Nightlord: Sunset (71 page)

Bronze came at it from behind, but the tail was still whipping wildly; it knocked her sprawling in a clangor of metal and ruined encampment.  That made me angry.

I reached out with the tendrils of my spirit, to kill it quicker, and seized upon its dwindling life.

Again, there were both good and bad points to my brilliant idea.

Firebrand was already drinking up the fire that was the dragon, absorbing it as it had absorbed the flames.  It was the first time both Firebrand and I ever tried to consume the same thing.  We touched, my sword and I, and we must have marked each other, for as the dragon’s legs gave way and it collapsed atop me, I drank as my sword drank, with my mouth burning in the ichor that flowed from the dragon’s breast.  There was no thought to it.

It was too much, much too much for me to hold—or too much all at once.  The dragon still lived, it still shuddered and twitched, and the claws still buried in my chest sent shivering waves of fiery pain through me with each tremble.  It was an agony to endure as I drank—and that drinking was a pleasure so pure as to be pain.

I could think of nothing else to do, except to drink and drink and drink, to let it heal me, and to pass on, as quickly as I could, everything I could no
t hold.  I drank a dragon and channeled it as I might channel power into a spell, feeding it to a hungry sword.  How it burned!  The blistering and charring of my lips, tongue, and teeth was as nothing to the fires that flowed through my soul!  It was like breathing flames and swimming in them, feeling fire pumping where blood should be.  It was the most terrible and awesome thing, this pain beyond all recognition.

The dragon died.  The final life-spark passed from the scaly beast and into me.  Gone was the rush of delight and pleasure; now there was only a burning in my heart and soul.  Whatever else I had of its spirit, I poured into Firebrand, pushing it out of me as hard as I could, forcing the pain out,
out
,
OUT!
 

My lord?

When the pain was gone, so was I.

I floated in nothing, a non-existent figment of the imagination, myself.  It was actually quite pleasant, non-being.  I floated in nothing, I drifted without space, I was-and-was-not.

Had I been more lucid, it would have driven me mad.  But was I not half-mad already, being trapped between life and death?

Then, in the nothingness that was not even a blackness, simply a nonexistence, I felt or saw something that
did
exist.  A darkness, like a thunderhead, rolling and roiling, approaching.  It was a form of blackness, churning with colors of cruelty, hunger, and pain, bubbling with rage.  It towered before me, a seething figure of impenetrable murk, stained with the tears and blood of innocence and innocents.  Manlike, yet not a man.  A figure carved from noxious black vapors

You!
it said, or thought, and I writhed under the whiplash of that word. 
You dare to interfere!
  Each word, each haughty thought, was a blow of pure agony.  I had no body to break, no flesh to rend, yet I felt the thrice-distilled essence of pain as the mass of darkness regarded me.  Within my soul, if that is what it was, I knew this was only the barest taste of what it could do.

But it was not alone.  A wall of fire sprang up, blazing like the hearts of stars or love, yellow-white and blinding, trapping me between the light and the dark.  Or putting me there again; are not all men caught so?

He is not yours to punish,
I heard, and was immediately soothed.  The lancing pains that drove holes in my being faded, and the holes mended flawlessly, better than new. 
He also belongs to
me
.

I have brooked your interference far too often,
said the darkness. 
I have him, and I will punish him!  You would use him to tip the balance—

You do not have him,
the flames contradicted. 
You merely lay claim to him by your power in his blood.  He is his own.

You know you cannot take him from me,
glowered the cloud. 
We are too well-matched.  I will not allow you to put him back on the field.

Then I shall not.

—what?

I will not.  I will merely prevent you from stopping him from going back.

The black cloud laughed, a mocking, cruel laughter that rang in my mind like brass gongs.

How will he return, then?  He knows nothing!

The Huntsman was there, spear shining in the light, half a dozen hounds at his feet.  With his appearance, the non-place took on a touch of place-ness, seeming to have something of directions and a sense of space.

“I will take him.”

WHAT?
  boomed the figure. 
You do not dare—

“He is a hunter, is he not?” interrupted the Huntsman.  “Never tell a god what he will dare, for anything can be hunted.”

The cloud paused. 
Is that a threat, godling?

“I never threaten,” remarked the Huntsman, “but I do advise caution.”

You are a fool to risk yourself for this thing!

