Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  His other concern was the religion of the Lord of Light. While that religion was not formally outlawed, as such, it had no standing, no acknowledgement within the kingdom. It wasn’t illegal, but it was also not considered a valid religion because it didn’t adhere to the Concordat of Pie between the churches of Karvalen. Nonetheless, worshippers of the Lord of Light were to be found in any city or town. Their numbers were growing, in fact, even without formal churches or temples.

  Technically, religion isn’t my problem, either. I washed my hands like Pontius Pilate and scrubbed off all responsibility a long time ago. The problem is I do still feel a little bit responsible and have to keep telling myself it’s not my problem. With politics, it’s not hard. With religion, it’s more difficult. I blame my psychic copy and our unearthly thought-wave resonance. I think I’m picking up his concerns as my own.

  I whisked aside the holographic text and put my head in my hands.

  Boss?

  “Yes, Firebrand?”

  What’s the matter?

  “I don’t want to visit Bob.”

  Uh, okay. Why not?

  “Because he always makes me worry about assassination and betrayal.”

  You worry about that stuff anyway.

  “True, but I worry about it more whenever I have to talk to him.”

  That’s fair, Firebrand agreed. So why visit him?

  “Because I’m a sucker.”

  Yeah. I guess you are.

  I went back to Flintridge to get Bronze. I’m not going home alone.

  Karvalen, Friday, February 3rd, Year 9

  Diogenes and I still haven’t figured out why the time differential between worlds sometimes skips ahead, sometimes slows to a crawl. I have this recurring worry I’ll visit Karvalen and find my great-grandson on the throne, Tianna long-dead, and Tymara a grey-haired old woman.

  If I slept, it would be nightmare fuel. Add it to the reasons I don’t sleep.

  So, it’s been over a month since last I visited. I didn’t want to spend much time in Karvalen, but after long absences, I feel obliged to pay a social call. Tymara misses me.

  Bronze, once again in her statue body, followed me through the gateway. She might cram a cyborg horse in the Temple’s shift-booth, but in her statue? Not a chance. Instead, we stepped out of the mountain’s upstairs gate room, already cloaked, shielded, and armored. I say “cloaked.” I mean I already had my various defensive spells active to keep from being instantly detected by anyone with both the power and the desire to do so. My cloak draped itself from my shoulders as a cloak should, but it also extended portions of itself to play the part of my sash, tassels and all, in a deep, unnatural black.

  We emerged into the undermountain and the image through the gate behind us disintegrated. A Knight of Shadow, one of the Banners, went to one knee, gestured with both hands to cover his eyes momentarily, and saluted, holding his fist over his heart. He stayed like that while I checked the room for more obvious spying spells. Someone might have noticed the gate activated—there’s no good way to hide that—but there were no spells in the room to watch it.

  “Bodyguard?” I asked, regarding the knight.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  I put my helmet on, locked the faceshield in place, and mounted up.

  “Send word to the Temple of Shadow. I’ll be at the Temple of Flame. You carry on here.”

  “I am to accompany you, my lord, if you come through the gate.”

  “Beltar’s order?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Can you keep up?”

  He considered Bronze. Bronze snorted and shook her mane like windchimes in a hurricane, ears laid back as she eyeballed the knight. Clearly, she didn’t think he could and would prove it if he cared to push the issue.

  “I will remain here and relay your message, my lord,” he decided, proving once again that Banners aren’t stupid.

  “I like a wise man. Good job.”

  Bronze carried me up to the treasury. I wondered why until I recalled I’d asked the mountain for some underground tunnel seeds. They were ready, sitting on the floor as though they had grown up out of the rock and eventually separated into unattached stones. Which, to be fair, is exactly what did happen. They were simple tubes of stone, no larger than a good-sized bolt, but they were also packed to capacity with vital force. I could feel it simply by touching them. I could almost see it with my daytime eyes.

