Nightlord: Shadows (28 page)

The
lahr
hovered over me as I sat up.

“Tired already?” She didn’t sound sarcastic, just concerned. I decided that she might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier. “We’re almost there.”

“What are we going to see?” I asked

“You might want to be nice to someone,” she said, and zipped away again. I climbed to my feet and followed more slowly, wondering if all this was just a waste of my time. Forest spirits with limited intellect and short attention span are not the best guides.

She came to rest on a fallen tree and pointed. I came up behind the trunk and looked over it. In the clearing ahead was a young girl, not even Tianna’s age, sitting on a blanket and looking both bored and excited. It’s hard to do both, but it can be done. I examined her as well as I could at a distance of sixty or seventy feet. She seemed human, healthy, and unenchanted. In short, a perfectly normal girl alone in the woods in the dark of the night.

“What’s she doing?” I asked, almost whispered.

“She’s the bait,” the
lahr
replied. “That’s how men hunt the
kirien
.”

Kirien?
Ah. A mythological creature about the size of a pony, covered in scales like a dragon, with a lion-like tail, a somewhat leonine head, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and a single horn. They consume morning dew, lifting it off the grass with their long, delicate tongues. Since they love only purity and goodness, they refuse to have anything to do with the race of men or elves, except for virgin girls. Hunting one requires live bait; it isn’t safe for the bait or for the hunter, since the things can be highly dangerous when provoked. Legend said they were insanely fast and capable of going right through trees, nets, and walls without leaving a hole. In some ways, it was similar to a unicorn, but both uglier and more hostile.

“There’s a
kirien
in these forests?” I whispered.

“Oh, yes. Two, actually.”

“And someone is being a moron?”

“Someone is always being a moron,” the
lahr
said. I couldn’t argue.

“Okay, yes, true. But someone is being a moron by risking his daughter as bait to hunt a
kirien
?”

“Yep.”

“Are
kirien
smart enough to talk with?”

“Well…” it said, considering. “Talk to? Yes. Talk back? Not really.”

Grumbling, I got up and went into the clearing. If I could have, I’d have told the
kirien
about this and asked them to just avoid it. If they aren’t smart enough to avoid such an obvious trap, though, I’d just have to break the trap. While it’s true that I try to let parents raise their kids—or risk their kids—in whatever way seems best to them, there are lines no one should cross. Using one as bait for a magical creature that could kill her in a number of gory fashions was across that line.

“Hello!” I called, waving. “Sorry to disturb you, but could you tell me the way to Karvalen?”

The crossbow bolt went right through me. Completely. That wasn’t a crossbow. That was closer to an arbalest; a heavy-duty crossbow that required a
winch
to cock it. Only this one was large enough to count as semi-portable. One man could carry it, but its use involved setting it up somewhere it could be braced. It shot a heavy metal quarrel or bolt. The draw on it was about six feet and had a lot more force behind it.

I made a mental note to include some in the watchtowers of every city. That bolt penetrated completely through me and vanished downrange.

Their big drawback though, was how long they took to reload.

Whistling cheerfully, I ignored the rapidly-closing hole and strolled over to the hunter’s blind. I dragged the front of it down, opening it. I hadn’t intended to be instantly confrontational—I just wanted to investigate the whole daughter-as-bait thing. But being shot hurts, even if it doesn’t do me any harm. It brings out the worst in me.

“Hi there!” I said, smiling. “I’m the guy you just shot, and I think you’re an irresponsible nitwit.”

The hunter stopped cranking the thing and stood up, dislodging more of the blind. He drew a pair of long knives.

“You! Get out of here!” he commanded.

“Now, see, I’ve got a problem with that. Actually, I have a problem with you using your daughter as bait in a trap for an extremely dangerous creature. She might come to harm, and that’s not good parenting.”

“She’s not my daughter,” he spat. “I bought her just to be bait!”

“Oh? From who? Buying and selling people is illegal in Karvalen.”

“I bought her in Formia, last time I sold pelts—not that it’s your business! Now go!”

“No,” I said, thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

I grabbed him and carried him off into the darkness of the forest. He cut me a few times, but so what?

A little later, I lit his lantern and approached the girl.

“You’re safe, now. I’ll protect you.”

“Where’s Vittor?”

“The guy who bought you?” I asked. She nodded. “He’s not coming back. Would you like me to take you back to Formia?” She shook her head. “Okay,” I tried, “where are your parents?”

