by Garon Whited
“Ah. Well…” he looked around the room. The place had quieted remarkably as I spoke and everyone was looking at us. Larsus grimaced and nodded, saying, “Of course, my King. I shall be there directly.”
“Oh, I’ll accompany you, of course. We have so much to talk about!”
“I am sure we do,” he said, with a perfectly believable smile, as long as you didn’t look him in the eyes. He knew he was underneath the outhouse and I had just taken a seat.
I offered him my arm and he took it. I escorted him out of the castle and Bronze met us in the courtyard. Since we were out of earshot of everyone at that point, I paused to talk to him, smiling with full fangs. I took his dagger from his belt and played with it while I talked.
“Larsus, for a while there, I almost liked you. I certainly respected you. Now, you’re a traitorous piece of trash that is in charge of a city in my kingdom. So, Baron Larsus, bear this in mind: you owe me your life. It’s mine. For your treachery, I am justified in taking it any time I feel like it.”
I applied thumbs to the blade of his dagger and snapped it cleanly. Then I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his ear, almost whispering.
“Try to betray me again and I will consume your soul.”
I straightened, still smiling in as friendly a fashion as is possible with teeth like that. I bent the ornate guard of the dagger-hilt inward toward the remains of the blade, then folded the hilt in half, breaking the bone grip into splinters. I dropped the twisted remains to the flagstones.
“Do we have an understanding?” I asked, watching his pale, sweating face.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tell me that you understand.”
“I understand, Your Majesty.”
I took his hand and pressed his right thumb to one of my fangs, drawing a drop of blood. This I smeared on his palm in a meaningless symbol—but he didn’t know that—then pressed his palms together and held them between mine.
“Swear your fealty to the King of Karvalen,” I suggested, still holding his hands. Shaking, he descended to one knee and spoke with great formality.
“I promise upon my life and soul that I shall be forever faithful to thee, my king, never cause thee harm, and shall henceforth observe my homage to thee completely against all persons, in good faith and without deceit.”
“No, no, no,” I said, smiling. “Don’t recite a promise. Swear an oath.”
He grimaced, but what was he going to do? I had him by the hands. He did as he was told and I teased the blood on his palm to heat it up. It wasn’t enough to burn, but enough that he felt it sting. I released his hands and nodded, no longer smiling.
“Good.” I didn’t mention the crispy blood flaking away from his palm and he had the good sense not to ask, despite his fascinated and frightened staring at it. “I’ll expect the commanders of my new forces at my pavilion within the hour.” I tried for a tone of or else and think I succeeded.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he breathed.
With that, I swung up into the saddle and Bronze trotted out the gate.
Tuesday, August 10th
I don’t know what Larsus said to the new commanders—Dulin, Jorum, and Xeres—but they have been exemplary examples of eager, bright, competent, professional soldiers. They offer their opinions, they ask questions, they take advice, and they understand the Warlord to the Kingdom speaks with the full weight of the Gospel of Kelvin. Let’s not even mention how they react to anything I have to say.
I’m pretty sure they weren’t in on the plot, so I made sure to include them when I told the rest of my Council about it. I’ll be suspicious of Larsus until the day he dies, and then I’ll be suspicious of his leftover plans. But everyone on my Council will be, too, and if Larsus tries to screw us over again, whether I’m around or not, his punishment will then be a priority for all of Karvalen.
Privately, Tort has promised to see what sort of spies she can grow in his household. Lissette has already given her some names.
Tort has also asked me my opinion on Lissette getting into the war. Apparently, Lissette really is well-trained; Larsus’ ran a very militant city and it gave Lissette, despite her gender, ample opportunity. She would love to prove she’s as tough and dangerous as any man. My guess is that Larsus really didn’t anticipate marrying her off, or maybe he just didn’t care that she was practicing the finer points of killing people.
On the subject of her coming to the war, I had no objection, provided she could find something suitable to wear.
So, of course, Tort targeted my brand-new portable arch and pushed Lissette through. Lissette wore her new suit of the carbon-black armor and a new-looking sword. She seemed to prefer a blade that had a bit more heft than an elf-blade but was patterned after one. It hadn’t been enchanted yet, but I could see Tort had done some preparatory work on it to make an enchantment easier to bind into the metal.
Is it bad of me to wonder if Tort sent Lissette back to the army in the hope that she would die in the fighting? I mean, Tort seems perfectly all right with the idea of me being in a political marriage. She even seems to like Lissette, within the limits of knowing her only a couple of days. But does she? Is she really okay with this? Or is she delighted to give Lissette what she wants, since it increases the chance that she’ll be eliminated?
Don’t misunderstand me. I trust Tort with my life, and I’m immortal; that’s a lot of life to trust someone with. But Tort loves me deeply and intensely. I’m not sure how she really feels about having to, possibly, share me. I mean, she already gets minimal time, what with running a kingdom and everything, added to my hopefully-subtle attempts to get her to notice Thomen again. If I’ve accidentally given her the impression that I’d rather not have to… um… please her?... then she might be less than fully supportive of the idea of keeping Lissette alive.
