Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  Going to help, Boss?

  Probably. Some, at least.

  I’m sure he’ll be grateful for the aid of a blood-drinking monster in killing a fire-breathing one.

  “Shut up,” I suggested. “I’m not getting involved. Seriously. I’m not. Stop laughing!”

  Getting the big guy out of the cave was the first order of business. I could have bashed through the rock, but it would be a noisy exercise and there was a dragon somewhere about. Instead, I carefully cut away at the crevice using my hyper-sharp saber, slicing pieces off like carving a tunnel through a cake. Eventually, I had an opening suitable for a man in armor.

  Using his swordbelt—no sword in sight, I noticed—I lashed him to my back and started up the mountainside again. It was awkward, but I’ve got the hang of climbing. I extend tendrils through my hands and feet, like lightning-fast roots, then withdraw them. I can’t walk on the ceiling, but I can crawl up a vertical face. A mountainside is generally not a problem. I didn’t even have to carve out handholds with my fingernails.

  Once I had him in an open area where I could lay him down and work on him, I went over him with some healing spells, stopping internal bleeding and doing other first aid. Good enough for now.

  Bronze was willing to carry the poor guy for me. I was more concerned with where to carry him. We could go back to Apocalyptica, but one gate was enough of a power display in close proximity to a Boojum signature.

  If this guy was getting into fights with big dragons, surely he wasn’t doing it alone. This implied—at least, to me—a group of some sort. Adventurers? A mercenary group, possibly even an army sent to destroy the beast? If so, let’s get out the scrying spells and look around.

  Mountains and thunderstorms. Damn. Sending a viewpoint up high was useless. Let’s tune one for thermal and send it careering around the mountains, just under the cloud level… okay, not as quick and easy as I’d hoped, but faster than searching the place.

  No sign of a military encampment, but I did find a number of horses grazing in the forest. I searched the area more closely and found a large tent. There were also a couple of spells on the thing. Even under the trees, it stood out, at least to me. Nobody was home, though.

  Adventuring party, then. All right.

  Bronze carried him and I jogged along with her. It was only about three miles and it was all downhill. No problem.

  The tent was warded with an unfamiliar spell. I wasn’t up to speed on the local magical methodology so I undid it the old-fashioned way. I hit it with magical equivalent of a big stick. It fizzled and disintegrated, fortunately not taking the tent with it.

  I put my wayward warrior down, stripped him, bandaged him, and gave him another booster to encourage healing. I didn’t want him waking up and feeling fine. He fought a dragon and—I assume—lost. I wanted him to wake up, feel like he lost, and make a recovery while we talked.

  Besides, while he slept, there were other things I needed to do. First and foremost, find the dragon. I’m told it does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. Second, get an idea where the nearest Boojum manifestation was. That’s why I came to this world, after all. And I suppose there was a third thing—make camp. I might be here for a day or two.

  I flipped open the Diogephone.

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “You could at least let me say ‘Hello,’ first.”

  “My apologies. Go ahead.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Professor. How may I be of service?”

  “Anything going on? Anywhere?”

  “I regret to inform you there are no fresh distractions, if that is what you are asking.”

  Diogenes knows me, that’s certain.

  “It is.”

  “Then carry on, Professor.”

  “All right. Keep me posted.”

  “I shall.”

  I hung up and got busy.

  Unnamed World with Dragons and Boojums, Day 1.

  By morning, I had a couple of things to consider.

  The dragon’s lair wasn’t exactly nearby. It was four miles or so on the wing, considerably farther if one had to follow trails and climb rocks to reach what I thought was the main entrance.

  It was also the nearest manifestation of the Boojum.

  Okay, weird.

  I shouldn’t have assumed. I mean, I didn’t know for certain the Boojum manifests in vampires everywhere it reaches. It would make sense, though. Vampires consume the living essence of people, making them perfect for sucking up energy to feed the Boojum. They can self-replicate at high speed and they blend in well with the population. But a dragon? Dragons eat people. They’re not known for swallowing souls.

  Uh, boss?

  “Please don’t tell me Karvalen dragons eat souls.”

  What? No! Not exactly.

  “How exactly is it?”

  I’m just pointing out dragons eat people. Usually by swallowing them. We don’t chew a lot, as a rule—just enough to make it quit kicking. We don’t rip the soul out first, or spit it out afterward! As far as I know, the soul goes down with every screaming thing we swallow.

  “And the Boojum,” I finished, seeing the point, “eats that.”

  I dunno. Would it work? Could it work?

  “It might. It very well might. In which case, cutting the Boojum’s connection to this world—or throttling it back, anyway—could involve sticking around to kill a dragon!”

  I’m game.

  “You are?”

  Dragons aren’t meant to be the playthings of the gods, boss.

  “Tell that to Bob and the Heru.”

  They can go bite bricks. I used to be a dragon and I have strong feelings about this. If a dragon wears a saddle, he should be doing it because he chooses to! Same thing with this damned Boojum of yours!

  “Okay, okay! I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  Now you do.

  “Yes, I do, and I’ll be more considerate in the future.”

  Firebrand was silent for several seconds, thinking to itself.

  Thanks, boss.

