Nightlord: Shadows

by Garon Whited

  “Get in line,” I said, pleasantly enough.

  “We have come—”

  “And if you’re not careful,” I interrupted, “you’re going to go. Get. In. Line.”

  “But we are the knights—”

  “But you’re not knights,” I snapped, “and I wouldn’t care if you were kings. You want to talk to me, you take your turn. Get in line!”

  They backed away in confusion. Then, with some hesitation, got in line. I worked my way through a few more diseases. It’s fairly easy to cure a disease, for me. I see how the life of a person flickers and glows. I find the thing that’s interfering with that. I use a spell to limit what my astral/spiritual tendrils will actually touch, then wave a fine-meshed net of them through the person. When all—or most—of the disease organisms die, the person’s own immune system can usually take care of the rest. Just to be safe, I usually try to tell their immune system exactly what to look for. It seems to work.

  Tamara also cured diseases, but she once told me that it could be moderately dangerous. Dumping a lot of life energy into a person with an infection hastened the process enormously—both for the subject and for the disease. Having a head cold run its course in an hour may be an improvement, but cholera or other plagues could be fatal if accelerated.

  Unfortunately, there’s no cure for old age.

  A family—seventeen people—were next in line, carrying Grandma on a litter. It looked as though the grandkids were carrying her; her own kids were a bit old to be hoisting and hauling. On the other hand, she looked as though she couldn’t weigh as much as the litter. I moved to her when her turn came, rather than have them pick her up again.

  “My king,” she croaked. “You’ve come back.”

  “I have.”

  “Do you remember me?”

  “I must confess I do not,” I admitted.

  “I was but a girl when we went through the pass of the Eastrange,” she said, pausing frequently for breath. “I sat on your lap when the storm raged over us and the waters rose.”

  Memory jiggled, cranked over, and delivered a recollection to my inbox.

  “Burel,” I said.

  “You do remember,” she said, and smiled.

  “It was a long time ago.” I looked at the people around her. “You have done very well,” I added.

  “I am proud of my family,” she said, and coughed wetly. “I fear that I must be going.”

  “Ah. Are you sure it’s time?”

  “I am tired, my king,” she admitted. “I have lived long and seen much. I have raised four generations. I have even lived to see you again.”

  I looked at the rest of the family. They didn’t look happy, but they didn’t seem overly distraught, either. I wondered how long Grandma—Burel—had been on her deathbed. They were expecting her to go soon, I think, just not quite in this way.

  “Burel,” I asked, “are you ready to go right now? Or would you rather do so in private?”

  “I have come to my king, to ask if he will take me,” she replied, and lifted one bony arm to present her wrist. “Will you be my escort?”

  “No,” I answered, “but I will be your doorway.” I kissed her hand and knelt by her litter.

  “Ready?” I asked. She smiled. I gently wrapped her in tendrils of darkness, leeching what little vitality she had. She closed her eyes, sighing. She passed through the dark lines of my spirit and vanished into me, becoming, in some small way, a part of me. It was different, very different, to take someone who wanted to go. A willing departure from the world was… how to describe it? The difference between fast food and fine dining? Water and wine? Happiness and bliss? I don’t know. She was old, and tired, and ready to depart, and happy to be honored with the touch of her King to speed her on her way.

  With nicety and exactitude, I laid my lips on her wrist in a vampire’s kiss, piercing the skin with my fangs—and only my fangs; it would not do to bite entirely through her wrist—to let the blood pump its way out. It takes a long time before the body weakens to the point that the heart stops, but I was in no hurry. Her blood was in enough of a hurry on its own, rushing into me and down my throat.

  With her spirit gone and her heart stopped, I licked at the skin to make sure it was clean before I lifted my lips; it doesn’t do to leave bloodstains on a peaceful corpse. I laid her arm across her body and kissed her pale and wrinkled brow. The family, one by one, circled around the litter to make a bow to me. The eldest of them, presumably her firstborn son, made a slow, careful knee before me with the help of what was probably his firstborn son. He took my hand and kissed it. Then he rose, with help, and the group of them took up the litter to bear their matriarch away.

  Everyone watched them go until they rounded the corner. Even the would-be knights were respectful enough for that. Once the family was out of sight, though, the first of the knights had his turn. I felt much happier, somehow, and I hoped he wasn’t going to spoil it. I looked at him pleasantly.

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “You can return my sword.”

  “Do I have your sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll have to earn it.”

  “I’m a knight of the Order of the Shadow!” he declared. “I did earn that sword!”

  “I’m the King of Karvalen,” I countered, “and I never gave it to you.”

  He opened his mouth to shout something, realized it was a bad idea, and closed his mouth. I silently awarded him a point for that. I looked at the rest of the armored guys.

  “Does he speak for all of you?” I asked. There were nods. One man held up a hand.

  “He doesn’t speak for me. How can I earn my sword?” Several of the others looked at him, surprised, possibly scandalized, but definitely unhappy with him.

  “Show up tomorrow morning, about dawn, at the house of the Lady Tort,” I told him. “I’m training new knights. We’ll see who can keep up.”

  He nodded and walked away. The rest of them looked confused.

