Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “I figured it out on my own, Sire.”

  I took the items and arranged them. The tricky bit, from my point of view, was using any residual signature left on items to enhance my memory of Tort. Dialing in a precise signature would help increase the range at which I could detect it—the more precise I was, the less static I would get, hence the better the signal-to-noise ratio would be, effectively increasing the range… It’s a radio thing.

  I spent much of the afternoon meditating, remembering Tort. It’s a strange thing, going through memories like old photo albums, each picture alive and moving, a window to the past, while looking for the pieces a person leaves behind. Tiny bits of someone, scattered through my mind, living inside me in a way very different from the ones I’ve eaten.

  A million people died inside me, but how many live? Tort does. Dead or alive, some part of her is left in me, alive and smiling, because I remember her. Her hand touches mine, her voice speaks to me, her lips meet my cheek. I can smell her hair as we hold each other, feel its softness as it attacks me, make sputtering noises as I try to get it out of my mouth. Late at night, and I sit beside her and hold her hand—I cannot leave; she holds my hand too tightly, even in sleep. She slips into my workroom, places food on a table, and slips out again, not wishing to disturb me. An assassin fries in the rain, Tort’s face twisted into lines of fury and fear, lightning snaking from her fingers like sizzling snakes. She cradles my head in her arms, murmuring softly, telling me the things I need to hear. We stand together, power surging around us, each supporting the other as we prepare a spell.

  She falls, sliding down the half-rotted wood, and lands in my arms. She is startled and in pain, but she is not afraid. I see a little girl. She sees her angel. She cries in the night, afraid of the things in her dreams, and so sleeps between me and Tamara, no longer afraid. She rides my hip, listening, watching, quiet and attentive. She sees me prepare to depart and asks if I will return.

  How many memories do I have of her? Not enough, not for me. What I do have may be enough for this. Each of them is a fraction of her, a trace of her soul, and I write it, inscribe it, weave it into the structure of my spell like stamping letters of fire into steel.

  Is that what souls are? Do they start as pure, untainted energy, only to be changed and patterned by the other energies around us? Like organic matter, taken in, digested, turned into flesh and blood and given to reproduce, forming a body that grows and changes. Does the forming body absorb the energy of souls, concentrate it? Is it imprinted, altered, changed by the souls around it?

  I can see them, handle them, move them around or destroy them, but I do not understand them. Maybe that’s what being a god is about, and why I will never truly be one.

  The ding! of a message spell didn’t interrupt me, but I was aware of it. I finished my transcription of Tort into the sensor and sealed it before answering.

  Tianna sent me a message. They were not far west of the Eastrange and she wanted me to call as soon as was convenient. Well, the sun was going down, so… did she remember to bring her call-forwarded mini-mirror? I’d have to check.

  As we headed for my quarters, I realized I needed more security spells. Anyone who knew me could use passive sensors to target me. A new brain-bunker would be a good idea, too. A whole host of things really needed to be cast… but each of those was, in some way, an inconvenience. If I blocked my own emanations, message spells and other passive seeking spells would be unable to find me, for example. There’s always a trade-off between security and convenience. Maybe I could set up a receptionist spell—or simply get a person to be a receptionist. Back in the Old Days, when Zirafel was one-half the heart of the Empire, they relied on people more than spells. Now, I think, I’m starting to understand why.

  I set my small mirror on a shelf as the sunset started. Unlike an electronic phone, mirrors don’t short out under waterfalls. I angled it for a headshot of me and manipulated it to reach Tianna’s mirror.

  The lady who answered was unfamiliar to me. She looked startled. Well, I was, too.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Wrong mirror.” I didn’t know I could misdial a mirror. I hung up and tried again. She answered again.

  “I’m doubly sorry,” I said. “I’m trying to reach Tianna, but I keep getting this mirror.”

  “You have the right of it, Your Majesty. This is the mirror in the Temple of Flame.”

