Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  I’m also waiting for T’yl to get off his quasi-elvish butt and come back. He should know a lot about Kamshasa and I want his advice. He doesn’t have to go with me, but I do want him to talk about the place.

  Meanwhile, on a happier note, Lotar is currently rotting in a cell. He’s in a sealed room in the Palace at the moment, since I’m not putting him in a cell under a guardhouse. Too many people in the Guards allowed their religious convictions to overcome their sense of civic duty and their oaths. His quarters are only temporary. Right now, the Hall of Justice is developing dungeons, the equivalent of maximum-security cells.

  They’re going to bear a considerable similarity to the hole Lotar has already seen. I’m a nice guy, though. His cell will have a basin with water trickling into it. The overflow will drain into a funnel-shaped hole for a toilet, rinsing it out. There will be a flat, level place for sleeping. Food can be poured down a hole next to the pivot-door up top, landing in another basin, rather than simply slopped down one side. There will be good airflow, too.

  I spoke to Haran about putting up wards, barriers, shields—all that stuff. He looked thoughtful.

  “Any magic we might put around such a cell can be reduced,” he pointed out.

  “Any door we can build can be breached,” I added. “The objective of a vault, or a cell, or any other fixed defenses is not to make the object it guards safe, but to work with other components in making the object too difficult to get. Walls block physical access. Spells block mystical access. Guards watch and defend both.”

  Haran nodded, smiling.

  “Very good, Your Majesty. What would the Crown pay for such services?”

  I looked at him for several seconds and said nothing. Haran shifted his bulky frame in his chair and I leaned forward to look at him more intently.

  “Corran, I really don’t see the Wizards’ Guild as a separate organization. On the other fang, maybe the Guild is an independent organization, rather than a chartered part of the government set up under the monarchy. I could be wrong. So let’s make sure we get this squared away, right now, for all time eternal.”

  “Your Majesty, I am Haran, not Corran.”

  “Ah, yes. So you are. I can’t imagine why I was thinking of him. Do excuse me. Now, is the Wizards’ Guild a subordinate organization under the Crown, or is it an independent organization? I see advantages—and disadvantages—to both options. But you’re the Master of the Guild in Karvalen and, for the moment, have a seat at the King’s Council table. You decide. It’s your future, after all. What’s it to be?”

  “May I have some time to weigh all the options, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course! In the meantime, I suggest you talk to Kavel and the Kingsmith. And, whatever your decision, please make plans to enchant things for use in the cells.”

  Haran agreed and took his leave with dignified haste.

  I honestly have no idea which way he’s going to jump. But I swear I’m going to have this crap sorted out. If the King—or Queen—issues a Royal Command, you do not ask, “What’s in it for me?” You jump. You get right to it. You make it happen. That’s your responsibility to the Crown. And, if you need something to make it work, you say so. Afterward, depending on how well you did, you are rewarded for your efforts—that’s the responsibility of the Crown.

  At least that’s how it works in Rethven. It’s an absolute monarchy, not a constitutional one. Under the Demon King, it was an absolute tyranny, but I’m trying to improve on it.

  Several dignitaries of the Church of Light have shown up in various places to argue about the rightness of locking Lotar up. Funnily enough, none of them appealed to the King. Can’t imagine why not. I’m told Rendal, Seldar, and Baron Gosford have all explained how Lotar and his cronies aren’t being held on religious grounds. They’re imprisoned for performing illegal acts.

  I think the holy men were scandalized by the idea that obeying the will of their god could get them in trouble. This is the sort of thinking that bears watching. Nobody else seems too broken-hearted about it, not even the priests of other gods. Maybe they haven’t considered how it might apply to them, someday. Or maybe they don’t plan on bucking civil authority. It’s hard to imagine how the Harvest King could encourage someone to commit a crime, after all.

  I still haven’t met Baron Gosford. It’s not that I’m avoiding him, it’s just that we never seem to have the same schedule. I mean, in theory, he should come to me, right? I’m the King, he’s a Baron. But I won’t stand on ceremony; if I’m down in town and not too busy, I’ll happily drop by to meet the man. But he’s always inspecting something or at prayer or what-have-you when I’m out and about in the overcity.

  I’m pretty sure he exists. Seldar’s met him. Kammen and Torvil have met him. Tianna’s met him. If he’s a complicated illusion or hoax, he’s a good one.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to shake hands with the Demon King. If so, I can understand it. He’s trying to avoid offending me, but also avoid meeting me.

  I wonder how he’ll feel about attending the Grand Council of Nobles. He sent an RSVP. Hopefully, he’ll feel a little less threatened knowing he’ll be in a crowd of other nobles and unlikely to attract personal attention.

  Now for the part that had me emotionally tense and stomach-churning nervous.

  Lissette called.

  My first response was to feel my guts seize up and knot. Once I recognized the problem and managed to relax a little, I headed down to the mirror room. I didn’t know if she was going to kill me or kiss me, and there’s a lot of room in between. I don’t know why I was so upset. She’s only my wife because of political maneuvering. She’s not here and holding a knife. But I like Lissette, and I’m terrified at how I’ve hurt her.

