Nightlord: Sunset (75 page)

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20
TH

I
’ve been busy the last couple days and nights, and will likely be busier.  I have managed a great deal through experimentation and improvisation and a moderate amount of luck.

First of all, I’ve learned something very important.  Ground isn’t dead.

Okay, it’s not alive like a dog is alive, or even a plant, but it’s not
dead
, either.  Just a lot slower.  So I’ve started rearranging the mountain magically.  Not by the brute force methods of power shovel and dump truck, but by asking it to rearrange
itself
.

Ever had something—a car, perhaps—that was cantankerous and grouchy and tended to bite whenever you picked up a socket wrench?  One that made noises just to worry you, but would purr quietly whenever a mechanic was around?

This was like that.  Except I was the mechanic.

I’d started by trying to figure out how to undercut some slopes to cause earth to fall away from the rocky portions—and fall somewhere handy so I wouldn’t have too far to move it to build an access ramp.  I spent a nasty day fighting with gravity, soil, and tree roots before I gave up on it.  I may have the strength of ten because my heart isn’t purely human, but I’m not a construction crew, not even with magic.  I tried something less direct and more like judo; I tried making the ground slowly flow into shape instead of blasting it and moving it.  That worked a lot better.  So much better I got suspicious.

That night, I touched the mountain and sent flickering tendrils down through it to get a feel for it.

It might not be aware, and it might not be entirely organic, but it’s alive all right.

You can’t see it happen.  It doesn’t move fast enough to be seen.  But after a night and a day, little changes are there.  It’s subtle; earth is moving, almost creeping, trees, shrubs, and all.  It’s like the rock of the mountain is a man and the earth over it is the blanket.  Just a very, very
slow
man.

So I tried a spell to make him roll over in his sleep, if you follow the metaphor.  It works, if really,
really
slowly.  It’s still a hundred thousand times faster than any natural process.  I’m happy.

Now I’m working on walls and passages and such.  I tried using Firebrand for a cutting tool; it can blaze hot enough to cut through stone faster than a buzz saw through a board, but hauling blocks back up a passage to the surface is hard work—and me without a rope or horsecollar for Bronze!  But, again, if you ask the stone to change a little—and this required some persuasion—it will alter, slowly, to match what you want.  So the underground passages are expanding and reshaping.  I like this.

I get the feeling the mountain likes me.  That’s fair, I guess; I like
it
.

Looking the place over during the day, I can already see the beginnings of a wall—well, a ridge—all the way around the mountaintop, like a crown under a quilt.  It should break through the dirt and sprout up as ramparts.  I wonder if anyone’s ever
grown
a stone wall before?

The only thing that worries me is how hungry I’ll get before it’s done.  That, and how long it will take.  So far, so good; armies and dragons make great meals.  I’m not even peckish, but I’ve invested a terrible amount of power in this working over the past days and nights.  Enchanting statues is much easier.  I wonder how long it will be before I get hungry again.  Then again, I haven’t felt like I was high and flying on a power rush, either.  Maybe I burned out my ability to feel that, along with my sense of taste.

I’ve also been giving some thought to who I want to have in my school.  Ideally, I’d like people who really want to learn something, people with an innate curiosity and the gumption to work to find things out.  I’m not in this for the money, obviously, so I’d better have people I’ll
enjoy
working with.

Why shouldn’t I shoot for an ideal?  I can craft a Calling; Jon taught me that.  Why not get the best?  But do I want a bunch of people pulling a Close Encounters move and drawing attention here?  No, probably not; they should head somewhere else,
then
get brought here.

I’ve got the mountain-moving well under way; the spell will keep on chugging toward the form I pictured without my helping it.  There might even be enough power in there to finish the job; I have no way to tell.  Like most wizards, “I’ve never done this before.”  Tomorrow I’ll leave it running and head back to Tamara, Raeth, and Bouger.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 21
ST

I
decided to take a detour south to check in with the sea-people.  They’re well, and they’ve got the hang of fire!

In the shallows, they have a forge.  The chimney goes up into the air while another a lot like it feeds air to the fires.  Magic keeps the water out and the heat in; they may not be too imaginative, but they do pretty good at problem-solving anyway.

They were glad to see me, too.  They wanted to have a celebration, but I didn’t really have the time.  Instead, they loaded me up with the pretty things—mainly gold ornaments and gemstones; it’s remarkable what goes down with a ship—and thanked me for showing/explaining/giving them fire.  And, of course, metal.  I did take the time to explain some things about smelting, but I have faith they’ll get a lot better just by experimenting with it.

I also opened my mouth on the subject of glass.  They know what it is; there’s obsidian to be found near some underwater volcanic vents.  But it’s expensive to them; it’s dangerous to go near places where the pressure won’t let the water boil, and the glass only rarely forms there.  On the other hand, if you can make your own, you can get a lot more of it a lot cheaper.  They started humming together and thinking about it.

