Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “You have done so already, my King.”

  “Shut up and take it.”

  “As you command, Imperious Lord.”

  Carella and Mellelia wasted no time in preparing for a trip. I went ahead to get Bronze and explain to her. Seldar brought them down to the front door. Carella had a bag slung over her shoulder and Mellelia had an articulated wooden doll. Carella was indeed pregnant, but only in the baby-bump stage. A little horseback ride would be fine.

  “Where are we going?” Mellelia asked. Carella and Seldar both shushed her. I went to one knee to be on eye level and explained.

  “Your father wants me to see to your blessing, Mellelia. Tallin’s, too, as well as the new brother or sister your mother is making. Since I wasn’t here when you were born, I’m taking you on a visit to my home so I can do your blessing right.”

  “Isn’t this your home?” she asked.

  “It’s the Palace of the Bright Queen,” I corrected. “I just live here, sometimes.”

  “Oh. Are we going to the mountain?” she whispered.

  “Farther than that,” I told her. Her eyes widened.

  “How are we getting there?”

  “A magic horse.”

  The squeal was high-pitched enough that it hurt a little, but I didn’t mind.

  I helped Carella up on Bronze. Mellelia sat in front of her mother, ringing her heels on Bronze’s shoulders and playing with the wire of her mane. Bronze kept flicking her mane about, as though trying—and failing—to avoid capture.

  I wondered again how she sees. I mean, her eyes are not in a good position to look at the base of her neck. How does she know? How does she sense anything in the first place? It’s one of those things I always mean to look into and forget about. Maybe it’s because Bronze isn’t worried about it, so it’s hard for me to be.

  With me behind Carella as a backstop, I saluted Seldar and he returned it. Bronze set off as a slow walk, gradually building up to the speed of a full-scale gallop—for a mortal horse. The ride, as expected, was wonderfully smooth, a perfect paso fino gait, albeit with a rapidity not to be found in flesh and blood horses. It took us a few minutes to reach the Temple of Shadow in Carrillon, but we weren’t in a panicked rush. I helped everyone down and Bronze nosed me toward the doors. She wasn’t going; she preferred to wait here. It would be easier on me to transfer everyone in a smaller room, anyway, since there wasn’t an enchanted shift-booth in this temple.

  Seldar called ahead for us. I don’t know who he got on the mirror, but Tallin was up and waiting. The four of us trooped into a little residential cell, I cast a space-transfer version of my gate spell, and poof, we were in the Temple of Shadow in Karvalen.

  I ought to set up something like this between all the temples. This is just too darn convenient.

  We trooped out, down the hall, and into the closet shift-booth to Apocalyptica. I was immensely pleased to find it was late evening, somewhat after sunset—at last, timing works in my favor. Another short walk, another shift-booth, and we were in Denver.

  Diogenes sent us a robotic car and I introduced everyone. Tallin and Carella has misgivings about speaking to a disembodied spirit. Mellelia didn’t mind a bit. She chattered endlessly as Diogenes drove us to the medical building. I spent the trip thinking at my altar ego.

  Sure, he agreed. I’ve got a pretty good foot in the Apocalyptica door, what with the prayer wheels and all. The local worshippers are also helping. I can handle a blessing.

  Good. I was hoping you’d say that. I’m going to have Diogenes do a full medical workup on everyone and make sure we’re not looking at sickle cell, multiple sclerosis, or any of the other genetic nastiness.

  That’ll save me some work, he replied, relieved. If he handles the medical part, I’ll handle the spiritual part. Sound good?

  It sounds perfect. Anything I, personally, need to do?

  It’ll help if you lay hands on everybody. You’re the most direct channel.

  Oh. Right. Can do.

  I’ll get things ready up here. You carry on down there.

  Our guests were suitably impressed at the sights. Diogenes kept his answers on their level, avoiding vocabulary they didn’t have. One doesn’t speak of computers and robots to a medieval mind. Spirits, spells, and golems, on the other hand, are old news.