  Does that make sense? Of course not. But there it is.

  Maybe I should have had Mary stick around to hold my hand.

  I sat down in front of the mirror and we looked at each other for several hours over the course of a few seconds. Finally, she looked down at her tightly-clasped hands.

  “It’s your face,” she told me.

  “I’m just as ugly as ever?”

  “No. It’s the face I saw… for years. The face of the Demon King.”

  “Ah. That might be a problem.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about him?”

  “No. Not now, maybe not ever.”

  “All right. Do you want to talk about Thomen and what’s happened?”

  “No.” She shivered. “At least… no. Not now. Not yet, certainly.”

  “I can respect that. Will you please remember I want to know how you feel about it? Oh, and what happened, exactly, if you can.” I held up my hands, empty, reassuringly, as though to say I’m not demanding anything. “I won’t press you, and I won’t bring it up again. I’m only saying I’d like to hear it, but only when you feel you can tell it.”

  “I will remember,” she agreed. She looked up from her hands and wouldn’t meet my eyes. She stared at my chest.

  I wonder, is this how women feel?

  “I can wear a veil, if it’ll help,” I offered.

  “A veil?”

  “Sure. Lace? Or do you think black silk? Hang on, I’ve got a sash…”

  I unwound the one around my waist while she watched, perplexed. I wrapped a few loops of it around the lower part of my face and tied it in back. I felt ready to rob stagecoaches.

  “There,” I said, somewhat muffled. “Does that help? Or do I need a funny hat to go with it?”

  “You,” she said, finally meeting my eyes, “are not the Demon King.”

  “If you woulda asked me, I’d’ve told you.”

  Funny. I feel like I’ve said that before.

  “And you’re as silly as I once thought,” she added, and she actually smiled—only a little, barely a quirk of the corner of her mouth, but I saw it. Along with it, I felt a relief as vast as oceans. She went on, saying, “I am sorry we… that you and I were…”


  “So am I. And I’m the one who has to apologize, not you. I am a bit curious about… uh… about how you’re feeling. Now that Thomen isn’t…”

  “Alive?”

  “I was thinking about what he was doing to you.”

  “I am…” she began, and paused to think. “I find my opinions on many things are changing. It was… confusing, at least at first. I still have some confusion on many matters,” she admitted, “but I feel they are minor matters, and they will sort themselves out.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. So, do you think you can cope with seeing my face long enough for me to crown you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want to have a Grand Council of Nobles.”

  “I heard a rumor,” she said, drily.

  “Ah. Yes. I imagine you have,” I agreed, embarrassed. “Uh, well, while I’ve got them all there, I want them to witness me putting the crown on your head, making you the reigning Queen of Rethven.”

  “Karvalen. Rethven was the old kingdom.”

  I seethed a little, inwardly. Karvalen is now a mountain, a city, and a kingdom. Keeping them straight might become vexing. I have enough trouble telling the mountain and the city apart in casual conversation. Crap.

  “Queen of Karvalen, then. I’ve been a bit out of touch. But I want it made clear in no uncertain fashion that you are the ruler, not me. I’m just the cruise missile—excuse me—I’m just the guy who is going to rip the kidneys out of anyone who doesn’t think you’re in charge.”

  “The twins briefed me on this, as it was told to them by Sir Kammen. It is strange to hear you say it.”

  “Because the Demon King would never have done it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s one of the reasons I’m not going be a full-time king. I may have to wear the Demon King hat—that is, play the role, act like I’m still the Demon King—but I want to get away from the job. If you’ll have it, that is. I don’t want to put Seldar on the throne and muddy the potential succession and suchlike. Will you take the crown?”

  “Do you really think they will accept a Queen?”

  “The survivors will.”

  Lissette flinched. Probably not the best thing I could have said to someone suffering from Post-Demon-King-Stress-Disorder.

  “Also,” I added, “I would like Tyma’s help.”

  “You won’t get it,” she stated, flatly.

  “Maybe you can get Tyma’s help.”

  “That,” Lissette said, thoughtfully, “might be possible. What do you… what do I want from her?”

  “To write a national anthem for the country. I’d also like her to work on a martial tune for the army, and for the Order of the Crimson Sash, and for the Order of Shadow—possibly one for each of the Blades, Shields, and Banners. I’ll try and get her some examples of the kind of thing I want.” As I said it, I considered swiping most of John Philip Sousa’s body of work. Is there a world out there where I could find him and hire him?

  “You do know you eviscerated her father and broke the magical instruments of her forebear, Linnaeus?”

  “The Demon King did.”

  Lissette looked at me with a pitying expression.

  “Who is wearing a sash around his face?” she asked.

  “All right, all right. I take your point. She’s not happy with me and isn’t going to listen to explanations. Just try, will you? I can even offer some inducements.”

  “There is nothing you can offer her that she will accept,” Lissette stated, positively.

  “You have a stick she can use to beat me with.”

  “I doubt that will do it. It’s an excellent idea, and she might even take you up on it, but she’s convinced you are evil and nothing you say—nothing anyone says—will change her mind.”

