Nightlord: Shadows

by Garon Whited

  We went back outside, to the upper courtyard. As promised, many of the children of the current residents had accepted an invitation to play outside. Already, they were running around all over the place. I shouted at one and ordered him down from the wall; he was walking along the top, climbing up and down over crenellations. I don’t mind them looking over the wall, but standing on it is right out; the outside edge has a long, long drop in most places.

  Tianna watched them playing for a bit, biting her lip.

  “First of all,” I said, “you probably need something to wear besides those robes.”

  “Yeah.”

  I beckoned over a girl about Tianna’s size and explained the problem. She offered to come back with something, so I sent her off to fetch it.

  “Next, we need to find a way to keep you from accidentally incinerating anyone.”

  “Yeah.” Morose. Depressed. Sad.

  “Fortunately for you, your grandfather is not only a master wizard, but a darn clever one, too.”

  “You’re going to fix it?” she asked, half-hoping.

  “For a while, yes. But, remember—you still have to keep your temper under control. If someone knocks you down, you shouldn’t try to fry them. This will only prevent accidents. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  “First, I want you to try and fry a piece of rock. I need to see it so I can make sure I’m affecting the right stuff. Go ahead.”

  She did, and I watched carefully. It’s the first time I’ve really tried to analyze the fire a priestess puts off. Where normal fire is a usually a mixture of gases in combustion, Tianna’s effect was not. She didn’t produce anything to actually burn. On the other hand, she did put quite a lot of energy into whatever volume she chose. This produced an effect that looked very much like flames, but was really just an energy effect. In a sense, it was magical fire—that is, fire composed of an esoteric energy form.

  A few small tests determined that, while it felt hot, it didn’t actually burn me like normal flames. Interesting.

  With that to go on, I started building a spell to contain it. It took several minutes of work, walking around her and scribbling on the stonework. I wanted something that would cause any flames to shoot upward, rather than outward. Technically, she could still fry someone if she laid down and pointed her whole body at them, headfirst, but that seemed unlikely in an angry child and I couldn’t even picture Tianna being angry. Just gesturing and torching would have flames—the energy looked like flames, so I’ll keep calling them flames—shooting skyward, and that was good enough.

  Then we waited for Carmel—the girl I’d picked out—to return. Tianna could barely contain herself, but tried very hard to not appear overeager.

  Carmel returned, and the two of them went into one of the side rooms off the great hall to change. When they came out, I held on to Tianna’s robes while the two of them hurried off to play. I sat down on one of the stairways to the upper slopes and watched them.

  Despite the discussion with Amber, today was still a very good day.

  Kammen came out to the courtyard and waited until I noticed him. Tianna had persuaded me to come play, too, so I was with the kids and pretending to be both a jungle gym and a rollercoaster. Most of them were delighted to fly—I would tweak gravity a little, toss one up in the air, catch him on the way down, and repeat the process. Tianna was especially delighted by that.

  A few didn’t care for flying. One little girl, Senera, didn’t want to fly, as such, but would happily swing around in a circle. I wound up holding her by a wrist and an ankle and whirling in place. That turned out to be popular, as well.

  I really need to build some playground equipment. Note to self.

  When I finally noticed Kammen was waiting, I struggled to disengage myself from my playmates. Eventually, I managed to get over to him, despite the four-year-old sitting on my foot and clinging to my shin. He saluted while the child giggled.

  “What is it, Kammen?” I asked, shaking my foot gently. More giggling.

  “Got a man here who claims he’s a hero, uh, ‘Seeking to challenge the…’ uh… something about ‘the dark lord of the mountain’ and banishing his evil?”

  “Oh, him. How’s he doing?” I glared at the child. She smiled up at me.

