by Garon Whited
“No? Really? I expected you to be in a temper most foul. You are remarkably at ease.”
“I am?” I asked, eyebrow going up. “I try to be even-tempered all the time. I don’t always manage as well as I’d like, I admit… hold it. Why did you expect me to be in a foul temper?”
“Why, the attempt on the young Princess’ life, of course.”
“What attempt?” I demanded. I realized my mistake when Tort and T’yl both winced and almost clapped hands over their ears. I moderated my volume and got a grip on myself with a bit of effort.
“I apologize,” I said, softly. “Please tell me what you mean by ‘attempt’.”
“Yesterday evening, four men entered the building you created—the ‘city hall,’ I believe—and went to the quarters of the Princess and her daughter. The Princess was in the Temple for the sunset service; the younger was being put to bed. The men seem to have drawn knives and entered her room with murderous intent. The younger Princess was surprised, but her guardians were not.”
“Malana and Malena?”
“The very same.”
“I want to talk to these men.”
“Alas, Sire, that will require a trip to the Underworld.”
“You’re sure?” I pressed. “Ghosts can hang around for days.”
“I am certain, Sire.”
“How?”
“Malana tells me that wispy, dark things like mist breathed out of the remains, leaking rapidly from all the holes to form terrible shapes. Demonic Things began to solidify before them, ignoring the strikes of even their enchanted blades.” He shrugged. “Had they materialized fully, no doubt they would have been subject to material weapons. As it was, your granddaughter was heard to say something to the effect of, ‘You get out of my room,’ in a very angry voice. Malena reported that there was a wave of light and fire without heat, and she thought she heard screams. There was no trace of Things from Beyond the World to be found thereafter.”
“Well.” I thought about that for a second. Could Tianna fry a demonic Thing? Definitely. I suspect she could handle any fifty of them if she was suitably warned and prepared. Four not-yet-materialized Things really didn’t stand a chance.
“Wait a second,” I demanded. “How do you know whether it was Malana or Malena doing the talking?” T’yl looked puzzled.
“Does it matter?”
Twins are fungible, I guess.
“Rakal,” I said. “He specializes in summoning and controlling Things. I’ve seen that possession trick before, too.”
“And he was the one who, at the behest of Byrne’s Prince, acted as liaison and controller for Vathula, yes?” Tort asked.
“Yes. T’yl, what did you discover from the bodies?”
“They carried Byrne currency. Their knives were well-worn, excellent quality, and freshly sharpened. They wore brigandine armor under their cloaks. I believe they were professional assassins.”
“I doubt it.”
“Sire?”
“Professional assassins would have waited until they had a clear shot at their target, or come equipped to deal with a pair of swordmistresses. Professionals don’t just barge in and start stabbing.” T’yl listened to me but looked troubled.
“May I ask what makes you so certain?”
“Two things. First, there were a number of professional assassins in Zirafel when the Mother of Flame cursed the place.”
T’yl continued to look puzzled for a moment, then the light dawned.
“Second,” I continued, “that fits the pattern.”
“Pattern?”
“Someone has been trying to assassinate me repeatedly. Summoned demons, muggers, invisible sorcerers, all that stuff. Now he’s moved on to trying to kill people around me, still with only quasi-competent pawns. Dangerous, yes, as one of them got lucky with Amber. But they’re not nearly the danger they could have been. It’s almost as though he’s trying to goad me into declaring war on him.”
“I see. Well, if I may ask, what does Your Majesty plan to do about it?”
“After this last attempt? Oh, he’s got a war coming to him.”
“But, if that is what he has been trying to do…?”
“I didn’t say anything about an army. Now, please continue with the spells I’m going to need.”
Sunset came, did its business all over me, walked off into the night. I cleaned up and made sure my swords were loose in their scabbards.
“What have we got?” I asked.
“I have been seeking a place that would serve our purpose,” Tort reported. “I think I have a few that should do nicely. Much of Byrne is empty, it seems.”
“Either drafted into the army or abandoning the place,” I decided. “Are we ready?” I asked.
T’yl and Tort looked at each other. T’yl shrugged.
“My angel,” Tort said, “we can think of nothing else we may do for you. When you wish, you may activate some of the spells—flight, the best invisibility we can manage, and so forth—whenever you feel the time is right. Others will last considerable time and are already active.”
“I saw that when you were casting them. I don’t know that I’ve ever been this well-protected.”
“You haven’t,” she stated.
“Oh. Then I guess now would be a good time to go.”
“Very well. Please remember, the gate is low on magical potential. It needs time to recharge from your prisoners. We have two, possibly three openings tonight. Try to use the same terminus point at the destination, please.”
“I will. If I need to escape, I’ll just run for it until I can build something for an archway. How’s that?”
“Very good. Tomorrow, we should see about adding more charge to the gate.”
“Got it. Let’s get this show on the road,” I said, and drew both swords.
Tort concentrated on the gate and T’yl helped her by pushing power in. They were both somewhat tired, but I appreciated all their efforts, especially this last push. The open archway clouded, seemed to whirl away somewhere, then became a spinning, cloudy vortex, like looking down through a tornado full of clouds. Then, with the usual suddenness, there was no distance, just a door to somewhere else.