  The medical facilities were strange to them, but the technology involved was still magic. Carella stood in front of a scanner, Diogenes took pictures, and we repeated the process with Tallin and Mellelia. I had to reassure everyone when Diogenes took blood samples, but they didn’t need much reassurance. The idea of using blood in a spell to heal is almost as common as otherwise.

  All in all, things were good. Mellelia and Carella were likely to have osteoporosis in their later years and Tallin was a good candidate for a type of arthritis. The unborn boy was also likely to have the same arthritis in his later years—say, sixty years in the future—but Diogenes whipped up the appropriate gene-editing viruses for each of them. While he cooked it, I called up my altar ego and did the quasi-divine thing, channeling his energies into each.

  As I did so, I noticed something. The works of energy-state beings are incomprehensible to mortals. They’re incomprehensible to me, too. They appear to manipulate reality in a direct fashion. I—and any other magic-worker I know—alters reality in a less direct manner. We use spells, focusing magic on the specific feature we wish to change. To that end, I try to work within the rules of the universe as I understand them. Magicians, I believe, have spells designed to specify direct rewrites of the reality paradigm, each spell working to alter one specific thing in one specific way.

  Energy-state beings don’t think like us. They appear to have two things in mind: How it is and how it should be. As far as I can tell, they take hold of the area involved, permeate it with their forces—whatever those are; don’t get me started—and switch the ideas of “is” and “should be.”

  Suddenly, what is, was, and what should be, is.

  I still don’t know how to do it and doubt I can. I can’t bend my brain into the correct shapes. At least, I don’t think I can. No doubt I’ll do better with magician spells when I have a chance to study them, now that I have a better understanding of what’s going on. Nevertheless, the forces involved for energy-state beings aren’t things I perceive. Well, normally—when I’m not acting as a divine conduit for a psychic copy of myself. But it’s interesting to see the process even if I don’t understand it fully. I feel better when I know what’s going on, if not exactly how it works.

  I offered to let everyone have a nap while Diogenes cooked up the rest of the “blessing,” but everyone was too excited for that. So we retired to a media room and I had Diogenes tell them some fairy tales. Which is to say he played some Disney movies for them. “Snow White” was good, but “Sleeping Beauty” was the one they loved. To be fair, the fight with the dragon was pretty awesome.

  While they watched movies, Diogenes also provided snacks and other creature comforts. He loves doing that. I think it stems from his original core programming, back in the days when he was just a jumped-up personal assistant application.

  I snuck out to have my sunrise transformation and to privately discuss with Diogenes some things I wanted. Long spears of black steel, suitably aerodynamic, and as wicked-looking as possible. If I’m going to warn a couple of grumbly nobles, there are some traditions to fall back on. I told him what to engrave on them and he agreed he could manage it.

  The oddball item I wanted was a genetic upgrade for Seldar. It was likely he was in danger of some of the same conditions. Diogenes’ gene therapy could fix those defective bits of genetic code at the source, keeping all Seldar’s future children from having them. If they didn’t have anything wrong with them, it would keep me from having to fix them for generations to come.

  I’m lazy. I went for it. True, Seldar might have one of the rare reactions to the therapy, but none of them simply kill the patient off. If he got sick in some
fashion, I’d either fix it or dunk him in a regeneration tank. I’d also keep an eye on him, just in case.

  We resumed our medical process after the movies. Diogenes hung IV bags while I did my best bedside manner. We could have administered the genetic modification viruses in a single injection, but there’s always a slight chance of an unexpected reaction. It’s best to do it in a controlled environment. Of course, lying down after pulling an all-nighter—IV in the arm or no—meant people fell asleep. I was okay with that. It let Diogenes do his thing while I put together some complicated illusion spells and practiced with some flammable liquids. I hoped the spears would be sufficient, but you never can tell how someone in authority will react.

  With all the biometric readings looking solid, Diogenes green-lighted our patients. My altar-ego green-lighted our supplicants. I green-lighted my friends. Waking them up was difficult, but I started with Carella so she could wake up—or carry—Mellelia. I roused Tallin. Then it was off to the shift-booth races again, Denver to residence to Temple One to Temple Two.

