Nightlord: Sunset (23 page)

I
hate
being hunted.

Bronze ran on, but in my mind I stopped running; I started thinking.  At this rate, things were going to get really ugly in about an hour, perhaps less.  I had a feeling the Wild Hunt would vanish with the dawn—but then again, so would I!  While the Hunt would re-form some other night, I wouldn’t.  Ergo, escaping at the break of dawn wasn’t an option for me.  I started thinking about fight instead of flight.

There looked to be about twenty hounds.  Not too bad, all things considered.  The huntsman, however, gave me some small concern… but if I could deal with the dogs first…

I forgot about plotting a course.  I let Bronze have her head and I concentrated, weaving a spell on Shada.  Her personal gravity lessened further and I added a few supporting tendrils, like the legs of some gigantic, mantic spider that had eaten her.  It cost me dearly, both in power and in headache, to make her levitate like that, but I couldn’t
have her slung over my saddle when I turned to fight.  If I hadn’t had a lot of power in reserve for the levitation and a good feel for how to tweak gravity, I’d never have managed it.  I released her into the air and she floated there, ten feet from the ground, magical tendril-legs flickering madly back and forth as she continued to coast forward.  She would follow the rise and dip of the terrain and slowly coast to a stop.  I just hoped she’d stay in the air until then; the levitation wouldn’t last long at all.

I wheeled Bronze about as we reached an open hilltop.  We faced the closing Hunt.  I dipped into a saddlebag for one of my salvaged weapons and made sure it was loaded.

I had a couple of misgivings about the dogs.  I’ve had to fight a dog before; typically, they bite.  If you can get them to bite something, they generally hang on to it.  One dog isn’t really a problem.  Once he sets that bite, he thinks he has you—but you have him, too.  It’s a whole pack that becomes a problem.  They bite
everything
, generally by surrounding you, getting your ankles and knees from behind and pulling you down for their mates.

These
dogs looked like they might set fire to me when they did.

So I waited until they got fairly close—way
too
close, I thought—and used the submachine gun to draw a line of bullets across the front rank.  I didn’t really expect it to work.  Therefore, I was quite gratified to discover that supersonic projectiles had considerable impact—yes, pun intended, so there.

The front rank of the charging mastiffs went down, tripping up and blocking the ones behind.  The huntsman skidded to a halt as well, but did not join the pile.  Judging by his gestures, he gave the dogs orders I couldn’t hear, which I thought was odd.  Then again, I’d just fired an automatic weapon empty, so a little deafness might be understandable.  I switched clips while they sorted themselves out. 

When they did, they came charging up the hill and I emptied the second magazine into the dogs.  That done, I lowered the gun by its strap to the ground and drew Firebrand.  A few of the dogs were still twitching and whining, but all of them were down and bloody.  It was probably the best use I could possibly have made of my machine-gun ammo.  With the blade laid bare across my lap, I urged Bronze forward at a walk.

The huntsman looked at me with burning eyes and I met them.  It took a lot to do that. 

Who are you?
 

The words lashed at my mind and I swayed.  This was no time to be shy; I uncoiled a bunch of tendrils and lashed back, thinking and saying, “I am known as Halar.  Who are
you
?”

I am the Master of the Hunt!

“Nice to meet you,” I said/thought back at him. He seemed nonplussed by this.

You are the hunted!  You cannot do this!

“Want to bet?”

He looked at me with undisguised hatred.

I do not know what strange magic it is that you bear, but it will not avail you against my curse, wizard!

“Oh?  What sort of curse?”

He laughed, then. 
You are hunted, now and forever.  And you shall remain so until the hunters take you.  Run where you will; they will pursue.  Hide if you can; they will find you.  Kill them by their dozens and their hundreds; more will rise up against you until the day you fall.

I considered that.

“I live with that all the time already.  I must say it’s a piss-poor curse.”

Once again, he seemed nonplussed.  Well, nobody had ever given me a manual for having a discussion with a supernatural being.  Then again, I am a supernatural being, too—maybe that makes it okay?

Mortal, you go too far!
  He lifted his spear to cast it.  I lifted Firebrand and a glitter of orange ran along the striations of the blade.

He paused.  I could feel something from him, a sense of confusion, perhaps even shock.  I didn’t have time to consider it; I was busy trying to talk my way out of being a shish-kebab.

“You can throw that thing,” I said, “and I am willing to bet you’re on target with it.  But know this:  I am
not
mortal.  I am a nightlord and I am the last I know if in this world.  There is vengeance and death I must deal out, Huntsman; if you love the church or its minions, then you do them a service if you slay me.  If you hate them, then you only make an enemy where you should have an ally.

“And if you miss, or if I parry your spear… then I promise I will kill you if I can.”

He held his position for several long moments—about a thousand years, I’d say—while we looked at each other.

Your horse is not of flesh and blood,
he observed.

“No, it is not.”

You bear a blade of dragons and of iron.  You slay with fire and thunder.

“You could look at it that way, yes.”

I have much of grievance against the church of men… but no love for nightlords.

“What’s not to love?”

Your kind devours without regard for renewal.  You are destroyers.

“Then have you respect, perhaps, for another huntsman?  One who, like yourself, hunts men?”

He thought about that one for a long time.  I was glad I couldn’t sweat; I’d been looking at that spear and it made me
very
nervous to see how much raw, elemental force was packed into it.  I wondered if I
could
parry it if he threw it, or if it would go off like a small nuke on contact.  I also wondered if I dared to try and drain him.  He didn’t look like a human being to my night-eyes.  I could see past the seeming of flesh.  Inside, he looked like a raw, elemental force, too.  I didn’t like the idea of trying to tap that and consume it.

