Nightlord: Shadows (64 page)

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he offered, and rose from his seat to bow.

“Good morning,” I returned, and gestured him back to his seat. He offered me one and we settled down together.

“I am told,” he continued, sitting rigidly in his chair, “that you wish to hire the whole guild?”

“Right to business? Okay. Yes, I have a large project I want to finish, and doing it alone will take a long time. If I get help, however, we can knock this out in, at worst, a matter of weeks.”

“Does this have anything to do with the strange growth of stone headed westward?”

“Nope. Well, only in the vaguest possible way,” I corrected. “That road is an extension of the mountain’s stone, but my project is putting light spells inside the mountain’s undercity. So, only vaguely related.”

Thomen nodded, slowly. He still seemed tense.

“I see what you mean, yes. Well. We are, of course, happy to help in any way the King commands. But you said ‘hire’? Am I to understand that you… I mean, that Your Majesty intends to
pay
us?”

“You don’t want me to?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, no!” he replied, quickly. “No, no, no. That’s not it at all! We’ll
gladly
accept payment for our services!”

“Then what’s the trouble?” I asked, perplexed.

“Your Majesty does not intend to simply order it done?”

“I think we have ourselves a failure to communicate,” I told him. “Here.” I handed him a large, heavy-duty pouch. He nearly dropped it; it was full of gold coin blanks. “I’m going to work on a project to illuminate the undercity with a new spell. I will teach it to anyone who wants to learn it. Anyone who does, and can successfully cast it, can have some of what I just handed to the wizards’ guild—you determine what’s a fair division. I’ll need the spell cast several times, in different places, which is why I need the help to finish it; I don’t want to spend the next few years on it, you see.

“Any questions?”

He weighed the pouch. He had to hold it in both hands. Well, gold is dense.

“What if a wizard only wished to learn the spell, not cast it?” he asked.

“Then they can. It won’t bother me. But they only get paid if they actually help—I think they should get paid on the basis of how many times they cast the spell for me, but that’s up to you, as I said. You’re the Master of the Guild.” I paused and looked thoughtful.

“Do you have a Royal Charter for your Guild?” I asked.

“How?” he asked. He had a good point.

“Then we need to get one. See about having it drawn up, will you? I’ll sign it and put my seal on it.”

He eyed me shrewdly, almost suspiciously.

“Is that conditional on the Guild’s aid?”

“What? No! You’re a
guild
. You need a
charter
. So we’ll sort that out.” I pointed at the sack of gold. “That’s me
hiring
the Guild to help me on a project. I can’t hire a Guild if there isn’t one.” I grinned at him. “I can’t issue it a Royal Order, either, if it doesn’t exist. So take what you can get, that’s my advice.”

He shook his head in wonder.

“I do not understand you.”

“You’re not alone in that. But do you understand the deal I’m offering, to hire help for my illumination project?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, in your opinion, do you think anyone will help?”

“My personal opinion?” he asked.

“Of course. I want to hear what you think. You’re the man who knows these things. Your opinion matters to me.”

“I… think that quite a number of guild members will attempt to aid you. A few who are not guild members may attempt to do so, as well.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. If they can learn my light-channeling spell, do you think they should be allowed to help? Of course, I’ll want the guild to certify that they’ve mastered it, and to monitor their work.” I smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry to load all this responsibility on you, but you’ll have to work out how much extra to pay a wizard who has that duty, too.”

“I…” he paused, swallowed. He set the heavy pouch down on a worktable with a clinking thud. He worked his hands a bit to loosen them up.

“Since we do not have a Royal Charter,” he began, “I suppose, technically, that we can allow… uh, probationary members to assist us, even if they are not actual apprentices in the Guild. Just for the piecework. I’ll have to write in some provision for that sort of thing, I think.”

“You’re the Master Wizard of the Kingdom of Karvalen,” I told him, and his eyes widened. “I trust you to work it out.”

“Is that your official word on the matter?” he asked, staring at me.

