Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  There’s something about taking what you know and giving it to someone else. It’s a good feeling, one of the reasons I like teaching. Probably the main one. Physics isn’t hard to teach, but often people think it’s hard to learn. If it’s hard to learn, either A: the student doesn’t want to think or B: the teacher isn’t doing his job.

  Sounds callous, I know, but everyone is different. You can teach a horse to open his own stall, but it will never learn calculus. It doesn’t matter how good a teacher you are; the horse can’t do the math. Some people are like the horse—in some areas. But everyone has talents.

  Take me, for example. I’m no artist. I can draw with a T-square and triangles. Geometry I can handle. Portraits are beyond me; my brain and hands don’t work that way. I can barely mix paint into the color I want.

  Hand me a thermodynamic problem or a blue screen of death on a PC and I’m your man. Or, nowadays, a magical puzzle. I like those. Spells are… well, they’re almost like the purely intellectual puzzle of a math problem, combined with a computer and a thought-based user interface. No typing, no fumbled keystrokes, no waiting for the compiler to finish. It’s definitely for me.

  I should really look into founding a school, here. ‘Halar’s College of Magery: No Spell Too Small, No Fee Too Outrageous.’

  On second thought, I’d have to broaden the curriculum. Most of the spells I’ve encountered here do things by brute force, not by knowing how the world is put together. Everything is easier when you know how to get what you want, instead of just wishing really hard. Learn how the world is run and you can guide it more easily. Don’t divert the river by dropping in a giant boulder; dig an irrigation ditch. Don’t lift the block of stone; set up a block-and-tackle. Don’t push the car sideways, turn the wheel. The concepts aren’t hard; anybody should be able to grasp the rudiments with a little study.

  Come to think of it, why not found a school here? I mean, really. Why not? I could teach, and the students would doubtless be more interested than the early-morning class back home. I’d need a building and some way to attract students. Probably only the wealthier families could afford formal schooling, though. Some sort of work-exchange program for poor-but-smart kids? It might be possible. And I would certainly enjoy it!

  I indulged the idea, entertained it. Would it be better to put a private school in a major city or out in the country? The city would provide a lot of convenience for supplies, true. But I still feel nervous about being so accessible and obvious; I like a lower profile. I doubt either the magician’s academy or the Church would find it amusing. The magicians might feel I was poaching. The Church would not appreciate my attitude.

  Placing the school in a rural or wild area would make it appear less of a problem; distant problems are never quite as important. But it would also take longer to get students—and take longer to get noticed. A trade-off. There would be other problems. How to feed everyone, how to get support staff, how to build it in the first place…

  Ah, well. It’s a pleasant daydream.

  Morning found us saddling up and about to hit the trail. I stayed in my room and hid under blankets from the sunrise; Bronze didn’t mind being prepped an hour early. When I finally came down, Raeth and Bouger looked amused.

  I mounted up and asked, “What?” I wrapped my cloak around me a bit more tightly; it was a cold, blustery morning.

  “Have I ever mentioned,” Raeth asked, “that you seem to be a generous man?”

  “I think so. Something about spending time and effort turning loose a bunch of enslaved people, as I recall. I don’t think about it much; it’s done.”

  Bouger laughed. “And what were you doing last night, I wonder?”

  “I helped a few people with some injuries, taught a couple of wizards a new spell, that sort of thing.” I looked at them both, back and forth. They were trying not to grin, lest their faces crack. “What?” I demanded.

  Raeth drew out a pouch and tossed it to me; it clinked heavily and musically. It was loaded with copper coins, one or two silver coins, and one rather small gold one.

  “A lady left this for you,” he explained. “Fourteen men send their thanks with it.”

  Well. My eyes were watering. I didn’t like the look of that one lonely gold coin.

  “Come on; we have to find a lady.”

  They glanced at each other. “Why?” Bouger asked.