“Mommy died. Daddy sold me. He’s in Formia.”

See, this is one of the things that really pisses me off about slavery being legal. If people think it’s acceptable to do this sort of thing, they’ll accept doing this sort of thing.

“What’s your name?”

“Mirenne.”

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Would you like to have a mommy and daddy that won’t sell you?”

“Are they nice?”

“We’ll find some nice ones.”

“Okay.”

Bronze came over when I whistled. I picked Mirenne up and put her on Bronze. She seemed to like that. Bronze is a lot better with kids than I am.

Monday, April 26
th

Finding Mirenne a family wasn’t really all that hard. I took her to Amber and asked her who would be both willing and good adoptive parents. She looked at me as though watching a candle burn underwater. Still, she promised to take care of Mirenne until she could find a family for her. I think it was a favor to me. It might have been to get a favor from me. It might also have been to get Mirenne away from me and somewhere safe. I’m still not sure about Amber’s motive.

Meanwhile, I’ve been training knights every morning, deliberately trying to get them to quit. Like I told Beltar, anyone who will quit should quit. That stubborn determination and dedication isn’t the only quality for a knight, but it’s probably the easiest to test for.

I’m sort of at a loss for how to test for chivalric ideals, but I’m working on it.

The obstacle course has grown; I’ve been remembering all the war movies with basic training scenes. Rope nets, ziplines, wall climbs, balance beams, all that and more. They hate it and think it’s fantastic, especially now that they’re starting to get good at it! They’re beginning to feel like hard-bodied, muscled-up, well-trained badasses. It does something for you when you look at the wall that made you feel like a complete fool and go over it with an almost contemptuous ease. You know you’re better than you were before.

Yeah, I think I’m running out of people who can be persuaded to quit.

On the other hand, my various spells are making great progress. Tort’s foot is growing in nicely, and my personal guard are rapidly becoming bigger and stronger. They’re starting to look like men instead of teenagers.

I’ve been keeping close watch on those three; I’m altering the way they grow, and I’m leery of it. I don’t want to accidentally make them grow tumors, or weirdly-shaped bones, or to knock their body systems out of balance. So far, so good. If this keeps up, I may let Seldar start playing with these spells on whoever he thinks is worthy of the help. He won’t be able to power them to the same intensity, of course, but we can set them up to run constantly at a low level, kind of like a long-term healing spell.

Hmm. I should check with him and make sure he isn’t doing that already. He’s clever.

We’ll see how that goes, and who he thinks is worthy. Will he pick people who need help, people he’s friends with, or will he decide based only on his opinion of how good a person they are? I’m curious to see.

Parva—the lady from the slums—did show up the next day. Since then, she’s recovered. Sadly, she has no skills of which I am aware. Tort has her on the payroll, so to speak, but there’s only so much laundry to do or dishes to clean. I’ve assigned her to help the warriors three by doing some of the work a squire would, but it’s difficult for her; newborns take a lot of time and energy.

On the other hand, the guys are helping
her
with the baby. I suspect I was accidentally a good example when I changed a diaper and rocked the kid to sleep. After that, they seemed to take it as a given that taking care of the infant was a good idea.

Anyway, I’m still not sure why I found her, and that bothers me. At least we can afford to support her.

The mountain is doing a fine job of squeezing metal out. It’s like a very slow version of squeezing toothpaste out of a tube; the vein of metal in the wall just oozes metal out until I slice off a strip.

It’s also supplying a variety of metals, since I wasn’t specific about what I wanted; it’s being helpful, and I appreciate that. There’s gold, of course, and silver, and copper. There’s also iron, and Kavel tells me the samples I brought him are zinc and tin. A small depression has mercury in it, and it keeps filling back up whenever I remove some. I’m not sure what the other metals are, and I keep meaning to bring some for Kavel to examine.

A terrible thought occurred to me, though, and I immediately checked for radiation. No, the mountain is
not
oozing uranium or thorium. I suspect they don’t exist; I can’t find any sort of background radiation in the stone.

Yes, I know this world is
flat
. It has an
edge
. But that still weirds me out. This world was not formed from accretion of debris from exploding stars. I’m not even sure those lights in the night sky are stars, as I understand the term. So, where do elements heavier than iron come from? The merging of binary neutron stars? Doubtful. There’s a lot of gold; what produced it? Cursed kings that turn things to gold by touch? Where do we get lead? Copper? Zinc? Iodine? Anything lower on the periodic table than iron should require an astronomical process!

