Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  Fine. Just fine. I’m glad it’s your problem, not mine.

  Are you sure it’s not your problem?

  Yes. I only have to deal with the fallout. You get to face the storm.

  When you put it that way, I envy you your limitations.

  I thought you might. Back on track, though. Do you think I’ll have any trouble with the whole police, courts, and justice system?

  If you stick to those, no, I wouldn’t think so. But you’d like me to keep an eye on things and let Beltar know if there’s anything screwy brewing up here.

  You took the words right out of my head.

  And I put them back. Neatly, I might add.

  I noticed, and it’s a really unnerving feeling.

  I know we don’t like anyone in our thinking machinery. Any ideas on how to avoid this sort of thing in the future? Assuming you ever want a quasi-divine visitation or revelation or whatever this is.

  How about I do something with an altar? Some sort of spell or something, maybe so the smoke from the incense or whatever can manifest and talk. How’s that sound?

  I’m okay with it. I don’t think there are any rules against it, either. I’ll have to double-check. If it’s kosher, we can give it a try.

  Great.

  And the inside of my head was all mine again. Having the other me as a visitor was a peculiar feeling, and one I was anxious to not repeat.

  “Well, that was weird,” I said. Tianna nodded.

  “I’ve never seen you do the empty eyesockets thing before.”

  “Empty eyesockets?”

  “You had holes in your head, Granddad.”

  “I’ve often thought so.”

  “Where your eyes were,” she clarified. “Empty places. There wasn’t anything there. Just cold, dark holes into nowhere. I like the Mother’s eyeball effect much better.”

  “At least it’s not a penance stare,” I muttered.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Just marveling at things. So, here’s what I need help with.” I explained my idea about having the various churches involved in police and justice systems. “Mind you, I’m not placing them in charge of the judicial system. I’m asking them to assist the king’s ministers in this. The authority is still kept in the hands of the temporal power, not the spiritual. But it gives them official recognition and shows a working relationship between the two poles. Do you think they’d go for it?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds like a fair deal, at least to me—I’m mortal. What would you have the Mother do?”

  “I hadn’t got that far,” I admitted. “She’s mostly a spirit of fire type of thing, with some basic healing, fertility, and so on. I’m open to suggestions—from you—when we get a chance to discuss it in detail. At the moment, I’m mostly concerned about dealing with several hundred to several thousand prisoners taken from the battles.” I sighed. “I’m going to do a lot of soul-searching when the examination panel gets done sorting them out.”

  “I agree with your priorities, but Mother will want to be in on this. If other gods get official sanction, She will want it, too.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Well, you could declare Her the chief deity of the kingdom.”

  “Yeah. No.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I had to ask,” Tianna said, shrugging. “You know She used to be regarded as the goddess of royalty, right?”

  “I recall.”

  “You recall?” Tianna asked, surprised. “It was back in the days of… Oh…”

  “Yeah. Here’s a thought. I don’t know how we can get her involved in government, but we’ll need someone to take over as the sun god. I’m not going to be sanctioning the Luminescent Lunkheads for the job. Would she be happy with official recognition as the kingdom’s Goddess of the Sun?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I’m not entirely happy with the idea,” I added.

  “Why? Do you hate Her that much?”

  “No, that’s not it. It opens the door to a lot of potential problems. If the kingdom has to acknowledge a religion, recognize it, before it’s an ‘official’ religion, then we have a lot of bookkeeping and suchlike on the table. I don’t like making more bureaucracy.”

  “When you put it like that—I mean, if the King has to pass on which religions are allowed—the Mother might go for it. Provided She’s first.”

  “Even if I don’t have official functions for her?”

  “I think I can sell it,” Tianna assured me.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Now, I want a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Can I have Nothar back?”

  “Missing your boyfriend?” I kidded her.

  “Some, but his father is also getting grumpy. Someone has taken a chunk of his city under religious control, and someone else has drafted his city guards. Between the two of them, they seem to be having a private little war and undercutting his authority.”

  “Ooo, ouch. I hadn’t even thought about his reaction. Is he still in his residence or palace or whatever it’s called?”

  “Yes. It would be very nice of you to take back that section of the city.”

  “Wait, what? Is he under siege?”

  “Only in the sense it’s dangerous to go out. The troops in that sector of town seem more concerned with their battle lines than their internal problems. At least, that’s what I’m told. A lot of people talk to me, for some reason.”

  “As a priestess?”

  “And granddaughter of the god-king Halar.”

  “Please never call me that again.”

  “As you will, Great One.”

  “You’re not too old to paddle.”

  “True, but I’m grown up enough it would be weird for you to do it.”

  I had to admit, she had a point. I changed the subject.

  “Well, at least I have an excuse for not including him. He’s in enemy territory and cut off, right?”

  “Yes, I suppose. He still has two wizards and a mirror, though.” She grinned at me. “Strangely, his house seems to be much more heavily fortified than it used to be. They only have one door to guard; the others are sealed up. Stuff like that. The stone is ignoring requests, too.”