  “Well, we weren’t totally sure what to do with him, but we got his horses groomed and stabled, we got him and his squire quarters, and we got him an invitation to dinner in the great hall.” I didn’t mind another mouth at the tables; Karvalen imported a lot of food, at present. I paid for it, thanks to the mountain’s mining contributions and a few uncut diamonds. Some of the food was sold, but a lot of it wound up in the “palace” region of the undermountain—the part that started at about the level of the upper courtyard. I wasn’t too clear on how that was run, only that Tort was handling the Royal Household, which suited me perfectly.

  “Good, good. Could you send someone to ask him if he would be so kind as to attend a small gathering in the upper courtyard?” I asked, stomping carefully so as not to dislodge my passenger.

  “Sure, Sire.”

  “Go.” I like Kammen. When he remembers to call me “Sire,” he seems so… relaxed about it.

  While I waited, I managed to disengage my passenger and send her back into play. It wasn’t easy.

  Shortly thereafter, Sir Sedrick came out. He was in mufti—no armor, and with only a half-cloak over his tabard. It was a warm afternoon. He still had his sword and sash, though. He looked around and finally noticed me playing with the children. I waved when he looked my direction and he approached.

  I made introductions and the kids were very good about lining up and bowing. He’s a knight, after all.

  “I understand there is a meeting?” he inquired.

  “Well, not exactly. I thought we’d take a moment to discuss, informally, what your plans are and how you’d like to go about it,” I said. He frowned while I had the kids go back to playing. Sedrick and I walked to the inner wall and a set of stairs along it.

  “I do not discuss such matters with underlings.”

  “That’s okay,” I assured him. “I’m actually the overling.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I’m Halar, King of Karvalen. And dark lord of the mountain, evil bloodsucking fiend, nightlord, fanged monster, blah-blah-blah.”

  “Impossible! You are far too small to be the evil lord of darkness!”

  “My girlfriend keeps telling me that size doesn’t matter,” I observed. “It’s what you do with it. But, okay. Pick someone and call them over. Ask anyone you like.”

  He frowned thunderously at me and turned to call over one of the older kids, a lad about eleven or so. The boy came over and sketched a quick bow. I sat down on a step.

  “My lord?”

  “Who is this?” Sir Sedrick demanded, pointing at me.

  “Oh, that’s the King,” he replied.

  “What!?”

  “Well, yeah,” the kid answered, surprised. “I mean… yes, my lord. Doesn’t everyone know that?”

  “He’s not from around here,” I put in. “You’re Tamar, right?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Any problems with monsters under the bed?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. Off you go.” He belted off to rejoin his friends. Sir Sedrick, on the other hand, scowled down at me where I sat.

  “Very well. I challenge—”

  “Hold it. I’m not accepting any challenges anywhere near children. I forbid it here, and anywhere innocents might be harmed. I’m the King. I can do that.”

  Sir Sedrick looked baffled, both because I was within my rights as a king and because it was a… well, as Amber might put it, a nice thing to do. Sometimes, it’s hard to be a Hero.

  “But… but I challenge…”

  “Not right now,” I countered. “How about tomorrow? I guarantee your safety as a guest of the King. We can do this in the morning. Would you like
to challenge me in the throne room? I can get everyone to show up and witness, if you like. Or would you rather get your gear together and do so from outside the city gates? I admit, the city gate does sound more dramatic for a Hero. Ride up, shout out your challenge, and force the monster to come forth to meet you in single combat.” I shrugged. “But we’ll do our best to accommodate you, if you have anything particular in mind.”

  “I… I’m not sure,” he said, confused. “I had envisioned simply throwing down a gauntlet?”

  “No, no, no,” I countered. “That won’t do. You’re a Hero. You don’t challenge monsters with a gauntlet. You accuse them of their crimes, demand that they stand forth to answer for them, and force them to face their doom at the hands of a righteous man. You don’t duel with them.”

  “But the tenets of honor require it!”

  “Yes, when you’re challenging someone, not something,” I pointed out. “I faced hordes of demonic entities in your grandfather’s time; they were pouring through a hole in the firmament, invading the world. I held them off, killing them left, right, and center, until some magicians managed to seal the breach. I didn’t duel with them; I just slaughtered them.”