There are so many things I think of as violations of normal laws, you’d think I’d be used to it.

But I’m not.

Less weird, however, is that I’ve discovered that Seldar has a young lady that he fancies. Torvil and Kammen were ribbing him; Seldar hasn’t even mentioned it to her, it seems. I’m kind of torn between talking to her father to make arrangements—very appropriate, in this culture, and at their age—or simply contriving to throw them together, somehow. Or I could simply stay out of it.

I do have a bit of an itch to intercede on his behalf, though. I empathize with his predicament. It’s not that he’s shy, as such; he just has no idea how to talk to a woman.

Not that I’m an expert.

I’ve also had opportunity to be a bit more social with my daughter and granddaughter; they come out in the mornings to see the trainees beat on each other and do other physical things. They also help put them back together afterward, which is very kind of them.

Tianna, despite being too young to be a full priestess—I understand that happens when she hits puberty—still has some sort of power. She’s helping to heal bruises and sprains and such as “practice.” That is, directing energy into healing the subject instead of setting him on fire.

I’m not sure why she needs “practice” if there’s a goddess granting her a magical ability. Do fire-witches have some sort of innate power, rather than a divinely-granted one? One more thing I’d like to know from Sparky but will probably never ask.

Meanwhile, I get the feeling that Amber isn’t really sure what to make of me. Tianna, on the other hand, seems to have no problem whatsoever with her undead grandfather. I think it’s because Bronze acknowledges her and is nice to her. Well, Bronze is much prettier than I am and will take Tianna for a ride when she asks. I’m the one who had to make sure it was okay with Amber; Bronze and Tianna just assumed.

I still haven’t made any headway on the story about Sparky and Tamara and Beryl. It’s one of those things where I want answers, but I think I’m afraid of getting answers. Nobody wants to tell me, and that tells me something right there. I’m hoping that, with a little time, a little get-to-know-you, and maybe a little trust, I can persuade Amber to just tell me, rather than go have a heart-to-heart discussion with Sparky, herself.

I’m trying really hard to be patient and understanding and not pushy.

Really hard.

Thursday, April 29
th

We’ve started alternating some of the knightly training. We still start the day with a run, then the obstacle course, then some martial practice, but every other day we work on some wizardly training.

There’s a very basic spell that Tort taught me called Glabrus’ Fist. It’s a simple force transfer spell, that can communicate a punch over a distance. Basically, you punch at your target and the target feels it, even if you’re nowhere near it. Naturally, it falls off with distance; beyond about ten yards, it’s usually ineffective. It’s a quick spell, though, and doesn’t take a lot of effort to cast. Most of the effect is supplied by the actual, physical punch. It’s often a precursor spell to learning a more sustained version, useful for grabbing books off a high shelf, pushing something away, or doing anything else with your hands at a distance.

There’s also a very basic spell for parrying or blocking an incoming spell. It takes a lot of practice to get quick enough to use it, but it’s handy for deflecting things like, well, wizardly punches. I asked Thomen for help on that; he’s asked a couple of the town’s wizards to give pointers and help with practice. This has the added bonus of being motivating; it seems to encourage the martial types when they see how good the non-martial types are at something obviously useful in combat.

Naturally, these are things we need to know. So we practice. Several of the guys are getting pretty good at blocking; all of them are pretty good at punching. They do love their offensive abilities, I must say. That’s why I have them pair off and pummel each other. They will learn to block effectively, even if I have to pummel them, myself! And, to be fair, I do. I wander around and thump people at random, just like they were on a battlefield. I’ve started having a few of the others do it, too. They’re getting better, partly from the practice, partly from the professional wizard tutelage.

I keep telling them to hit back. They do, but not spontaneously; I have to tell them to. Well, we’ll work on it.

Thomen, on the other hand, seems more than a little… I don’t know. He’s not upset with me, as such, but he does seem to be excessively formal. I’m not sure why. Because I’m the King? Or because I’m a wizard? I am a very powerful wizard, and probably could be the guildmaster; that might be it. I should probably reassure him that I can’t go after his job. I suspect it involves Tort, though. Whenever he’s around her, I sometimes catch him looking at her wistfully or longingly—I’m not sure of the difference.