He shrugged.  “Perhaps I am.  Nevertheless, I cannot stand idle while you threaten one who honors me.  You know that.”

There was the lady.  From a distance, I could have described her; up close, she was ever-shifting and impossible to discern.  I know that sounds impossible, but it was true; impossible things were happening here, and my ability to think critically about them was only slowly beginning to recover.

“I will stand with him,” she said, in a thousand different voices, all beautiful and terrible at once.  She seemed to carry something.  One moment it was a scroll; the next instant, it was a spear.  Her appearance, apparel, voice… everything about her was in a constant state of flux.

Why? 
asked the darkness. 
This conflict is nothing to you.

“Because of all the gods that have ever been, I am held foremost in his heart.”

Your concern for one will be your ruin,
the darkness remarked.

She fell silent, but smiled.

A third figure swam into my view, this one only remotely humanoid.  It was streamlined and powerful, with great eyes in its almost-human head and a heavy tail, like a merman.

“There are worlds within worlds,” it/he remarked.  “He is no child of the deeps, but he has been kind to them, and they remember him in their prayers.”  It was not a language I knew; it was not the tongue of the fish-men I had met.  It sounded guttural, older, more primal; yet at this time and in this place, I understood.

The darkness paused, considering that. 
You will not risk yourself and your children for him
.

“You speak much of risk,” was the reply, “for one with four opposed.”

The cloud growled, but the sea-man smiled at it with a mouth full of teeth like a shark’s.  The darkness gauged us all for a small eternity.  I could feel a weighing of forces, a calculation of powers.

You are all fools.  She will not be content with a single turn of the wheel.

“And you would?” asked the fish-man.

Never,
the man-cloud admitted. 
I will have this world.

“And us,” the Huntsman observed.  “You have slain our brother.”

He was weak,
was the rejoinder. 
Is that not the fate of the weak, Huntsman?  To be devoured by the strong?

The Huntsman shrugged.  “There is also a balance to be preserved.”

Ah, yes.  A balance,
the roiling blackness said, amused.

Faster than thought, it touched me and I knew what pain was.  I thought I knew it, thought I had some idea of its measure.  Nerves firing to stimulate brain cells, psychological trauma to injury, emotional hurts of loves lost and betrayals, regret for things both said and unsaid.

This was worse.

I saw myself.  I saw every piece of me I would rather not, every deed, every word, every thought and feeling.  I saw my pride and greed and my lust, my gluttony and my rage, my lying, laziness, deceit, treachery, cruelty.  The unthinking cruelties of a child; the knowing hurts dealt by an adult.  My whole life, I had torn a swathe of hurt through all those around me, flaying their souls with my unkindnesses, my temper, my evil.  All my foulness, drawn up from the deepest slime-filled vats in the cesspit of my heart and brain and soul, laid out before me and assembled into one hideous, horrible whole. 

It was Evil. 

It was me.

The darkness burned away as the fire engulfed me.  A roar of dark fury, an answering snap of fierce flame, and, distantly, the feel of the world turning, pivoting…

The thing born of all my faults was gone.  Instead, I was myself again, unburned by the fire, feeling as alive as ever I had.

My siblings will take you back,
said the fire. 
I cannot, for he presses me hard and I have no strength to spare.

I tried to speak, to ask a question, but I couldn’t.  It didn’t matter; the fire answered, sounding amused.

It was you, as he sees you.  What you saw is not a lie, but only part of the truth.  You are a child of shadows, heir to both life and death.

I wanted to know, then, if I was really a good man.  Normally, I would never consider it—or, if I did, give it no more thought than to realize I was at least moderately good.  I don’t think about it; I’m just me, as good as I can manage.  However, I’d been through a lot, not the least of which was seeing the sum of all my foulness dredged up and displayed to me.  I wanted to know, but was afraid of the answer.

The measure of a man can be taken in his tools.  It is not given to men to see themselves as they truly are.  When you wonder, look to the works of your heart and hands and see yourself in them.

Typically oracular and vague, I thought.  I would have asked what it meant, but the fire was gone, leaving me with the Huntsman, the merman, and the undefined lady.

“Well, you’ve kept your word well enough and then some,” the Huntsman said.  “Now I remand you to her,” he nodded at the lady, “and with regret.  But never forget me.”  Then he and his hounds simply weren’t there anymore.  They did not vanish; it was as though they had never been.