I sounded them out lightly on the idea of breathing air for a while; students are where you find them, and their talent for group magic would be something to study.  Mostly, they didn’t understand.  The few who did seem intrigued, but not terribly enthusiastic—rather like driving past a road accident; it’s interesting, but you don’t want to be part of it.  Ah, well.

Much enriched—gold is just ballast to them, and gems are generally too small to be cutting tools—I headed back up, bearing left and westward around the undersea decline of the Eastrange.

There were a couple of things I had to do in Baret.

Bronze I left outside of town to wait for me and to act as a reserve; I didn’t anticipate a lot of trouble, but it never hurts to be careful.  Then I camouflaged myself with a couple of spells and jumped the outer wall.  It was a lot easier than I’d anticipated; I overshot and nearly landed in a house.  Again.  I have got to watch that; it’s a bad habit, as well as rude.

The first thing to do was make my way to the Baron’s.  At night, this is no great trick.  Not for me.  Nobody wanted to see me, and the few who might have taken an active interest were more concerned with other matters—like what a fine night it was, or how to get in out of the cold.

Invisibility is one thing; making people not notice is easier.  Sometimes that spell makes me uneasy, though.  It’s like fiddling with people’s minds.  I’d rather rely on stealth and camouflage.

I made my way into the place and hunted around for a while; the Baron was still up when I knocked on his door.  He growled a “Come in!”  I dropped my spells (all except my coloration control) and in I went.

The Baron was just as I remembered him.  Stocky, fit, blunt; he did not bother to rise from the chair by the fire.  He glowered at me for a moment, then snorted.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he offered.

“I didn’t expect you to see me again, either,” I replied.

We looked at each other for a few moments.

“All right,” he said, breaking the silence, “what do you want?  You came here for something.”

“I just wanted to let you know how things are going on the northern front.”

His mask of blustering indifference cracked.  He leaned forward and his hands clasped together.  “Yes?”

I stepped close to the fire and gestured toward the other chair.  He nodded curtly and reached for his wine cup.

“It went well,” I said, seating myself.  “The viksagi arranged to have the keep’s cistern poisoned and the barracks sealed and burned.  It was pretty effective, actually.  Things were looking grim.”

“This is how you describe ‘went well’?” he asked.

“Considering it finished with them running hell-for-leather with the loss of at least a third of their forces, all their wizards, and the dragon they’d charmed, yes.”

His eyebrows rose.

“This is news.  I hadn’t heard so much.  Were you there, or did you see it in a mirror?”

“I was there,” I admitted.  “But that’s not really what I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Peldar was there.  Probably still is there.  He was one of the ones poisoned, but he lived through it.”

The baron sagged, just slightly, in relief.

“That is… good to know,” he admitted.  “I take it that you ministered to him?”

“I was in no condition to,” I admitted in turn.  “The local fire-witch had to.”

“They have another fire-witch up there?” he asked, surprised.

“No, my horse fetched the local one, from here.”

“Ah.  Then I owe her.  Would this have anything to do with the new northern road that’s been burned across the kingdom?”

I would have blushed if I could have.

“Um.  Yes.”

“I thought you might have something to do with it.”

I stood up.  “Yes, well, it wasn’t something I’d intended.  I wanted to let you know things were going well up north and that Peldar survived.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s pretty much it, yes.  I was passing by and thought you’d want to know.”

“Why did you bother?  I cannot think that you feel you owe me anything.”

I shifted uncomfortably.  “Well, actually, I do, sort of.  You gave me a job and a place when I was a wanderer.  You made me a court wizard when I wasn’t much of anything at the time.  And… well… it’s recently come to my attention that a father takes an interest in his children.  So…” I trailed off.

He nodded.  “Very well.  Thank you.”

I hesitated.  “Ah… I also wanted to mention I’m sorry I had to leave like that.”

“I knew it.  I apologize for my bastard half-brother, and I am sorry the priests were so rude as to use your own glass against you.”

“Well, I did kill him for it, so I’ll forget it if you will.  And as for the glass, it’s not your fault.  I built the thing.”

“True.  But I apologize nonetheless.”

“Then, can we be mutually forgiven?”

“I think so.  Yes.”

I looked him over, taking a good look at his spirit.  But I already suspected what I found.

“You’re a good man, baron.”

“As are you.  Will you accept the hospitality of my house?”

“I would, but I have no time.  I have leagues to go before dawn.”

He nodded.  “A man hunted by the Hand for,” he smiled without humor, “
blasphemy
will travel swift or not at all.  I do not envy you.”

“Neither do I.   With your leave, I will take mine.”

“Go,” he said, gesturing me off.  “I’ll expect to hear from you again, someday.”

“I think you will,” I answered, smiling.  “Good evening, baron.”

And with that, I left to go hunt down someone else.

Ander.

I didn’t have to go apologize to him.  I did what I had to do to rescue Shada.  It’s that simple.  He would have tried to stop me and, by yelling for help, he might have succeeded.  But I liked him, and I hated to have to hit him.  It still bothered me.

