Nightlord: Sunset (53 page)

And understand this:  I was, indeed, pissed off.  A faint throbbing in my blood warned me not to let it get out of hand.

I lashed at the magical confines of the circle.  I whipped and beat and tore at it in an invisible cyclone of psychic violence, but it was like using a hose against a wall of glass.  My tendrils slid along the inside of the circle like the inside of a bell jar.  The floor was immune to my probing, and the containment arched up and over, sealing me into a bullet-shaped area.

I switched tactics; I stood and gathered magical energy.  This I blazed as a stream of fire at the leader; the fires fanned out when they reached the edge of the circle, as though striking a force field, and I felt the backwash of heat.  A kick at the edge of the circle met the same unyielding force.  I was well and truly pent.

I glared.  It didn’t have any magic behind it, but it didn’t need to.  It was a damn fine glare.  I took a slow breath, trying to calm down and quiet the fury inside.

“Now,” I hissed, “I really
am
upset.  You go make a mistake.  Just one.  Go ahead.  And your quest for immortality will be
over
.”

I think I rattled them.  That made me feel a lot better; they weren’t completely confident in their plans, and that gave me a trace of hope.  They didn’t say anything, but sidled out through a heavy, brass-bound door.  I heard a key scrape and a pair of bars thud into place.  I looked around the room again.

“Okay, you guys,” I said, addressing the other prisoners.  They were on short chains, each attached to a manacle at the ankle, and I doubted any of them could reach my circle even if they lay down and stretched; the room was sizable.  “Anybody got a good way to get me out of here?”

“What’s in it for us?” asked one old geezer.  He had to be ninety if he as a day, quite a feat for the local level of healthcare.  Most of them were eyeing me with a high degree of fear and mistrust.  No terror, but then I hadn’t done much that was visible, aside from the fire; my little cyclone of magical, whipping tentacles of darkness was only visible to people with wizard-sight.  And we vampires look just like everyone else—mostly.  Predators that blend in with the prey.  No wonder people don’t believe in us—and then get utterly terrified when they have to.

“I’ll bust your shackles before I bust that door,” I offered.  “You can follow me out.”

“Ehh, I’d rather take a few years off the bastards what done this to me!” he replied.  “Can you give me that?  If y’can, I’ll figger out a way to get y’out!”

“I plan to kill them.  Does that count?”

“Will it get me m’years back?” he asked.  Others perked up as we spoke, taking an interest.

“Your years?” I asked, stupidly.

“M’only seventeen!” he replied.  “They tooks m’years t’keep theirselves young!”

I stared at him.  I couldn’t imagine him at seventeen.  I had a hard time imagining that someone could steal the years right out of another person, even though I’d been told as much.  I didn’t see, offhand, how it could be done.  Nor did I see how to undo it and give him back stolen years.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  “If I kill them, your years might just come back, but I doubt it.  I just don’t know.  I don’t know what they did to you—or, rather,
how
.”

“Leary?” asked another man.  My conversationalist turned to the other fellow.

“Yah?”

“’E’s
honest.
”

“S’right.  Point.  Well, we’ll be thinkin’ about it, me and the lads.  You’re a magician, then?”

“I’m a wizard,” I corrected.

“Wizard, sorcerer, magician—doesn’t mean much t’me.  Y’make magic, right?”

“Well… yes.”

“So what’ll it take t’get y’out?  Chantin’ and handwavin’?”

I regarded the circle.  It was a fairly complicated double circle; the inner edge kept me contained.  Between the inner and outer tracks were a number of symbols.  The whole thing was done in white chalk on the smooth stone.  It had an air of hasty improvisation, although the symbols were carefully drawn.  If they had the time, I’m sure they would have carved them into the floor and poured in metal; chalk could be marred too easily.

“Well,” I replied, “unless one of you is a wizard’s apprentice—anyone?”  There were no takers.  “Then I suppose the easiest thing to do is to rub out part of the design.  Can anybody reach?”