The merman remained aloof and thoughtful, great eyes regarding me unblinking.  I wanted to ask so many questions.

“Not today,” it answered, my thought still unspoken.  “Remember my people fondly as you go.”  He, too, was gone.

The lady took my hand and I realized I had a hand.  I lifted it to stare.  I could stare; I had eyes again.  Perhaps even a voice…

“Who are you?” I asked.

She smiled at me.  “You may think of me as your aunt, I think.  But that is not what you meant.  I am your patron and your guide.”

“I don’t know you,” I confessed.  “Can you… will you please stop changing?”

She laughed and her form settled into that of an armored woman.  “Oh, but you do know me—although you do not think of me as a goddess.  You give your faith to me, and for that I attend to your prayers,” she said, smiling.  She wore a helm with a white crest and bore a shield on her left arm.  An owl sat on her left shoulder.  “Now it is time for you to go back and fulfill your heart’s promise.”

“What promise?”

“You have made more than one, haven’t you?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.  The owl stepped away, making room.  “Well, they all work with each other, so do not despair.  What I have in mind is the promise you made to yourself about a school.  You will need to build it.”

“Then I will,” I replied, and she started to change again.  Now a golden-haired lady in a toga, now a dark-haired lady in layered robes…

“Good.  Now, I commend you to your cousin and her care.”

I wanted to ask about that.  I have relatives?  A cousin?  An aunt?  I didn’t see how it figured.  But everything was fading, not into nothingness, but into oblivion.  All I heard was laughter, good-natured and well amused, and I thought I felt a kiss upon my brow.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16
TH

W
hen I woke this time, it was already noon.  I was lying on a comfortable cot, wrapped in warm blankets, and had no idea where I was.  The room was stone, fairly spacious, and had narrow, shuttered and curtained windows on one wall.  Two braziers glowed in opposite corners, and the door was firmly closed.

I recognized other things, though.

First, I recognized I was lightheaded and dizzy; even lying down, the room seemed to pitch and sway like a hammock full of rambunctious children.  All the colors seemed far too bright, while sound seemed to be muted.

Second…

On my left, holding my hand and dozing in her chair, was Tamara.  She wore heavy white robes of homespun and her hair was bound with itself in some odd but effective workman (workwoman?)-like fashion.  I decided not to wake her.

On my right, leaning against the wall by my head, was Firebrand.  It… smiled at me.

Welcome back.

“Firebrand?” I whispered.

I hear, chief.  What’s up?

Either I was delirious, or my sword was bright and chipper.  I wasn’t taking bets either way.

“What the hell is going on?”

Easy enough.  You’ve been off in the dreamlands, talking to gods.

I took a deep breath.  “I’d really rather not… think about that… right now.”

Sorry, chief.  What do you want to talk about?

“How did I get here?”

Bronze shoved the corpse off you, we conferred for a bit, and she decided to go fetch help.  That hottie at your bedside, in fact.  We didn’t think the yahoos in the keep would be very helpful, considering they don’t know what you are.  She ran the whole way.

“Really?”  I am more and more impressed with Bronze.  “That’s a hell of a trip.”

I understand she set a few fires by accident, running over flammable stuff,
Firebrand said, and I mistrusted the tone.  It sounded delighted.  Well, it’s a flaming sword.

“Really?” I asked, sounding a bit more stern than I’d planned.

Yep!

I sighed quietly, then whispered, “Okay, tell me.”

Apparently, Bronze had broken all previous records.  Without the encumbrance of riders, she had poured on the speed, running the entire distance to Barony Baret—the width of the Kingdom of Rethven—in a matter of hours.  To do it, she’d stuck to an almost-straight line and ignored the roads.  She turned aside for no minor obstacles.  These included anything she couldn’t weave between, jump over, run down, or plow through.

When a couple of tons of glowing-hot metal, spouting fire and leaving a trail of burning hoofprints gets going good, nothing stays in the way willingly.

Once she’d reached Tamara’s house, Bronze had tapped the door, carefully, so as not to break it in or set it on fire by accident.  Tamara had apparently come willingly enough—despite not knowing what to expect—and had been treated to an E-ticket ride.

I wondered how she’d managed to stay on when Bronze was hot enough to use for a stovetop, but then I grinned at myself.  She was a fire-witch, after all; they have resources.