  “You’re training knights?” one asked.

  “I am.”

  “I’m already trained.”

  “I didn’t train you,” I said. “How do I know that?”

  “We could fight,” he suggested. Three of his friends instantly surrounded him and hustled him away, trying very hard to keep him from talking any more.

  “Or not,” I added, quietly, watching them hurry him away. More loudly, “If you would like to be knights, you’re welcome to come train with us,” I said to the rest. They didn’t like the idea of not being knights—or, perhaps, of never having been real knights—and their egos were bruised. They went away in a huff, presumably to argue about what to do.

  That was the end of the excitement. I stayed as long as people needed care, shook hands, declined a couple of business propositions and three romantic ones, and smiled a lot while being careful not to show teeth. They didn’t want me to go, but I ordered them to stay, to eat, and to be merry—kings have things to do, after all, and I can’t stay to enjoy the party, and so on.

  I did have a strange sensation of having something to do. It was as though I’d forgotten something, but, try as I might, it just wouldn’t come.

  I made it back to Tort’s house, bolted the door behind me and leaned on it.

  Teaching class is very different from being the center of attention at a party. Attend a party? Sure. Remove lampshades from heads? Sure. Talk to the nice policeman about the noise complaint? Sure. My job. No problem.

  Be the person everyone wants to talk to, be near, and generally associate with? Not my thing. I’m not so sure I like the king business. There’s no such thing as a private conversation. People are always staring and listening. It’s like I have horns or green hair or fangs or something. Well, okay, yes, I do have fangs, but I keep them retracted. Most of the time.

  Tort floated downstairs, this time in a small chair. It looked much more comfortable than her staff. It also looked like a fresh spell. Dou
btless, she hadn’t needed it when she could wear her artificial foot, but now that her shin was getting longer...

  “Has my angel been exhausted by the demands of his subjects?”

  “He has,” I agreed. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “I have rested until you returned,” she replied. “How may I be of service, my angel?”

  “You’ve already done an immense amount.”

  “Trifles,” she said. “I am, if you affirm it, the King’s Magician of Karvalen. It is my duty to aid you in whatever way I may.” She shrugged. “And, if you do not wish to affirm it, then it is still my pleasure to be of service to my angel.”

  “Thank you. I affirm it, King’s Magician.” I grinned at her. “Remind me to do something nice for you.”

  “Your presence is all that I truly require, but I will turn away nothing my angel chooses to give.” She paused, thoughtfully. “If you wish, you might do something nice for T’yl.”

  “T’yl? Isn’t he dead?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” I repeated.

  “You will recall that I mentioned he had a plan?”

  “Vaguely. It’s been a busy couple of days.”

  “I believe it worked, but I am not competent to tell.”

  I blinked a few times. Tort, a professional magician, studying and practicing for the last eighty-odd years, claims not to be competent. This should be good.

  “Okay, show me.”

  We went upstairs to her laboratory. It was, in essence, a big, open space with tables and shelves along the walls. The floor was very smooth wood, scrubbed well, and still bore magical residue from diagrams and symbols. There were archaic runes of containment in the eight corners of the room, presumably to keep any mistakes from getting out of hand.

  On one of the tables was a clear piece of some crystal about the size of my gauntleted fist. To normal vision, it was a lovely gem. To my magical and nightlord vision, it was a shell of power surrounding something alive.

  “Let me guess. He’s in the crystal,” I said, before Tort could say anything. She just nodded. I went over to the crystal and examined it, keeping my hands behind my back. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I touched it. The spell looked rather fragile to be holding a soul, but maybe holding a soul without damaging it requires a very delicate touch.

  “Hello?” I asked, wondering if I would get a response. Nothing.

  Hello? I asked again, this time thinking it intently at the crystal. Still nothing. I considered touching it with a tendril, just to get a feel for it—my tendrils can be more sensitive and delicate than a tongue. But, like a tongue, sometimes they drink things… I decided against it.

  Upon closer examination, I could see the life inside it. It could easily be a human being; it was certainly complicated, but more faint than I expected. It was definitely a soul, rather than just an animal spirit. What’s the difference? That’s hard to say. But there is a difference, and I can no more describe it than I can explain the difference between the color snorg and the color florp. If you can’t see them, you’re not going to understand. Become a part-time undead and then I’ll explain, but then you won’t need the explanation.

  “There’s definitely someone in there,” I said. “I don’t see any activity, though. It’s frozen, or in stasis. It looks like a snapshot—excuse me, a pattern—rather than something moving and alive. Whoever or whatever it is, I don’t think he’s aware of time passing. Are you sure it’s T’yl?”

  “As sure as one can be,” she answered. “I knew of his plan, but I cannot detect a soul.”

  “Ah. Right.” I’m a nightlord; we can do that sort of thing. Mortals have a much harder time of it. “Well, there’s one in there. Did he have a plan for what to do after this?”

  “He was working on that when it became moot.”

  Ouch.

  “I see. I’ll certainly do what I can to help.”

  “If he is unaware of the passage of time, then there is no hurry.”

  “No, but I’ll still be thinking about it.”

  “Only if it does not interfere with your other plans.”

