondered? A day? A week? It certainly wouldn’t take all that long to cross the river, but I couldn’t begin to make an actual estimate of when it might be useful.

I left it to its work and jogged back to the niche I was using as a gate point. With a trifle of work to shape it a bit better, it made for a closer match to the archway. Then I called the wizard in the gate room on a mirror and told him to expect an incoming call. Shortly thereafter, I stepped back into the mountain. I took a detour to the foundry to drop off my armor and went back to my chambers.

Upstairs, they had reached a consensus. I sat down at the breakfast table and helped myself to everything.

“Majesty,” Thomen said, “you set us quite a pretty problem.”

“I know. My own impulses may be based on personal feeling; I want your opinions, too, before I finalize a decision and set plans in motion. It’s a big decision and will impact the lives of thousands.”

There was much uncomfortable shifting around the table. T’yl broke the silence.

“May we ask your intentions, Sire?”

“No. I want you opinions before I give my own. I need alternative points of view, and I’m afraid you might tend to agree with me.”

“I would not think so,” T’yl said.

“Nevertheless,” Thomen continued, cutting him off, “we have argued many points, both for and against a full-fledged war. We have not treated it lightly,” he finished, glancing sharply at Kammen. Kammen appeared oblivious to this.

“I am pleased,” I told him. “So, what have you concluded?”

“Sire,” T’yl replied, taking over again, “there was some spirited debate. Knowing your fondness for the welfare of children, we considered most carefully the ramifications of war. It is true that war will cause suffering, but that suffering is not the goal. It is done without malice toward children; it is merely a consequence.”

“One I don’t like,” I agreed. “Go on.”

“Yet, any action may have such a consequence. When you kill a man who has murdered a child, his own children may be orphaned. Even when you defend the city against invaders, those attackers who die on the field may leave children destitute at home.”

“Granted.”

“While it is a good and noble thing to be a defender of children, it is not the
only
thing. As you have noted, Sire, you must do things in your capacity as King that you would not condone as a private individual. The office of King must do things that you, as a person, would not.”

Sometimes, T’yl can be a real pain.

“Granted,” I agreed, again.

“With that in mind,” Kelvin said, “we feel that you—as King—have been provoked sufficiently to warrant war. You may, if it please Your Majesty, choose any lesser course. But if your choice is to march on Byrne and reduce it, then we will go to war without hesitation and without doubt.”

I looked at my three. They nodded, expressions grim. Even Torvil. Then I swept the table with my gaze. As my eyes met each member of the council, they all nodded agreement. If I chose to throw a war, they would all bring bloody presents.

“All right. In that case, what do you all think? We can go to war; we can find some other way to punish Byrne; we can ignore this as we’ve ignored everything else. What do you say? Tort?”

Tort, seated at my right, looked me in the eye.

“War.”

I looked at T’yl, seated next to her.

“War,” he said.

Around the table, one by one,
war, war, war
, until only I was left.

“Kelvin?”

“Yes, my King?”

“You’ve just been promoted.”

“I thank you, my King, and will do everything in my power to fulfill my new responsibilities to your satisfaction. May I ask to what station I have been promoted?”

“You are now the Warlord of Karvalen, responsible for the preparation and conduct of war. If you need my personal assistance with anything, I am available at your request. In peace, your authority as Warlord is pretty much what you have already been doing. Now that we are at war, your authority is second only to my own. I want to enter Rethven, crush our enemies, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of Byrne. Make that happen, Warlord.”

“As my King commands.”

There is more to planning a war than just men, armor, and weapons. I knew that, but I didn’t truly understand it until it was time to start doing it. It was like learning to ride a bicycle. You know there are two wheels, two pedals, and handlebars. Balance on the two wheels, turn the pedals, and steer with the handlebars. Simple enough that even a child can do it. At least, until you get on a bicycle for the very first time.

Kelvin surprised me. The very first thing he did was call an assembly of the knights and explain, in his terms, why we were going to war. I was in my conference room, using the sand table to look over the city of Byrne and waiting on a delivery of two new mirrors for enchantment.

In the meeting room, Kelvin explained that Byrne had tried to assassinate the King—and the King had ignored it. This did not meet with the approval of the assembly; there were dark and angry mutterings. Byrne had summoned demons to eat me—more mutterings, and louder. Byrne had manipulated Vathula into attacking Karvalen—this was very moving, since most of them had experienced that. They don’t like running from a fight. Byrne had manipulated three other cities into invading the kingdom—they really didn’t like that; they had seen the enemy on their shores and come
this
close to actually getting to fight them.

Kelvin held up his hands to quiet the crowd of angry men. They stilled to listen.