  “I’m glad it happened to be helpful. Okay. We’ll take back the Baron’s residence and include him in the planning. And if you can reach Nothar, see if he feels he’s still needed in Mochara. He has my permission to come back.”

  “I was hoping for another ride on Bronze.”

  “I’m going to need her when we take back the Baron’s residence.”

  “Could we wait until Nothar is here? He would really like to participate. It’s his father, after all.”

  I sighed. But she’s my granddaughter. What was I going to do? Say no?

  “Come on. Let’s find your boyfriend.”

  After gating Nothar back from Mochara, he and Tianna went off to bother Seldar. I called ahead and let him know we needed to re-take the Baron’s residence. Just a little forewarning. That way, he could already be thinking about it before they asked him. It would help him look like a strategic genius. Not that he needs my help, but it’s polite to avoid blindsiding your allies.

  “By the way,” I added, “tell me something.”

  “Anything, Lord of Insufficient Illumination.”

  “How long would it take to get to the capitol? For a noble from the most distant, difficult city. Worst-case.”

  “Are you including all the city-states paying homage to you? There are half a dozen or more coastal cities in the West, beyond the Darkwood. Or are you only considering the cities formally part of the kingdom?”

  “Just the formal ones.”

  “Then Peleseyn or Byrne is probably the most distant from Carrillon. Ten years ago, I would have thought it a journey taking some weeks. Today… at worst? Traveling slowly, in bad weather, with many stops for the comfort of passengers? Fifteen days, perhaps. I could stroll from here to Carrillon in less, even dr
agging a corpse.”

  “Good to know.”

  “May I ask why you wish to know?”

  “I’m calling a meeting of the nobles in—now you mention it—fifteen days.”

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t ask any further questions. I got the impression such a meeting was either rare or unheard-of. This was fine by me; I haven’t read the rulebook on being king and don’t intend to.

  Seldar loaned me a nice young man with a specialty in mirror communications. We spent the afternoon calling around to various nobility. All of the people who answered recognized me on sight and fetched their rulers as quickly as possible. Most of the subordinates did the whole yes-my-king, whatever-you-say-my-king thing. As for the nobles themselves, a few were a bit leery about doing as they were told, but were too diplomatic to tell me to go to hell. Come to the capitol? Stand before the Demon King? Risk my own life? How about I send someone to speak for me and I avoid being anywhere near you?

  They phrased it more politely. Funnily enough, the list I got of who was likely to be trouble matched up with the ones who didn’t want to come visit.

  I was shocked—shocked! —to discover Prince Jorgen (now Count Jorgen—darn it, I promised him a dukedom!) of Hagan was one of the troublemakers! I remember his wife, Taisa, and their daughter Nina. What the hell did the Demon King do to piss him off?

  Tolcaren was also on the list and, the moment I saw Count Rogis and his son, I knew why. Damn, damn, damn! I got a message—a decade ago! —about helping his son. The boy was badly burned and needed cosmetic treatment for the damage. In the press of events, I completely forgot about him.

  Would I have remembered if it was a matter of saving his life, rather than correcting a lot of burn scars? Objectively, saving a life is more important than scars, but how badly is he scarred? Do his scars make his life terrible enough to make it a matter of life and death? Or do they give him a reason to learn to be strong?

  Sometimes, I am such a screwup. I need a day planner, or an executive assistant. Or a better brain.

  The other cities on the Unhappy List were Dinfael, Noskarael, and Ransiur. Castimin was also on the list, but Castimin isn’t much of a city, all things considered. It’s really a thickly-clustered group of run-together villages in the river delta of the Mirenn, where it flows into the southern sea. Many cities start that way, as nearby villages that grow together. Give it another hundred years and it will be a proper city.

  I resolved to pay a visit to Jorgen and Raman. With Jorgen, I might be able to explain and apologize, as well as fix whatever the Demon King broke. With Raman, I could at least follow through—finally! —with fixing the burn scars on his boy. Although this raised the question of why someone else hadn’t regenerated the kid.

  I went into my headspace, wrote these plans down, and taped them to the inside of my exit door. At least I won’t forget again. But what else have I forgotten? Something—maybe several somethings—surely got lost in the shuffle, somewhere, sometime. It’s the nature of forgetfulness that such things don’t all come rushing back when I wonder about it, but I still keep wondering. What else have I forgotten? Did I promise something to someone? Did I have something I needed to do? What have I forgotten?

  This is going to bother me for the rest of my life, and I don’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else.

  Outside, I made plans for the other cities. I’m trying to be nice to Jorgen and Raman, mainly because I feel some personal responsibility for them being unhappy. The rest of them, on the other hand, were soon to understand a monarch’s request is a politely-worded order.

  Kavel made some nice spears for me. Black iron, wicked points, the works. Nasty things. He and his sons hammered them out faster than you could say “armor piercing projectiles”. It’s good to have water-wheel-powered trip hammers, and it’s also good to have magical songs of smithing, but it’s amazing to have both!

  Whoa. I just realized. With them delighted to do things for the King, I can actually get stuff built with all three of good, fast, and cheap!

  As if I needed more proof I’m in a magical universe.