I was already moving forward, moving through it, and the gate dissolved into clouds and nothingness behind me.
The doorway behind me was part of a stable and about the right size for the archway, even if the shape was a bit off. I had just stepped into the stable, which prevented me from being immediately noticed. Very nice. Very clever. That’s my Tort. The stable was empty, too, so no horses panicked or spooked when I appeared out of nowhere. I sheathed my weapons and peeked outside.
The city was settling in for the night, winding down after sunset. The streets weren’t quite deserted, but things were very quiet and growing moreso. I consulted with Firebrand; it agreed that everything it could “hear” was consistent with a city going to bed.
We might manage a lot more stealth than I thought, I thought.
And that’s a good thing, Boss?
It’s a thing that makes it more likely we’ll get close to the palace without sounding alarms.
And that’s a good thing, Boss?
I’d rather kill the people in the palace than the people wandering the streets.
Oh. That makes sense.
I’m so glad you approve.
I said it made sense, Firebrand corrected. I didn’t bother to reply.
I walked out into the early night, trying to appear casual and nonthreatening so as not to overtax my Somebody-Else’s-Problem spell. Later, I’d activate the invisibility spell. For now, I just needed to avoid attracting attention. That was easy; there weren’t many people out and most of them seemed intent on getting home. I wondered if there was a curfew in effect.
The idea came to me to find a tavern, settle down in a corner, and just listen to the local gossip. If a curfew kept people at home, that wouldn’t work. At least I could find out if there was a curfew. And if there wasn’t, I might p
ick up some gossip on where the Prince might be.
First, find a tavern and see, hopefully without being noticed by the local constabulary. I played ninja vampire for a bit, damping my light reflection to turn myself into a shadow—a shadow that was also hard to notice—and damping the sounds of my own movements.
That’s how vampires are so sneaky. We cheat.
The first tavern I found was a Pig On Horseback—or, at least, that’s was the picture on the sign. Maybe they called it the Pork On Horse, or Hogging the Mare. Still, I looked it over and decided it was closed up for the night, rather than closed up permanently. I could see lives inside, moving around, but it looked as though the family that owned and operated it was settling down for bed.
Ditto for the second tavern, the Overflowing Tankard (The Abundant Foam? The Spilled Mead?), and the third, the Spitted Rabbit (various other names; nevermind).
Do I have any taverns or inns in Karvalen? There’s not much call for inns, not with all those empty buildings. But taverns? I probably should. Maybe I do. I should check. Mental note.
The streets continued to clear as I searched. Aside from guard patrols—generally groups of three or four—the streets were deserted.
I said something vulgar and quiet. Definitely a curfew. Ah, well.
At least I could get a look at the palace proper and see what sort of magical defenses were on it. I ghosted my way over to it, dodging patrols.
The palace was a well-fortified structure with a serious outer wall. From the look of it, someone had confiscated a chunk of city around the original manor and started building a wall. I wasn’t sure how thick it was, but it towered at least fifty feet high! Judging by the architecture, it was still being built onto and improved.
I recalled the aerial views of the place. The inner face of the wall was really steep, stepped angle, rather than a flat face. At a guess, they just kept widening the base as they kept building it higher, kind of like building half of a steep pyramid.
The only way in was through a pair of big, heavy doors, presently closed. The passageway Tort and I had viewed on the sand table angled off to the right, rather than going straight in. It made a section of courtyard on the right of it into a small cul-de-sac, but it still preserved a lot of open ground around the manor itself.
Once through the passageway, could cross the courtyard with relative ease—presumably taking arrow and crossbow fire from the palace walls—and start to work on one of the doors. The nearest, of course, was the front door, but there were smaller doors for other purposes. No windows on the ground floor, though.
If I put a binding spell on the lesser doors of the palace proper, Bronze and I could smash down the front doors and leave them in a burning heap. That would help block the front entry while we were busy chasing down and killing everyone in the palace. Of course, first we would have to get past the wall…
I wanted a look down that tunnel.
The spells that prevented it were well-built. Rather than conceal the whole of the palace to magical vision, several spells each concealed a chunk of it. It was like a mass of soap bubbles, all lapping and overlapping each other. One bubble could pop and a piece of the palace would be visible, but not the whole thing.
Maintenance on that must have been a nightmare. Or, no—they could all be controlled and powered from a central location easily enough. Setting it up would be the complicated part. Re-casting the occasional old spell would also be a constant pain, like constantly getting a ladder out and replacing low-quality light bulbs. It was better than casting a single spell over the whole of the palace, though. That would be heavily power-intensive and would mean that if it went down, the whole palace would be exposed.
Come to think of it, I probably ought to put some effort into backup defenses on the mountain. Certainly some independent blocking around restricted areas. Talk to Tort and T’yl about it. Mental note.
Now that I was reasonably close and could simply look at the spells on the front gate, I saw the spells were there to prevent extra-dimensional transit and scrying—the two are fairly closely related, usually. They weren’t designed to detect or break spells being carried in or out, so I could walk in without setting off alarms or getting stripped. The defenses would, however, set off alarms if they were broken by a scrying portal or a gate. Kind of like having frosted glass for a window; if you spend enough effort to see in, you can, but you have to break the glass, and that annoys people.
