Nightlord: Sunset (19 page)

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
TH

I
took a lot longer in hunting for something to eat; I wanted to preview the remains of the
gata.
During the day, Utai had been combing the woods for edibles, I provided meat, and Ubar continued to recuperate.  His injuries were the more grossly severe of the two, although Utai’s would have been the most difficult to treat by normal means.  Go me!

While out hunting, I went back to the wagons for a bit.  The remains were cold and there was nothing really left.  Passerby had obviously scrounged whatever hadn’t burned, but it looked like the fires had destroyed nearly everything.

I doubted that Utai would take it well.  Ubar wouldn’t be too pleased, either.

Farther
down the road—away from Telen—I saw thin pillars of smoke in the still air, as of many small fires.  The sky looks quite odd to vision that cannot see darkness; I don’t know how to describe it.  It isn’t black, but rather nothing-colored.  Regardless, things in the night sky do tend to stand out.

Sword in hand, I headed down the road to investigate.

A largish space had been cleared to either side of the road; a dozen tents were up on each side.  Soldiers stood guard or patrolled the perimeter of the camp.  I knew they were soldiers; they wore brigandine armor and carried swords.  Peasant militia would not be so well-equipped.  At least, I don’t think they would.

I couldn’t tell if they were coming from or going to town.  Or, for that matter, what they were here for.  But what bothered me was the sense of a priest.  In the largest tent I could sense him—or them.  It was like seeing the glow of a fire through the cloth; it shone through.

A small army sponsored by the church?  Why?  Looking for me, perhaps?

No answer. 

However, traveling might prove more difficult if the roads were being patrolled or guarded.  We could hardly admit we were
gata
who had been assaulted by Church troops.  Some other cover story would be needed.

I faded back into the woods, found some squirrels—it was simple; I could smell them, enspell gravity down a bit, leap lightly and silently up into the tree, snatch, and move on—and returned to my campsite.

Ubar and Utai were talking.  I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but my hearing is appallingly acute at night.

“I think he is a dark wizard.”

Ubar agreed with, “Perhaps he is; but he has been kind to us.”

“True enough.  We owe him our lives.  We cannot betray him.”

“But you do not wish to aid him.”

“No.  There is that about him that makes me wish we had died rather than be indebted.”

“Such as?”

Utai hesitated and so did I.  I moved to a place where I could see them.

“He is not all of this world.  Something about his garb, his weapons, his gear… and his self.  He does not sleep that I have seen.  And have you ever heard such a barbarous tongue?”

“No.  Not even from the savages beyond the Eastrange.”

“There is that which makes me think he is not entirely human.”

“Fae-kin, perhaps?”

Utai shook her head, dark hair falling in waves about her face.

“No.  Or not of the fairer kind.  I have a touch of the sight from my own fae blood.  His is something darker.”

Ubar stroked his chin; he had a short growth of beard since he had not asked to borrow anything with which to shave.

“Demonic?”

“I do not know.  I do not
think
so, but I do not
know
.”

“Then what would you have us do?  Simply leave him?”

“Yes,” she replied, definitely.

“Now?’  Ubar sounded startled.

She shook her head reluctantly.  “No… not immediately.  Perhaps in a day or two, when we have reached another town.  Bildar was to be our next stop?”

“Yes, it was.  And may yet be.  Why leave him then?”

“He can make his own way, as can we.  He saved our lives; we taught him language.  We will also show him to a town and see him established as a traveler who wishes to rest.  Then we can leave in good conscience.”

I chuckled to myself.  Lost kittens, indeed!  They were worried about their obligation to
me
.

“Fairly spoken.  It shall be as you say, sister.”

Sister?  I wondered.  Perhaps it was literal, but possibly it was a usage common to anyone within a
gata
.  I started crunching through leaves, heading toward the camp.  Ubar lay back and Utai poked up the fire.

“Evening, all.”  I presented Utai with the squirrels; she started skinning them and dressing them out.  Her knife wasn’t sharp enough to shave with, but her skill with it far exceeded mine.  “So, ready to take off in the morning?”

“Yes, of course,” Utai replied, smiling at me.  I silently complimented her on the ability to smile charmingly at someone while plotting behind his back.

Utai paled, but her smile never faltered.

I smiled back.  Somehow, I knew she caught that rogue thought.  Maybe she was just sensitive—that Sight she had mentioned—or maybe I wanted her to know and had projected.  Whatever the case, she knew, and I knew she knew.