  “What other plans?” I asked. “My calendar isn’t exactly packed.” Tort frowned and cocked her head at me.

  “Do you not intend to reestablish the capitol in Karvalen?”

  “Is it worth it?” I asked. “I mean, Mochara is doing pretty well, and the farms around here are already established. I’m concerned about feeding people, you see. Karvalen doesn’t exactly have a huge granary packed with food, nor a handy ocean for fresh fish.”

  “I will give it thought, my angel.”

  “I have no objections. But if people are comfortable here, I’m not going to drag them off to a mountain.” Tort nodded as I spoke and looked thoughtful.

  “I see. I assumed that you wished to return to the capitol. Perhaps I was wrong. I still think it wise, my angel.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Politics?” she said, smiling.

  “On your recommendation, I agree unreservedly that we’re moving to Karvalen,” I answered, instantly. “Now that that’s settled, I’d like to have some idea why we’re moving, please.”

  “Mochara is ruled by the Princess. You have looked at Mochara. It is a thriving town. But Karvalen is a city—a grand city, worthy to be the capitol of an empire. Ruling from here will place you in an awkward position. Ruling from Karvalen leaves no doubt about who is the King of Karvalen and who is merely a princess.”

  “Hmm. You know her better than I do. Is that really going to be an issue?”

  “I do not know if your daughter will feel so,” Tort replied, the corners of her mouth moving downward, “but I have no doubt the goddess that speaks through her mouth will.”

  “Ah. Well, what about my other kid?”

  Tort bit her lip and looked away. I didn’t like it.

  “Tort?”

  “You should ask your daughter,” she said, “or, better still, the—the goddess that speaks through her.”

  I had a very bad feeling about this.

  “All right. I believe I will.”

  “What, now?”

  “No, no. Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow night. I have a long day of running and working planned for tomorrow. I think I have people who want to be knights showing up in the morning.”

  “Ah. I shall be ready for them, then.”

  “Good. Tonight, I think I’ll sit here in your workroom and look over T’yl, if that’s all right with you, then take a brief trip to the mountain and back.”

  “I am perfectly content with that, my angel. Will you not go to bed?”

  “I don’t really sleep,” I pointed out.

  “Oh,” she said. She seemed disappointed. “Very well. Shall I see you at breakfast?”

  “Probably. Oh! I just remembered. I need to run an errand at the mountain, but that shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. I should still be back well before dawn.”

  “Then I shall bid you a good night.”

  “Goodnight, Tort.”

  She floated her chair over to me and rose slightly, kissed my cheek, and then breezed out of the room. I studied T’yl’s crystal for a while.

  Bronze was utterly pleased to be running somewhere. We had a little pause at the town’s northern gate while I explained to the guards that I was going out. They tried to give me passwords; Bronze snorted fire. Suddenly, that seemed a completely adequate form of identification, thank you, Your Majesty, please have a good trip.

  On the road, rocketing northward, I leaned close and asked, “You enjoy doing that to people, don’t you?”

  She flicked her ears and tossed her head: Only the stupid ones.

  I laughed and she ran faster.

  My errand to the mountain was to see if it could do some mining for me. I was already pretty sure it produced enough gold leaf to coat the ceiling of the throne room/great hall/entry cavern/whatever. Could it produce
lumps of gold? Or silver? A single nugget of gold, even once a month, would certainly help, at least from a personal finance standpoint.

  I could probably charge for my services, but, like it or not, these people see me as the King. That’s just Not Done. Unless it’s a form of taxes…

  Bronze waited with the patience of a statue while I sat down on the dragon throne and dropped into ultra-slow speed. I was in kind of a hurry, but you can’t hurry a geological feature. I did try to keep my request as brief as possible, though: pure metals. Can you do that? Yes? Great! Please put them in a room—oh, yes, that room? Good, good. Thanks!

  And speeding up to normal again. How long? Half an hour for just that conversation? An hour?

  There’s got to be a better way. Either speed up the mountain even more, or find a way to give it messages at super-slow speeds. Something. Maybe some silicon processors, to help it think faster? They wouldn’t even need to be all that small. A few hundred thousand chips, scattered through the whole of the mountain, buried in the stone itself? They would need power, but maybe a piezoelectric setup could provide current… would that work? Rather, would that help in any way? I don’t suppose it could hurt. Mental note: next time I’m at the store, bring back a bag of computer chips and some piezoelectric dip.

  Bronze and I whirled around and down through the streets again, then south to Mochara. There was no nonsense at the gate, either; they saw the fire-breathing golem approaching and opened up. We only slowed down to cut down on the noise and to give any late-night pedestrians a chance at survival.

  With Bronze back in her stable, crunching combustibles, I went upstairs and studied T’yl’s magic crystal some more.

  Friday, April 23rd

  I’m not a magician. On the other hand, I am rather clever, and I certainly don’t think about magic in the same way as the locals. My cultural upbringing is fundamentally different.

  T’yl’s crystal is, I think, a matrix for holding a soul. There are a lot of energy centers in a body where the soul is supposed to connect, but the soul inside the crystal seems to be looped back on itself in some complex way. It’s just sitting there, unchanging.