  A couple of quick illusion spells—mainly a video replay with amplified sound—made them message-carrying missiles. Stick one into the ground and it threw up an image of me in full monster mode while booming out the message.

  Delivery was a bit trickier. I didn’t want to send a representative to the six places most hesitant about showing up for the meeting, but I did want to make an impression.

  While it’s hard to put a gate somewhere without a corresponding frame—anything to define the locus of the other end—I didn’t need to have a man-sized gateway for this, either. Something big enough to drop a spear through would do fine.

  Which, of course, meant I had to build a drop rig and time the fall. Even when the opening is the size of a hand, you don’t want to keep it open longer than you have to, especially with a one-gate connection. Then there was another spell to accelerate the spear once it was through the opening, and another one for the spearhead, to increase penetration—if it hit stone, I wanted it to stick, not bounce or shatter. There were also formal letters to write—well, to have written. Good penmanship may always be beyond me. Plus figuring out where to attach them to the spears, and the appropriate spells to protect them during transit…

  Theatrical and dramatic. They take a lot more effort than you’d expect. It’s one thing to be an undead fiend of darkness, but it takes an immense amount of work to look cool while doing it. I envy Dracula and wish I knew where he got his training. And his tailor.

  I let my freshly-enspelled mini-gate charge up while I took my waterfall for the evening. Every little bit helps. Then I set the spears up, used a scrying mirror to pick my drop point, opened the mini-gate, and launched the first of them.

  Nice. It flashed downward amid a thunderclap and a black, jagged bolt of lightning—purely illusion, but a nice visual. It went right through the Lord of Castimin’s roof and buried itself in the floor of the entryway. I couldn’t actually zoom in and watch—most people with money seem to have privacy spells, these days—but I could hear the booming voice commanding his personal attendance. Hopefully, someone would notice the parchment on the spear and recognize a Royal Writ. I wish I could have swiped the Royal Seal for this, but having a scribe write the message in animal blood instead of ink seemed sufficient.

  I repeated the process with five other iffy nobles. I think I got my point across. There’s a meeting. Show up. Don’t argue or give me excuses. Be there or else.

  I didn’t explain why, for two reasons. First, the sovereign doesn’t need to explain. Second, they might not show up if they knew what I planned.

  And, on the subject of plans, nicely laid… After my message delivery, I planned to ride down to the war, lead a charge to liberate the Baron’s residence, and finally greet the man.

  Nope. I got shanghaied. There were a lot of people in the Hall of Justice, processed through the clerical tribunals—now the multiple tribunals.

  They’re not really tribunals. “Tribunal” implies three people. Maybe they’re panels? Courts? I know there’s a word for it, if only I could think of it.

  After the first one got going, they snagged more clerics, walked everyone through the process, and started running courts in parallel. Given the number of captives, I can see why they expanded. They’d be there for weeks if they didn’t step it up.

  The accused found to be Rebel Scum were detained and waiting for me in the Hall of Justice. There was quite a backlog.

  Even better, from my point of view, was a special, high-speed examination board for escapees. A lot of people slipped out of the occupied area and surrendered unconditionally—“We don’t have anything to do with this! It wasn’t our idea! We were minding our own business when a bunch of armed people said we were part of their territory! Please don’t hurt us!” These were strictly noncombatants who ran for it whe
n they had a chance.

  Still, I really wanted to go kill something in a straight-up fight.

  Me, too, Firebrand told me. When was the last time we got to wade into a battle, Boss?

  “I don’t remember. The vampire attack on the farmhouse?”

  That sounds right. How long ago was it?

  “I don’t know. Too long, if that’s any answer. Could be worse. I doubt they’ll finish this fight tonight.”

  Yeah, but we’ll miss the liberation of the Baron.

  “How about we take back the granary in that part of the city when we’re done here?”

  It’s not the same… but I guess I could live with it.

  “Take it, not burn it.”

  Fine, fine. Grain doesn’t scream when it burns, anyway. I do get to burn people, right?

  “I think I can promise the opportunity, yes.”

  Deal.

  So Firebrand and I sat in judgment on the probably-guilty people the new judicial courts sent us. I remembered to wear the crown, too, for recording purposes. It was a good test of the spells involved, and it’s an experience which might prove useful to future kings and queens.

  That still doesn’t mean I like being a god-king. I get itchy even thinking about it. Is it a good thing I’m starting to accept I should use all my powers for the good of the realm? Or is it a bad thing that I’ll sacrifice some of my personal convictions about right and wrong as long as I can use the good of the realm as an excuse?

  There are many kinds of monster. I know I’m a blood-drinking, soul-sucking, fiend-of-darkness monster. Am I becoming something worse? Could I become a politician?

  At least it’s a good sign I’m willing to ask myself such questions. And a bad sign I don’t have an answer.

  I really need to get out of this king business.

  We finished the soul-searching exercise in a few hours. A few of those people walked free. Most were given a fairly light sentence—not incarceration, but public labor, kind of on par with being in an old-fashioned chain gang. Around here, that is a light sentence. Harsher penalties include removing hands, feet, tongues, or other body parts, as well as death of various sorts, ranging from slow boiling in oil to immediate beheading.