The two nearest fellows laid out, belly-down, and stretched for it; the taller one came within a foot of touching the outer line with an outflung hand.

“I’m open to suggestions,” I offered as the two returned to their positions by the walls.

“If I were a younger man, I might piss on it,” one offered, “but me bladder ain’t what it used t’be.”

I had a momentary vision of someone throwing a chamber pot to my rescue.  But no, there were small holes in the floor near each man’s station for a toilet.

I sat back down, torn between laughter and despair.  I tried to run a hand through my hair and was brought up short by the chain on that wrist.  For some reason, that goaded my temper.  I responded by twisting my wrist around so I could grab the links of the chain and pull.

It creaked and thrummed as it went tight, but didn’t break.  I stretched it slightly, though.

The fact it didn’t give just made me all the more furious.  The throbbing in my blood was back and sounded like a drum in my ears.  I grabbed the other chain as well and rose to my feet, hauling against each of them.  The links popped against each other under the stress and stretched slightly, but they held.

Back and forth, up and down, pulling steadily and then yanking viciously.  I let the throbbing, pulsing anger have a little leash, threw it a bone.  I fought with the chains for upwards of a minute before I finally started to calm down.  I didn’t feel quite so wound up; it was good to let off a little steam.

I sat down again, leaned over to one side, and ran a hand through my hair; I had a good three inches more reach than before, and that made me feel a lot better.

Everyone was staring at me.

“Mite upset?” one asked, softly.

“Was,” I answered.  “Still am, down deep.  Looks like I’m stuck here for a while.”

“Yeah, I can see that.  Looked like you were ’bout loose, though.”

I shrugged.  “Only from the chains.  They’re good ones.  It’s the circle that’s the real problem.”

“So yer a nightlord, then?”

“Yep,” I replied, brightly.  “You’re sharp.  Boo.  Cower and tremble in fear and awe and all that sort of thing.  How’d you guess?”

Someone snickered.  The man speaking smiled a little and said, “I heared ’em talking ’bout your blood and bein’ immortal.  I guess you could be part elf, but yer ears ain’t pointy.  Thought about the tales I heard as a lad and figgered y’
might
be a nightlord…”

I grinned—showing fangs—and added, “Not the bogeyman you were expecting?”

“Dunno what I was expecting,” he said, and shrugged.  “Ain’t seen a nightlord afore.  Never had cause t’believe in ya, either.”

“Fair enough.  Fair enough.  I’ve never been locked in a magic circle before, either, so we’ve all got something new to learn here.”

“Y’been dead long?” he asked, conversationally.

“Nope.  You been old for long?”

“Comin’ up on a year, I think.  Dunno why they’re keepin’ us alive an’ old.”

“Hmmm,” I replied.  “Could be they’re just… well… switching ages with you, spreading out the total years, I guess.  If you die, everybody probably gets those extra years handed to them… I’d have to poke around, magically, and see what I can find out.  Hard to do in here, though.”

I had everyone’s attention.

“So y’think we
could
get out from under all this age?” another asked.

“Could be.  I can’t tell until I look into it.  But if I can, I’ll try and undo it.”

“Fairly spoken; I’m your man.  Verg is my name.”

“Thank you, Verg.  I am—“ and I paused for an instant, recalling my new title, “—Sir Halar.  Everybody know everybody else?” I asked.  “We might as well get acquainted.”

So we did.  The original speaker had been Leary.  I also met Tibal, Jubal, Eddon, Farqh, Theb, Nivan, Dannor, Echa, Sorn, Geisel, and Plud.  Most of them had atrocious accents, which reflected a distinct lack of formal education combined with strong regional influences.  Farqh and Theb had distinctly foreign accents—foreign to Rethven, anyway.  I think they were from Kamshasa—I didn’t ask at the time; I had other things on my mind.  I also found out my fellow-prisoners fit into two categories. 

The first category was Mercenary, subheading:  Lied To.  After all, why bother spending a lot of money to buy a slave?  Hire a mercenary.  You get your victim and you get your money back.