  Whups. New day.

  Karvalen, Friday, March 16th, Year 9

  I made sure the local temple knew Tallin had the day off. They bowed a lot and agreed. Bronze carried the rest of us back to the palace and I returned the ladies, somewhat sleepy, to their chambers. Mellelia insisted on hugging Bronze before going inside. I held her up so she could hug Bronze’s neck. Then, inside, she insisted on hugging me before going to bed. She raised an enormous fuss about it, which she need not have done. I’m perfectly willing to be hugged. Afterward, she went right to sleep.

  Somewhere, Bronze was amused.

  Once I made good my escape, I had my escorts escort me to Seldar. He was on the roof again, hands on a pair of merlons, watching the fleet set sail.

  “Mission accomplished,” I told him.

  “I am deeply honored, Sire.”

  “I disagree. I am honored. You trust them to my care.”

  “Then we honor each other, as you trust the Queen and her children to my care.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Good. What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the harbor. I considered the ships.

  “That’s a lot of sail.”

  “There are many ships.”

  “Wizards on every ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anybody scrying on this mass seagoing exodus?”

  “Doubtless there are half a hundred magical eyes hovering in windows and doors, a dozen disembodied spirits abroad over the piers, and perhaps half the birds in the air have eyes under another’s control—and all watching with interest. But what can we do? We cannot shield every ship in the fleet so as to make them undetected. The very water itself will betray them.”

  “Hmm. Overlapping illusions of peaceful ocean, all interfering with each other… yes, I see the problem. We could do one ship, maybe, or each of them once they’re out of the harbor and separated by more distance…”

  “But to maintain such cloaks against sight for days? And when they must pass the Dragon’s Teeth and the spies who surely dwell there?”

  “Yeah, it’s not worth the effort. They’ll know we’re coming. Which reminds me. I did some looking into the outer continent around Iyner and Salacia. They don’t seem too worried.”

  “Indeed?”

  “In fact, I couldn’t find any signs of preparations at all.”

  “Peculiar,” he mused. “I have reports from our scrymaster to this effect.”

  “You have a scrymaster?”

  “Of course. How else do you think we gain word of far-distant lands with any speed?”

  “Spies?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but scrying mirrors also have their place.”

  “Fair enough. So, no preparations for the upcoming invasion?”

  “Indeed. I suspect the Church of Light has its own arrangement with the Lord of the Fangs, or believes it does. Perhaps they expect the fleet will not arrive on their shores in any condition to be a threat.”

  “Possibly. I intend to keep an eye on the fleet’s progress.”

  “Good. And what will you do if they encounter treachery from the Lord of the Fangs?”

  “Prove him a pretender to the title.”

  Seldar shot me a look. I did my best to look inscrutable. Finally, he nodded.

  “I see. Well, for his sake, I shall hope for the best.”

  Bronze took me back to the mountain-city. I can work in the Palace of Carrillon, but most of my Karvalen stuff is in Karvalen, in Karvalen, in Karvalen.

  I swear I’m going to rename something. The context clues don’t always make the cut.

  Anyway, we rang the road from Carrillon to Karvalen, hooves announcing us, and people cleared the way better than motorists dodging a police car. I’m pretty sure no one ever published a notice to make way for the King, complete with a list of the characteristic warnings of his approach. People just sort of caught on. I’m impressed. It’s not like I make the trip all that often. Maybe I should ask Tyma if wandering minstrels have been making up legends.

  Or maybe not. She might still have a small club with my name on it. I’m not looking forward to getting smacked. Maybe I can outlive her and she’ll never get to use it.

  Back in the mountain again, I checked the sand table and brought up an overwatch of the fleet. They set out from at least five different cities, so they were headed for a rendezvous before braving the Straits. Given their speed and the distance to the Teeth, I guessed they had at least two days before they entered the Fangs.