I nodded and sat down on a rock.

“So, what sort of cover do we want for our trip to Bildar?  There are Church troops along the road, and I don’t know why.  I doubt they’ll be too friendly to you or me, given that they tried to kill you a few days ago.”

Ubar put his hands behind his head; he had missed the momentary byplay with Utai.

“I would suggest we avoid the road until the forest ends; after that, we are merely traveling together.  I am a musician, she is a dancer, and you are a wizard.”

“Fair enough.  Not a very good wizard, I hasten to add.  But where is your instrument?”

Ubar looked utterly woebegone.  “Alas, I have none remaining; one night while drinking it was inadvertently destroyed.”

“A pity,” I agreed.  “And why do you travel to Bildar?”

“I seek employment for my sister, who is a dancer, and we hope to recover enough of fortune to purchase a new instrument for myself.”

“Good plan.  And I’m along for the trip, three being safer than two, or one alone?”

“Precisely.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.  All right; I’ll hunt something for breakfast before dawn and we’ll head out after that.”

“Excellent.  What shall we say is your reason for bearing such a blade?” he asked, nodding at Firebrand.

“I need a reason?” I asked.

“You are not a knight,” he said, as though that explained everything.  It didn’t.  Or not completely.

“I have to be a knight to carry a sword?”

“Such a one, yes.  Guardsmen are permitted
sharmi
—”
shar
meaning
sword
and
mi
used as a diminutive, making the word equivalent to a small sword, “for their duties, and some may carry bows.  Only a knight may bear heavier weapons when not on a battlefield.”

I’m rather attached to the sword.  I admit it.

“They’ll have to take it from me.  It’s been in my family for generations.”

Ubar pricked up his ears.  Even Utai looked interested.

“You have noble blood in your ancestry?”

I thought about it.  “The first owner of this sword was a lord of his own lands,” I replied.  Well, he was.  Sasha had said as much.  “It has been passed down to me across centuries in an unbroken line of blood.”  Literally, it was the truth… just minus a few additional details.

“Where are his lands?” Utai asked.

“In a region of far-distant mountains.  He was overthrown by a rebellion, but I may reclaim them, someday, if I ever find both time and men for it.”

Ubar and Utai looked at each other.  Utai nodded, slightly.  Ubar shrugged.

“Very well,” Ubar said.  “Say as much to any who ask and perhaps nothing will come of it.  But be warned:  any knight who makes an issue of your arms will likely not take you at your word for your heritage.”

“I’ll bear that in mind and be ready to run.”

“Wise,” Utai answered.

I looked at Utai and thought at her,
And, if so, you will be rid of me that much quicker.  Don’t be afraid; I will be sad to see you go, but I will not contest it.  I would rather you did not bring attention down on me, if you can avoid it..

Utai dropped her gaze and threw more wood on the fire.

Hiking is not that terribly strenuous when compared to, say, mountain climbing.  Or jogging; I’d much rather hike than jog.  Even swimming takes more effort.

But it wears on one.  Not quickly, but definitely.  And over the broken terrain of a forest floor, combined with the necessity of hacking through vines, climbing fallen logs, jumping small streams, and a whole host of other minor details, that adds up to a major pain.

Fortunately, we were traveling light.

There was a brief stop at the wide spot in the road where the wagons had burned.  I left them alone for a few minutes while they looked around, touched the ruins, gathered in the reality that things had changed.

I still didn’t feel I’d blend in.  My boots were laced up, not pull-ons.  My backpack was okay, except it had a lot of pouches and odd buckles.  My swordbelt was in period, at least… except it was a monster of a blade and bound to cause talk.  The rest of my clothes were a mixture of things I’d used to build a travois—at least, anything that came close enough to fitting.  I work with what I have, though.

We made some good distance that day, with me in the lead to break trail.  The blade—named “Firebrand,” I recalled—did a fine job as a machete.  It also apparently noticed; something about it led me to believe it was not pleased at vine-chopping duty.  Maybe it was the singed smell that came from the severed ends of plant stems.  Whatever, in spots it was necessary.  At least I managed a lot more drill on both right- and left-handed cuts.

By the end of the day we were all tired.  Ubar and Utai were more used to riding a wagon than to hiking, and I’d been carrying the gear while breaking trail.  As we traveled, they both gathered up the occasional edible from the forest around.  Don’t ask me what they were; I don’t know the names.  We built a small fire and cooked a lot of them together in a field cooking kit.