  “Oh! My mistake. I wasn’t aware she—no, she did mention something about other priestesses. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “I am Sheena, Your Majesty.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I wasn’t aware anyone could be a priestess without red hair?”

  “Dark hair is not a bar to service, Your Majesty. One of the Goddess’ children is needed for a high priestess, but others also serve.” She twiddled with a lock of her loose hair. “I may flatter myself in thinking my own has grown highlights of reddish hue.”

  “Could be,” I agreed. “Well, I learn something new every night. I don’t suppose you could connect me with my granddaughter?”

  “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but my magical training is only enough to operate some devices.”

  “Can you reach her on your mirror?”

  “No, but I can speak to her through the flames.”

  “Hmm. Not exactly what I had in mind. I’ve got an idea. If it doesn’t work, I’ll call you back.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  That was refreshing. She didn’t scream and hang up in my face, which says good things about how I’m viewed in Karvalen. No, on second thought, it says good things about how I’m viewed in the Temple of Flame. I still don’t know much about the day-to-day goings-on of the man on the street. I spend too much of my time in palaces, temples, and meetings.

  We hung up and I finished my waterfall. Mary came in to help; this did not make things go faster. As we toweled off, she turned serious.

  “It’s nice of you to allow those people up here.”

  “It is?”

  “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  “Sure I do. There are people up here,” I said. She smacked me with a towel.

  “The ones who want a personal escort into the land of the dead?” she prompted.

  “Oh! Right, right. I remember. Are they all set up in the great hall?”

  “They’re setting things up. Dantos is a good organizer, but it’ll still be a while.”

  “Good. I have things to do.”

  “Pity you didn’t have this attitude earlier.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy. Can I schedule some time in the morning? Or are you still, you know…?”

  “I’m feeling much better. Accomplishing things always makes me feel better. I’m still going to pick a fight with Johann and kill him with a cheese grater, but I don’t feel like hiding under the bed anymore.”

  “Good. I’d much rather you were on it.”

  “Two-track mind,” I accused.

  “Yes. And on the other track, we need to talk about Lotar.”

  “Can I answer my page from Tianna, first?”

  “Of course. Lotar’s only a power-hungry religious leader with a fanatical cult following. He’ll wait.”

  “Sometimes, your sarcasm borders on brutal honesty.”

  “I really am good.”

  “I promise to listen to the Lotar thing after the Tianna thing and the not-yet-dead-people thing.”

  “That’s fair. And we get a morning to ourselves?”

  “I can’t promise, but I can promise to try.”

  “You’re lucky I’m an old woman. A younger one would be all pouty and disappointed.”

  “You’re lucky I’m an old man. A younger one would have promised anyway.”

  “Touché.”

  “Later, if I can find the time.”

  Mary came with me to the workroom. I had to go through the Rube Goldberg process of letting Bronze know I was looking for her, letting Firebrand translat
e, and have Tianna ready her pocket mirror for a call. Eventually, we did manage to get a mirror connection between my main mirror and her pocket one.

  For the record, we only managed it because it already had a call-forwarding spell on it for receiving calls. The typical magic mirror enchantment isn’t built for calling nonmagical mirrors. Even most of the mirrors used for scrying aren’t magic mirrors, merely mirrors upon which a spell is cast. This is the trouble with magic. It’s hard to build a factory to produce “generic” magic items. They may each use the same spell, but magical objects are hand-crafted, one-off, purpose-built things. They don’t roll off an assembly line.

  “I’m getting you your own mirror,” I grumbled, once Tianna’s image appeared.

  “I have this one.”

  “A permanent one. A small one, fully enchanted, and capable of making a connection through the Palace scrying defenses. I went through way too much just to track you down.”

  “You could have called the one at the Temple,” Tianna advised. “They would have notified me and I would have called you back. Just have a candle or something handy.”

  A whole series of conversations through fire—between universes, no less—came back to me in a lump.

