Nightlord: Sunset (91 page)

I make no assumptions about wisdom or sense, but we’ve got intelligence.

So when humans—with superior technology, organization, and magic—became the dominant power on the continent, they forced the orcs and goblins to move into territory the humans didn’t want.  This was done inadvertently; there was no trail of tears as they were relocated.  No, the humans killed any orc or goblin they found and expanded into the territory thus liberated.

The orcs and goblins and kobolds and trolls and all the rest wound up living
in
the Eastrange.  Literally.  They occupied valleys as well as living underground, mainly toward the middle of the range.  They avoided Rethven like the plague and tried to stay out of the plains on the far side—the “barbarians” in the plains don’t mind being out in the sun and they are almost entirely a cavalry force.  The
orku
cavalry I encountered was their elite unit—cavalry is hard to maintain when you don’t have much pasturage.  With the liberation of horses from Eastgate, their numbers would at least double.

All this I learned while sitting quietly in what used to be the Duke of Eastgate’s study, sipping at a glass of blood, and talking with Bob.

I had almost forgotten Bob.  I haven’t thought of him in a long time.  I recalled what I told him to do; for the life of me, I can’t think why I told him to do that.  It must have been the goblin feast I ate just before—at least, that’s the only thing I can think of.  The last thing I really want is to rule over a kingdom of goblins and other monsters.

Bob succeeded admirably.  He first raised troops in a goblin village, promising them blood, meat, and land.  With these reinforcements, he started campaigning in the tunnels and warrens beneath the Eastrange.  Community by community, he preached the Gospel of the Shadow’s Return.  He showed them the handprint.  He persuaded, threatened, cajoled, and bribed.  Anything he could do, he did, and did very well indeed.

He promised a campaign against the humans.  He promised the sub-surface races would have a leader, one who shunned light and who would live with them in darkness.  A leader who would be everything they could imagine—strong, ruthless, cunning, wise, a drinker of blood, a giver of pain, one to lord it over all the world with a fist of iron.

Me.

Not all of them believed, of course; not even most.  A few here, a few there, always a few more than last time, community by community.  They came together for a cause, for a belief, and their numbers grew very slowly.  But they
believed
, and that made them far more dangerous than a bunch of hired thugs.

Bob had built me an army.  An army that believed in the survival of the strong—and revered nightlords as the pinnacle of the food chain.

“So why did you start a war?” I asked.

“I had many in your service, Dark Lord.  I needed some task to set them or they would have begun to chafe at the leash.”

I couldn’t argue with him.  You get an army together and then do nothing, it tends to fall apart.  Idle hands.

“What happened to Duke Heledon?  And the people?”

Bob shrugged.  “The Duke is dead.  He fought, as did all the army at his command.  A few tried to surrender, but all of your soldiers eat meat.”  I didn’t need him to draw me a diagram.

“How did it go down?  An outright invasion?”

“It was not so obvious.  Humans do not see well at night, and these were lax in guarding against an infiltration along their western border.”

I nodded.  I recalled the condition of the garrison at Eastgate.  They relied on the main gate in the pass and the static fortifications; they never thought about an attack from anywhere else.  Until this happened, I doubt they ever
had
an attack from another direction.

“But what of the rest?  The citizens?” I pressed.

“Many yet live, held captive to keep them fresh.  The women are used for play among the
orku
and the men make fine sport for the others
.
  After that, it is into the stewpot.  Some of the finer flesh has even found its way to the tables of the war captains.”

“I have other uses for the prisoners,” I said, flatly.  “Have them assembled in the pass and ready to march the sunrise after this.  Have you any troops that can stand the sun?”

“There are some
orku
that endure it more readily than others,” he admitted.

“Post them as guards; I’ll handle the transport of the prisoners myself.  See to it they are in wagons—I’m sure you have several lying around and no horses to pull them.”

Bob looked pained.  “True enough, Dark One.  Horseflesh, manflesh—these brutes care not.  But they long for the chance to kill.”