“Did she kill anybody?” I asked, meaning Bronze.

Not that I know of, chief.  She didn’t mention it, if she did.  However, if someone
didn’t
get out of the way, I swear he’s smoking paste on the roadway.  There are trees that turned into toothpicks because she wasn’t willing to slow down or turn.

I wouldn’t worry too much,
Firebrand added,
since she wasn’t on any road for very long, and it was at night.  She did try to keep to her original path on the way back, though; she minimized collateral damage because she knows you don’t like it.

“Great.”  I wondered who else would take an interest.  No help for it, though.  “How long have I been out?”

About four days; it’s Friday afternoon.

“Thanks.  What was wrong with me, aside from indigestion?”

Firebrand chuckled. 
Well, you were pretty badly burned by the ichor-pool you were lying in; you grew skin again, so that’s all right.  Mostly I’d say it was the indigestion.  It nearly killed you, you know.  Nightlords aren’t supposed to feed on their peers.  Stick to mortal creatures, chief.

“Peers?”

Children of Light and Darkness?  Shadow-children?

“Explain.”

Firebrand seemed to sigh. 
Right, chief.  Look, as I understand it, the living Flame created you humans.  The Darkness infected humans with mortality.  That’s why people die.  The Darkness also mated with living things in the beginning of time to create offspring that have qualities of both.  Dragons are one of them; nightlords are another.

“I see.  And how do you know this?”

I used to
be
a dragon.  I can see where you might not have noticed.  Now I’m a sword that has a dragon-spirit, filtered through a living nightlord’s soul, stuffed up my enchanted hilt.  You want I should shut up and let you figure things out for yourself, chief?

“No.  Not usually.  But later we’re going to have a long, long talk.”

I figured that out, chief.

“And quit calling me ‘chief’.”

You got it, boss.

I get smart remarks from my own sword.  I guess it could be worse.

I squeezed Tamara’s hand gently and she woke, startled and blinking madly for a moment.  Then she stared at me.

“You
are
alive!” she declared, and kissed me, full-on, like she meant it.

The room rocked and I heard a roaring in my ears, just before the world dimmed and went out again.

When I woke, it was not all that much later, but Tamara had been busy.  I was naked and damp, having been washed down with water and a hint of some sort of aromatic.  I smelled roses and oranges and herbs.  The sleeves of her white homespun were rolled up near her shoulders and she was laving my brow when I opened my eyes.

“Are you awake?” she asked, softly.

“I think so,” I croaked.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You opened your eyes and spoke in a strange tongue when you were fevered,” she answered, soothingly.  She sounded worried.

“I think I’m better, now, but I should stay still until the room does.  What happened?”

She blushed, started to say something, changed her mind, and then answered, “You tried to devour a dragon.”

I had no answer to that, at least not immediately.  There is no good way to ask someone if they know your Deep Dark Secret.  On the other claw, the room had a window and I wasn’t charred to ash six times over—and the curtains looked more like blankets nailed to the casement.  She phrased it just so about devouring the dragon…

“You know,” I said, softly, and it wasn’t a question.

“I know,” she agreed, equally softly.

“What will you do?”

“Tend you while you are mortal.  Fear you while you are not.”

“I don’t turn into a monster, Tamara.”  I sounded defensive, even to me.

She swallowed and did not answer.  The cloth moved over my forehead again, wiping away sweat and leaving coolness.

“Why did you kiss me?” I asked.  I don’t know why I asked, it just sprang to mind.

She laughed.  “Because I am a priestess,” she replied.  She sounded a trifle bitter.

“I don’t understand.”

“No,” she said, regarding me with a small smile.  “Probably not, but it doesn’t matter.  You are what you are, and I am what I am.”

I didn’t like the conversation’s tone.  It sounded ominous.

“Do you think you can explain?” I asked.  “I really would like to know.”

“Later.  Now, do you think you can eat?”

“Promise?” I asked.

She drew back to regard me again, searchingly.  Then she nodded.  “I promise.”

“Then I will eat.”

She drew a blanket over me before bringing a bowl of broth.  When I tried to reach for it, she slapped at my hand and seated herself beside the cot again; she spoon-fed me.