Once again, I am making a note:  Do something nice for Travis.  If I ever see him again.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
TH

O
ne good thing about reaching Bildar and losing my kittens is they don’t have to keep wondering why I’m never around at dawn or dusk.  It started getting difficult to come up with excuses to go away and be alone for a while!  Now I don’t have to cope with it.

I wonder if I could have trusted them.  Maybe.  But right now I don’t trust anybody.

Bildar is a small town by modern standards; quite large by local ones.  It has one wall surrounding it, about twelve feet high, and six gates.  It’s also surrounded by farmland and irrigated from a local river—the Quaen, I’m told.  Apparently the largish creek we had camped beside was a tributary into it.  Small amounts of traffic move along the river and there is a road leading out from each of the six gates.  Not a bad place for a merchant to set up shop.

Utai and Ubar went their merry way after a brief discussion of cover stories.  I agreed I didn’t know them other than from a meeting on the road and off they went.  Ubar seemed somewhat less than fully happy with the idea, but I think Utai egged him on.

My next order of business was money.  Every society has something it uses for a medium of exchange.  Maybe it’s barter or maybe it’s gold, but there’s always the idea of trading one thing for another.  And where there is money, there is a way to make it.  Or steal it.

So I wandered around the streets of Bildar and played tourist.  I got the general layout of the place in daylight, and found a lot of different establishments including inns, a city hall, the local church, several posts for the local watchmen, and various craftsmen.  Nice place, except for the smell.  Open gutters were still the chief sewer; I managed to avoid being hit with the dumping of a chamber pot.

I found myself hoping it rained frequently.

First order of business: find employment.  It wasn’t as hard as you might think.  I walked into any shop I thought I might be useful to and asked, “Need any work done?”  Most of them said no.  But the blacksmith was all too willing to have a hand at the bellows.  With my mass and strength I did a lot better than he expected.  And the smithy, I must add, was without windows; aside from the forge, there wasn’t much in the way of light.

WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 7
TH

I
took a break around sunset, same time as the smith, and rested—and changed.  He paid me the equivalent of a penny—he called it a
milling
—for my wages and gave me black bread, a bowl of thin soup, and even thinner beer.  I accepted these and thanked him, disposing of them quickly when he was not handy to observe.  I regretted not being able to actually eat and drink them.  It seemed a waste.

“That’s an int’resting blade you carry,” he said, indicating Firebrand; I’d hung it up on a peg, out of the way, along with my shirt.  Pumping a bellows can work up a sweat.  “I’ve never seen the like.”

“Oh?”
“Aye.  Very nice.  Where did you get it?”

“It’s an heirloom.  Been in the family for generations.”

“Oh?  Grandsire was a knight?”

“Ancestor, yes; not grandpa.”

“How far back?”

“I couldn’t say.”

He nodded, but there was something behind his eyes.  “All right.”

I didn’t stick around, despite his invitation to stay on another day or two—apparently I was good at making a lot of hot air.  No comments, please.  Instead, I went out into town and took root.

Well, not exactly.  I extended tendrils into the ground and started them outward, flowing out around me.  I could feel the cobblestones under my boots, the filth in the gutters, the water in the well, the wooden doors, the stone, wood, plaster, and thatch of houses… I must have stood there for an hour, feeling outward at the whole city.  I didn’t get even a sizable percentage of the place in an hour; the farther out I stretched, the slower it went, and the more difficult it became to encompass it all.  But I deliberately selected a richer portion of town for my purpose.

I didn’t find what I was looking for on the first try, so I moved down the street and tried again.  On the third try, I got lucky and found two people dying in their beds—and glad to be dying, glad to get it over with.

Then I was the shadow in the night, the darkness behind the moon.  In ten minutes, I had touched both of them and consumed them, blood and spirit and spark—and wept, each time.  Not the sadness of seeing someone die, but happy tears.

Sound odd?  Okay.  You haven’t understood death.  I’m not sure I have either.  Maybe I’ll try to explain it, sometime.

Practical considerations, however, encouraged me to loot the bodies.  Rings—one quite fancy—and some money were the easy stuff.  I suppose I could have swiped a wardrobe or other furniture, but that would have involved a lot of moving and hauling, and there were people still in both houses I’d rather not wake.  I did manage to find some better-fitting clothes, though.

