Nightlord: Sunset (102 page)

“It is extensive instruction, second only to the training of a bard,” he replied, perhaps with a touch of pride.  “But to get on.  There are three prelates of the Church remaining who stand a chance of becoming Patriarch:  Tobias, Karth, and Jelal.  Tobias controls the Hand and most of the priests that rely on ritual.  Jelal has less of a power base, for the priests whose faith is strong in these times are few, but they follow him.  Karth is much in the middle, as are most of the clergy, but he is a charismatic man and better-liked than either of the others—his strength is that he compromises and reaches agreements.

“In actuality, I feel that Tobias will easily become the Patriarch.  There is much desire within the Church that this nightlord be dealt with—and thus, a desire for the Hand to have enough power to do so.  The fact that those who are—or
were
—serious obstacles in his rise to power are no more… well, it but adds to his mystery and his apparent destiny.  I feel that Karth, the only remaining threat to Tobias’ power, may be willing to bide his time and let Tobias deal with the nightlord… and see Tobias brought down once it is done.”

“What do the regular people think?” I asked.  “People who aren’t actually part of the Church?”  Popular support may not always be necessary, but it strikes me as being something to court when you’re dealing from a theocratic point of view.

Unless God really
is
on your side.  In which case you don’t need popular support; you have artillery.

Linnaeus sipped at his wine.  “There are rumors abroad that the Church hunts the last of the nightlords.  These are the most prevalent.  There are other rumors that the last of the nightlords has returned from beyond the shadow door for vengeance, but they are not taken seriously.”

“Good.”  I leaned forward.  “Linnaeus, I want the Hand regarded as a bunch of incompetent boobs.  I want them discredited.  Faith in a deity is something I don’t mind; it’s a lack of faith in the chosen ministers that I want.  Do you think you can put together rumors that will have the Hand—not the god—looking bad?  The Church, too, if that makes it easier, but most especially the Hand.”

He drew out the lute, did something that made it sound like a bell instead of a stringed instrument, and smiled.

“Do the fish swim in the oceans?” he asked.  He smiled slightly.  “I confess I have taken some liberties in that direction.  I have many friends among the entertainers in the capitol, and they are most pleased to play my humble works for the high and low alike.  Songs and stories, street theater, even one play… You did say that you wished to bring down the Hand—and since the hand bids fair to become the power of the Church…”

“That’s my man,” I said, beaming.  “Speaking of being my man, I have a proposition for you.”

He set the lute aside.  “I am all attention, my lord.”

“Keep that thought in mind.  Here’s the deal:  I need a professional bard to be the trainer of musicians and suchlike at my estate.  I have a couple of minstrels, but they just know songs.  I have in mind to see you installed as my chief musical officer, whatever that’s called—”

“The court bard,” he interjected.

“Is that what they call it?  Good.  Do you want the job?”

He looked momentarily surprised.  “Lord!  Did I not swear to you?”

“Yes, you did.  But I’m asking if you
want
the job.”

“Of course.”

“Then you have it.  Right now, I need you here and abroad, working on making people think it’s time for some religious reform.  You know about the fire-witch that came to Crag Keep?”

“Indirectly.”

“Good.  She’s also with me, and the soon-to-be mother of my children.  Also, the Mother of Flame is definitely on her side. You might mention that, if it’ll help.”

Linnaeus looked thoughtful.  “I shall surely bear it in mind,” he replied.

“Now, there is one other thing I need right now.”

“Name it.”

“I have to get ready for a dinner with Duke—” I checked the invitation “—Andalon.  I don’t know what to wear or which fork to use.  Help me.”

Linnaeus leaned back in his chair and looked me over, frowning and thinking.

“Have you ever been to a formal dinner, lord?”

“I’ve been to dinner with the Baron Baret when I was his wizard,” I offered.  “I also ate with the rest of the knights and nobles at Crag Keep.”

“Not quite the scale upon which we must work.  Allow me a moment’s thought.” 