  “That’s different,” he observed. “That was an invasion.”

  “Hmm. Okay, you have a point. But, still, if I’m an irredeemable monster, I can’t be worthy of a knight’s challenge. That’s not how you do it. You go forth boldly and do battle! I know; I was a Hero, myself.”

  “Well,” he said, still kind of off-balance to be having this discussion at all, “you’re also a King. There are rules about that sort of thing, challenging kings and other nobles.”

  “Damn. You’re right.” I put my chin in my hand and thought. “Well, that’s a problem. I’m stumped. How do you picture this going down? How do you want to handle it? Just say the word and I’ll try to play my part. And have a seat; you’re hurting my neck. Here, I’ll move over.”

  He sat down on a step below me, turned to the side to face me while I leaned back against the wall.

  “I see this as a formal thing,” he said. “I issue the challenge, we meet on the field of combat, and I slay you for being the unholy fiend you are.”

  “I can do that,” I agreed. “Where do you want to present your challenge? In the throne room, in front of the court? Or privately? Or, like I said, shouting from horseback at the gates of my city?”

  “Oh. Hmm. I hadn’t really given it that much thought…”

  “Yeah, I had the same problem when I was heroing. I didn’t really think much about the practical aspects; I just went out and did stuff. Don’t feel too bad,” I advised. “Heroes kind of have to be a little headstrong; if we weren’t, we would just stay home.”

  “Fair point.”

  “Tell you what, since I’ve extended you the hospitality of my home, think about it. Come up with something. Discuss it with other people—I have some bards and minstrels around here, somewhere; they’re likely to know the finer points of previous heroic deeds. Maybe you can get some ideas.”

  “You’re very… understanding about this,” he said, eyeing me.

  “It’s what you do, Hero. I don’t get upset at a bear swatting at me when I’m too close to her cub. I don’t get upset at a fire burning me when I put my hand in it, either. Why should I be upset with you for doing what you think is right?”

  He stared at me. Apparently, my extra eyestalks were bobbing in the breeze, or something.

  “Look,” I told him, “come to dinner, talk it over with people, see if they can help. If you need to, we can arrange for you to have a night of solitude for fasting and prayer and meditation and vigil and whatever. We can even set up an arena for our duel, if you think that’s the way to go. We’ve got an amphitheater on one side of the city that has really great acoustics and lots of seating. I bet we could have everyone in the city as spectators. If you give them notice, I bet you get at least a thousand more from Mochara.” I chuckled. “It’ll be the duel of the season, that. We can sell tickets and the winner gets the money.

  “But if you really want to do this right, you can stay for a couple of days while you work out the details. Unlike most other heroic acts, you can plan this one. Planning is important; you want to get the details right so you can put on a show, don’t you? Whatever you want, just say the word; the hospitality of Karvalen is at your disposal.”

  “You’re a most accommodating creature of evil,” he noted. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “How many people have you seen around here?”

  “Uh? Two, three hundred, maybe?”

  “Do they know why you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did they do?”

  “They, um, welcomed me as a guest.” He looked sheepish. “Some of the young ladies already invited me to the king’s table for dinner.”

  “You mean, they didn’t mob you, club you unconscious, bind you with chains, and drag you naked before the throne of their dark lord?”

  “Huh.” The idea obviously never even occurred to him.

  “You give that some thought,” I advised, and got up. “Tianna!” I called. “It’s getting toward dinnertime. Come in; we have to get ready.”

  She bounced over to me and hugged me around the middle.

  “Grandpa! I can play kickball! I’m good at it!”

  “I’m sure you are,” I assured her, and picked her up. That seemed to tickle her; she was really past the age where you casually pick up a kid. I missed out on that stage, but I’m inhumanly strong.

  “Tianna, this is Sir Sedrick, the Hero. Sir Sedrick, this is Tianna, my granddaughter.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Sir Sedrick,” she said, politely.