So I eased on down to the temple and looked it over; I’d never seen it at night before.  Light, bright light, shone out through all the windows.  Apparently they kept the idol’s fires up and blazing when the sun went down.

I approached cautiously.  Emphasis on the “caution.”  If the light was going to set me on fire or melt my skin off, I wanted to know at a decent distance.  But it didn’t.  I didn’t feel anything at all.  It was just a place with a fire, surrounded by walls and windows.

Okay.  Hood up, cloak wrapped tight, I went up the steps and through the main doors.  A priest came up to me at once.

“Well-met, goodman.  How may the temple aid you?”

I kept the hood up and draped low to shadow my face; I don’t think he could make out more than my chin—which reminded me that, darn it all, I needed to pick up a razor…

“I wish to speak to Ander,” I answered.

He frowned.  “He has retired for the evening.  In the morning—”

“That will not do; I have much to be about and little time.  I must see Ander now or not at all.”

The priest thought about that one for a long minute.  I could see him taking in the quality of my cloak and the sword at my side.  And, doubtless, Ander’s future reaction to having turned someone away.

We could just hack him to smoking chunks, boss.

I thought back at Firebrand, really hard,
No.

Awwww.

I’m just glad the priest didn’t hear the byplay.

“I will see if he is willing to see you,” he offered.  “Who shall I say calls?”

“A man who owes him a debt.”

The priest looked even more dubious.  An armed man who won’t give his name might be considered unusual, but he toddled off to see.  I loitered, looking the church over through night-eyes.  It looked… well… pretty unremarkable to me.  It was just a building.  Even the statue/idol at the far end didn’t seem to have anything special about it.

Why had I felt so threatened when I came here during the day?  Just my own nervousness and imagination, conspiring to make me
more
nervous?  Or was there something here then that wasn’t here now?

Which brought me to another question.  If the Big Dark Nasty God had it in for me while the Lady of Flame
liked
me, what was up with this light-oriented deity hunting me down?  Was it just a case of priests being less than attentive to their god’s will?  Or did he just have it in for all vampires, everywhere?

Come to that, could it be I was off the hook?  That he wasn’t hunting me any more?  Whether it be through the Lady’s graces or by noting Mean and Nasty’s ire toward me?  If so, would his priests still be after me, or did they get the memo?

More to the point, did
Tobias
get the memo?  And did he
care?

I have the feeling that man’s deep into the darkness.  I don’t think he’ll stop for anything short of a divine visitation.

Hmm.  Maybe, if Lightboy, here, will keep off my back I can arrange for something that looks like one.  Maybe.

Nah.  Too many magicians on staff.

With that thought, I reflexively checked my defensive spells.  Still shielded from magical detection, still got the mental bunker.  Okay.  They need refreshing every so often; I keep tabs on them.

Ander came out to greet me.  He was dressed, but I got the feeling he had retired for the night and got up just to see me.

“How may I be of aid, good man?” he asked.

I spoke quietly, pitching my voice lower than usual.  “I would like to be forgiven.”

“Ah.  Come this way.”  We made our way over to a quiet corner and he gestured me to a pew, taking one himself.  “Now, what troubles you?”

“I did something unkind to someone, which may have gotten him in trouble.  He stood in my way, and I hit him, fairly hard.  Then I did things that doubtless grieved him greatly; I even killed a man he knew.  I regret that.  I see it as something I had to do, but I regret it was necessary.”

Ander looked thoughtful.  “Then you should go to him.  Yes.  Go to him and ask his forgiveness.”

So I pulled my hood back.  “I just did.”

He stared at me for a long minute, eyes widening, then widening some more.

“I’m not staying,” I said, into the silence.  “But I did want to apologize to you.  I’m sorry I hit you, but I didn’t any other way.”

“You’re a
nightlord
,” he hissed, scooting back on the pew.  How he knew that, I don’t know.  Maybe someone in the Hand told him; they surely knew it.

I sighed.  “Yes.  But that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

Ander made the sign of his faith at me and stood.  “Begone, foul creature!  Get thee hence from this most holy of—”

When he opened his mouth, I expected to be blasted.  I really did.  But nothing happened.  So I interrupted him.

“Look, I’m not here to profane your sacred space, okay?  I’m here to apologize to you, man to man.  I’ve made my apology; you can accept it or not.  So I’m leaving.  Yeesh.”  I turned my back on him and walked away.  He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him watching me as I went.

Well, good.  Let him wonder why his god didn’t hammer me.  I was wondering, myself.

A good chunk of night sped past as we went north.  Bronze followed the burned trail she’d left before; some pieces of it were in good spots for a road and were now relatively clear of obstructions.  At least one place was the scene of a forest fire, albeit a small one.  There were wagon tracks and footprints along some lengths of it.

It was still a long way to dawn when we came upon the camp.  Not Tamara and Raeth’s camp; no, a circle of boxy wagons in a burned-out clear space in the woods.  A
gata
.  I don’t recall seeing a
gata
since the destruction of Shada’s.  No telling how many had been put to the sword and torch since I came through the door and the Church started hunting them.