I got up and laid out my clothes.  He might as well see what he had to work with.

“We will not have time for the niceties,” he reflected.  “The garb is suitable, and your bearing is good enough.  Yes.  We will take the tack that you are a commoner risen to prominence, not a prancing son of a noble.  You are a celebrity, a Hero, and cannot be expected to be perfect in the finer points of courtly graces.  Some instruction in modes of address and what to expect, just to minimize the inevitable offenses… yes.  This can be done.  The dinner is when?”

I handed him the invitation.  He read it, pursed his lips, and regarded me again.

“We must work quickly.”

It was a feat.  Linnaeus knows his etiquette and he knows Carrillon and he knows the Duke Andalon.  He got me briefed and ready and drove the staff of the inn mercilessly to make it so.

I don’t think anyone has ever
polished
a horse before.  Bronze was gleaming in the afternoon sun.

I got another bath.  With perfumes.  And bath-servants.  I even got a shave and a haircut—for substantially more than two bits.  One lady spent considerable time working on just my hair while another pair snipped and clipped and buffed at all twenty of my nails.  Then they fussed at the male valet while he helped me to dress.

I was dressed for a cross between a formal ball and a battlefield.  A pair of forearm guards—bracers?  I thought those were for archers; these were metal armor—had my sleeves inside them.  A sleeveless shirt of scale armor went on over my actual shirt.  Suede gloves of deep green tucked into my belt.  My boots were mirror-bright and I got shin-guards to match the bracers.  Everything steel was polished until I could see myself. 

It wasn’t wasted effort.  I was looking
good.
  I know, because the chambermaids kept handing out comments—sometimes rather direct ones—about how to dress to be more appealing.  The valet followed most of their suggestions, which resulted in a lot of extra help from the ladies.  A lot of unnecessary help in tugging, snugging, tightening, loosening, and shifting my clothes around.  I had to shoo them out to finish.

As I mounted up on Bronze, there were a lot of hungry female eyes watching me from the inn.  A few others were male, which I found somewhat disconcerting.

Linnaeus had a bunch of hirelings turn out in my colors—apparently, red, gold, green, and black.  Most were footmen, a pair were heralds, and we made a small procession through the middle city to the inner.  The invitation served as our passport.  We were admitted with some fanfare and pomp, but I get the impression that’s normal.

Linnaeus acted as our guide.  As a professional bard—rather than just a minstrel—he frequently got commissions to entertain at high-end parties.  With magical instruments, he got a lot of good jobs.  I think it’s partly economic; you pay the one-man-band half what you’d pay the whole band and still get all the music.  Better music, too.  I know Linnaeus.

The inner city is a spacious, open place.  The nobility of the kingdom maintains residences here, apparently from times long past.  Traditional estates are side-by-side.  Some have been obviously remodeled, some presumably torn down and rebuilt, while still others appear to be careful replicas of the old buildings.  A few are old, look old, and feel old.

The streets aren’t straight.  They’re laid out in odd curves and twists as they meander and snake between the outer walls of various estates.  It reminded me of
London, in a way, but it didn’t have the same feel of walking through a tunnel.  The walls on either side weren’t high enough for that, and the streets felt wider.

Duke Andalon is a wealthy Duke.  How you can be a Duke and not be wealthy, I’m not sure.  But he’s one of the richer ones, so that’s saying something.  The house had a small estate surrounding it and a solid-looking wall.  The house itself was less a fortress and more of a display piece.  It was full of windows and surrounded by gardens.  Lampstands were everywhere; the place could be illuminated quite nicely.  I spotted sentries on the roof of the house and crossbowmen on the corners of the outer wall, but a serious assault would take the place apart.  They were just security.

As we came up the drive, Bronze started stepping high, making her hooves ring like deep bells.  I don’t know how she does that.  It made for a heck of an attention-grabber, though.  There were people chatting on the lawn, playing some sort of game like lawn darts; they paused to turn and stare.