  “It is my honor to make your acquaintance, your Highness.” Tianna giggled again.

  “Am I a highness?” she asked me.

  “Yes, indeed,” he assured her. “Your grandfather is King, and your mother is Princess.”

  “Wow! I didn’t know that! Her Highness, Tianna!”

  “Just remember, people should only call you that on formal occasions, not on the playground. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Sir Sedrick, I hope you join us as a guest at dinner. Until later, good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon…” he replied, looking very confused. Well, it’s hard to just haul out a sword and go to hacking on someone who’s holding his adorable granddaughter on one hip. It really isn’t a Hero-type thing.

  Day still going well? Check.

  Dinner was in the great hall. Someone had knocked together some rough-cut trestle tables—very rustic, I thought—and the kitchen was fully up and running. We were a bit short on some supplies; they only served watered wine, rather than wine, for example. But we had a lot of food already in the mountain, from bread to cheese to chicken—well, it tasted like chicken. We also had spits set up over the firepits in the great hall; people could carve off whatever they liked from a dazhu already divvied up among the spits.

  The ceiling, polished brightly with gold leaf, made the firepits illuminate the whole room in a mellow glow; a few globes of light hovered in the corners and added a more steady illumination. I made a mental note to check with the mountain about whether or not we needed a spell to keep the ceiling from getting sooty. For all I know, it circulates gold over the soot and absorbs it. I don’t know how the mountain does half of what it does, really.

  People gathered around the tables and enjoyed the meal while a series of musicians took turns playing. Nice acoustics in the great hall. The ceiling had an excellent curve for reflecting sound as well as light.

  Tyma, the lady minstrel, and her father, Minaren, also took a turn. She sang and played the stringed thing that looked like a cross between a mandolin and a lute; they call it a tranta. He played a wind instrument that reminded me of the bagpipes. It was hard to tell he was blind; he got around quite well. The only clue was the way he put his hand on Tyma’s shoulder to follow her to
and from the center of the hall.

  The other instruments played themselves: a lap-harp, a lute, and a recorder.

  I recognized my handiwork. When I enchanted the things, I put a portion of Linnaeus’ soul into them, making them his instruments, and, incidentally, giving them a sort of quasi-life of their own. They needed it in order to play music with him; making them merely animate without giving them the gift of music would have resulted in nothing but noise.

  When I enchanted them, I wondered if they would continue to play for someone after Linnaeus died. They were a part of him, after all. They might have fallen silent and never given voice again.

  I was strangely moved to discover that they still made music, and beautiful music, at that. Linnaeus might be the one who gave a bit of his soul to music, but I was responsible for making it possible. The result was beautiful, and I was justly proud of that.

  Tyma, Minaren, and Linnaeus’ instruments played something about the time I challenged the King of Rats to a game of vrai—a sort of checkers-like game—to win back the children he had stolen from a village. I don’t recall that. I’m sure I would remember. I do remember how to play vrai, though, and I’ve never even seen a board.

  Everyone else seemed to not notice. They treated songs about things that never happened and magical instruments that played themselves as normal things. They applauded enthusiastically when the pair—group?—finished. It seemed to me there was a theme to the music of the evening; everyone had something to play about me.

  I kept repeating to myself that I’m the King, they’re going to do that sort of thing; smile and nod, smile and nod. It seemed the appropriate response. Nobody seemed put out of sorts, anyway.

  Tianna was very well-behaved, considering. She was in her robes again and seated at my right hand, where I could keep an eye on her. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t on the throne—it’s not really a good seat in the first place, and it’s almost impossible as a place to eat. Instead, we had a lot of rough-cut benches to go with the rough-cut tables.

  Someone—I’m thinking Tort—had an actual, full-size, heavy-duty chair brought up from Mochara for me. It held me easily. I suspect she had it built for the purpose. I leaned to my left, where Tort was seated, and muttered the question to her. She smiled and ate another bite, saying nothing but confirming everything.