  “Don’t mention it. So, dragon-hunting. Think our victim will be any help?”

  He didn’t do so well the first time, did he?

  “I don’t know about that. He’s still alive.”

  Hmm. That’s a good point. I take it back. He did spectacularly.

  “I’m going to put the camp in order and hit him with another healing spell. I don’t like how he’s been unconscious for so long.”

  The day waned, night fell, and I hid from the falling star by zipping myself into a high-tech body bag.

  For any fellow vampires of my species who are thinking about it, do not do this if you have a choice.

  It works perfectly against sunrise and sunset, but it isn’t ventilated and the smell gets… a bit… concentrated. Yes, concentrated. That’s the kindest thing I can say about it.

  Once I finished dying, I cleaned everything up and went to sit down in the tent. The big guy was still sleeping, but the flow of life inside him seemed improved. He was still wounded, of course, but his body was busily mending the damage.

  He stirred, opened his eyes. I tried out my translation spell.

  “Ah, you’re awake. Good. You are the proud recipient of the One Tough Son of a Bitch Award. I’m more than a little surprised you’re still alive.”

  He turned his head and blinked at me for several seconds, looking me over. I did my best to smile in a friendly fashion, rather than in a teeth-baring, fang-displaying, terrifying fashion. Illusion spells help a lot.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked.

  “I do,” he replied, looking away, his voice dry and crackling. “Thirsty.” I gave him some water, helping him into a sitting position to drink. He settled back with a grunt.

  “I feel I should mention,” I told him, as I helped resettle him, “for the sake of conversation, I’m using a translating spell. I’m not from around here an
d I don’t know the local language. Some people get touchy about these sorts of things, so I thought I should say so up front.”

  “If you do not use it, we cannot converse?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then I am… ‘okay?’… with it. If I understand your word.”

  “It’s not the best translation spell,” I admitted. “Want something to eat?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Coming right up.” I went out to check the food on the fire. When I came in again, he was sleeping. I sighed, folded my legs and sat next to him. Patience is a virtue. I just need to be more virtuous. Maybe it builds character.

  I was in my headspace, fiddling with some possible spells to allow Diogenes to control magical forces. They were crude things, on the order of wiring up a mechanism to push a button. I wasn’t pleased with my progress. I was always more of a programmer than a circuitry guy.

  Boss. He’s waking up.

  “Roger that.” I stepped out of my headspace, opened my eyes, and reached for his dinner.

  “Got you some soup and some bread. It’s more of a stew, since the bread soaked up a lot of the broth, but try to choke down my cooking. It’s marginally less likely to kill you than starvation.”

  “Who are you?”

  “No one of consequence.” Since he made no move to take it, I dipped a spoon and prepared to feed him.

  “Please. I must know,” he insisted. I tried to resist the obvious answer and failed.

  “Get used to disappointment.”

  “Shall I beg?”

  “No. I’m sorry. It was too good a quote to pass up.”

  “Quote?”

  “Nevermind. My name is unimportant. Seriously. I’m a traveler, not from around here, and will soon be moving on to places far distant.”

  “How, then, shall I remember you in my prayers?”

  “How about you say, ‘The nice guy who helped me’? I’m pretty sure your deity can figure it out from there, if it cares to. Now open your mouth without the talking.”

  I fed him and he slept again. I was glad to see him eat. He needed the food. His body was working overtime to pull itself together.

  On the other hand, well after midnight, Bronze noticed some people out in the woods, creeping slowly about. I felt her noticing and did my best to sneak out of the tent. In retrospect, having a campfire was probably not the best idea in dragon territory. Then again, it wasn’t a dragon sneaking up on the camp.

  Bronze stayed near the pavilion tent, snorting occasionally and shuffling, as though nervous. I crept into the darkness, trying to remember everything Mary taught me about sneaking. I must have been a decent student. I found one of the people behind a tree. He was leaning around it, watching the camp. I leaned around it with him. At first, he mistook me for one of his own guys. Then he turned to whisper something and did a double-take.

  In a quick movement, we were both seated behind the tree, me leaning against the tree, him leaning back against me. I held his head and his throat, claws out and pricking into the skin of his neck. I whispered to him to be quiet. He elected to remain silent.

  “Now, very softly,” I told him, “tell me why you’re sneaking up on the camp.”

  “We were told to?”

  “By…?” I prompted.

  “Sarevos.”

  “Who,” I asked, “is Sarevos?”

  “He’s the leader of our village.”

  “He ordered you to go raid a campsite in the middle of nowhere?”

  “No. He sent us out to find it.”

  I tightened my grip.

  “Now listen, you moron,” I hissed, “I want to know why you’re out here and what you intend. I can kill you all and quiz your corpses if I have to. You’re not making me feel it’s easier to converse with a live body than a dead one. So talk.”

  Sarevos, the new leader of their town—Pelamir—made a deal with the dragon. They make sacrifices to the dragon, the dragon watches over their town. The dragon was wounded recently when heroes attacked it. It ate them, but it told Sarevos to hunt down their camp and recover all their valuables. These guys found the camp earlier, but saw me moving around. They decided to wait until nightfall to sneak up on it.

