Nightlord: Shadows (30 page)

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go there and tell her I want her here. Bear in mind that your life depends on it.”

“Yes, my lord.” He ran off down the street—not the way we came, but for all I knew, that was the quickest way back.

I searched the other four. Each had exactly five gold coins in cash; I didn’t recognize the design. I paused for a moment, just in case I suddenly did recognize it, but no, it remained unfamiliar; it wasn’t something from the age of Zirafel, then. They also each had a crossbow and four quarrels remaining.

That reminded me. I pulled the bolts out of me and examined them; the one in my back required me to pull it the rest of the way through. Yes, they all bore telltale traces of spells. Entering my defensive zone, however, had destroyed those; they were spells, not enchantments, and therefore comparatively fragile.

The ones they hadn’t fired, however, appeared to still have spells on them. I decided not to touch them for two reasons. First, if I did so without opening my shield, the spells would go poof. Second, if I opened my shield to examine them closely, they might go off on me; it depended on the trigger conditions. Does it have to hit something with the point? Does it have to be launched? Does it have to touch flesh? Does it go off whenever it encounters an undead?

No, thanks. I decided to let Tort examine them. She’s a professional; I’m just a dangerous amateur.

The man missing part of his hand moaned and his eyes fluttered. I kicked him—it seems wrong to say “gently.” Lightly? How about “at less than full strength”?—in the head to quiet him again. The boot was fine; my foot felt as though I’d kicked something red-hot. Limping into a puddle didn’t help, but the boot protected my foot from the worst of it. Apparently, if I didn’t actually touch him, it wasn’t as bad; it was at least partly a proximity thing.

I waited, wondering who sent them. This wasn’t professional; this was just a bunch of thugs for muscle with a magician running the show. They had no real plan, no real tactics, just some firepower and the willingness to use it. For most mortals, that would be enough, but they
had
to know what they were facing, didn’t they? Only a fool would try this
at night
! I couldn’t figure it out. What could they possibly have hoped to accomplish? That they would just get in a lucky shot?

At night, in the rain, there was a shortage of passers-by; people weren’t out except by necessity. One of these, an older man pulling a handcart, came down the street. I’d seen several of that sort around town during the day. This one had a lantern overhead, bobbing on a pole as he walked. Raindrops diverted themselves to either side as they encountered his spell; he stayed dry.

He paused when his lantern illuminated me and the bodies.

“Good evening,” I offered.

He stared at me for a moment before replying.

“Good evening,” he allowed. “’Cept for the rain.”

“Good point. Sorry, are we blocking the road?”

“Ah… yes?”

I dragged the unconscious, unprotected guys aside.

“There you go.”

He nodded wary thanks and started to go on by, then paused.

“Are you the King?”

“Yep.”

He made a knee in the wet street and got up again.

“Pardon, Your Majesty. Ain’t seen you but at a distance, and in armor. You don’t look hardly as tall as I thought you might.”

“Size matters not,” I assured him. I held out my hand. He looked at my hand, then at me. I waggled my hand a bit to prompt him. He took my hand and made to kiss it; I shook hands with him instead.

“There you go. Halar, King of Karvalen. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Nick. I’m just a carter, Your Majesty.”

“A carter? What does a carter do? I’ve never had cause to hire one.”

“Well, I cart things,” he said. I nodded and gestured for him to continue. “Well… uh… people want things moved, so I puts them on my cart,” he lifted the handles and wiggled the cart back and forth a bit in demonstration, “and I takes them where they wants ’em.”

“Seems obvious, now that you’ve explained it. Only in town?”

“Mostly. Don’t go out of town unless it’s awful dry. Wheels get stuck, see.”

“Naturally. Although, with wider wheels…” I shelved the thought; now was not the time to redesign another piece of medieval technology. “Well, I’m sorry to have delayed you in the rain, Nick.” He shrugged.

“I got nowhere to be in a hurry, and I got to meet the King.” He grinned. “You ain’t nearly so fearsome as people make out,” he added.

“I like to think so. I can be much nicer than my publicity says,” I assured him.

“Oh, you got lots of legends and songs what say you’re a right nice guy,” he said, carefully. “Fearsome, but that ain’t no bad thing for a Hero and the King.”

“Actually, I try not to be all that fearsome. I like to think I blend in rather well.”

“Can’t say as I’d argue, Majesty.”

I heard approaching thunder, mixed with deep, brazen bells.

“Ah, I hear my horse coming this way. It was nice to meet you,” I said. He picked up the handles of his cart, creaked and rattled away with it.

Bronze, carrying Tort and my former captive, came to a clanging halt. The crystal on Tort’s staff was glowing again, shining with about a hundred watts of crimson light. She had her braid wrapped around her head and tied off in the back, somehow. Given her expression of grim purpose, I suspected it was her way of getting ready for serious work.

“What is this?” she asked. She cuffed the guy off Bronze’s back with surprising force. “Answer me!”

The guy groaned and picked himself up slowly; it was a long way to the ground.

“Never mind him,” I advised. “Check out this guy.”

Tort shifted onto her staff and floated down. Her eyes widened as she examined the golden glow and the crossbow bolts. Then her eyes narrowed in anger. She hopped down to stand on one foot, gestured with her staff. Too late, I saw the power run down the staff and leap; lightning crackled from the jewel in the staff and the smell of burnt meat was suddenly strong despite the misty rain.

“Wait!” I shouted, too late. Tort stopped the instant I spoke, which was good for the other four, but the guy with the glow was now the guy slightly on fire. He sizzled and steamed in the wet.

