Nightlord: Sunset (105 page)

Come on!  Please?
Firebrand thought.
  Just the bodyguards.  ONE bodyguard!  Just a
wound!
  Please?

No!
I thought back. 
Not now, not here.  Not unless they start it.

Awww.

Are all swords bloodthirsty, of is it just mine?  I wonder if there are any pacifist swords?  Then again, Firebrand is unique, and I really don’t want to try making another one to check.  Besides, what would be the point of a pacifist sword?

Tobias righted himself and stood there, glaring at me between a pair of priests, a handprint on his face as livid as his robes.

“It’s not your faith,” I announced.  “It’s your bodyguards—these priests, and the demons you conjure up in the name of the Devourer!  Your faith doesn’t
exist!
  And it certainly can’t protect you when you’re
wrong.
”  I held up the disk, the medallion of his faith.  I showed it first to him, then to the crowd.  “If your faith is so powerful,
why aren’t I burned?
”

Tobias’ mouth worked, but no sound came out.

I flipped the medallion at him and he ducked aside from it; it clattered ringingly on the floor behind him.  I turned away and marched down the steps to face the Duke.  The space between my shoulder blades itched with the thought that something would be punching a hole between them, but I didn’t hear anyone behind me move.  In front of me, however, there was a lot of staring and murmuring and not a little backing away.  The Duke stood his ground, staring at me, and I bowed before him.

“I’m sorry, your Grace, for ruining your party.”

He nodded, looking dazed.  “I accept your apology.”

“With your leave, lord, I will be going.  I expect the Hand to try and murder me shortly.”

“Ah.  By all means.  Yes.  Of course.”

I walked out.  People got out of the way as though I were an air bubble moving through water.  Slow march amid a low murmur of wonder, never looking back.  I didn’t even pause to pick up my hurled glove.

Outside, I stood on the stairs and looked around.  Nobody fetched Bronze.  Well, I can understand why everybody in the ballroom might be a little preoccupied.  I whistled piercingly and waited.

There was some minor cracking and banging before Bronze came into view.  She saw me, stopped accelerating, slowed to a trot, stopped before me.

“Stall door?” I asked.  She nodded.  “Anybody hurt?”  She flicked her tail as though shooing flies.  “Well done.”

I told you, boss.  She knows that you don’t like casualties.  Unlike
some
of us!

“Thanks, Firebrand.  I’m sorry you didn’t get to kill anyone yet tonight.” 

Well… the night is young, right?

“There’s that,” I admitted.  I stroked Bronze’s nose for a moment, then swung up into the saddle.  Nobody tried to stop us as we headed out the gate.  I glanced back, once, and saw there were quite a number of people watching from the windows and talking excitedly.

I kicked myself the whole way, thinking about what an idiot I am.  I got into an argument with Tobias over public opinion, revealed a secret that can get me hunted down and killed by
everybody
, and left my worst enemy to do a closing speech before the undecided nobility.

Kick, kick, kick….

I left him alive.  That was my big mistake.  I should have killed him out of hand and been
done
with him!  I must be the most insanely
stupid
man in the history of creation.  Either that, or an outright coward.  Maybe I am a coward.  Maybe I just don’t have the
balls
to murder a man in cold blood.

Kick,
kick
, kick,
kick
….

We had no trouble getting out the gates between inner and middle city; they only worry about letting riffraff in.  Riffraff can go
out
all they like.  I rode slowly back to the inn, lost in my inner monologue of self-recrimination.  Once there, I went up to my room, decided I shouldn’t take time to change, and started packing my stuff.  As I did, I found T’yl was true to his word; there was a book waiting for me.  I flipped through it, noted it was about the archway I recalled, and stuffed it into a bag.

There came a knocking at my door.  I drew Firebrand and approached. 

“Who is it?”

“The valet, sir,” came a voice through the wood.  “A gentleman is downstairs who wishes to speak with you.  He says his name is Linnaeus.  He
insists
on speaking with you, sir.”

Oh, hell, damn, and spite.  He deserved to be told in some other fashion than hearing Tobias and I in an argument.  I should have told him,
should
have told him… more kicking!

“Send him up,” I answered.  I felt tired, but finished putting my gear together.  He deserved a chance to yell at me or shake a finger in my face or whatever.  I felt bad about not trusting him, and a good yelling-at might help.

When he knocked, I let him in.  He was red-faced and sweaty, as well as slightly out of breath.  He had hurried to catch me before I left.  I held the door open for him and he stepped in, shut it, and put a finger in my face.

“You!”

He’s pissed, boss.

No kidding.

“Yes, Linnaeus?” I answered, backing away from the finger.  He stepped forward with me.

“You told me not of this!  You kept it a secret!  You
lied
to me!”

“I didn’t exactly lie.  I didn’t tell you, that’s true—”

“
You did not tell me you were a nightlord!
”

“I know!  I know!  I’m sorry!  I should have told you from the first—”

“Do you
realize
the things I could accomplish?” he demanded.  “I’ve painted you as a Hero—yet you hide the fact of undeath from me!”

“And I should have told you!  I
admit
it!”

“The stories!  The ballads!  The poems and plays!  The last nightlord, returned to find justice for his slaughtered kin!  The turning of the cycle!  The coming of a single lord of night, seeking vengeance and justice for the persecution of his kind!  The forging of a Hero in shadows and blood!  The struggle of light and dark in the battle between nightlord and a church of fallen grace!  The return of balance to a tottering world! 

“Master bards live their lives without finding a tale worthy of their skills, and this—
this
you keep from me?  Cruelty or stupidity, I know not, for I knew you to be neither cruel nor stupid—until now!  Unjust!  Oh, unjust and base, my lord!  Have you any idea what I could have done with this knowledge?!”