“I thought so.  Have a pair of chains, each about as long as a troll’s arm, along with some heavy bolts put into each wagon.”

“May I ask why, lord of darkness?”

“No.”  Bob didn’t even blink; he just took it and continued listening.  “Now, how are you paying them?  Just in spoil?”

“Spoils and the glory of the cause, aye,” he agreed.

“It’s hard to eat glory.  I’ll see to it you have some additional funding, just in case.  I plan to move through here early tomorrow with a load of humans.  I have a plot ripening that involves the plains barbarians.  Stay out of that region.”

He bowed in his chair.  “As my lord commands.”

“That’s it for me.  Give the orders.”

“I humbly beg your indulgence, lord.  It would aid your unworthy servant greatly if you would consent to review the troops and demonstrate your power.”

“You have twenty minutes to get them assembled before I address them,” I replied.

Bob wasted no time.  He rose, genuflected, and then walked remarkably quickly from the room.

I sat back, rolled the glass between my palms, and considered moral dilemmas.

Take the glass of blood, for example.  Bob had it on hand, ready for me, just in case I put in an appearance.  The man—the elf—doesn’t miss a trick.  Somewhere in town there was a…(sip)…girl, about fourteen or so, terrified almost out of her wits.  She was cut on the right wrist and bled into a glass basin. 
How
I knew that was beyond me; maybe I’m a little more psychic than I think.

Whether she lived or died from it I don’t know.  I could pour out the blood or drink it.  Neither course would help her or harm her; it was already done.  I didn’t need to drink it—I wasn’t hungry.  If I poured it out, it would be wasted.  If I drank it, it might be useful later.

I hate wasting things.  I hate having to make these decisions.  I drank the blood in three big swallows and brooded over my next problem.

What do I do about the ongoing war?  Like it or not, I set this in motion.  I never
dreamed Bob would be so blasted good at following orders.  I told him, let me think… that I wanted a more elaborate domain than just a simple tower.

So how do I get them to stop marching to war?  They’ve sacked a city!  They won’t want to stop there.  They’ll want to spread out and take more towns and villages.  Strategically, that’s a terrible idea.  They haven’t got the numbers to take the whole kingdom.  They barely have the numbers to defend the inner city, and even that won’t be for long if the king gets it into his head to
take
it—this isn’t Masada.  It’s a spread-out cluster of buildings with a wooden wall around it.

There’s going to be a lot of dead people before all is said and done.  And for what?  Lines on a map?  A religious fervor?  Loyalty to a king?

Somewhere, there’s a kid in the Rethven army.  He’s going to march a hundred miles or more to a city he’s never seen, carrying a pike he can barely use, just to fight a war he doesn’t understand, with an enemy he’s barely heard of, all because a sergeant tells him to.  Where’s the sense in that?

Hell, if we’re talking about making
sense
, why am I worrying about it?  I drink blood for an evening snack and souls for a midnight lunch!  Why am I worried about the nameless, faceless thousands in some war I won’t even see?  How do I reconcile that, hmm?

I’m feeling guilty.

What can I do?  Fix it? 
How?
  Tell them to pack it up and go home? 

They might.  But the fact they
took
Eastgate is going to make the rest of their various races think about coming up and paying a call.  Everyone will jump on the bandwagon, kill the musicians, take the instruments, and eat the horses.

Maybe I should kill them all?  I might be able to, especially if they’re all conveniently assembled.  But I’ve recently had some ethical issues with mass slaughter; something about being emotionally involved with a fire-witch.  I get the feeling her Goddess would not be pleased.  What was it Tamara said?  “You’re alive, so you’re part of Her religion.”  Something like that.  I get the feeling—and it’s a strong feeling—that She would be a little… disappointed in me.

Dammit.

I brooded and thought and cudgeled my brains for a solution.  When Bob came back, I was still thinking.

“Lord, the troops are assembled and ready for your inspection.”