Tort and I have a breakfast meeting every day. She’s been my right hand for getting anything done. I’ve noticed that she’s starting to look much less like a magician and more like a woman. While she changes clothes to get any serious work done as a magician—an expensive dress and elaborate hairdo aren’t helpful for spellcasting—she’s making an effort to be pretty. She’s succeeding admirably, too.

This morning, she asked about Parva.

“Is there anything in particular you wish done with Parva and her babe?”

“I really have no idea.” I explained how I had simply felt something draw me to them. “I’m not sure what to do with them, aside from giving her something productive to do. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“You found them in the heart of the beggars’ ghetto?”

“I guess so. Yes.”

“Do you know why you found her, in particular?”

“Not a clue.”

“Hmm,” she pondered.

“In a larger sense, I’d like to get everyone out of the beggars’ ghetto.”

“Oh?”

“I know I’ll need people to help with farms around the mountain, and we can always use woodcutters, especially since we don’t have much in the way of trees in the immediate area. Can we get farmers to come to Karvalen and foist off some beggars on them as assistants? And other tradesmen, while we’re at it? Not just at the mountain, but locally? If we create enough demand in Karvalen, will the local tradesmen be willing to take in the unwashed poor as labor?”

“I feel confident this can be done.”

“Then you probably know more about it than I do,” I said. Tort bit her lip, restraining a grin, and nodded. “Smartie,” I added. “You’re pretty busy; think we can get Thomen to help you out?” I asked.

“I do not believe his duties will allow it,” she said, looking intently at her food. “He is a very busy man. His guild is very important.”

“Fair enough. But I really have no idea what Parva will be good for, aside from squire service for the guys.”

“You decided to help her without having a use for her?” Tort asked, cocking her head to one side, curiously.

“Well, yes. Like I said, she might have hidden talents, but I have no idea what. Do you think you could find out?”

“I have already taken her in hand, my angel.”

“Thank you. Have I mentioned that I have no idea what I’d do without you?”

“You have not.”

“I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

“I suspect you would be more confused and frustrated.”

“There you go, being right again. It’s a good thing I like that in my friends.”

“Is that what I am?” she asked, head cocked to one side.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Then I am pleased,” she said. She didn’t sound entirely pleased, but I was preoccupied; I had a family matter on my mind.

I continued shoveling up breakfast. Pilea had done a wonderful job of adjusting to my tastes; bacon, yes, but no sausage. Smooth, bland foods, and nothing at all with any sort of spices.

“By the way,” I said, thinking about Amber and Tamara. “I plan to stop by the temple, today.”

“Which one?”

“The temple of the fire goddess—wait.” I put down my fork. “There’s more than one?”

“Of course,” Tort said, startled. “Did you not know?”

“I thought Sparky wasn’t too keen on other gods in her town?” I asked. Tort did a double-take, then threw her head back and laughed.

“Sparky?” she repeated. I smiled a little, myself. I didn’t think it was that funny, but it apparently hit her funny bone awfully hard. I wondered if there was a joke I was missing.

When she finally settled down to chuckles, she wiped at her eyes and started taking deep breaths.

“Sparky,” she repeated, again.

“Well, it’s easier than repeating ‘the goddess of fire,’ or ‘the sun goddess,’ or ‘the mother of flame,’ or whatever else people call her.” I didn’t say it defensively. I didn’t. Much.

“Sparky.”

“Look, let’s just move along, shall we?”

“Of course.”

“So, about these other temples?”

“There are two others; as you say, the Mother of Flame does not like too many other gods in what She thinks of as Her domain. While other religions flourish in old Rethven, only a few have tried to gain a foothold here; Amber has, ah, persuaded them to depart,” Tort said, smiling. “Naturally, she cannot forbid the Silver Light—the Temple of the Grey Lady. The only other religion in Karvalen started here, however, and can be found in the Shrine of Shadows.”

I felt a cold sensation sweep through me.

“Oh, really?” I asked. “And to whom, exactly, is that particular temple dedicated?”

Tort just smiled at me and raised her eyebrows. I felt like the Titanic: a sudden sinking feeling to go along with the cold sensation.

“Oh, no!” I told her. She nodded. “No, no, no, NO,” I continued. “Nononono.” I waved my hands to fan away the very smell of the idea. “No!”

Tort nodded.

“I won’t stand for it!” I declared, hotly.

“Why make them stop now?” Tort asked. “It has been going on for decades.”

Finger up, ready to pontificate and protest, I nonetheless skidded to a verbal halt.