  I gathered them up and wondered how to carry them all. Bronze popped open the lid on a saddlebag. It’s a metal container built into her statue and it only looks like a bag. Yet, she made it hollow, gave it hinges, made sure the lid fastened shut, all that. Very thoughtful, my horse, and unexpectedly talented. Could she always do things like that, if only she’d had time to work on them? Or was it something she picked up during her sojourn in the afterlife?

  Bronze shook her mane. She didn’t know for sure.

  I put the stone seeds in the saddlebag, adding fistfuls of gold as I loaded them to pack them in. It wasn’t Styrofoam, but they wouldn’t rattle around and bang into the walls of the container at a gallop. Next time I’m in Apocalyptica, I’m picking up some bubble wrap. You never know.

  We went up through the great hall, around the courtyard, and down along the Kingsway. As the drawbridge-door pivoted down to connect the courtyard to the upper Kingsway, I had the irrational fear that someone was waiting for us. Bronze dismissed this idea and I acknowledged it was irrational.

  I don’t know why she went through the upper door. Or, maybe I do. Maybe carrying me through it was important. The last time we came this way, I had to walk down alone. Not this time. Not anymore. Never again.

  She trotted down the throat of stone, occasionally huffing a small cloud of flames in the dimness of the tunnel. We made our journey—long delayed—but we made it together.

  We emerged from the dragon’s mouth. Closed helmet or no, I was on Bronze. People scattered out of the way, shouting in surprise. It was strange, but they didn’t shout in fear. In the capitol, in Carrillon, there would have been panic. Here… it was different. Here the Demon King was a rumor, not a fact carved into the bones. Here I was the avatar of the Lord of Shadow, not a monster.

  Okay, yes, a monster. But their monster.

  We trotted through the streets and a wave of open pavement spread before us. People got out of the way, stayed out of the way, and tended to bow, kneel, or salute. It was easy to spot visitors to the city. They just gaped and stared. I felt self-conscious. Bronze felt she could go faster if they would get out of the way faster, but reined in her annoyance.

  The Temple of Flame wasn’t in the middle of a service—that is, the open-air dome had some people praying in the morning sun, but no redheads. We stopped outside the building that served as both the priestess’ home and as an auxiliary worship building for the Goddess of Flame. Bronze sighed at the human-scale door and waited patiently while I went inside.

  Tymara trailed fire as she homed in on me. How she knows I’m arriving well enough in advance to charge headlong at the door is a mystery. How she knew it was even me, with my faceshield down, was another question. I knelt quickly and absorbed some of the impact with my arms. I was wearing my actual armor, not just a layer of ballistic fiber. I didn’t want her hurting herself on hard surfaces.

  Armor also prevents hugs from being all that meaningful. There are drawbacks to it. I unlocked and raised my faceplate so I could smile at her.

  She squeezed me for all she was worth as I hugged her in return. She stepped back and held up a horse figurine. It was metal and intricately articulated. It was a wonderful piece of work and probably beyond the local state of the art.

  “Provus! See!” she commanded, and squinted at the miniature horse. I saw power move through her and the horse figure smoked slightly. Then it reared on the palm of her hand, front hooves pawing at the air, and settled back to all fours. It put its head down, as though grazing. She giggled. “It tickles!”

 
“I imagine. May I see it?”

  She put her hand next to mine and the little horse leaped the gap to land on my palm. It pawed at the material of my gauntlet, then looked up at me, perking its ears forward. It had an opening for a winding-key in the center of its back and was probably hand-made by some clockwork toy builder. It was absolutely marvelous, both as a work of art and a mechanical contrivance.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Under my bed.”

  “You found it?”

  “Yes. Well, no. It was a present. The hands said it was for me.”

  “The hands?”

  “The hands under the bed.”

  “Fred! You mean Fred, the Monster Under the Bed?”

  “He’s nice,” Tymara insisted.

  “Nicer than most people expect,” I agreed. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  “He visits most nights. He tells me stories after momma puts me to bed.”