Go your way, nightlord,
he finally thought at me, and he grounded the butt of his spear in the earth. 
I will not cage you, but I will have something for this favor.

“Perhaps,” I admitted, wondering who had managed to send this thing.  “Name it.”

You will pour out the blood of one of your kills for me, once every cycle of the moon.  Let the earth drink of it, instead of you.  That is the price of your life.

“Once a month, hmm?  And if I miss one?”

I will come at the full of the moon to… remind you.

The idea behind that “reminding” didn’t seem to be a polite postcard.  He was smiling unpleasantly.  But it didn’t sound so bad.

“I agree.”

The antlers dipped in a nod. 
Go your way, nightlord.

He turned on his heel and loped off back the way he had come.

I shook my head.  Magicians, magical gates, the power of faith, strange beasts, mythical woodland creatures, and now Celtic legends.  Where was the rabbit when I needed him to show me back to the rabbit-hole?  I’d climb back up the thing with teeth and toenails.

I sat down on the hilltop, sword still in hand, and shook for a minute.  I’m a coward after the danger is over, it seems.  At least I have good timing.  Or a faulty survival instinct.

The bodies of the dogs burst into a dark green fire and began to burn.  I got to my feet and watched ghostly fire-dogs vanish into the sky.  I felt perversely better at that, for some reason.

Sighing, I sheathed Firebrand and climbed up the wall—excuse me; I mounted my steed.  I left the machine gun where it lay; the pistol ammunition was a different caliber, so it was out of ammo.  We moved away, heading on our original course, chasing down Shada.

Shada was sitting by the campfire and shivering.  It wasn’t that cold and I’d wrapped her in both cloaks.  She kept glancing at me, looking away, and glancing at me again.  She wasn’t taking this as well as I was, and she hadn’t even been awake for it.  Of course, I have the advantage of being dead; there aren’t a lot of hormones involved when I’m a corpse. 

“Okay, what’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

I may not understand women—no, I take that back; I
don’t
understand women—but I’m not stupid.  Foolish may be another matter entirely, but I’m not
stupid
.

“Right.  I’m not buying.  You’re shaking like a leaf in a breeze and you won’t tell me why.”

She looked at me with an expression of fear and longing.

“You have powerful enemies,” she stated.

“I suppose I do.  It works both ways; I’m not too thrilled with the Hand.”

“The Hand would not call the Hunt.”

This was news to me.  “Why not?”

Her expression changed to pity.

“You know so little,” she began.  “The Hunt is of the Old Ones.  The Huntsman is the god of the hunt, and no man of the Church would perform his rites or make sacrifice to him.  Even magicians dare not slay an animal for their magic; it is against the laws of both Church and King.  Any who do so risk death with their discovery.  Whoever has sent the Hunt must fear you more than death itself.”

I thought about that, all of it.  I’d better keep my mouth shut about how I enchanted Bronze.  As for fearing something more than death itself, I doubted anyone was exceptionally scared of
me.
  What I am, perhaps, but not me, personally.

Aloud, I asked, “So, he doesn’t go hunting on his own?”

“Never.  His kind manifest only when summoned.  Even so, he usually guides a mortal hunter; he seldom takes flesh of his own.  Someone offered a powerful inducement to send him bodily after you.”

“Like what?”

“A life for a life,” she stated.  “One of equal value.”

A life for a life.  Someone died to summon that thing to chase me.  Or was killed.  And that might explain why the Huntsman was willing to let me go—nobody had paid him to hunt down a nightlord.  Maybe they’d find out what happens when you try to cheat a god.  I can hope, anyway.

“I see.  So I’ve got a whole new enemy from somewhere.  Lovely.”

“Perhaps it is merely some overzealous magician in the service of the Hand,” she suggested, but didn’t sound certain.

“One that’s willing to slit throats and chant just to get me?  I don’t think I’ve done anything to make them take me personally.  How strict is this rule about not killing things to power spells?”

“It is one of the few things that can bring the King and the Church and the magicians into league,” she answered.  “It is one of the darkest of arts.”

Except on an altar, I bet—then it’s a sacrifice to their god.  Of course,
that’s
okay.  Feeding time in the temple.  A completely different matter.  Naturally.

I poked up the fire and added more wood.  We were far enough away from any habitation that I didn’t feel too bad about the light and smoke.  Besides, Shada needed the light to feel more secure.  Being off in the middle of nowhere after having been enspelled into slumber while your bloodsucking companion runs for his life from a god of the hunt will make anyone edgy, I suppose.  Come to think of it, I didn’t mind having a cheery glow, myself.

“Nice,” I commented.  “Does the Church have a lot of magicians on the payroll?”

“I do not know.  Magicians are men, like any other, save their gift of magic.  Some feel the calling of the gods, others hear it but do not heed, and others are deaf.”

“Good to know.  What do you think other magicians will think?  The ones who don’t much care for the Church?”

She shrugged.  “I cannot tell.  I would think they will fear you and seek to pull you down.  But I do not know; I have never been close to any magician.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll leave them alone, if I can.”

She was interrupted by an exclamation:  “By the seven silver circles of Salacia, I am most pleased to hear you say that!”

This was a new voice and came from beyond the firelight.  I looked in that direction and witnessed a man fade into view.  I could see the webwork of a spell around him dissolving away.

Interesting.

“And who are you?” I called back, keeping one hand on Firebrand’s hilt.

“My name is not important.  Indeed, it may be unwise to tell it to you at present, given that there are many who are seeking you and many more who will start.”