“And now, Byrne’s demonic assassins have struck at the Princess and her daughter—the daughter and the granddaughter of the King. The Princess Amber has died of her wounds, but has been reborn through His Majesty’s power as a being of living flame, as befits a priestess. The Princess Tianna almost died, but His Majesty breathed life into her and restored her.

“He has forgiven attempts on his own life. He has forgiven two invasions. Should he forgive this? Or will we have war?”

“War!”

“
War!
”

“
WAR!
”

“
WAR!
”

“
WAR!
”

I heard the chanting all the way in my scrying room and I went to investigate. I found a seething mob of men, beating the flats of their swords on the front of their shields, chanting “War!” at the top of their lungs. As they noticed me, they parted to let me through, still chanting, still pounding their shields. I went up to Kelvin and he saluted.

The room quieted immediately. Everyone saluted, swords out, points up.

They didn’t kneel. They
saluted
. I can’t express how pleased I was. More, this was a perfect opportunity to show, publicly, Kelvin’s new authority.

“Kelvin of Karvalen,” I said, “you are Warlord of the Realm. Our enemy is Byrne and all who would ally with her. Will you destroy my enemy?”

“I will.”

“Warlord, ready the army.”

He rose and gestured. Everyone started out, leaving the room at a brisk trot, and he followed them.

I sat down on the raised area at the front of the room. We had declared war in the cool of the council table, and in the heat of the warrior’s hall. We had decided on war, and war we would have.

They were going to go out and kill. Part of me was glad. They loved me. They loved my daughter and granddaughter. They loved the kingdom. They loved to fight. Pick any or all of the above.

Another part of me was deeply saddened. Some of the people they killed would doubtless be just some poor guy dragged off his farm, hit with a uniform, and a spear shoved in his hand. I hated that, and I hated Byrne for putting me in a position where I had to kill unwilling participants.

Some of the people killed would certainly be some of my knights, too, despite anything and everything we could do.

On the other hand, perhaps I could do more.

Amber seems all sorted out. I spent a goodly portion of one night unplugging some of her soul-strands and tying them together differently. With her indicating whether that felt better or not, we worked through a trial-and-error process. It took a while, but she says she feels much more alert and focused. I don’t see any spiritual leakage or shorts, so I guess she’s okay. As okay as a disembodied soul bound into a quasi-solid form made of divine fire can be, anyway.

I also think I’ve got my new cannonball spell pared down and sorted out. T’yl helped with the simplification once I got it working correctly. We tested it with hammers, then with sledgehammers, and it seems to work perfectly.

One evening, I called an assembly of the knights out in the
dazhu
pasture to show them the effects of a cannon. I didn’t have gunpowder, of course; it’s harder to make than you might think. On the other hand, I had water. With a cannonball, some wadding, and a quart of water down our cannon’s throat, Firebrand and I managed to channel a lot of heat into the water, vaporizing it.

The effect was impressive. Everyone jumped as the cannon bellowed and spat, and the log target I’d assembled disintegrated satisfactorily.

“That will go through enchanted armor,” I told them, reloading, “the man inside, and out the back to kill the man behind him. It’s more dangerous than a thunderbolt and easier to aim.”

Then I stood a few feet in front of the thing and told Firebrand to cut loose into the energy-transfer spell. The fresh load of water vaporized into steam. The cannonball belched forward, hit me squarely on the breastplate, and the two of us were suddenly moving backward. I didn’t quite flip over, but I dug ruts in the dirt with both feet and teetered for a moment before recovering my balance. That felt amazingly awkward, but I didn’t even feel an impact as the spell evenly transferred the momentum.

“That,” I said, “is our latest defensive spell.” I picked up the undamaged cannonball. “When you cast it, it won’t last more than two hits, if that; one is all I guarantee. But you’re going to learn it, and you’re going to use it, because this,” I held up the cannonball, “is going to kill you if you don’t.” I dropped it to the ground with a heavy thud.

It made an impression on more than just the ground. They’ve been studying the new spell with intense devotion. I am starting to feel a sort of cautious optimism.

Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar, meanwhile, have been taking it in shifts to guard me, night and day. They made the very good argument that, while at war, anyone of rank was a target, the King especially so. I didn’t argue; they were right. But I did have them pick out some bodyguards for other people—Kelvin, Tort, and T’yl, of course, and most especially for Amber and Tianna.