I was going to leave town soon.  Bloodless corpses are a clue for the Church.  Lucky for me I’d found a hostler earlier that day to facilitate my departure.  I hurried in that direction.

Damned if someone didn’t choose that moment to start screaming!

I sighed inwardly.  It wasn’t coming from a house I’d targeted, so it must be a damsel in distress.  Why is it a damsel can never be in distress when it’s convenient?  Probably the same reason women go into labor at four A.M. on a weeknight.  Or it rains after you wash and wax the car.

Damn you, Murphy.

I changed course abruptly, drawing steel as I did so.  I caught a faint flicker of orange along the striations of the blade.  Whatever was in there was coming more awake gradually, over time.  Maybe because it was being carried around and used, rather than sitting on a shelf.  Or maybe it just liked killing things, plants notwithstanding.

I wrapped a spell around myself.  Ignoring some gravity for the moment, I bounded to a rooftop and to look at what was going on.  On the far side of the building, three men were raping a dark-haired woman in the street.  Her companion was lying in a slowly-spreading pool of his own blood; the wind was at my back, so I could not smell it.  I could see he had no spark of life remaining.

Lovely world.  The natives aren’t even friendly with each other.

She tried to scream again as the second man took his turn.  The third knelt in front of her, kept her head in his arms, and set his forearm in her teeth as a crude gag.

I shan’t repeat all they said, but I learned a few new idioms for sadistic encouragement to fight.  I also noted my understanding of the language seemed much easier.  More evidence of retaining things learned by my lunch.

What got my keenest attention was, “Bite, you
gata
whore!  Go on!  That’s it!  Bite!”

I sighed more heavily.  Yes, the fellow in his own blood did rather look like Ubar.  From the back, anyway.  I decided that, yes, it could be Utai with the men.

Bounding off the roof, I remembered gravity and it remembered me.  I landed heels together in the center of the third guy’s back, just as the second was finishing.  I left the second guy alone—he was almost on top of Utai, and I came down awfully hard.  Instead, I brought Firebrand down on the skull of the first man as I landed.  The spine under my heels made a crunching sound and Firebrand made a
sluutch!
sound as it clove through the other’s head and down into the body.  Blood and other fluids splattered everywhere.  I stepped out of the remains of the man on whom I landed—I didn’t want to trip on the ribcage.  The man I’d split was lying on the ground.  His extremities twitched randomly.

The man on top of Utai stared up at me; Utai just lay there, face-down, sobbing brokenly.

I put the dripping point of Firebrand in the hollow of his left eye, next to the bridge of his nose.  His eyes crossed and he froze, staring at the blade.

“Get up.”

He got up very slowly and didn’t even bother to try and close his trousers.

“Do you have any money?” I asked.

“Ahhh… no.”

“Pity.”

I reached out with tendrils and took his life, draining him of all he was.  I wiped Firebrand on the dead men’s clothes, took the cloak from the one I had drained, wrapped up Utai—who screamed again and struggled blindly as I did so.

I had to pause to shut her up.  I didn’t want to hit her; she was hurt enough.  I couldn’t physically keep her quiet
and
move with any speed.  Finally, I touched her spirit lightly to drain her a little, mainly to tire her out.  I hated having to do that—I
don’t
like manipulating people like that.  But it was either that or explain to the local cops.  I tried to ignore the sudden feeling of fear I got when I took some of her spirit.

I bundled her up in my arms like a baby and ignored some gravity again.  Leaping tall—well, two-story—buildings in a single bound: That’s me.  All I needed was a red cape and a big fat bull’s-eye on my chest.

Damn morals, anyway!  Well, damn ethics.  I don’t think I have much in the way of morals.  But I was raised to help a lady in distress, among other things, and that one took.  It’s caused me some problems over the years.  And then there was that whole touch-her-mind-and-keep-her-quiet thing!

I was having some severely paranoid impulses.  Considering what I’d just drained from a terrified rapist and from Utai, it wasn’t surprising.  The flickering of terror wasn’t really fear, but it was still enough to give me a lot of worry.  I’m just glad there aren’t any shadows at night for me to jump at.

We wound up hiding in a hayloft above a stable.  There I looked her over; she wasn’t too hurt, not physically—a couple of bruises, a split lip, a puffy eye.  I reached inside her with coils of power and touched what had been left within her.  I don’t know if anyone has ever had a dayblood act as a contraceptive before, but I figured it should work…

A few minutes later I’d finished working my healing spell on her again.  She opened her eyes.