  Tianna came in, probably following her daughter.

  “Yes,” I agreed, “I’m sure he does. Very well done.”

  “Can you play with me?”

  “Not right now, but I did come to squeeze you and tickle you.” I put down the horse—which promptly started trotting around us—before I went for her ribs. She screamed joyfully as she fought with me.

  “Grandfather.”

  “Not now, woman! Can’t you see I’m engaged in battle?”

  Tianna rolled her eyes as though born to it. Lots of practice being a mom, I guess. She threw her hands in the air in mock despair and sat down to wait. It wasn’t too long a wait. Tymara was soon out of breath, lying on the floor, gasping, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Armor’s not fair,” she gasped.

  “I know, but I might need it later.”

  She lay there, gasping and holding her sides, still giggling in spurts.

  “Now may I ask what brings you to the Temple?” Tianna inquired.

  “Of course! I came to visit for a little bit. Lots of things to do, places to go, people to see—but you’re first.”

  “I thought you gave up all your responsibilities in this kingdom.”

  “I did. I’m not very responsible in the first place. I do like my great-granddaughter, and my granddaughter, and my daughter, though. I also have a vague sense of duty toward some other people.”

  “I suspect you do. All right. Can I tempt you to lunch?”

  “I’m pretty good at giving in to temptation.”

  I removed helmet and gauntlets as Tymara seized me by my swordbelt and dragged me to lunch. Her mechanical horse followed along, hooves tinkling on the stone floor. We all sat down at a stone table, the three of us and three lesser priestesses—Varena, Selma, and Pallae—and her toy stood on the table, pretending to graze on Tymara’s vegetables.

  The three lesser priestesses were dark-haired, but there were reddish highlights. It seems to go with the priesthood. Priestesshood? Is that a word? Clergy.

  Tymara was distracted all through lunch by Firebrand. She never met it before and was fascinated. Tianna had to remind her several times to eat, but the expression on Tymara’s face told me she was talking with Firebrand the whole time. Tianna and the priestesses carried most of the verbal conversation, with the occasional exception of asking me for stories. They wanted to know about the legend of the Wall of Blades, the Battle of Crag Keep, and the Light in the Darkwood. I told them the basics.

  When Tymara asked to be excused, I unbuckled Firebrand and let her take it in the other room to chat, both of them followed by her animated mechanical horse. Tianna’s lips tightened, disapproving.

  “You spoil her.”

  “Guilty.”

  “If you know it, why do it?”

  “Because I’m her great-grandfather, and she’s small, bright, adorable, and loves me.”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with her playing with a sword.”

  “Firebrand knows better than to hurt her.”

  “Is it true,” began Pallae—I think it was Pallae; non-redheaded priestesses are fungible—“that you enchanted the blade with the blood of the first dragon you killed?”

  “Technically, it’s ichor, not blood. It’s the wrong color and doesn’t taste anything like blood. More like a spicy banana, as I recall.”

  “Oh,” she replied, almost inaudibly.

  “And it was already enchanted when I upchucked the dragon’s spirit into the metal.” I ate another bite of dazhu. “The story about how I became the Wall of Blades was much funnier, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer, just nodded.

  “That’s a danger with grandfather,” Tianna warned. “Some of his stories are disturbing and not fit for conversation, at table or no.”

  “Very true.”

  “I’m still not best pleased with you at letting her play with a sword.”

  “I apologize. I abase myself. I’ll take it back after lunch, but I want them to get to know each other, too. It’ll come with me when I go. I have other stops to make.”

  “Very well.” She turned her attention to the other three. “Will you excuse us?” They rose, collected plates, and departed. This made me sad. I wasn’t done.

  “Important discussion?” I guessed.

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

  “The Lord of Light.”

  “Again?”

  “Always. He is an enemy of the holy alliance between the gods and the Crown.”