The second category was Inquisitive Dolt.  When a smart mercenary decides to check up on the offer of employment, he goes to the employer and asks questions.  Or when one goes looking for a missing friend or relative, one asks the would-be employer.  Either way, evil, youth-stealing cabals of magicians rarely like answering questions for nosey would-be victims.

“So you’re all mercenaries?”

“Manner o’ speaking, manner o’ speaking,” Leary answered.  “A couple is new at it, free lances, fought in a battle or two and determined ne’er t’go back t’the farm.”  Jubal and Nivan nodded.  “Others is hire-swords for any with the money.  Geisel, there, he’s a ratfink if e’er there was one; poison and backstabbin’ is his game or I’m a milkmaid.”  Geisel glared through rheumy eyes, but said nothing.  “But most of us is just in it for adventure,” Leary finished.

“Looks like they got it,” I said, and realized I was still feeling a bit sulky.  I hate being caged.  “I don’t suppose one of you has conveniently hidden a set of lock
-picking tools about his person just in case such an occasion as this came about?”

“Nope.”

“I had to ask.”

We chatted for a while, talking about life as a mercenary and life as a wizard.  We found some similarities.  They both involve a good deal of traveling—until you find a “good billet,” as they put it.  Apparently, the vast majority of mercenaries don’t find a good spot to settle down as a private guard.  Most get hired to go fight the barbarians in the north, guard a caravan or ship for a trip or two, or to help settle a dispute between two nobles—none of which is much better than a temp job. 

Oddly enough, a large percentage of wizards—they aren’t all that common; a typical village might see a wizard pass through once a month at best—wind up in the same job; a bit of magical muscle on the battlefield is appreciated by a commander.  If it’s going to be a longer war, a bit of magical bandaging also goes over very well with commanders.  In both cases, the Church doesn’t like it, but someone pointed out that Right Will Prevail no matter what, which lessened the grumbling.

Knights, as opposed to mercenaries, are mostly commanders and managers, not lead-the-charge fighting men.  Saved a lot of money with mercenaries that way, since there’s no such thing as life insurance.  Although there were always a few who were
leaders
as opposed to
commanders
.  It made me glad I was new to the job, as these young/old men didn’t think much of most knights; they were very forgiving of my title.

Our conversation came to an abrupt halt with the sound of the door being unbarred.  I looked at it, then at the guys. 

Leary, the most outspoken one of the bunch, shrugged and said, “I dunno.  Ain’t feedin’ time.”

So we silently directed our attention at the door.  The second bar was pulled, then came the rattle and rasp of the lock.

Instead of the whole cabal, there was only one, and she had her hood thrown back.  She was worth looking at, too.  Hair like ink, glossy in the candlelight, hung in a wavy mass down her back.  Large, blue eyes, a small nose, a cupid’s-bow mouth, and high cheekbones nudged her over the brink from “pretty” to “beautiful.”  The radiant glow of youthful vitality added even more, even though I suspected I knew where it came from.

We all just watched her as she glided forward to the edge of my cage.  She didn’t seem to mind; maybe she was used to being stared at.  I didn’t bother to rise.  I was sitting tailor-fashion, legs folded, since it was either that, lie down, or stand.  A gentleman would have stood for a lady.  I didn’t think she was a lady.

She looked me over.  I looked back.  It’s hard to say who won the Searching Gaze contest, but I think it was me; she knew I was a vampire and I think it intimidated her a little.  I wasn’t about to ask what she wanted; I was negotiating from a position of weakness.  The only thing I had on my side was the fact she wanted
something
or she wouldn’t be here.

Eventually, she spoke.

“How long have you been a vampire?”

I shrugged.  “Not long enough, it seems.”

“Answer the question,” she snapped.

“Go to hell,” I replied, smiling, fangs still out.  I leered at her suggestively and fixed my gaze on her throat.

She lifted her hands and I could feel the power building.  I made a warding gesture and prepared for a slugging match.  A bad one, I reflected, since I couldn’t attack.  The circle wouldn’t stop her from lobbing spells at
me.