Nightlord: Sunset (87 page)

“And magic?” Belis breathed.  Her eyes were wide and I daresay they were shining.

“Whatever you have the talent for,” I repeated.  “It may be nothing at all, or you may move mountains.  Or anything in between.  I don’t know how strong you are.”

“May we… may we think it over?” Pelom asked.

“Of course.  We leave in the morning, though.  I’ll have Caedwyl and Caeron escort you and answer questions.”

“Sir?  What if we decide against it?”

I thought about it.

“Then I will have to ask you to come along as guests for a week or two.  Not as prisoners, I hope; I would rather you just travel with us and keep us entertained as any hired minstrel might.  When we get to where we are going—
then
you may leave us.  I will see to it that you are well-paid in the bargain.”

“So we have no real choice,” Pelom replied.  “We will go with you whether we wish to or no.”

I sighed.  I hated it, but he was right.

“Yes, Pelom.  You are correct, and it grieves me greatly that I must inflict my will on you in this manner.  I
hope
you will wish to go with us; we’re a fun bunch of people,” I said, smiling.  “But your curiosity may be the death of us.  Unless…” I trailed off.

“Unless?” Belis encouraged.

“If you will swear an oath to me, bound with blood and magic, that you will make every effort to conceal and hide the knowledge you gain from my people… then, if you still do not wish to join us, I will leave you here.  That is the very best I can do, for not only my own safety but the safety of my people.”

Pelom and Belis looked at each other.  Belis was itchingly curious; Pelom was surly and a trifle scared.  But they managed to communicate all that in just a look.

“We agree,” Pelom answered, reluctantly.  “If we do not wish to join you, we will accept your geas.”

“I
am
sorry, Pelom.  I hate this as much as you do.  If you can think of another way, I will be very pleased to hear it.”

He shook his head.  “I do not know.”

“Nor I,” Belis added.

“Well, think about it.  If you can find a way that
doesn’t
involve putting a geas on you or kidnapping you, I’ll listen.  If you aren’t going to join us willingly, then you aren’t going to join us at all; I don’t really want you along unless you qualify and want to be here.”

“I understand, sir.  I think.  What do you mean ‘qualify’?”

“You have to have several excellent qualities before I’ll be willing to accept you as one of my own,” I said.  “I won’t hire just anybody; I might throw you out once we’ve finished traveling.  I don’t know if I would allow you to actually join us.”

Pelom blinked in surprise.  “No?”

I nodded.  “It’s possible.  But you go think.  Make up your mind.  I have much to do this evening.”

I stuck my head out the door and found that both of the twins were waiting outside.  I beckoned them in, explained the situation, and they left with Belis and Pelom.  I heard a cheer as the minstrels came into sight in the common room.

That dealt with—or tabled for the moment—I headed back upstairs.

Somewhere along the wee hours of the morning—or is that just
really
late at night?—I heard a tapping at my door.  I carefully disentangled myself from Tamara and reflected that someone was going to pay for the disturbance.  Tamara caught me just as I was about to set foot on the floor, pulled my head down to kiss me soundly, then relaxed back onto the bed.  I took it as permission to see who it was.  I pulled on trousers, picked up Firebrand, and opened the door.

It was Riddle.  He looked haggard and more than a little beaten.  There were circles under his eyes—one of them was puffy and bruised—and there was a split in his lower lip.  He kept his left arm pressed to his side, but I didn’t see a bloodstain in what we might be generous and call his shirt.

“What the—?  Come in,” I said, gesturing him inside.  “What happened to you?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that.

He limped into the room and slouched onto a stool.  Tamara clutched the covers to herself and sat up.  The candles in the room lit on their own, as did the oil lamp.  She doesn’t see well in the dark, but she doesn’t need to.

“All right,” I said, going to one knee beside him.  I looked at his face.  “What’s the story?”

He turned his face away.  “I’m all right!”

Tamara got up, wrapping a blanket around herself in the process.  “No, you are not,” she chided.  She settled next to him, on his other side.  “Let me see.”

He shoved her hand away.  “Stop!” he half-shouted, then winced and clutched at his side.  “I’ll get well.  But I need someone to help me.”

“Sure,” I said.  “The job offer is still open.”

His eyes were shadowed and bleak.  “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t leave Tort.”

I thought about it.  He already mentioned someone named Tort who needed a wizard.

“Who is Tort?  We may have room.”

“Halar.”  Tamara’s voice was gentle, but there was a tone…

“Yes, my dear?”

“Hush for the moment.”

I blinked at her.  “Um.  Okay.”

She caught Riddle’s attention.  “You have someone that must be cared for?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person hurt?  Or sick?”

“She’s both.”

“And you wish to help her?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell him—” she nodded at me, “—what you need.  If it can be done, he will do it.”

“But he
can’t!
” Riddle said, almost in tears.  “If he shows his face at Grummen’s again, they’ll kill him!  He only got out because there was no one behind him!”

Tamara turned to me with a raised eyebrow.  I knew I was in trouble.

“I went home with Riddle,” I explained.  “I was going to help his friend, and the people there didn’t want me there.  I get the feeling they don’t like unexpected guests.”

“It was my fault,” Riddle said, choking slightly.  He looked like he was crying, except there wasn’t a tear to be seen.  The world could do anything it liked, but it couldn’t make him weep.  “I did not tell them… I did not ask anyone… I just brought him with me to see Tort…”

“Anyway, they threw me out,” I finished.

“And if you go back, they’ll kill you!  They have some crossbows and everyone has knives!”

Tamara shook her head and clucked reprovingly.  “There, there.  You’ve never seen a hero about his trade.  Don’t be long, Halar.”

“I shan’t,” I replied.  “Where is Tort?” I asked.  “I’ll have her back here before sunrise.”  I started getting dressed while he answered.