On the other hand, the inner defenses might be less preventative and more alarm-based. Getting past the outer wall shouldn’t be a real problem. The wall itself didn’t have anything warding it. It was just a gigantic barrier. Fair enough. I could fly over it; I might even be able to just climb it, what with the vampire fingernail-talons and inhuman strength.
I picked my spot based on the position of the moon and the apparent attention of the sentries. My rippling distortion flickered across open ground to the moonshadow of the wall, then slowly worked its way up and to one side. Before long, I was looking over the edge of the wall between two sentries. I held completely still—motion make the distortion more noticeable—as a patrolling sentry made his rounds, passing a few words with each man as he did so.
The wall was ten or twelve feet thick at the top. That meant it was closer to fifteen or twenty at the base. No, even Bronze wasn’t bashing through that anytime soon. It would resist cannon fire for a good while, too.
I checked, with the utmost delicacy I could manage, on the sentries’ protections. Dark tendrils of my spirit uncoiled and slithered along the stonework, gently brushing through the leather of boots to flick the flesh beneath. Nothing reacted; no power flared. Good. If they weren’t armoring their sentries against that sort of thing, they either didn’t have the magic to waste on it or didn’t think I was around. I siphoned off a little vitality from each, making them just a bit more tired.
Moments later, one yawned. The other one shifted from foot to foot, then sat on a raised crenellation.
My helper, Fatigue, assisted me in slipping like a wraith between them and down onto the stepped inner face of the wall.
No alarms. Even better.
Senses turned up to full, I slipped sideways along the wall to the killing ground passageway. I discovered that it was actually three passageways: the main one in the middle, with hallways along either side for soldiers to use in defending it. I noted a number of winch-like devices, probably for portcullises or gates. Up top, under a the wooden roof, there were also kettles over prepared fires, unlit and cold. Projectiles in their bins rested next to firing ports.
No, going down that tunnel was a bad idea for anything mortal, at least when the defenders were prepared. Bronze and I could get away with it, though, provided the inner gates weren’t any more sturdy than the outer ones.
I checked. The heavy doors at the far end of the killing ground were identical to the outer doors: two-foot-thick wood, bound in brass and iron, barred with two great beams. If Bronze couldn’t go through them, Firebrand certainly could. I might even have a blasting spell or two prepared just to be certain.
That’s our entry point.
Since the passageway angled into the courtyard, we would come out and take a hard left to head for the palace proper. At the moment, it also meant I had to cross over a hundred feet of open space with about as much cover and concealment as a typical baseball diamond. I could probably get away with it—humans don’t see very well at night—but I wanted to absolutely avoid being detected. If they knew I was here—or that someone was—they would assume a more fully-defensive posture, a higher state of alert. Avoiding that was a priority.
I checked the weather. I could really use a good bit of cloud cover, but Father Sky didn’t seem to like me. Jerk.
I sat in the moonshadow of the wall and looked across the intervening distance. Most wizards or magicians would need to get closer to their work to conduct an analysis of spells. I, on the other hand, have supernaturally-keen vision and psychic tendri
ls. I peered at the palace structure and let spirit-tendrils snake their way across the flagstones.
On the palace itself, the defensive spells took on a slightly different tone. They still blocked travel and senses, but they also had a sensory component of their own. An alarm? Or just a way to detect every entry and exit into the palace? Or was it more subtle than that? Could it tell if someone moving through it wasn’t human? Or just detect the difference between the living and the dead? I couldn’t tell at this distance; I’m not sure I could tell at all without triggering the sensory portion of it. That’s the trouble with spells that detect something; looking at them might set them off, if that’s what they are designed to detect!
On the other hand, I didn’t find anything that would actually cause a problem, as such. If Bronze and I took the frontal approach, an alarm that warned people I was entering the palace was a bit redundant. It was effective at keeping me from sneaking in, but it wasn’t really a barrier to fighting my way in. Apparently being counter-assassinated was one of Prince Parrin’s worries.
I had a terrible thought. Rakal summons demonic Things. He’s a magician. Magicians like to live longer and have the power to do something about that. Could I be misjudging Prince Parrin? Could Rakal be behind it all? With a demon-Thing inhabiting the body of the Prince, Rakal could have Byrne under a puppet rule. A war with Karvalen would give Rakal a chance to… what? Switch sides and hope I would be generous? Or betray his “master” at a vital moment and turn the tide of the war to win my goodwill?
Nonsense. If he wanted to get on my good side, all he had to do was show up and ask for a job. Magicians willing to work for a living are scarce.
But if he wanted vampire blood… well, under certain laboratory conditions, I might be talked into some immortality research. Not quickly, and not without supervision and oversight. Of course, he probably didn’t know that.
Could this be his way of trying to lure me out of Karvalen? If he could hand me a serious military defeat, he might even capture the King. If that was the plan, then things were going seriously wrong for him—army scattered, secret weapons captured, enemy forces marching on the seat of his power.