I opened my mouth to apologize again and Firebrand mentally goosed me.

Boss!  He’s not upset that you’re a nightlord!  He’s upset that you didn’t let him use it in his work!

I blinked—and listened.  Linnaeus was shouting by now, thoroughly on a roll.  Oh, the things he could have done, the stories he could have told, the plays he could have written, and the songs he could have sung!  If only I had trusted him!  A palette of dark colors to work with, the challenge of painting light with dark on the canvas of public opinion!  The sheer injustice of it all, to keep the most juicy and vital fact of my existence from the one who could exploit it to best advantage!  I was a cruel, heartless monster for being so stingy, so untrusting!  How, oh
how
could I have been such a mean-spirited, small-souled cretin!

I sat down and let him rant.  It was one of, if not
the
best rant I have ever heard.  He outlined my mental, spiritual, and emotional deficiencies in excruciating detail.  He never paused, never stuttered, and never once resorted to anything resembling profanity.  It was almost lyrical, the way he spoke and gestured.  Instead of being insulted or feeling shamed by it, I was more lost in the sheer artistry of his command of language.  It went on for nearly an hour without pause while I just watched and listened.

When he finally finished, he drew himself up and straightened his doublet, ran a hand through his hair.  He calmed himself visibly and took a deep breath.

“My lord,” he said, formally, “I beg your pardon for this unseemly outburst.  I was overwrought.  I thank you for your indulgence and assure you it will not happen again.”

“Linnaeus… that was the most amazing chewing-out I’ve ever experienced.  Thank you for bringing my attention to this error.”

“As my lord pleases,” he replied, bowing.  “Will you slay me, now?”

“Not unless you’re absolutely determined I should.  Now, sit down and join me.  Moreover, please accept my apology for not telling you sooner.  I was afraid you would be unwilling to work with me if you knew.”

He sat down opposite me at the table and dabbed at his forehead with a kerchief.

“My lord, you prove yet again that you are no wiser than other men.”

“Thanks.  So, are you still willing to work for me?”

“Lord, the instruments you have crafted for me are wonders beyond all imagining.  I would have sold my soul to darkness had I known such things were possible.  To serve you, instead of the darkness, gratifies me greatly.”

“I’m glad you see a distinction.  So… you
do
still want the job?” I asked.

“What better lord to serve than one who is a Hero and a legend?  What few bards there are will seek you out like a tick seeks a hound, to drink from your exploits in much the same manner.  I have sworn it:  I am your man.”

“You don’t worry that I’m going to upheave the entire kingdom and put everyone under the rule of my dark and sinister hand?”

He shrugged.  “If that is your will, then I will chronicle it.  I do not think it is.  You have shown by deeds that you have a good heart… and I have met you, known you.  I have known ten thousand men, who spoke in all tones and with all manners.  Some were good men, some were evil men, but most were merely men.  Your manner and your speech are different from all of these, yet I can sense something in you that tells me you are more than most men.  There is a heart within you, I think, that is larger and stronger than you know.  It is the heart of an honest man, the heart of a kind man—the heart of a Hero.  Living or undead, into light or into darkness, where a Hero leads, good must follow.”

I turned sideways, rested my elbow on the table and chin on my fist, and regarded the fireplace for a while.  People keep telling me I’m a grand, good guy.  Sadly, it’s usually women who just want to be friends, at least until recently.  Do the people on this side of the magic door see things more clearly?  Or just differently?  Maybe it’s a cultural thing.  Maybe I’ve finally found a place I fit, a hostile religious organization notwithstanding.  Back home, I’m an ill-fitting gentleman with too much fantasy rolling around in his head and very sharp teeth.  Here, I’m… I’m…

“All right,” I said, finally.  “What’s a Hero?”

“A Hero is all those things we wish we could be.”

“Catchy.  Explain.”

He thought for a long minute, trying to put it into words.  “My lord, I wish I had the power to be gentle.  If confronted by one who wishes my life, I must needs kill him or be killed.  You stood before much of the assembled nobility of the kingdom and declared yourself a lord of night.  You confronted your chief adversary, the Cardinal of the Hand, and had him in your power—yet you did not kill him.”  Linnaeus shook his head.  “It is not in me to let an enemy live if I have the opportunity to slay him.  But I am not a Hero.

“Others wish for the strength of arm to fight for what is right.  Others seek the wisdom to know right from wrong.  Still more wish for the courage to take up the fight and
right
what is wrong.  All these things can be found in a Hero.

“I had a brother, my lord.  When his son was seven, I was granted leave from my loremaster to visit my nephew for the first time.  Before, my brother was never one to whom I would extend much trust; he was not worthy of it.  Yet when I saw him with his son, I saw how changed my brother had become.  My nephew held only love and admiration for his father—so much so, the man began to
be
the father the little boy saw.  He became all those things, gained all those qualities a father should have.  He became the Hero his son believed him to be.”

He leaned forward, arms resting on the table.  “No one declares you a Hero—or, more properly, everyone does.  It is not like being knighted.  A man can be trained to arms and instructed in the code and so be worthy of knighting.  To be a Hero comes from within.”

“Maybe,” I admitted.  “But I’m also a nightlord.”

“Usually an honest one,” he responded, “and one with both kindness and justice in his heart.”

“Yes, but I’m a
nightlord
.”

“To be a nightlord, you first had to be a man.”

“Well, yes.  But I kill people to preserve my own life.”

“So do I, if attacked.”

I frowned.  “I drink their blood, Linnaeus.”