  Well, thought I, now I feel stupid.

  “Good idea. I’ll remember that,” I told her. “All right, what’s on your mind?”

  “Granddad, do you remember how Lissette didn’t want us to leave?”

  “I’m not sure about what she wants versus what Thomen wants, but yes, I recall.”

  “There’s an army in our way. Two, actually.”

  “Define ‘in the way,’ please.”

  “We headed for Baret along the southern Kingsroad, the coast road. There’s a lot of people camped out around Baret. Rather than try and skirt them to get into the mountains, we decided to see if the Vathula Pass was any better. It is, but not much. There are only two thousand men, give or take, camped out in front of the city of Vathula, itself, but Vathula is locked up and the army has drawn its lines. It doesn’t look like a formal siege, just a… a blocking force. I don’t know if they’re there to stop us or to prevent anything from coming out of the pass.”

  I knew there were armies headed this way. It didn’t occur to me they might be in the way! If Tianna performed a breakout, however mild, from the royal palace, someone might have sent word ahead. Walking into camp—or blazing through it at a hundred miles an hour—might trigger whatever preparations they’d made in the last several hours. Going face-first into an army isn’t usually the preferred way of going about things.

  I should know. I’ve done it. But I’m less breakable than most people, as well as dumber. Case in point, I should have seen this coming.

  My reply was somewhat profane. Tianna clucked her tongue reprovingly.

  “Language. You’re being a bad example, Grandfather.”

  “I’m a blood-sucking monster who devours the souls of the living,” I countered.

  “You’re still supposed to demonstrate proper decorum around your grandchildren.”

  “Fine. ‘Poop.’ Satisfied?”

  “It’ll do. So, how do I get home?”

  “Just looking over your shoulder, it looks as though you’re in a wooded area. Do you have anything you can build into an archway? One big enough to ride through?”

  “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “I’ll open a gate.”

  “Direct,” she observed. “I was thinking you might know a secret road through the mountains, since you get along with rocks so well.”

  That sparked a memory. When I examined the mountain, its roots and branches, I had an intimate knowledge of where it ran and how. Coming back to myself, I remembered it only dimly. Yes, there was a way under the mountains—more than one, in fact. The details were faded into obscurity, but the general knowledge was there.

  “I think there is,” I admitted. “Tell you what. You work on an archway of some sort. I’ll look into the roads. When I call back, you’ll either ride home or simply step through.”

  “All right. What’s involved in this arch-building of which you speak?”

  “All we need is the physical representation to define the locus.”

  “Perhaps you might put it in normal-people terms?”

  “We need a shape big enough for the two of you.”

  “I’m fairly sure we can do that.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  We signed off and I turned to one wall. Mary laid a hand on my arm.

  “Before you do the weird thing where you plug a rock into your brain, maybe we should handle the passers-on? The rock thing is not only creepy, but it takes a while.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.”

  We headed for the great hall.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Mary began.

  “Always.”

  “Maybe it’s not really a question.”

  “Okay, ask me the statement.”

  “What I mean,” she said, thumping me in the arm, “is… well… you’re kind of attached to your granddaughter, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was expecting you to go off and fight your way through an army. I mean, you’ve been a little short-tempered today, and I’ve heard a lot of legends in the past couple of weeks.”

  “I’m not going to ask what you’ve heard. I’ve heard a few, and they always seem bigger than I remember.”

  “The legends are pretty impressive,” she admitted. “Did you really eat a hundred thousand elves when they invaded the mountain?”

  “No. Mostly it was orku and galgar. It was only around fifteen elves, I think, and I imprisoned them in the basement, sealing them in stone except for food-related openings—input and output. See what I mean?”

  “Yes. Although I’m not sure it makes me feel any different.”