  “I’ll also fix the instruments.”

  Lissette looked thoughtful. She looked up and to her left, pondering. I waited while she pondered.

  “If she wants me to,” I added, “I could add another instrument of her choosing to the ensemble.”

  “Hmm. Fix her grandfather’s instruments and add one of her own?”

  “If it can be done, I will do it for her.”

  “I take it back. That might do it. No promises, but… maybe,” she admitted.

  “I’ll have to look at them, of course, to figure out what’s wrong with them. Are they physically shattered, or are they just not working as magical instruments?”

  “They are intact, but they will make no sounds, neither on their own, nor in the hands of a musician. They are silent no matter what one does with them.”

  “Interesting. I’d like to look at them.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And be sure to give Tyma the Kingsmacker.”

  “I’ve heard it talk when other people pick it up. Is it really for her to beat you with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me be clear on this. You intend to stand still while she beats you with a club?”

  “Only until she gets tired of it.”

  “I’m not sure your guards will permit it.”

  “I am.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Just let her know, please.”

  “All right. Now, I have questions for you.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes,” I agreed.

  Lissette looked surprised. She blinked at me a few times, but rallied.

  “That… will take some getting used to, coming from you.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I agreed again. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you send someone to kill Thomen?”

  “No. I was considering it, but I still wasn’t totally sure if his spells were helping you deal with the horrors of the Demon King or if he was plotting a takeover. I couldn’t exactly analyze them from here and I wanted proof, not just circumstance.”

  “It’s nice to know you have some limitations.”

  “Oh, shut up—Your Majesty. You know I do.”

  “So why did you send Sir Kammen back?”

  “Kammen was there to be my liaison in the Palace. I didn’t feel comfortable just stopping by.”

  “Reasonable, especially after Thomen tried to kill you.”

  “Wait, what? Thomen tried to kill me? When? How?”

  “Of course. The lightning spell he had on the captured spirit. It was his work.”

  I paused for a moment to reflect—I can do that, at least during the day. Casting my mind back to the incident, I recalled the ghost of a woman wearing a spell-collar of some sort. When I tried to touch her and communicate with her, I got a massive charge of electricity that nearly killed me.

  Later, when Johann talked about using ghosts as remote probes to look for me, I assumed the collar was a binding he placed on her and the electrical discharge a method of softening me up for later summoning.

  But, come to think of it, would he have bothered to put such things on the thousands of ghost-probes? Or would he have simply hit them with a geas and sent them out? It would be more efficient to use them strictly as locators, first. Then he could focus his efforts.

  Now, if Thomen found one of these ghosts—he was Master of the Wizards’ Guild, after all, and this sort of thing would surely come to his attention—he might decide to capture it and keep it. A ghost, bound to the duty of locating me? It could be useful to him, as it obviously was. I’m not saying it definitely happened, but it was plausible. Given the events, even likely.

  “I didn’t know,” I admitted to Lissette. “Until now, I thought it was someone else.”

  “Is it important?”

  “Not anymore, but thank you for telling me.”

  “So, since you didn’t know, should I assume you weren’t planning to kill Thomen?”

  “Yes, assume that. I was only concerned with how his spells were affecting you—whether they were for your own good or for his. That’s all I cared about. If they were helping you, he was perfectly safe. If not, he was doomed.”

 
Lissette looked away again, this time as blood rushed to her face. I wondered what I said.

  “What about Kammen?” she asked, finally.

  “He says he thought I wanted to go ahead and kill the man. He was actually planning to do it, but someone did it first.”

  “That’s his story?”

  “Yes. And I believe him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Kammen doesn’t lie to me,” I stated. I tried for a tone of absolutism and I think I got it. Lissette dropped the question.

  “All right. Did you discover the culprit?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you searched for the culprit?”

  “Not from here, and I don’t intend to when I’m standing in the palace in Carrillon.”

  “I see.”

  “Whoever did it did us all a favor. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m against assassination, at least as a general rule. But it’s done. I’m not going to weep bitter tears over the wizard who grabbed your brain and manipulated you.”

  “That’s why I would like to know the assassin,” Lissette said, leaning forward intently. “I know what he did to me. I want that assassin rewarded. I know it doesn’t sit well with your new legal system, but I’m grateful.”

  “You’ve heard of my new trial process already?”

  “I’m the Queen.”

  “So you are, Your Majesty.”

  “Tell me this. If you didn’t order Thomen killed, who did?”

  “I suppose I could find out,” I mused. “Assuming the body is still available, anyway.”

  “I’m afraid not. The Guild claimed his corpse and burned it.”

  “They burned it? Is that the usual way to dispose of bodies?”

  “For most people of wealth or power, yes.” She waved a hand dismissively. “There are many customs regarding the body, but those whose spirit a necromancer might covet make arrangements.”

  “A sensible precaution,” I agreed, recalling handfuls of vampire ashes and a barn. I didn’t actually say anything, though. I wonder if they salt the bones before they burn them.

  “Is there anything you can do?” Lissette asked.

  “Not without some trace of the corpse, no. At least, not that I can think of at the moment. If I get an idea, I’ll let you know.”