  Hmm. We have one name for a mountain, a city, and a kingdom. On the other hand, we have multiple names for a group of rocks in the middle of the ocean. I really don’t understand these people.

  Is it their fault, or mine? Oo, look! Introspection! Moving on…

  Hang on. I live in a mountain that’s alive and growing, spreading through the rock and stone of the world. Has it reached out into the oceans? Well, reached out under them? Has it touched the Dragon’s Teeth? Or has it stuck to the areas around old Rethven?

  It’s troublesome to slow my daytime thoughts down to the mountain’s speed, which is why I usually use message spells. I can record my question or request and play it back much more slowly for the mountain to hear. It can even reply, sort of, taking all the time it needs, before I play the impressions back at human speeds.

  Getting a feel for the mountain’s geography—anatomy?—is a much more complex thing. It was an important question, though, so I decided to do it as soon as I finished my preliminary border survey. I could wait until night, perhaps, but the sooner I started the sooner I would finish. Or, rather, no matter when I started, it would take a while to finish.

  I sighed and took another look at the major cities of concern on the outer continent’s coast. Still no activity. I sat there, elbow on the edge, chin in hand, fingers drumming, and thought dark thoughts for a while. Eventually, I started looking farther to the west, hunting for a place on the border of H’zhad’Eyn where it approached Zirafel, or somewhere on the western border of Ynar. It wasn’t obvious where the kingdoms ended and the independent lands began. The people outside the kingdoms weren’t barbarian tribes, as such, but there was a definite movement from masonry and lumber to wattle and daub, from Middle Ages to Dark Ages.

  I finally decided I would have to target Zirafel, itself. But, before I started that project, I needed to mind-meld with the mother of all Horta, my pet rock. I headed for the throne room and a trio of knights fell into step with me as I left the scrying chamber. Well, they were bound to catch up to me sooner or later.

  Up in the throne room, the place was exactly as I remembered it, from firepits to gold ceiling to gleaming veins of metal in the walls. The dragon’s-head throne was still smiling at the room from the dais, eyes glittering with a ruby light. It seemed pleased. Intimidating, but pleased.

  For the first time, I wondered why no one ever tried to steal the gems in the eyes, or even the ones in the w
alls. There were no guards up here. Anyone could walk up the Kingsway, around the courtyard, push open the outer doors, and simply pry gems out. What stopped them? Surely, something as high-profile as the throne room would have rumors, legends, and myths about it. Or were the rumors, legends, and myths the sort of thing to dissuade would-be thieves?

  I settled on the dragon’s head while my Shadows took station around the throne. I reclined a bit more than I recalled. It’s like the thing gets more comfortable every time I sit on it. Is that the shape of the stone or the way I adjust to it? Perhaps a bit of both?

  Deep breaths. Relaxation. A gradual sense of slipping down into the stone.

  It is odd to be a composite creature. During the day, I am a living man. Yet, I was also a living stone. The mountain is the heart of the stone, burning bright with primal forces, roots growing all about, down and around and across and under. A single strand to the east, a line north and south, and a thick mat of lines reaching west, like roots across the forest floor, spreading everywhere.

  What is this I see? Yes, a few tentative projections into the ocean to the south, tunnels and pipes beneath cities, leading far beneath the waters.

  No, there is no line of stone beyond a few miles from shore. There has never been the need. How far would it need to go, to grow, to reach the Dragon’s teeth? How many flickerings of the bright-dark, blinking on and off, to stretch so far? A hundred? Two hundred? More? Too long, too long. Once I had a thought of a tunnel beneath the sea, from one continent to another, but did I ever ask for it? No, apparently not. Still, it didn’t matter. It might have been nice to have the option, but there were other ways.

  Up now, faster, feeling the heart of the mountain fall away as the heart of flesh beats like a hummingbird’s wings, slowing—or am I quickening?—as I return, revive, restore myself to full speed.

  I sat up on the throne and rubbed my face.

  “May I get you something, my lord?”

  “No, but thank you. How long was I down?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Not bad. Let’s head back to the scrying room. And send someone to find food, please—human food.”