  “My point is, legends grow with the telling. And no, I don’t feel like tackling an army, especially when there’s no reason to. I hope to resolve this peacefully and let everyone go home. Besides, Tianna isn’t in any danger. She’s got Bronze and Firebrand with her, as well as her training as a fire-witch and as a wizard. She’s probably got Sparky watching out for her, too. She might be safer than I am. If it comes down to cases, she might be the safest person in the world.

  “Besides,” I added, “I’m a complete wash as a protector. Guardian angel isn’t my field at all. I’m awful at it. Guardian demon, on the other hand, I think I’ve got down. If anything happens to Tianna, there will be new legends. Scary legends. Legends the locals won’t know how to exaggerate. But I’m also deliberately trying to be more thoughtful and self-controlled right now because I know I’m not as calm and centered as I should be. So, unless something actually happens to her—or Amber, or you—I will make an effort to be a cool, calm, rational being rather than an enraged badger on meth.”

  “Fair enough. It’s just… sometimes I realize I don’t always get how you think. I’m tempted to say I don’t understand you.”

  “I can imagine how frustrating that must be.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Hey, I don’t understand me and I live in this skull.”

  “You raise a valid point. Hold on.”

  We stopped in the hall and she made sure I was presentable. She had me deactivate my disguise spell; the dark skin, the black eyes—people expected them. Mary brushed my hair back over my ears to make them visible, as well.

  “Smile. Show your teeth. And don’t call attention to your ears, just display them. They add another subtle level of exotic and wicked to your features.”

  I simply followed her instructions. She pushed the pivot-door open and stood aside, hands clasped, head bowed. I entered. Thanks to her, I made an entrance.

  The great hall was full of people—hundreds, maybe in the low thousands. They packed the floor and crowded the balcony, leaving only enough space for the musicians in the gallery and an aisle down the middle of the hall. There was also a roped-off area in front of t
he steps leading up to the throne. The people waiting for their escort were nowhere to be seen. The quartet of musicians were playing something with a serious, somber air to it until the door ground open. They stopped playing and the room went silent. Everyone looked at me. I think everyone held their breath.

  I was torn. I didn’t want to be here, but since I had to be, I wanted better regalia. If I have to play the part of a king, I should have the right costume. I didn’t want to be on stage in the first place, but I should do it right. People want ceremony and spectacle, or maybe some spectacle with their ceremony. Sometimes it’s rude to be brutally practical.

  Note for the future: Wear the costume.

  As I entered, everyone knelt, including the line of black-armored, red-sashed giants just inside the rope. I didn’t make any comments; this was a ceremony. Instead, I looked at Dantos. He ushered me up toward the dragon’s-head throne. I didn’t argue. He choreographed this so I wouldn’t have to. It was only fair to do it the way he planned it.

  The main door swung grandly open. A group of people came in, carrying a stretcher and a withered old man on it. They advanced with measured tread while the musicians played something slow. The whole thing reminded me of pallbearers at a funeral.

  They set the stretcher down on the highest step—the steps are easily wide enough—and backed away. I looked at Dantos and he nodded. That didn’t help me. I wanted to ask him what I was supposed to do, since this was his show. So, I asked Firebrand to ask him and remembered Firebrand was with Tianna. Dammit.

  Well, I was here to be a psychopomp. A lethal psychopomp. I took a wild guess at my next move.

  I moved forward and down, sitting on a lower step of the dais and beside the old man. His name was Teselo. We spoke for a bit while I asked him what he liked best about his life, what he was proudest of, what made him happy at various times. He finally explained what was wrong with him and asked to be relieved. I explained how I was willing. He held up a bony old hand and told me/asked me to please go ahead. So, I did.

  I picked him up, carefully, gently, and held him on my lap like a child, cradling his head and shoulders on one arm. I lowered my head as I ran lines of tendrils through him, tracing out the paths of his spirit, drinking in the colors of his soul. By the time my teeth met his flesh, the bright places within were empty, gone, vanished into the night. Blood flowed as I bit and soon the body was as empty of blood as it was of soul.