“Sure. Got a crystal or something around here you can look through, but isn’t magical?” He agreed that he did and dug around for a moment in a collection of boxes and drawers. He produced what would probably become a scrying amulet: a pendant with a flat, clear piece of quartz that would have made a good monocle. I accepted it, laid it on a worktable, and scribbled around it for a few minutes.

“Okay, stand over here,” I directed. I propped up the crystal so I could see him through it as through a camera. “You know how knights are given a sword when they’re knighted?” I asked, walking back over to him.

“I do.”

“Well, I’m thinking that, purely for symbolic purposes, I should give you your staff. I know it’s really yours, but, for the ceremony of being put on the King’s Council and suchlike, would that work?”

“Yes, although wizards will be reluctant to give up—wait, the King’s what?”

“Council. I need people to advise me, you know. Shouldn’t the Master Wizard be on it?”

“Uh.”

“Look, we can settle all that later. For now, just kneel and accept your own staff back from me, okay? You’ll see.”

Dazed, he handed me his staff and knelt. I made sure we were aligned properly for the shot, activated the spell in the crystal, then laid his own staff back in his outstretched hands. A little more work with the crystal, then, and it replayed the sequence and patterns of light that passed through it in those few seconds. A crystal video record!

“There you go,” I said, and handed it to him. He looked through it and watched it loop a couple of times.

“I find I don’t know quite what to say,” he admitted. “Thank you?”

“You don’t need to thank me, but I admit that I find that more polite. You’re quite welcome. Oh, and do you think you can establish a guildhall in Karvalen? The population is growing rapidly, and I may need wizards on hand, myself.”

“I shall definitely look into it while I’m there, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. Now, if I can leave all this in your hands, I need to run. People to see, things to do, places to go—a king’s work is never done.”

“I have never heard that kings worked,” he offered. “They have people for that.”

“Maybe so, but I started out as a hero, not a king,” I told him. He nodded.

“I will do everything I can,” he assured me. I thanked him again and left.

Finding Flim was easy enough; I headed to Harbor Gate—the one in the southern wall of Mochara—and followed the wall to the west. The giant crossbow was still propped up where I’d last seen it, but someone had removed the broken chain.

Bronze wandered around the thing, grazing for broken links and splintered wood. I examined it, considering the problems of scaling up a crossbow to something the size of a siege engine. They were considerable, which is why most ballistae used tension in twisted rope for the power storage. I also noticed that the thing didn’t have any magic in it; no spells to hold things together or enhance it in any way. Someone was trying to build a gadget—a
big
gadget—the hard way.

I can respect that.

While I looked, a boy, about seven years old, approached me and stood there, watching me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, eventually.

“Are you the King?”

“Yes.”

“My Dad’s name is Flim.”

“That’s good. Is he around here, somewhere?” I asked. The boy nodded.

“He’s at home. I’m Reth.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Reth. My name is Halar.”

“I’ve been told to call you ‘Your Majesty’.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

“Mom.”

“Ah. Then it must be the right thing to do,” I observed. He nodded again.

There was a silence while we looked at each other. He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around. I could
feel
Bronze laughing at me.

“Um, does your mother live around here?” I asked. He nodded.

“She lives with my Dad.”

“That’s very good. Could we go there?”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed. We continued to look at each other.

Bronze coughed some smoke along with her silent laughter.

“Let’s go there now,” I told him. That worked; he led the way. Bronze went back to grazing. I went across the street with Reth. He went right in; I paused on the threshold, rather than barge in. Moments later, a lady hurried into view. She looked familiar; she had helped haul Flim over to the square where I’d set up shop for the evening. She recognized me, too.

Once we got past the frantic curtsey and the apologies for the state of her house, I finally got in to see Flim. He was doing much better; he was sitting in front of a sand table, sketching. He had a clay pitcher of water near at hand. He also had a hand sprinkler, for keeping the sand damp so he could draw in it. Half a meal lay nearby.

“You really should eat,” I observed.

“Woman, I’ll eat when I’m—” he began, then straightened. I think he realized it was not his wife’s voice, even if it was something she obviously said a lot. He turned easily and I was pleased to see he didn’t seem to be in any pain. He looked at me and stared hard for a moment. I recognized his weatherbeaten face; he had much better color, if reddened and leathery counts as a color.