Bronze loved it.  I have to admit, I found I rather liked it, myself.  We made an entrance, all in accord with Linnaeus’ plan.

The retinue and I came to a halt at the front door.  A liveried old gentleman in silver, blue, and gold came out to greet me.  I dismounted while my hired retainers filed off to the side.  Linnaeus had told me a guest’s retinue is fed separately, and it’s part of the hirelings’ fee.  Sounded like easy work, being a warm body to lend someone an air of respectability.

“Good afternoon, Sir Halar,” said the servant.  “I am Sir Gwyth, in the Duke’s service.”  Whups.  I upgraded the guy’s status in my head.  He wasn’t wearing armor and I’d missed the sash under the tabard.  I’m glad he introduced himself.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” I replied.  I turned my head and snapped at the squire reaching for Bronze’s reins, “Stop that!”  The kid jerked as if I’d cracked a whip in his face.

I sighed and put a hand on Bronze’s gleaming neck.  “Follow this one to the stables until I call for you.”  She nodded and took a step toward the kid, waited.  The kid backed away.  Bronze paced slowly forward with him.

We watched them depart until they were out of sight around the side of the house.

“A most interesting steed you ride,” Gwyth noted.

“I agree.  I’m proud of her.”

“Proud?” he asked.

“I created her,” I replied, casually.  “I will relay your compliments.”

His brows drew together for a moment while he just looked at me.

“It is good that your reputation precedes you,” he ventured.

“But you thought I’d be taller?” I asked, half-chuckling.

He laughed outright, partly in surprise, I think.  “Yes, I am afraid I did.”

“Everyone says that,” I assured him.  “Shall I pay my respects to the Duke, or is he otherwise occupied at the moment?”

“Ah, yes.  This way.”  He gestured me to walk with him and I did.  We mounted the steps to the front door, found it held open for us by a real servant, and we ambled down the hall.  The place was almost opulent, with rugs instead of rushes on the floor, plaster and wood to cover the interior stonework, and paintings along the walls.

“Have you ever been to Carrillon before?” Gwyth asked.

“No, I haven’t.  This is my first visit.  I’d heard the Duke wished to see me, so I came this way…”

“I am certain he will be pleased.”

“I must admit I am not used to being invited to a ducal palace for dinner.  Does he do this often?”

Gwyth chuckled.  “The Duke invites people at his whim.  Anyone interesting may find themselves invited.”  He paused a moment as we walked a few steps.  “Of course, he also invites people he wants to impress, and all those of high station.  I suspect you may be one of the interesting people.”

“I will try to be.”

“Good.”

We came to a large set of double doors.  The guard in front of it knocked on it as we approached and someone inside drew them open; I heard music coming from beyond.  The guard halted us and demanded my name.  I told him.

One of the men on door-duty inside shouted, “Sir Halar the Wizard!”

Heads turned.  Inside, it was a ballroom, complete with polished floor and crystal-dripping chandelier.  Dancers kept dancing, but I think we might have been responsible for several near-collisions.  On opposite sides of the dance floor were buffet and drink tables, constantly replenished by a stream of servants.  At one end of the ballroom was a raised area—three steps up—with a long table on it.  The table was covered in a white cloth and had about a dozen occupied seats.  The diners—rather than run the buffet, they were being served—all sat on the far side of the table to face the room.  One chair was larger than the others and placed in the center of that side.  I assumed the chair’s occupant was the Duke.  He beckoned us to approach.  We did so and stopped across the table from him.

“My lord Duke,” Gwyth began, “may I present Sir Halar, the wizard.”

The Duke nodded.  He was rather thin and pale, but with a sharp eye.  I wouldn’t have put him down as more than twenty or so.  Dark hair curled down to his neck, carefully styled.  He looked me over with a gleam in his eye that worried me.

“Sir Halar,” Gwyth continued, “His Grace, the Duke Martis Andalon.”