  “Because they can be grateful as they like as long as they don’t starve themselves. I spent too much time and effort putting them back together for that.” Bouger opened his mouth and I pointed a shaking finger at him. “And if you’re about to say something about how we could use the money, stuff it! We’ll keep some of it, but most of it goes right back to them! I have spoken.”

  Bouger closed his mouth without a word.

  It took a while. I had to ask around; I didn’t even know the names of the people I treated. Raeth seemed amused at that—he snickered a little, but he didn’t actually say anything. Eventually, I wound up knocking on a rough door. The lady I’d met last night opened it. She looked tired, but perked up immediately when she recognized me.

  “Oh! Master wizard! Enter and be welcome!” She backed away and bustled for a moment, clearing a space to stand. Raeth came in with me and Bouger leaned in the doorway. It was a small, one-room cabin, large enough for one person—or two very intimate people.

  “How may I be of service?” she asked. I noted her husband—I’ll assume they were married—was lying in a pile of blankets and fur, resting as per orders.

  “I was wondering if you can tell me who contributed this,” I asked, fishing out the gold coin.

  She dropped her eyes. “I did, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “You saved his life, sir,” she explained, and seemed to think that was all the explanation required. Well, maybe it was.

  “All right. Now I want you to do me a favor.”

  She bobbed a curtsey again. “Anything, sir.”

  “Take this coin and get something to eat,” I said, holding it out to her. “Recover. Grow strong.”

  “But—but sir—”

  “And then take these,” I continued, putting a fistful of silver and copper on the small table, “and see to it that every last man of the fourteen I treated gets at least one good, wholesome, filling meal. With meat in it. That’s enough money, isn’t it?”

  “And then some, sir, but—”

  “Good. That will save me the trouble of hunting down each and every one of them myself. Thank you; I appreciate the favor you are doing for me. It means a lot,” I added. “I have to get on the road and I can’t afford the time. I know you’re tired, too, so it hurts me to even ask, but I’m confident that you’ll manage it. I can trust you to take care of this for me, can’t I?”

  She shook her head and opened her mouth to say something and Bouger interrupted her.

  “Give in, lass. He nearly bit my head off for suggesting we keep the coins. You won’t win.”

  She looked uncertain, then just nodded.

  “Good!” I beamed. “Now we really have to go. Raeth, Bouger, let’s hit the road.”

  It was at least six miles before anybody said anything. At a horse’s walk, that’s a lot of silence.

  “It looks like we’re up about a dozen silver coins,” Bouger said, finally.

  “More than I expected,” Raeth replied.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. I think I might have been a trifle defensive. Raeth didn’t react to that; his expression and tone never changed.

  “It means I didn’t expect to find that you’d gone out and made us some traveling money,” he replied.

  “Oh.” I felt my face get hot.

  “Of course, I also half-expected you to give it all back,” he added. “You’re a sentimental, romantic fool. But so are we, or we would be at our homes, enjoying a fire, and content to lord it over our serf and slave.”

  I muttered something and they both laughed. It was a laughing-with
, not a laughing-at, and I’m glad I could tell the difference. It broke my self-conscious defensiveness and the day seemed a lot lighter.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Bouger replied. “Have you heard the song about he milkmaid and the shepherd?”

  I hadn’t, but soon did.

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 8TH

  Crag Keep is a big, solid, no-nonsense structure. It’s a couple of weeks west of the Eastrange, and far enough north the morning hoarfrost doesn’t vanish quickly, and sometimes there’s ice on the ground. The keep is apparently there to be a major hindrance to anyone coming across the bridge that spans the Averill river.

  The river comes out of the Eastrange as a pretty decent waterfall and tumbles through broken rock for a while; it levels out to a quick-moving river with deep-cut banks as it goes past Crag Keep. The water level is a fair distance below the banks, making a boat crossing a bad option; in flood season, it would rise, but that would bring new problems for would-be marines. Well to the west, it eventually calms down to something you might want to take a boat across. On the Rethven side, small outposts keep patrols and signal towers on alert. A dozen archers can make surprising amounts of trouble for animal-hide boats, and the Averill is rather deep. The viksagi don’t like swimming, apparently.