I don’t know, and it worries me.
On the other hand, Tort is doing what I would have done. Lissette wants to fight, so Tort did her best to equip her and send her into the fighting. How can I be suspicious of that when it really is what I would have wanted done?
I’m just a bad person, I guess.
At least Lissette came bearing gifts.
The first was another suit of carbon-black armor for me. I hadn’t had time to lie down and let one grow over me, but Tort had found someone with almost the same measurements and put him under the charcoal. It was close enough to fit, and the usual custom-fit enchantments would resize in all the little ways for me. Good enough for now, and soon to be better.
The other gift was Lissette’s idea. It was an altered belt-and-baldric arrangement. Firebrand would still go on my left hip for a cross-draw, but there was a second shoulder strap, crossing the first, so my second sword would hang properly. There were also fittings on the baldric-straps on my back so I could attach either or both swords across my back for an over-the-shoulder draw.
A little experimentation showed that wouldn’t work for Firebrand; it was much too long for a shoulder draw. But for the other sword it worked very well. I kept it on my hip, for now; I could draw it with either hand that way, and that’s a serious consideration for anyone who has ever wound up short a hand.
Having a Queen at the conference table has made things a bit awkward. People don’t know how to talk around her. She doesn’t say much; she just watches as people move markers on the maps for our wargames. She listens as people offer their tactical and strategic advice, apparently just taking it all in.
She’s had her own troubles getting used to me, too.
The first night she spent in my tent, she, not unreasonably, expected me to come to bed. At least, until I went through my transformation. It’s moderately dramatic, visually—all that color changing, plus the sweating and sometimes the trembling; it looks as though I’m being feverishly ill. It disturbed her, despite my reassurances. Once it was over and I was all cleaned up and freshly disguised, I asked her what she thought.
“I’m not sure what I think,”
she admitted. “I just watched you… what?”
“I just turned into a monster. By day, I’m mostly human. Well, somewhat human. Well, maybe a little bit human; jury’s out. Anyway, I eat, drink, breathe, bleed, all that stuff. Right now, I’m an undead creature with no heartbeat—a corpse that doesn’t know it should lie down and stop moving. Periodically, I drink blood and consume the essence of living things.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not like a werewolf,” I pointed out. “I’m still in here; I’m just coping with a different set of powers, limitations, and requirements. Think of it like a comparison between yourself, when you’re having a bath, versus yourself, when you’re armed and armored and ready for a fight. You’re the same person both times, but the second example is a much more frightening and dangerous you.”
“If you say so. Are you… do you plan to come to bed…?”
“Nope. I’m temporarily dead. It really puts a crimp in my romantic style; sorry about that. Besides, I don’t sleep.”
“What, never?” That seemed to be the most shocking thing, to her.
“Nope. At least, I never need to. I suppose if I got tired enough during the day, I might have a nap, but that hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“Then, how do you dream?” she asked. I shrugged.
“I don’t. Not for a while, anyway. But I want to borrow your sword for a bit; it needs an enchantment or two, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. But… forgive me, much of what I’ve been seeing in the last few days is new to me. Do you mean to say you intend to have someone enchant my sword?”
“If by ‘someone’ you mean me, then yes.”
“You can do that?”
“Halar, the Wizard-King, remember?”
“Oh! I haven’t heard that song in ages!”
I tried not to show that I was gritting my teeth. I can’t really gnash or grind them, so I’m stuck with gritting them; clenching my jaw just isn’t the same, though. It’s a subtle distinction, but an important one. My teeth interlock beautifully and annoyingly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. She handed over the sheathed weapon. “You go ahead and get some sleep; I’ll be back before dawn.”
“What will you do all night?”
I thought about that. There was so much to do…
“Let’s see. Enchant your sword. Scout around and ahead to make sure we’re not being suckered into a trap or followed. Help Thomen and the wizards’ corps cast spells for the confoundment of my enemies—mainly stuff to interfere with scrying; I can’t stop a magician in Byrne from finding a whole army, but I can keep him from getting a good look at us. Check in with Bob in Vathula; we’re not that far away at the moment. Take a look at Tegron, our next stop, to see if Prince Seraclin is fortifying for our arrival. Call my daughter and granddaughter to see how things are going for them. See how the detailed maps of Byrne are coming along. Check in with Tort and T’yl about finding those cannon. Oh, and I should probably kill something and eat it. I don’t feel the need to, but I also know I shouldn’t wait until I get hungry.” I rubbed my jaw, realized I needed a shave, cast the spell to do so.
“I’m sure I’m forgetting something,” I added, “but I have no idea what it—or they—might be. I have a council to help out with that stuff.”
“Are you sure you’re a king?” she asked.
“Oo! Wait! I know this one! Um. Um. Um. I do work personally, rather than farming it out to other people. I spend all my time at it, in fact, when I should be at home letting a general run the army. I shouldn’t be exerting myself. Instead, I should be just lounging around, eating the occasional grape or sweetmeat, with scantily-clad slavegirls rubbing my feet and shoulders. That about right?”
“Pretty close,” she admitted, smiling.