Decades, she said. That’s not a passing fad. That’s not something they just started yesterday because I showed up again. That’s an established fact with history and traditions behind it. That’s not the start of a cult; that’s worshiping the gods of one’s fathers, possibly his father’s before him.

For some reason, I recalled a line from “Horatius at the Bridge.”
And how can man die better/Than facing fearful odds/For the ashes of his fathers/And the temples of his gods
.

Shit. Yes, that’s the word I want. I think it sums things up perfectly.

“You do realize I’m not a god, right?” I asked. Tort laid a gentle hand on my forearm.

“You are my angel,” she said, softly. “You have always been my angel. I have never hidden that fact from anyone, nor have I encouraged anyone to worship you. If they offer their prayers or devotion, it is because they choose to, not because they are required to do so.” Her mouth twisted for a moment. “A claim not all gods may make.”

“But I am not a god!” I repeated. I thought it was an important point.

“You are my angel and king. You are venerated and revered,” she countered, a trifle more sharply. “If you do not wish to do so, you need never set foot within your temple. Pretend it does not exist, if you wish. Should not those who find comfort in its confines be permitted their little quirk? Or will you forbid them to pray for you, as well as to you? Will you decree a religion for your kingdom—any religion, as long as it is not your own? Or will they pray to whom they please?”

I love Tort. Sometimes I love her more than other times. I wasn’t sure which way to count this.

“But… but…” I didn’t know what to say. Is this what it’s like to be a celebrity? Is this the equivalent of occult fan mail? People sending prayers at me instead of paper? Directing thoughts toward me instead of email? Would it continue, now that I was actually present and could be addressed directly? Or would it get worse, as people took it as a sign that their prayers might get answered?

I didn’t like this crap when Bob and his black-hearted undermountain cronies did it; I didn’t like it when the people of the plains did it. Sure, the Lords of Night—vampires, nightlords, whatever—used to be regarded as godlike by people some thousand or more years ago, but when they were finally hunted down and destroyed, wouldn’t that tend to break the pattern?

Or was that just a case of a more powerful god going to war with lesser gods? Or am I missing something fundamental about the cultures of a magical world? I know some tribal cultures toward the south, near the Mountains of the Sun, used to worship dragons as divine beings. Do people in this world just naturally regard powerful magical beings as gods? That can’t be right!

Can it?

Oh, damn. Was
that
why I found what’s-her-name… Parva, that was it. Did she pray? And, far worse from my point of view, did I
answer
?

Part of what annoys me is being bowed to and all that stuff. I didn’t like it when regular people started doing it; I just endured it, because they expected to do it, and I hate to disappoint people. As a king, I get to determine protocol, at least somewhat, and can minimize the required groveling. It doesn’t change the fear and terror I have about being responsible for a kingdom, though. I’m not qualified to be a king. I never took that class. I don’t have a political science degree, nor a law degree, not even an MBA!

And they expect me to king based on legends of being all heroic.

Now they expect me to do this, apparently. I’m going to disappoint them. I know I am. Because, nightlord, vampire,
marivel
,
arhela
, angel,
arhia
, whatever they want to call me and wherever I fit in the species index of magical creatures,
I am not a god
.

Even worse, perhaps, is that they’ll grovel. I hate groveling. Dragging people up from their knees is one thing; getting them off their faces and standing is a lot more work. Slaves can resist their masters; worshippers generally
don’t want to
.

This will not end well. I feel it in my super-dense, reinforced bones. I feel it in my useless, undead guts. I know it.

“I can’t live up to that,” I told Tort.

“Then do not be a god,” Tort replied, serenely

“Beg pardon?” I asked, confused. She seemed very relaxed about the whole thing. I wondered if she was connected to the shadow-shrine-thing in some way. She said she never encouraged it, but that might just mean she never went out looking for converts.

Is it bad that I suspected her of being a priestess?

“Do not be a god,” she went on. “Be who you are, what you are. If they choose to be… well, devoted… then that is their choice. Do what you always do: be kind, be helpful, be encouraging, be good.” She paused, thoughtfully. “Simply be my angel.”

“I’m always your angel,” I assured her. “It’s just that this worship thing makes me edgy and nervous. Zirafel conquered H’zhad’Eyn, the lands of the god-king Falken; his followers believed blindly in their god-king, and it didn’t end well for him or his people. He came to believe in his own divinity and it made his ego drive him to do stupid things!”

I was so upset, I barely noticed the headache of remembering something I never learned.