  “Fair enough,” I agreed. “I take it you didn’t care if it was the right camp or not?”

  “Not really. We’ve given most of our wealth to the dragon.”

  “Makes sense. So, what happens if I let you go?”

  “I go home?”

  I don’t think I’m alone in assuming he was lying. I could see the colors shift and change inside him. Ah, well. I did the classic vampire move of biting into his neck, although I did make sure to cover his mouth when I did so. He tried to struggle, but, well…

  Bronze nickered and tossed her head, pretending to be agitated. She danced around, drawing attention, and causing would-be sneaks to freeze in fear. Did the horse wake someone? Are we caught? Are they still asleep? And who is going to try and calm the horse?

  I crept through the dark and killed the other two men. Bronze snorted and came out to join me, mostly because the Blacks are omnivores.

  I smothered the fire and went back to watching my patient.

  Unnamed World with Dragons and Boojums, Day 2.

  My morning, spent in a body bag, was not a happy one. Camping has never been my favorite activity. If I have to go camping, I would like a motor home. Diogenes designed a track-laying, all-terrain version Mary christened the Grumbler. Personally, I’d settle for a trailer. A rental cabin would be nice, provided it has power and running water. It wouldn’t even have to have hot water. I can rough it.

  I cleaned myself and my gear. Firebrand made no remarks as it started a new campfire for me. My patient would need breakfast.

  As I prepared a morning meal, something went on in the tent. I’m sensitive to a number of energies, most notably thermal energy and being set on fire, but I notice others. Something manifested power inside the tent.

  I didn’t snatch up Firebrand and go charging in. I didn’t run for the hills, either. I waited. In a moment, the manifestation diminished, dwindled, and departed. Nothing untoward seemed to happen.

  Any ideas, Firebrand?

  One of the local gods?

  Maybe. Is the big guy awake?

  Yep. Ah. He’s praying.

  I’m not sure that’s a comfort. To me, at any rate.

  I sheathed Firebrand, prepared a tray, and carefully carried it into the tent. The big guy was not on his pallet and was sitting up. I didn’t think he had it in him.

  “Everything kosher?” I asked, sitting down and presenting the tray.

  “I do not fully understand your words, but if you ask if all is well, then yes.”

  “Yeah, it’s not a precise translation spell. It works more on concepts than on exact transliteration of words. Each type has its uses… and you don’t care. I’m rambling. Sorry.” I studied him. “You look better.”

  “I am much better.”

  “I thought I felt something mystical moving in here.”

  “I prayed for the aid of Namae,” he said, indicating his medallion. “He has seen fit to bless me with his grace once again.”

  “Ah. Yes. Well. Then you’re well enough to sit up and eat by yourself.” That settled it. If there were local gods of prayer-answering power, I should probably conclude my business of dragon-slaying and get a move on. Sticking around to become embroiled—or flame-broiled—in another set of quasi-divine political intrigues was not a good idea. I stood and backed toward the hanging cloth.

  “I am. But stay, please.”

  “I really need to be hitting the trail. Places to go, things to do. You know how it is.”

  “Very well. Since I go to my death on the morrow, I bid you good fortune now and give you my thanks, for I think we shall not see one another again.” I stopped where I was, puzzled.

  “Hold it. If you’ve got a god on your side, why do you think you’re dying tomorrow?”


  “Tomorrow, I should be restored of my injuries. Then I may enter battle once more with the creature which made them.” The guy pulled the food close and started eating. He didn’t seem suicidally depressed, merely matter-of-fact about it.

  “Uh… but you know it’s going to kill you?”

  “Of course. I and my friends ventured into the lair of the dragon to slay it. I am the only survivor. If I slay the beast, the terrors of the monster will cease and my friends will be avenged. If it slays me, then I have died in battle against a dark and terrible foe. In either case, what more can a warrior of Namae hope for?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A long career of do-gooding springs to mind, maybe followed by years of passing on your skills and wisdom to a new generation of do-gooders. But that’s just off the top of my head.”

  “You are not a warrior of Namae,” he replied, smiling. “Our ways are not your ways.”

  “True enough, I suppose.” I stood there and watched him eat for a moment, thinking. Was that a glimmer of an idea? I thought it was. “Would it be wiser, though, to do everything you can to win, rather than go boldly forth and die?”

  “Naturally. Yet, my armor is rent, my sword and shield are gone, and I have no allies in this place. What else is left to me save the strength of my faith?”

  “Huh. Okay, I guess, if that’s how things work around here… but out of curiosity? How many dragons have been slain by faith?”

  “All monsters are slain by faith.”

  “Yes, yes, yes; I get it. I was referring to something a bit more direct. For example, can you tell me how many saints have wandered into a dragon’s lair and smited—smote?—beat it to death with their faith, rather than with swords?”

  “None of which I am aware,” he admitted chuckling as he ate. “There is a first time for everything.”

  “How about going home? You could get allies and whatnot.”

  “I cannot. Y’vin was our wizard. Tindal was our priest. By their gifts did we travel from shard to shard.”

  “Shard to shard?”

  “This place.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  My patient chewed thoughtfully as he considered how to answer.