“I’ve heard it several times, or variations of it. People forget that I started out as a wizard, then got promoted to knight, then to Hero, and became a king last of all. I’m still best at being a wizard, pretty good as a knight, okay as a Hero, and I’m struggling with this latest thing, being a king.”
“Poor you,” she said. I could tell she didn’t mean it.
“Indeed. But I’m learning. Learning how terrible I am at it. I hope you’re paying attention and learning how to be a Queen, because I’ll need your help, too.”
“You’ve said things like that before,” she said, slowly. “I’m beginning to think you mean it.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning. Pleasant dreams.”
Wednesday, August 11th
The sword was another enchantment, mainly duplicating the metallurgy and magic in the swords of my three personal guards. She should find it was amazingly energizing whenever she killed something.
Bob was pleased to see me and reported nothing unusual. The Empire of the Undermountains was rather shaky in a political sense. What with the change in leadership and policies, it was easiest to just dump outlying regions. His focus was on keeping control over everything near Vathula and south of the pass.
His initial worry was that he wasn’t thinking big enough—he was afraid I wanted him to held everything possible. I reassured him I was pleased with his work, made a few appearances to help cement his authority, played Evil Overlord for the public sacrifices/executions (he had some “traitors” to kill; they were adequate as dinner), and basically added another layer of “Do what he says” to everything.
T’yl and Tort had no news about the cannon, which annoyed T’yl greatly. I think he’s affronted at being blocked by “mere wizards.” But Tort had some lovely street-scale maps of the various cities and towns in Byrne’s territory. She also wanted to know if I could get her a brick or something from each city at some point. I promised to see what I could do. I didn’t ask what she wanted them for; I assume there’s something magical involved. She’s the Royal Magician, after all.
Everything else was terribly mundane and uninteresting, which was exactly as I’d hoped.
The march was going well, all things considered, and the new troops were integrating into our organizational structure with adequate speed. If we kept to schedule, we would arrive in Tegron today, hopefully with less complexity and treachery than in Philemon. We wouldn’t be quite all sorted out regarding the smoothness of our communications and control, but we didn’t think it would be tested for a while, yet.
Oh, and my armor fits much better, now. Tort does excellent work.
As promised, I was back before dawn. Lissette woke up, watched me turn back into a living monster instead of an undead one, and seemed less bothered by it. She also thanked me for enchanting her sword, drew it, and looked puzzled. The design was identical but the metal looked different, of course.
I encouraged her to try it, carefully. She got the hang of wielding a monomolecular-edged weapon with surprising speed and at the cost of only one footlocker-chest. I could tell that the militant policies of her father, Larsus, had permitted a lot of training at arms for his daughter.
“This is amazing!” she declared.
“They’re still rare,” I told her. “I have one; my personal guard each have one. But every knight of Karvalen has a magical weapon of some sort.”
“That’s... I don’t know what to call it. Every knight?”
“Yep. I’ve worked on that for a while. It seems I sometimes enchant things in my sleep. But the super-sharp ones are new.”
“I thank you for it. Shall I swear to you?” she asked, smiling. “After all, you gave me a sword.”
“No. You’re the Queen. You’re not a knight.”
She frowned. It distorted the line of her scar. I didn’t like it.
“If I am the Queen, should I not be accorded the honors of a knight?”
“No. Queen is a different job. I’m not sure you’re qualified to be a knight.”
“Is that so?” she asked, voice silky and dangerous. “Shall we step outside?”
“I’m not talking about your martial skills.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Ask around. Talk to my knights. Discover that for yourself, then come tell me what you think a knight of Karvalen is.”
“This sounds like some sort of test,” she said, suspiciously.
“It is.”
She snorted in a most unladylike fashion, dressed, and stomped out to go question people.
The city of Tegron is a nice place. It shares a border with Vathula, though, so it can be excused for having impressive defenses. They’ve built fortifications that rival the old capitol, Carrillon. It seems they always have a work crew building something new into the fortifications. Over the years and decades, that adds up to impressive, bordering on intimidating. I know I wouldn’t want to assault their walls without cannon; they may be what inspired Byrne to come up with a new siege weapon in the first place. The ponds, the causeways, the walls… the whole defensive arrangement encourages discouragement if not a complete collapse of morale.
I was getting into a warrior-king mindset. I could tell, because I automatically started thinking about how I would breach the place to invade it. Preferably, I’d fly over or tunnel under; going through did not look like a profitable line of attack.
The roads around Tegron start to become worthy of the appellation about seven miles from the walls. While they’re not good roads, they have some scattered paving, packed gravel, and are slightly raised. I decided this was to facilitate transport from outlying villages and farms. I started liking Prince Seraclin on that basis alone. Infrastructure is vital to a healthy economy.
We closed ranks into marching formation as we came into sight of the place, started the musicians going, and sang some of the more cheerful marching songs. We were spotted instantly, I feel sure, but that was at least partly the point; I didn’t want to sneak up on them. We’re a friendly force, in theory. Still, it took them half an hour—or about a quarter of the distance we had to travel—before they sent out a greeting party.