I’m not sure Amber needs a bodyguard. She doesn’t really have a body
to
guard, as such. She’s really just a contained plasma in the shape of her old body. Stabbing her will just melt anything short of Firebrand. She might be disrupted, I suppose, but it’ll be a while before anyone figures out a way to do
that
. For now, what’s someone going to do? Poison her? Cut her throat? Maybe an assassin can throw a bucket of water on her, but that’s not going to do more than make her angry. I suppose being submerged and held underwater would do it, but
how
?

Tianna, on the other hand, has her mother and the twins, Malana and Malena. I don’t want to turn my granddaughter into a plasma being and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to be one.

Well, I take that back. Amber is “…very pretty, Grandpa. Can I do that, someday?” She doesn’t want to be one right now. Later, maybe. I still don’t want to turn her into one.

For our logistics, we have quite a lot of armor and weapons; the local militia is getting outfitted and drilled. Kelvin asked for volunteers, rather than imposing a levy, which made me very happy. Between Mochara and Karvalen, we’ve raised nearly two thousand troops—that’s a hell of a large volunteer force, given our population! Relatively few of them are people who fled the Rethven region to get away from the wars, of course, but we need people to hold the home front, too.

Kelvin wanted to know what to do about women volunteers, as well as young people—ages ten to fourteen, mostly. I told him women were allowed to fight if they wanted, provided they could prove their kids (if any) were well-cared-for. If they wanted a non-combat role, that was fine, too; someone needs to act as a field medic or support personnel.

As for kids, they needed a parent’s say-so. If the kid was accompanying someone—a son going to war with his father—that was okay. He could stick with his father and sort of squire for him until the fighting started, then join the support squads.

A kid off to war on his own, with permission, was also okay. They could help cook, clean, and drag wounded off the field. But I insisted that, even if they were armed, they weren’t to fight. They could practice and train with their elders. They should defend themselves if attacked. But they were definitely not soldiers and would not be used as such.

Kelvin listened closely, nodded sagely, and promised to communicate that down through the ranks, which pleased me greatly.

What he did that I found much less than pleasing was the training he gave the militia.

Bear in mind that I spend a lot of time under the mountain. I was working on a cannonball defense spell, refining my sand table to use telescopic functions rather than actually move the scrying portals, rigging my mini-mirrors to improve my selectivity and control, making a new magic mirror for Mochara, all that sort of thing. It took me a while to notice that the militia being drilled in the courtyard and in the city were astoundingly competent.

When I noticed and asked Kelvin about it, he complained that exchanging people from the tables took longer than the actual training they got in the crystal.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been putting
everybody
under the warrior-spirit crystal?” I demanded. He seemed surprised I was upset.

“Of course, Sire. Is that not what it is for?”

“Well, that’s what it does, yes, but I hadn’t intended for it to be used on this scale! I’m still not certain that it doesn’t have some sort of terrible side effects. It might be dangerous, Kelvin!”

“I have seen nothing harmful, Sire,” he pointed out. “There are over two thousand people who have benefited from it. Surely, if there were some dire curse, it would have made itself manifest?”

I had no argument for that. Plus, since we were going to be on the road soon, most people would have only one go at it instead of repeated exposure. I crossed my fingers and hoped really hard that I hadn’t set up a lot of people for schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder.

At least I finally had an experiment with a significant statistical sample.

On the diplomatic front, Kelvin and I have had a talk with Banler. He’s agreed that, when we march past Baret, we can expect another thousand men to join us, as well as some extra horses. Wexbry, Philemon, Brentwood, Tirondael, and Tegron have all agreed that we can march north through their territory without hindrance, and
maybe
expect a little help—supplies, mostly, but perhaps a few volunteers.

Brentwood really didn’t need to do any of that; they’re too far west for us to be marching through there. On the other hand, Brentwood has also agreed to send supplies to Baret in anticipation of our march, but no men. Formia is on their western border and if Byrne really is telling Formia what to do, Formia could march east while a lot of manpower is headed north. Brentwood could stop that, and Baret’s fleet can keep Formia’s from having easy passage along the coast.

I spoke to Bob through the mirror; he agreed that all the forces of Vathula were at my disposal. Unfortunately, said forces were somewhat depleted by recent events. Several thousand never came out of Karvalen, a few thousand more were found dead in a series of southern caverns used as a forward staging area, and about a thousand died from a Horrible Curse. As a result, Vathula is really just holding the pass. With a little luck, no major force will get through to menace Karvalen or Mochara.

Strangely enough, Hagan, Maran, Tolcaren, and Carrillon have responded to our diplomatic inquiries by promising to stay out of it. I think they’re hoping to see Byrne taken down, possibly to then expand their own holdings by shooting at the winners. That’s as may be; I’ve left orders to keep a scrying eye on them for troop buildup and movement, just in case. For now, if they’ll just stay out of it, I’ll be happy.