I grunted something and got up; he led me out to a balcony that overlooked a city square.  It was a good balcony.  I could easily imagine the Duke standing here and addressing the public.

My army was waiting.  They were in ranks, ready for parade, and obviously summoned directly from whatever duty they were on.  Many weren’t even wearing armor, but every last one of them had a sharp object of some sort, just in case I wanted something killed.

Goblins and kobolds formed the front ranks.  A little quick math pegged them at around fifteen hundred or so.  Kobolds, by the way, are like goblins, just smaller, more feral, and look a lot like a humanized and miniaturized Tyrannosaur.  If goblins had evolved from the T-rex, then the kobolds would be about the same place as Neanderthals on the evolutionary tree.

Orcs made up the next ranks.  Maybe three hundred, tops.  All of them were dressed for war; armor and weapons were ready.

I got to compare ogres and trolls.  There were about five hundred of them, total.  The things on wall detail were ogres.  Trolls are even taller, but incredibly thin and wiry.  Ogres are sacks of muscles inside skin and hair.  Trolls are skeletons with steel wire for muscles and a spray-on coat of green and grey rubber.

The whole arrangement was divided into four sections, equal numbers of each troop type in each section.  At the head of each section was an elf.

Bob didn’t impress me much—or, to be more nearly correct, he didn’t impress me when we first met.  These guys did.  They each wore blackened mail and carried a thin, long sword that reminded me of a fencing saber.  Unlike their troops, they stood to attention and stood perfectly still.  The troops tended to shift from foot to foot and look around.  The guys in charge struck me as having been to a war in a professional capacity.

“Is this everyone?” I asked, quietly.

“All who are not beyond reach of swift messengers.  There are scouting forces beyond the city, lord,” Bob replied, equally quietly.

“Good enough.  Do they all speak Rethven, or will we need translators?”

“Most know a few words, lord.  Those few who know it well will relay to their fellows.”

I raised my voice.  “You have come here to sack a city,” I said, and discovered the acoustics of the place were excellent.  “You have succeeded.”

There was an excited susurrus of sound among the ranks.  I ignored this.

“It has been asked of me to demonstrate my power.  This tells me that your faith is weak!” I shouted.  “Weak!  And weakness is not permitted!”

I stepped over the edge of the balcony, fell three storeys to the ground, and landed like a gymnast doing a dismount:  I spiked the landing.  No flexing of the knees, no grunting, not even a flicker of expression across my face.  I didn’t break anything, but I felt it from heels to head. 

I pointed at the four elves while my joints and spine realigned.  “Select one from each of your divisions,” I commanded.  “Each of you, offer me a sacrifice.”

One instant, they were standing as motionless as statues.  The next, they were whirls of dark cloak and flowing movement.  In thirty seconds, I had a pair of trolls, one ogre, and a big, hulking brute of an orc in front of me.  Very nice.  Apparently, they were aiming at appeasement; I was expecting a quartet of kobolds.

They wanted a nightlord.  Fine.  I would rather they
had
one; I might be able to keep them from rampaging from one side of the kingdom to the other.  If it’s a matter of unquestioning obedience to the ruthless madman with fangs, I can play the part of Dark Overlord of Evil for a while.

I gathered myself, uncoiling tendrils like a crazed jellyfish.  I struck with them, gesturing theatrically as I did so.  All four of the chosen sacrifices staggered under the lash of exhaustion, under the draining.  They sank to their knees, one by one, and slowly toppled.

None of them were mental giants—the orc was the bright one.  The others were materially more stupid.  They were all unpleasant, nasty, evil creatures.  They didn’t see themselves that way, but they had absolutely no moral character at all.  Anything they felt like doing—literally, anything at all—had to be right.  Worse, they didn’t even have the
idea
of abstract right and wrong.  Anything that succeeded in getting food or a mate or prevented pain was right.  Anything that lost food, lost a mate, or caused pain to themselves was wrong.  That was all.