Tort turned to me, looking mortified.

“My angel?” she asked. “Should I not have done that?”

“I really wanted to ask him some questions,” I admitted. Tort winced.

“I am so very sorry,” she apologized. “I did not… I thought…” She hung her head. “I am sorry, my angel.”

“It’ll be okay,” I told her. “We still have the others.”

“As you say. Will you permit me to discover everything they know? Or do you wish to do it personally?” she asked. “I would be most pleased to do so for you, my angel, in part apology for my hastiness in slaying your would-be assassin.”

“I do want them questioned, yes,” I affirmed. “Do I have a professional inquisitor? Is that a thing around here?”

“I will do double duty until one can be appointed,” Tort assured me. I believed her. Judging by her instant hatred and violent reaction, there might be a vicious streak in her. Possibly a rather wide streak.

I was naturally curious about what they knew. On the other hand, if the choice was to watch Tort flay someone alive or have an awkward visit with my daughter and her goddess, I choose the visit. I really don’t like torture. Call it a quirk; I’ll kill someone so fast they won’t know they’re dead until five minutes after they get to Hell. I don’t like to kill someone slowly, and I won’t kill someone who doesn’t—in my opinion—deserve it. Or ask for it.

Of course, there’s a difference between doing something disgustingly awful to a person and making someone believe I’ll do it. Make a threat both terrible and believable and you may not have to follow through. I don’t have a problem with lying to some unlucky captive if it means I don’t have to do nasty things to him.

“Okay. Find out all you can. But this one,” I pulled my first prisoner to his feet, “is to be treated as a guest, unless he tries to escape.”

“What happens if I try to escape?” he asked. I looked at him for a long moment. Opening his mouth at that particular time showed very poor judgment, in my opinion. His previous job was another example. This did not leave me with a positive impression of his brains.

“What’s your name?”

“Jaret.”

“Jaret, I can see your soul. You remind me of weasels and rats and you’ll sell me out if you think you can get away with it. So be nice, tell the truth, and then you’ll be on your way with all your fingers, toes, and other body parts.” I pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “Lie to her, or to me, and you will find that an amazing amount of your body can be eaten by insects without actually killing you. Do we have an understanding?” His face changed color in the crimson light, going a ghastly shade of pale.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he whispered, then repeated it more loudly.

“Good. Wait here.”

I hurried down the street and found Nick, who had almost made it home for the night. A fresh umbrella spell and a gold coin are more than enough to haul four unconscious people and a charred corpse across town. He’d have done it for just the coin, I’m sure, but the rain was picking up and he looked a little weary.

While Nick and Jaret loaded up the cart, Tort worked over the holes in my outfit, repairing the damage. Then she flew alongside the cart while Jaret helped Nick haul the sleepers. I took Bronze and continued to the Temple of Flame.

At least now I wouldn’t get lost.

I knocked on the door again. I reflected that I kept visiting in the dead of night. Why show up at midnight? Because I’m afraid of being roasted while Sparky is at the height of her power? Or just because everything else needs to be done during the day, and I haven’t made time in my schedule for a visit? To be fair, Amber and Tianna visit me almost every day out on the training grounds, but that’s not as personal and social as I’d like.

Amber answered the door, looked at me for a moment, then opened it wider and stepped aside. I took it as a cue to come in. I did so and used a quick spell to dry myself off. No need to drip everywhere.

“Good evening,” she offered. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought I’d drop by to say hello. I was also hoping to have a conversation with Sp—with the Mother of Flame.” Amber seemed surprised.

“I’m sorry? You want to talk with Her?”

“That’s right. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well, everyone who knows has been giving me the runaround on what happened to my son. Apparently, the Mother of Flame was involved in some way. It’s been bothering me that nobody will tell me, so I’m going straight to the source.”

“Perhaps now would not be the best time,” Amber said, not looking at me.

“Why not? Is it because it’s nighttime?”

“Well…”

“Mommmmmm!” echoed in to us.

“Excuse me,” Amber said, and hurried farther into the building. I waited and pretended to be patient. Unfortunately for her, I have supernatural hearing at night. I have to ignore background noises most people never hear. Conversations all along the block. Heartbeats in the same building. Breathing out on the street. Clouds scraping together. That sort of thing.

“Is that Grandpa? I heard his horse outside.”

“Yes. But you are supposed to be in bed.”

“But I want to see!”

“No. Maybe tomorrow. He’ll be out there with his knights again, I’m sure.”

“But he never comes to visit
us
!”

“Bed. Ready for. Get.”

“But Mommmmmmm!”

“No! Get upstairs! Now!”

I’m not sure how feet on steps can sound disconsolate, but they did.

Amber came back into the entry room.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Won’t you please come in and sit?”

“No, but thanks. I’d rather just have a word with the Mother of Flame and be on my way.”

Her expression went through a number of changes. I could almost read her mind. I was being unfailingly polite and extremely understanding. I did deserve to know what happened to her brother, my son. She really didn’t want to be the one to tell me. Still, this wasn’t going to just go away.

“All right,” she said. “All the supplicants are gone and things are quiet; that’s good, since I’m sure you want to have a private talk. Am I right?”

“Oh, I guess that depends on what she has to say.”

“Indeed. Well… now?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her hair caught fire, then became fire. It lengthened, like a waterfall of flames, all the way to the floor. Her skin took on a yellow glow, like sunlight, and she opened her eyes. They were eyes, but they were eyes of white fire, with blue flames dancing with the iris should be.