  “Yes. I call it the Concordat of Pie: Everybody gets a piece. All right. What’s he doing this time?”

  “It is what He continues to do. He offers bliss, pure and simple, regardless of one’s worth or achievements. To attend Him in His Temple is to be granted the gift of uncritical, unalloyed joy.”

  “So?”

  “So? It is attractive. Those who venture within to see for themselves return again and again, often bringing others with them with tales of the purity and intensity of the joy they feel. The Temples of Light accept only donations. They do not charge for their services. Any who wander in are welcome, for if they behold but a single ceremony, they are converts to the cause.”

  “Oh, wonderful. The Lord of Light is a drug dealer and he’s out to make the whole world an addict.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Don’t you have illegal herbs and other such things around here?”

  “Illegal? No, I don’t think so. Unless you mean poisons?”

  “Not exactly. How about herbs and potions people use for recreational purposes, or medicines they misuse for pleasure?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “For example?” I prompted. She paused, thoughtfully.

  “People smoke the leaves of the solanum plant. Some people drink tea made from the crushed seeds of silverweed. Others smoke h’sah resin. And there’s a plant from the outer continent, in the southeast, I believe. I don’t know the name. People chew the leaves.”

  “And what do these do?”

  “Solanum smoke clears the lungs and awakens the mind. Silverweed tea relieves pain. Consumed in quantity, it brings numbness and sleep. It can be dangerous when taken in excess. Some say it is dangerous to harvest the silverweed, itself, for the touch of the leaves will cause burning welts if one does not wash immediately. They say a cut in such a welt will fester and bring fever-dreams before it kills.”

  “Important safety tip,” I noted. “Remind me never to mess with silverweed. What about the other things? Hissah? And the leaves?”

  “The h’sah resin causes sleep with vivid dreams. And as for the leaves I mentioned, I do not know the name of the plant that bears them, but they make one wakeful, even energetic and excitable. I understand some warriors chew the leaves before battle. I have also heard it said the leaves are also an aphrodisiac.”

  “Fair enough. Have you ever known someone who uses these to become irritated, incensed, or raving mad if they are denied their favorite herb?”

  “Na
turally. Oh,” she added, her mind skipping ahead and seeing my point. “You liken the ceremonies of the Lord of Light to a drug of bliss. Since He is the only provider of this bliss, He gains control over His followers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It is an unusual approach,” she mused. I held my tongue. “What do we do?” she asked, finally.

  “You’re asking me? I’m a horrible fate for enemies of the kingdom, not an advisor on drug policy.”

  “Yet, you understood immediately what He is doing.”

  “I’ve seen the problem before. I haven’t seen good solutions.”

  “You know more about it than others,” she insisted. “The Queen will wish your counsel.”

  “All she has to do is ask,” I assured her.

  “Will you not go to her and interrogate her rebel priest?”

  “Interrogate her what?”

  “The defector from the Church of Light.”

  I sighed. It helps during the day. Obviously, I haven’t been keeping up with the situation in Karvalen. If they need me, they’re supposed to call. Lissette is supposed to have her eye on things and the authority to decide if she needs me. Bob is tasked with making sure she doesn’t need me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised things change when I’m not looking.

  Then again, if I’d visited Bob and gotten a full report on the activities of the past few years, I might not be so surprised now. Come to that, if I read the contents of my inbox in Karvalen instead of stuffing it all in the spam folder and burning it…

  “All right. I’ll add Lissette to the list of people to see while I’m here. Is that fair?”

  “More than fair. She and I both know you despise being King.”

  “Yes. Mostly because I’m completely unqualified and I know it.”

  “We shall see.”

  I recovered Firebrand and kissed Tymara goodbye. She didn’t want Firebrand to leave—nor me—so she wrapped her arms around my neck and wouldn’t let go. I stood up and she hung from my neck like an oversized, fiery pendant. She giggled as I walked outside wearing a mini-fire-priestess. Then I had to introduce her to Bronze.