  So the only way to really get a bunch of hostile people from the north to the south is to go over the bridge. Why the Rethvens don’t just knock down the bridge, I’ll never know. Instead, they built a fortress on their side of it and big gates.

  What is with these people and big gates? Do they have a complex, or what? Come to that, who built the damn bridge? And why? To be able to invade the northern lands? Or just to say “Here’s the front door! Come in if you can!”?

  Come to think of it, probably. It would explain why north and south kept grudge-fighting. Which prompted me to immediately christen the Averill river “the Mason-Dixon Line” in my mind.

  Looking over the keep as we rode up the eastern road, it occurred to me that the place was really a lot more like a full castle, complete with moat—on the river side, anyway. Bigger than I’d thought, too. From any but the river side, you could walk up to the wall. But from the river side, invaders would have to cross the bridge—under fire from anyone on the wall—and then batter down the gates. Once through the gates, you could get into the courtyard and continue to get shot at by people on the outer wall, as well as people in the keep. Which would leave you a choice: invade the keep, or start on one of the doors leading out of the castle and out into the kingdom.

  Good design. I liked it. I’d have added a tunnel and second gate after the front gate, just to pour boiling oil down and to slow invaders even more, but maybe they had that in the budget for next year.

  The army along the fortress’ back was housed in several large, log-cabin-style barracks, set in the lee of the keep proper. Soldiers were scraping some sort of mud or other goo into the cracks, winterizing their lodgings. It made me wonder again why a winter campaign was considered a good idea.

  About a half-mile farther back from the barracks—and the river, and any ill-aimed missile—and spreading to either side were other structures. I hesitate to describe it as a town, but it was larger than a village and smaller than a city. It was such a ramshackle collection of temporary structures, constantly repaired, that… well… the only thing it reminded me of was a trailer park. A run-down one. And, of course, it housed all the, um, “accessory personnel” any army is likely to have. Merchants to sell things the army doesn’t provide, whether it be a shirt or a dagger, a woman’s service or a boy’s, an ointment for the itch thereafter, or just a place to sit out of the eye of a sergeant and drink oneself unconscious.

  The place bid fair to become a real town, someday. All they needed was a constant war, instead of this on-again, off-again fighting. But, looking the place over from afar, I wondered how they kept it from burning down from all the cooking and warming fires.

  There was one thing I’d learned to hate on the trail, though, and this place had it. Mud streets. Well, muddy spaces between the buildings. There weren’t any straight streets; people just built wherever they felt like it. The only good thing about winter is the mud turned into an irregular-but-solid footing when it froze.

  We stopped just as we spied the keep and changed into our formal go-to-meetin’ duds, armor and all. We were still risking mud; it was early afternoon and the ground thawed every morning. Pity.

  “Halar, if you don’t mind,” Raeth said, while we were sorting out our gear, “I think it would be best if I did the talking.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “You’re the highest rank, aren’t you?” I asked. I recalled Raeth made such a remark to Bouger, a long time ago.

  “In lineage, yes. I am the son of a duke. Sir Bouger is the son of the Count of Wexbrey. But we follow you, and that makes all the difference. Now we are about to enter—”

  “Hold it,” I interrupted. “What’s this about following me?”

  Raeth looked surprised. “Why, you gave us swords, and we bear them for you, do we not? You offered, we accepted.”

  “Although I had to ask,” Bouger added, smiling. “I understand you only had the one to spare.”

  “Exactly,” Raeth continued. “We had no better prospects, that is certain, and we both owe you our lives. Although,” he added, “having come to know you in the past weeks, I know that you are worthy of our loyalty. You are clever and knowledgeable, both, a thing few men achieve. You are also a powerful wizard—as well as a kind and generous soul. And that potential I once spoke of seems all the greater now than before; you will exceed Bouger and I by far. Such a man is worthy of respect, regardless of the ends to which he turns his power. We would follow you anyway.”