“You’ll recuperate more quickly if you eat,” I advised. “Trust me. I get distracted by things I’m working on, too.”

He got out of his chair and went to one knee, fist on the floor. I realized he wasn’t as old as I thought. He was one of those people that age quickly to a weatherbeaten fifty and just stay there forever.

“Your Majesty.”

I tried really hard not to let that bother me. I don’t like being formal all the time, or even most of the time. After the third one in an hour, it gets annoying. Any more than that and I get grumpy. I really need to learn to ignore it.

“Rise,” I told him. “You are feeling well? No soreness, fever, or other pains?”

“I am well, Your Majesty,” he assured me, climbing to his feet. He leaned on the chair to do it, though.

“Still weak, or dizzy?”

“A little weak, Your Majesty, yes.”

“Eat more,” I ordered him. He looked pained and a little desperate.

“As you say, Your Majesty.”

“Now, tell me about this giant crossbow.”

“Majesty?”

I rubbed my forehead for a moment, trying to phrase things properly.

“Flim, you’re a citizen of the Kingdom of Karvalen. That means you don’t have to call me ‘Majesty’ in every sentence. You can use pretty much any respectful term during a conversation and I won’t mind. If you were standing in my throne room to answer my questions before the court, you’d be calling me ‘Your Majesty’ all the time. As it is, I’m trying to just talk with you, not conduct an inquisition.

“So,” I concluded, “during this conversation, I want you to use a new and different term every time you say something—and you’ve already used ‘Majesty’. Got that?”

“I… yes, your… Magnificence?”

“It’s a start,” I sighed. “Now, tell me about this giant crossbow of yours. What’s the problem?”

At last, I touched a nerve.

“What
isn’t
the problem!” he groaned. He gestured me to the sand tray table and waved a hand over it. “I’ve tried six different woods—you have to get a tree big enough to carve down into shape for the bow, see? All of them break before they bend far enough to be useful. And the chains! I tried rope of all sorts, then braided ropes together, then went to chains… there’s nothing that will hold that kind of tension and still serve as a bowstring.”

He stopped talking for a moment when he turned his gaze from his drawing to look at me.

“Um. My lord.”

“I see your problem. Got any ideas?”

“Uh, yes. There’s another tree coming in this week, a
morat
tree. It’s a softwood, not a hardwood, but I tried all the hardwoods we have; maybe this will be a bit more flexible. I’ve asked Wethel for a heavier chain, but he says he’s got a lot of new work, now that Kavel’s moved off to Karvalen… Sire?” I nodded at him.

“Good thought. Have you tried laminating layers of woods together for the bow?”

“Huh?”

“Here,” I said, and took his stylus. “See, one solid piece, like this, gets a lot of stress when it bends. See here, in the curve, how the outside is much longer than the inside? It’s trying to rip itself apart. But if we have a lot of thinner layers,” I sketched in the sand, “and they bend the same way, the slide next to each other, so the bending force isn’t so bad, and you don’t rip it apart. The plains tribes do something like it, on a smaller scale, with the bows they use.”

He stared at the damp sand like I’d just drawn something to summon demons.

“That’s… That’s…”

“It’s just a thought,” I told him. “Tell you what… why don’t you try building
small
ones—say, things you can actually lift? Models of the real thing, just to see how it all fits together. You can probably build a dozen from just the wreckage out front; then you can figure out the ratio of thickness to length, what’s the strongest pull you can get, and so on.”

“That will take time,” he said. “Your Highness?”

“I think that’s for princes and princesses,” I noted, “but you’re on the right track. Anyway, I’m interested in these things. What got you involved in this sort of project?”

“Oh, my father was a merchant captain, uh, Kingness. He never liked pirates, and when I was a lad I was forever taking things apart. Since I couldn’t set foot on a ship without upchucking, he finally told me to work on building a bigger crossbow, one he could use against pirates. So I started on it.”