“She’s… she’s upstairs.  We’re small, we won’t break through the rotten boards.  Nobody else goes up into the attic…”

“Right.  She’s the only one up there?”

“Yes.”

“What does she look like?”

“A little smaller than me,” he sniffed.  “She doesn’t have… her left foot is gone.”

“Piece of cake.  Back soon.”

“But—but—but—there are
dozens
of people in there!” he burst out.

“Well, if they’re people, I won’t kill them unless they do something stupid.  If they surrender without a fight, I won’t hurt them at all.  What could be more fair?”  I pulled on my boots and stood up, grinning.

Riddle just stared at me.

“Now let my lady work on you; she’s quite a healer.  Then you can let her help Tort, if you like.”  I kissed Tamara.  “Careful, lady.  He’s a charmer.”

“He is not alone in that,” she replied.  “Off you go.”

I grabbed my cloak and left them there.  I headed off through town.  If they had railroads, I would be crossing the tracks.  As I went, I wondered who Tort was.  A sister, maybe?

Are we going to burn the place down like you said, boss?

“Not with a little girl in the building.  I don’t like killing people unless I absolutely need to.”

Yeah.  I noticed.  What’s up with that?

“Beg pardon?”

Never mind.  Just let me have some of the fun, willya?

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It’s a good thing nobody was out at that hour.  I wonder how people would react to a madman talking with his sword?  Probably by fading into the background.  Nobody wants to encounter a madman, especially one with a sword.

The building didn’t look any better by darksight.  In some ways, it looked worse; shadows couldn’t hide the rot and the cracks.  I could hear the wind blowing through the walls and smell the mold in the rafters.  From the sounds of it, there were a couple dozen people in the building, possibly huddled together for warmth.

Warmth is something we got, boss.

“Only if I have to.”

Firebrand grumbled but shut up.  My sword likes to kill things.  Go figure.

I thought about it for a minute.  How do I go into a building full of probably-hostile people and recover a sick and injured child without letting her get hurt in the process?  A nice puzzle.

I could just go in and march through whatever they threw at me.  Unfortunately, that was likely to necessitate killing a bunch of people.  Or I could try to go in through the roof—easy enough with my mass.  Stopping in the attic, though—that could be more of a problem.  If nobody goes into the attic because the floor is weak…

I sighed.  This would have been so much simpler if I could still work magic at night.

Finally, I settled on sneaking up to the building and reaching through it with tendrils.  They flowed in like coils of smoke, ignoring merely physical barriers like stone and wood and plaster.  I let them coil and drift through the whole ground floor, lightly touching everyone.  Yes, sleepers, mostly.  One or two wakeful people.

I touched the sleepers lightly and siphoned off what energy they possessed.  I killed no one, just made sure the sleepers would sleep
very
soundly.  The wakeful ones were more tricky.  I circled the building and got as close as I could to the first one.  Him I attacked, fully, with every tendril I had; I wanted to so exhaust his vital essence that he simply collapsed.  That was tricky, but I managed it.  He didn’t even cry out before he fell unconscious.  The other wakeful person came over to see what happened and I got him the same way.  It wasn’t easy to just drop them without killing them, but I need to work on my fine control anyway; it was good practice.

That cleared the ground floor.  I let my tendrils flow upward and search the second floor.  Up and on up, I kept finding sleepers.  By ones and by twos, they all slept the sleep of utter and complete exhaustion.

Contact in the attic.  I touched, tested, felt around; it was definitely a child.  I got the sense of a sleeping, sick little girl.  Good enough for me.  I went into the building and headed up the stairs.

My problem became more obvious when I reached the ladder to the attic.  It was rickety and old, with a nice case of rot.  I’m not sure it would have held me before I added the extra weight of an undead.

Well, crap.  I should have brought Riddle to go up and bring her down.

Too late to do that now.  If I had to, I might come back with him, but for now, I’d see if I could obtain the kid and get out on my own.

Hmm.  If the floors were that fragile, maybe it could become an advantage.

I looked up, tendrils questing, and found the girl.  Her presence was a glowing light, radiating even through the old wood.  I centered myself under her, carefully, and considered the architecture.  Two cuts would cause the boards beneath her to fall away and I could catch her.  Or, one cut and a good scoring would cause the wood to bend, hopefully, and dump her into my arms as though she were lying on a trapdoor.  That would be better.  Yes.

The wood wasn’t very tough.  Firebrand’s point scored across several boards with ease.  A moment later, I pushed the tip through the wood at the other end of the boards Tort was lying on.  It took some muscle to force the edge of the blade along—it was essentially cutting old wood with an oversized straight razor—but Firebrand was good about it.

When the boards gave way, the scored area crumbled, letting the attic floor—my ceiling—tilt down as planned.  A very startled little girl woke up as she tilted, but she didn’t scream.  It was more of a piping sort of “Eeep!” noise.  She slid down the angle as her floor continued to swing down.  I caught her, blanket and all, and a good thing, too; the boards were coming apart from each other and one of them broke completely free.

“Hi,” I whispered.  “Riddle sent me.  Are you Tort?” I asked.

Her eyes got huge as she stared at me.  She nodded.  I think she was scared half to death.  She was wrapped in a tattered, moth-eaten blanket and apparently bundled in the remains of several castoff garments.  Offhand, I pegged her at about five years old, tops.  More likely four.

“I’ll take you to him,” I said, quietly.  “Can you hold on?”  She nodded again and I hoisted her up to ride my hip.  “If I put you down, it will be suddenly.  Just drop to the ground and hold still, okay?”  She nodded against my shoulder and held on to me.  A good kid.  I wondered if she’d learned to be like that from living in these conditions.  I can’t imagine living as a child on the streets.  Or maybe I just don’t want to.