“Feeling better?” I inquired.

“Safer,” she replied, slurring slightly.  Her lip was still swollen.

“Oh?  I thought you didn’t like me?”

“I don’t.  But you would not save me if you wished to kill me.”

I nodded.  “You’ve got me there.  What happened?”

“They saw through our swindle,” she replied, simply. 

“Ah.  And Ubar got knifed?”

She nodded.  I wondered at her lack of emotion at the idea.  Shock?  No; I’d touched her emotions and sapped them.  A few hours from now and she might be a writhing bundle of remorse and despair, but for the moment she couldn’t get upset.  Heck, judging by her monotone she wouldn’t be feeling any sort of emotion until tomorrow.  I, on the other hand, was feeling rather disgusted with myself for giving in to convenience and doing it to her.

“Yes.”

“Okay.  What will you do now?”

“I will probably wind up a dancing girl for some tavern for a while, unless I am lucky enough to be taken in by a noble who desires a concubine.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Go away from here.”

“Would you prefer to travel with me or to go your own way?”

She hesitated, thinking.  “I would rather go with you.”

“Sounds like you aren’t sure.”

“I am afraid of you.”

I cocked my head to the side.

“Why?” I asked.

“You are not human.  You are a
na’irethed
.”

“What, exactly, is a
na’irethed
?”

“A master of the dark places.  A nightlord.”

Hmm.  Okay, so, technically, I was right in assuming
na’irethed
meant
vampire.
  I like the idea of being a nightlord a little better.  It sounds less like a bloodsucking fiend.  But my recent snacks helped me understand the word. 
Na
was a prefix noting a sort of dominance, while
irethed
was a complex word that, literally, meant
without light.

“How do you know I’m not a
marivel
?” 

“You move in daylight.”

Seemed logical. 
Marivel
could be translated as
hungry darkness.

“Fair enough.  How else are
marivel
different from
na’irethed
?”

“The
marivel
are evil. 
Na’irethed
are not always so.”

Vampires come in many species.  Why should I be surprised there are at least two subgroups around here?  Or were two subgroups, anyway.

“And what makes you think I’m one of these
na’irethed
?”

“I have dreamed it.  I have Seen it.”

“How?”

“I have dreamed of you.  I knew you when first I saw your face.  I have Seen it when I was out of myself, while I was being taken.  I saw the dark fire within you as you came down from the sky.”

Hmmm, I thought.

“Hmmm,” I said.  “And you would still travel with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.  “One death is as good as another.  You acted to save me when you could, twice over now.  Perhaps you will not see your efforts wasted.”

I nodded.  “All right.  So what is our cover story?”

“I am your wife.  Until your accent can be corrected, you were born in Rethven, but raised in Kamshasa.”

“Where is Kamshasa?”

“Far to the south, across the sea.”

“Okay.  Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

“If you will claim I am your wife, you will provide for me as if I were.”

“Good point.  You’re sharp.”

“I am
gata
.  Or was.”

“You still are, for as long as you live.  Nobody can take away what you are.  Now where do we go?”

“East.  Far, far east.  Nearly to the Eastrange, then south.”

“We’ve been heading northwest to get here.”

She nodded.  “Anyone who seeks a nightlord will think you are heading into the west, to the edge of the world and the City of Bones.  East leads to the mountains; nothing wholesome lives in the Eastrange.  Southeast will take us to Baret and the coast.  It is as far distant as one may go and yet be within the kingdom.”

I looked at her again with new respect.  “You
are
sharp.  So what’s a city of bones?”

“It is an ancient place, accursed of the gods and haunted by the dead,” she replied, coolly.

I wondered how hard I had touched her.  Surely not that hard.  Well, only time would tell.

“Okay.  I’m going to see about a mount.  You wait here.”

“Yes.”

I climbed down and hunted around to find the hostler.  I had to pound on the door for a while to wake him.  A ruby ring was enough to make him forget the hour, and a pouch of mixed gold and silver coins was enough to make him smile at the opportunity to do business.  There was also a significant
look
I gave him, along with a small crackle of static electricity all through my hair.  It was a neat effect and I was proud of it.  It also clued him I was a wizard.  He was very happy to do business—and see me leave.