  He grinned at me. “It also suits us both to help mold that potential. You will find glory, and we will share in it.”

  I found I couldn’t swallow.

  “Raeth… Bouger… I don’t… I don’t think you have the right picture of me. I’m not…” I waved a hand, “all those things. I’m just a guy trying to muddle through, complete with short temper, indecision, and the occasional stupid blunder. I mean, you have no idea.” I have no idea how he could have gotten that impression. I mean, I just don’t. I’m a vampire. Not that he knows that, but still…!

  Raeth chuckled. “Nobody’s perfect?”

  “Oh, stop it. I’m serious.”

  “So am I. We have done nothing regarding protocol in your training; we are likely to be received formally. Therefore, I wish to do the talking and you can follow my lead in this matter. Will that suit you, my lord?”

  I felt like flinching. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not?”

  “A couple of reasons. First, I don’t want to be reminded of the responsibility. Second, my wife called me that and—no offense—you’re nowhere near as pretty as she was.”

  Raeth and Bouger chuckled a little, but Raeth also looked at me keenly; I think he sensed I was more serious than my tone.

  “As you will,” he agreed.

  “And as you will,” I seconded. “Do the talking.”

  So we dressed up, brushed down, and got ready to say hello.

  Fine waste of effort.

  We rode up to the keep and were admitted. A sergeant took our names and that of our liege-of-record, whistled for a boy, and told him where we were to be housed and to handle the horses first.

  There was a little bit of a fuss in the stables. It seems the stablemaster did not take well to a statue thudding around with real horses.

  Raeth looked at me for a cue. I glared. He nodded.

  “Horsemaster!” he snapped. The fellow cut off mid-tirade and glared at Raeth.

  “Aye?”

  “Do you see the knight, mounted upon his steed?” Raeth asked, indicating me.

  “I see the knight, but only a strange thing of magic and metal.”

  “Does he ride it?” Raeth pressed.
/>   “That he does,” the horsemaster agreed, reluctantly.

  “Then find a stall for it. And if it rankles,” he added, sweetly, “then you may take the matter up with your lord. Or with me, in the courtyard.” Raeth shrugged. “I will not mind, either way.”

  The horsemaster grudged us stable space. I don’t see why he should complain; Bronze wasn’t going to take any care. No hay, no oats, no water, no cleaning up after, nothing. But some people would complain if you told them they had to wake up in the morning. Lord knows I used to.

  Once afoot, we schlepped our belongings on our backs, following the boy—whose name was Firth, I discovered—to quarters within the keep proper. Officers’ country. It reminded me of a dormitory. Small rooms, quite cramped, little more than a monk’s cell. We each had our own room, though, and that was nice, even if the entire furniture of each was only a washstand and a cot. On the washstand was a basin and ewer; under it was a brazier and charcoal. Firth left us there, and we settled in our stuff. Basically, we piled it all under the cots; there wasn’t room to do much else.

  Out in the hallway, we regrouped and went looking for someone to whom we could report. We needn’t have bothered; a soldier was trudging up the hall in the manner of the professional infantry—minimum effort for the speed involved, no wasted action. He saluted briefly, right fist over his left breast.

  “You’re the new three?” he asked, sounding bored. I nodded. Raeth nodded. Bouger shrugged. “Right. The commander says all social calls are considered to be made and to see him in the morning. Until then, you’re at liberty. Welcome to Crag Keep, and breakfast is sharp at dawn. Hope you like fish; it’s about the only meat they serve.”

  And with that, he marched off again.

  “Well,” Raeth said after a time, “I certainly feel most welcome.”

  “The rain of flower petals was nice,” Bouger offered.

  “It was the red carpet that I didn’t expect,” I replied.

  Raeth chuckled. “I think we are all in agreement that our welcome was less than completely cordial. Still, we have encountered only the official welcome; let us find our brother knights and—”