Since I wasn’t ready to sit up, much less stand up, I tried to take it with good grace.  In some respects, I rather enjoyed it.  The unnatural brightness of all the colors was fading, and my hearing was returning to normal.  I didn’t mind the attention of a pretty lady, either.  I couldn’t taste the soup, though.  I wonder if I’ve burned my tongue forever.

By the time she finished the bowl, I was feeling fairly stable.  Maybe not enough to stand, but the room didn’t rock when I turned my head.

“Will you tell me what happened?” I asked.

She smiled as she set the bowl aside.  “Your metal horse happened.  It fair near battered down my door to drag me off on a flight as wild as that of the Hunt.  At the end of it, there was a dead man beside a dragon, with a sword of fire in his hand and the blessing of the Lady of Flame upon him.  And who do you think that was?”

“Sounds like me, aside from the blessing.”

She took my hand again and was silent, faintly smiling.  “You are Her chosen,” she said, softly.  “It was you She chose to come to the last priestess, and to quicken get within her.  It is a great thing, and one that no other has had in living memory.”

I squeezed her hand.  “I didn’t realize.  Thank you for telling me.  When I am stronger… we will talk of it more, yes?”

She nodded, eyes bright.  “Yes.”

“So tell me what happened next.”

“I found men yet lived within Crag Keep.  I persuaded them to come out and to fetch you within.  When they brought you in, they claimed you were dead.  I knew better.  Here is where you have lain for four days in fever and delirium… and that little death that comes with nightfall,” she added, almost too soft to hear.  “I tended you, praying for your recovery, every morning and every night, when the change came over you.  Between times, I tended those who did not die of the poison.”

I nodded.  “So it
was
poison?  It seemed too convenient for a plague.”

“Yes.  We have discovered poison in the cisterns of the keep, making the water near deadly.”

So that was why the water-wheel was destroyed… and why the barracks was burned; the foot soldiers filled skins and buckets from the river’s wheel—or with snow, in this season.  Poison would not work nearly so well, so barring the doors and burning it down would have to do.  Those soldiers still out, seeking rest and relaxation after a shift, would not be expecting much trouble and would be tired.  Yes.  That fit.  Moreover, the fires would signal the viksagi that their plan was in train….

“How many?”

She hesitated for a moment.  “Why?”

“Because I care about them.  We were on the same side, and many of them I liked.”

“You really do care?” she asked, looking at me intently.

“Of course!  What kind of heartless fiend do you think
— oh.”

She had the grace to blush.  “Of those who were ill, forty-two died of the poison or the cold, all before I was brought here.  The rest are like unto death with embarrassment.  It is not kind in its effects.”

I shuddered in memory.  No, that it was not.

“There are a few who swore their service to me,” I began.  “Are they…?”

“I know of them.  Sir Raeth and Sir Bouger ask for you every day, and this one called Hellas sleeps outside your door even now.”

Hellas
?  Sleeping outside the door?  I wasn’t ready for shocks like that, but I heard my voice asking, “And what of Sir Dele?”

She shook her head.  “He died before I reached the keep.”

That wounded me.  I liked Sir Dele.  Raeth was right; he was an honest man.  He was what I thought a knight should be.  He was a bloody Boy Scout in armor. 

For some reason I might never understand, he’d sworn himself to me.  He’d even given me the sword so I could accept him.  He’d pledged his life and honor—that last being more than just a word—to my service.  He had been poisoned, to puke up his guts until he died of it, without ever taking a swing at an adversary.  I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

I wiped at them with a trembling hand.  “I’m sorry.  I just… I barely knew him, but I liked him.  He was a good man.”

Her other hand touched my face, turning me toward her.  “Halar.  Halar, look at me.”

I blinked tears away and looked at her.  “What?”

She stared into my eyes, long and hard, and hers were the eyes of a priestess of the Mother of Flames.  The fires of life glowed in them, brighter than the eyes of a cat.

“You really did, didn’t you?” she asked, wonderingly.  “You can care.”

“I can,” I acknowledged, and closed my eyes, suddenly tired.  “But I sometimes wish I didn’t.”

She knelt beside my cot and put her arms around me, laid her head on my chest.  “You are a good man,” she said, “and these hurts will pass.  I did not believe my seeing, because I know you for what you are; I was wrong not to trust the Goddess’ gift.  You are yet a man, and the Goddess loves you.”