Well, content. I’m not going to be happy for quite a while.

Tort’s not happy, either. I’m busier than ever, and that really cuts into our private time. She’s more than a little annoyed about it and I’ve apologized to her—which embarrasses her mightily. I’m her angel; it’s never my fault. From her point of view, it’s the fault of those jerks who forced a war on me.

On the brighter side, she’s been very helpful in working with Thomen about establishing a Wizards’ Corps to go along with the regular army. Thomen can motivate the professional wizards—a few hundred of them!—and Tort has ideas on how to use them. I’ve stayed out of it and just listened to their ideas. When they get on a roll, their discussions are clever and inventive. I can see why she likes him.

They’re an effective and bloody pair. They have ideas on how to channel the magical force of all those wizards into a single spell—any sort of spell—but they keep running into the problem of it being lethal to the caster. It’s one thing to have a dozen helpers; any magician can direct that surge of energy. But a hundred? Two hundred? It’ll kill whoever tries it, magician or not.

They’re still working on some ideas on how to use spells to channel energy into spells, kind of like a relay. If the caster can use a spell to control a more-powerful flow of energy, manipulating it indirectly instead of channeling it through his own mind/spirit/soul, then we might make use of this method. Until then, it’ll stay in R&D.

They seem not to have noticed that I can probably channel the whole energy load through me, at least at night. They think of me as the king in a game of chess; I’m not supposed to take other pieces, I’m just supposed to avoid capture. I’m not entirely happy about that.

I am pleased, though, that Tort and Thomen are getting along so well. I’d leave Thomen in Karvalen with Tort if I could, but he’s the only one I trust to act as a captain for the Wizards’ Corps.

Things that are not getting along so well are my plans for the knights. Kelvin has gone to some lengths to set me straight.

My idea was that knights should be officers. Each one should have a platoon or company or however many we worked out. He should command his unit and be the example for the men to follow. After all, the knight is the one who is most thoroughly trained and best equipped, right? He’s the professional military man who knows what he’s doing, and should therefore command others.

Kelvin explained that I couldn’t be farther from right if I was running to the left.

Knights are assembled into a unit of their own, as elite troops. Dividing them among the footsloggers is just dissipating their force. They’re most effective when they are together, concentrated, and capable of blasting into the enemy as a group. It doesn’t do nearly as much good to have them scattered among the more lightly-armored and less-trained soldiers. I really thought that organizing the army in the same way that modern (to me) armies were organized was a good idea. Kelvin agreed with that much, but he was adamant about putting knights into their own units.

We argued about it until Kelvin insisted on dividing up the army into teams—one to do it my way, the other to do it his way. If I was going to be an idiot, I was going to see the product of my idiocy.

I backed down, mainly because I trusted him enough to make him Warlord.

To be fair, I did spend a while in my mental study reviewing Zirafel’s imperial armies and their organization. Kelvin did a good job of explaining exactly what he meant and why it was the right thing to do. With his explanation and some research, I started to understand. You don’t take a platoon of elite troops—Navy SEALs, Special Forces, whatever—and divide them up as leaders among infantry. Or, better yet, you don’t take a bunch of tank commanders and give them infantry platoons. I began to see his point.

I made Kelvin uncomfortable, too, by apologizing to him.

It worries me that people think I’m infallible. Well, maybe not infallible; just more competent than I really am. They think I’m some sort of quasi-divine being that works miracles! I know better.

On the other hand, Mochara has reason to be awed and so forth. I tried to get the mountain—at least, the outlying portions that were growing into Mochara’s roads, city hall, and outer wall—to listen to Amber. It had a problem with that, or she had a problem accessing the spells, or something. I’m not sure why they couldn’t seem to communicate, but I suspect it has something to do with the way her soul is bound into the flame, and vice-versa. I think I may have tightened her down a little too much.

Tianna, on the other hand, has no problem at all talking to the mountain through the spells I provided. Amber discusses what they need, masons and stonecutters lay out the pattern, and Tianna tells the mountain. She even encourages it to grow faster, zapping that area with life energy and heat; she doesn’t have to worry about frying it! It may even make things go faster to have the stone heated. I must remember to measure the growth rates…

What does it say about me that I’m putting masons out of business? Or that I worry that I could be? If the mountain can grow anything we want, what’s the point of being a mason? I don’t want them to be out of a job. I also don’t want the kingdom to be totally reliant on the mountain for so much. Maybe the mountain’s range is limited, maybe not, but if it can create “building seeds” the way it created a “bridge seed,” its growth range is really kind of immaterial.